Pearl Legends: The Cycles of the Moon

By M.O. Olivares

As the second son of the Chief of Nilad, Alon is used to being overlooked. But when he receives the biyaya, the gift of the spirits, on his fifteenth birthday, his life begins to change. Meanwhile, a dark spirit threatens to destroy his tribe and spread terror and grief throughout the Pearl Isles. Alon soon realizes that he has the ability to fight the dark spirit. The biyaya can make him the most powerful warrior in the land—if only he learns to control it. But will it be enough? What is at stake is nothing less than total control over the precious Pearl Isles.

THE CYCLES OF THE MOON is Book 1 in the action-packed teen and young adult fantasy series, PEARL LEGENDS. Start your adventure now.

For more information and to subscribe, visit: www.PearlLegends.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.O. Olivares
• Release date: Oct 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370198689

M.O. Olivares

M. O. Olivares is a Pearl Islander, descended from the tribe of Zales, western Usnon. She remembers a childhood of balmy sweet-scented evenings, huddled over lamplight, listening to tales of a bygone era. Sadly, the aswangs, manananggals, and tikbalangs, as well as other creatures that used to roam the land, including the love-sick kapre who pined for Olivares’ mother through a window, have long departed. She writes so they will not be forgotten.For more information and to join the mailing list, visit: www.PearlLegends.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It’s coming. Alon braces himself for the attack. He is not disappointed. It descends on him like a mysterious deadly enemy. All of a sudden, he is on fire—as if a thousand hot needles are stabbing his body. Alon grits his teeth to stop himself from crying out. It wouldn’t do to show weakness. He tosses and turns on his mat. Sweat trickles down his neck. He’s exhausted, yet sleep is impossible. His mother puts a cool damp cloth on his forehead and murmurs soothing words, except her ministrations are useless. The torture comes and goes throughout the night; waves of assault troops that strike one after the other. Wearily, Alon waits for each round. He has nowhere to hide. Before long, he senses another surge. Alon clenches his fists as the onslaught roils over his body.

The bamboo door slides open. The Katalonan has arrived.

Madunong! Thank Bathala you’re here. His mother welcomes him.

The Katalonan hands his mother a pouch of herbs. Try this, he says. He instructs her to crush the fresh leaves and place them on his forehead. As his mother gently massages his head, the scent of mint and eucalyptus clears his mind. Alon sighs, relaxing a little. Still, he isn’t fooled. Not even for an instant. He must be in serious trouble. The shaman wouldn’t have been summoned if his condition hadn’t been critical.

Soon there’s another outbreak. It’s not so bad. The herbs the Katalonan brought seem to be helping. As Alon begins to settle down, however, the next attack catches him off guard. This time, a violent tremor runs through his body, launching it into spasms. His head explodes as if an arrow has shattered his skull. And blinding white light flashes before his eyes. Alon cries out. He can’t help it. He fights the tears that start to trickle down his cheeks.

Eventually, the torment passes. While his mother mops his brow, Alon catches snippets of conversation. His father and the Katalonan stand at the foot of his mat, speaking in low whispers. He can’t make out what they’re saying. Then he hears them mention his name. They glance at him, grim expressions on their faces. For the first time, Alon feels fear.

So this is it.

He never thought he would go like this. It isn’t the way a warrior should die. Not that he could truly call himself a warrior. He’s never been in an actual battle, though he’s been training for one all his life. The worst brawl he’d been in was with Giyab, the bully. Older and bigger, Giyab didn’t count on his opponent’s tenacity. Alon had stood his ground. Since then, Giyab would take every opportunity to challenge him.

There had also been the incident with a werebeast in the forest. Out of nowhere, the kiwig jumped on him. Alon swiftly twisted away before it could bite his neck. He would never forget the creature’s fiery dog eyes that flared at him as they wrestled. Apart from a few scratches from the werebeast’s coarse fur, he had won that match as well.

All the more he shouldn’t go like this.

It would be a shame.

No one will write songs of his great deeds as they had done of his ancestors.

While he waits for the next grueling round, Alon decides that now is the moment for truth. A warrior never shies away from it. He might as well prepare himself. And if this is to be his final battle, he must face it like one.

After another bout with the enemy passes, Alon signals for attention. What’s wrong with me, Father? he asks hoarsely.

He glances at his mother. She looks at him helplessly.

Am I going to die?

His father and the Katalonan exchange somber looks. Then his father moves closer and kneels by his side, an inscrutable expression on his face. No, my son, he says heavily. On the contrary, he pauses, glancing at the shaman, you will most certainly live.

