Chapter 3
Legs
Yaya had gotten her classification wrong. That was her first thought. She had failed her test.
She couldn't take her eyes off the Black Bird, pecking about in the bowl of Ember Core, but seemingly unable to move beyond. Her gears were whirling almost to their maximum speed, yet comprehension was still impossibly out of reach. “I don't understand.”
“I'm an aswang Metalmade — the first one ever created.”
Yaya's gaze roved over Digan's exposed insides again. It was different from the workings of a normal Metalmade. Only half of him seemed to be actually constructed from metal or from other instruments that comprised something like her. The other parts were strange fibres and mucous and other undecipherable substances.
And the Black Bird.
The source of an aswang's strong senses and shapeshifting abilities. The parasitic bird that was not a bird.
Memories flooded Yaya's head. They seeped into the cracks of the picture she'd formed of Digan, constructing a different image. He had avoided katalonan because they would detect that, like all Metalmades, he didn't have a soul. There was no need for a clarification ritual to tell that. And it was the Black Bird that granted him his heightened senses. And he never ate because Metalmades couldn't.
“When you're done gazing, perhaps you can lend me a hand.” Digan's left arm was motionless, metal and fibre disintegrating from vicious rips. He grimaced in frustration as he pushed himself up against the railing, but he slid back to his knees. Whatever damage the claws and the bat had done was deeper than what Yaya could see.
She drew closer to him and reached out with a tentative touch. Knowing now that he was Metalmade, the feel of his soft skin rebelled against the expectation of a smooth, hard surface. Her gaze caught on his, and in it she tried to search for the Digan she thought she'd known, suddenly desperate to go back to when she was more sure of what he was. But she found him guarded, and she knew she mirrored his expression. Despite the easy rapport they'd developed, neither of them had been honest with each other.
And yet he saved me, the thought crossed Yaya's mind. She would have sent him to execution, and still he'd fended off her assailant. No matter what secrets Digan had harboured from her, this last thing he'd done deserved a pricey debt of gratitude.
Yaya turned around and snatched her dismembered hand. The she approached Digan again, pulled his damaged left arm and slung it over her shoulder. She halted at the sight of the bleeding assailant blocking their exit. She still didn't know why he'd studdenly attacked her. “Do you know if there are more following me?”
“Perhaps,” Digan answered with uncertainty. “What I'm sure of is that there's one following me.”
Yaya huffed, her joints growing tight with frustration. So many questions vied for space in her mind and she couldn't even tell anymore which one was the most important. She needed to talk with Digan. They also needed to hide. Where in the world could she take a hunted, wounded aswang Metalmade?
In the end, Yaya didn't take him that far. She couldn't risk anyone seeing them together, so she had half-carried, half-dragged Digan back to the tree garden that bordered the passageway she'd been traversing earlier. There was a more accessible route to the feasting area, and nobody trespassed through the trees on purpose. The greenery may not deter an aswang, but hopefully the strong calamondin scent would throw them off Digan and Yaya's trail.
“At midnight, you always go somewhere.” Yaya didn't know why that was the first thing she stated after helping him lean against a wide tree trunk. The mystery of it had bothered her more than she realized.
“Graveyards,” Digan answered, and she felt vindicated. “Old raid sites. The ravine across the rivulet where desperate folks go to jump. Anywhere where the essence of death is strong enough to feed this little guy.” With great effort, he pointed to the Black Bird partially visible behind the portion of his chest that had swung away. “A normal aswang can feed their Bird while sipping on human blood, but as I don't eat or drink, I have to find another way. Unless I murder, but...”
Metallic tremor went through Yaya when she realized that the pecking motions she'd seen the Bird do earlier meant that it had been feeding. She remembered the acrid scent of blood in the feasting platform, and she forced her eyes not to stray in that direction.
“Who's after you?” Yaya asked. “And me? Are they working together? The same person?”
“My creator is searching for me.”
Yaya's mind balked at that answer, but she forced herself to stay in the present. Of course he had a creator. He was a Metalmade. An aswang Metalmade, but he had been built nontheless.
After a thoughtful pause, Digan added, “That aswang who attacked you seemed familiar. I think I've seen him run errands for my creator. I don't know him too well, but I don't think he'd go after you by himself.” Meaning that there was a good chance he'd been ordered by Digan's creator to damage Yaya.
“This creator of yours. Are they another aswang or...”
“Yes.”
That made sense. At least as much sense as any of this could make. Yaya couldn't fathom a human creating something like Digan. But she found it just as unfathomable for an aswang to be some kind of smith. Building a Metalmade required resources that solitary creatures would never have access to. Even her own father, who'd been shy and kept mostly to himself, had relied on the trade of merchants and carpenters and other smiths to get the tools he needed to build his Metalmades. Then again, Yaya could barely recognize the majority of materials that composed Digan. Clearly some aswang out there was resourceful enough to find a way. The important question now was, “Why? Why did he build you? Why is he hunting you down now, and me along with you? Why is any of this happening?”
