Where The Stars Rise: Asian Science Fiction and Fantasy

by Law, Lucas K.

  The afternoon sun blazed above, white against the azure sky. The air shimmered. Slaves arrived and carried away his quarry. The hunting dogs he had brought with him rushed back to the village, barking as they went. Perhaps they expected a good meal tonight, Soliran mused. A small brown dog with fine, matted fur sniffed at Soliran’s sunburned leg. He gave it a light pat for a job well done before shooing it away.

  “Brother, Brother! What else did you catch?” The girls and boys crowded around him with smiles so big he could see right through the spaces between their missing teeth.

  From his buri pouch, he brought out a long bundle of pipit, tiny birds he had felled with his slingshot. Flecks of crimson crusted the creatures’ ragged feathers.

  “So many . . .” the little ones trailed off in awe. Soliran handed the bundle to the thinnest of the children, the one who could hardly keep his loincloth from slipping off. The boy’s large eyes ogled as he took the lot.

  “One day you will be hunting for the village, but you will have to grow strong and big first. Bring those to your mama so that she can prepare a satisfying meal,” instructed Soliran. When the thin boy had taken the birds, Soliran plodded back to his hut as the other children continued to watch him with twinkling eyes.

  How he wished he deserved their admiration.

  Tomorrow was the full moon of Himabuyan—the fifth month, when the worms wriggled out of the fields. Tomorrow, the Hunting Rite would be held, and he and his older brothers, Soli-an and Gurun, would go into the forest alone at night in pursuit of a special type of Talunanon, the one called the Taung Asu. All the former datus of Barangay Mangangasu had gone through the rite. The outcome of the ordeal would cast in stone the name of the next datu. The rule was simple: only the strongest would succeed. This would be determined by speed: one must be the first to bring back a Taung Asu, dead or alive.

  Head cast to the ground, Soliran climbed the steps of their all-too familiar hut. He was going to fail the test. He was going to disappoint everyone. He was sure of it.

  His thoughts dipped into the darkness, where the terrible faces of the Talunanon that had spirited him away, resided. Their bird eyes clawed at his soul and shattered every morsel of courage he had that day many years ago.

  “Why the long face?” asked his mother. She knelt beside the ailing Samakwel.

  It pained Soliran to look at his father. The patches of grey hair on Samakwel’s head were reminiscent of withered grass. Even the scent of summer on his body had left. Death hung over his father, a storm cloud waiting to fall.

  “It is almost that day, Mother,” said Soliran.

  Her lackluster eyes betrayed her sadness. “You are skilled and brave, my son. Why do you worry?”

  She must have thought he meant the Hunting Rite when in fact he had meant his father’s health. Soliran shook his head. “I am only brave when the other warriors are by my side when we hunt. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even set foot in the woods.” He sat beside his mother, avoiding her gaze. “I fear them, Mother. They have cursed me. I cannot stop seeing the phantoms’ faces in my head.”

  Samakwel’s hands flailed. “I hear my son’s voice. Bring him here.”

  Soliran held his father’s pallid hands, the same hands that had pulled him out of the accursed bubug tree. The man’s unseeing eyes were covered with a milky membrane. The seams on his face deepened as he strained to find Soliran.

  Soliran’s chest tightened. Three days ago, a venomous snake had bitten Samakwel while he was fetching water from a tuburan. The elders had always warned them to avoid the natural wells, for these were where the feral spirits drank. When they brought the datu home, Padi Owada announced she had no remedy for the snake’s venom. Samakwel was fated to die in five days.

  Yesterday, the datu awoke screaming. He had become blind.

  “Do not be afraid, Soliran,” rasped Samakwel. “All that has happened is meant for tomorrow. Trust in the spirits and your strength. Look, they have even decreed that I must pass on the day of the rite.”

  “Do not speak like that!”

  Samakwel broke out in a resigned laughter. “I will speak as I wish.” The man’s eyes moved about, searching for his son in vain. “I know your fears, Soliran. We are the same. But you need not worry. When your knees buckle, the villagers will hold you up.”

