2.2 BOWOWOW BABAYLAN

  Through the thick green foliage and the serpentine vines, Salak, the rotund timawa of Raguet, persevered and guided the thief, Tikum the Black Dog Kadlum. As he led the way, the Raguetanon sang a most unmelodious song with his raspy voice. What made the whole affair worse was that it wasn't about the deeds of long forgotten heroes, nor was it a tale of the gods' romances and the tragedies they wrought, all of which would at least cater to anyone's interest. Alas, Salak was simply uttering nonsense, drumming at his stomach like a frog during the rainy season. Along the way, Tikum grumbled in annoyance, wallowing on his own ire. But as they got deeper into the trees, the timawa from Raguet finally quieted down and unease veiled his pudgy visage.

  "Gi-atay, are we lost?" Tikum said, breaking the silence that comfortably settled between them in their trek. "We've been all over the side of the mountain for hours already." He sighed. "And it seems like we're going in circles."

  "Don't worry, there's no reason to be so pissed off... I mean, we didn't step on any nuno's mound," Salak said in jest. "Those dwarves don't live here anymore. Not with magic getting harder to come by."

  Tikum seethed in anger. "I'm here to do a job. Not hike and admire the view. And fair warning, keep your lousy jokes to yourself."

  "Sure. Sure." Salak raised his hand to silence Tikum as he crouched behind the wall of impenetrable shrub. "Ease up with the whining, don't you see we're here already," he said to Tikum, fatigue and fear clear on his face. "Welcome to Karas and Tihol's domain, Dalak."

  He cleared a small opening in the brush to let his companion see the babaylan's lair. Tikum shook his head, not sure if the timawa intended to delay things just for this well-timed reveal. Was he even that sort? This kind of theatrics was pushing it.

  "Huh, now that's interesting," the Black Dog said as the imposing abode loomed before them, its thick branches jutting up and over the canopy of trees. "A hut built on a giant tree?"

  Salak nodded. It was exactly that. And why would it not be like any old house on stilts? Surely, a powerful figure in Raguet could indulge on her eccentricities. It was not a surprise for Tikum though, but he'd seen more eloquent things.

  "Do they belong to an ati clan?" Tikum was reminded by the indigenous tribesmen when he saw the entirety of structure. Not exactly just a hut on a tree, he thought. Looking at it more closely, there were clear differences between it and the man-made dwellings of the ati people. He cursed. He didn't like this omission of detail by Kalibutdan. This was usually how things go hogwash. Little lies and obfuscations. "That runt of an asog you call your uncle didn't say they were shamans of the Ituman–"

  "Nope. They're not."

  "Then what's the deal with the house? Thing looks like an ati built it but–"

  His companion nodded, cutting him off. "See... strange, right? The villagers still whisper rumors about it. They said, a kafiri fell madly in-love with one of the sisters. Others say, their father was the kafiri itself. That's probably why magic runs easy on their veins, right? It makes more sense that way. But whether it's an heirloom or a dowry from the devatas, no one knows for sure. The common thread with all these gossips is that it, whatever it may be, gifted that dwelling to the sisters."

  Tikum raised a brow. It. A kafiri? He was doubtful there were still living kafiris in this region. They were more scarce than good sense here. Maybe in the unexplored lands to the east of Buglas, where wild tobacco is plentiful for them to smoke and enjoy. Maybe in Madia-as too, where magic is strongest and the devatas still walk with mortals in their leisure...

  But here? He could not imagine a hairy ebony-skinned creature taller than most men freely roaming in Raguet. Oh, he'd surely hear about it. Entities like the kafiri were tricksters by nature too and the fact that they were capable of manipulating magic at will made them all the more dangerous. Not a fight he was willing to take.

  Tikum cussed. First manghihiwits, now kafiris? What next? Dragons? He grimaced as he studied it more closely. "So, they live in a tree house? That don't make them special. I've seen bigger ones built high above hundred year old baletes. In Irong-irong they even have tree houses with cupolas, just like in Ananipay but built with the finest materials. And this should impress me? I think you've chewed to much betel nut. And–"

  Salak turned back to the babaylan's not so humble home. "Look more closer," he said. "It's not just a tree house. It's also magic. I bet you haven't seen something like that one." He smiled as he wiped the sweat off his thick brows. "Fantastic, right? You only hear these things on epic chants. You'd never imagine to see one in a place like this."

