Philippine Speculative Fiction Read Free Page B

an agility I have not seen of Makahagad for some time. He
races to the banks of what has been once a great river, and with a single bound, the bearcat flits through the air, past the swirling mud and past the distance, bounding once in a while from the
great banana stalk that now bridges it. Makahagad misses his children, I think, and he misses Makatagad. Such boundless energy is to be expected.
    I wait for Makahagad’s return two days later by the banks of what has been the great river. By then, the sun has dried away most of the mud that had once been the river’s bottom, and
in their place are scattered patches of green grass, fledgling in their growth, and cut every which way by generous streams—the only traces left of the raging waters. In the middle of it all,
the gigantic banana heart still pumps, its stalk now a bridge across distances, hardening in the gentle sun.
    And it is then that I hear a sharp sound from somewhere near, not unlike the cackling of a cruel fire.
Has another gigantic banana fallen?
I think quickly.
But there is no other
gigantic banana plant such as this one!
    I suddenly hear crying—loud, painful, somehow familiar. A growl that mellows into meowing. The sound quickly wrenches my heart for some reason—and I grapple with it. Only then does
it dawn on me that it sounds like Makahagad in pain.
    I quickly grab my spear, which was a gift from the village across what had been once a great river, and I trace the crying to the far edges of the former river’s banks. I swallow the lump
in my throat when I see Makahagad breathing shallowly atop a flat, dry river rock. His whimpers are long and concentrated and I know quickly that he is dying. I run to the bearcat’s side, and
I see a large wound down his torso, blood everywhere. I bite my lips to keep from crying out loud, and when I try with some noble futility to examine his wound, I hear a rustling that signaled dark
danger.
    I hide quickly behind a nearby boulder, carrying my limp binturong with one hand, my spear in the other.
    Two figures gleam from across the muddy divide—strange creatures that look human, but towering in their gait, and monstrous in the way they sniff the air with an arrogance that angers me.
Are they gods of another tribe?
I think quickly. And yet they are completely unlike the depictions of gods I have known. They wear billowing clouds where their arms are supposed to be, and
there is a silver shell where their torsos should be. They have heads of what looks like stone, and they carry with them oddly-shaped spears.
They are demonic creatures
, I decide.
    I stay behind the rocks, cradling my beloved bearcat.
    I hear the demons—these pale creatures—talk in a language I cannot decipher. I sit in restive silence as the sound of their sloshing footsteps in the mud moves towards me. I have no
time to think, to plan. I lay Makahagad down on the ground, and his flickering eyes perhaps see me for the last time. I rein in the need for tears, and quivering, I place two fingers where his
wound is. I feel the heat of his blood of iron on my fingers, and quickly press them on my lips. His blood tastes sweet and strong, and I feel an energy rush through me. I kiss his forehead, and I
whisper to him, “Makahagad, do not die just yet. Your blood is made of iron. It will keep you alive. I will return to avenge you.”
    I rise slowly and turn my head to see where the demons are.
    I spot one of them, but he has spotted me first.
    I try to hide again but a loud explosion shatters the top of the rock I am hiding behind, narrowly missing my head. My ears ring like a thousand high-pitched
kulintang
. I tell myself
not to panic. So I close my eyes, and from the ringing, I surge to listen to the sound of sky, tree, breeze. I suddenly hear sloshing closer to my right, and I clench my spear.
    My heartbeat races, and then I release to thrust my spear.
    A flash of red splashes across my vision. And then I see him, his eyes