Dark Allies, Dark Adversaries

By Oz Mari G. and S.J. Powell

Beliza never knew who her parents were, or what being cared for felt like. For twelve years, she endured neglect, hunger and hostility from her caretakers and the villagers. Threatened with exorcism, she leaves despite having nowhere to go and nothing to her name.

At the edge of the woods, she encounters a mysterious woman they call the Chief Katalonan, who entices her to find answers to the mysterious experiences in her life. Together with eight other kids, Beliza finds herself in a Katalonan training camp to learn about the intertwined ethereal and corporeal worlds, Hiwagaan and Sansinukob.

Here she finds that as a Katalonan, a conduit between the gods, elementals, and humans, she faces the daily choice of keeping the balance between the two worlds. And for someone who had nothing, she can now wield the power over light and dark.

Beliza finds a father figure in her elemental guide, Tamauro, and learns how to battle dangerous, dark entities, as well as her own childhood traumas. Soon, she and her friends must face unknown adversaries sent by Sitan, the lord of darkness.

Are they prepared for the cost this war will exact from them? A life and friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Feb 22, 2023

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Unknown in the West, largely forgotten in the East, humans remain vaguely aware of the ethereal realm of Hiwagaan , where sentient supernatural beings called elementals exist and continue to interact with mortal beings of Sansinukob in the corporeal realm – our world.

The equilibrium between the two worlds is maintained by a group of special individuals called katalonans. They are blessed with a strong feminine energy and gifted with unique powers necessary to be healers, shamans, mediums and the conduits between the humans, elementals and the gods.

The balance between light and dark, and every element – earth, fire, water and air – is always precarious. And if a god decides to upend the universal order, it rests on the katalonans to prevent the tipping point.

Alas, a god has put such a plan in motion.

1 THE COUNCIL OF NINE

Beliza stared at the thick woods. She had been there many times before. Virtually every tree within a five-kilometre radius was familiar to her. She had even named a few of them. But today was different. The forest felt uncharted, almost unwelcoming. And alive with sinister intent.

The breeze that whispered through the leaves sounded as if it was warning her to stay away, yet daring her to take another step.

Her beating heart agreed with the leaves, but somewhere deep inside, a compulsion wouldn’t allow her to retreat. She took that step, and instantly, the midday sun sheltered behind a dense mass of grey clouds. The forest floor became darker, just as a chorus of ominous hums rose from the ground into the canopies. It was enough to induce panic, and her pulse galloped.

Rigid with terror, she looked around to see where the sounds were coming from. She was alone. At least, no other human was in the vicinity. But the shadows seemed to watch her, carefully, like animals preparing to pounce as soon as she turned her back.

Behind her, the woods looked sparser and safer.

The forest was tempting her with an obvious choice – to return to the familiarity of the village where she had grown up. Where humans like her lived. Not the strange creatures and beings that fascinated her, but that seemed unwilling to be known or understood.

Beliza trudged on, despite the contradicting caution in her mind. Her heart and brain agreed, but she followed the inner instinct to proceed. All around her, as she walked deeper into the darkening bosom of the woods, the birds screeched as the branches quivered as if strong winds were shaking them.

A faint, whistling started to her left. She angled her head to listen closely. And there it was, a second whistle that seemed to reply to the first.

Then another.

And then a fourth, fifth and a sixth. All distinct from each other. The volley of melody sounded like a conversation.

Beliza looked around, hunting for the source, but couldn’t make it out. Perhaps the creatures creating the tunes were like crickets, that seem to project sounds from the opposite direction.

She knew they weren’t insects or birds when the whistling became louder and harmonised. And the tight clutching fear loosened its grip on her heart. The eerie song somehow made her feel braver.

Instinct guided her into following the whistles. New-found courage urged her on through the path that was denser, darker and more tangled.

An hour later, she stepped into a clearing and blinked hard against the blinding sunlight.

Her pupils adjusted within seconds. Before her were six – no, eight – kids about her age, all watching her emerge from the trees. And in the middle, with a satisfied glint in her eyes, stood the only adult among them – the chief katalonan.

