The Priestess Trials Trilogy Box Set: An Asian Myth and Legend Series

by AA Lee

  Kisig knew that most of the officials thought he was too young to govern—he was just seventeen, after all. However, they couldn’t blatantly question the position he’d inherited. So, some officials had resorted to dirty tricks and had attempted to kill him. Hagibis had protected Kisig and shared his wealth after Kisig’s father had disappeared. In return, Hagibis’s opinion held more influence on most of Kisig’s decisions.

  Kisig nodded toward Hagibis, giving him permission to speak.

  “Before the last war, prior to your birth, it was as clear as day that there would be famine. The drought was long, and the plants just wouldn’t grow well. Springs dried up… I’m sure that will happen again this time.” The hall grew still. “The Nayon villagers were ready to go to war, but your father hesitated.”

  Kisig knew his history. Oral history passed on from generations had filled his nights ever since he could remember, but he listened.

  “So Daa villagers attacked us first, leaving a few of our men, women, and children dead. Fortunately, their warriors weren’t strong enough, so we were able to defend our village. Nevertheless, they looted our village, and we starved, and some eventually died. The Daa villagers survived because of us.”

  Kisig massaged his temples. It was true that if Daa attacked them now, they would starve again. The constant fear of being attacked haunted his dreams, but he had never liked bloodshed. He had witnessed too many deaths at the hands of his father, including his mother’s, and he wanted to make a difference. He wanted to be a peace-loving datu, but some officials called him a coward behind his back because of it.

  “That’s because neither village spoke to the other,” Official Lupit, the head official of the right, said without asking permission. “Daa’s datu has changed and is more open to communication with us now. Peace had lasted for so long.”

  “All right. Even if Daa doesn’t attack us, people will still die from hunger.” Hagibis rose from his seat. “And what are we going to do when España attacks us? If we attack Daa now, we will have supplies and weapons to defend ourselves against a bigger enemy.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Why would España even bother to look at us?” Official Lupit forced a laugh. The rest of the officials on his side chuckled. “We barely have spices here, and our gold isn’t as abundant as in other villages. The town is so poor that only priests dare to stay even with good transportation. Why would the Españols brave the raging rivers here?”

  The Españols might not have physically invaded them, but their beliefs on how women should act had permeated the village. Of all the foreign customs to adapt, the officials who frequently visited town had proposed to adapt the perfect wife and had brought it to a whole new level. Now, a wife acted almost like a slave in front of her husband.

  From the oral history passed on to him, Kisig knew that women had fought alongside their husbands about fifty years ago. Only one part of the village carried on the tradition—the priestesses whom he, as the village datu, had no control over. Kisig had wanted to bring back the old ways since he was a child. He might be a man, but he hated how his mother had suffered when he was young. Kisig dreamed of resolving the issue of inequality for women and slaves, but Hagibis, the same man who had kept Kisig alive, was willing to have him killed to keep the village under the power of men.

  “Haven’t you heard about the Battle of Mactan?” Hagibis’s voice lowered.

  “Dear spirits.” Official Lupit put his palm against his forehead. “That was decades ago!”

  “But we haven’t paid our tribute ever since they came here. Haven’t we offended their leader?”

  Hagibis is losing the argument. It’s time to end this, Kisig thought. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. Let’s vote to resolve this.”

  Both sides had the same number of officials. He was sure they would vote yes or no respectively. He would vote no. He needed more time to think about surviving the famine.

  “Those who are not in favor of attacking Daa village, raise your hands.” He counted eight raised hands on the right side. Two must be undecided. He added his vote, making it nine against the proposition. “Those who are in favor of attacking Daa village, raise your hands.” Sweat trickled down his brow. He counted twelve votes. Surprisingly, two right-side officials had voted for the proposition. They raised their hands without looking at the head right-side official.

  “We’re going to attack Daa,” Kisig said in an unwavering voice.

