2.1 BLACK DOG BARKING: In which the Black Dog steals something yet again- A monster is revealed- And everything ends with someone running and someone chasing

  All were asleep in the small port town of Raguet, except one. The furtive figure walked with his axe beside him, warily turning his head as he listened in for the timawas that roamed the town for their hourly patrol. The stranger from afar had many names. And as usual, he used a different name to gain entry inside the town and to allay suspicion from the townsfolk. This time, it was Dalak, a name his employer (if he could call the asog that) gave him. But for those who really knew the stranger, he went by the name Tikum Kadlum and as always, he was up to no good.

  "Gi-atay, where in the gods' name is he?" Tikum whispered. "Did that dimwit even know where we'll meet?" he added as he hunkered down near a pile of woven baskets a few feet from the edge of the town's dump. He pulled his grass cloak closer as the creeping mist around him grew thicker. They could've set their clandestine meeting outside the boundaries of Raguet and he wouldn't have to be sneaking around, but the asog did not want to rouse anymore suspicion. Or the shaman, Kalibutdan, simply did not want to be easily implicated when Tikum and his contact were ever caught. Smart-ass, the Black Dog whispered. The man he was about to meet was probably easily recognized by the townsfolk too. Starting his mission in the port town would be far safer. It would be a lesser risk to take since few would ever risk slitting someone's throat inside a heavily populated place– if things ever get that far. With many a brigands on a prowl outside of Raguet, the Black Dog agreed. It was better to be caught loitering by the patrolling timawas than be robbed and killed by roaming bandits. Of course, getting caught was not a part of the plan since he was on borrowed time.

  Much like the other port towns in the island of Buglas, Raguet had its familiar ways. Fishermen and merchants who traded with varied foreigners from the far-east populated it and their numbers seemed to grow more as the abundant seas unfailingly provided for them. The tumao class themselves were growing too. It was evident in the houses near the town's hall. Back then, most of them were huts and only a handful of houses used the Boltavarian-inspired designs that the nobles favored. Now, it was all over the place. To a lesser degree, a couple of smithy and artisans who made jewelry from sea shells and the rare Raguetanon pearls seemed to enjoy the same growth in competitors and customers alike.

  Tikum's previous visit here seemed like quite a long time ago with all the progress that the town's been showing. He sighed. It was a far less complicated period of his life too. A time when he was still under his sorcerous master's favor. A time when the manghihiwits grip on power was firm. But that was a long time ago and things simply changed, Tikum consoled himself. Even here in Raguet it was clear.

  Night and day in the port town was also worlds apart. A few hours ago, when the sun was at its zenith, the whole place was alive and vibrant. Singing and chanting spilled over from one drinking place to the other, adding to the cacophony of the supplicants that prayed to the many minor temples that littered the town. Even the gods here had become plenty too. For when noontime came, devotees of other divinities from minor cults that did not originate in Vijayas cropped up like wild mushrooms to show their devotion and perhaps persuade the other townsfolk to join. But Tikum had expertly avoided them earlier, joining the throng towards the market place instead and enjoying a drink or two of arak to numb his anxieties.

  It was the best place to gather information and sift through the juiciest rumors in and around of Raguet. But everything seemed paltry and repetitive since the locals only talked about a few things. One rumor was about a missing binukot, a princess of the noble class of the tumao. If Tikum was asked of his opinion on the matter, the binukot was probably taken by raiding tribes– an often occurrence in this parts. Or worse and more realistic, was that she eloped with a young fool who belonged to a lesser class. The second rumor was far less interesting, it was about some usurping noble who killed his own clan and with of all things... a Living blade. The last one, was about missing merchants who departed a few weeks ago. The details were scarce. The only curious thing about it was that they left all their belongings behind. So, it wasn't roadside brigands. Some drunkards said it might've been the work of an aswang or perhaps the rumored amomonggo from the deep jungle. All the same nonsense, thought Tikum. The same old hogwash that the common folk consumed and regurgitated to each other.

