Chapter 2

Hard Beads, Soft Clay

A few moments’ walk southeast of the market square was a small, shabby hut. Actually, it would be a stretch to call it a hut, since nobody could live there. Karí scrambled up its wobbly ladder and sat against the wall next to the entrance, tucked away from the dull moonlight. There were many structures like this in the northern half of Lurit, temporary shades and resting spots during fiercely warm days.

Karí retied her mass of frizzy curls in a tight, scalp-stretching bun. She patted her round cheeks until they tingled, then studied the woven patterns on her wide-sleeved tunic while she hummed a jaunty tune. It had been three months since she’d begun meeting Dalon regularly at night, but she still needed to fight her body’s insistence that she should be sleeping by now.

The scent of salt and smoke preceded the lanky shadow that blocked the moonlight. A moment later, Dalon’s face peeked over the doorway, and he beamed when he saw her.

“Whoa, big smile! The storytelling went well, I suppose?” Karí asked, scooting over as he hauled himself inside. Dalon was taller than the average villager, and his bony knees stuck out at awkward angles when he sat cross-legged beside her. Karí had once been tempted to describe him as a fern, with his stalky limbs and long, limp hair. It only proved why, between the two of them, she wasn’t the one narrating in front of an audience.

Dalon took her hand and spilled several copper beads in it, his grin never wavering. “What do you think?”

Karí counted the beads. Each was the size of the most basic weight, but there were fifteen of them. Previously, she’d only received seven or less. “Are all these my share?”

“All yours.”

Warmth bloomed in Karí’s chest. The folks of Lurit were a practical sort, and while Dalon was the only one currently peddling stories in the village, they also wouldn’t waste their beads on something they didn’t consider worth the value.

Karí opened the pouch tied by her waist, but halted before dropping the beads. “Dalon, I know you already split the full amount with Uncle Ilas first. Maybe you should take a larger cut of the leftovers.”

Dalon’s brows rose, and suddenly Karí was fully aware of the stale scent of sweat and fish coming from him, and the comforting aroma of coconut oil and calamansi from herself. Blood rushed to her cheeks. Her comment sounded like she was stating how much more well-off she was. Her family did fine for themselves, and Dalon probably did need the money more, but it wasn’t polite of her to blurt it out.

“I-it’s just I don’t even do that much. You do the hard work of telling the story in a way that folks love to hear. Uncle Ilas gives you the ideal place to do it. Me? I just sit here and think.”

“I say that’s the hardest part. Just because people don’t know about your contributions doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your fair share.” He gave her a mock stern face. “And don’t you dare bring this up again.”

Karí bit her lip, tucking away the money and slinging the pouch back over her double skirts. Her words had a penchant for coming out in ways she didn’t intend.

“Never mind it, then.” She swallowed the embarrassment away and focused on the night’s events. “Tell me, what did people say about our story? What did they think of Salanga?”

Dalon’s lips stretched into a grin once more. “They were skeptical at first. No version of the tale has ever hinted at who the voice in the hut is, so most people don’t care about it. But I think they sympathized with Salanga in the end.”

“Did they really?” Delight banished the rest of Karí’s abashment. The appeal of this tale was its message that anyone, even the most downtrodden or ill of luck, could eventually lead wonderful lives if only shown a bit of support. Where that support came from — family, community, the gods — didn’t matter. That was why nobody really cared about the voice and the source of the unending supply of the hut. But one day, Karí had wondered about that voice, and Salanga’s story had come to her. And while it was certainly compelling to herself, she hadn’t known how people would react.

Karí leaned towards Dalon as he related the reaction of the audience at key moments of the story. She relished the way the listeners gasped and groaned and cheered, and memorized the comments they made. Karí would never deny the value of fifteen copper beads. But the way people responded to their stories? That was her real payment.

“Everyone sounds so kind and sweet! And those children? Oh, I wish I could see their expressions myself!”

Sometimes Karí thought about watching Dalon’s storytelling from a distance, but that was still too risky. She went to great lengths to sneak out of her house to meet him after he finished. All that effort would be moot if someone accidentally saw her watching him and mentioned it to her family.

Not that she wasn’t allowed to attend a storytelling. After all, she had first met Dalon during one of his performances. But if her family knew she was going out, then the questions would start. Why did she stay out so late? Surely, the story wasn’t that long. But what need would she have to discuss the storyteller’s next tale? Why would she be planning it with him? What did she mean she liked to invent stories? They had never heard her tell a story!

Which was true. She’d never told a story. Not with the way her voice stalled and words tripped over themselves. It didn’t matter that she had been tinkering with stories in her head ever since she could remember, prodding the characters and the events and the places to figure out the whys and the hows. Changing a trait here, tweaking a situation there, just for the thrill. But somehow she could never translate what was in her mind into words. How could she ever tell anyone how much she loved crafting stories if she couldn’t describe what she actually thought?

But that was the wonderful thing about her arrangement with Dalon. She didn’t need to describe anything with words. The King Eyes did all the work.

Too bad using the amulet the way they did was illegal.

Karí shook away her distraction. There was plenty of time to worry about her and Dalon’s tenuous arrangement later.

“So they like redemption stories, huh? Which other tales might have that? It would be good to plan the next story you’ll tell after the caravan festival.”

She sensed Dalon’s abrupt hesitation more than saw it. His smile was just as big, but it quirked into a questing one, and there came the slightest bit of tension to his shoulders.

“Actually, I was wondering if you would be all right with me telling a story during the festival,” he said.

