Dumaalon
The dawn mist clung to the thatched rooftops of the village, swirling in pale wisps before the golden fingers of the rising sun dispelled them. Datu Dumaalon stood at the threshold of his home, breathing in the crisp morning air.
He strode to the babaylan's hut, his steps firm but unhurried. The scent of burning herbs greeted him as he stepped past the hanging charms made of bone and shell. Kalawti, the babaylan, was already seated cross-legged before her fire, eyes half-lidded as she swayed slightly, her lips moving in whispers only the spirits could understand.
"Kalawti," Dumaalon intoned, kneeling before her, "What do the spirits say of this day?"
She exhaled deeply, her eyes rolling back before she finally focused on him. "The sea and the forest are barren today, Datu. No good fish, no worthy hunt. The spirits are silent, or watching."
Dumaalon frowned. A barren day was rare, but it was not unheard of. "Then we will not waste our energy. I will tell the hunters to rest."
He rose to leave, but Kalawti's voice stopped him. "And the stranger?"
Aso. The man from the jungle, the one with no weapons, no markings, nothing. Even the spirits seemed unable to scrutinize him.
Punay suspected he was a scout for an advancing force. Every instinct told Dumaalon otherwise. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to find out.
"He'll help with the weaving," he said at last. "The traders arrive at the next full moon. We can't have him lazing around like a fattened pig before a feast. At the very least, he has hands, might as well see if they can earn their keep."
Kalawti only nodded, already slipping back into her trance.
On his way back to his hut, Dumaalon saw his daughter moving with purpose, her long thick hair swinging behind her.
She carried herself well, poised but not delicate, graceful yet sure-footed. She was no longer a child, but not quite a woman either. If anything, she was more like a warrior, taking after him rather than inheriting the gentle, womanly graces of her mother. She had her mother's eyes and his stubbornness, a combination that made her both formidable and, at times, infuriating.
Unlike most of the women in the village, she had no patience for the loom house or the cooking fires. She moved with ease among the divers and the warriors, as comfortable wielding a spear as she was threading through the coral reefs. The elders muttered about it, but Dumaalon, despite himself, felt nothing but pride.
She had no shortage of suitors; that much was certain. And he was fairly sure she liked some of them, judging by the way she could be flustered, the rare moments when her composure wavered. But the thought of relinquishing even a fraction of her freedom irked her so deeply that she turned them all away. She wasn't thinking about the future, at least, not the way others did. She only wanted to hunt, to fish, to command warriors, to be respected for her strength.
If the rajah had a son, that boy would have long been foisted upon her. Dumaalon was grateful the rajah had only daughters.
He stopped her. "You will not dive today. The spirits said the seas and the forest are barren."
Alunay tilted her head slightly, considering this, then nodded. "Alright. I was going to speak with the foreigner anyway."
Dumaalon narrowed his eyes slightly. "Take care when speaking to him."
Alunay gave him a small smile. "I will. Punay is going to be there anyway."
He exhaled through his nose. I'm saying it for his sake, not yours, but never mind. Then, seeing an opportunity to unsettle her, he added, "Also, can you confirm whether he's a scout? Punay believes he might be part of an advancing force."
Alunay's brows lifted, surprise flickering across her face before she masked it.
Dumaalon smirked inwardly. Surprised, are you? Let's see how you react when you lay eyes on the boy trapped in a man's body.
He decided to add fuel to the fire. "But be subtle about it. We don't know how strong his raiding force is."
Alunay barely reacted at first, her expression carefully neutral. Then she gave a small shrug, her face unreadable, but the way her fingers drummed lightly against her thigh didn't escape him. "Of course, Father," she said, her tone even. "I'll be careful."
Dumaalon chuckled, shaking his head. "You do that."
Dumaalon sat cross-legged in his hut, sharpening the edge of his sword with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrape of stone against metal filled the air, steady as the pulse of the village outside.
When Alunay entered, he did not look up immediately. He only shifted his gaze to her when she stood before him, her stance straight but her hands clenched at her sides. That alone told him much.
"Well?" he asked, setting the blade aside.
Alunay exhaled sharply through her nose. "He is... not what I expected."
Dumaalon arched his brow, amused. "No?"
"He is not a warrior," she said, an edge creeping into her voice, as if the thought itself irritated her. "Nor a sailor, nor a trader. He calls himself 'just a man.'" She let out a scoff. "But he speaks like a fool. He said something strange about the Spaniards, that they wouldn't come for 'a few centuries.'"
Dumaalon's fingers drummed idly against the hilt of his blade. "A few centuries," he echoed.
"He tried to take it back," she said. "Made it seem like nonsense, but..." She hesitated. "He claims we don't need to worry about these Spaniards for many more years. Years, dad." Her voice sharpened. "Do you know any babaylan who can see beyond the events of today?"
Dumaalon's gaze darkened, thoughtful. "No babaylan can look that far ahead." He exhaled slowly.
Alunay nodded, her arms crossed. "And yet, he spoke of it so carelessly. As if it was not a vision, but something he already knew."
Dumaalon tapped his blade once against the wooden floor, the sound sharp and decisive. "Then we must decide, Alunay. Is he merely a fool… or something far more dangerous?"
Alunay met his gaze, unwavering. "I already asked him, and I believe him. My gut tells me he isn't a threat. He said he means no harm, to us or to anyone."
She seems to gain more conviction. "And besides, he is not careful with his words. If he were a scout sent ahead of an invading force, he would be more guarded." She shook her head. "There is no discipline in him, no wariness. When he woke, there was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation in his voice. He speaks without caution, moves without purpose, like a man who has never had to fight for his survival."
