/// BACK IN THE TRAINING FIELDS

It wasn’t long before they were back in the training field behind the Monastery. They had to leave as more students came into the cafeteria, ready to eat and study. It was nearing the end of class hours.

They began practicing with rattan sticks now, making it even more similar to Arnis. Jaime stressed the fact that the philosophies learned with the stick can also be used for the sword, for the knife, for the spear, for the shield, and more.

The four of them brimmed with energy, doing three times the number of drills. They even sparred against each other, trading blows and making sure that each other could see attacks coming, and taught how to fight under pressure. Jaime sparred with each of them as well to make sure they were coming along correctly.

“Good. Remember to respect your opponent. Once you have the fundamentals of combat down--through An, all arts are familiar--you will be able to read and predict your opponent’s maneuvers. Each punch becomes a calculated decision, every dodge a predicted outcome.”

Esther and Mattheo sparred. Despite Mattheo being a whole one and a half head taller than Esther, Esther was able to stand her ground. They jabbed at each other with safe punches. Esther took a few light punches from Mattheo, but she ignored them and kicked at his leg, elbowed his chest. Mattheo swatted the elbow away and moved his arm in a circular motion, striking his palm, and then pushing Esther away.

“Clean hits,” interrupted Jaime. That’s good. Enough.”

And it was so. Esther and Mattheo stopped, sweat matting their clothes and hair to their bodies. “You got it quicker than usual, even more so than Angela and Jonathan. I have a good feeling about training you all now in the An. I hope you will not disappoint me.”

Training lasted for another hour, now with Angela and Jonathan joining the fray and practicing strikes, footwork, breathing, blocks, and dodges. It all felt very methodical and deliberate, each lesson poised to teach about how a fight would go down, not just a martial art. All four of them had gone through Arnis classes before, though, as it was required for most Senior High schools, so they were able to pick up on the lessons and skills already taught by Arnis easily enough. Perhaps in that sense, they weren’t actual baguhan when it came to self defense and sport combat.

When they were all lying down on the ground, sweat matting their clothes to their skin, chest heaving rapidly, gasping for air, Jaime said: “That’s enough for today. The sun will fall beneath the horizon soon. Freshen up, get some rest, and then come to the eating hut behind the Monastery, where we ate last night. We will eat dinner, and discuss plans for the future.”

The four of them nodded, and then began walking back to their dorms.

“Where are your dorms located, by the way?” Angela asked Mattheo, as they stretched and winded down.

“Right beside yours, actually. Don’t worry, you won’t miss us too much.”

Esther made a face again. “Sus. What are you, pilingero?”

“Yieee you’re gonna miss us no?”

Esther made that face again and laughed.

Jaime watched them. Conviction burned in their heart, he knew, but a seed of doubt has been sowed in his heart. They were still children. They were still new to the violence of heaven. If he did not train them properly, they might meet their end prematurely. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Couldn’t.

It wasn’t long before they had all readied and cleaned themselves. The rest of the students had fallen into doing their nightly chores before going to sleep. They, on the other hand, newly cleaned and fresh, had dinner with Jaime out in the little eating hut they had in the back of the Monastery by the cliff. Little tongues of flame hung from a golden lamp from the ceiling. Angela and Esther looked with wonder at the flames, since they were firstly a pastel white, and secondly they had eyes and looked down on them with strange curiosity. After a few moments, Angela and Esther found the eyes funny, and they laughed.

The light diwata laughed too, and that was the crackling of embers that they heard.

The Engkantos had begun to wear clothes that were provided to them, giving them a sort of anachronistic look: Jonathan and Mattheo both had balloon pants while Angela and Esther both wore sayas. They also both wore simple shirts that they kept untucked, as was custom in such a tropical climate.

They ate for a bit alone until Gala and Jenna arrived. When Gala saw the gang, her face brightened up a bit, but not by much. She smiled wider, and that pep in her step was back, just by a bit. Jenna was stoic-faced, but she was smiling as well. Her fair skin made her look like a ghost against the dark night and the low pastel white flame of the light diwata.

“Hey gang,” said Jenna, sitting beside Esther, while Gala sat beside Angela. “How was your day?”