The next day, the pain is gone.

CHAPTER ONE

It’s not a good idea.

Alon snorts at Pinpin in disgust and kicks his horse to a gallop, leaving his friend no choice but to follow him. He halts at the beach’s edge and gazes across the bay to the Balang Peninsula. The mid-morning sun beats down on his bare chest and the water deflects its glare, making him squint. His horse throws back his head and lets out a long whinny.

Oh, I know what he means, Ontok. Alon leans over and rubs his horse’s neck. But even you can see it’s a beautiful day. Ontok shakes his head and makes a throaty sound. Alon ignores him. Though he won’t admit it, Alon knows his friend is right to urge caution.

The Bay of Nilad is a natural harbor, a strategic hub for trade and commerce between neighboring tribes and islands. While paraws and bangkas line the long shore, today they sit empty. Even the fishermen know when to stay away. Tonight is the Kaipunan, the Collection that takes place every full moon. It is a solemn occasion for all tribes. He can’t blame Pinpin for being anxious to get back.

Pinpin canters up to him and pulls Ulay to a stop. You’ll be late, he says, frowning.

Nonsense. I have plenty of time. Why don’t you come with me? Alon grins placatingly.

Pinpin’s scowl deepens. You know very well that I get seasick.

Alon shrugs, pretending not to hear Pinpin’s warning. The high tide at this point in the lunar cycle makes the seas unpredictable. Instead, Alon stares at the waves lapping the shore. The water looks inviting. Surely his friend realizes by now that he has never been afraid of the water. The waves have always been his friends.

Suddenly, as if responding to his call, a large wave crashes onto the beach and sprays the horses with foamy water. Ontok and Ulay neigh loudly in protest.

Ha, Alon hoots. He can’t believe it. He’s done it again. It’s been happening more and more frequently.

He remembers a similar morning not long ago. He had been heading towards his favorite cove, whistling while he worked the sails. Curiously, as the waves skimmed past his canoe, he could have sworn they whistled back in response. And just a few days ago while he and Kulit were playing and laughing on the beach, another wave rumbled onto the shore and seemed to grab his ankles as though wanting to join in their mischief. As Alon recalls another instance, his head begins to throb. All at once, it brings him back to the night he thought he was going to die.

Are you all right? Pinpin asks.

I’m fine, Alon brushes him off. He rubs his temples and the pain eases.

You’re not having one of those headaches again, are you?

Alon turns to Pinpin. The concern on his friend’s face annoys him. He should never have mentioned that he still gets the odd one. Sorry, Pinpin. You understand. I have to go.

At fifteen harvests, Alon and Pinpin are the same age. Although Pinpin stands slightly taller, Alon considers himself older and wiser having been born two moon cycles before his friend. They are similar in appearance: wiry bodies that are brown as rich earth, dark hair and eyes like the rest of their tribesmen. They look so alike that folks often mistake them for brothers, more so than Alon’s actual brother. In place of a warrior band like Baan’s, Pinpin wears a permanent frown on his forehead. His friend must have been born frowning.

Another strong wave rushes onto the beach. Kulit, Alon’s little monkey, wakes up from his nap and coos in delight. He clambers down Alon’s back, pulls at his master’s long hair before sliding down Ontok’s tail. Kulit was a gift to his father, the Chief of Nilad, from another tribal chieftain in the south with whom they trade. On the day he was presented, Kulit shot out of his cage, leapt up Alon’s shoulders and hid under his hair. From then on the baby monkey with the face of an old man, long man fingers and reddish brown coat has hardly left Alon’s side.

Kulit runs after hermit crabs on the sand, sucking their flesh out of their shells as soon as he catches them. When a big wave sends frothy water to his feet, he jumps up and down and whoops with delight. Kulit kicks each wave as it retreats, spraying the horses with grey sand and salty water. Ontok brays and flicks his mane.

The cavorting cheers Alon up. He laughs. Come with me, Pinpin. Even the animals have fun.

When his horse squeals, Pinpin says, Not Ulay.

That’s because he takes after his master.

Pinpin presses his lips into a thin line. We’re not supposed to be having fun. We should be helping Baan.

Alon chafes at the mention of his older brother. Baan doesn’t need me. He takes care of everything. Alon had offered to help prepare for the Collection, but Baan had brushed him aside as usual. So he and Pinpin had spent the morning hunting in the forest. He had wanted to shoot a boar. He is a good hunter and seldom comes out empty-handed, but the morning had given him no such luck. After several fruitless pursuits, he got the message. The animals have also conspired to keep out of sight.

