IKALABING-TATLONG KABANATA - tr. CHAPTER 13
As The Rajah Destroyed Diwa's People
Rajah Maisog stood at the edge of the burning village, his eyes scanning the chaos. He was a formidable figure, tall and imposing, with a presence that commanded both fear and respect. The prophecy of the Babaylan haunted him: a beautiful woman, a long-haired slave, with a mole under her lips and a voice to die for, would be his undoing. He had been searching for her relentlessly, village after village, leaving destruction in his wake.
As he walked through the village, his gaze fell upon an old woman, Tandang Huray, who had been trying to protect a young woman. With a swift, merciless strike, Rajah Maisog ended the old woman's life. His eyes then locked onto the young woman who stood frozen in shock, her long hair cascading down her back, and a small mole just below her lips catching the dim light of the flames. His heart pounded in his chest.
Could this be her?
Before Diwa could reach for the fallen Tandang Huray, Rajah Maisog moved swiftly. He drew his kampilan and pressed the sharp blade against her neck, stopping her in her tracks.
"Take all the valuables!" he barked to his men, his voice cutting through the chaos. The tip of his kampilan pressed into Diwa's skin. "Capture the women, kill those who resist!"
His orders echoed through the village as his men carried out his commands with ruthless efficiency. Diwa trembled, tears streaming down her cheeks, but there was a defiant spark in her eyes. Rajah Maisog crouched down, his eyes level with hers.
"What is your name?" he asked, his voice low and commanding.
"D-Diwa," she stammered, her voice shaking.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered near her lips, where the mole marked her skin. "Diwa," he repeated, as if tasting the name on his tongue.
A shiver ran down his spine. The prophecy... it was her. She was the one foretold to bring about his end. He should kill her now, end the threat before it began. But as he looked into her eyes, he felt a strange pull, a craving he couldn't explain.
Rajah Maisog's hand, still holding the kampilan, wavered. He found himself unable to strike. Instead, he slowly lowered the blade, his eyes never leaving hers. The prophecy warned of his doom, yet in this moment, he felt something entirely different—a sense of destiny, perhaps, or the first stirrings of something he had long forgotten.
"Come with me," he commanded, his voice betraying none of the turmoil inside him.
As he led Diwa away, Rajah Maisog stood amidst the ruins, his mind in turmoil. The prophecy had found him, but what it truly meant remained to be seen.
The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Rajah Maisog's fortress was a place of power and authority, yet within its walls, a strange dynamic had begun to unfold. Diwa, the woman of the prophecy, had been made his slave, but she was no ordinary captive. Her presence was a constant reminder of the prophecy's ominous warning.
Every seven days, as the moon reached its zenith, Rajah Maisog would summon Diwa to his private chambers. The room was dimly lit by flickering oil lamps, casting long shadows on the walls. It was here, in this intimate setting, that Diwa would sing for him. Her voice was unlike anything he had ever heard—melodic, haunting, and filled with an emotion that seemed to reach into the depths of his soul.
Diwa stood before him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes downcast. She began to sing, her voice weaving a tapestry of sound that wrapped around Rajah Maisog like a silken thread. He watched her intently, unable to look away. Her eyes, when they finally met his, were like those of a serpent—beautiful, mesmerizing, and deadly.
Each note she sang seemed to draw him closer, breaking down the walls he had built around his heart. He felt a strange compulsion, an uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch her. His hand moved almost of its own accord, brushing against her arm. Her skin was soft, warm, and the contact sent a shiver down his spine.
"Diwa," he whispered, his voice betraying the inner turmoil he felt. "Your voice... it does something to me."
Diwa paused, her song fading into the silence of the room. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and something else—something he couldn't quite place. "Rajah Maisog," she replied softly, "you are a man of great power, but even you are not immune to the forces of destiny."