She beckoned Beliza with a gentle wave. Come closer.

The woman had the kindest eyes Beliza had ever encountered, but those pupils seemed to pierce deep into her soul. And she felt a slight unease.

Four girls and four bayoks watched her draw near. The bayoks, though dressed in almost identical loose cotton shirts and knee-length dark shorts, were as feminine, maybe even more so, than the girls.

Call me Inay Gerona. Come and get to know your fellow kabaguhans, since you will spend nine months with each other as you train with me, the woman said as Beliza joined the circle.

We were just starting with the introductions. Let’s resume. The chief katalonan nodded to the girl at her right. She was thin and the tallest among them. A long braid controlled the thick, curly hair, while shorter, wild tendrils framed a serious face.

I’m Agueda, from Tayabas. Oldest of four siblings. My father is a barrio captain. My mother… was killed by a curse. Her voice trembled a bit as she surveyed them all for their reaction, but her gaze was keen.

Everyone’s head bobbed sympathetically. Beliza blinked, surprised she was the only one who seemed disturbed by Agueda’s revelation. The others acted as if it was a common cause of death.

Inay Gerona nodded at the girl next to Agueda. The girl – the smallest among them – looked barely 10 years old. Her hair was short and straight and she had a pouty upper lip. But her stance and gaze were direct and confident. She oozed authority, belying her stature. And if she hadn’t been standing beside the lanky Agueda, Beliza wouldn’t have noticed her height.

Nieves, from Sariaya. I’m 13. The youngest child. I have two brothers. My mother is a teacher, my father is a merchant, she said in a clear tone that reminded Beliza of a bell.

Nieves nudged the pretty and dainty, pony-tailed girl in a guava-pink floral dress with a ruffled collar who looked more suited to being in a classroom than in the middle of the woods.

Uh… me next? she asked in a soft baritone. The brown-haired girl smiled; eyes sparkling with excitement. At Inay Gerona’s nod, she continued. Uhm… I’m Valeria from Borawan Island. Middle child. Thirteen. My mother is a fish vendor, my father is a fisherman, she said, followed by a nervous giggle.

Everyone gaped at Valeria. There was something intriguing about her, and it took Beliza a long second to realise that Valeria was also a bayok. The flouncy, printed dress with puffed sleeves made him look like a girl. Until he spoke – then he had the voice of a boy. Valeria’s cheeks reddened with self -consciousness, fingers fluttering over his hair as everyone continued to stare.

Your turn, Cinio, Inay Gerona prompted the plump boy next to Valeria. He sported a low ponytail; his hair was dark and glossy.

OK… he said, although his gaze lingered with a touch of envy towards Valeria. Ehrm – I’m Patrocinio, Cinio for short. I’m 13 as well. Only child. My mother sells vegetables in the market. My father is a farmer. Shallow dimples danced on his cheeks. Oh yeah, I’m from Rosario, he added, his voice cracked, but he covered it up with a nervous wave to everybody.

Beliza instantly liked him. His gaze was open and affable, as if he truly wanted to be friends with everyone.

The bayok beside Cinio was a complete contrast to him. The boy’s eyes were melancholic, his gaze shy and apprehensive. His shoulders curved, making him appear thinner and smaller. He looked as if he wanted to fold into himself.

I’m… Dayang… he said in a hoarse, whispery voice that faded in and out.

Please tell us more about you, Inay Gerona said, gently.

Dayang nodded briefly and mumbled. I’m 14… From Talisay… Only child…

Beliza strained to hear him but the shy boy didn’t invite further questions. Something about him called to her. Perhaps it was the familiar feeling of otherness, or the air of having grown up to harsh words and condemnation.

The bayok next to Dayang was a jolt to the senses. A coronet of wildflowers in varying colours adorned his hair; his movements were exaggerated in their femininity. He had the most beautiful, tanned skin Beliza had ever seen; it was even and with a slightly reddish tint to his cheeks.

