Fiction: War Zone (Part 8 of 10)

(Published in the January 28, 2012, issue of Philippines Free Press)

Even in the pale glow of the kerosene lamp, Badong could see that color had returned to the boy’s cheeks. “Thank you, Manong,” he told Badong. “I owe you my life.”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Badong said. “Focus on getting well. The battlefield is waiting for you.”

“You’re a powerful babaylan,” the boy said. “I feel much better every day under your care. I want to be a babaylan too, like you. But I don’t seem to have any special ability.”

“You don’t need a special ability to be a babaylan,” Badong said. “Some are born to be a babaylan, while others are trained to be one. Just like Ikang. She doesn’t have a third eye, but she learned from other babaylans how to communicate with spirits.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll try to get well fast so I can be your apprentice.”

“You don’t have to wait for long. I need your help tonight.”

The boy hung on to every word Badong said.

“Tonight,” Badong said, “all the warriors are going away, and only you and Ikang will be left here in the camp. We don’t know what danger lurks in the dark, so I need you to be watchful. I want you to guard Ikang.”

“But I might fail,” the boy said. “I was not able to protect Kumander Dalia. The same thing might happen to Manang Ikang.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Badong said. He took out a necklace from his pocket. “You lost your amulet when Kumander Dalia’s camp was attacked, so I’m entrusting this to you. This is the amulet that Ikang made for me, but because I already had one, which came from my father, I just hid this. Now it’s yours.”

The boy did not touch the amulet. He said, “It’s the same as what Manang Ikang gave me and the other followers of Kumander Dalia before.”

“No,” Badong said. “This one is more powerful. I mixed this with a drop of oil from my own amulet.”

The boy nodded and accepted the amulet. “Thank you, Manong Badong,” he said. “You’ve given me so much.”

“I have something more,” Badong said. He moved the string around his waist, so that the boy would see the sheath he had hidden on his back.

“My knife!” the boy exclaimed. He did not wait for Badong to untie the string or take out the knife from the sheath. He pulled the weapon, and it came out with a swish.

Badong tensed, but the boy only played with the knife, turning it in his hand and thrusting it in the air in various grips. It did not fall on the ground, as what happened when Badong handled it.

Badong was amazed. “You’re damn good with that!” he told the boy. One stab from you and a man is pretty done for.

The boy smiled with pride. “I’ve had this for years,” the boy said. He looked at the knife and became sullen. “My father made this for me,” he said. “He’s a blacksmith.”

“Your father must be proud of you. You’re brave.”

The boy said, “I’ve killed a wild boar with this.”

“You . . . haven’t killed anyone yet?”

The boy shook his head.

“There’s nothing to worry,” Badong said. “The enemies can never find this camp. You might not even have to use your knife tonight.”

When Badong walked out of the hut, he saw that the other warriors had gathered in the center of the camp, forming a circle around a bonfire. Titing looked well prepared for battle. Slung around his torso, forming a crisscross, were two belts packed with bullets.

Badong glanced at the dugout and saw Kumander Gaston getting out of it, putting on his rifle. The vision then occurred. The chief warrior’s head would fly off from his neck, along with a spray of blood. The head would fall on the ground, bounce once, and roll for a few feet. It would stop in an upright position, as though Gaston was buried standing up and up to the neck.

The chief barely glanced at Badong and joined his men.

Badong smiled. His chest rose. He had not felt such happiness in a long time. He heard the various sounds the forest was making: a nighthawk flapping its wings, swooping down on a shrieking mouse; a python seizing a wild boar in a lethal embrace, the serpent hissing, the beast grunting; a lizard darting its tongue, catching a buzzing fly and slurping it whole.

Badong decided to pass by the dugout, and he promptly heard Ikang calling for him.

“Tomorrow,” Ikang said, “I will be waiting for you, Kumander Badong.”

He had not been planning to turn his head, so as to be discreet. He did not want anyone to suspect that Ikang and he were sharing something others should never know. But it must be the thought of Ikang naked and lying down, reaching out for him. Or it must be the sound of his name, uttered by her and appended to a title. Badong turned, and wished he didn’t.

Another vision. Ikang would close her eyes, and a tiny hole would appear on her forehead. As with Titing’s death, this vision came with sounds, and for a brief moment the gunshot deafened Badong.

* * *

For the last time, Kumander Gaston briefly recapped his men of the how they would attack the enemies’ hideout. He then led them out of the camp. Badong made sure no one was looking and slipped back to the dugout.

“What are you doing here?” Ikang asked.

“There’s something you need to know,” Badong said.

“What is it about? Our plans have been set.”

