Categories > Original > Fantasy > Amihan of the Mountain
As it turned out, Pilô and Dado didn't get very far. They were found at the edge of a field, covered in mud and lying as still as lumps among the rice stalks. At first we feared the worse, but then Pilô suddenly grimaced and twitched his legs, the way a dog would sometimes when dreaming of running, and Dado moaned and thrashed about. No amount of shaking, yelling or dousing with cold water could get either one to wake up from their enchanted sleep. Dado's piteous ravings, however, cleared matters up when the words "dragon" and "don't eat us" drifted up with ominous frequency. The eager flip-flop of my heart at the mere mention of Skyblade, even as I worried about the fates of my brother's two friends, only proved how far gone I was in my madness.
Needless to say, nobody attempted another escape after that.
Life took on a surreal edge as the townsfolk dealt with the threat of impending extinction in their own ways. Some of them carried on with their day-to-day tasks, doggedly pretending that nothing had changed. They went to market, attended to business, went to church and scolded their children--you'll forgive them if they did so with glassy stares and tin-foil smiles. Others took the opposite route and were every hour found inside the church praying for salvation and forming queues of truly inspiring lengths at the confessional. Some chose to demonstrate their faith that all would turn out all right by weeping constantly into their hands or sitting on street corners and brooding. Still others adopted an attitude of blithe opportunism, the ten-day period becoming something of a grand party and free-for-all before the end came.
Some decided to spend the time wading through ash and rubble for salvageable items and getting on with repairs. Well, many of the houses needed to be swept up into urns and put into niches rather than repaired, and few were willing to do the job. Doing so would have taken far more optimism than many of the townsfolk could have scraped together in their frightened states. There was a general "wait and see" atmosphere, and work grew sluggish as people either attempted to distract themselves or continually scanned the mountain paths for signs of the delegation's return.
As I picked through the rubble and passed hammers and nails to the small recovery crew, I made myself recall every bit of lore about the spirit world I'd learned from observing my sister's training. The inhabitants of the spirit world came in many forms-/engkantos/, pixies, maligno, lamang-lupa or earth elementals, blood-suckers, higante or giants and ogres, tree spirits, rock spirits, river spirits, and a vast array of disincarnates. And then there were the beings higher up in the hierarchy of power--angels, demons, demigods and goddesses, dragons, sea serpents and fire lizards created from the same star-dust that made up our cosmos, then finally the gods and goddesses themselves. Except for certain members of the hierarchy, every species of spirit and elemental had one thing in common: their distrust of and outright hostility against humans.
I thought about magic, too, as I boiled yams in sweetened coconut milk for the recovery crew. Magic had been given by the gods to humans to enable them to survive. In ancient times, the elementals enjoyed nothing more than demonstrating their superiority over the cowed and vastly outnumbered human population. Then Lord Kabunian took pity on the mortals and taught them how to defend themselves against the marauding elementals. As the humans learned to manipulate the powers of earth, wind, fire, water and spirit, the attacks were repelled with increasing decisiveness and the elementals were forced to retreat. Soon, humans thrived and grew in number and the elementals found the tables turned on them, with human settlements encroaching on their territories. While the elementals still held the edge in magic, something told me that the time was ripe for the humans to discover their own unique magic instead of borrowing from the spirit world. What that magic would be I could only imagine, as it became more and more likely that neither I nor anyone else in the town would live long enough to see it.
The second day passed. As did the third. My eyes grew bleary from sewing clothes for the fire victims out of scraps of cloth, old flour sacks, table runners, curtains and bed sheets, while I thought about the Diwata and her rulership over the lands that surrounded the mountain. The Diwata's authority extended over both mortal and spirit worlds, and a babaylan's job was to act as a conduit of that authority and to smooth relations between the human and the elemental subjects of the Diwata. Female children who early on showed an affinity for magic were taken on by elder priestesses and trained in the work. Would-be priestesses were chosen for more than just their talent in magic, however. A priestess who wanted to convince a potentially aggressive elemental to leave the town alone had better know how to hold her own against bullies. Because that's what the elementals were, my sister once told me. Just a bunch of playground bullies.
But Skyblade the elf-prince was no bully, I'd thought to myself in my still-deluded past. Neither was Skyblade the dragon, I decided now, despite the seemingly overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He may have turned half the town into a heap of soot; he may have cast a sleep spell over those two idiots after scaring them silly, but he didn't kill anyone. Even in his rage, he hadn't turned to murder. He had that much self-control, something no bully would have even heard of.
Sweet Lady, I missed him so.
The fourth day passed. And the fifth. Despair spread through the town like a disease. What's happened to the delegation? people wondered silently, then in anxious whispers. It only took a day and a night to reach the summit where the gates to the Diwata's realm lay. Theories cropped up. Perhaps they had been waylaid by the maligno/. Or captured by the /engkanto/. Or toasted into crisps by the dragon. Or perhaps Sinag, Habagat and the others were simply biding their time in the Diwata's realm and would return at the very last minute, when all hope was gone, to deliver their gift of the /Diwata's pardon.