  Chapter 3

  Tala

  Four frogs jumped and pulled at the string Tala held. “I’m sorry.” She smashed each frog’s head with a sharp stone. “But Luning needs to eat.”

  Her next problem was cooking them. Cooking in the kitchen wasn’t an option, and cooking outside the house in the middle of the night would attract attention. What she needed was a place where fire burned with no one to guard it. She smiled as she thought of the perfect place, but to get there, she needed to enter the village and pass through the gate. They used to live in the center of the village, but after her master had spent his share of the spoils from the last war, it had forced them to sell the land and build a house near their terraced rice field.

  She held her head low as she approached the gate. The fear of being brought back to her master made her throat dry, but she had to try.

  “This is no time for a woman to be walking around without a companion.” The warrior, who looked as though he hadn’t bothered to cut his beard in years, looked her up and down. His eyes lingered on the frogs.

  “M-Master Langit…”

  “Ah. A slave,” he said as if it negated what he’d said before.

  Tala nodded. “Our pots broke.”

  The guard opened the gate without questioning her further.

  That was easier than I expected, she thought.

  She was halfway to her destination when a light from behind made her stop. She had been so happy that the change in her surroundings hadn’t registered in her mind. Did the guards find out I lied? She tensed to flee, when she remembered that her master wouldn’t hurt her—at least not until the courtship was over if nobody bought her.

  “Four little frogs? That’s your dinner?” A man said in a deep voice.

  Probably a warrior. “Yes. I… got hungry in the middle of the night.” She turned and faced a man who towered over her. He held a spear with a very sharp iron head. He looked like he was barely older than she was, but his bulging muscles told her he had trained for months, perhaps years. Something about the warrior was different than the other warriors she’d seen. His pale skin, seemingly untouched by the sun, was beautiful and mesmerizing. But that didn’t make sense to her. Warriors trained outside and guarded the village.

  He regarded her with curiosity. “Your master isn’t giving you enough food?”

  “He does.” Tala’s throat was dry. Her close-cropped hair gave her away. She couldn’t lie about being a slave.

  Tala’s hand automatically went to her left shoulder to cover the red star mark just below her collarbone. Her dress, covering her up to her chest, couldn’t be pulled up any higher to hide it. Most assumed that her master had branded her after she’d run away, but she never had because she had nowhere else to go. Her hair needed time to grow, and if anyone suspected she’d fled, they would most likely return her to her master for a bounty. In turn, she would get her punishment.

  Once, she’d summoned the courage to ask her mistress when they had branded her, but the mistress had said they never did. When they’d seen her mark when she was a baby, they had named her Tala, which meant star. Tala assumed someone had branded her before then, or perhaps, it was just a perfect star-shaped birthmark.

  “But I got hungry when I woke up in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to bother them with my petty hunger, so I went to the spring.” Tala raised her string of frogs. “Besides, I overheard their harvest wasn’t going to be good.”

  “Hmm.” The warrior nodded, his eyes devoid of suspicion. “I guess we need to
hurry and attack,” he said absently.

  “Attack?” she squeaked.

  “Not your business, child. Hurry along and cook your frogs.”

  She nodded and turned to leave.

  “Are you going to roast them like that? You should at least skin them and remove the intestines.”

  Tala paused and bit her lip. She didn’t like the warrior’s intrusiveness, but she didn’t want to appear unfriendly either. “I guess I’ll remove them once they’re cooked. It’ll be easier then. I didn’t want to wake my master in the middle of the night by looking for a knife in the kitchen.”

  “Are you planning to run away?”

  Even though Tala wasn’t guilty, the question made her heart race. “No. I have nowhere to go. I would face certain death.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not lying. You could teach other hungry slaves where to catch those frogs if you stay.” The warrior untied a dagger around his waist and handed it to her. “Here. I’ll be here a little longer, so hand it back when you head home.”

  Tala grabbed the dagger’s handle and turned. The warrior didn’t say a word when she walked away.

