The gray smoke from the funeral pyres stained the sky while the people of Mandawili wept. The cold biting winds from the sea made some of the grieving tribesmen shiver and huddle closer to each other. Weary faces contemplated on their own short lives as the babaylan cried to the heavens, incense in her spidery long hands glowing like dying devatas.

  Manang Sabtano had been at it since the pyres were lit. Pyres. They had no time to bury their dead, not with the Magalos coming back to raid their towns. And the gesture itself was more symbolic. After all, they still haven't recovered most of their fellow tribesmen. The orange glow of the pyre died slowly and left a white carpet of ash around itself like a soft layer of fine feathers.

  The babaylan looked over those who attended the funeral with weary eyes. Most of their heads were down, faces stained with tears. Less than half of those serfs who survive the battle in Opon Matan circled the grievers but not all of them could attend the funeral for they were already back in the mud. A soft shower of rain fell from the skies and washed the dirt and dust that covered those who stood in the clifftop beside the Narrows.

  At the center of crowd, Malaya and her siblings went over and embraced their grandmother. She tried to speak but her emotion got the best of her. Pulaco's daughter wiped the tears off her face before Manang Sabtano could say a word. Crying for Lam and his father all night long couldn't ease the burden she felt. The old crone knew it. It was war after all and it always ended in death and sadness.

  The wise crone placed both her hands on Malaya's face. If only you knew, she thought. But now's simply not the time. Malaya tightened her embrace as though asking for support.

  "Why?" she whispered as she buried her head on her grandmother's chest.

  "It is... what it is," Manang Sabtano said as she gave her a kiss in the forehead and gave them all back a weary hug. "You'll get by...we'll all get by. We have to."

  The babaylan felt and looked older than ever. Like some part of her humanity decided to shrivel away, leaving her the cold embrace of oblivion. Grief clung at their hearts and the very face of sorrow said its sad hello. They all felt the same and somehow it was what kept them together.

  The babaylan shook her head. It wasn't the time to break down and cry. It wasn't the right place to do it. She collected her thoughts. There were better things to do. She'd been through this so many times that she was slowly getting accustomed to the feeling. She missed them already but things needed to be done.

  Another delay would only aggravate their condition. They couldn't afford to be blind-sided by their enemies again. She shook her head once more and walked towards the man who last saw his son, placing her hand on the man's uninjured shoulders.

  "Thank you."

  "I'm sorry," the man answered, tears welling in his blood-shot eyes. He raised his head and looked Manang Sabtano in the eye. "I could've done-"

  "Oh, stop," she said. "Please stop. 'You could've done something', is that what you want to say. Well, you did. You already did. Stop thinking about the what ifs, son. So many of them. It'll just tire you up. He's dead. They're dead. Best to move on with it."

  She knew this day would come and finally she said the words she was holding in her chest. "We'll all be back in the mud with them. But for now, we fight." The babaylan forced a smile on her face. "We'll be needing a man to lead us too." The man turned away from her as the crowd of grievers slowly went their way down the mud slick ridge, clinging on one another for support.

  "I'll do what I can," Dumog said.

  "Yes, son. I know you will," the babaylan said as she move to bade the others farewell.

  The crowd's procession of sorrow and apprehension continued on with one single thought on their minds, 'there was still a battle to fight. There was still a battle to win.

  Dumog nodded and walked closer to the dying embers of the pyres. He searched for the words to say. A speech or a wise saying but none coalesced. Only a simple thank you came out of his mouth. But thanking the man who saved him was not the best he could do. He could avenge him! And his brother too, Dumog thought. He held on that idea like a man at the end of a noose. It was better than nothing. He wiped the tears off his disfigured face, wounds still healing. Wounds he took a fortnight ago.

  "Dumog, the men are ready," said one of the Daragangan, one of the few who lived to fight on. He handed Dumog a kampilan and a shield.