  After losing interest to their tall tales, Tikum spent the whole day in the shadows of one of the nipa kiosks that lined the center of the town in silent contemplation. Maybe a little rest would do him a bit of good. As he waited, he watched the townsfolk milling back and forth. Tikum once thought that Raguet was just one of those drab places in between far interesting locals. But now, even the people that filled its alleyways wore their culture with pride and vibrancy. Multi-colored garments dyed with exotic pigments seemed to blur with each other as the lowliest uripons walked side by side with the timawas and the highly regarded tumaos in their ornate palanquins. The town was starting to become a boiling pot for varied ways of life. If he could borrow a word from Sri Kihod, Tikum would say, that the place was an amalgamation of new and old. A welcomed contradiction.

  It reminded Tikum a bit of the grand city-state of Madia-as, the golden city of the gods and of his hometown, Ananipay– places who were less strict with the class system. Places open for change. Places where a man like him would be welcomed. But as night came, people began to dwindle and the town began to take a dour aspect. Even the carousing drunkards followed suit as their arak-addled minds surrendered to the whispers of sleep. Slowly, the lively Raguet turned into a hallowed out shell as its people prepared to meet the Lord of Dreams in their deep slumber.

  The emptiness did not help Tikum's anxious mood. He preferred the noise. At least, it cancelled out the voice inside his head. He knew that the very voice of doubt and insecurity grew more in silence. He could feel it now, the same voice that told him that he might not be able to save Ukok, worming its way inside his consciousness. As the darkness went on to chase the remains of day's light, Tikum waited, holding on to the last vestige of his patience. He fidgeted, cursing his situation. This was taking too long.

  He let out a deep sigh in frustration. Other people always complicated things for him. It would've been simple without any of them. He bit his lips, trying his best to fight-off his lingering self-doubt. This was starting to smell like ripe hogwash waiting to flood over. He shook his head. Failure was not welcome. Not for Ukok.

  Before his thoughts grew even more darker, his senses were jolted back to the present as a screeching noise echoed from the distance. He cursed, taming his own fright– gladly congratulating himself for not jumping out in terror. The source of the sound, a white bastard of a heron squawked in admonition as it decided to roost on the apex of the nipa hut's roof adjacent to his hidey-hole. It eyed him for awhile before taking flight once more.

  The Black Dog grumbled under his breath. He was supposed to meet Asog Kalibutdan's man in town to guide him in his mission. A mission that would wake his daughter from the deep magical sleep she was in. But the Raguetanon was nowhere to be found. Tikum's heart drummed while knots on his stomach tightened as the seconds passed. What if the asog's man backed out? What if the whore-son did the sensible thing and betray him? He silently cursed himself as the thoughts of back stabbings, black mailings, framings and public hangings passed his mind.

  "That's not gonna happen. Not to you Tikum," he said, concentrating on the present to ease his overworked imagination. He shook his head. It was impossible to get lost in Raguet. Only an idiot would lose his way on the small port town. But what if the man was an idiot? What if his accomplice was simply a dullard brought by fate to finally end his run?

  The identical stilted huts made of thick thatch could possibly disorientate a stranger like Tikum. But it wasn't the case here. The man he was supposed to meet was a Raguetanon, not someone who just arrived mere hours ago like him. "Not lost. But definitely an idiot," he whispered again, entertaining the idea of a bumbling accomplice as a possible reason for his mission's delay. He clicked his tongue. Maybe, he chickened out? Yes, that sounds right. Whatever the case, the whole thing was not yet a total hogwash.

  Tikum shook his head again, wiping his sweaty hands on the black putong that bound his long black mane. He didn't want to return to the asog empty-handed. And the mere thought of the healer's refusal to aid Ukok's condition sent his heart jolting in every direction. He let out a heavy sigh. Things weren't going his way again. Like always. Peering around, he saw the moving torchlight dancing on the nipa roofs from the south end of town. "Now, what?" he said, willing his mind to alertness. He cursed a heartbeat later as he realized that it was the timawas he was trying to avoid. The Black Dog quickly dropped down on all four to let the patrolling warrior serfs pass him by. "Gi-atay," he whispered as the fetid odor of the refuse around him attacked his poor nose. He groaned at his own luck. Things were definitely not going his way as usual. Tikum's heart beat faster and faster in anticipation as the footfalls of the warrior serfs came closer and closer to his position. He had to do something. He shook his head and begrudgingly buried himself in the mound of garbage. "The things I do for love," he whispered again.Not a breath passed when one of the warrior serf spoke.