  In the dark night, the lights from the shrine looked like fireflies. She had been there once before, when Mistress Bituin had asked a priestess to talk to the soul of her mother. No mats or household materials littered the inside, and Tala concluded that the priestesses must not sleep there. The priestesses had huts around the shrine built so close to each other that they had to be aware of what was going on in their neighbors’ huts.

  Like a moth to a flame, Tala marveled at the beautiful and gigantic structure. The meeting hall stood the tallest among the structures in the village, followed by the shrine. The shrine had withstood the strongest typhoons in her lifetime due to its sturdy stones stacked on top of each other. The floor, too, was made of stones placed together, hiding the dirt underneath. The houses in the village, on the other hand, were normally made of wood tied together with vines and had thatched roofs.

  In the center of the shrine, a fountain of water shot up about a foot high in the well. The water never overflowed. Candles as big as her arms with candlesticks that stood up to her waist surrounded the well. The biggest one in the center wasn’t lit. The candles looked exactly the same as when she’d first come there. It seemed as though they had never been replaced.

  Tala shook her head and reminded herself to focus on cooking the frogs. She skinned them and stepped closer to the well to clean them. Her own dark-brown face stared back at her in the water. When she looked past her reflection, Tala couldn’t see the bottom of the well. Scared of falling, she stepped back.

  She held a frog by its legs and burned it headfirst. The candle’s flame was weaker than she’d thought. If she continued at the same rate, she would end up with little sleep and Luning would starve.

  She needed a stronger flame. She needed the biggest candle. She lifted a candlestick to light the biggest candle. The flame danced, outshining the other flames in the shrine.

  “Dear spirits,” someone said weakly behind her.

  “I’m sorry.” She spun toward the source of the voice but kept her head down.

  “Dear spirits,” they repeated.

  “I… I just needed to cook the frogs. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect the shrine.”

  Bony feet filled her vision. The woman was right in front of her. Slowly, she lifted her head. “High Priestess!” She cast her eyes down as quickly as she could and stared at her feet.

  “How did you light the biggest candle?” the high priestess asked like she had just witnessed something great.

  “With this.” Tala lifted the candlestick.

  “Ah, of course, with the other candle. And did you utter a prayer to the good spirits?” The high priestess sounded amused.

  Tala frowned and looked at the big candle but looked away from the blinding bright light.

  “Anyway, what brought you here? And in the middle of the night! I hope you’re not trying to flee.”

  Tala raised the frogs in response and put the candlestick down in its original position.

  The high priestess nodded. “You wait here, child.” She exited the shrine and returned with a clay pot full of charcoal.

  “Here, you can cook here. Don’t use the candles.”

  Tala heard no hint of the typical disdain she caught when other people talked to her.

  The high priestess squatted on the stone floor and lit the charcoal with twigs. “Four days from now, we will be holding the Priestess Trials. I would like you to take the test.”

  “I’m a slave,” Tala replied, as that was enough to end the conversation.

  “Your status before the trial doesn’t matter as long as you pass the test.”

  “As much as I want to, I can’t, High Priestess.” Tala stood and turned her back, showing her blood-stained skirt.

  “So, you’re a full-grown woman now. That will make things easier because your mind is maturing.” She turned the frogs burning on the hot coals.

  “But my master said he’s going to sell me into marriage. They saw this.” She pointed at her skirt. “They think they can get money when someone marries me. The suitors will come tomorrow, and those who cannot afford Master’s daughters will come and see me. I will finally be free.” Tala beamed.

  The high priestess shook her head. “Wait here.” She disappeared again. When she returned, she held three long white cotton cloths.

  “Feet apart.” The high priestess raised Tala’s dress, and Tala closed her eyes in embarrassment. She felt cotton between her legs. “Look down.”

  Tala opened her eyes.

