Chapter 8

Mashed Ube, Sugared Saba

“All right, all of you, gather close.” Karí’s Ma huddled them together at the front of the pavilion that Datu Hálgundî had set up in one of the northern meadows, further up the river than even his own compound. All of Karí’s family had dressed up in their fine, bright-dyed cottons and bits of jewellery. Still, they seemed like a faded stain amidst the glimmering silks and polished silver and gold of the richer merchants.

Her Ma patted Karí’s cheeks lightly, tucked a stray curl into her bun, and dusted off the shawl around her shoulders, even though she had done exactly those right before they’d gotten into the boat. She gave everyone one last critical eye.

“Oh, Anata, stop fussing, will you?” Karí’s Aunt Paro remarked. “Merchant Pinak already met many of us during the last festival. He hired us, remember? There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Karí’s Ma turned to Grandma Biya. “Mother, perhaps you’d like to do the greetings?”

“No,” she replied curtly, earning a few chuckles from the youths. “I’ve been doing greetings for fifty years! Let this poor old woman rest.” And by rest, she evidently meant acquainting herself with the large bowl of mashed ube sitting prominently on a table at the edge of the pavilion.

“Here he comes!” someone whispered. Karí wasn’t sure who.

“Ah, the esteemed potter family of Lurit!” a warm, smooth voice emerged from the crowd. A man of middling height approached them. His hair was shorn short, and his moustache neatly trimmed, which distinguishing him from most of the other foreign merchants. A bronze wrought-chain hung over one shoulder, glimmering against the brown abaca of his tunic. His knee-length loincloth was satin, and the geometric pattern of its decoration indicated it came from one of the southern isles. “How lovely to see the whole family!”

“Thank you, Merchant Pinak. Always an honour to meet with you.” Uncle Kimu, standing just half a step ahead of everybody, was obliged to begin the introductions. Or in his own case, a reintroduction. “I’m Kimu, if you recall, treasurer of the family. And this is my daughter, Sayi, a pottery student. And here is Dandan, accounting student under myself. My wife, unfortunately, cannot make the meeting today. She is visiting her own family beyond the mountain.”

Merchant Pinak inclined his head gracefully and smiled at Aunt Paro when she introduced herself. “Paro is my name, sir. Potter. This is my son, Bulaos, sculptor. And both Salilo and Lagyo here are pottery students under myself and my sister.”

As if on cue, Karí’s Ma picked up the greeting. “And I’m Anata, sir. Also a potter. This is my son, Haban, who gathers and mixes all of our clay, along with my husband here, Mun. That is my daughter-in-law, Lala, who recently joined the family. You might enjoy some of her fragrances in the upcoming festival. And this is my lovely daughter, Karí.” Merchant Pinak smiled, head tilted, as if expecting more. Karí’s polite grin wavered in the extended silence. Her Ma cleared her throat. “She is a very fine young woman.”

Her Pa even joined in, surprising as he was a man of few words. “Very fine,” he added. Haban sent Karí a sympathetic glance. This wasn’t the first time something like this happened.

“It’s a pleasure to see you all today,” Merchant Pinak said. “I will send men later this evening to collect the pots and jars I commissioned. In the meantime, I look forward to getting to know you all a little better during the festivities. I’m quite enjoying the palm liquor your gracious datu has prepared.”

As the conversation shifted to liquor, some of the family members excused themselves, while others went along with Merchant Pinak. Karí allowed herself to drift to the fringes, trailing Grandma Biya to the bowl of mashed ube, her cheeks and neck burning.

There had been a time when Karí had hoped that she would be apprenticed to Uncle Kimu in managing the treasury. She was much more nimble of mind than hand, but she had lost the apprenticeship to Dandan, who had tallied five more rows of numbers than her within the allotted duration of the test. And after showing no promise at all in shaping pots, she was replaced by Sayi as a trainee under her mother.

Aside from Bulaos’ occasional teasing, Karí’s family had never shown displeasure over her shortcomings. After all, they could rely on her to pick up any chores around the compound. Besides, there was also Grandma Biya, who, although had once been the best potter of all, had retired to taking naps and praying to the ancestors most of the day. And there was Uncle Kimu’s wife, who mostly performed housekeeping chores. Karí’s father, too, was mostly a cook, and didn’t help much beyond gathering Haban’s clay.

But Karí couldn’t compare herself to an old woman with a sturdy legacy. And the in-laws weren’t expected to contribute directly to the pottery trade. It’s true her family was nice enough, and perhaps it would be silly to wish they were stricter with their expectations. Karí knew of youngsters around their neighbourhood who buckled under the weight of their parents’ standards. But sometimes she also wondered whether her family didn’t pressure her because they didn’t believe she could do any better.