  Tikum took his grass cloak off and conceded. It was exactly that. A giant ancient balete, five times its normal size and riddled with thorns the length of a man's arm. Along its towering trunk were three round windows evenly spaced from each other. The Black Dog did a quick scan and was astonished when he saw the base where the door made of roots, woven to resemble a face, greeted the sisters' would-be visitors.

  "So?" Salak said. "Can't say I'm wrong, right?

  "Yeah, there's strange magic in it for sure, but not as strange as their taste."

  Tikum continued to study it and realized that what he first thought of as branches on were actually spikes strewn all over the tower-like abode which would've blended unnoticed with the trees in the forest if not for the lanterns on its dome canopy. Tikum shook his head. He was sure that they weren't man-made. Magic was clearly involved.

  He studied it further and saw that they were scattered all over the mangled branches like divine orbs caught in the net of some mischievous god, pulsing anew with a green eerie glow. It sent chills over the former timawa as he swallowed a curse. The things reminded him of Amburukay's foul magic. But would chaos energy make such a beautiful thing?

  He whispered a curse. The thought of Ukok's mother was too unsettling for him.

  "That's where they keep it!" Salak pointed at the highest window. "There!"

  "You sure about that?"

  "My daughter said so, but everything is barred shut. If you have a ladder or a rope we could probably go by the window..."

  "You don't need any of those. All you need is the want to go in."

  "Well, you know what I really want? To go home and not get caught by an angry babaylan."

  Tikum slowly shook his head.

  Salak drew closer to him. "So, we'll do it now!? Kick the door in... I mean, want ourselves in and take it?"

  "No, don't you feel it in the air?"

  Salak shook his head.

  "How about that faint whirring sound?" Tikum said, shaking his head, after seeing Salak's dumb-founded face. "The place is riddled with traps and trip wires, fool."

  "Don't see anything here and–"

  "Most of it is invisible to the naked eye. And it all needs to be undone before I can proceed."

  "Your just making things up. I don't really feel anything here."

  "There's magic in this place... powerful enough to kill and that's not just hogwash talk. It's in all the wards." He cleared out the dry leaves and there in the rocks and roots were faintly carved symbols.

  "Oh, that's an awog!"

  "Yes. So, don't do anything stupid if you value your miserable life. Just stay and be my look out. And don't touch any of the wards."

  "But..."

  "I'm not gonna repeat myself," Tikum said. "I've been doing this long enough to be doubted by the likes of you and we don't have the time." He raised a finger. "Just don't try anything funny, you'll just get in my way if you do. Or get caught along the way. You still prefer going home in one piece, right?"

  Salak nodded and for a span let Tikum undo the protective measures around the babaylan's abode. The Black Dog knew about the arcane curses and hexes that the buruhisans could do. And he didn't exactly want any of those people hounding him. Conflict with buruhisans in general were to be avoided. And the particular, shaman they were targeting was no slouch in the arcane.

  "Why are you doing this, Salak?" the Black Dog said a little while later.

  Tikum was still wary of him and Asog Kalibutdan and asking people straight on often caught them off guard and unsteady. He also just wanted to chat, to talk to the man, perhaps, calm his nerves down as he worked on one of the most intricate wards he had ever encountered in his time as a thief.

  Salak mulled over his answer– not the reaction Tikum expected from the bumbling timawa. He shook his head and almost smiled. Better to focus on the task at hand, the Black Dog thought. He calmed himself by breathing slowly. Diffusing the arcane ward would not be an easy job as he first thought. Things were a bit more complicated. Someone really took her time in preparing this mess. The awog could be traced on almost all the roots in the perimeter of the babaylan's abode. Every tree old and sturdy enough had it. He clicked his tongue. The shaman responsible for this was no simpleton. She was shrewd and competent.

  "Why'd you ask?" Salak finally said. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Tikum stared at Salak. "You seem like a good person."

  The Black Dog shook his head. Good wasn't the word for Salak. Neither was the word bad fitting. A bad liar yes. But all in all, he seemed like a decent man. More decent than most of the people that Tikum called friend. Probably more decent than Kalibutdan too.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "What do you mean?"

