Chapter Five – The Skirmish at the Shore
The sun had not yet risen when the horns of Cebu cried out. From the watchtowers came the call of alarm: pale men had landed on the far shore, a raiding party sent to "test" their new allies.
Lapu-Lapu was ready. His warriors gathered quickly, kampilan and pana gleaming in the firelight. Tuyok and Balangaw stood near the front, shields raised, hearts pounding as they crossed the narrow channel in their swift boats. The tide pushed against them as if to drag them back, but Lapu-Lapu's voice carried over the waters.
"Forward! The sea is no master of Mactan. Today we drive them back!"
On the beach, the foreigners advanced in a line, their iron shells glinting, their thunder-sticks raised. With them were Humabon's men, hesitant but obedient, their eyes downcast.
Tuyok's boat struck sand, and he leapt ashore with a cry. Balangaw loosed an arrow that struck a Cebuano ally of the Spaniards, dropping him in the surf. The warriors of Mactan surged forward.
The first clash was brutal. Tuyok's kampilan smashed against the curved sword of a Spaniard, sparks flying. The man's armor rang with the blow, but the kampilan bit deep enough to draw blood. The Spaniard staggered, cursing, and Tuyok finished him with a thrust.
Around him, thunder cracked. Warriors fell, pierced by invisible fire from the Spaniards' guns. Yet the Mactan men did not break—they wove between shots, shields raised, closing the distance where steel ruled over smoke.
Tuyok pressed forward, rage and fear pounding in his veins—until he heard it.
A scream. Not the scream of a dying man, but something worse.
He turned to see one of Humabon's warriors, struck down by gunfire, rising again. Black water poured from his wounds, his body convulsing as barnacles erupted along his arms. His jaw split unnaturally wide, teeth jagged with coral. His eyes rolled back, white and drowned.
The Spaniards recoiled. Even their iron discipline faltered. One fired his thunder-stick at the creature, but the shot only tore flesh—the man-thing kept advancing, shrieking in a voice like the crashing tide.
Balangaw stumbled back. "Cousin—what is it?"
Tuyok gripped his kampilan tighter. "The sea's child…"
The corrupted warrior lunged at a Spaniard, its hands clawing with unnatural strength. Armor bent beneath its grip. The foreigner screamed as black water spilled from the cracks in his breastplate, seeping into his flesh. He too began to twist, his body writhing as the corruption claimed him.
The battle dissolved into chaos. Men fought not only against each other, but against the rising plague of the sea.
"Hold the line!" Lapu-Lapu roared, his voice steady even in horror. His kampilan swung wide, cleaving through the corrupted Cebuano. The creature shrieked, but when its body fell, it melted into seawater that hissed against the sand.
The Babaylan raised her arms, chanting in a voice that cut through the madness. She burned herbs and cast salt onto the ground, her words summoning the ancestors. For a heartbeat, the air shimmered, and the corrupted halted as if struck by unseen chains. But then the sea surged louder, waves striking the shore in unnatural rhythm, and the spell faltered.
Tuyok found himself face-to-face with one of the foreigners, his eyes black with infection, his mouth spilling brine. He swung his kampilan, and the edge bit true—but when the creature fell, its blood hissed against Tuyok's skin, burning like fire.
Balangaw dragged him back. "Cousin! You are marked—"
But Tuyok shook his head, teeth clenched. "Not yet."
At last, the Spaniards retreated to their boats, dragging their wounded. Humabon's men fled with them, their faith in their allies shaken. On the beach, the dead of Mactan lay side by side with bodies that had melted into seawater.
Silence fell. Only the tide spoke, whispering against the sand.
Lapu-Lapu stood with his men, bloodied but unbowed. "This was no victory," he said grimly. "The pale men can be cut. But the sea…" His gaze turned toward the horizon, where Magellan's ships loomed. "…the sea is arming itself."
Tuyok felt the charm in his hand grow heavy, as if the bone itself trembled. The Babaylan met his eyes across the corpses.
"You have seen it," she murmured. "This war is not only of men. The sea has chosen you to bear witness."
Tuyok said nothing, but in his heart, he knew she was right. The whispers had grown louder.
And they were calling his name.