Anne Carly Abad
Darkness surrounded him like a thick, oily substance. He forced himself to breathe, but the sound of every intake was a storm in his ears. His heart pounded against his chest, threatening to burst out and run away.
“Please let me go. Let me go.” His plea hovered in the blackness all about, becoming a part of it as well.
Something shifted. Darkness churned and eddied to the left and the right, accreting into shapeless objects. When the shadows gathered into orbs that absorbed the sparse light, he caught glimpses of the forest, where he had been playing before the feral spirits, the Talunanon, abducted and trapped him behind this black miasma.
“Trespasser . . .” The tree phantom’s harsh voice grated against his ears.
He retched at its fetid breath.
“Who are you?” the phantom asked.
Its face materialized in one of the black orbs. First, the glassy eyes, large and bird-like. Then, two ears sprouted, thin patches of veined skin reminiscent of bats’ wings. The being had a pointed nose and a grinning mouth that revealed stalactite-sharp teeth.
“S-Soliran,” he replied. “That is what I am called. Please let me go. I didn’t mean to wander.”
Another face materialized in the left-hand orb, no different from the first. “There is no forgiveness.” When it spoke, its foul odour intensified. Soliran held his breath.
A third face appeared. “Only blood can appease us, your blood spilt! Vengeance for our brothers whom your father has killed!”
A host of phantom faces crowded around him. “Blood! Blood! Blood!” They screamed in soul-rending fury. What had he done to anger them like this?
One of the tree phantoms opened its fanged mouth. Soliran closed his eyes and threw forward his hands to drive it away. But then moments passed. Nothing happened.
He blinked. The gleaming tip of a karis was sticking out of the Talunanon’s gaping mouth. The darkness that surrounded him began to lift. Two strong hands broke through the black miasma and fastened on Soliran’s shoulders. As the stench of the Talunanon dissipated, the hands pulled him out and wrapped him in a warm embrace.
“I thank Bathala!” The sonorous voice of his father, Datu Samakwel, echoed in the forest.
Still dazed, Soliran caught Samakwel’s familiar balmy scent, the scent of summertime rains cooling parched earth. His heart was still pounding hard despite his father’s hold. His feet dangled above the muddy ground since his father was taller. Samakwel put him down. Soliran’s legs were still trembling.
Soliran spotted the padi, the high priest of their barangay, who was a middle-aged woman named Owada. Her coiled hair was oiled and fastened with an ivory comb. Her gaze had that trance-like vacancy that always left him uneasy.
Soliran turned to face an ancient bubug tree. Its bloated trunk resembled a cluster of human bodies. Within a shadowed hollow, a karis was planted deep into the wood. It must have been the same tree he had intruded while he and his friends were playing hide-and-seek.
“Padi Owada led me to you,” said Samakwel, smiling. “I was so afraid. I thought we were too late and the Talunanon had taken you away. See, the sun is almost at its resting place.”
His father’s long, black hair was tangled up like a poorly-woven basket. Though he was all smiles, Soliran knew he had caused his father much worry. The datu plucked his blade from the bubug tree. “Do not do this ever again, my son. Heed the elders’ words, for your carelessness has nearly cost you your life. Never forget what happened this day.”
Soliran nodded, knowing fully well he would never forget, not even when the time came to inherit the datu’s burden.
The little ones of Barangay Mangangasu raced to see what their hero had brought back from the hunt. They called him by the many names they had given him over the years.
Soliran the Great Hunter.
Soliran the Brave Warrior.
Soliran the Demon’s Bane.
The last stuck the most, a magical brand on Soliran’s soul. Even before he was old enough to whittle bamboo tubes into a blowgun, there were enough legends about him to last an entire night of storytelling. He was the man who could fearlessly roam the jungles and send the feral spirits away with a single glance. They all believed he had taken after his father. Though he had two older brothers, the villagers talked as if the matter of succession was already written in the stars.
