Three balangays fully loaded with crates made their way along the the southern shores of Opon Matan island. Mingming's Daragangan manned all of the three narrow boats, all of them proudly wearing the identical langi tattoos on their jawline, not as a mere statement of strength but as a declaration of their allegiance and bravery. It was a good day for them. It was a good day to be one of the finest warriors of all Zubu. But the route they took was not the safest and their haul made it all the more difficult for them to navigate the shallows and the coral reefs around Opon Matan, making their progress slow and measured.

  "Really?" Dumog said to his younger brother. "What if someone finds it there. It's gonna be a disaster if it falls on the wrong hands."

  "Only us, the chief, Mimingming and the headhunter will know," answered Sikaran as he took a rest from rowing. "So, I wouldn't worry about these going to the wrong hands. Well, unless you all of sudden become a tattler. Which won't surprise anyone here."

  Their fellow warriors laughed.

  "Speaking of the headhunter, I don't really trust him." Dumog shook his head. "The man gives me the creeps sometimes. Too quiet. And his–"

  "What?"

  "It's his eyes... when he looks at you there's a gleam of something ugly there. He's hiding something too."

  "Oh, really? This is not about Malaya? Is my brother jealous?"

  "Hey, I told you I like Malaya... yeah she's nice... and very kind. But not like that. I know my place, I'm not a tumao like her and his father. It's just–"

  "Go ahead. Finish it."

  "I don't trust him."

  "Well, you don't actually trust anyone so that's pretty fair. And the part where his a goddamn headhunter may justify what you feel about him. But who isn't nowadays?" Salak chuckled.

  "Come on..."

  "What? Can't I make a joke at your expense anymore? Has our victories gone over your little head?"

  "Come on. Haven't you seen him?" Dumog sighed.

  "Say it. What's bugging you?"

  "It's that giant godawful sword of his. How do you even fight with that? The guy's just weird as hell. Really fucking strange."

  "I don't know about his sword. But are you hearing the things coming out of your mouth? And who knows about that blade. Maybe he'll swing it at his enemies and hope and pray to Kaptan he hits something." Salak turned to the others. "Because if he does hit someone with it... I'm sure it won't be a pretty sight after. Maybe he can try it on you, Dumog."

  "Oh, you goat fucker. Who's the tattler now?"

  The rest of the Daragangan within earshot of their conversation laughed again, nodding their heads at the obvious effect of smashing a slab of steel on bones and flesh.

  Sikaran cleared his throat and spat a clod of phlegm. "All I know is the man's decent enough for the chief and master Mingming to befriend, so he's good enough for me."

  "No. Not like that," Dumog said. "What I mean is we don't actually know where he came from. Do you even believe the stories about him. You're willing to fight side by side with a man like Lam?"

  "Ah, brother. You do know we're under Salip Pulaco, right?"

  "What's your point? Of course, I know."

  "The man's the closest thing to a legend himself, songs have been sang and many ballads chanted about him... long before we met the man himself."

  "So? I still don't see why we should trust Lam after just a few months."

  "When Salip Pulaco came here from the Old Kingdom in Kalimantan did you think anyone trusted him? He was a nobody. Or at least it looked that way."

  "No, no one would trust an utter stranger. And people have the right to. I know he had to earn it like all young men. He wasn't exactly the purawan when he arrived here."

  "Not that again! This isn't about the markings we earn. You know of all people that anyone could get tattooed by a mangpapatik without earning it in battle."

  Dumog narrowed his eyes.

  Sikaran raised both hands. "I'm not saying no one here earned their patik. I've fought with everyone here to say otherwise. A Daragangan's marking is always earned and paid in full with blood and sweat."

  "Oh, then enlighten me o' wise Sikaran! Share with me your glorious insights to clarify the cloud that settled on our addled minds."

  Sikaran shrugged. "When you had the chance to know Salip Pulaco better it all changed, right? You began to trust his words. That's called integrity. It wouldn't surprise me if the chief attracts others like him. Is that enough?"

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Hmmm, sure."

  "And just to be clear, if Salip or Mingming told me to do something or to believe something I'd probably do it without asking stupid questions, Dumog. Their our leaders for a purpose."

  "I know what you mean," Dumog answered. "I fought with them too. I was there when they repelled the onslaught of the Magalos. I trust their judgement like you do, brother."

  "But you still think it was wrong to support Malaya's decision?"

  "Exactly! I mean let's all be sensible about it." Dumog took a swig from the jug of basi wine. He grimaced and let out a loud and satisfied belch.

  "I don't really follow your point." Sikaran took the jug from his twin and pass it on the next Daragangan behind him.

  "Oh, come on. You heard it from Mingming that Malaya chose the headhunter over Halang for love of all reasons."

  "And the truth finally comes out."

  Dumog ignored him. "If I were her, I'd choose the man with the bigger purse and the one with the most influence. Not some stranger she only met a couple of months ago!"

  "Well, that's just you being a miser and a scum. Is this just about the dowry that Lam couldn't give? I heard rumors about it but I didn't think that you would believe those rumormongers so easily. Really surprising that were related by blood." The Daragangan laughed at Sikaran's joke.