  Tikum sighed. "I mean, you look like you should be at home with your family. Not doing a deed like this."

  Salak raised both hands on his side. "Oh, you may not believe it, but I enjoy stuff like this," he said unconvincingly.

  "Enjoy? So, the asog paying your gambling debts wasn't the only reason you're here? Now, now... that's interesting..."

  "How did you know that?" Salak said, eyes wide, but Tikum did not reply. A long span of silence passed before he spoke again to the Black Dog. "Yeah, you're right. But I only did it for my daughter and wife. Just wanted them to have a better life. You have a family too, right? You know how it goes."

  "Huh. Maybe."

  Salak smiled but there was no joy in his eyes. Instead, a hint of doubt was in there– the kind that was hard to acknowledge. The kind you bury deep inside. Salak sighed. "Thought the dice was the way, but I guess I'm not exactly right on that end... seeing that I'm doing a deed like this with a man like you."

  "And now, you have to pay this price."

  "You've been hanging with my uncle for far too long. You're starting to sound like him. But I'd bet everything I own that we can pull this off. All will be better again, right? I mean he wouldn't have chosen you and me if were just going to fail."

  "Heh, your uncle really know his way around desperate men," Tikum whispered. That's why he was here after all. He was too desperate to save Ukok and impulse got the better of him in a time when thinking things through would've save him from a trouble this deep. He sighed. "You respect the asog too much, Salak, that you forget the he is a decent enough opportunist too."

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing. Go be useful, Salak. Look out for the sisters."

  "Hey, your just changing the topic. You didn't agree with me. Can we really pull this off?"

  "Yeah, maybe..." Tikum said as he fiddled with the ward written in babayin on the intermingling roots on the trees around the babaylan's home.

  "What do you mean maybe?" Salak's eyes bulged and his face grew more sweaty than usual. "You know we both got no other choice here, right? If this fail we're both goners. Uncle Kalibutdan will have none of it. If you know him like I do, then you better do your best."

  "It's the truth," the Black Dog replied, etching a new symbol in between the magical babayin wards. "Nothing's sure in my line of work. Sometimes you don't see things coming. Sometimes you just fail. Other times... you get lucky." He smiled.

  Tikum tested his workmanship, hoping it wouldn't disrupt the magic flowing through the wards. He knew about basic magic defense, he once made his own tapol na tawas to protect himself from a mangkukulam's witch-doll. It was hard to procure the materials for it and Amburukay did the final steps for it to fully work but the amulet made of alum and magic did its best in nullifying most of the cursed simulacrum's many insidious effects. For him, that was a success worth noting. And a single awog ward like this one was just a step higher in the tier of arcane crafts. It and most minor sanctuary spells weren't the hardest things to do. Or, in this case, undo. Yeah, sure, he can't spew out hexes out his finger at will, nor was he a true expert in the esoteric rituals to convene with otherworldly beings, but Tikum was definitely not some idiot when it came to simple magic. Not. At. All. And he was very optimistic in this one. Yes, it would work. A simple alteration will surely circumvent the awog. But to Tikum's surprise the rune-like scripts began glowing once, twice, thrice and faded back to black. He pulled himself back.

  Was this supposed to happen? He slowly shook his head.

  "Did you do it?" Salak said. "Can we go, now?"

  Blood seemed to drain away from the Black Dog's face as he slowly shook his head. "Uh, gi-atay!"

  "What?" Salak said, eyes darting from Tikum and back to the babaylan's abode. "What the hell happened?" He fidgeted in his place, panic settling on his heart. "Gods, I knew you'd ruin our chances the moment I laid my eyes on you."

  Tikum turned to him with cold eyes. "Nice to hear that you have confidence in me."

  "Just undo what you did."

  "Don't worry," Tikum said as he tried to undo his mistake. "I can still fix this." He suddenly cursed loudly.

  "Oh. No... no... no... Is something wrong?" Salak bit his lip.

  "It's an awog chain," Tikum said. "Dammit. And a triple ward at that!" He quickly tried to carve a new set of symbols but stopped mid-way, cursing himself. "There's no use. I can't do a thing about it anymore. This babaylan of yours is as crafty as they come. Definitely not a simpleton."