Hi, I’m Silayan. I’m 13. Only daughter of my parents. My father was a trapper, my mother a weaver. Also, the only bayok in Candelaria, he said in a singsong tone and capped his introduction with a flourish and a curtsy.

Most of the group chuckled. Beliza liked Silayan instantly. His wide smile and fun personality lightened the awkward circle.

Encouraged, the last bayok beside Beliza spoke with a smile. I’m Melo, I’m 12. His voice was squeaky, his face was soft and rounded like a child’s and short hair curled around his face. It reminded Beliza of the statue of the infant Jesus. I’m from Lucena. I have a younger brother. My father died when I was born…

How did you come to have a younger brother, then? the girl next to Inay Gerona interjected, one imperious eyebrow arched.

Melo blushed. I… I was forbidden to ask my mother… She was a former nun.

A chorus of oohs turned Melo’s face redder and infused the tension back into the atmosphere. Inay Gerona remained cool and observant as she watched the interaction.

Beliza took it as her cue when her eyes met those of the chief katalonan, who smiled at her encouragingly.

I’m Beliza. From San Juan. I’m 12, but I will be 13 in four months… Her voice trailed off as she realised she didn’t know what else to say.

Don’t you have parents? the so-far unnamed girl asked. She sounded taunting, but looked merely curious.

Beliza stared back at the catlike eyes and the sharp cheekbones, highlighted by her tight braid. She realised the girl wasn’t nervous about the impending training, unlike most of them. This nameless kabaguhan had long waited for this moment, had prepared for it, perhaps, all her life.

Unlike her, who got invited into it by the chief katalonan only hours ago. Beliza swallowed down a sense of inferiority that coated her throat.

Well? the girl prompted.

Of course I have parents. I just don’t know who they are. They found me inside the confession box in our church. So I can’t tell you if I have siblings or in what order I was born into the family. I have no idea.

Beliza had answered these questions countless times, discussed it with teachers, classmates, playmates, and curious, gossipy adults. It was a well-known secret in their town. It was no longer a point of pain. Just mere facts.

How do you know you’re 12? Valeria asked. The girly bayok had a slight frown on his forehead as if it was a real puzzle to him.

The parish priest said I was a newborn when they discovered me. My birthday is on the same day I was found.

Oh… that is… sad, the unnamed girl said. And the words struck Beliza like an insult.

It’s your turn. Tell us about you, Nieves interjected, bristling with defiance and challenge towards the other girl. In that moment, a sense of authority radiated from Nieves, beyond her diminutive size.

The taunted girl was taken aback, but she recovered quickly enough. I’m Tadjana. My grandfather is a mandirigma, and my mother is a katalonan. Just like many women in my family… Her voice rang with conviction and pride, pausing to allow them to digest the information. And they were all impressed. Even the feisty Nieves.

Inadequacy stirred in Beliza’s heart once more.

Tadjana puffed up her chest, her chin rising boldly and added. I’m aptly named. It is in my ‘destiny’ to follow in their footsteps.

There was a mix of reaction on the faces of the group, some were admiring, others disapproving. Dayang, the quietest, had the most unreadable expression as he stared at Tadjana.

Now that we are introduced to each other, we will begin with our preparation. We will make camp. And tomorrow, training starts, Inay Gerona said, then proceeded towards a path at the end of the small clearing. They followed, Tadjana leading the pack.

Beliza, last in line, noticed that the others were each carrying a woven rattan basket slung on their backs. She had nothing but the clothes on her. Even her pockets were empty.

To make up for it, she picked up a broken branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. It had some scorch marks as if it had been cleaved from the trunk by lightning. It was a foot longer than her and covered by rough bark and mud, but its length and the girth made it perfect as a staff. The knob on the slightly curved tip completed the look.

Perhaps, when she left here, she could live in the wilderness like Inay Gerona, Beliza thought. She already owned a staff; she just needed the hermit skills.

And as Beliza walked with it, she didn’t feel so destitute. She now held something that belonged to her. One she didn’t steal or beg for.