Sighing, Soliran heaved the deer’s still-warm carcass off his back and dropped it on the ground with a thud. Your reputation precedes you. Rumours had a way of building or destroying one’s character like that. He was a young man now, his muscles strong and hard from hunting and raiding, his hair grown long like all the highland warriors. He oiled and combed it to look neat under his red putong, which was now drenched with sweat.
The afternoon sun blazed above, white against the azure sky. The air shimmered. Slaves arrived and carried away his quarry. The hunting dogs he had brought with him rushed back to the village, barking as they went. Perhaps they expected a good meal tonight, Soliran mused. A small brown dog with fine, matted fur sniffed at Soliran’s sunburned leg. He gave it a light pat for a job well done before shooing it away.
“Brother, Brother! What else did you catch?” The girls and boys crowded around him with smiles so big he could see right through the spaces between their missing teeth.
From his buri pouch, he brought out a long bundle of pipit, tiny birds he had felled with his slingshot. Flecks of crimson crusted the creatures’ ragged feathers.
“So many . . .” the little ones trailed off in awe. Soliran handed the bundle to the thinnest of the children, the one who could hardly keep his loincloth from slipping off. The boy’s large eyes ogled as he took the lot.
“One day you will be hunting for the village, but you will have to grow strong and big first. Bring those to your mama so that she can prepare a satisfying meal,” instructed Soliran. When the thin boy had taken the birds, Soliran plodded back to his hut as the other children continued to watch him with twinkling eyes.
How he wished he deserved their admiration.
Tomorrow was the full moon of Himabuyan—the fifth month, when the worms wriggled out of the fields. Tomorrow, the Hunting Rite would be held, and he and his older brothers, Soli-an and Gurun, would go into the forest alone at night in pursuit of a special type of Talunanon, the one called the Taung Asu. All the former datus of Barangay Mangangasu had gone through the rite. The outcome of the ordeal would cast in stone the name of the next datu. The rule was simple: only the strongest would succeed. This would be determined by speed: one must be the first to bring back a Taung Asu, dead or alive.
Head cast to the ground, Soliran climbed the steps of their all-too familiar hut. He was going to fail the test. He was going to disappoint everyone. He was sure of it.
His thoughts dipped into the darkness, where the terrible faces of the Talunanon that had spirited him away, resided. Their bird eyes clawed at his soul and shattered every morsel of courage he had that day many years ago.
“Why the long face?” asked his mother. She knelt beside the ailing Samakwel.
It pained Soliran to look at his father. The patches of grey hair on Samakwel’s head were reminiscent of withered grass. Even the scent of summer on his body had left. Death hung over his father, a storm cloud waiting to fall.
“It is almost that day, Mother,” said Soliran.
Her lackluster eyes betrayed her sadness. “You are skilled and brave, my son. Why do you worry?”
She must have thought he meant the Hunting Rite when in fact he had meant his father’s health. Soliran shook his head. “I am only brave when the other warriors are by my side when we hunt. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even set foot in the woods.” He sat beside his mother, avoiding her gaze. “I fear them, Mother. They have cursed me. I cannot stop seeing the phantoms’ faces in my head.”
Samakwel’s hands flailed. “I hear my son’s voice. Bring him here.”
Soliran held his father’s pallid hands, the same hands that had pulled him out of the accursed bubug tree. The man’s unseeing eyes were covered with a milky membrane. The seams on his face deepened as he strained to find Soliran.
Soliran’s chest tightened. Three days ago, a venomous snake had bitten Samakwel while he was fetching water from a tuburan. The elders had always warned them to avoid the natural wells, for these were where the feral spirits drank. When they brought the datu home, Padi Owada announced she had no remedy for the snake’s venom. Samakwel was fated to die in five days.
Yesterday, the datu awoke screaming. He had become blind.
“Do not be afraid, Soliran,” rasped Samakwel. “All that has happened is meant for tomorrow. Trust in the spirits and your strength. Look, they have even decreed that I must pass on the day of the rite.”
“Do not speak like that!”
Samakwel broke out in a resigned laughter. “I will speak as I wish.” The man’s eyes moved about, searching for his son in vain. “I know your fears, Soliran. We are the same. But you need not worry. When your knees buckle, the villagers will hold you up.”