Her words struck a chord within him. The prophecy, the warning of his doom, seemed to hang in the air between them. Yet in this moment, all he could think about was the woman before him. He reached out again, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, moving down to her neck. Diwa did not flinch, but there was a tension in her body, a wariness that spoke of her awareness of the danger she was in.
"Why do you sing for me?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Because you command it," she replied, her eyes never leaving his.
Rajah Maisog's hand stilled, his fingers resting against her collarbone. Her words were like a balm to his troubled soul, yet they also stirred something deeper, something he had long buried. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin.
"Diwa," he murmured, "you are dangerous."
She smiled then, a small, enigmatic smile that only deepened the mystery of her. "And yet, you cannot stay away."
He knew she was right. The prophecy might foretell his doom, but in this moment, all he could think about was the woman who stood before him, her voice a siren's call that he could not resist. As he pulled her closer, the lines between captor and captive began to blur, and the true nature of their destiny remained shrouded in the mists of the future.
Diwa's fear was palpable, her body trembling slightly under his touch. Yet her eyes told a different story—a story of defiance, of a strength that belied her vulnerable position. It was as if she was daring him to see beyond the prophecy, to see the woman who stood before him.
One night, the news spread like wildfire through the fortress: Rajah Maisog's wife Vray had been found dead, her lifeless body discovered inside the Rajah's home. Whispers of foul play filled the air, and all eyes turned to Diwa, the mysterious captive with the serpent's eyes. But many people are saying that the Rajah did it himself.
Rajah Maisog did not confront her directly, nor did he show any outward sign of grief or anger.
Rajah Maisog lay in the dimly lit chamber, his mind awash with a tumult of emotions. The night had been unlike any other, a convergence of fate and desire that had left him both sated and unsettled. Diwa lay beside him, her breathing steady, her form outlined by the soft glow of the oil lamps.
He turned to look at her, the woman who had been foretold to be his undoing. Her long hair, now spread across the pillows, was like a dark river, framing her serene face. He marveled at the contrast between her outward fragility and the inner strength she possessed—a strength that had drawn him to her, despite the prophecy's dire warning.
"Diwa..." he had whispered in her ear earlier, his voice a mixture of command and tenderness. "A slave, a serf. You are but a young woman, ignorant of the ways of the world; and if I were to kill you, you would be utterly defenseless..." His voice had grown gentle, sweet like honey, as he brushed aside her long hair, which served as her only covering. In that moment, he realized he sought more than just her voice or her life.
"Yet... of all the lands I have conquered, of all the enemies I have slain... Diwa, I know you are the most..." He had murmured softly in her ear. "Dangerous..."
Now, as he lay beside her, the weight of his words settled heavily upon him. He had seen the fear in her eyes, but also the defiance, the unyielding spirit that had captivated him from the beginning. She was a virgin, untouched by any man, and he had been the first to claim her. The memory of their union, the way she had trembled beneath him, her innocence mingled with an unexpected passion, was seared into his mind.
Rajah Maisog's thoughts were a labyrinth of contradictions. He had taken her as a slave, yet she had become so much more. She was the embodiment of the prophecy, yet he could not bring himself to harm her. Instead, he found himself drawn deeper into her web, entangled by the very danger she represented.
He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel of his sword and the harsh reality of his conquests. In her presence, he felt a vulnerability he had never known, a crack in the armor of his invincibility.
"Diwa," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What spell have you cast upon me?"
She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they locked gazes, and in her eyes, he saw a reflection of his own turmoil. There was fear, yes, but also a flicker of something deeper—an understanding, a connection that transcended their roles as captor and captive.
Rajah Maisog knew that the path ahead was fraught with peril. The prophecy loomed over him like a dark cloud, yet he could not bring himself to part from her. Diwa had become an integral part of his existence, a force that both threatened and completed him.
As he lay there, contemplating the tangled threads of their fate, he realized that his destiny was no longer his own. It was intertwined with hers, bound by the unseen forces that had brought them together. And in that realization, he found a strange sense of peace, a resignation to the inevitable.
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