“Yaya, tell me this. Where do most aswang find their sources of food? And I know you know, because you've studied them. And you've studied me.”
So Digan had discovered she'd been a spy. Had he known the entire time? As if sensing her thoughts, he shuffled on the ground and looked away in what seemed like embarrassment. “Don't worry. I only realized this morning.”
Yaya cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on one thread of the conversation at a time. “Most aswang attacks happen on travel routes or the outskirts of settlements.”
Digan nodded. “That's correct. Whatever skills aswang developed over the centuries to disguise themselves usually can't fool other humans for very long. A few days at most. So they look for prey where heavy interaction isn't needed and where they can easily disperse afterwards.
“But take a look around. Look at Takatak. Sagabilang. Other large settlements down the river and scattered across the coast. How do you think these are affecting aswang?”
Yaya could see what Digan was trying to say. Humans were congregating in more populous places with dense centres. Settlements like Takatak were absorbing humble villages that would once have been more vulnerable to skulking aswang. A hundred years ago, their ancestors would have made their own way to forests and rivers for living materials, but bustling markets such as the one here in central Takatak kept people safe and cozy within its womb. And while trade and travel were getting stronger, they were also getting more organized. Scheduled caravans have long since replaced many uncoordinated streams of individual itenerants and merchants. Aswang, if Yaya followed Digan's insinuation, were struggling to find prey the way they had always done.
“So your creator made you... to do what? Learn how to infiltrate these big settlements?” It might explain how Digan had managed to stay in Takatak for three months without any major red flags. Although he behaved oddly for a human at times, it was clear that he'd learned enough to maintain a level of inconspicuousness for almost a hundred days. “I don't understand. Why doesn't your creator just learn to do it himself?”
Digan chuckled. “Do you know how many times I've been voted to undergo a clarification ritual, Yaya? The first time my creator dropped me off in a village, I lasted half a day. I ran off to the woods, where my creator disassembled me and took only my Ember Core and the Black Bird. He built me a new shell, dropped me off some place new where I lasted almost until sundown. This is my sixth experiment, and I still got caught. If my creator had ventured out by himself, he'd be dead six times over in a year.”
The image that Digan's story painted was so vivid in Yaya's mind, almost like a whimsical tale told by an eager orator to tease the imaginations of a bored audience. An aswang, intelligent and pragmatic, was running experiments across their island to train an aswang Metalmade how to act more human. Yaya could hardly believe any of it wasn't actually fiction.
“That still doesn't make sense,” she said. “The one thing he needs to know the most is the one thing you can never do. You don't feed on humans in the midst of a busy community.”
Digan shook his head. “It's true that I don't feed. But the act of feeding itself isn't the skill he needs to learn. He already knows how to do that. He needs to know...” Digan gave a vague wave with his arm and looked about the garden. “Everything else. How to make conversations, how to debate difficult issues, what the difference is between a paid servant and an indentured servant, why it's wrong to kick a puppy, why it's considered rude not to call an old woman 'grandmother' when you're not even related to her. Everything that is second-nature to humans, that's what he wants to learn.”
“You're telling me he built an entire Metalmade, but he doesn't know why it's wrong to kick a puppy?”
“Oh trust me, some of the contradictions between what humans know and what they can do are pretty appalling from my point of view too,” Digan huffed.
“Okay, all right. So in between experiments, you tell him everything you've learned?”
The corners of Digan's lips slowly lifted in a smirk. “Oh, I don't need to tell him.” He placed a hand on his chest and shifted away the broken metal that had slid away earlier. The Ember Core came into view, along with the Black Bird that was hopping here and there within its circumference. Dueling lights of green and purple bathed the trees surrounding the two of them.
“Two of the many things that make aswang different from humans also give them abilities to handle Ember Cores in ways humans can't. Their strong senses allow them to read these.” He tapped the engraved squiggles across the surface of the Core. “You once told me that no human could. But aswang can. At least, my creator can. And it isn't exactly like reading. He'll close his eyes and follow the markings with his fingers, and suddenly it's like he can see the memories exactly as they happened.
“And their ability to shapeshift?” Digan's finger pointed at a strange line on his Ember Core. It looked like a scar, thin and puckered. There were others just like it across the Core. “There was once a memory here, but I've forgotten it. What humans don't know is that aswang can shapeshift more materials than just their own flesh and bone. One of it turns out to be the type of rock humans decided to make Ember Cores out of for their Metalmades.”
“Shapeshift,” Yaya echoed dumbly. The implication of it struck her cold that she didn't know what to think.