Karí’s mind flooded with images of pots and jars, boat-filled docks and riverbanks, crowded markets and pavilions. A caravan of merchants came through Lurit twice a year, and for three days, Datu Hálgundî hosted a festival in which the villagers could fully partake in trading and merriment. And while most of the day-to-day labour halted, it didn’t mean people were less busy.

She must have taken too long to respond, because Dalon ventured on. This time, his expression softened and his eyes gained a contemplative glint.

“I know this is short notice, but I’ve been thinking of getting a raft for a while. A bamboo merchant always comes in the caravan, right? I’ve saved up almost enough to buy the bamboo I need, but I’m still a bit short. With all the merchants and their servants coming, and the villagers taking advantage of the late-night markets of the festival, many more people can listen to our story.”

A heaviness sunk in Karí’s gut. “No, I understand that. And a raft is a perfectly reasonable thing to save up for. It’s just... do we have enough time to prepare? The festival begins in three days. I don’t know if I can work on a story during that time. My family is still trying to finish our commission of pots.”

“Well, what if I clean up one tale we already talked about by myself? Then we can meet on the eve of the festival and I can share it with you. I’ll use the King Eyes while you envision the scenes in your head.” Dalon scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t insist so much, but I always come up with a better narration after I’ve seen the way you imagine the story. I promise I’ll make it quick. You won’t need to do much. How does that sound?”

It sounded like when Karí had slapped soft clay the wrong way with a paddle, and her mother had kindly taken over. Like when she’d rubbed a polishing stone across the surface of a jar and had scratched it, and her aunt had asked one of her cousins to cover it up with bright paint. Like when she’d sculpted a boat for a lid and her brother had mistaken it for a banana on a rock.

Why was she so worried about being too busy for the festival? There probably wasn’t much she could do, even if her family needed help. While they never seemed to disdain her ineptitude with pottery, it was clear that anything she could do, someone else in her family could do better.

And now here she was, on the verge of turning down the opportunity to help someone who actually needed her skills, ones that nobody else could readily eclipse. Besides, the festival was probably the only time she could attend Dalon’s storytelling openly. She could experience seeing a hundred pairs of eyes light up with the rise and fall of his voice, as he took the ideas stuck in her skull out to the world where they could matter.

As for her family? Well, the best help she could give them was what she had always done: stay out of the way and stay out of trouble.

“Wait.” Karí straightened her shoulders too, feeding off of Dalon’s hopeful persistence. “Remember when we played around with ‘Utaw and Princess Maya’? Our version is almost finished. We just never figured out the strangest part of that tale.”

Dalon nodded, seeming to recall. “Yes, why did King Luyong trap his daughter in the cave in the first place?”

“Exactly.” Karí took a deep breath, like she did when she prepared to dive into the deeper parts of the sea. Although she didn’t carry around wooden tokens of her ancestors, she sent a quick prayer to her great-great-Aunt Amasi who, according to her Pa, had once gambled her life by gobbling an unknown mushroom and ended up cured of her rheumatism. “Maybe I can still help you. We just need one incredible idea, and we’ll be able to complete our version. I’m sure I can find a bit of time for that.”

“Really?” Dalon bounced on his knees like a little boy. “Oh thank you, Karí! And don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll come up with something fantastic, and everyone who hears our story will love it. I haven’t told a single story since we met that the villagers haven’t liked.”

Karí’s face warmed. “Well, now, don’t get too excited yet. We still need to gather ideas.”

Dalon settled down on the bamboo floor, but eagerness still seeped out of him. “How do you usually get your ideas?”

Well, that was a difficult question. To Karí, her ideas seem to come from nowhere. One moment they weren’t in her mind, the next they were. But there must be something that sparked them. When was she prone to getting ideas in the first place?

“By chance, mostly.” She shrugged, knowing it wasn’t very helpful. “Sometimes I get ideas based on a place or a situation, or what people say or do. And I have to be resting or doing something that lets my mind roam a bit. But there’s never really just one thing.”

“All right, we have two days to come up with something. That should be more than enough time for some lucky chance and a restful moment or two.”

“Restful? You?” Karí couldn’t hide the doubt in her voice.

“Oh, you’d be surprised how restful I am when I’m dunking fish in a salt bath.” Dalon sounded proud of it. “Never let it be said that I am incapable of resting while working.”

“Only you would think of saying such a thing,” Karí said, chuckling. Then her gaze landed on the rhombus metal dangling by Dalon’s chest, its usual white surface now a dull grey in the shadows. The King Eyes. “I suppose there’s no need for that tonight, then?”

He looked down, and his hand shifted as if he wanted to grip it. “I don’t think so, but we could play with it if you’d like.”

Karí took the amulet between her fingers. The front was plain, but the back had a groove. Engraved on both sides of the groove were unfamiliar symbols, some foreign abugida that Karí couldn’t read. Other than those, there was nothing all that alluring about the pendant, which was probably why it had gone so long undetected as an amulet. According to Dalon, he had discovered its magical abilities accidentally.

Still, some part of Karí marvelled at the almost impossible likelihood that an amulet like this should fall in Dalon’s hands, and consequently, in hers. Discovering an amulet was a rare enough occurrence, and most of the ones in circulation across the archipelago tended to trickle up to the nobility. They were the ones who had the means to barter for them and the luxury to study how to wield the amulets’ power. It was mind-boggling that Dalon and Karí — both of whom were labourers in a humble fishing village whose datu owned only two amulets — had come across one that perfectly bridged their skills.

“Quite tempting,” Karí finally replied, releasing the King Eyes back to rest against Dalon’s warm skin. “But perhaps we should turn in for an early night. Use the additional energy tomorrow to figure out a reason for King Luyong's peculiar decision?”

“Fine by me. Let’s meet up again tomorrow night, then.”