“Lotsa… violence,” said Mattheo, glancing at Jaime. Jaime was too busy enjoying huge cuts of pork and chicken and at least three cups of rice. “Par, Jaime, do you really eat that much?”

“We learned the An, today,” said Esther, smiling innocently. Pa-cute in Filipino culture.

“Yeah,” said Jaime. “I’m just hungry all the time.”

“Is that an Attainer thing or--”

“No. I’m just hungry,” he said, completely deadpan. “But it is completely normal for an Attainer to eat more than usual.”

“That is one way to get stronger after all,” said Jenna.

Mattheo nodded, pursing his lips. “Okay. Oh, we also punched each other.”

Jenna blinked, and so did Gala. They both gazed sharply at Jaime. “It was for An training.”

“Yeah, I got a bruise from it, ow.” Jaime winced and touched his chest, where a burning pain arose.

Jenna and Gala looked at Jaime again.

“He’ll be fine.”

“How was your day, Ate Jenna?” asked Esther, smiling and wondering. Mattheo glowered at her.

“It was fine. Gala and I unwound a bit. We ate in a gotohan down in Inarawan.”

“Inarawan?” asked Esther.

“It’s the barangay below.”

“Oh right, there’s a barangay below us,” noted Jonathan. “Damn I’d love some goto right now. Just a bit of back home.”

“There are barely any gotohans in San Lazaro,” said Esther.

“I came from Manila, remember?”

“Also we drank a bit, wrote some poetry, the nice stuff, you know.”

“Very calming,” said Gala. “We had tea.”

Jaime nodded. “A bit of a break is a smart thing to do, especially after recent events.”

Silence cut through them as they ate, peppered only by the crackling of the white flame, the laughing of the light spirits. What they found so funny, none of them had any idea.

“Did Brother Owl really…” Gala’s words trailed off as she sank deep into thought again. Angela, who was beside her, rubbed her back.

“Yes,” said Jaime. “He’s in Idalumnon as we speak. Susanna will be saved, of that I am sure.”

Gala nodded, but her eyes were getting wet. Angela just kept on rubbing her back.

“So how good are you at An?” asked Jenna, grinning.

Esther shrugged. “Well, Kuya Jaime has said that we picked it up pretty quickly…”

“They are,” said Jaime. “However, whether they get to practice or apply this in practical situations remains to be seen.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to put them through practical situations, then.”

“Safe ones, of course,” said Jaime. “But yes. Such situations are protocol in the Monastery. Accordingly to Brother Owl: ‘It fits not a Datu not to venture.’”

Gala nodded. She spoke up, coughing to clear her throat. “Speaking of, maybe you can help our friends in Inarawan for a bit? Down in Inarawan, we found a bit of a problem. While we were drinking tea, we overheard gossip about a stray engkanto gang that lives deeper into the woods to the east of Inarawan. Apparently they’ve been coming every Hingot-hingot at the time of twilight to ransack the barangay’s stores and stocks. Inarawan is more or less self-sustaining you see, and traders come every now and then to get some Salamuha rice, which is kind of a commodity, as it is one of the last few rice natively grown in Paraiso.”

Jenna continued: “That means if the engkanto steal what they have, they’re losing both in commerce and in their personal food. It’s bad for them. We have to stop it.”

“Okay. Sounds good. Jenna, Gala, you both should stay here first and take a break. Rest is just as important for the growth of Gahum as activity is. Just as peace if necessary for violence.”

Gala and Jenna nodded, continued eating.

“Wait, Hingot-hingot?” asked Angela, suppressing a laugh.

“Oh, that’s the sixth day of the week. Basically Friday.”

“There are still seven days here in Paraiso?”

Jenna nodded.

Jaime interjected: “I will be going with the four of you tomorrow, and we shall investigate. As much as possible, I won’t mess with your dealings, only giving advice here and there to help you.”

“Are we like… superheroes now?” asked Mattheo.

Gala chuckled. “Not yet. Soon, perhaps. Help as many as you can and maybe you will.”

“The goal is to help the populace of Paraiso, and in so doing, feed the flame of your own Gahum, and become stronger. I shall teach you how one can become stronger through this.”