Digan nodded, his smirk still there but not in a triumphant way. Not in an arrogant way. “They can manipulate what's on this rock, Yaya. Erase the memories. Change them. In a span of a year, I went from hardly fooling a human to making rounds in their neighbourhoods every morning for months. I would love to say I am an exemplary student of experience, but the truth is that my creator consolidated all the useful behaviour I learned into powerful instincts. He weakened the ones that hindered me, and in certain cases, wiped them from my Core altogether.”
Yaya tipped her face up to the sky. There was very little of it she could see between the broad overlapping leaves of the trees. The terrible panic that had seized her earlier had ebbed. Digan's creator might be looking for them now, but she was so overwhelmed by what she was discovering that she only felt dull. Like her mechanisms had all but given up.
Digan's explanation about the Ember Core did explain why his creator wanted badly to retrieve him. His Core contained all of his advanced knowledge for passing off as human. His creator wouldn't want to lose that — or worse, have another aswang gain access to it and “read” it.
“Why are you on the run from your creator?” she asked.
Digan grunted, “You'd run away too if being an experiment is all you'll ever be for the rest of your life. Someone else controlling where and how you live, what you remember, what you don't.” He shook his head, a strand of his long hair falling by his cheek. In a more subdued voice he added, “My future is bleak if I remain the way I am now. A prisoner to the one who made me, a threat to the ones I spend time with. But imagine if I could disguise myself as something else. Something like you.”
“Like me?” Then it clicked. Digan wanted to be like a regular Metalmade, created by humans. Disguised as a human now, he might be able to evade his creator, but the aswang part of him would eventually betray him to humans. But nobody would ever suspect an aswang to be disguised as a Metalmade. Because, up until now, no aswang could have passed for one.
Are you a regular Metalmade? He had asked her that first night. That explained his fascination with Metalmades. Not because he didn't know what they were, but because he was a different version. And if only he could study how they behaved, he could pretend to be one of them instead.
Digan must have sensed her understanding. He chuckled. “I'm not fond of company, as you know. But I made an exception for you, because all that time you spent with me, I used to study you. In hindsight, I was too eager to notice the signs that you were evaluating me in return.”
How ironic. For both of them.
Yaya nodded her head in the direction of the feasting platform. “How about him? Why was he sent to attack me when I didn't even know about any of this earlier?” In fact, she may not have known Digan's secrets at all if he hadn't saved her from her assailant.
Digan's brows drew together in that all-too-familiar frown. “I'm not sure why. I don't even know how my creator could have guessed you were the one who submitted a vote for a clarification ritual. Normally, he and I only come to know that someone wants me to undergo a ritual when I actually get apprehended by the authorities. We have an escape plan ready when that happens. But nobody from Takatak apprehended me. Instead, two nights ago, my creator himself came to me and said we needed to leave. We disassembled the hut and I was forced to start travelling west with him. But I don't want to run a seventh experiment, so I snuck off to find you.”
Yaya groaned and clutched her detached hand. She was torn between the frustration of not knowing why she was attacked, and the helplessness of admitting it was probably the least concerning thing out of all of this. It was not difficult to assume why Digan's creator sent the assailant. He probably figured out she had been spying and sent the assailant to destroy her in case she noticed something that might hint at Digan's true identity.
But this wasn't just about her anymore. It wasn't just about her credential or even Binhi. If Digan's creator were to complete enough experiments that he could disguise himself so successfully as a human being, that could be disastrous for many communities. “What else can you tell me about your creator? Does he have a name? What does he look like?”
“He's tall and slim with short hair and wan skin.” Digan shrugged. That seemed to be the best he could do. “As for his name? I don't know. I always seem to forget. And if I can forget his name, it means he's manipulating what I know of him. I would take everything I say about his identity with a grain of salt.”
Yaya stood up and dusted off her skirts. “Look, the only way I can see us getting out of this safely is if someone catches your maker. For that to happen, I have to get help from people more powerful than either of us.” She took a step, then paused. “But before I go, why did you come looking for me?”
“You told me the first night we talked that all Metalmades like you are built from the same template,” he answered. “Can I get a copy of that template?”
Under a midnight sky lit by a half-moon, Yaya walked to the datu's compound. She had found a travelling tinker who happened to be awake and used some of her spare allowance to get her left hand hastily tacked up to her wrist. It wasn't mobile, but it would have to do for now. Looking at the big, clumsy tacks at the base of her hand, she felt a surprising stab of envy for Digan, who was able to shapeshift his arm and torso mostly back in place after she had helped him realign a few of the damaged supporting structures.
Yaya wasn't certain how much Digan could do by himself with the template she would give him, but she tried not to think about that yet. Before it could even happen, she would need to ask Binhi to draw the template out for her. And before she dared see Binhi again, she needed to ensure she wasn't accidentally bringing along a stranger with a stone bat or sword-sharp claws to their doorstep.