  Dumog took it. "Ready..." he said, a trace of hesitation in his voice. "That's good."

  The Daragangan warrior eyed him for a second and he realized that Dumog looked different, now. Apart from the pink and raw spider web wound on the left side of his face, there was something unnerving in the way he looked at things. He had the aura of a man who wanted to die but couldn't.

  "Are you okay?" the warrior asked Dumog.

  "Never felt so alive," he whispered back. "Never felt so angry and lonely, too."

  "Life goes on, Dumog. Always remember that. Life goes on."

  Sikaran's twin turned to face him. "Ha, now that's just a terrifying thought."

  "Yeah." The Daragangan paused for a while, extending a cold silence between them. "I won't argue that against you. But..."

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  "But we still have something to finish."

  The man nodded back to Dumog, face bright with hope. "We still have lots to protect. We still have a chance to change this to our favor."

  "I know."

  The man placed a hand on Dumog's shoulder before joining the other serf.

  Dumog straightened himself and walked to follow the warrior serf. But a light breeze from the north caught him straight in the face and made him wince. He paused for a short moment.

  He didn't like the smell drifting with wind. A hint of burned wood and scorched flesh. The smell of death itself. Dumog looked down to the north of Opon Matan and saw a tower of smoke rise up. Another town claimed by the Magalos, he guessed. Another town burned to ash and dust. He had to do something about it. He had to give the Magalos their due after what happened to Sikaran, Mingming and the others. He looked at the blade on his hand, anger rising from his core. Halang and his cohorts too, he thought.

  "All of them must pay."

  A group of retainers stopped a few feet from where he stood, waking him from his reverie. Behind them an ornate wooden sankayan borne on the shoulders of four warrior serfs halted. Dumog raised a brow. He was surprised to see a palanquin so intricate in a place so far from any town. "What do we have here?"

  One of the two retainers who held an unusually large white payung opened a small gap on the silk veil that curtained the intricately designed palanquin to reveal the man inside.

  "They were great warriors," the man who sat on the wooden litter said. "Honorable and dignified baganis. His cold clear voice made everyone stand in attention.

  A white thick robe covered him from head to foot and a hood hid his face from everyone's eyes. Only the lower half of his face saw the light but everyone who heard him recognized who he was. That and the insignia of the kalasags, two white spears in a red background, carried by half a thousand warriors who trailed behind his group of retainers made sure of it.

  "No one here will disagree with you, my lord." Dumog and the other Mandawilians bowed at the man.

  "Please stand up," the man said. "All of you, please...." Then, he turned to Dumog. "Come here closer, Daragangan. I need to speak with you."

  The Daragangan walked towards him and halted at the side of the sankayan."You have my full attention."

  "How are you?"

  "Healing," Dumog said.

  "Good, that's good to hear. My men told me you lead the Daragangan now.

  "Yes, lord."

  "Have you recovered my dear friend's body?"

  "Only Zullah's."

  "Unacceptable. How could the gods permit such a thing."

  "We've searched the shores to no avail. The rip tides must have dragged his body to the open sea." Dumog turned and pointed a finger towards the ocean. "He is in Maguayen' s care now."

  "Unfortunate. That is quite unfortunate. May, Abba give Pulaco the peace he craved for in the next life." The man on the palanquin closed his eyes to give a short prayer for his fallen friend and open it again to speak. "But we must not loss hope. We must–"

  Manang Sabtano coughed as she approached Dumog and the man. "Ah, what a pleasant surprise... the Limp himself."

  The man in the sankayan turned to Manang Sabtano. "I'm sorry," Sri Piang said. "I'm sorry for your loss great babaylan. I'm sorry for what happened to your son, Mingming Palao and to your great chieftain, Salip Pulaco."

  Manang Sabtano spat in disgust. "You're sure you're not here to give apologies for something else?"

  "Apologies for what!?," the man in the palanquin said, with a confounded look on him. "I came here to express my sympathy and pay respect to my good friends."

