Double-shift over, Tala made it as far as her couch before collapsing in a tired heap of cloth and flesh. But just as she was about to drop off into la-la land, she felt something hard, a corner of sorts, digging into the middle of her back. That book. She hadn't put it away and it lay just where she'd left it.
Grunting in a most unladylike manner (her mother would have frowned, really), Tala reached behind her and pulled the book out from under. She would have tossed it on the coffee table supporting her left foot, but the tome began to glow again and she felt a burst of energy begin to fill her, upward from her fingers. The book fell open in her splayed lap, right at the page where she'd put a 7-11 receipt as a bookmark.
Baylan. Read me, Baylan.
Tala dropped the book as if it were molten and stood up. "You didn't talk and I didn't hear that," Tala said to no one in particular as she headed to the sink at the breakfast nook to get herself a glass of water. She swallowed the water, not that it helped her nervousness, her creeped-out feeling.
Unease continued to flicker up and down her spine, the discomfort of not being alone when one should actually be alone. The voice had been in her head more than in the atmosphere of her apartment. It was a woman's voice, sultry and sure.
Shaking herself slightly, Tala went into her room to strip out of her work clothes and change into white gym shorts and a thin yellow tank top, eschewing bra and underpants because the heat was just too much for that many layers of clothing. Anything to shake off the weirdness she was feeling.
When she couldn't shake the feeling, Tala decided that the best defense was a solid offense. Striding the three or so steps back to the sofa, Tala settled down with a leg tucked up against her on the seat, picked up the book and began reading it again, knowing without wanting to admit it that she wouldn't get any sleep until she'd read at least another page, the entry dated 26 Abril 1898.
"There are many dangers when one seeks to tame a Tikbalang—the creature's teeth are not those of an herbivore, but of an omnivore. Beware those teeth that can, and will, tear at vulnerable flesh. It is stronger than horse and man combined, and much more determined. It is keenly intelligent, as creatures of all the Other Races are.
"My recommendation is not outright battle or confrontation. Humans are the most brittle, the weakest of races when faced with the majesty of the horse-man built of both warrior and warhorse. Heed me in this: Engage the Tikbalang on all levels that avoid combat. Use your wit and brains, your charm and goodwill. Even good cooking skills will serve you well, if you have those, for the Tikbalang is a hungry beast and he likes all things made with meat and hearty vegetables.
"Draw out your interaction with the Other Being, make yourself attractive to him and make it worth his while not to simply eat you. Then you are a step closer to the goal of taming this glorious wild thing. Thus do you get past the natural defenses of your Tikbalang.
"If you are reading this Bestiario, then you are blooded with the blessing of our ancestors' witches, the Baylan the colonizers could not burn at stake for fear of lightning reprisals from Nature Herself. You have the gifts of sight and of storms, the unwitting compassion with the Earth and its Other Races. Good. The Tikbalang will have pause despite its instinct to devour you. You are of my blood and it is in the blood that your power runs. You have been named for the star that has always shone in my family. You are Tala, the strongest of us yet."
Tala frowned.
The book is talking to me. Really talking to me. This is so not the time to be freaked out about the Bestiario de Criaturas Mágicas en las Islas Filipinas
. She took another breath, just to reassure herself that she is, indeed, in the present day, in Pasay City, in 2014.
How on earth did Beatriz know she would have a descendant named Tala? For she was the only one in her clan who carried a native name—everyone else has Spanish or Western names, names that followed the fashion of the times. Her naming was only different in that her great-grandmother had named her before the old woman drew her last breath.
Well, that was a mystery for another day. Tala continued reading, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. That, and her desire to sleep had fled, leaving insomnia in its wake.
"Since you are reading my diary—gotten hold of it, in fact, then you do carry in you the seeds of the power of the Baylan, the priestesses of old who held the power of healing and of peacemaking firmly in their hands. Don't let anyone tell you we have died out, Tala. We merely move in the spaces where the common Tao do not look, for such has always been our way. Our power lies in that which seems ordinary, say, the knife you will use to carve a chicken for tinola—that is your athame (for want of a better term, I use that which the witches of the West bring us). Kiss that knife, it is your primary weapon and tool, and never lose it.