She was tempted to go straight to Datu Lunti himself, but she had no evidence she was willing to reveal aside from the dead body of her assailant, and even that only proved that someone wanted her destroyed. It wasn't enough, nor was her well-being the most important thing on the line anymore.
Instead, after Yaya passed the gates of the royal compound, she made her way to the residences of the datu's servants. Luwan owned a chamber in one of the longhouses in the section reserved for civil servants, farther from the datu's home than where Yaya and Binhi stayed. The longhouse was tucked against an array of mango trees, their leaves swaying in the soft night breeze.
Luwan had no family even now. In a way, that made Yaya a little more comfortable hopping up the servant's ladder steps in the middle of the night. No one else would have to be disturbed as she scraped for any proof that something odd was happening in their region. She knocked on the door of Luwan's quarters. She wondered if she ought to clean her feet with the water jug on the last step, when the door flew open. Luwan stood on the opposite side, silver hair in the loosest bun Yaya had ever seen her wear.
“Yaya,” the woman said with a hint of exasperation. “I told you I would call for you when your assignment results are in.”
“Forget the assignment! Please, Luwan, I need to tell you something.”
Luwan's eyes narrowed, and her gaze travelled all over Yaya. Perhaps sensing that something troubling had happened, the civil servant stepped aside from the doorway and allowed her in. Luwan waved to a low table at a corner of the main room, and before Yaya had even settled by it, she started her story.
“Digan is a Metalmade! An aswang Metalmade.” She fought to keep her voice low and steady as she related everything she had found out from Digan. What he was and what his creator aimed to gain from training him. The experiments they were running. Luwan sat opposite her, expression growing sombre as Yaya's story progressed. “And somehow his creator has found out that I was spying on Digan. I don't know how. Maybe he watched me. Or us. But I was attacked earlier by an aswang that we suspect was most likely sent by his creator.”
Luwan remained very quiet, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Yaya didn't know whether the civil servant believed her or not, and for a moment, her chest felt heavy with the disappointment that maybe even Luwan couldn't help. Luwan cleared her throat, then tightened her bun. “Where is Digan now? I'm not saying I doubt you, but he's the lynchpin in all of this. He'll have all the information we need.”
“He bolted,” Yaya answered, the lie ready on her tongue. She knew what the authorities would do to him once he'd been used to locate his creator. Nobody would be convinced that he merely wanted to escape the cycle of experiments that had thus far consisted his entire life. If she told Luwan about Digan's real reason for finding her, she would ruin his only chance to live freely. What a sorry payment that would be for saving her life. “He ran away from his creator, fed up with being an experiment. In fact, when he saw my assailant, at first he thought the aswang was there to sniff him out. And Digan... Digan killed him, because he was afraid the aswang would report him back.” It was the best alternate event she could construct without deviating too much from the truth.
Luwan loosened her bun and redid her hair all over again. The light from the torch by the window deepened the premature wrinkles that lined her eyes and the edges of her mouth. “Are you sure we can trust Digan on this? He's kept so many secrets from you. For all we know, he could be working with his creator to set some kind of trap for us. Maybe he was even the one who told his own creator about you, and that's how the assailant was able to track you down.”
It was true that perhaps Yaya was a fool to take Digan for his word — she had known so little of him after all. But Digan had also saved her, and he didn't seem like the type to kill someone just to make it seem like he was on her side. Even that seemed too far fetched after everything else. In some deep part of her, she truly believed that Digan wanted to flee from his creator. And he wouldn't betray Yaya if she was his last hope for escape.
“I don't know,” Yaya deflected. “But isn't it just as important to track down Digan's creator? Either way, he's at the root of all of this. Isn't there any way you can help me? All we need is some proof, something that hints at this trouble. We can show it to Datu Lunti so he can help protect us and solve this problem.”
Luwan whistled and shook her head. “Digan would have been the perfect proof. But without him, I suppose we can start by checking any odd activity in Takatak and the nearby settlements. From what you told me, Digan and his creator would have left a trail of unfinished aswang investigations. Perhaps some of the documents I'm holding onto might get us a lead.”
A bit of tension seeped from Yaya at the civil servant's assent. Luwan showed her into another room, lighting it up with cheap tallow candles. It was about half the length and width of Luwan's receiving room, but felt much narrower with all the shelves, tables, and boxes filling it up. Each of those were filled, too. Bamboo sheets, either rolled up or stacked flat on top of each other, comprised most of the contents. Stone weights, writing utensils, woven sleeping mats, and hemp bags holding assorted items took up the rest of the space.
Luwan pointed at a low table. “Those are notes I took for Datu Lunti, news the traders have brought in the last few days. We can start with those.”
Yaya leaned over the table, rummaging through the sheets. They were dated and labelled with the name and occupation of the trader who'd brought the news. Flooded rivers. Wanted theives. High-ranked ladies who desired the latest skin cream from one of Takatak's notable poultice mixers. Yaya scanned the writings for any word of aswang.