Nobody really took that last notion seriously.
A different kind of insanity gripped me. I found myself staring wistfully at the mountain with greater and greater frequency. With every stab of sunlight through the misty veils, I imagined Skyblade watching me from the palace in the clouds. With every glimpse of clear sky, I saw his lips curving upward in a smile. With every sun-warmed breeze, I felt his arms encircling me, drawing me to where I felt safe and loved and happy.
I shouldn't be doing this; I am forbidden to.
And in the next instant, I would remember his last words to me, and the world would lose all color and light. The Skyblade I knew was nothing more than a child's dream. He was the Guardian, and nothing, least of all a silly little mortal, could ever come between him and the Diwata he protected. The gods themselves had decreed this, and the punishment was terrible for anyone who dared disobey their commandments. Skyblade was hers.
If my life were mine to give, I would give it to you, but I've already broken too many rules when I gave you my heart.
Or was he? He had given me his true name. Little was known about dragons, but I did know that dragons as a race invested a lot of power in names. Anyone who knew a dragon's true name could summon that dragon and compel it to obey her will. Since it effectively gave one complete dominion over a dragon, the creatures were understandably averse to revealing their true names, and were known to destroy themselves along with whoever foolishly sought to enslave them rather than grant anyone, either mortal or elemental, that much power over them. Surely Skyblade must have known that, when he gave me his true name, he had virtually given me equal claim to him as the Diwata herself. The very idea that someone as inconsequential as I could summon the Guardian felt utterly wrong. It terrified me.
Summon me, Amihan, and I will come to you, though all the stars stand in my way.
The knowledge tormented me. It burned in my gut and gnawed at my thoughts. With a few words, I could end all this. I could save my family and my town. If there was one being who could stand up to the /Diwata/, it was the Guardian himself. And I wouldn't even be doing anything wrong. Skyblade had given me his true name of his own free will, with only the admonition that I use this power wisely. Surely nobody could argue against the wisdom of an act that would save so many lives. Yes, it would be the right thing to do, the smart thing to do. For the first time in my life I had the power to change destiny, and a part of me demanded that I reach out and grab the chance before it was too late.
Every instinct, however, screamed in protest. If I did summon him, I would force Skyblade to become an oath-breaker, and the punishment of heaven would fall upon him. No, I couldn't do it. I couldn't destroy him that way, not even if it meant my survival. But it wasn't just my survival, was it? And thus were my choices. To save the town but at the price of Skyblade's life, or to accept the curse knowing I could have saved everyone but didn't. Either way would kill me, that much I knew.
It didn't occur to me until it was almost too late that somewhere in between two impossible choices, there was always a third choice just waiting to be found.
Needless to say, nobody attempted another escape after that.
Life took on a surreal edge as the townsfolk dealt with the threat of impending extinction in their own ways. Some of them carried on with their day-to-day tasks, doggedly pretending that nothing had changed. They went to market, attended to business, went to church and scolded their children--you'll forgive them if they did so with glassy stares and tin-foil smiles. Others took the opposite route and were every hour found inside the church praying for salvation and forming queues of truly inspiring lengths at the confessional. Some chose to demonstrate their faith that all would turn out all right by weeping constantly into their hands or sitting on street corners and brooding. Still others adopted an attitude of blithe opportunism, the ten-day period becoming something of a grand party and free-for-all before the end came.
Some decided to spend the time wading through ash and rubble for salvageable items and getting on with repairs. Well, many of the houses needed to be swept up into urns and put into niches rather than repaired, and few were willing to do the job. Doing so would have taken far more optimism than many of the townsfolk could have scraped together in their frightened states. There was a general "wait and see" atmosphere, and work grew sluggish as people either attempted to distract themselves or continually scanned the mountain paths for signs of the delegation's return.
As I picked through the rubble and passed hammers and nails to the small recovery crew, I made myself recall every bit of lore about the spirit world I'd learned from observing my sister's training. The inhabitants of the spirit world came in many forms-/engkantos/, pixies, maligno, lamang-lupa or earth elementals, blood-suckers, higante or giants and ogres, tree spirits, rock spirits, river spirits, and a vast array of disincarnates. And then there were the beings higher up in the hierarchy of power--angels, demons, demigods and goddesses, dragons, sea serpents and fire lizards created from the same star-dust that made up our cosmos, then finally the gods and goddesses themselves. Except for certain members of the hierarchy, every species of spirit and elemental had one thing in common: their distrust of and outright hostility against humans.