"Before you set out to seek your fortune in a Tikbalang's pelt, you need to unlock your Otherness. Chances are, and I know our family too well to think otherwise, you have been told that your foresight is unnatural, that your hands are made hot by fever, not power. They mean well, child, but they do you a disservice.
"You unlock your power when the moon cannot be seen, on as clear an evening as you can get. You will need nine black candles that have never been lit, and nine candles of pure beeswax, candles that also have never been lit. Gather, too, one salop of sea salt and one piece of gold jewelry, the oldest piece you own.
"Buy a black chicken—they call it ulikba in the marketplace. None of its plumage should be colored or white. Slaughter it yourself and drip the blood into a bowl with a handful of red rice grains. Plunge the dead fowl in boiling water and pluck away every black feather and let the feathers dry on a bamboo threshing tray as you prepare the chicken for tinola.
"As you boil the chicken, ginger root, unripe papaya and chilies in the broth, add as much garlic and onion as you dare. Once it has come to the boil, drop in the blood and rice grains. Add some peppercorns with your prayer for power. Kiss a handful of sea salt and sprinkle it in as you stir and cover the pot. Douse the cook fire until only embers remain to simmer the tinola and prepare for the ritual that will unlock your Otherness and bring the Tikbalang to you.
"Learn to center yourself between now and market day, for, surely, you need to be able to concentrate your focus no matter what uncontrollable things may erupt around you. Make your list so you know what to buy, then sit on the ground under the stars, with your head up, focusing on one of the stars after which you were named.
"Feel the power of that star you select fill you. Do not fight it. Allow it to carry you to the plane no other Taga-Lupa may seek. Do this each night until you feel the power thrum through your heartbeats. Then you know you have been unleashed and are free to roam the Other World known only to the few of us. Touch the spark of the Old Gods in you, for they are there, waiting to be acknowledged."
Tala looked around for a piece of paper, rummaging through her bedroom and on back to the living room. Finding not a single scrap to use but for the makeshift bookmark, she proceeded to make a list of things to buy in Quiapo market five days hence on her smartphone's Inkpad app. Thank goodness she didn't have to work over the weekend. Her next problem was finding a place to do the sitting meditation part of Beatriz's instructions. Her balcony would have to do.
So she settled herself comfortably on that scrap of concrete and steel the condo developer called a balcony, her back to the fire escape on the furthest side from the sliding glass doors and facing the balcony railing where the wrought iron grilles allowed her to see the sky. That was the only vantage point she had for watching stars.
Tala focused on the brightest star, Sirius, the dog star—the star just rising in the early evening, for her reading and re-reading the April 26 passage in the
Bestiario
had taken long enough that the sun had set and the stars were rising.
The irony was not lost on Tala:
Here I am beseeching a hunting dog for the power to overcome a warhorse
. She shook her head, let go of her doubts and began her open-eyed sitting meditation even as she felt heat that was not born of the fading summer begin to dance in her loins and radiate up through her torso and down to her toes.
***
Fifteen stories below, the Tikbalang stood in the shadows by the entrance to Tala's apartment building, sniffing her fragrance on the humid night air. The generous red curve of his mouth curled into a knowing smile.
She's home. Good.
Up the fire escape and onto the very edge of the balcony he went, silently despite his hooves. The Tikbalang halted his ascent just as he was about to scale the balcony railing, sniffing the air and scenting Tala.
She was sitting cross-legged on the balcony's cold concrete floor, her head thrown back and limned in the dark flames of her tresses. Her back was straight as a ramrod, her shoulders were relaxed and her breathing was that even deep rhythm of a mystic's trance.
The Tikbalang stood balanced on the corner of the balcony railing, his
tarugo