No, you are different, Father, Soliran wanted to say. But why tell a dying man what he didn’t want to hear? Samakwel was a great man and whatever he said, Soliran could never imagine him showing fear or weakness. He wished the old man would just see him for what he was.
“Father, you must rest for tonight. There is a banquet in preparation for the Hunting Rite. We caught deer and wild boars. You will surely enjoy yourself.”
A smile lit up Samakwel’s face as Soliran let go of his hands. “I, too, will rest now.” The bamboo floor thumped as he made his way up the stairs to the papag.
The thudding of his feet reverberated in his ears. He felt as if he were moving not to the attic but toward a void of great fear.
Knee-deep, the rushing white water bathed Adlao’s smooth, grey-cast legs. It was an ancient river, even older than the phantoms of the trees. It had a name, but he didn’t bother to remember it now. The river washed away the remnants of earth between his toes, but some dirt still caught in the spaces between his nails. As the scarlet sun dipped into the cloud-strewn horizon, the temperature dropped considerably, though he didn’t mind the chill despite his nakedness.
He had been running the length of the river all day just to get his head cleared up. Tonight was the fifth full moon, the Month of Change. In a few hours, he had another chance to become a true Taung Asu.
He splashed water on his face. He had to get it right this time. Last year, he failed to Turn. And this year, he was already over-aged.
“Adlao,” said a voice.
He looked over his shoulder and spotted Bulan, his younger sister. She emerged from the shadowed boughs of the woods.
“Bulan, what are you doing here?”
“I sensed your presence.” She grinned, revealing perfect fangs. Her yellow eyes glinted with mischief. Adlao could feel the excitement that wrapped her bare form like a misty veil. “We are going to Turn tonight.”
“Yes — I hope so.”
“No, you will. If you do not hurry up, I might leave you behind, Brother.” Her small voice taunted him.
Adlao snorted. Yet she was right, of course. As long as he remained in this form, he was nothing but a babe. Or more of a failure. The true Taung Asu, those who had Turned, had a different status in the scheme of things, no longer bound to their places of origin and free to explore everything under the moon as they pleased.
“If I do not Turn tonight, then I presume I was never meant to become a Taung Asu.” He waded out of the ancient river and came up to Bulan so that they stood face to face. He whined, “I will be but a mere tree phantom and waste away haunting trunks.”
“Brother!” Bulan’s thick eyebrows met. He had never seen her so angry.
“I was teasing. Of course I will Turn, you moon-mocker! How dare you speak to your elder brother like that?” He pretended to fume and chased after her as she darted back into the trees.
When they arrived at the edge of the forest, Soliran and his brother Soli-an found Padi Owada. She had already prepared the offertory fire for the Hunting Rite. She handed them two chicken eggs each, their offerings to Bathala. Looking about, Soliran couldn’t see Gurun and, for a moment, he thought the other brother had backed down from the challenge. But Padi Owada told them that Gurun had gone into the jungle long before they came. Soliran looked down and shook his head. Gurun had gone in too soon. Smoke from the offering could only do so much to lead them. One had to wait until the sun was no longer in sight. Unlike the tree phantoms that moved during the day, night was when the Taung Asu would come out of hiding to Turn.
Soliran glanced up. The glow of the crackling blaze made Soli-an’s face look twisted and grotesque.
Soli-an scowled. “I am the first-born, Soliran.” His voice was laced with bitterness. “It is only right that I am the next chief.”
Soliran held on to his brother’s gaze with a steadiness he didn’t expect. “Let the ordeal be the judge of that.”
Soli-an’s nostrils flared. He dumped his offerings into the fire and it sizzled. It was as if the heat radiated Soli-an’s hatred toward him. Greyish smoke rose from the flames and drifted in the wind to a northeasterly course. Before storming away in the direction of the smoke, Soli-an adjusted his vest and spat on the ground.
Soliran, holding his chicken eggs, stared after his brother.
“It is time, Soliran,” coaxed Padi Owada in her rough voice.