Dumaalon exhaled through his nose, considering. One mystery after another. The stranger had the body of a man, yet carried himself like a boy, unguarded, uncertain, unaware of the weight of his own presence. And now, he spoke of the future as though it were something he had already seen, not something foretold by the spirits. No babaylan could glimpse years, much more centuries ahead. No man should speak of such things so carelessly.
And yet, despite the unease curling in his gut, there was no malice in the stranger's words, no deception in his eyes. He was either a fool or something far stranger, but not an enemy. Not yet.
Dumaalon turned his gaze back to Alunay. She was sharp, observant, her instincts rarely failed her. "If you believe he is not a threat, then I will trust your judgment."
He held her gaze for a moment before nodding. "Even when I spoke to him, I sensed no ill intent."
"For now," he said aloud, pushing aside his doubts, "we may as well make use of him. The tribute for the rajah won't finish itself, and we could use the extra hands."
His fingers drummed idly against the hilt of his blade. And in the meantime, we watch him.
Evan
Evan stood in the river, letting the cool water rush beneath him, washing away the sweat and dust of the previous day. He ran his fingers through the flowing currents, feeling the steady push against his skin. His body still felt strange, too light, too ordinary. No sharp senses, no primal hunger. Just… human.
At least he wasn't starving. They had fed him just before leading him to the river. The villagers were generous with food, though whether it was out of kindness or quiet suspicion, he couldn't say. Likely both.
The water reached just above his waist. With a slow breath, he lowered himself fully, letting the river swallow him in its cool embrace. He ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing away the dirt and grime of the past day's journey.
Reaching down, his fingers found a smooth river stone. He rubbed it between his fingers to clean it before using it as a makeshift scrub. The rough texture scraped against his skin, familiar in a way he hadn't expected. It reminded him of a trip with his family, a river much like this one, where his grandmother had taught him to use a stone to clean himself. Not exactly sanitary, he mused. Not by modern standards. But it'll do.
His thoughts drifted back to the girl earlier. He realizes just now that he doesn't know her name. Maybe a babaylan? No, she looked and carried herself like a fighter. Or maybe they have those kinds of babaylan here? She looked young. After the initial fear from being practically ambushed in bed, he had a hard time taking her seriously, she couldn't be less than sixteen, but for sure not more than twenty. Do they even count the years in these days? She was probably married already, maybe even had a son or two. They marry young here, don't they? Children forced to grow up too fast, to carry burdens long before they should.
He scooped up a handful of water, taking some into his mouth to gargle. Again, not the most hygienic thing, but out here, he had to make do.
Feeling a little lighter, he pushed off and swam lazily, opening his eyes underwater to watch the riverbed shift below him. The smooth stones, the shifting currents, there was something calming about it. His arms moved in a slow freestyle motion, more out of instinct than effort.
Lost in the moment, he didn't realize how far he had drifted, until he surfaced and found himself almost beside a group of women doing their laundry.
The women stood knee-deep near the shore, rhythmically beating clothes against smooth river stones. Their laughter and chatter carried over the water, mingling with the rustling leaves and the steady flow of the current. Nearby, rattan baskets overflowed with damp fabric, their colors softened by the morning light.
Evan blinked, startled, but his surprise wasn't mirrored in their faces. Instead, they greeted him with warm, neighborly smiles, their voices laced with amusement as they asked if he was alright.
He gave a sheepish nod, running a hand through his damp hair. "I'm fine, ma'ams" he assured them. Before the exchange could stretch any longer, a voice cut through the moment.
"Don't bother these mothers," Punay called out as she approached, her tone light but firm. She stood at the riverbank, arms crossed, watching him with mild exasperation. "Are you done bathing?"
Evan hesitated. "Sorry, ma'am. Not yet," he reported to her. He had a feeling she wouldn't just stand there waiting, she'd probably start dragging him out if she got impatient. Before she could take another step, he quickly dunked himself back into the river, as if delaying the inevitable.
The women chuckled at the sight, shaking their heads knowingly before returning to their work, their laughter mixing with the murmur of the flowing water.
The cool water wrapped around him, soothing and invigorating at once. He surfaced, running his hands over his skin as he eagerly scrubbed away the last remnants of grime. Satisfied, he took one final plunge, letting the current carry him for a moment before pushing himself back up.
As he emerged, water streaming from his hair and skin, a quiet sense of renewal settled over him. He drew in a deep breath, feeling lighter, cleaner, ready to face whatever the day had in store.
Pushing his wet hair back and clearing the water from his face, he waded towards the shore. As he approached Punay, he is about to ask for a towel when reality came crashing down on him again. Guess he's just gonna have to let the sun and the air do the drying for him.
Pushing his wet hair back and clearing the water from his face, he waded toward the shore. His first instinct was to ask for a towel, but then reality crashed down on him. There were no towels. No soft fabric to dry off with, no comforts of home waiting for him. Just the sun, the wind, and the scratchy feeling of salt drying on his skin.
Punay watched him, arms crossed. "What now?"
He exhaled, shaking his head. "Nothing. Nevermind. I just thought… Nothing, you guys don't have it here." He glanced down at his damp clothes. "I'll just let it dry."
Punay smirked. "You are more girly than a Datu's daughter." She nudged the girl beside her. "Even this one doesn't brush her hair for days."
Oh, so she's the daughter of the datu. Still not sure if she is a babaylan though.
Evan let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry… Hehe, just not used to this."
The girl, looking a little embarrassed, changes the topic "Come, father said you will help with the weavers today."