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#Mitolohiya Books #Young Adult
Chapter 1: When the Tikbalangs Got Married
THAT MORNING, THE weather seemed to be in its most mischievous mood.
All day, the surroundings were wrapped in oppressive heat and humidity—heat that burned the skin. Yet in the middle of it, without warning, a sudden and astonishing downpour burst from the sky. And so, caught in between, people looked like drenched chicks—scorched by heat one moment, chilled by rain the next.
A young girl walking quietly along the road muttered a curse under her breath.
She was Sapira, the princess of the Castle of Montala.
She was kidding, of course.Â
In truth, she was the great slave of a great princess who was a daughter of a great Datu. And that very princess was the reason she was now utterly exhausted and at the mercy of this shameless weather.
Sapira wore a short and mud-colored baro’t saya, woven from sturdy plant fibers. She was wearing bakya, a wooden and sturdy sandal, on her feet. Her long and wavy hair was braided neatly.
Because of the sudden rain, she was forced to look for shelter.
She stood along a road lined with trees, still far from her destination—the Kingdom of Montala. Shelters were scarce, and only a few people passed by.
“Damn,” she muttered. “What’s gotten into the weather?”
The weather was unruly—caught in a tug-of-war between the sharp blaze of the sun and the stubborn rush of rain. Neither willing to give way, both equally headstrong. Peculiar. Odd.
“Ku, tikbalangs are getting married,” said an old woman beside her. “Shameless creatures!”
The woman wore a brightly colored baro’t saya, adorned with clinking gold and silver around her arms and neck. Sapira couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
“Mahal, tikbalangs aren’t real,” the man beside her corrected, clearly embarrassed. He glanced around casually to make sure no one had heard.
Of course. A creature that was half-man, half-beast was nothing but fiction—an absurd fantasy, Sapira thought. Just legends. Only fools believed in such things.
“Hmph! Isn’t that what the elders always say when the weather is like this?” the woman snapped, fanning herself irritably. “What have you been doing? Why haven’t you found me shelter yet?!”
Sapira winced. What a demanding woman.Â
At that moment, Sapira’s eyes drifted toward a tree in the distance. It was enormous, with thick, sprawling branches. A few rabbits huddled at its base for cover. Its leaves shimmered in the rain.
A wide smile spread across her face. She quickly made her way toward the tree, hoping to take shelter beneath it.
But it seemed she wasn’t the only one.
The three of them nearly collided as they reached the tree at the same time.
“Hoy!” the woman snapped, recovering first from the momentary shock. She looked Sapira up and down. “We were here first. Leave!” she said, pushing her aside.
“What do you mean you were first?” Sapira protested. “I got here first!”
The woman raised an eyebrow and pointed to the mark emblazoned on her chest—as if it granted her greater right and authority.
Two dots enclosed within a curved figure ⤰ formed the tattoo.
When Sapira turned thirteen, that mark had been carved into her chest with a sharp blade dipped in alugbati sap and mixed with calamansi.
It was the symbol of her slavery.
And this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to her.
IT ALL BEGAN several centuries ago.
In ancient times, the islands of the Kingdom of Montala were shrouded in mystery and wonder. Back then, it was the home of the myths, the playground of the diwatas, and the airfields of the human hawks. There was melody in the rustling of the leaves and rhythm in the dances of the animals.
But it all changed when the interlopers from the West came. Aboard their balangay boats, the invaders came and gradually swept away the veil of mystery and magic. From then on, order prevailed. A social system was established to preserve that order. People were divided into classes: maharlika, the blue-blooded elites, malaya, the rich free men, timawa, the hardworking free men, and alipin, the slaves.Â
Sapira was an alipin.
Sapira sneered. She had enough of this kind of life.Â
The woman adorned with glittering ornaments raised her eyebrow again—as if to say Sapira had no right to refuse.
Sapira’s temper flared.
“Shove it down your throat, then!” she snapped, turning on her heel.
It was a grave mistake.
The couple’s jaws dropped at her outburst. At the same time, their eyes blazed with fury.
“Insolent!”
“Rude!”
“Disrespectful!”
Sapira’s eyes widened. When she turned to her right, she was met by a mass of people, their noses flaring in anger. To her left, more people stood glaring at her with piercing eyes. All at once, they charged toward her.
All at once. All at once—
Sapira shut her eyes tight, her heart pounding in terror. Is this the end for me?
“MISS,” the man called out. “Are you alright?”
Sapira’s eyes flew open. She looked to her left and right.
There was no one there.
She glanced around, searching for the angry crowd—but only the three of them remained. And the woman still looked irritated.
Sapira shook her head. Sometimes, she castigated herself, I’m way too melodramatic.
“Miss?”
She looked at the man. For a fleeting moment, a sharp glint of anger crossed her eyes. But it was only momentarily. Sapira blinked, then bowed in respect. Stepping back, she yielded the shelter of the tree to the couple, just as was expected of her.
Without looking back, she stepped once more into the strange, unsettled weather. She glanced up at the sky. It remained as peculiar as ever.
Perhaps, like the weather, there was something unusual about what had just happened.
Perhaps.