A slave's fantasy

Right near the river bend, Humaling heard the wails of suffering. It was a muffled scream. Screams.

Slaves being punished, he thought. Slaves just like him.

But Humaling was a free man. He paid freedom with blood. But his freedom had not taken him that far yet. Not with his limp, no. His previous masters had taken to breaking his right leg to restrict his whereabouts. But that did not thwart his escape.

Afterall, he was first a warrior before a slave. His home was burned down, so he burned some of their huts too along with them before he took off.

But that vengeful spirit cowered in the face of this challenge. I cannot save them. They must save themselves. In fear of turning back into a slave beneath a new master, he crouched under the cover of the shrubs, planning to wait out this adversary.

The soothing sound of rustling water lulled him to a daydream of his past. The day when his wife was still with him, and when they were chock-full with rice and meat they could die. But his reverie was broken by a scream that sounded like it was the last they'd make whoever they were.

The water flowed by and the sun floated past above him. Soon, the screams dwindled until not a sound was left. Yet, he stayed there still as a stone for a moment more, unsure if the scumbags had packed up and left. If this was near a settlement, he ought to make a detour. If they saw him and made chase, Humaling had no hope of outrunning them. It was customary to offer gifts to unfamiliar territories in order to pass safely but a former slave would have nothing to him but his clothes. He managed to grab a rusted spear but what can it do against a bow and arrow? 

I must live. For them, I must live.

He stood up, cramped and pained. Every time he put weight on that leg, it throbbed. He dragged himself to a nearby tree and pissed the piss he was holding since the height of noon. He should retrace his steps and look for a discreet passage. He had been following the river for sustenance but now that seemed imprudent.

Instead he found himself standing in the scene of massacre. A humongous balete stood there, its aerial roots cascading like tears onto the ground where the bodies lay, as if lamenting their suffering. 

Humaling counted four bodies, not a single finger left. Some masters made them into necklaces for display. Two bodies were missing their ears. Two men had blood pooling in their groin. The bastards took more than their fingers it seemed.

A sudden gasp startled him, fearing the murderers had come back. One of the bodies jolted, barely alive. She spotted him and begged in a hoarse voice, "End...please endd...my suff-ffering."

Not for the first time today, Humaling did not know what to do. The woman reached out to him with a severed hand, blood dripping to the soil. One of her eyes were shut, crying red tears.

Please give me the strength, and please give these poor souls the peace they deserve, he prayed to his ancestors. He took his old spear and drove it into the dying woman's heart. Or at least tried. The blunt edge could not pierce through skin and bone and his trembling arms did not help. 

"Ugh," the woman coughed blood, near death's door but not past it.

Humaling lifted the spear and positioned it over her throat, where it was softer. With one silent thrust, Humaling was once again alone. "Why? Bathala*, oh why?" He asked his god, absently staring at the serpentine roots of the balete in front of him.

Squeak. A furry black animal crept out from within the shadow of the intertwined trunks of the balete tree. Kikik, it sounded. An alamid*. They were not usually active during the day but this civet leapt towards him, sniffing the bodies around Humaling. Then it craned its neck up to him, curious.

"Go back to your home. This is not a pretty sight for such a sweet creature," he shooed it away.

Wiping the blood off the metal point of his spear, Humaling heaved a deep sigh and started with his labor.

There was no benefit in staying here, he convinced himself. If the perpetrators came back, he would meet the same fate as these unfortunate souls.

Yet he proceeded to drag their bodies to the shade of the trees, placed their hands over their chests, closed the lids over their eyes, washed their faces with water from the river and covered their bodies with sand. He would have dug a hole for them if he could but then nightfall would find him first before he could find shelter.

Meanwhile the civet followed at his heels, squeaking. As Humaling laid dirt over the dead, the alamid kicked the soil towards the mound as if to help him. They were smart animals.

Creatures might still come and dig them up. So he put stones over them too. 

At the end of it all, the stench of blood lingered. It would attract beings that he should not lay eyes to. If he would not leave immediately, he would die.

The alamid nuzzled at his shin. He scooped it up tenderly, careful not to antagonize it. Although a peaceful creature, it still had teeth and claws. The alamid let itself be lifted without a struggle. He laid it gently back to the weeping fig where it crawled from, giving it a pat on its furry head.

"Go ahead, I'll be on my way too."

Kikik, it called. It came bouncing after him as he walked away, eager to be by his side.

Are they really this playful and tame? It was not Humaling's first time to see an alamid unwary of a human, but this was the first one to be this pining for attention.

"Well you must pity me for being alone. Are you lonely too?" Kikik, it replied, sniffing his feet. He didn't mind it following him. At least he would have some company.

The horizon put on a bloody red hue as night approached. After a long while of walking, he still could not find a suitable place to sleep in. He thought of climbing a tree just to steer clear of the prowlers that stalked the undergrowth. He came upon a huge pili tree that must be a hundred seasons old by the size of its trunk. It would take two of him just to embrace it. He made notches on the tree for purchase with the smaller knife he carried.

The little alamid had no trouble climbing up. Humaling followed after it with a pained leg and chose a low hanging branch to perch on. He stirred the foliage for snakes and shook the nearby branch for critters. Once safe, he tied himself to the branch with a vine, lest he fall while sleeping.

Sleep did not come easy. The alamid kept leaping from branch to branch, twig to twig chasing after insects to munch. Humaling was reminded of his hunger but that was a problem for tomorrow. He was already exhausted.

He looked to the east where he was headed. From this vantage point, the tip of a cone volcano loomed into view, smoke puffing out of it in one long plume. If Bathala would be kind to him, he would find a nice uninhabited land to live in somewhere past that mountain. Or he could find an empty island to make his home. He'd name it after himself. Of course, these were mere wishful fantasies of a vagrant. But they were all he had to look forward to.

When at last slumber took him, Humaling dreamed of a rain of ash, of the silhouette of a colossal being that towered over trees and hills. Then it looked at him. Tusks that could pick Mayari* out of the night sky. Yellow eyes that burned with rage. Teeth that could snap an acacia tree in one bite.

Kikik! Humaling bolted awake, forgetting he was tied to the branch. The sudden jerk pressed the sharper edges of the vine against his arm and bruised it. He was beading with cold sweat.

The alamid regarded him tenderly, nuzzling his cheek. It had not abandoned him. In the chilly mist that shrouded the daybreak, the touch of his furry companion kept him cozy.

For the first time in a long while, he did not feel lonely.

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Footnotes

Bathala - supreme god of Tagalogs' ancient religion

alamid - Asian palm civet

Mayari - deity of the moon