As promised, here is the final chapter of How to Tame Your Tikbalang.
I truly enjoyed writing this story and am a bit sad to see it end, but, like all good things, it has to come to a close.
Thank you so much for bearing with the long intervals between chapters and for reading my story. Thank you for taking joy in my native lore and for being with me on this journey.
Yes, I will write more stories along this vein, since Kidlat's story still needs telling, as well as the back story of how Bulan and Ulap got together (FTW).
For now, I'm going to take a bit of a break before I finish up a few more writing projects, including my Isle of Lays series. :)
Thank you for the stars and the favorites, they've meant so much to me, so much more than I can say.
*****
"Kapag maaraw at umuulan, may kinakasal na Tikbalang [When it rains while the sun shines bright, a Tikbalang is being wed]." ~ Old Filipino proverb.
The glade in front of the molave throne was decked out for a wedding, with Bulan adding the finishing touches to the pink stargazer lilies and lush flowering vines holding midnight-blue and gold damask table-cloths and chair-covers in place. The sun was up and blazing brightly through the lattice and lace of branches and leaves.
Here and there, nubile
Diwatas
clad in filmy tunics shot through with silvery starlight were setting bright, multifaceted jewels that would serve as soft, colored lights for the nighttime revels along the lowest branches of the rainforest's triple canopy.
Industrious little
Duwende
in their brightly colored jumpers and shirts were setting out buffet tables and ice carvings representing scenes from the daily lives of each of the Other World races. The dark Duwende stood sentinel at the outskirts of the clearing, squinting their eyes at the sunlight, for they rarely, if ever, were out in the sun.
This was more than just a Tikbalang wedding: It was a
royal
Tikbalang wedding and, as has been tradition since they could remember, they were the honor guard in their black and silver barong Tagalog of pineapple silk (also known as
jusi
),
salakot
hats, pristine white pants and mirror-shiny black boots.
There, too, were the
Nuno
, the most exotic of the Other World's elementals with their long, lithe limbs and flowing black hair, naked but for white loincloths and hand-woven
tapis
that changed color brightly in the sunshine as they moved, their flawless brown skins gleaming as they went about carrying large clay pots containing razorback adobo, venison jerky marinated in sweet rice wine, blood stew, succulent beef in tamarind broth, chickens steamed over beds of sea salt and lemongrass and a whole roast pig to the massive trestle tables at the center of the clearing.
They brought out and arranged large clay
tapayan
vats with spigots that were full of fresh pineapple, satsuma and mango juice, pink
tapuey
rice wine, as well as clear, fiery
lambanog
and sweet but potent
basi
atop the bar set up by the tables and attended to by a tall and stunning Diwata queen.
"Hey Maria!" One of the
Nuno
called out to the erstwhile barkeep. "It's good to see you leave Mt. Makiling every now and then. We should get together, if you know what I mean." He waggled very bushy brows at the Diwata queen, who just rolled her eyes, smiled and went about mixing the cocktails that would be served soon. If things went well, then maybe she'd take him up on his offer, or at least that's what her coy little smile said as she practiced her bottle-flipping moves while mixing the first batch of what promised to be several batches of cocktails.
The
Nuno
, being innate musicians, were the ones who set up the bandstand on a small stage beside where they placed the bamboo
angklung
shakers on stands, set a table for the jaws harp or
kubing
, placed the graduated
kulintang
gongs, the Ifugao
gangsa
and
hibat
, and several different lengths of bamboo rain-sticks. The live music would accompany the ceremony proper and the
Nuno
had to be very precise in the instruments' placement.
The river running through one side of the clearing sparkled a deep, cool blue in the sunshine and some siokoy were busy setting delicacies from the sea on polished bamboo rafts of varying sizes.
Freshly-cooked grouper topped with arosep seaweed sat in beautifully-crafted unglazed clay pots molded to look like whale sharks. Large clamshells were filled with mahi-mahi cooked seven ways, each with their own distinct sauces from sweet to almost unbearably spicy, surrounded by woven banana-leaf trays of lovely raw oysters with halved kalamansi limes and sea salt, mussels topped with generous amounts of garlic and baked golden brown, sliced abalone and giant conch meat. Live shrimp jumped as they marinated in vinegar and chopped
labuyo
chiles in large crystal basins. Grilled lobsters long as a Tikbalang forearm and twice as thick were presented sans shells on banana leaves and slathered with a savory coconut milk sauce. Multicolored sweets made with coconuts harvested from the shore all danced on these rafts held by tethers of seagrass rope.
The waterfolk did like their food—and their drinks, which were lined up in colorful rows along the top of a semi-submerged tiki bar, beside which stood a huge golden perch inlaid with turquoise and sapphires, the seat for the Ibong Adarna, who would sing the last wedding song.
The evening feast of raw foodstuffs for the
Aswang, Sigbinn, Manananggal
and other nocturnal
malignos
was kept cool in blue tents—mostly for the other guests who were not so fond of raw hearts and livers, unshelled
balut
cooked four ways or stews of chopped up internal organs and intestines, or the rather pungent smells these gave off. These dishes contained no garlic, salt or vinegar to ease their aromas, because, well, those denizens of the other world were very, very allergic to those, as well as to bamboo in any form.
So far, so good