Alon—

Enough! Alon cuts him short. Pinpin, you worry too much. His friend is a bundle of nerves. He’s like a dragonfly that alights on a leaf or blade of grass and glides off again. For goodness’ sake, they’re training to become warriors. Pinpin is a fair fighter, but what good is a fainthearted warrior?

Suit yourself, but I’m off. Pinpin clicks his tongue and Ulay trots off. And I’m not going to cover for you, he calls over his shoulder, without bothering to look back.

As if I care, Alon mumbles as he watches his friend go. He’d like to be more, do more for the tribe, if only his father—and brother—would give him a chance. Don’t they realize that he loves Nilad as much as they do? Well, it’s his loss, Ontok. This time, the horse nods in reply.

A sharp breeze nips at Alon’s cheek. Palm leaves flap against the trees behind him. The amihan winds from the northeast urge him to the bay. Alon looks at the white-capped waves and across once more to the peninsula. The mountains form a jagged outline against the light blue sky; their peaks touch fluffs of white cloud. Alon jumps off Ontok. The wet sand feels hard against his bare feet. At least today won’t be a total waste, he says, patting the horse’s rump.

Kulit’s shrieks muffle Ontok’s response. Tired of playing, the monkey runs up Alon’s shoulder. Alon untangles Kulit’s arms from his neck and sets him on Ontok. Although monkeys enjoy water, like Pinpin, Kulit doesn’t care for boats. Then Alon leads Ontok to a grassy patch and ties him to a coconut tree. Kulit hops off, and Alon takes the saddle from his horse’s back, to let him relax in his absence. The saddle is made of a wooden frame over which sturdy buffalo hide has been stretched. It’s not heavy, but can be cumbersome even to a strong warrior horse after some time. He straps his bow and quiver to the saddle and tells them both. Wait here until I back, okay?

Alon rubs Ontok’s neck, admiring his golden brown coat, fine, narrow head and small ears. Ontok bobs his head twice and starts to graze. Alon removes a pouch of cashew nuts from his waist and hitches up his loincloth and bolo. He takes a handful of nuts out of the pouch. Like his master, Kulit is constantly hungry, and the nuts always come in handy. Despite having snared a few hermit crabs, Kulit reaches out, eager for another snack. One by one, Alon tosses the cashews into the air, but before Kulit is able to, he catches them with his own mouth instead. Kulit bounces up and down, howling with indignation. Alon laughs and makes a show of munching the cashews. Nearby Ontok hums loudly while he watches their antics. A yellow-bellied sunbird chatters not far away. Then Ontok swings his tail and goes back to grazing. Having had enough, Kulit shrieks and snatches the pouch from Alon. He scampers up a coconut tree, his long tail lashing the trunk wildly as he climbs. Shortly after, a coconut drops to the ground. It lands with a loud thud at Alon’s feet.

Now that’s not smart, is it Kulit? Alon wags a finger at his monkey. It could have hit my head.

Back at the beach, Alon chooses a small bangka. He gears up the outrigger canoe and hoists a bright yellow sail before pushing it into the water. As the wind picks up, he turns the boat slightly away and trims the sail. Water slaps against the side. The boat lifts and moves forward. While one hand adjusts the sail and the other resting on the tiller, he sets the course upwind. The boat races ahead full speed.

Soon, the Balang Peninsula begins to emerge. Alon relaxes, enjoying the fresh sea air as it whips his hair and sprays salty water on his face. He has sailed across the bay so many times; he could probably do it with his eyes closed. Alon squints ahead. Perhaps he should try. The waves will take him. With his hand on the tiller, Alon shuts his eyes and lifts his face to the sun.

Keeeeyar…

The shrill cry grabs Alon’s attention. He recognizes the large bird overhead—an eagle, a haribon. This is surprising. Haribons don’t usually stray from the forest where they hunt. In addition, the king bird appears larger than any he’s ever seen. From afar seems almost completely white from its feathers to its shaggy crest. Suddenly, Alon is startled by another cry. A huge black bird tears across the bay in pursuit. Spotting its chaser, the haribon climbs higher on the wind and makes another harsh call. The taunt does not discourage the black bird. It races after the eagle. The birds clash for a moment. Their bodies collide; feathers fall. Jabbing its powerful bill against the black bird’s breast, the king bird is able to push it off, twist itself free and soar away. But its escape is short-lived. The black bird is not far behind. The birds careen madly overhead. As they fly closer to his boat, Alon cranes his neck for a better look.

