Binalig
Binalig woke before the first light of dawn, the sky still deep with night's lingering darkness. The village stirred with hushed anticipation as men and women gathered in the central clearing to see off the Datu. The morning was cool, the air damp with dew, and even the roosters had only just begun to ruffle their feathers in wakefulness.
The warriors worked swiftly, their lean, hardened bodies moving with the efficiency of those accustomed to long journeys. They hoisted baskets filled with rice, dried fish, and woven mats onto their shoulders and carried them down to the water's edge, where the war canoe awaited. The warship was long and sleek, its hull expertly crafted from carefully joined planks, allowing it to cut through the waves with speed and precision.
The war canoe did not stand alone. Beside it bobbed a smaller boat, the same kind the fishermen used daily to check their fish traps and dive for pearls. Unlike the massive vessel beside it, this boat was built for quiet work, its narrow frame skimming the water with ease. But the war canoe was something else entirely, a symbol of power, carved and assembled with purpose. More than just a means of transport, it was a declaration of strength, a vessel meant for war and tribute alike. Wherever it sailed, it carried not just goods, but the pride and might of the village itself.
Binalig stood at the edge of the gathering, arms crossed over her chest, watching as the Datu surveyed his men. Unlike the last tribute, when illness had kept him from making the inland journey through the river, he now stood tall, his presence steady and assured. His expression was firm yet composed, and for the first time in many moons, Binalig caught a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, a quiet pride in the strength of his people and the bounty they carried.
She felt a quiet relief. A strong Datu meant a strong village, and for now, their people prospered. Though the days ahead would be filled with toil to secure another bountiful harvest, this moment carried a rare sense of peace. The village was thriving, and for once, she didn't feel the weight of guilt for not being able to hunt or fight. They were doing well enough without her.
The Datu stood at the heart of the gathering, his strong form silhouetted against the dim horizon. His voice carried through the quiet like a steady drumbeat, his words firm yet warm.
"The harvests have been good, and the pearls are many," he declared. "We will give tribute as is our duty, but this year, we have extra to trade. If I find the merchants in a good mood, we might get two carabaos and two pigs. With care, they will multiply, and our people will grow stronger."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the villagers. Carabaos would ease the burden of tilling the fields, and pigs meant more food, more trade, and more prosperity. The promise of growth lifted the spirits of all who listened.
Binalig's gaze drifted through the crowd until it landed on Alunay, the Datu's daughter. The young woman stood tall beside her father, her posture unwavering, exuding a quiet strength that had always made her stand out. And yet, she was the reason Binalig now found herself bound to serving the dog.
Apparently, Alunay had been attacked by a shark, and somehow, the dog had saved her. Binalig wanted to resent her for it, but no matter how she turned it over in her mind, she couldn't find a good enough reason. Animal attacks were simply a part of life. A crocodile had taken her arm, after all. The beast had come with the flood, slipping into the village with the murky waters. She had barely managed to shove Hunyak out of the way before the crocodile's jaws snapped shut, on her instead. That was how it happened. Quick. Brutal. Unforgiving.
She wondered now if the Datu had placed her in the dog's care on purpose, as some silent lesson she was meant to learn. Aso had saved Alunay from a shark. No, if the rumors were true, from multiple sharks. And he had done so without so much as a scratch. Meanwhile, she, a seasoned hunter, had been stripped of her bow and her place by a single crocodile.
What did the dog have that she didn't? Had the spirits favored him more? He was big, after all, almost as large as the most elite warriors of the greatest rajahs. But she had always considered herself blessed too. From the moment she first took aim, peering down the length of her arrow, she had felt it, that certainty, that instinct. Every time she loosed an arrow, she knew it would strike true. She was meant to be a hunter.
But maybe… maybe she hadn't been lucky enough.
Her fingers curled instinctively, a phantom ache running through her missing limb. Once, her arrows had never needed a second flight, swift, precise, and final. A deer hidden in the thickets, a wild boar crashing through the underbrush, one shot was all it took. That skill had shaped her, given her purpose. Defined her.
And now? Now, she was forced to serve a man who had done what she could not.
Binalig watched solemnly as Alunay, the Datu, and his warriors mounted their boats, the early morning mist swirling around them as they pushed off into the river. The rhythmic splash of paddles faded into the distance, leaving behind only the soft murmurs of the waking village.
She turned to Hunyak, nodding in silent acknowledgment before making her way back to Aso's hut. There was work to be done.
"Aso, wake up." Binalig's voice was sharp, cutting through the still air of the hut.
Aso groaned, rolling over and pulling his woven blanket over his head. "Just a little longer…" he mumbled.
Binalig crossed her arms. "No. You need to bathe before training."
Aso grunted but reluctantly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched, his bones cracking in protest. "Fine, fine. What's the rush?"
Binalig crossed her arms. "Do you want to fulfill the tribute or not?"
The mention of their deadline seemed to shake off the last traces of sleep from him.
Aso let out a sigh, gathered his things, and trudged out of the hut.
Binalig turned back to Hunyak. "We need to prepare the soil before the sun gets too high."
Hunyak nodded, handing her a wooden digging stick. Together, they moved toward the field, where the land awaited their labor.
The work was grueling but familiar. Binalig plunged the digging stick into the soil, twisting and loosening the earth before moving forward. Hunyak worked beside her, her small frame belying the quiet strength in her arms.
The scent of the land filled Binalig's senses, earthy, rich, and alive. The soil was dark and moist, promising a good yield if treated well. Once a portion of the field was properly tilled, they gathered the sugarcane cuttings. Each stalk was carefully planted, pressed deep into the softened earth. Binalig knew the work wouldn't end here, they would have to tend to the crops, make sure weeds didn't choke them, and check for pests. But for now, the simple act of planting felt like progress.