  "I don't care what you all say... This is just my opinion and all I'm saying is if I was her–"

  "And that's exactly the point, you're not her!" Sikaran said. "Have you heard how that arse of a princeling reacted when he was rejected. Halang's got a shallow temper. Bad for a husband and worse if he becomes our chief. I haven't heard anything good about him. Have you? Care to share it with us?"

  "The part where his Datu Zullah's son seems a good bargaining tool for me," Dumog said as he stood in the middle of the boat. As soon as he did so, another Daragangan replaced him to row the oar that he left behind.

  "Ah, now that's a problem I don't know how to answer. Zullah's known to keep grudges. The man's got some bad habits too. And making him an enemy seems like a bad deed to do, but if this whole mess turns sour I'd still bet on Salip." The other Daragangan shared their agreement with him.

  Sikaran whistled, deep in thought. "The odds will be against us, though." When Dumog didn't answer back Sikaran turned to his brother's direction. Dumog's attention and the other's as well were transfixed on the caves atop the cliffs that lined the southern shore of Opon Matan island.

  "May the dead rest in peace and join Kaptan in heaven," Sikaran whispered as he realized that they were facing the burial caves of the villages of Opon Matan.

  A short distance away the imposing Narrows opened itself. The Narrows– quite an apt name for the storied pass that was situated at the opposite of Mandawili, the so-called back door of the island of Opon Matan, flanked by steep and jagged cliffs on each of it's side, it lay unbarred for all to see.

  Back when the Magalos used to raid the towns near and around Zubu, it was one of their entry way. But fight after fight against Salip Pulaco slowly changed all that. Because of its peculiar terrain, the numbers of the Sultan's men did not matter in the Narrows. All fell in it, from the decorated shamsir swordsmen to the greenhorn Magalos. Now, it welcomed the Daragangans like the yawning mouth of a gargantuan crocodile. And not one Daragangan warrior stopped rowing as they silently observed the eerie pass. Some even held their blades closer for assurance. The place reminded them of the battles were faithful comrades sacrificed and died for nothing. It also reminded them of death and of the raiders who brought it.

  It did not help that the trees around the Narrow's cliffs were stunted and dying. The pass itself seemed to have an inherent coldness the longer one looks at it. But for Sikaran, being there felt like watching a man close to death with his mouth rasping for one final breath and him unable to do anything. It was a strange thought but it was the first thing to come in his mind. To make matters worse, the pass' v-shape opening funneled the wind from the sea, making ghostly wails like that of the ulilang-kaluluwas.

  Sikaran swallowed a clump on his throat. From the Narrows' mouth to the other end was just a hundred or so paces. Not that long, he thought. But he still wouldn't risk crossing it alone. It would've been easier for them to take the Narrows to go home faster but to risk their fate for a short comfort was just too foolish. Sikaran had always believed the superstitious tales about the pass. The place was simply cursed down to the last pebble. Some of the Daragangan men closed their eyes to pray to the devatas for a safer journey as soon as they drew closer to the opening of the Narrows. Dread lay upon them all like a blanket. And all the hairs behind Sikaran's neck stood up as he heard the wind cried it's unending spectral song even more louder.

  He nudge his twin brother's back. "Don't tell me your scared, Dumog."

  Dumog only shook his head and ignored him as their boats passed by the shore in front of the pass. The sand on the small strip of beach that faced the Narrows was white as bleached bone and a few drift wood littered its white surface like wooden grave markers. Dumog let out a sigh of relief as they finally left the Narrows behind. "Let's not take this route again, okay?"

  The other Daragangan warriors laughed feeling the same way. Sikaran looked back at the cliffs of the Narrows. Boulders of different sizes were scattered on its precipice. He almost missed it when a dark figure leaped behind one of the boulders.

  "Did you see that?" he intoned.

  "See what?" Dumog said, face full of concern.

  "I thought I saw a man on the side of the Narrows." He pointed at the clifftop, finger shaking.

  Dumog shook his head. "Did it have horns and sharp teeth? Skin black as coal, perhaps? Or did it call itself Saragnayan, the demigod from Gadlum?"

  A round of laughter from the warriors around them erupted but Dumog wasn't done yet. "Maybe it was the manghihiwit casting her hexes to innocent passersby."

  "I'm not joking," Sikaran protested. "I think someone was watching us."

  Mocking him was fine but insinuating that Sikaran was a liar was another thing entirely. He pushed his brother down but Dumog only laughed harder as he fell on the narrow deck of the balangay.

  "Na uh... you had your chance, brother. It's too late to scare us now. We're not falling for your antics anymore..."

  "Oh, fuck you!" Sikaran shook his head.

  Dumog only sniggered as he ignored his brothers ramblings.

  Their boats finally arrived on a hidden lagoon in the south west of the island, far from any inquisitive eyes to see. Then, they started offloading the weapons cache one crate at a time, careful not to damage the goods inside it. Sikaran still ill-at ease, kept looking back at the direction of the Narrows. There was something that kept nagging at his mind. He shook his head and sighed.

  What in the devil did I saw? the Daragangan asked himself, but could not find an answer that would suffice.