  "Yeah, the coward did that?" the timawa with the torch said, speaking with a Buglasanon dialect. He turned to the two kampilan-armed warrior serfs behind him, pausing a few yards from where Tikum lay hidden

  "But his claims are just bull. They're more like over-exaggerated rumors from folks with nothing to do, but spread gossip and inflated folk tales," the torchbearer added. "Just like the monster under the mountain of–" He shook his head, trying his best to remember. "Oh, can't remember the damned place."

  "Where? Madia-as?" the tall warrior serf tried to guess. "Mautlan? This is Vijayas were talking about." He smirked. "It's home and all but it's not just quaint views and innocent folks that roam here."

  "No, no, no, not those places. I think it was Mount Laon, but forget it. It's not even important." He spat. "Just believe me when I say, there's no man-eating serpent there. He's just lying to us all."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Hear me out, he might have knifed Huton and sold his cow. Sounds more reasonable, right? Or maybe it was some brigands from the south or something. With the town growing so fast it wouldn't surprise me if more and more knaves visit us."

  "Well, the runt swore on it with his life in front of the eldermen," the tall serf replied as he walked on. "He'd been all over the place too. A coward, yes, but a really well-mannered fellow too. And I really want to believe him after he said, he'd rather be feed to the buwayas than recant all his words."

  "Not me! Stories like his are almost always fabricated, Goming. I'll believe it when I see it. Maybe he just had too much arak! You know what I mean?"

  He made gurgling sounds. And both men guffawed.

  "Maybe, but he told me it ate Huton's cow right in front of him. Swallowed it whole, he said. And I'm inclined to believe. After serving the side of the crone, Mistress Piganun, for years... I've seen a lot of weirder things. Things beyond a timawa like you and I can comprehend. Dark things you can't reason with. Yes. Yes. Unreasonable and incomprehensible."

  The grass-cloaked Tikum silently cursed for the third time as the tall timawa unknowingly stepped on his hand. He gritted his teeth to mute the onset of a yowl.

  The torchbearer shook his head.

  "You're still not convinced?" the tall timawa turned his head to his fellow serf, the one who was lagging behind them. "Tell him, Salak. Tell our friend here what the coward said. You were there too. Tell him."

  The one he called Salak, a bald, round-bellied man, walked faster and halted a few feet from Tikum's hiding place. "Yeah, sure. Goming's right, Ranoy," he told the torchbearer. Not a moment later Salak turned his head as though he was trying to find someone in the voluminous fog.

  Goming gestured for his fellow timawa to continue on. "You can go ahead and light the braziers, Ranoy. We'll meet you around the corner. Salak and I have to talk."

  Ranoy nodded and continued with the patrol, leaving the two timawa at the mercy of the roiling mist. Goming turned to the plump timawa. "You okay, Salak? You've been so tense from the start. Is everything all right with the missus?" he said, punctuating it with a smile.

  Salak swallowed the clump on his throat. "Oh, I'm fine. Were both fine, Goming."

  Goming placed a hand on Salak's shoulder. "We haven't talked about it but what's this I hear about you losing from Tinu in a bet? And that you're in deep debt to him. Is he harassing your family? Have you been gambling again?"

  Salak took Goming's hand off his shoulder and smiled. "Oh, no. Everything's been settled. My uncle already paid him. Everything's fine."

  "Then, what's been troubling you?"

  "Just feeling a bit gassy," Salak lied and pretended to cough. "A bit queasy too. Probably something I ate."

  "You sure?" Goming said.

  "Of course."

  "Well, if you say so."

  Salak hesitated but then spoke his other lie. "Well, not really." He started scratching his elbow. "Ah, Gom. Could I ask you a favor?"

  "Sure," Goming approached him, face full of concern. "What can I do?"

  "Well I was just wondering if I could skip this patrol. I really don't want to do it, but I've been feeling under the weather lately."

  "Oh, is that it? I thought it was something else," Goming said, shaking his head. "Sure, man. I'll tell Ranoy."

  "Really? Thanks! I'll be sure to pay you back later."