A sudden force against her back drove her onto the table. She bounced off its surface and fell to the floor. A weight pressed down between her shoulder blades, keeping her pinned. Before she knew it, a metal cuff encircled both her wrists, tying her to the base of a heavy shelf.
“Luwan?” she called.
“I'm sorry.”
Yaya turned her head in time to see Luwan dragging a large, weighty chest from the topmost shelf. She allowed it to fall, though she cringed at the sickening crush of metal when it dropped onto Yaya's legs. The impact vibrated up Yaya's body, and for a time, all she could do was stare at the unnatural bend of her calves beneath the chest. Then sharp fear pierced through her shock. She wiggled, but although her toes and feet were mercifully still able to move, she couldn't dislodge the chest from off of her.
“I really am sorry,” Luwan repeated. She leaned into Yaya's back, scrabbling at something by the collar of her tunic.
Yaya's head gears spun. The bamboo rods on the floor took on a fierce green shade as the light shone from her head. “You knew about Digan,” she stated, almost before she was even aware she had come to that conclusion. “Were you the one who told his creator about me?” How many people even knew she had spied on Digan? Not many. And it was Luwan who had made sure of that. Hadn't she given Yaya the advice not to tell anyone the details of her assignment?
“You left me no choice.” Luwan's voice was soft, anxious. Yaya had never heard the civil servant so uneasy. “I can't risk you getting away. You Metalmades remember too much.”
“Risk me?” Yaya's alarm melted into stubborn indignation. “Do you understand what Digan's creator is doing? Do you know how many humans would be in danger if an aswang learns how to infiltrate large settlements?”
“Please hold still. This will be less uncomfortable for you if you do.” Luwan grabbed a handful of Yaya's hair and pushed her head against the floor. Her other hand was trembling as she tampered with the casing at the nape of Yaya's neck. She seemed to be twisting away a screw.
It dawned on Yaya what Luwan was trying to do. There was a small lever at the back of a Metalmade's neck that, if switched, would pause the turning of all of their gears.
Yaya renewed her struggle, but Luwan kept her effectively pinned. She was surprised at how strong the woman was, given that Metalmades were a lot heftier than a human of the same size. Yaya focused all of her awareness on her wrists, bound by the cuffs. At least the tinker she'd approached was a cheap one.
With all her strength, Yaya yanked her arms apart. As expected, the sturdy cuffs did not give, but her fragile left wrist did as it ripped from her arm socket. Freed, she pushed her upper body from the floor against Luwan's slackening force. Luwan blinked at her severed hand with large eyes, the whites showing all around. Without the grip on her head and neck, Yaya swung her elbow at the woman's face, and Luwan smashed against the racks of the shelf. Their contents came tumbling down on top of the servant.
Yaya pushed herself up even more, her left hand dangling in the cuffs still tied around her right wrist. She paid it no heed. Instead, she clawed at the heavy chest on her legs. It was difficult with one hand, but she managed to topple it off to its side. The lid popped off, and the content spilled.
Yaya wobbled her way to a stand and, with great relief, found that her legs could still hold her up. Her calves were dented, but if she did a weird sort of hop on each foot, she found she could move about. She'd look a little funny escaping from this hut, but the last thing she cared about right now was her appearance.
It was then she noticed what had dropped from the chest. She wouldn't have looked at it twice, but for the pale green glow that sparked every now and then from the grooves of the large black rock. In an early morning sun, she would never have detected the weak glow, but in the dimness of the room, with only the candles to give smoky light, it was unmistakeable.
“Is that... an Ember Core?” she whispered. Her eyes traced the intricate grooves that decorated the rock, well-travelled pathways that once must have guided the gearwork of a Metalmade. It wasn't just an Ember core. It was a used one, a strange one. Like a spiderweb that had clung to the surface of the rock, there was a network of thin, crinkled scars that marred the grooves. Yaya had only seen the likes of it once before: on Digan's Ember Core. A coldness gripped her.
Luwan stirred from her slump against the shelf. Her cheek was dark with a bruise. The skin on her forehead was split, blood spilling from the cut. Cloaked by the shadows, she seemed like a character from an orator's midnight tale. A croak emerged from her lips. “My mother is dying.”
Yaya didn't move. It seemed as if reality had shattered and she was putting all the fragments back together, here in this cramped space of rock and paper. One wrong decision, and her chance of uncovering the truth might be lost forever.
“My family sent word to me,” came Luwan's raspy tone from the corner against the shelf. “They can't afford a healer because of their debt. Even after twenty-five years, they still haven't paid it off.” A weak snort. “And it's all because of a memory. Just one memory.”
The story of the aswang-inn came back to Yaya like a splash of cool river water. “Sarang remembered seeing your father talking to a boy.” A boy who turned out to be the aswang. Yaya's gaze darted to the Ember Core with a painful realization, a piece of the puzzle falling into a place she wasn't sure she wanted to accept. For a moment, she saw in her mind's eye Sarang's lifeless metal case, his chest a yawning cavity without his Core. Was this Sarang's missing part?
