Bright Eyes

32. The Manaul and Her Boy

The Golot Mountains, The Southern Island, Crystalline
20 Years Ago

The battle raged on behind them.

    Awiyao, now a young man of sixteen, dove further into the shadows of the trees, away from the flames and the screams of his suddenly war-torn home, his eyes fixed on the sole silhouette of the Babaylan before him. He didn't look back—nor did the Babaylan give even the slightest hint of a backward glance—but he could hear it all, see it all in his mind's eye from a mere glimpse of what he had seen before they had taken their plunge into the forest, into the concealing veil of darkness. He felt a pang within his chest at the thought: of the men who had guarded them as they made their escape, of the men who had been left out in the open, with no other protection but the spears and swords and bows and arrows they held, to prevent anyone from stepping any closer to the path in which Awiyao and the Babaylan now ran.

But there was no time to ponder on those thoughts, no fraction of a second left for them to waste. The enemy was upon them, had broken past their defenses and infiltrated their village, had come to attack and destroy and conquer, as the lone survivor—a man who had dwelt at the foot of the Golot Mountains—had told them. He had escaped the onslaught, the man had said to the elders, and he had trekked up the mountain as quick as he could to warn Chief Dag-iw, to warn them all that enemy forces were coming, before it was too late.

"Awiyao!" the Babaylan called to him in the dark, his voice a loud whisper. "Hasten your steps! We must hurry before they notice our absence!"

And so Awiyao did. Pushed himself further up the hill as fast as his legs could carry him, fragments of grass and soft earth sticking to the soles of his bare feet as he pressed on toward the peak of the hill where his father's manaul dwelt, hidden in one of the caves.

    Then soon enough, Awiyao thought as dim moonlight slipped through the foliage overhead and caressed his features for a moment, he would have to step ahead of the Babaylan and lead the way to the mouth of the manaul's home. And they would alight and find security in the distant land of—

    "Awiyao," the Babaylan called again.

    Awiyao then emerged upon a clearing by the edge of a cliff. The Babaylan, having walked ahead, now halted and turned to the boy.

"Where must we proceed from here?" said the Babaylan, in a rush of words. He glanced around the place, perhaps in search of the manaul's cave, his eyes flickering with a tense kind of trepidation, one that suggested a great sense of urgency.

But Damien knew better—there was nothing else here but this cliff atop a large rock. Despite their seemingly long climb up this wasn't the peak, not just yet. He was perfectly aware of this, knowing the path by heart since he was a child. And he must let not another second slip past them; they must move on, quick.

"There," he said, pointing over to their right. "Into the trees and up another path. Then we shall find the cave and the manaul at the very top of this hill."

    The Babaylan shoved him forward, a behavior he never exhibited in any ordinary circumstance. "Lead the way, Awiyao," he said, "and hurry!"

    And so they plunged back into the shadows and quickly made their way up the path, all while the battle ensued below, smoke and screams rising to the heavens like a desperate cry for mercy and salvation.

    The foliage provided by the labyrinth of trees and shrubbery both shielded them from sight and shrouded over them a desirable darkness; whether enemy forces flew overhead or searched for any movement from below, there was no telling precisely that any living soul was making its trek—its escape—through the trees.