Inay Gerona was waiting for them by a cave entrance, not noticeable because of the trailing vines that obscured it. Beliza recognised it as a butterfly pea plant by the distinct dark purple flowers that kids in the village called queen’s vagina.

They gathered in front of the chief katalonan to await her instructions.

First, build yourselves a shelter. That will be your home for nine months, so make sure it will last. Second, find yourselves food for tonight. Sunset is coming in five hours, but the woods get darker faster. Third, my cave is private. No one can enter it without my permission. Inay Gerona’s tone was gentle and maternal, but there was a firm note of command they all heard.

They nodded. It was clear that not one of them would even think of disobeying her authority.

Good. I will see you all at sundown, Inay Gerona said with a smile, and retreated into the cave.

For a second, Beliza thought the dark blue flowers fluttered like wings. She blinked to confirm it, but they were motionless. She blinked again. Nothing. It must have been the breeze, or maybe the hunger gnawing at her stomach had her seeing things.

No one moved. They all looked at each other, unsure what to do. Tadjana, however, walked to the river’s edge and hung her basket on a branch. She dug out a bolo and started hacking at the nearby tree, her actions determined.

It galvanised the rest, each choosing their own tree and corner, leaving Beliza standing worried. Her stomach tightened. She had no bolo, unlike all the others. How could she construct her shelter? And even if she could, it wouldn’t be possible to build and gather food with only five hours of daylight.

She looked around for materials she could use that would be easy to get without the need for bladed tools. Her gaze fell on a growth of nipa palm along the riverbanks. The green fronds would be difficult to separate without hacking into it, but there were a lot of fallen ones. Those would have to do.

Beliza spent the next half hour hauling and collecting as many dried nipa leaves as she could. She dumped them under the wide canopy of a bani tree. She figured she could weave the materials into a roof, then borrow a bolo from someone to build the walls later.

Sweaty and dirty, she surveyed the rest of the group and realised they were having just as much trouble as she was. None of them would be able to build a shelter by day’s end. At the rate they were going, they would go to bed shelterless and hungry.

Valeria dropped the branch he was hacking and walked towards the riverbank. He started chopping green nipa fronds and some thin green branches and began weaving the leaves into a conical shape with an internal funnel. Beliza recognised it to be a bobo fish trap. She had seen the fishermen in her village carry those to the river.

An idea came to her. However, she needed the others to help carry it out. She spotted Agueda, Nieves, and Melo, whose corners were nearby each other.

The three had chosen to build their huts under a collection of lush bani and rambutan trees. The wide shade they provided was a perfect place for a common shelter for everyone.

She hesitated for a second to approach them but being timid would not serve her and it was worth trying to see if they would agree with her plan.

Do you need to borrow my bolo? Melo said as she neared.

A good sign, Beliza thought. She shook her head and smiled at them. It was encouraging when the three smiled back as they continued with their task. Agueda had collected various branches and was trying to dig a hole in the ground. Nieves was doing the same in her spot.

I think we should team up and build one shelter together. We can finish faster and that might allow us some time to find food… Beliza began.

Agueda and Nieves stopped and looked at her with interest. But their silence made Beliza uncertain about how they received her proposition. Then the three exchanged glances, and their smiles widened.

That’s a great idea. Let’s ask them as well… Nieves pointed excitedly at Cinio, Dayang, and Silayan, who were clustered nearby. She hollered at the three and waved them over.

Tadjana had noticed their gathering and joined them, frowning. What is this about? Why are you wasting time?

We are proposing to build a common shelter and gather food for everyone, Nieves said, daring her to argue.

But… that’s not what the chief katalonan said… Tadjana protested, her frown deepening.

She didn’t specify what kind of shelter we were supposed to make except that it should be durable. Individually, we won’t be able to build it and find food within the hours left to us, Beliza said, hoping that Tadjana would see the merit of her suggestion.

Actually… that’s a great idea. Practical – and smart, Silayan said, tapping a dainty finger on his lower lip.

And Beliza is right. Inay Gerona just told us to build shelter and get food, Cinio added, nodding. I’m in.