The four of them nodded, and then continued on to finish their food. A few mouthfuls of food in, Mattheo laughed. “Hey, if we’re going to be fighting engkantos tomorrow, then doesn’t that mean it’ll be engkantos versus engkantos? Hehe.” He laughed on his own. Nobody else laughed, but Esther and Angela smiled at him.

The next day they rested well. Jaime roused them when the sun was just a silver speck in the horizon. “Blessings from Hanan,” said Jaime, and the four of them had learned to return the greeting. Together they stood by the gate of the Monatery, which led down a path canopied by large tree branches, and then flanked on both sides by bamboo shoots. The four of them stood there, with Jaime saying, “Stay here. I just have to set some things up with the faculty to fill in for me while I’m not at my class.”

“You have a class?”

“Of six students. I get all the unruly ones.” He then Shifted into a silver starling and shot back through the gates of the Monastery.

They lounged about. Jaime had told them to “not stand out” so he gave them clothes that fit the weird, anachronistic fashion of Paraiso. Mattheo wore a simple bahag and shirt combination, but the bahag was worn long enough to reach just below the knees. The tails of the bahag were wider than usual, with the back reaching their calves, and with the front reaching just above their shins. On top of it all he wore a short-sleeved black camisa de chino.

Jonathan wore a white, long-sleeved camisa, with a simple salawal for shorts which had okir patterns embroidered across it. Along with that is a simple salakot, hanging from his back.

Mattheo went barefoot, while Jonathan wore a simple pair of bakya, or wooden clogs, which covered his toes. “Very comfy,” he said.

“Sure, but like, what if we have to cross a river or something?”

Jonathan blinked, and then pulled his feet out of his bakya. “I carry the shoes.”

“Fair.”

Angela wore a baro’t saya get up that one would find in Amorsolo paintings: a white shirt with bell sleeves. She didn’t tuck in, since the humidity and heat necessitated that they leave as much open as possible, but the wind was cold against the hot sun. Below that, she wore a red saya skirt, which wrapped around her twice, but did well not to impede her movement. The saya skirt was adorned with beautiful okir patterns. Similarly Esther wore a simple white tank top underneath a whiter barong tagalog which fell to her midriff. She then wore red and yellow balloon pants and went barefoot. “I love this fashion. I look great and it doesn’t trap heat in the body.”

“I brought panyos just in case though,” said Angela. “If we’re going to be fighting, we’re going to be sweating.” And she handed out folded panyos for everyone.

“Wow, they’re even color coded. Red for me, blue for Mattheo, turquoise… for Jonathan? And then is that...orange for you?”

“I only know what yours and Mattheo’s usbong look like, okay?”

“Fair.”

They went around then checking and rummaging through the abaca packs that Jaime had given them. Within were albularyo healing remedies, water sealed within wooden pots, some food wrapped in banana leaves, and a knife for each of them, just in case.

Eventually, Jaime returned. Jaime was also wearing something that fit the anachronisticity of Paraiso: he wore a black camisa with a barong tagalog over it, which he wore unbuttoned, and then darkly colored balloon pants similar to Esther’s. He also went barefoot. There, in the brief glimpses of his wrists and ankles, one can see the tattoos that sprawled his entire body. Around his ankles and wrists hung golden alahas.

“Alright, we’re good. Let us away.”

“We’re not gonna ride on… iunno, kalesas or whatever?”

Jaime shook his head as he walked forth. “Inarawan is about two hours a walk away.”

“That’s really far,” said Angela.

“Not really. That’s really close, in truth. Perhaps you have become too complacent and used to how it is back in your universe.”

“Yeah we usually try to take some sort of transportation anywhere.”

Jonathan began walking. Mattheo smiled, and followed after him. Before long, they were all walking down the path.

The travel was not far. They walked through a simple and straight dirt path, seemingly made for kalesas and wagons and horses. On either side of the road were numerous trees, mostly large-rooted narras and mangkonos and bamboos, painting a lush brown and green and yellow backdrop for our venturers. Musang or civet cats stared at them from the trees, large crows flew overhead. The occasional monkey would swing from one bamboo to another. They saw what was a bearcat drinking water from a nearby stream. Off to the distance, to the east, there was the sound of a rushing river.