  "I don't want anything from you, Limp. All we want to know is where's that brilliant nephew of yours? Where's Humabara!?"

  "Why? What did he do?"

  "We talked to Zullah's men. The one's we caught alive told us all we need to know. The one's who survive my little games. They told us that all of this was Humabara and Zullah's schemes. So, don't feign ignorance."

  "Ah... now, it makes sense," Sri Piang said. "He's gone. No one knows where him and his men are. When I heard about the Magalos attacking us again I decided to go back home. When I arrived all my men saw were the bodies of pale men in Singhapala Mavolo days ago. All were poisoned. Probably to stop them from talking. No sign of Humabra or Zullah's son there."

  "No one knows were he's hiding!?" Manang Sabtano said with incredulity. "Or maybe no one wants to tell where he's hiding..."

  "I came here to grieve with you not to be insulted," Sri Piang said as he slowly took the hood off his head. His scarred face made the babaylan stagger back. "I also came here to offer a helping hand," he added.

  Manang Sabtano crossed her arms. "Ain't it ironic for someone who can't stand on his own two feet offer us his help?"

  Sri Piang smiled. "Not if you mean it. If your words are true then this is the atonement for Humabara's actions. And I'm sure you won't refuse my help after what I have to say about the Magalos."

  Manang Sabtano held her tongue. She was going to badger Mavolo's former rajah but curiosity got the better of her. "Magalos?"

  Sri Piang's demeanor shifted from placid to serious as he nodded.

  "Yes, and I think it's our only chance, babaylan. Our only chance for victory against them." He turned to Dumog and back to Sabtano.

  "Then, let us hear what you have in mind, Limp," Manang Sabtano said, raising a brow she didn't have. "Let's hear if it's all worth it."

  Sri Piang raised his hand. "Bring him here." He commanded one of his serf. His retainers opened a gap between them to let two of his warrior serf drag a hooded and shackled man in front of them. Then, Sri Piang took the piece of cloth from the man's head and mouth. "I think it's worth it. What do you have to say for yourself my old man?"

  "I had nothing to do with all of this," Old Banglud said, outraged by the treatment of his former master. " You have to believe me, Lord Piang! I'm innocent!" he pleaded to the circle in front of him. But none of them was willing believe him.

  "Tell them what you told us," Sri Piang said. "Tell them, Banglud. Redeem yourself."

  "What can I tell you that you don't already know!?"

  "You want to keep your silence?" Sri Piang said. "Do you prefer execution then, servant?"

  The babaylan stepped closer and smiled. "Or perhaps you want it slow. May I suggest torture?"

  Old Banglud shook his head. "Okay! okay..." He sighed, face pallid at the thought. "All I know is that the Magalos are mustering a greater force that'll dwarf any we've seen before. It will not be just them too...the shamzirs, the royal warriors of the sultanate will soon touch our shores as well. They mean to bring war on us-"

  "Pardon my intrusion but that does not change anything," Dumog said, head held up high. "We will still fight them with all our spirit."

  Manang Sabtano placed a hand on his shoulder. "Daragangan, do you not see what Old Banglud mean by his words?" She spat, glaring at their captive. "The shamsirs are the rarest breed of killers. Men who devote their lives to the blade and to the sultan. Which–"

  Sri Piang cut her off. "Which means he is coming too. The Silver Sultan, Ul Zain Ali-Abedden will finally grace us his presence."

  Manang Sabtano rolled her eyes. "And if I may hazard a guess, Banglud also knows when he's coming? And I bet he knows where he'll be."

  Sri Piang nodded. "And we shall be ready for him and his unwholesome horde. What say you, Daragangan?"

  "They will feel the scorching heat of our rage, that I will make sure of," Dumog answered. "The bravest in their ranks shall fill our pit holes. Their master will despair as we water our soil with their blood. And the last thing the sultan will see is the glint of our kampilan blades."