Dayang nodded next and uttered a raspy agreement. Me, too.

Tadjana sighed, almost exasperated. OK, so who is going to build and who will gather food?

Valeria is making a bobo trap, so it makes sense that he’s part of the food-gatherer team… Beliza said, pointing to where Valeria was oblivious to their discussion, and busy weaving the fish traps.

I can trap animals. My father was a hunter, Silayan volunteered, his slim, delicate fingers briefly touching his chest.

Cinio raised his hand. I can cook…

OK, so you three do the food gathering and preparation for our dinner. The rest of us will build the shelter. Agreed? Beliza was gladdened when they all nodded. Including Tadjana.

Within minutes, they settled into each other’s skill sets. Agueda knew how to structure the support beams of their shelter as she had repaired the pig pens and chicken houses at her home.

Melo and Dayang chopped down bamboos, which grew in abundance around them. They kept the culm whole, the nodes intact to keep it dry. Agueda, being the tallest, became their measure of the shelter’s ceiling height.

Silayan rejoined them after setting animal traps and helped weave the nipa leaves for the roofing. He taught Beliza and Tadjana how to prepare the bark of the hibiscus plant and make it into twines, which they used to tie a raft of bamboo poles together.

Tadjana braided hers with the determination of one in a competition. She wasn’t satisfied until every loop was even and perfect. It made Beliza feel bad about her own work, but it served its purpose and time was of the essence.

Nieves, a capable potter, declared the soil by the riverbank perfect for clay pots and for stabilising the bamboo. It secured the upright poles for their walls and leveled the surface of the various rocks they set up to elevate the culms they used for their flooring.

Just as the temperature had cooled down and the sun was close to setting, they finished the shelter. Valeria came back from the river with a bounty of catfish and freshwater shrimps. And Silayan squealed with glee when he discovered his traps had caught two wild chickens. He returned to the camp brandishing them like a trophy, barely avoiding the angry peck from one of his catches.

By sundown, their camp was lit by torches made from a few dead tree limbs and their bark. Cinio proved he wasn’t lying when he claimed he could cook. As it turned out, Nieves was great at it as well. The air became fragrant with the aroma of grilled chicken, fish, and shrimp baked in bamboo and herbs.

Beliza’s stomach clenched, her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten since last night, and this would be her first proper meal in a week. Prior to coming here, she had subsisted on stolen bananas, sweet potatoes, and scavenged leftovers from people’s kitchens. She hoped there would be enough food to satisfy the group; the others looked tired and equally famished.

Good evening, Kabaguhans, Inay Gerona said as she emerged from her cave carrying a large clay pot.

Good evening, Inay Gerona, they replied in a chorus.

While you are here, I will be your teacher and your mother. In this camp, you are classmates and siblings. You will learn the craft from me, from nature, from each other and, most especially, from yourselves.

Her words made Beliza feel faint. Learn from herself? How would that be possible when she knew nothing about the craft? All she had were strange nightly dreams, unverified sightings, and weird experiences. It could mean something, or nothing, or worse, it might all be in her head – hallucinations triggered by hunger and lack of sleep.

Now, let’s eat. I brought rice. Inay Gerona laid the clay pot on a tree stump.

With banana bark in hand, laden with the dishes Cinio and Nieves had cooked, Beliza tucked into the food. Her other concerns were forgotten, overridden by the need to eat. It was ironic that her first opportunity to taste good food was in the middle of the wilderness, and she didn’t need to beg for it.

Even the sense of being watched by unseen beings and the return of the whistling choir didn’t seem as important for the moment.

2 KATALONANS IN TRAINING

Inay Gerona’s eyes burned brighter than the reddish-orange glow of the bonfire they huddled around. By dawn, I expect all of you to be awake and ready for the day. Relax and get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow.

The chief katalonan’s gaze pierced into Beliza’s heart. She couldn’t tell whether it was a warning, an encouragement, or a dismissal. She was disheartened. Yet it reminded her of their first meeting at the edge of the woods.