“Ah, y-yes.” He breathed deeply. Gathering his resolve, he dropped his offerings into the flames. The greyish smoke rose again and drifted to the same direction Soli-an went.
Soliran braced himself. He checked the contents of his buri pouch, the carrier for his blowgun, and the karis tied to his waist. Everything was set.
He entered the forest. A solid wall of darkness stood before him, suffocating. It was like that day, when the tree phantoms trapped him in their netherworld. The moon was full, yet its light scarcely penetrated the forest canopy.
A rustling movement startled him. He leapt with a gasp and pulled out his blade. A rat skittered out. Soliran let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. He reclaimed his bearings while he could still detect traces of the guiding smoke.
Soon, he was so deep in the woods that the moon was utterly blotted out. Fire ants of fear crawled up his spine as the darkness deepened, so much so, that he could have swam in it. He groped for vines and trunks that would support him in his quest. There was no sound save for the intermittent chirping of cicadas, the occasional caws of unseen birds, and his own ragged breathing.
He half-expected a Talunanon to jump at him at any moment. What if he trespassed into a feral spirit’s territory again? Samakwel and Padi Owada wouldn’t be there to save him this time. He couldn’t do this. Why had he even tried?
Fighting back his fear, he called on the memory of the little ones of Barangay Mangangasu, the way they smiled and looked up to him. Even his father, the great Samakwel who was ailing on his pallet, had called out no other name but Soliran, Soliran.
He straightened his back. He couldn’t fail this test. He mustn’t.
Soliran lay flat against an aged tree whose bark peeled upon touch. The handle of his karis bit his hand like cold river water.
A howl cut through the sound of crickets, shushing them.
Soliran jerked. He couldn’t have mistaken the sound for anything else but that of the Taung Asu. Judging from its loudness, he was not far away from them.
More cries rose from the thickets. An entire pack at bay. He was about to run when he heard Soli-an’s scream.
Soliran hastened. The scream came from the direction of the Taung Asu’s howls. With his karis, he cleared away tree branches. He skipped over roots, bushes, and rocks. His concern for Soli-an eclipsed any fear of spirits. He listened to the pounding of innumerable footfalls, the sound of flight. Why were they fleeing? Was he too late? The dome of foliage overhead thinned, and the shadows softened. He neared a light source that must have been a clearing. Instinctively, he knew that his brother, and perhaps the Taung Asu, would be there.
He stopped short at a glade, ducking behind a dense hedge plant with horned leaves. Deep tracks marked the earth. Soli-an must have engaged an entire pack of Talunanon. A Taung Asu, perhaps seven feet tall if it could stand on its hind legs, encircled Soli-an who was crawling on the ground. The beast was alone. The rest of its pack must have already escaped.
Soli-an was bleeding profusely from a bite on his leg. He was also unarmed. Soliran had to act fast.
Without a sound, Soliran sheathed his short sword. He took his blowgun out of its carrier. He attached the two bamboo tubes in place while fumbling in his buri pouch for one of his poisoned darts. He pulled a dart by the fluff of fiber at its rear end, preening before loading it in. Using the hedge plant for support, he aimed.
Stalactite teeth bared, the Taung Asu charged at his brother. Soliran almost screamed had his brother not found a branch with which to strike the Taung Asu’s face. The monster drew back.
The blowgun’s mouthpiece was shaking against Soliran’s dry lips. His hands felt like wilted leaves. The Taung Asu was indeed a monster, worse than anything he had ever seen in his life. Its yellow eyes glowed with the moon’s radiance. Its haunches were ridged with bone and hardened muscle. Its entire body was covered in bristly, black hair. There was no way a mere dart could penetrate its thick hide.
But then he noticed something. On the Taung Asu’s right foreleg was an ash-grey patch, more flesh than hide. It seemed that this Talunanon had not yet fully Turned. But at this distance, he could not be sure.
He bit his tongue. There was no time to hesitate.
Soliran dragged in air, steadied his aim, and blew the dart off with a puff. The Talunanon propped its ears, but it reacted too late. The fluffed end of the dart stuck out of its softer foreleg. Soliran had not been mistaken.