  No, you are different, Father, Soliran wanted to say. But why tell a dying man what he didn’t want to hear? Samakwel was a great man and whatever he said, Soliran could never imagine him showing fear or weakness. He wished the old man would just see him for what he was.

  “Father, you must rest for tonight. There is a banquet in preparation for the Hunting Rite. We caught deer and wild boars. You will surely enjoy yourself.”

  A smile lit up Samakwel’s face as Soliran let go of his hands. “I, too, will rest now.” The bamboo floor thumped as he made his way up the stairs to the papag.

  The thudding of his feet reverberated in his ears. He felt as if he were moving not to the attic but toward a void of great fear.

  Knee-deep, the rushing white water bathed Adlao’s smooth, grey-cast legs. It was an ancient river, even older than the phantoms of the trees. It had a name, but he didn’t bother to remember it now. The river washed away the remnants of earth between his toes, but some dirt still caught in the spaces between his nails. As the scarlet sun dipped into the cloud-strewn horizon, the temperature dropped considerably, though he didn’t mind the chill despite his nakedness.

  He had been running the length of the river all day just to get his head cleared up. Tonight was the fifth full moon, the Month of Change. In a few hours, he had another chance to become a true Taung Asu.

  He splashed water on his face. He had to get it right this time. Last year, he failed to Turn. And this year, he was already over-aged.

  “Adlao,” said a voice.

  He looked over his shoulder and spotted Bulan, his younger sister. She emerged from the shadowed boughs of the woods.

  “Bulan, what are you doing here?”

  “I sensed your presence.” She grinned, revealing perfect fangs. Her yellow eyes glinted with mischief. Adlao could feel the excitement that wrapped her bare form like a misty veil. “We are going to Turn tonight.”

  “Yes — I hope so.”

  “No, you will. If you do not hurry up, I might leave you behind, Brother.” Her small voice taunted him.

  Adlao snorted. Yet she was right, of course. As long as he remained in this form, he was nothing but a babe. Or more of a failure. The true Taung Asu, those who had Turned, had a different status in the scheme of things, no longer bound to their places of origin and free to explore everything under the moon as they pleased.

  “If I do not Turn tonight, then I presume I was never meant to become a Taung Asu.” He waded out of the ancient river and came up to Bulan so that they stood face to face. He whined, “I will be but a mere tree phantom and waste away haunting trunks.”

  “Brother!” Bulan’s thick eyebrows met. He had never seen her so angry.

  “I was teasing. Of course I will Turn, you moon-mocker! How dare you speak to your elder brother like that?” He pretended to fume and chased after her as she darted back into the trees.

  When they arrived at the edge of the forest, Soliran and his brother Soli-an found Padi Owada. She had already prepared the offertory fire for the Hunting Rite. She handed them two chicken eggs each, their offerings to Bathala. Looking about, Soliran couldn’t see Gurun and, for a moment, he thought the other brother had backed down from the challenge. But Padi Owada told them that Gurun had gone into the jungle long before they came. Soliran looked down and shook his head. Gurun had gone in too soon. Smoke from the offering could only do so much to lead them. One had to wait until the sun was no longer in sight. Unlike the tree phantoms that moved during the day, night was when the Taung Asu would come out of hiding to Turn.

  Soliran glanced up. The glow of the crackling blaze made Soli-an’s face look twisted and grotesque.

&nb
sp; Soli-an scowled. “I am the first-born, Soliran.” His voice was laced with bitterness. “It is only right that I am the next chief.”

  Soliran held on to his brother’s gaze with a steadiness he didn’t expect. “Let the ordeal be the judge of that.”

  Soli-an’s nostrils flared. He dumped his offerings into the fire and it sizzled. It was as if the heat radiated Soli-an’s hatred toward him. Greyish smoke rose from the flames and drifted in the wind to a northeasterly course. Before storming away in the direction of the smoke, Soli-an adjusted his vest and spat on the ground.

  Soliran, holding his chicken eggs, stared after his brother.

  “It is time, Soliran,” coaxed Padi Owada in her rough voice.

  “Ah, y-yes.” He breathed deeply. Gathering his resolve, he dropped his offerings into the flames. The greyish smoke rose again and drifted to the same direction Soli-an went.