They worked in tandem, methodically preparing the land, their rhythm only interrupted when Aso returned.
Binalig set aside the digging stick, brushing dirt from her hand as she turned her focus to training Aso. "Take this and practice."
Aso examined the bow, running his fingers over the smoothed wood. It was a simple weapon, nothing as fine as the ones Binalig once used, but sturdy enough for training. "What am I shooting?"
She selected a sturdy tree at the edge of the clearing, its thick trunk providing a reliable target. She took a lump of charcoal from the cooking fire and marked a small black circle on the bark.
"This will be your target," she said, stepping back. "Hit as close to the center as you can."
Aso frowned but nocked an arrow, drawing the bowstring back gingerly. His arms were awkwardly crooked, his stance hesitant.
Binalig narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want the bowstring to hit my arm," Aso muttered, adjusting his grip.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You have to snap the bow, not cower from it." Stepping closer, she gestured for him to tighten his arms. "Try again, this time, draw it with confidence."
Aso still pulled the bowstring gingerly, but at least this time, he managed to draw it more than halfway.
Binalig shook her head, suppressing a sigh. He'll get there.
Deciding to leave him to his practice, she turned back to Hunyak and resumed tilling the field. The morning wore on in steady labor, the rhythmic plunge of their digging sticks into the earth occasionally punctuated by the dull thunk of Aso's arrows, hitting everything except the target.
They stopped to eat at midday, the scent of grilled fish and rice mingling in the air as they sat in the shade of the hut.
Their silence was broken once again by Aso's questions.
"Are mangoes rare? Who grows them?"
Hunyak answered this time. "Mango trees grow well here, but they take years to bear fruit. And if they're not cared for properly, they get diseased and wither away. Only the older families have established groves." She tilted her head. "Why?"
Aso leaned back, thoughtful. "I was just wondering if we could plant our own."
She shot him a dry look. "Let's get through your first harvest season before you start thinking about ancestral groves."
But Aso wasn't deterred. "Who are these older families, and how can I ask, or maybe trade, for mangoes?"
Binalig sighed. "They give a portion of their harvest to the Datu. He decides how to distribute it among the village. And if the harvest lines up with tribute days, he offers them to the Rajah."
Aso nodded, then asked again, "And if I want to trade for mangoes? What do they take in exchange? Sugarcane?"
Binalig smirked. "If you really want more mangoes, practice your bow. They usually trade for deer or wild boar meat. If you can bring one down, you'll probably get a whole basket in the next harvest."
Aso's face fell, but before he could complain, Hunyak chuckled. "Don't worry, Aso. We'll let you have some of ours."
After their meal, the women lay down for a short rest, but Binalig noticed Aso outside, picking up the bow again. She frowned. Why he wants to practice under the unforgiving midday sun, she had no idea.
After their rest, they got out of the hut to see Aso hunched over something, his hands fumbling with wooden parts. It seems the dog took her knife.
She strode over, already scowling. "What are you doing? Why did you get my knife?"
"Oh, so sorry, I found it lying around in the hut and I needed a knife for this."
Aso pointed to the strange contraption, her crafted bow, now mounted onto a long piece of wood by fibers. The wood had a notch near one end, holding the taut string in place, and a small hole below it.
Binalig narrowed her eyes. "That is not training."
Aso grinned sheepishly. "No, but watch this."
He placed an arrow into the groove, then inserted a simple stick into the hole. With a flick, the stick released the bowstring, sending the arrow forward. It wasn't as fast or powerful as a normal bow, but it fired without the need for constant tension from the user.
"I was having trouble aiming the bow horizontally. The arrow doesn't stay steady, so when I release, it flies chaotically," Aso explained, grinning. "By resting it on a flat surface, at least I can hit things now."
Binalig was still too stunned to fully process what she had just seen, a bow that released on its own. Her only thought was, The dog doesn't even know to use his finger to keep the arrow steady.
Hunyak recovered faster, her grin stretching wider than Aso's. She bounced on her feet, excitement bubbling in her voice. "Bini, you can use this!"
Binalig barely had time to register the implication before Aso tilted his head. "Bini?"
Her scowl was immediate. "Don't even think of using that name. Only Hunyak can call me that."
For the rest of the afternoon, Aso continued his traditional training under Binalig's watchful gaze, but her thoughts remained on the strange weapon he had created. As she worked beside Hunyak, tilling the land and pressing sugarcane stalks into the soil, her mind lingered on the possibilities.
The contraption could barely be called a weapon. Aso hadn't secured the bow properly to the wood, and the entire thing fell apart the moment he tried to lift it. As it was, he could only operate it with both hands, one to hold the frame and the other to push the small stick that triggered the bowstring's release. While it did succeed in keeping the arrow from veering chaotically, it introduced a new problem: the shots always angled upward, making precise aiming nearly impossible. It was crude, clumsy, and far from practical.
Yet, despite its flaws, Aso remained undeterred. "It can be improved," he insisted, already thinking ahead. He spoke animatedly about repositioning the triger, as he called it, closer to the front of the frame, so it could be fired with a single hand.
She told him to focus on training with the bow first before playing with toys. Despite Aso and Hunyak's eagerness, she tried to temper her own rising hopes. It took all her effort to keep them from abandoning their tasks entirely in favor of tinkering with the contraption for the rest of the afternoon.
Yet, no matter how much she pushed it aside, the thought lingered.
Could she truly fight again?
The rhythmic thud of her digging stick against the earth did little to quiet the storm of thoughts in her mind. She glanced at Aso, who was grumbling as he tried to hit his target with the proper bow.
She exhaled slowly.
Was this why the Datu gave her to this foreigner?