The man ascended the sloped stairs with deliberate, measured steps. Each one a silent, solemn prayer that he wouldn't be dragged into the cold, dark water yawning below. Behind him, a girl's prayer clearly went unanswered. Her foot slid across a particularly green patch of slick stone, arms flailing before a boy behind her caught her, a squeak sneaking past her tongue.
Evan winced. 'If this was done by human hands, then someone really phoned it in. Uneven angles everywhere. Some steps too steep, some too shallow. But I guess I'm being harsh. My nowcestors didn't exactly have protractors or… you know, engineering degrees. Still, why carve a whole staircase into a rock tower but build their actual houses out of wood? Is this a shrine to some god?'
Finding no reasonable answer, and no one to ask without arousing more suspicion, he trudged after the line of children. They stuck close together now, clinging to each other like soldiers returning from a war they didn't sign up for.
At the top, a cold breeze greeted them… along with an eye-watering stench. The wind carried a heavy, unmistakable wave of poop. Several warriors stood there, shoveling mounds of bat droppings onto long wooden paddles and flinging them off the tower with the weary efficiency of men who had long been submissive to tradition.
From this height, the view opened wide. The Datu's boat slowly made its way towards them. Warriors swimming around the big boat, guiding it, probably to avoid a collision course with the small boat their group had abandoned at the base of the tower.
A warrior approached the kids and gave each of them misshapen wooden sticks, some flat, some knobbly, all clearly fashioned from driftwood and branches.
"Make yourselves useful but make sure to throw the shit faraway. You don't want to hit anyone below with bat poop."
Some of the kids snickered at that image but the rest quickly went about their newly assigned task.
Evan hesitated before getting started. The stench hit him first, like entering a public restroom near that church in Quiapo. It clung to the back of his throat, icky and sticky, making his eyes water.
He watched the warriors for a moment. They stabbed their sticks into the mounds, scooping and flicking with the casual ease of people used to dealing with manure their entire lives. A few even treated it like a contest while the rest just hacked away with dull determination.
'Bat poop, huh. I know guano's supposed to be great for fertilizer and gunpowder, but that's mostly bird stuff. And if I remember correctly, South American bird stuff. Birds and bats don't have the same digestive systems right?'
He braced himself and slid the wide end of his stick under a mound, then heaved it like a golf swing without the swing. The clump sailed off surprisingly intact. The solid mass on the bottom part of the pile surprisingly held the whole thing well. If he scooped and tossed fast, the mass held its shape. It only became a problem if he let it sit too long on the stick and it started to sag, smear, and threaten to slide back onto the ground.
'Maybe I can use this for the rice fields. Huh, I don't actually know what it does except make stonks go brrrrr. Does it make plants grow faster? Bigger grains? More grains? I should probably take some of this and bring it back to Hunyak for experimentation. I hope she doesn't question me that much. Worst case, I just do the experiments myself.
He squinted at the uneven piles on the stone floor and continued. 'For gunpowder, wasn't it something like 70-20-10? Or 75-25-10? Hmmmm, I don't know what the others are. But I know I gotta dry this shit till it becomes powder like. Maybe use a mortar and pestle like an ancient alchemist. Well, I mean, this is presumably ancient times so I guess that's fitting.'
'I guess I should grab some for experimentation. Maybe I can ask one of the warriors for a coconut shell or something. I think the provisions they brought should have at least that right? Or maybe I can clump some in my loincloth. There's a bit here—'
A booming voice cut through his thoughts.
"Welcome, young ones!"
The Datu stood on the stone platform, followed by warriors carrying baskets of provisions.
"You may be wondering why we built this tower," he continued. His voice echoed through the cavern, riding the sound of dripping water and occasional bat wing flap. "We didn't. This was made by the Yokoy people."
He lifted his arms slowly, as if presenting the cavern itself.
"Legends speak of a mighty figure that once stood here," he said. "A towering likeness of their datu, shaped from the very bones of this mountain."
He tapped the ground with the butt of his spear, the sound dull against the ancient stone.
"The Yokoy were ingenious. The very footholds that allowed you to stand at this height were carved straight into the rock… such work is no trifling task for us mortals."
His tone eased, the echo fading into the cavern's cool breath.