  Soliran braced himself. He checked the contents of his buri pouch, the carrier for his blowgun, and the karis tied to his waist. Everything was set.

  He entered the forest. A solid wall of darkness stood before him, suffocating. It was like that day, when the tree phantoms trapped him in their netherworld. The moon was full, yet its light scarcely penetrated the forest canopy.

  A rustling movement startled him. He leapt with a gasp and pulled out his blade. A rat skittered out. Soliran let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. He reclaimed his bearings while he could still detect traces of the guiding smoke.

  Soon, he was so deep in the woods that the moon was utterly blotted out. Fire ants of fear crawled up his spine as the darkness deepened, so much so, that he could have swam in it. He groped for vines and trunks that would support him in his quest. There was no sound save for the intermittent chirping of cicadas, the occasional caws of unseen birds, and his own ragged breathing.

  He half-expected a Talunanon to jump at him at any moment. What if he trespassed into a feral spirit’s territory again? Samakwel and Padi Owada wouldn’t be there to save him this time. He couldn’t do this. Why had he even tried?

  Fighting back his fear, he called on the memory of the little ones of Barangay Mangangasu, the way they smiled and looked up to him. Even his father, the great Samakwel who was ailing on his pallet, had called out no other name but Soliran, Soliran.

  He straightened his back. He couldn’t fail this test. He mustn’t.

  Soliran lay flat against an aged tree whose bark peeled upon touch. The handle of his karis bit his hand like cold river water.

  A howl cut through the sound of crickets, shushing them.

  Soliran jerked. He couldn’t have mistaken the sound for anything else but that of the Taung Asu. Judging from its loudness, he was not far away from them.

  More cries rose from the thickets. An entire pack at bay. He was about to run when he heard Soli-an’s scream.

  Soliran hastened. The scream came from the direction of the Taung Asu’s howls. With his karis, he cleared away tree branches. He skipped over roots, bushes, and rocks. His concern for Soli-an eclipsed any fear of spirits. He listened to the pounding of innumerable footfalls, the sound of flight. Why were they fleeing? Was he too late? The dome of foliage overhead thinned, and the shadows softened. He neared a light source that must have been a clearing. Instinctively, he knew that his brother, and perhaps the Taung Asu, would be there.

  He stopped short at a glade, ducking behind a dense hedge plant with horned leaves. Deep tracks marked the earth. Soli-an must have engaged an entire pack of Talunanon. A Taung Asu, perhaps seven feet tall if it could stand on its hind legs, encircled Soli-an who was crawling on the ground. The beast was alone. The rest of its pack must have already escaped.

  Soli-an was bleeding profusely from a bite on his leg. He was also unarmed. Soliran had to act fast.

  Without a sound, Soliran sheathed his short sword. He took his blowgun out of its carrier. He attached the two bamboo tubes in place while fumbling in his buri pouch for one of his poisoned darts. He pulled a dart by the fluff of fiber at its rear end, preening before loading it in. Using the hedge plant for support, he aimed.

  Stalactite teeth bared, the Taung Asu charged at his brother. Soliran almost screamed had his brother not found a branch with which to strike the Taung Asu’s face. The monster drew back.

  The blowgun’s mouthpiece was shaking against Soliran’s dry lips. His hands felt like wilted leaves. The Taung Asu was indeed a monster, worse than anything he had ever seen in his life. Its yellow eyes glowed with the moon’s radiance. Its haunches were ridged with bone and hardened muscle. Its entire body was covered in bristly, black hair. There was no way a mere dart could penetrate its thick hide.

  But then he noticed something. On the Taung Asu’s right foreleg was an ash-grey patch, more flesh than hide. It seemed that this Talunanon had not yet fully Turned. But at this distance, he could not be sure.

  He bit his tongue. There was no time to hesitate.

  Soliran dragged in air, steadied his aim, and blew the dart off with a puff. The Talunanon propped its ears, but it reacted too late. The fluffed end of the dart stuck out of its softer foreleg. Soliran had not been mistaken.

  The Taung Asu bolted into the woods.

  “I-I did it.” Soliran was breathless. He jumped from behind the bushes. His brother spotted him at once.