  "Oh, my... someone's coming out," Salak said, urging Tikum to look out their peep hole.

  A thin-browed woman, taller than Tikum walked out the door of tangled roots wearing only a long rough and worn brown tunic. She paired it with a knee-high tampi to complement her lean frame and short cropped hair. She paused and spat on the dirt, holding a short spear in her hand.

  "Who's that?" Tikum said as the woman raised and stabbed her spear on the ground, wiping the sleepiness on her face away.

  Salak turned to Tikum as he watched the woman scan the shadows where they stood with narrow eyes.

  "That's Tihol," the fat timawa said, turning to face Tikum with an anxious look. "What do we do?"

  Tikum's heart was already jumping around his chest before Salak asked the question.

  "I have a plan," the Black Dog said, calming his own nerves. He exhaled deeply. "Give me your hand." He grabbed Salak by the elbow.

  "This is no time to be holding hands!" the Raguetanon said, pulling away from Tikum. "Do something or..."

  Using his hilt-less dagger, Tikum held on to Salak's palm and slashed a nice wound on it. Salak recoiled and squawked. "What the hell!"

  "Go, meet her half way," Tikum said pushing Salak out towards the open. "Tell her someone attacked you."

  "What? Are you crazy? Of course, someone attacked me! It's you! You mad dog!"

  Tikum pushed Salak's bulk through the thick wall of greenery, careful enough not to reveal himself to Tihol.

  "Just go," the Black Dog said. "I'll circle back while you distract them. We're not going home empty-handed here. Well, I'm sure I'm not."

  Salak grudgingly nodded as he finally understood.

  "Gods... It's in a small carven box," he said. "You'll know when you find it. She keeps it inside her room. What we need is inside," he added before coming out of the shadowed vegetation."Gods, I pray this plan of yours work, thief."

  The Black Dog smiled. "Wanna bet on it?" he whispered as he disappeared in the shadows.

  After fighting his way through the branches and the weeds, Salak cradled his injured hands out in the open.

  "Help... Help!" he said doing his best to look as pitiful as possible. Which wasn't that hard to do for him. "Help! Someone... anyone!" He stopped mid-way as Tihol set her eyes on him.

  "Don't come any closer, stranger," she said, spear poised and ready to be unleashed.

  Salak froze like a taglugar stone idol in his place, rivulets of sweat forming in his face. He swallowed the clump on his throat and whispered short prayers to all of Vijayas' gods.

  "I'm–"

  "I know you!" Tihol said, her grip tightening on the short spear in her hands. "And I said don't come any closer, shit-stain."

  ***

  Tikum skulked and circled around the babaylan's house, far from Tihol's eyes, employing the darkness around the dwelling as cover. Things like this went so natural for him. The years of working on countless espionage mission for Sri Kihod really did Tikum good, especially now that he was back to thieving, which was one of the few ways he earned his living. He halted when he finally found what he was looking for.

  "Just the right height," he whispered before sprinting and leaping to a branch. He settled on a thick tree limb parallel to the highest window of the 'tree house'.

  "Oh, the things we do for love," he said, as he grabbed a hold of a narrow bough to swing his lean bulk towards the window. He took a deep breath before letting go. "Here goes nothing."

  Using his raw strength, he propelled himself through the opening, barely clearing it. He landed and rolled like a fanged feline on the wooden floor, stopping his momentum with his hands.

  "Now, that was easy," he said as he waited to see if someone heard his noiseless entry. But nothing or no one came out of the door opposite him. "Too easy. I wonder what ill-fortune awaits me after this kind of luck," he whispered, lips parting to reveal a splinter of a smile.

  He raised his nose and gave the air inside the dim room a sniff. The faint smell of incense and the lingering odor of Laga ingredients almost made him sneeze. He stood and began to wander about the room, shaking his head. The place was surprisingly spacious for a hallowed out tree.