"But their bloodline has vanished. Their names, their faces… gone with the passing of the moon. What remains of them now are tales carried by the spirits, nothing more."
The Datu's tone became mildly menacing at that. His warriors started tapping their spears into the stone in a rhythmic motion as they fanned around him.
"Because they forgot their loyalty," he said. "Because fear ruled their hearts. Their Datu, Datu Siyo, was a man carved from cruelty. He scorned weakness. Infants born with twisted limbs were drowned in the sea. The elders, once their spines bent low enough to kiss the earth, were commanded to take their final steps alone. Young boys were torn from their mothers and herded into camps, taught to wield spears before they even learned to speak"
"In time, the Yokoy could bear no more. Simmering rage bound them together. But instead of confronting their Datu and forcing him to see the error of his ways, they sought the aid of another Datu, and beneath one moonless night, they struck Siyo down. Believing him dead, they hurled his body into the river, hoping its currents would wash away the evil stain he left on their village."
"They should have burned the body instead." he murmured. "Because the river does not always keep what it is given."
He lowered his spear, letting its point touch the stone.
"Moons rose and vanished, one after another," the Datu intoned. "Then, on a night when the moon bled red, Siyo returned. Not alone. Behind him marched the warriors of a rajah. An army numerous enough to darken the shores like a storm tide."
"He set fire to the village that had cast him out. The Yokoy laid down their spears in surrender, yet Siyo's heart, if such a thing ever beat in his chest, had turned blacker than charcoal by their betrayal. He ordered every man, every woman, every child dragged into the river that once carried his broken body. They were held beneath the water until breath left them… and still he was not satisfied. He drove a dagger into each skull, one by one. Determined never to repeat the mistake the Yokoy once made."
His voice dipped, low and heavy.
"Their homes and their fields were burned until nothing remained but ash."
The Datu paused. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, but it carried a deeper weight.
"Yet the gods are always watching. Whether Gugurang blessed them out of pity, or Asuang twisted them in judgment, we don't know. The Yokoy did not die. Their skins hardened with silvered scales, their eyes glowed like embers beneath water, and webs unfurled between their fingers. Fins crowned their heads and limbs. Gills split open along their cheeks."
He pointed toward the entrance of the cave.
"They became siyokoys. Children of the sea, new and remade. For many moons they lingered where the river meets the sea, barred from the land of men."
Evan startled as he noticed the warriors shifting, slow but deliberate. While the Datu spoke, their formation tightened, pressing him and the other children toward a corner of the stone platform.
"But the siyokoys had but one quarry," the Datu continued, seeming unbothered by the movement of the men. "Datu Siyo. So when he set sail once more, believing his sins washed away by time… they rose."
He lifted his spear slightly, as though marking the moment.
"The siyokoys waited until his vessel reached open water, far from any who could answer his cries. From beneath the waves they surged. They ripped through his warriors, shattered his proud karakoa, and left Siyo himself clinging to driftwood, alone on their dark waters."
A faint, cold smile touched the Datu's lips.
"Some say he still swims. Never resting, never rising, forever hunted by the very monsters his wickedness created."
The Datu's gaze sharpened, seeking a victim. When he spoke, his voice cracked through the air like thunder.
"And what did the siyokoys learn, children?"
He let the question hang. No one dared breathe, much less answer.
Without warning, he surged forward, seized a boy by the arm, and flung him over the edge.
"They learned to swim!" he thundered.
Evan's eyes widened. 'From this height? That kid's absolutely dead. Hitting water like this is like slamming into concrete.'
A chorus of shrieks erupted as the boy tumbled through open air. The children rushed to the platform's rim, panic turning to relieved cries as they saw him bobbing upright, the tide rose high enough to kiss the stone edge. The drop was barely ten meters.
Evan breathed out slowly, unaware that his relief had come far too soon.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Another child arced through the air, hurled by a different warrior. Then another. And another.
Left and right, children were sailing off the platform, flung into the sea by warriors with unnatural grins for people of their profession.
Evan spun around, pulse spiking. Eyes darting around looking for the one who might throw him as well. Until he realized, none of them were reaching for him.
That was when the Datu stepped aside… and Evan saw Punay.
She was already sprinting toward him, eyes wide, feet pounding across the stone.