“I met an aswang who claimed he could warp what's written on an Ember Core. He calls himself the Forger.” Luwan's voice softened, almost regretful. “I thought if I could just erase the memory that incriminated my parents, I can appeal for my family's retrial. I can make it all look like Sarang's mistake, and their debt will be forgiven. But something went awry with the warping.”
Different fragments of the past month aligned together so quickly, Yaya thought her spinning gears would shoot out of her head altogether. The warping had done more than Luwan had intended it to do. Instead of merely erasing the memory of seeing her father talk with the young boy, Sarang forgot the ability to perceive young boys altogether. And now it was clear why Sarang had disappeared a day before his scheduled inspection. Anyone who saw his Ember Core would have wondered about those scars. Luwan's connection might have been revealed. And so she — perhaps along with the Forger — had hidden away the Ember Core and got rid of Sarang.
The coldness seeped further into Yaya's body, trickling into the nooks and crannies of her casing. “You Metalmades remember too much,” Luwan had said a moment earlier. Yaya had assumed she'd been referring to Yaya's knowledge of Digan. But perhaps that wasn't all. Perhaps the memory Luwan resented Yaya having in the first place was of stumbling across Sarang's body. After all, if Luwan's family had been incriminated using such a tiny piece of memory, Yaya might have a recollection of something small — an odd detail here, an incongruence there — that could jeopardize Luwan's neat handling of Sarang.
“If it was a human who'd found his remains, I would have left them alone,” Luwan whispered. It wasn't an outright admission, but it confirmed Yaya's suspicion nontheless. “I asked the Forger to help me get rid of you, but he wanted something from you first.”
“My Ember Core?” Yaya hazarded a guess.
“An Ember Core that knows how to detect an aswang,” Luwan corrected. She winced as blood dripped into her eye. “He wants to know the way it reasons, the telltales it looks for. He wants to know any gaps he could close to make Digan an even better impostor. So I set up the investigation.”
Yaya released a huff of disbelief. Even her assignment had been a ruse all along. Made up. More pieces of the puzzle dropped into place. “There wasn't an aswang victim after the mango trader after all, was there?” Yaya asked. The katalonan she had spoken to didn't remember one. Only Luwan had mentioned of a man in the northwestern neighbourhood having been attacked by an aswang, of Digan being the suspect.
“The Forger was supposed to dismantle you after you submitted your vote for a ritual. He was supposed to take your Core. I wasn't supposed to see you again.” Luwan let out a little pained chuckle. “I guess both he and I aren't very good at making others disappear.”
Yaya leaned against the wall behind her, off-balance in a way that had nothing to do with her flattened calves. She had been an experiment too this entire time. Her assignment, the very thing she'd pinned her hopes and her future on, the thing she thought would help fulfill her purpose to Binhi, was nothing but a convenient extension of someone else's machination. She understood now exactly how Digan felt. The coldness in her morphed into something hot and ugly. “You know your family's punishment was justified!” she said. “They deserved it for harbouring something dangerous.”
“That aswang was young!” Luwan countered. She grasped at the shelves, trying to pull herself up. “We had him under control! He only fed from rowdy patrons or the ones that cheated us. What kind of man would my father have been if he'd sent that boy to execution? Or away to starve?” Luwan sat upright, the trail of blood from her forehead now dribbling down her jaw. “You have a good sense of right and wrong, Yaya. You would have done the same thing in his place.”
Yaya shook her head, unable to convince herself that she would do the same thing, yet equally unable to convince herself otherwise. Was losing blood and the essence of your life a fair price for rowdiness and cheating? Was incurring a crippling debt a fair price for sympathizing with a young aswang?
Before Yaya could clear her head, Luwan grabbed a long pole that had clattered to the floor with the other contents of the shelf, and she thrust it towards Yaya. Yaya flinched away, but the pole's hooked end yanked a squat clay jar sitting on top of the drawer behind her. With a tug, the jar crashed against Yaya, and with her unbalanced legs, she and the jug fell in a heap on the floor.
Luwan pounced. Her hand pressed on Yaya's neck once again, pushing her against the bamboo slats. The casing at the back of her neck snapped open. Yaya scrambled, grabbing at fallen objects and throwing them behind her at Luwan, but although the servant grunted when hit, the pressure on Yaya's back was unrelenting. Yaya groped for something sharp, but most of the things on the ground were bamboo sheets and lightweight woven containers. The clay jar was cracked, but otherwise not shattered and still too heavy for her to lift. The bamboo pole was out of reach.