  The tall Goming smiled. "Don't worry about it. Everyone's had a bad day before. Anyone could understand that."

  The two serfs exchanged goodbyes as Goming left the obese serf at the corner of the road that lead to the town hall. After making sure Goming was out of sight and out of earshot, Salak went back to the pile of discarded baskets full of trash and crouched down, pointing his kampilan blade a few inches short from Tikum's eye.

  "You must be... Dalak?" he said. "I'm your guide. I'm Asog Kalibutdan's nephew. The name's–"

  "Freaking Salak, right?" Tikum said nursing his hand, the one Goming tromped. He grumbled a curse before Salak pulled him up and sheathed his kampilan.

  "So, what now?"

  "You're late," Tikum barked as he looked Salak in the eye. The fool lowered his head and avoided Tikum's eyes. But feeling sorry was not enough. The Black Dog's own paranoia after all this waiting had soured his mood already. He was not going to be the understanding type. Not now. Not with his daughter's life on the line. "What took you so long?"

  Salak placed a finger on his mouth. "Noise. Had to go and do the night patrol. Didn't want to be suspicious," he whispered.

  "Somehow, I don't believe that."

  "Why so feisty, thief?" Salak said in jest. "Your nerves getting the better of you?"

  "Thief?" Tikum turned to him, raising his hilt-less dagger just below Salak's neck. "No one calls me that on my face! Maybe behind my back, but certainly not in front or within earshot."

  The pot-bellied serf took a step back. "Ease up," he said with a shaky voice. "Didn't mean to offend you."

  "You should've thought of that before you spoke, fool."

  "Hey," Salak said, beads of sweat forming on his temple, "for what it's worth my uncle said you're the best one in the Great Archipelago. And I believe him. He knows many things. The four winds told him."

  Tikum shook his head. "You're a flatterer, too?" He placed the blade's tip inside the poor serf's nose. "I hate flatterers. It's just a better word for a liar." Tikum dropped his knife when he saw Salak tear up. "Next time you do or say something stupid. I'll take the whole sniffer with me."

  "Ha, okay.... okay," Salak said, rubbing his nose. "Won't happen again. Promise. I'm sorry."

  Tikum ignored his half-hearted apology. "Just keep walking so we can get this over with," he said as they started towards the western part of Raguet, facing the tree-covered mountains. Tikum stared at its peak a second longer as he scaled the town's wall.

  About fifteen feet tall, the town wall itself was made of thick bamboo poles driven down side by side on the ground. Dirt and rocks pounded in place supported it. Tikum sighed, as for defensive purposes it poor. Good thing, Raguet had a few hundred warrior serfs.

  As he continued, Tikum felt more energized, he was getting closer to the lair of the babaylan. The place were he could find the cure for his daughter's malady. Find', was of course a dull word for the deed he was going to do and steal from was too blunt to describe it. He smiled as he climbed to the other side of the wall. One step at a time and he would soon free Ukok from what was plaguing her.

  Tikum turned to Salak just as his timawa companion dropped down from the wall to join him. "So, you know where the babaylan hides her amulets and talismans?"

  "Of course!" Salak intoned, but quickly regretted it as he realized the noise he made. "I know the way to her abode."

  "I see no trail or path. Only trees. More trees and a very treacherous climb to the mountains."

  "Don't worry, the path is but hidden. I'm sure it's just pass the canopy of trees. There's no markers but I've memorized it well enough."

  "And how do you know this?"

  "My daughter is one of Karas' promising apprentice. Well, actually she used to be, but things happened."

  "I see. So, we take this secret path and we're there?" Tikum said, indicating the narrow clearing at the foot of the mountains. The lush forest seemed so intimidating, considering that they were leaving behind the last signs of civilization for leagues and leagues away.

  "Yes, but it won't be easy getting through the bitch's magic wards when were there," he whispered, leading their way.

  "I know a few things just leave it to me and don't worry. I'll handle the arcane."

  "Well, that's not the only one you should worry about. There's something else. Someone else."

  "What? Asog Kalibutdan said, that the babaylan's a recluse. That she's nothing but a quack. A charlatan..."

  "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he'd say that against Karas the babaylan," Salak said with an amused tone. "And the four winds don't have to whisper that on his ears."