  Tikum even wagered that it was roomier than a typical nipa hut. Or even compared to a datu's bungalow. He took his hilt-less dagger off its sheath as he cat-footed around the room, avoiding the short box table at the center of it and studying the shelves full of curiosa lining the walls. Mortars, vials, Chi'n-made porcelain dishes, gayumas on bamboo bottles, a dried up bat wing, a caraballa horn with Bo-olanon carving, a clay pot full of lana, and dried herbs neatly filled each shelf. All valuable, of course, but not highly prized by the asog. Not the thing Tikum was looking for.

  "Now, where is it?" he finally said after checking every nook and cranny of the damned place for the third time.

  He clicked his tongue. The thing must be here but where? Where would a shaman hide her prized possession? A little bit of doubt crept through his heart. Maybe the asog and Salak were wrong. Tikum kept looking but there was nothing there except the well-kept apothecary of the town's babaylan. He shook his weary head as he slouched down with his back against the wall, all hope of saving Ukok abandoning him.

  "Gi-atay," he said in frustration as he kicked the box table at the center of the room but the thing didn't even budged.

  "Oh, that's interesting," he added as he realized something odd about the table.

  It was secured to the floor with chains- thick and durable. He studied it more closely, looking at the bas-relief on its side, a depiction of a horde of white salt water crocodiles in a rampage through a small town just like Raguet. He smiled. It was odd to see a carving like it. Odd to see an intricate Irong-Irong made furnishing so far south. He ran his finger all over the raised carvings and heard a click.

  Tikum's eyes widened. "There you go!"

  Then he smiled widened as a series of clicks followed the first one. "What in Devata Kaptan's balls are you doing now?" he said, backing away as the side of the decorative box finally collapsed to reveal a secret compartment. Tikum whispered a prayer of gratitude to his gods as he took the small carven chest inside it. With nervous fingers he undid its latch and pried it open.

  The things in it were no mere pebble endowed with the essence of the anitos. Nor were they the black nails of a boa. The asog said it was better. Even stronger than a cat's liver or a dancing mutea on a banana flower. He said it was the best anting-ating and agimat to have ever existed. Which can only be one thing in Tikum's mind...

  He raised the two necklaces from the carven chest, looking at them with wider eyes. Both were braided intricately from what looks to be like fine fiber– one was golden and the other black. A smile formed at the edge of his lips.

  "Ha, I guess the legends are true." Tikum shook his head in disbelief.

  He'd heard of how valuable these were since items like these were so hard to get a hold of in Buglas ever since magic began to slowly wane. Yes, magic was waning. He heard his former master preach of its ruin. Even other shamans spoke and hinted of its disappearance. Whatever phenomena happened years and years ago in Madia-as, it drained the magic in these lands. With it, the magical creatures began to dwindle in numbers too. He guessed it was simply a cycle of sorts. Once, magic ripened and flourished but then like a fruit it simply fell off from its branch and slowly rotted in the wayside, decaying until it would cease to exist.

  He sighed in relief. That time seemed far off and those sentiments seemed nothing but rumors. Whatever the case, this was a good find. The best loot he has ever had the honor to borrow in years. Things of this kind could store large amounts of magic as long as the tikbalang's quintessence remained at its core. Much like the blades where the souls of devatas where attached to, these artifacts could regenerate and replenish magic.

  "An actual pair of braided tikbalang's mane!" He smiled as luck finally went his way. "And by the devatas, they looked genuine too!"

  "Yes, they are," answered someone. But before he could find the source, Tikum already realized that it was no other than the babaylan that Salak spoke of, the woman named Karas.

  Tikum eyed her as she swayed in place for a second, her lithe body framing the rectangle of blackness that led to the lower levels of her lair. Then she took half a step and paused, unstoppering the bamboo jug on her hand and guzzling the tuba wine inside it like it was water in the middle of a summer drought.

  "Now that's a drink," she said, wiping the last drops of the intoxicating palm drink on her lips. "You know a good tuba has just the right amount of sweetness in it and the tangy aftertaste just seals it for me. Best one this year so far," she said, eyeing Tikum and pointing a finger at him. "And yeah, you're not takin' those anywhere," she added, dropping the jug of liquor down the floor.

  Before it landed, she gave it a good kick, driving it towards Tikum's head. Karas then took a step and whipped out a pair of karambit daggers from behind her. The razor-hooked blades glinted green in the dimly-lit room.