The birds are a study in contrast. White and black. Beautiful and ugly.

At first glance, the black bird could be mistaken for a raven or jungle crow. It has glossy black feathers and a thick, sharp bill. Upon further examination, however, it proves neither. In fact, Alon doesn’t recognize the breed. The bird is nearly as large as the king eagle yet for all the haribon’s majesty, this one has a bald, humped head that resembles a vulture’s. It looks vile and threatening—the ugliest bird he’s ever seen.

Just then, Alon notices that the haribon carries an object in its claws. The black bird makes a lunge for it. The haribon swerves and loops over the bird. So this is what the squabble is all about.

Without warning, as if spotting Alon’s bangka, the haribon halts, poising mid-air. Before Alon can figure what it intends to do, the king eagle swoops down. It closes its magnificent wings and falls from the sky like an arrow aimed at him.

And the haribon drops it.

Alon lets go of the tiller and sail and leans over the side of his bangka, nearly falling over. He catches the object just before it hits the water.

Why it’s an egg! Alon exclaims. A large and perfectly-shaped egg. It’s as white as the king eagle. And heavy, too. The hideous black bird is trying to steal the haribon’s egg. Spying him holding the egg, the black bird switches its attention and dives towards him.

Alon wishes now he hadn’t left his bow and arrows behind. Instead, he sets the egg down in a hollow, draws his bolo and prepares for a fight. Let the grisly bird come. The large single-edged knife feels heavy yet light at the same time. It can chop, slash or carve up most things—a black bird easily.

But Alon is disappointed. The haribon denies him the opportunity to raise his knife. It rushes in front of the boat and blocks the black bird’s advance. Up close, the haribon appears even more enormous. Its wings span nearly the length of the canoe, and its long, sharp talons could easily rip the black bird—or Alon for that matter—to shreds. Briefly, the sea and sky go still, and Alon becomes aware of the wings beating the air like a loud, thumping heartbeat. The action causes the bangka’s sail to flap so he uses his other hand to steady it.

Then the haribon utters another piercing shriek that almost makes Alon drop his bolo. It circles the black bird, drawing it close with centripetal force. The force pulls it up, and together the birds ascend into the clouds once more.

Nilad Bay goes quiet.

The bangka veers off course, and the sail starts to flap again. Alon sheaths his knife, grabs the tiller and yanks at the sail. However, as soon as he gets the boat under control, the birds emerge. With a squawk, the white eagle drops out of the clouds. It appears to have injured its magnificent wings. The black bird dives down after it.

Stop, Alon shouts. His protests are futile. The black bird lunges, lashing at the white bird’s wings again and causing it to spiral out of control. In no time, the haribon will crash into the bay.

Alon stares hard.

All of a sudden, he notices a speck.

The speck grows into a dark spot on the blue water. It’s not far from the boat.

The wind picks up. Next, the spot whirls and twists, forming a ring that rises out of the water in a column. Soon, the plume of water reaches a low black cloud that materializes out of nowhere.

Alon’s jaw drops.

Did he just do that?

As if responding to his instruction, the funnel of water spins towards the birds and breaks them apart. The eagle, regaining use of its wings, averts disaster and rises once more to the sky. Alon shouts, urging the haribon on.

While he cheers, Alon senses a change in the wind. He reaches to adjust the sail, and when he looks up, he is stunned to see the funnel of water. It has also shifted its course and is now spinning back towards him.

Quickly, he comes to his senses. He takes down the sail and tries vainly to paddle the bangka out of its path. The waterspout advances, gathering volume and speed. It roars over the water as if in a rage. Alon shouts as spray drenches him. An instant later, the spout hits, smashing hard against the boat. Bamboo cracks and wood breaks. Alon is flung up in the air before being hurled into the water.

●

Alon feels two hands lift him. It’s all right, a voice whispers as he coughs up saltwater. The hands heave him onto the broken hull of his boat. For a moment, he lies on his back, wheezing. He can hear the birds still fighting. Their cries fade in the distance. Above, the waterspout and dark cloud have gone as swiftly as they appeared. There isn’t a puff or shadow in the bright blue sky.

Thank you. How did you— he gasps, finally turning to his rescuer. He hadn’t seen any other boat in the water. He had counted himself lucky that another sailor had been able to come to his aid so fast. However instead of a sailor, he gazes into a pair of sparkling, black eyes.