Over half of the crowd here were visitors, either the traders from the caravan or the family and servants they brought along. Karí only recognized a handful of other Lurit families: the woodcarvers, the boatmakers, all five of the village’s katalonans, and several of the more daring fishermen who occasionally brought back unusual sea creatures.

She found Datu Hálgundî in deep conversation with a lively man and a woman in satins that rivalled the brilliance of his own. In fact, if he hadn’t been so recognizable by his red birthmark, he could disappear among the sea of pomp here tonight.

Back when Datu Hálgundî’s father was still alive, he always began celebrations with a martial performance with his jeweled sword and one of the two amulets the noble family owned: a steel dagger that always remained sharp. Sometimes, he would engage one of his own warriors in a friendly match to entertain the crowd. Bulaos had once said, not kindly, that the old datu was trying to make up for their measly warrior class, composed of only a handful of men and women. Should Lurit ever find itself in trouble, they would have to depend on larger, more powerful settlements from the other side of Mount Abutaw for help.

Perhaps that was why the previous datu had been so eager to please visitors. The network of alliances between polities of the archipelago shifted as often as the tides.

Karí finished her serving of ube and turned away from the table. Merchant Pinak and Uncle Kimu had gotten swept up in a larger group of people revolving around Merchant Tangad.

“...already made arrangements with a sultan from the southern isle, who will introduce me to his relative in the southwestern empire,” the rice-merchant was saying. He’d made a bold decision to attend the gathering in a tunic and loincloth of silk the colour of honeyed milk. No doubt he knew the risk of them getting stained, what with all the food and the open pavilion. But his appearance remained immaculate, and he didn’t seem to waste the attention this was bringing him. “I can certainly extend a good word about your craftsmanship, Natamo.”

“So long as it isn’t a burdensome chore for you, Tangad, I would appreciate that very much.”

“The honour is mine. The citizens of the southwestern empire love jewellery. There is great demand for skilled artisans who can work silver and gold.” Merchant Tangad scanned the surrounding crowd, nodding once to Merchant Pinak, and strangely skipping Uncle Kimu. Karí’s mood soured.

So Merchant Tangad was well-travelled. And his trading business was obviously becoming a success. Having some kind of acumen, he must not be ignorant of the fact that many of the traders here today had no connection to the southwestern empire. He was lording it over them under the guise of generosity. They could all see that, couldn’t they? Or were they all enamoured by his graceful looks and even more graceful words?

Karí stumbled blindly through the crowd until she came to an opportune parting of people. There, at the farthest corner opposite her, was a slender old woman, settled comfortably on cushions and fine blankets by a low table. She was nursing a hot drink and smiling absently every time somebody passed by, even when they only sent her a slight bow. A servant girl stood off to the side, flapping a fan at her.

Karí’s feet moved forward, then paused. Did she dare talk to Grandmother Damang?

She sighed and stepped in a different direction. No, what would she even ask? She had prepared nothing, and she didn’t trust herself to become an expert at making conversations suddenly. If she were more like Dalon, perhaps.

But watching the crowd around her, hearing the eager chatter bubbling up from all sides of the pavilion, Karí was overcome with tiredness. Why was she like this to herself? How many times had she caught herself feeling pitiful and had done nothing about it? There was one person who needed her help now, and fate had given her the opportunity to do it. So why not take it?

Karí shifted back towards Grandma Damang. She was thankful her Ma put her hair up in a high bun that gave her an additional bit of height. Yes, be like Dalon, suave and easygoing, with an infectious smile and even more infectious energy.

As she walked towards the low table, she sent a quick prayer to her paternal grandfather Sagun, who had possessed the talent of always remembering who owed him money and how much and when it was due. “Oh, please, don’t let my memory falter. I hope words flow easily to my mind, and I won’t stutter and make long awkward pauses. Please, grandpa!”

The ending of her prayer marked the last step to Grandma Damang’s table, and Karí bowed.

“Oh hoho, what do we have here?” Grandma Damang’s voice was a far cry from the powerful, lilting tone from Karí’s memory. It was mostly air now, but gentle. “A girl, come to talk to little old me?”

“Yes, Grandma Damang. My name is Karí, of the potter family. Anata and Mun’s daughter?”

“Really now? I thought Haban was an only child.” Grandma Damang squinted. “Ah yes, you look like him. Without the strapping shoulders, at least.”

Karí and Haban shared their father’s narrow, hooded eyes and broad, round face. But they’d gotten their heavy curly hair from their mother. A village kid had once told Karí that had she been a boy, she and Haban could pass off for twins despite being three years apart in age.