The Taung Asu bolted into the woods.
“I-I did it.” Soliran was breathless. He jumped from behind the bushes. His brother spotted him at once.
“That was my quarry, you dirty cheat!”
“But it was going to—“
“Shut up. I never asked for your help, you hear me? I owe you nothing,” Soli-an spat, rising on his good leg. His injured leg continued to leak his lifeblood. There was so much wetness. In the poor light, Soliran couldn’t tell where the wound began and where it ended. Soli-an tied his putong around his thigh as a tourniquet.
“Let’s get you back to the village, Soli-an.”
“I can find my own way back!” His brother muttered all sorts of things under his breath and limped away.
Soliran watched him go. What made him think they could get along just because of what happened? For a moment, he hoped there might be a chance. But perhaps this was the fate of brothers in his village. It could only get worse after their trial.
He turned and scanned the forest. He had successfully hit that Taung Asu, and the poison must have taken effect by now. But he shivered, his thoughts racing with visions of getting ripped apart.
He shook his head. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the villagers’ trust. Perhaps he would never be like his father, but he could at least use this chance to prove that he deserved the title of datu.
Prying his attention away from his limping brother, Soliran knelt to the ground and studied his target’s tracks. It was not easy considering an entire pack had been here, but soon he deciphered them. A set of prints was still warm. He knew where to go.
He took chase. He would make that Talunanon his own. The forest wasn’t good at hiding traces of disturbance, of broken twigs and crushed fungi. Signs were everywhere. Soliran could almost smell the Taung Asu. Wind and vine whipped at his face. Sweat stung his eyes, but he imagined himself as a cat, and his karis and blowgun were his claws. He would not stop until he caught his prey.
Soon he reached a small patch of light where the Taung Asu had collapsed beside a tuburan that was illumined by moonbeams. Soliran threw caution to the wind and approached the spirit. Blade raised to eye-level, he took one step at a time on the cool, moist earth until he was upon his prey. He could hear it breathing, see the rise and fall of its massive flanks.
It began to change. It seemed to deflate, the taut sinews and protruding bones flattening. The rest of its body became smooth, its hide turning into grey-cast flesh free of its bristly hairs. The eeriness of the sight gripped Soliran, but he needed to be brave, needed to suppress this mounting fear lest it devour him again.
Soliran studied the sleeping Talunanon’s face. Though it was like a man’s, it was too bony and gaunt. He lowered his sword. Was this what he was supposed to bring back? It was sick and weak. Even his catch was disappointing.
He shrugged. If this is what the ritual requires, then so be it.
He raised his sword to cut off the Talunanon’s head. The blade sliced the air, going down, down—
“Stop!” shouted a small voice. “Please spare Adlao.”
Soliran jumped back in surprise. The leaves rustled. A naked form slipped out of the shadows. It was somehow feminine in shape, though Soliran couldn’t be sure because it had no breasts. Her skin was grey just like his catch, but smoother, finer, and more radiant, almost like a Diwata’s. Her yellow snake eyes swirled in the dark like two smaller moons.
“Adlao?” asked Soliran.
“He is my older brother.” She pointed at the dormant form. “And I am Bulan.”
“So you are Taung Asu as well. You understand then, that I must bring him back.”
“Must you kill him?”
“It is too dangerous to keep creatures like you alive.” He wondered why he even bothered to explain.
Bulan came closer, and Soliran felt oddly lightheaded the more he held her gaze. “That is wise,” she said. Her teeth were like tiny swords. “Must it be him?”
“What do you mean?” His gut churned. The very presence of these Talunanon made him queasy.
“Take me instead. I do not want Adlao to die.” She didn’t even blink, and that disconcerting air of her nonchalance never lifted.
Soliran was startled by how much these two resembled people. A Talunanon was bargaining with him, willing to give up her life for her brother, something that he himself would have done for his family. He would not lose anything by agreeing with her, but this made him more wary.
He shook his head. “There is no use saving him. Adlao is dying, anyway. I poisoned him with my dart.”