Desperate, Yaya clawed at the tacks on her handless wrist. She bent the ends of them so that they poked up instead of inwards. She straightened the wires out of her arm so their sharp ends stuck up. And with a well-angled aim, she punched the arm leaning on her neck. A pained yell erupted from Luwan, and when Yaya pulled her wrist back, it came away with a wet squish. The hand on her neck lost its strength. She twisted to the side, and with regret, punched Luwan's jaw with the same wrist. More screams and more blood.
Yaya crawled to a stand and shot out of the storage room, hobbling on her oddly bent legs. She flew out of the unit and threw herself to the ground, not bothering with the ladder she knew her legs could no longer climb down. Several people had gathered outside the longhouse, no doubt distrubed by the noise coming from Luwan's quarters. One of Datu Lunti's warriors helped her stand. It was the same man who had guarded the datu's workroom the night Yaya had asked Binhi to fix her left arm. His brows were drawn in concern beneath his red turban, making his lean face seem even thinner. Yaya really ought to learn his name.
“Hey Yaya, what's going on in there?” he said, voice soft and appeasing.
Within one moment and the next, a thousand thoughts flitted through Yaya, struggling to form a coherent picture that could succinctly sum up the evening. But nothing could. And she realized with a jolt that perhaps this had been the problem all along. Sometimes things didn't fit into easily digestible explanations. Sometimes they presented themselves in one way, but were actually something completely different.
“There's an aswang!” Yaya said instead, hoping that by using the creature, she could convey the urgency and the corruption lurking behind that door. “Hurry or she might get away!”
The warrior hesitated. “Why, that's Luwan's quarters. Are you sure? Or do you need your gears repaired?”
“There are remains in her storage room,” Yaya said, thinking of Sarang's debased Ember Core. “She's using somebody else's death to boost her own well-being.”
A ripple of unease and confusion flowed through the gathering crowd. The warrior passed her off to someone else, pulled his short sword from his waist and climbed up the stairs to Luwan's room.
A clarification ritual would determine that Luwan was, in fact, human, but a quick search of her storage room revealed enough to get her detained. The next few days passed by in a rough blur for Yaya, almost like when she had just woken for the first time and couldn't make sense of anything in her surroundings. She suffered a lengthy interview with Dayang Dikimi, the wife of Datu Lunti, who had her repeat her entire story three times.
Yaya was summoned again a few days later to Dayang Dikimi's quarters. Datu Lunti was spearheading the search for Digan's creator, and it fell to the dayang to handle all the other fallout from the scandal.
Servants took Yaya to a small but opulent room, whose walls and ceiling were decorated in bright crimson silk and gold-hued cotton. The low table upon which the dayang waited was carved with mighty sea-serpents and giant birds from ancient folklore of the Grand Archipelago. Silver bowls and cups were arranged in a neat row on one side of the table, which Yaya guessed was for some other guest.
“My family and I didn't have a chance to properly thank you for the great service you've done for Takatak,” Dayang Dikimi stated. Dark circles lined the undersides of her eyes, the only sign of exhaustion on her otherwise very pretty face. Her skin remained a rich bronze and her dark brown eyes lustrous. She extended a hand on the table, and beneath it was a spool of shiny indigo thread. “The assignment that Luwan gave you was not valid, but I think uncovering a conspiracy between a civil servant and an enterprising aswang demonstrates an advanced understanding of danger. Let me be the first to congratulate you on achieving your credential.”
Yaya marvelled at the spool, cradling it in her hands — her left hand and her legs had been fixed since that awful night. For something that fit in her palm, it was hard to believe so much had hinged on this. She could now take the thread to a tailor and have it sewn to her sash in the wavy pattern for the credential. Binhi's custody could officially be transferred to her. They'd be free to live anywhere they wanted. For a moment, Yaya's body seemed to be made of the lightest steel.
“Thank you, Dayang,” she replied. “Do you have any news?”
Dayang Dikimi sombered. “Luwan confessed to all of the things you told us she did. She conspired with an aswang she calls the Forger to modify Sarang's memories. And when that didn't go as planned, she stole his Ember Core and disposed of his body by the swamp. Then she had set you up in a sham assignment, hoping the Forger will take care of your disappearance himself afterwards.”
She shook her head, eyes growing wistful. “I've known Luwan for a long time. So dutiful and organized. I thought we had done our best to shield her from her family's downfall, but it looks like she never quite stopped resenting the punishment my husband's father had rendered them all those years ago. I admire her loyalty to her family, but I'm surprised at the lengths she went to to falsely clear their name.”
Yaya understood the longing to save someone from illness. Luwan's methods, however, seemed disproportionate to her goal. A civil servant had other ways to get money, surely. “I don't think we could have predicted her plans.”
Even if they studied all the people on the islands of the archipelago and beyond, Yaya suspected they would never be able to fully map the patterns of anyone's behaviour. There might always be some factor that they had overlooked, something that had hid in their blind spot, that they didn't know they didn't know. How could Yaya have judged Digan to be an aswang Metalmade without the knowledge that such an invention was possible? How could she have suspected Luwan of conspiring with an aswang without knowing that aswang had the ability to modify Ember Cores?