I’m Halina, and you’re welcome, she says, smiling. The eyes twinkle back at him. Halina pulls herself up to rest beside him.

Alon breathes in sharply.

It’s a woman—but not quite. A sirena!

Halina’s long, curly, black hair tumbles down her glistening shoulders. Necklaces of seashells and pearls cover her breasts. Instead of legs, scales encase the lower part of her body. A fishtail flips from side to side in the water.

Alon has glimpsed mermaids from afar many times in the past, even waved to them. Yet in all the while he’s been sailing in the bay, not one has ever ventured close. He has heard stories of them, of course, as well as of other anitos or spirits of the water. Beware, they say. Mermaids are temptresses, certainly not always friendly. Hard to believe now—the beautiful creature before him doesn’t seem threatening. Nevertheless, Alon reaches for his bolo.

Halina’s giggles tinkle like capiz shell chimes in the wind. Don’t be afraid, Alon of Nilad, she says.

You know who I am? Cautiously, Alon returns his knife. He sits up to get a better look at her. Despite her fish scales, she doesn’t have a fishy smell about her.

My sisters and I often watch you sail. I’m pleased to finally meet you. You’re either very brave or very foolish to come out on a day like this. I’ve never seen a waterspout here in all my life. It seemed out to get you.

So I’m not responsible then.

Halina cocks her head and peers at him. What makes you think you were?

All of a sudden he remembers. What happened to the egg? Did you see it?

What are you talking about? The sirena watches him examine the broken hull. Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve just had a nasty accident.

Never mind, Alon replies. He can’t believe he lost the egg. It has either sunk to the bottom of the bay or been smashed, contents swept away. What a waste. It would have been a prize to bring home.

Alon notices three other dark-haired sirenas riding a swell from far off. Halina introduces her sisters, shouting their names: Kerina, Dalen and Minas. Alon pulls back his shoulders and waves at them. Giggling, the sisters dive into the water, fishtails glimmering in the sunlight.

Our brothers don’t bother to come up. They prefer to wander the deep seas. And play with big boats. Halina chuckles again.

Alon steals a glance at the sirena. Mermaids are known to cast spells on sailors and fishermen with their beauty and voices. Pinpin once told him that his uncle had gone mad listening to one sing. It was pure chance that he had tripped and hit his head. If not, he might have jumped overboard or wrecked his ship and been taken captive. Where? No one has ever been to the bottom of the sea and returned to describe it.

Halina smiles coyly, reading his mind. She murmurs, We wouldn’t dare do anything to you.

He raises an eyebrow.

C’mon. She’s probably worried about you.

You know about her, too?

Halina winks then disappears beneath the water. She propels the wrecked hull effortlessly. It skims over the water surface; saltwater sprays him. Beside them, a school of dolphins follow. The dolphins leap in and out of the water, cackling. Halina bursts out from under and joins in with a melodic titter. The dolphins respond and hurdle over them, somersaulting in the air. Kerina, Dalen and Minas resurface and clap with delight.

The play is infectious. Alon scrambles to his feet and balances on the hull as it surfs the waves. Next he spreads his arms wide. He imagines himself a magnificent king eagle as the wind rushes past him. Is this what it feels to fly? The dolphins splash him with water. He roars with laughter.

Before long the Balang shore comes into view. Alon sees the Atan villagers congregating on the beach. They had witnessed the waterspout.

Halina stops, looking unexpectedly shy. Her sisters and the dolphins vanish. Do you think you can swim the rest of the way, Alon of Nilad? Halina asks. Without waiting for an answer, she dives into the water. In a flash of silver, she is out of sight.

CHAPTER TWO

Alon hits sand and wades towards shore. He catches sight of Dalisay and flops on the beach at her feet.

Dalisay kneels beside him, her delicate face puckered with concern. For Bathala’s sake, Alon. Don’t you know what day it is? she asks. Before he can reply, other villagers also gather round and bombard him with questions: What happened? How did you escape? Are you all right? Alon ignores them.

It hasn’t been long since his last visit, yet Alon hardly recognizes her. Dalisay wears a bright, richly woven tapis. The wraparound dress covers her from her breasts down to her brown knees. Her straight dark hair, which usually hangs loose to her waist, is arranged neatly on her head. It is interlaced with colorful beads, similar to the ones around her long neck. A metal armlet brushes him as she puts a hand on his shoulder. Her touch makes Alon start.

"Are you sure you’re all