“Go on now, sit down. It’s nice of you to come and talk to me. I was starting to wonder if my wrinkles make me look like I’m part of this wooden table.” She let out a light laugh as Karí knelt on the cushions in front of the old woman. Husky though her voice may be, it seemed like she still had the energy for a hearty talk. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’ve had enough of being stared at back in my prime. Now, young woman, what do you want to talk about? Are you here for a story? Or an account of an interesting event from the past?”

“That’s right, you’re a historian, too,” Karí said. “You were Datu Hálgundî’s tutor in history, weren’t you? I suppose that helps in telling stories?”

“It doesn’t hurt. When you know what came before, you understand why we tell the stories we do.”

“Grandma Damang,” Karí began, pushing to the back of her mind the awe that she had stepped up to this reverential old woman and was actually holding a conversation with her. Instead, she thought of Dalon’s unusually pale face earlier that morning, the worried crease between his brows, and the sun outside that would soon set. “Have you ever had to tell a story where you felt that a certain part made little sense? How... how did you convince the audience that it was believable?”

Oh, thank you Grandpa Sagun. Those words flew right out of my mouth. And they were even coherent!

“That is an insightful question.” Grandma Damang took a sip of her tea, then said in a slow, contemplative tone, “Simple explanations are usually enough. Take the tales of ‘Monkey and Turtle.’ Why do they never meet another monkey and turtle? Why do they meet no other animal, for that matter? Well, perhaps you can say this was back in the early days of creation when Ganapdiwa, maker of all, was still thinking of other things he’d like to put on earth.”

“What if the confusing part is pretty complex? The kind where the more you think of an explanation, the more the story unravels.”

Grandma Damang pursed her lips, thought for a moment, then answered, “Many times, what’s most important in a story isn’t whether you can’t poke holes in it, but whether it gets your message across. Like weavers say, don’t waste your time embroidering the part of the skirt that you’re going to sit on.”

Something shifted in Karí’s mind. She and Dalon had been thinking about this from the wrong angle. They were trying to find the reason Princess Maya was stuck in the cave so that they could have something clever to reveal at the end. But what message did they want to send about Princess Maya at all?

Before Karí could ask another question, an elderly gentleman cleared his throat behind her. He bowed towards Grandma Damang, indicating he would like a turn to talk to her. Karí rose from her place and bowed hurriedly to the old storyteller. “Thank you so much for your time, Grandma.”

“I hope I gave you the answers you were looking for.”

Karí smiled, and when she lost herself in the crowd this time, there was a lightness in her chest even though she hadn’t solved her main problem yet. She had just talked to Grandma Damang. That, to her, was a big feat already.

She fetched herself a skewer of sugared saba and set out of the pavilion to inhale some fresh air. Out here, there was a humbler table of food and refreshments for resting servants.

Close to where she stood were three young men, each holding a cup of coconut wine. Between them was a wooden board carved with various star and circular patterns. Little shells dotted it, along with pinky-sized stone tokens marking special abilities. Karí was familiar with this deduction game. The tokens represented amulets, the abilities of which the players randomly drew before the game began. Each of them took turns moving across the board until someone could guess what amulet another player had drawn based on the moves they’d made.

“For two shells, I am betting Pangkal has a speed amulet,” one of the young men said.

“Speed amulet, me? Just because I hopped over five circles? Come now, try to see beyond my latest move.” Karí couldn’t tell if it was a good bluff.

“I considered your other moves. You couldn’t possibly have the healing amulet, or you would have done that thing... you know, with that other thing.”

“‘Done that thing with the other thing?’” the third boy echoed, laughing. “I don’t know what amulet you drew for this game, but I know one that you need in real life. You’re in desperate need of an eloquence amulet!”

They all guffawed as if sharing some inside joke. Karí finished her skewer and turned back to the pavilion to look for Haban and Lala, but not before she caught one servant say, “You won’t be the first person I heard of who needs it.”

Huh, an eloquence amulet. That was a strangely specific ability to need an amulet for. But then again, the King Eyes was very particular about the thoughts it allowed its user to see. Karí had never heard of an eloquence amulet before, not even in tales. She wondered how that would work. Would it make your words come faster? Make you easier to listen to? Make you sound more convincing? Whoever used it probably wouldn’t want to be known for using it, though.

A swift, powerful weaving of thoughts struck Karí like lightning. Princess Maya forced to hide all her life. Everyone believing King Luyong even when his explanations didn’t make sense. A secret the king would go to great lengths to protect. An eloquence amulet.

Good gods and goddesses and ancestors, Karí finally had an idea.