I thought about magic, too, as I boiled yams in sweetened coconut milk for the recovery crew. Magic had been given by the gods to humans to enable them to survive. In ancient times, the elementals enjoyed nothing more than demonstrating their superiority over the cowed and vastly outnumbered human population. Then Lord Kabunian took pity on the mortals and taught them how to defend themselves against the marauding elementals. As the humans learned to manipulate the powers of earth, wind, fire, water and spirit, the attacks were repelled with increasing decisiveness and the elementals were forced to retreat. Soon, humans thrived and grew in number and the elementals found the tables turned on them, with human settlements encroaching on their territories. While the elementals still held the edge in magic, something told me that the time was ripe for the humans to discover their own unique magic instead of borrowing from the spirit world. What that magic would be I could only imagine, as it became more and more likely that neither I nor anyone else in the town would live long enough to see it.
The second day passed. As did the third. My eyes grew bleary from sewing clothes for the fire victims out of scraps of cloth, old flour sacks, table runners, curtains and bed sheets, while I thought about the Diwata and her rulership over the lands that surrounded the mountain. The Diwata's authority extended over both mortal and spirit worlds, and a babaylan's job was to act as a conduit of that authority and to smooth relations between the human and the elemental subjects of the Diwata. Female children who early on showed an affinity for magic were taken on by elder priestesses and trained in the work. Would-be priestesses were chosen for more than just their talent in magic, however. A priestess who wanted to convince a potentially aggressive elemental to leave the town alone had better know how to hold her own against bullies. Because that's what the elementals were, my sister once told me. Just a bunch of playground bullies.
But Skyblade the elf-prince was no bully, I'd thought to myself in my still-deluded past. Neither was Skyblade the dragon, I decided now, despite the seemingly overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He may have turned half the town into a heap of soot; he may have cast a sleep spell over those two idiots after scaring them silly, but he didn't kill anyone. Even in his rage, he hadn't turned to murder. He had that much self-control, something no bully would have even heard of.
Sweet Lady, I missed him so.
The fourth day passed. And the fifth. Despair spread through the town like a disease. What's happened to the delegation? people wondered silently, then in anxious whispers. It only took a day and a night to reach the summit where the gates to the Diwata's realm lay. Theories cropped up. Perhaps they had been waylaid by the maligno/. Or captured by the /engkanto/. Or toasted into crisps by the dragon. Or perhaps Sinag, Habagat and the others were simply biding their time in the Diwata's realm and would return at the very last minute, when all hope was gone, to deliver their gift of the /Diwata's pardon.
Nobody really took that last notion seriously.
A different kind of insanity gripped me. I found myself staring wistfully at the mountain with greater and greater frequency. With every stab of sunlight through the misty veils, I imagined Skyblade watching me from the palace in the clouds. With every glimpse of clear sky, I saw his lips curving upward in a smile. With every sun-warmed breeze, I felt his arms encircling me, drawing me to where I felt safe and loved and happy.
I shouldn't be doing this; I am forbidden to.
And in the next instant, I would remember his last words to me, and the world would lose all color and light. The Skyblade I knew was nothing more than a child's dream. He was the Guardian, and nothing, least of all a silly little mortal, could ever come between him and the Diwata he protected. The gods themselves had decreed this, and the punishment was terrible for anyone who dared disobey their commandments. Skyblade was hers.
If my life were mine to give, I would give it to you, but I've already broken too many rules when I gave you my heart.
Or was he? He had given me his true name. Little was known about dragons, but I did know that dragons as a race invested a lot of power in names. Anyone who knew a dragon's true name could summon that dragon and compel it to obey her will. Since it effectively gave one complete dominion over a dragon, the creatures were understandably averse to revealing their true names, and were known to destroy themselves along with whoever foolishly sought to enslave them rather than grant anyone, either mortal or elemental, that much power over them. Surely Skyblade must have known that, when he gave me his true name, he had virtually given me equal claim to him as the Diwata herself. The very idea that someone as inconsequential as I could summon the Guardian felt utterly wrong. It terrified me.
Summon me, Amihan, and I will come to you, though all the stars stand in my way.
The knowledge tormented me. It burned in my gut and gnawed at my thoughts. With a few words, I could end all this. I could save my family and my town. If there was one being who could stand up to the /Diwata/, it was the Guardian himself. And I wouldn't even be doing anything wrong. Skyblade had given me his true name of his own free will, with only the admonition that I use this power wisely. Surely nobody could argue against the wisdom of an act that would save so many lives. Yes, it would be the right thing to do, the smart thing to do. For the first time in my life I had the power to change destiny, and a part of me demanded that I reach out and grab the chance before it was too late.
Every instinct, however, screamed in protest. If I did summon him, I would force Skyblade to become an oath-breaker, and the punishment of heaven would fall upon him. No, I couldn't do it. I couldn't destroy him that way, not even if it meant my survival. But it wasn't just my survival, was it? And thus were my choices. To save the town but at the price of Skyblade's life, or to accept the curse knowing I could have saved everyone but didn't. Either way would kill me, that much I knew.
It didn't occur to me until it was almost too late that somewhere in between two impossible choices, there was always a third choice just waiting to be found.
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