  “For women who walk outside, even when they have their monthly visits, they need to know how to hide the blood. I’m not surprised your mistress didn’t teach you this. She could have at least given you two cloths so you could change.” The high priestess wrapped the cloth between her legs and around her waist and tied the ends together.

  “I look like I’m wearing a bahag!” Tala exclaimed.

  Even with four older girls in the same house, Tala had not been taught how to wrap herself. Women were expected to not talk about monthly periods even with fellow women. It was considered crass to do so, especially if men accidentally heard the conversation. She’d figured it wouldn’t matter anyway because she was supposed to stay out of sight until she had finished her monthly visit.

  “Yes. This will absorb the blood. Wash it once it’s soaked through. Three cloths should be enough.”

  “Thank you so much, High Priestess.” Tala bowed deeply at the waist.

  “Knowing this will help you in the Priestess Trials.”

  “But…”

  “Marriage will not free you from slavery. You will be a slave to your husband.”

  “But I don’t want to be a priestess!” Tala was surprised at her own raised voice. It felt like it came from someone else’s mouth. “I don’t think I’m fit to be one. I don’t believe in spirits and ghosts of the dead. If there are spirits and they help people, like all priestesses say, how come they didn’t help me when I prayed?”

  Tala expected a blow for raising her voice and insulting the spirits, but the old woman just shook her head.

  “The frogs! They’re burned. High Priestess, I have to go.”

  “Four days from now. Don’t forget it. You have to come.”

  Tala picked up the burning frogs, thankful that she had an excuse to escape the high priestess.

  If she married a rich man, she would be able to order maids around like her Mistress Bituin. She would be able to eat good food and wear jewelry, but for the moment, she needed to feed her friend. She ran home, not caring about the guards at the gate.

  Luning breathed no more when she arrived at the pigsty. Tala shed tears for her friend but did not mourn her death. Slaves died all the time, and she was glad Luning had finally escaped slavery. Tala, on the other hand, wanted to escape in a different way – through marriage.

  Chapter 4 />
  Kisig

  His mother’s stomach gaped at him. A river of blood gushed out. Kisig cried, begging for his mother to stop stabbing her stomach, but she kept on plunging the knife deep in her flesh. Blood continued pouring out, feeding the dry earth. The crimson liquid crawled toward him. He ran, but the blood came after him, wanting to touch him. He willed himself to flee faster, but the blood covered his feet, rose to his ankles, to his waist, and up to his chest.

  “No!” Heart pounding, Kisig jerked awake. It’s the same nightmare. He’d gone to bed moments ago, but the nightmare had already woken him up. He suddenly regretted going out on patrol. For sure, he wouldn’t be able to sleep the rest of the night.

  Before he could stand to get a cup of water, a hint of movement outside his room made him stop. He lay still, waiting to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. When the faint light outside disappeared for an instant then reappeared, his hand searched for his dagger under his mat. It wasn’t there. He’d given it to the slave.

  He swiftly shot to his feet without making a noise, thankful that the head warrior had taught him how to move efficiently. He ran to the door to sound the alarm, but it opened before he could reach it. Four masked men entered.

  They lunged at him at once. Kisig stepped back and landed a blow on the nearest man’s head. The man fell to the floor. Kisig needed a weapon. He snatched the man’s bolo knife and prayed that the noise of the scuffle had reached his guards’ ears. He thought the man was unconscious, but the man got back on his feet and lunged at Kisig again. Warm blood coated Kisig’s hand as he stabbed the man with his knife. Kisig pulled the knife back and kicked the man, sending him into the other men. The three men didn’t bother checking their companion. They lunged at him again. One man caught Kisig’s arm and held it behind him. Kisig’s bolo knife fell to the stone floor with a clang.

  He waited for something to pierce his skin, but the rest of them stood watching. In one fluid movement, Kisig elbowed the man holding him and struck the man’s groin with his knee. The man fell, groaning. Kisig stepped back, putting distance between himself and the two men remaining on their feet.