  “That was my quarry, you dirty cheat!”

  “But it was going to—“

  “Shut up. I never asked for your help, you hear me? I owe you nothing,” Soli-an spat, rising on his good leg. His injured leg continued to leak his lifeblood. There was so much wetness. In the poor light, Soliran couldn’t tell where the wound began and where it ended. Soli-an tied his putong around his thigh as a tourniquet.

  “Let’s get you back to the village, Soli-an.”

  “I can find my own way back!” His brother muttered all sorts of things under his breath and limped away.

  Soliran watched him go. What made him think they could get along just because of what happened? For a moment, he hoped there might be a chance. But perhaps this was the fate of brothers in his village. It could only get worse after their trial.

  He turned and scanned the forest. He had successfully hit that Taung Asu, and the poison must have taken effect by now. But he shivered, his thoughts racing with visions of getting ripped apart.

  He shook his head. Perhaps he didn’t deserve the villagers’ trust. Perhaps he would never be like his father, but he could at least use this chance to prove that he deserved the title of datu.

  Prying his attention away from his limping brother, Soliran knelt to the ground and studied his target’s tracks. It was not easy considering an entire pack had been here, but soon he deciphered them. A set of prints was still warm. He knew where to go.

  He took chase. He would make that Talunanon his own. The forest wasn’t good at hiding traces of disturbance, of broken twigs and crushed fungi. Signs were everywhere. Soliran could almost smell the Taung Asu. Wind and vine whipped at his face. Sweat stung his eyes, but he imagined himself as a cat, and his karis and blowgun were his claws. He would not stop until he caught his prey.

  Soon he reached a small patch of light where the Taung Asu had collapsed beside a tuburan that was illumined by moonbeams. Soliran threw caution to the wind and approached the spirit. Blade raised to eye-level, he took one step at a time on the cool, moist earth until he was upon his prey. He could hear it breathing, see the rise and fall of its massive flanks.

  It began to change. It seemed to deflate, the taut sinews and protruding bones flattening. The rest of its body became smooth, its hide turning into grey-cast flesh free of its bristly hairs. The eeriness of the sight gripped Soliran, but he needed to be brave, needed to suppress this mounting fear lest it devour him again.

  Soliran studied the sleeping Talunanon’s face. Though it was like a man’s, it was too bony and gaunt. He lowered his sword. Was this what he was supposed to bring back? It was sick and weak. Even his catch wa
s disappointing.

  He shrugged. If this is what the ritual requires, then so be it.

  He raised his sword to cut off the Talunanon’s head. The blade sliced the air, going down, down—

  “Stop!” shouted a small voice. “Please spare Adlao.”

  Soliran jumped back in surprise. The leaves rustled. A naked form slipped out of the shadows. It was somehow feminine in shape, though Soliran couldn’t be sure because it had no breasts. Her skin was grey just like his catch, but smoother, finer, and more radiant, almost like a Diwata’s. Her yellow snake eyes swirled in the dark like two smaller moons.

  “Adlao?” asked Soliran.

  “He is my older brother.” She pointed at the dormant form. “And I am Bulan.”

  “So you are Taung Asu as well. You understand then, that I must bring him back.”

  “Must you kill him?”

  “It is too dangerous to keep creatures like you alive.” He wondered why he even bothered to explain.

  Bulan came closer, and Soliran felt oddly lightheaded the more he held her gaze. “That is wise,” she said. Her teeth were like tiny swords. “Must it be him?”

  “What do you mean?” His gut churned. The very presence of these Talunanon made him queasy.

  “Take me instead. I do not want Adlao to die.” She didn’t even blink, and that disconcerting air of her nonchalance never lifted.

  Soliran was startled by how much these two resembled people. A Talunanon was bargaining with him, willing to give up her life for her brother, something that he himself would have done for his family. He would not lose anything by agreeing with her, but this made him more wary.

  He shook his head. “There is no use saving him. Adlao is dying, anyway. I poisoned him with my dart.”

  “No, he is asleep, healing. We do not die so easily, Master.”

  He craned his neck. “A man like me as your master?”