“No, he is asleep, healing. We do not die so easily, Master.”
He craned his neck. “A man like me as your master?”
“We are at your mercy. I am trading my life for his, that makes you my master,” she insisted, taking his hand, the one with the karis, in hers.
“Let go, lest you cast some vile curse on me.”
“I am swearing myself to you.”
“Then, walk five steps away and keep that distance from me.”
Bulan did as she was told. Things were going a lot better than he had expected. “You are not as fearsome as I’d always imagined.”
“Neither are you. You are the son of a great datu, but you seem to have none of his gifts.”
Soliran was taken aback. So the Talunanon did know this. “Maybe so, but I’m the best hunter in my village. Your brother didn’t even sense my approach.”
She blinked with those vile serpent eyes. “That is true. That is quite impressive, but your skills won’t save you against the more powerful spirits. Many do not need bodies like ours. They do not attack your village only because of Samakwel. What would happen when he’s dead?”
Soliran was undaunted. “Are you saying you are among the weak ones?”
Bulan paused, studying him. “If we were weak, we would not have survived until now. We’ve secured a place among the spirits with our own strengths as Taung Asu.”
“Then we are not that different. In our village, strength is all that matters. I may not have my father’s gifts. But I have strength and skill.”
“You seem to have something in mind.” Bulan glared at him.
“I will spare Adlao, and in exchange, you will both serve me as guardians of my village.” He chose his words carefully.
Bulan laughed without mirth. “Adlao and I! What makes you think you can control us both?” she growled.
He pressed the tip of his sword against Adlao’s neck, drawing blood. “What makes you think I will spare this weakling at the price of your life? What value are you to me? I want you both to serve, otherwise, I’ll just take Adlao’s head, and then I will go my way.”
Bulan crouched, hissing like a snake. “The others were right about you people. We offer you a plot of land and you take the entire fields!”
Soliran was no longer afraid. “It is not greed, Bulan. You are the one who acknowledged me master. You know I will kill your brother and you will be alone in this monstrous wilderness. That is why you didn’t attack. Instead, you swore yourself to me. Does your word amount to nothing? If you do not even have the honour to keep your word, then truly, I, the weak man, have bested you and Adlao.”
It may have been a bluff, but it was worth a try.
Bulan’s face twisted. Dark coarse hairs appeared on her skin, and her shoulders swelled with muscle. Her voice deepened into a monstrous rumbling. “You despicable creature. I have sworn myself to you in good faith!”
“Wake your brother. We are returning to the village,” he ordered.
She howled. Crouching, she whispered into Adlao’s ear. He twitched in response. Groggily, he opened his yellow eyes. He sat up and kneeled on one leg before Soliran in a gesture of submission.
With his sword, Soliran carved a line on the inside of his forearm. He rested his bleeding arm on the wound in Adlao’s neck. “We seal our pact,” he said.
“No! How can you do this to us?” Bulan tried to stop him, but it was too late for their blood had already mingled in sanduguan.
Adlao stared at him wide-eyed.
“It is your turn,” Soliran said to Bulan.
“Y-you can’t do this.” Her eyes watered with what might have been tears. “You mean to tie us for the rest of our lives?”
“Only a fool would trust a Talunanon’s word. Your arm,” he demanded.
Bulan hesitated, but she looked to have lost her strength and ferocity. She didn’t stop him when he slit her shoulder. He held her and shared blood, an act that was reserved for comrades. “We are brother and sister now,” Soliran said.
The worms of Himabuyan wriggled under his bare feet. Were they protesting against what he had just done? A blood compact with spirits was unheard of in the land. Through a break in the canopy, the moon was a reproachful eye that bore down on him like a curse. At the back of his mind, Soliran saw an image of Padi Owada’s scowling face, her eyes like dying embers. What were the repercussions of the contract he had forged tonight? He had no idea if he had done the right thing, but there was no looking back. He turned and made his way back to Barangay Mangangasu, Adlao and Bulan trailing behind.
Author’s Notes:
Moon Halves: Terms taken from Maragtas, a false pre-Hispanic history source