That morning, Beliza had stood at the edge of the village as she tried to find the courage to walk away and weighed her options. Behind her was her home, or the house she had grown up in. And a place of neglect, pain, and ridicule for being who she was.

Before her was a path to a change of circumstance, with the promise of a better or worse future. There was no way to know unless Beliza chose one and walked through it.

A series of low notes, melodious yet melancholy, floated in the air and broke through her thoughts. Then a second tune came with the breeze, in a different octave. She was hunting for the source when someone spoke just over her shoulder.

You have a calling…

Huh? Beliza turned and found a woman standing at a distance – too far for her to have said those words right next to her ears.

She immediately guessed the woman to be the chief katalonan. The description Beliza heard countless times from the people in the village matched, from the distinctive round herb basket tied around her hip to the long rainbow-coloured staff. The patterns on it were so bright, it looked painted, although Beliza knew it was natural.

According to the rumours, the chief katalonan had taken to moving around and living in the woods because she was more than 100 years old.

It was hard to believe because the lines on the woman’s face were faint, her skin still glowed with vitality, and she moved with youthful vigour. She must have stayed out of the sun to have such a beautiful complexion, unlike the sun-damaged faces of the 80-year-old men and women in the village. If Beliza was going to take a guess, the woman couldn’t be over 40.

The chief katalonan had walked closer, her dark-brown gaze not leaving Beliza’s face as she approached.

You have a path to follow. Take the steps and it will unfold, the woman had said when she reached Beliza’s side.

It was a perplexing statement. She would have asked for an explanation, but the chief katalonan walked on, then glanced at her one last time just before she entered the woods. Her words reached Beliza again, as if the wind carried them to her.

Answer your calling, Katalonan…

Let’s take a swim in the river before we go to bed, Melo said, breaking Beliza’s reverie. We can also wash our clothes at the same time, he said, lowering himself beside her.

Beliza blinked. Oh… It took her a moment to process what Melo suggested. It sounded like a good idea, but she didn’t want to sleep in wet clothing. She smiled at him regretfully. I can’t… I… I have nothing else to wear. She looked down at the oversized dress she had filched from someone’s clothesline. It was meant to last her for a year, at least.

Beliza was glad the torch flames camouflaged her flushed face. The lack of clothing was one shame she never got used to because she’d had to steal her clothes since she turned eight.

I can lend you some for tonight. I’m sure your dress would be dry by morning. Melo shrugged, as if her objection was inconsequential.

She hesitated, unused to kindness from someone else. But her dress was dirty, and it would be nice to feel fresh and clean.

OK… thank you, she said and got up with him.

Melo dug out a loose shirt and shorts from his bag and two small sinamay packets filled with soapberries. He handed the clothes and one of the packets to her. Hand in hand, they walked to the river.

Beliza, for the first time in her life, felt what it was like to have a friend. And she was heart-warmed, as if the flames of the torches had permeated her chest.

They were soon sitting side by side on a wide, flat stone in the middle of the gently flowing water, their hair wet and sudsy with soapberries that smelled of kalamansi. Melo tilted his head back, allowing the stream to rinse his hair. He was a picture of contentment as he lay back, his eyes closed.

Beliza copied him, letting the cool river flow around her. Peace settled in her soul. Overhead, millions of stars gazed back at them, the celestial bodies glittering in equal observation. Perhaps thinking similar, curious thoughts.

Beliza… is it true? That you never knew your parents? Melo murmured.

Yes… She nodded in the shadowed night.

But who named you?

She chuckled. It was an odd concern. I don’t know. Perhaps the priest who found me…

Were they good to you? I mean… the people who raised you?

The question gripped her heart like a vise. Beliza sighed to ease the slight pressure. They had no choice. They were old. The man was the church gardener, and his wife was the housekeeper. The priest gave me to them to watch over. But they had other duties. I was an inconvenience.

Did they tell you that?

Beliza sensed the frown that accompanied Melo’s question.

"Yes, about every time they had to do something for me, like feed me, bathe me, or put