Badong didn’t know where to start. “Titing—” he said. “You—”

“You must go back to them. Gaston will notice your absence.”

“Titing is planning to do something to you.”

Ikang said, “I’m not afraid of him. I can handle him. Now go.”

“It’s much worse than you think,” Badong said. “I had a vision, you will be killed.”

Ikang froze. “What are you talking about?”

Badong hurriedly explained about the third eye that had been tormenting him since childhood and how it had recently intensified.

“Your vision may not happen at all,” Ikang said. “They can just be warnings. To help you prevent them from coming true.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“How did you say Titing will be killed?”

“With a knife.”

“That one, we can—we should—make that come true. He’ll kill me if I don’t kill him first. But he’s your friend. You don’t want him killed, do you?”

Badong said, “After he refused to listen to me, I realized I had to let him die. If I have to choose between you and him, who do you think I would put above the other?”

Ikang nodded. “I have several knives here. One or two of them can pierce his heart.”

“I’ve seen them, they’re small,” Badong said. “What we need is the boy’s knife. That’s what I saw in my vision. A long knife would kill Titing.”

“I’ll take the boy’s knife then.”

“No, you shouldn’t do that. It’s the boy who is destined to take Titing’s life. Titing will receive the fatal stab on his back, and you can’t do that when he’s attacking you. So the boy should have the knife. He will do it, I’ve talked to him. I’ve had everything taken care of. I decided you didn’t have to know about it. But when I had a vision again and it was of you, I felt I must inform you. You have to—”

Ikang put his fingers on Titing’s lips. “Ssshh, nothing will happen to me,” she said. “Your vision only meant I shouldn’t take any chances. I should stab Titing the moment he tries to touch me. I’ll use my own knife, and then the boy can stab him on the back. Now you must catch up with the other warriors.”

“I think I should stay here. Together we can make sure Titing doesn’t harm you.”

“Badong, if you don’t join the attack tonight, our plans will be ruined. We can’t let this opportunity pass. Go now, I can take care of myself. I’m not just any woman, Badong. I’m a babaylan.”

Badong reluctantly walked out the dugout.

“I’ll be all right. Take Datu Unsay’s head.”

He glanced back a few times more, and each time, Ikang assured him with a determined look or a nod, even giving him a faint smile. She watched him disappear through the woods.

Ikang, however, wasn’t sure of what she told Badong. She was afraid, too, that the vision would come true. But she couldn’t let her fear destroy her plans. She had waited for so long for this opportunity. Thinking she would be safer this way, she went to the hut and took the boy’s knife. The boy was reluctant, but was really powerless against Ikang. She made him take one of her knives.

She prepared herself and waited for Titing by the dugout’s threshold. Before long, he emerged running and panting from the woods.

“Waiting for Badong?” he told Ikang. “He’s dead.”

She stared at him seriously, and then he snorted a chuckle. She realized he was joking.

“Don’t worry, he’s alive,” Titing said. “But not for long, I’m afraid. The Moros are going to cut off his foolhardy head in a few hours. Same thing with Kumander Gaston. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

She had expected him to be fierce and harsh, just like Gaston whenever he got angry. She believed she could handle men with temper better. Titing’s morbid yet playful banter caught her unguarded. Remembering she wasn’t supposed to expect him, she asked, “Why are you here?”

“I decided I’ve had enough of this. It’s going to cause nothing but more bloodshed. I’m deserting the movement, and I’m bringing you out of here. I know Gaston has fallen from grace and Badong will eventually take the chief’s place. But I’m telling you, you’re not better off with Badong. He may be different from Gaston, but he won’t be less evil. Come with me.”

Ikang got more confused. Titing did not seem intent on killing her. But she reminded herself of Badong’s vision. She couldn’t trust this man. She did not know him. She walked inside the dugout, and Titing followed her.

She faced him and knelt down. Slowly she took off her duster over her head. She was wearing nothing underneath. “Put your gun away,” she said, looking up at Titing.

Titing was surprised with Ikang’s actions. She was giving her what he wanted, but at the back of his head, he was thinking something was amiss. She was giving it to him rather too easily. But he was in no mind to mull things over. He removed the gun from his shoulder and put it on the side.

“Farther away,” Ikang said. “Guns frighten me.”

Titing stepped back and leaned the gun near the threshold. When Ikang did not say anything more, he took off his shirt in haste and came to her. He knelt down too and buried his face in her neck.

As a fake moan escaped her lips, Ikang reached for the knife at the back of her neck, hidden beneath her long hair and loosely tied by the string that held her amulet.

(To be continued)