  "I told the asog to tell things straight if he wanted anything done right." Tikum shook his head and grunted. "Is this how you do business here?"

  Salak did not answer as he paused to check their general direction.

  "Did that shrimp-head of an asog lie to me?" Tikum said in a low voice. Low enough for Salak's ears.

  "Well, can't really blame him," Salak answered. "You see, they've been rivals for a while now. Arch-nemesis and all. It started six or seven summers ago. A time when the datu of Raguet trusted my uncle with everything."

  "Everything? Go on continue."

  Salak nodded. "Back then, we only venerated Libulan. Since this was just some far-off fishing town, we only had the moon deity to offer our prayers. But bad luck came to our asog as years passed by. When other people came and settled here, they also dragged their own devatas in tow..."

  "More competition."

  "Unfortunately."

  "Then, the asog was pushed aside? This is all typical politics..."

  "Yeah, he could no longer exercise his full influence. So, he was replaced by the cunning Karas. A thing my uncle did not like."

  Tikum quickened his pace, leaving Salak behind. "Sure, tell me more things I don't care about."

  Salak jogged to catch up with Tikum's wide strides. "No disrespect to my uncle, but I don't agree with him on it too," he whispered. "I've seen her do magic. Karas' definitely strong. The competent sort. A bit nasty when drunk with arak, but who isn't, right? I think... even the gods favor Karas the most."

  "Well, that's encouraging," Tikum replied, checking if someone followed them. "Let's talk less and walk faster. I want this done as fast as I could," he said as he went ahead of Salak through the rough trail that led away from Raguet.

  "You sure? You don't want to know more?"

  "Spit it out and stop leading me on. You've offended me too many times already. You must not like your nose that much."

  "Okay! The wench has a sister too," Salak added, barreling to catch up with Tikum as he entered the dark forest. "She's the captain of the scouts here. Tihol's the name. I bet you've never seen someone like her."

  Tikum raised a brow, pausing for a while and watching the ghostly fog grow thicker around them.

  "I think she's the best warrior I've seen in a fight," Salak declared. "Quite a brilliant hunter too. They say her blades whistle the tune of death and her bowstring twang at her prey's despair. Born to kill, that woman is. Pretty scary, right?"

  "You should get out more," Tikum said, eyes scanning the path ahead. "I've faced scarier things from baganis to bandits. All the same." He spat. "I think I can manage someone like her."

  This time it was Salak who raised a brow, face in full disbelief. But surprisingly, Tikum was telling the truth this time. Well, partly the truth. Yes, he did face much more scarier fiends when he was a younger man. But what he meant by manage, was managed' to outrun them all and leave them in the dust.

  Salak conceded but halted to raise the bar higher for his companion. "And oh, both are the datu's champions, you know... The Champions of Raguet!"

  "Well, we'll see who's better than who," Tikum said, unclasping his butterfly axe from the gray lubid belt that held his black bahag. He smiled as the black blade reflected the moon's silver glint. "–when the fighting starts."

  Tikum walked proudly, bravado making every step lighter. He'd been in too many troubles and got out in all of them with all limbs intact. And this was surely no different. He knew deep down that he had something that others don't have. That others may not really understand. Perhaps, it was the best advantage he had. He smiled. Let's also see who has a better reason to fight, Tikum whispered as the thought of his daughter, Ukok, came to him. The odds may look like it was stacked against him yet again, but he was sure of success against anything fate throws at him.

  It wasn't the best lie he ever made, but he fervently believed it. There was simply no other choice. He turned to Salak who was lagging behind. "Faster! You're too slow. We need to be there before the sun's light catches us."

  The round timawa scampered, more afraid than surprised by Tikum's tone.

  "Sure. You know we could've been a lot more faster, but you didn't tell me to bring my magical flying boat..." The corpulent timawa smiled at his own joke but Tikum was having none of it.

  "Hey, wait up..." Salak exhaled. "Wait up, what can I do? I have short legs."

  Tikum shook his head, ignoring the warrior serf's efforts.

  And from then on, the two odd partners silently continued to stalk the night, noiselessly slinking under the starless sky while the seething, milky fog parted and melded as they passed, hiding the unguessable things that followed their wake...