Eventually, they stopped an hour in for a quick lunch break, where they ate on the side of the road. Mattheo deemed it fit to ask. “So, Jaime, how did you end up here in Paraiso?”

Jaime blinked, munching on rice and egg and pork skin. He swallowed, and then said, “It’s a long story,” he said. “And honestly, I don’t remember too much of it.”

“How old are you anyway?” asked Angela, as they ate.

“Twenty-two… I think?”

“Why aren’t you sure?”

“Time works differently here in Paraiso,” replied Jaime. “And it’s not like I celebrate my birthday to keep track. Additionally, all Attainers live longer than the usual mortal. It’s the Gahum working in us, you see.”

“I see,” Esther said, blinking. “Huh, so we’re all going to live longer, huh? Do we keep living longer even when we go back to our universes?”

Jaime nodded. “The change is within you, not within your universe or a consequence of being within Paraiso, so you wouldn’t suddenly change age or rapidly grow old when you return to your own universes.”

“Kuya Jaime,” asked Jonathan. “Do you even… remember where you came from?”

Jaime nodded. “I do, in little stolen glimpses of memory and dreams. It’s not something I need to worry about, usually. I’m here now, and so I must on what’s now. What else is more real than what’s in front of me? The past is gone, and some wonder if it is real in the first place. The future is uncertain, and is not reality until it has become the now? That is the truth of the lie.”

“Wow, holy shit, you speak way too much like Brother Owl,” said Esther. “It’s kinda hard to speak to you, and sometimes I think you come from… iunno, Spanish Manila or something.”

“Or I may have come from an alternate Manila where the Spanish never colonized us. You never know.”

Silence took over at that, as they ruminated over Jaime’s words. What other possibilities lay just beyond the reach, with that limit being their imagination? “So there are like… infinite universes, right?”

Jaime nodded. “All of them are dreams of the Diwata, the Little and Big Gods, all of them shadows of the reality that they have here in Heaven. In essence, the universes are simply dreams, inhabited by these spirits, these divine souls, as a man dreaming might have his friends inhabit his dreams. They are quickly fading, imperfect mirrors of the reality of the Diwata, which is heaven. At least… now.”

“That’s really fucking weird,” said Mattheo, finishing his food. “I’m ready to move on ahead and not think about this weird ass stuff.”

“I dunno, I think it sounds kinda cool,” said Jonathan.

“Well that’s nice and all Jonathan, but I don’t like thinking about how our universe is just a dream by some little divinity.”

“Wait, so when the dreaming spirit that dreamed our universe wakes up, do we die?”

“Yes,” replied Jaime. “But time is not the same concept as it is in your universe with the Diwata. It is worth noting that some Diwata are larger than others. There are Diwata of Creation, or Diwata of Dreaming, or Diwata of Tyranny, and those Diwata are the ones that Dream of Universes. Those Diwata go by many names: demiurges, creators, manlilikha. They are more powerful than other Diwata, usually. And the divinities that don’t dream are the ones that infuse all things.”

“Wait, do manmade or created things have Diwata?”

Jaime finished his food, folded the banana leaf, and then placed it at the side of the road. “All things are alive, everything is divine. This is another doctrine of Hiyang, as taught by Brother Owl. As a tree can have a tree god inhabit it, so can a sword have a sword god inhabit it. In truth, it is the god that gives the item its qualities, and not the item itself. A sword is a sword because of the sword god, and a tree is a tree because of the tree god.”

“Can Diwata leave what they inhabit and personify?”

“If they do, it is like taking the soul out of a thing. A sword without its Diwata is as much a sword as a stick is.”

“So all things have a Diwata, since all things have qualities that are inherent to them.”

Jaime nodded. “Diwata of concepts are especially powerful, as they live within those concepts, and can be beseeched favors from. A Diwata of Heroism, for example, lives within all those that exhibit or act heroically.”

Esther smiled. “What if we killed the Diwata of Heroism?”

“Not ‘the’. There are bound to be more than one, as is the nature of infinity. But if you kill the diwata of heroism within a thing or person, then that person will no longer have heroism. What is heroism without its soul? It would be a false heroism. An object that is heroic as much as a stick is heroic.”