“I suppose so. My, you're really getting wise, aren't you?” Dayang Dikimi smiled at Yaya. “Anyway, we have a lead on where this Forger might be hunkering, but no success yet in locating his exact hiding place. Nearby settlements have been alerted that there's an aswang on the loose, so hopefully he won't stay hidden for long. We haven't been able to find Digan either.”
Warriors and officials have thoroughly searched the area where Yaya and Digan had the altercation with the assailant, but the aswang Metalmade seemed to have vanished with no trace.
“Are you sure you don't know where he could have escaped to?”
“He said he wanted to get away from his creator,” Yaya answered, which was true enough. “Without knowing where the Forger is, it's a little difficult to estimate where Digan might head to.”
“Fair enough.” Dayang Dikimi breathed deeply and closed her eyes. When she opened them, a grimness shadowed her gaze. “Yaya, I appreciate how well you've cooperated with us these past few days. We have asked you not to tell anyone about this case aside from those involved in the investigation. I'd appreciate if you continue being discreet. The aswangs' ability to modify Ember Cores is not a piece of knowledge we can afford to release at the moment. Metalmades may be few in number, but you have an important function in our society. Keep in mind why the very first Metalmade was built.”
Yaya nodded, not missing the implication in the dayang's reminder. The first Metalmade had kept a record of all of his datu's political dealings, and even today, many Metalmades were built for this exact function. The Forger might only be interested in fashioning the perfect imposter to vicariously learn from, and Luwan had only been concerned for her family's well-being. Other people might not harbour such tiny dreams. If the conspiracy between Luwan and Digan's creator had upended Yaya's world, what more could happen if people sought aswang on purpose to steal and falsify state information within a Metalmade's Ember Core? There would be massive upheavals, not just between rivalling datus, but also between humans, Metalmades, and aswang.
“I understand,” Yaya stated.
“Thank you.” Dayang Dikimi's smile returned. “I suppose you and Binhi will be off to Sagabilang soon. I'm aware of the apprenticeship offer she has there.”
Yaya's hinges lost their tautness at the change in subject. “Yes, we are. And I assure you can depend on our discretion even there. It's the least we can do to thank you for taking care of Binhi these last two years after our father's death. And for ensuring that I get the help I needed to earn my credentials. We owe you a great debt of gratitude.”
“There's no debt.” The dayang winked. “And I must say, we really could have done more for you. Perhaps after Binhi has finished her apprenticeship, she might consider Takatak as a place to apply her trade.”
“I don't doubt she would.” Yaya didn't know how big this case with the Forger would grow, or what kind of experiences awaited her in Sagabilang, but one thing was certain. Takatak was engraved too deeply in her Ember Core. This place would never be less than home, and she was sure Binhi felt the same.
The day before they left Takatak, Yaya trekked to the northwestern neighbourhood to thank Mayaw and her husband for their hospitality during her assignment. They congratulated her for earning her Safety and Danger credential, but they didn't pry any information about the assignment even now that it was over, much to Yaya's relief. She and Binhi also went around central Takatak, scattering farewells and well-wishes to friends and acquaintances. Himala, the weaver, donated to them a set of sturdy sleeping mats for their journey. Yaya learned the names of as many people as she could, including the warrior who had helped her upon escaping Luwan's quarters. His name was Pabuya.
They didn't own much, so all the things that Yaya and Binhi packed for their journey to Sagabilang fit in a hemp bag and several pouches. They walked for half a morning east of Takatak, following the flow of the rivulet, until they came to a rundown hut sitting in the shade of a lonesome balete tree. Although at first it seemed like the perfect place for travellers to stop and rest, the crass handiwork of the hut gave it a pitiful look. Travellers tended to bypass it for other stops, complete with food stalls and beverages, further downriver.
Yaya and Binhi climbed up inside the hut and settled their bags against the doorway.
“He said he'll meet us here,” Binhi informed her. “At least that was the plan a few nights ago when I received his last message.”
There was still a part of Yaya that wished she hadn't told Binhi all about the conspiracy. Her misgivings were less about Dayang Dikimi's warning, as Binhi was very circumspect for her age. Rather, Yaya worried that knowing about the Forger might make Binhi more vulnerable. But another part of her was also convinced that Binhi wouldn't be any safer if she'd been kept ignorant. It was no secret that she and Binhi were family, and if someone really did wish Yaya harm, Binhi could be made a target no matter what.
Perhaps every decision from here on out would always feel like a gamble now that she was finally a guardian trying to keep someone safe. She would have always attempted to keep Binhi safe regardless, but making the duty official also made it seem weightier.
And Binhi wasn't the only one Yaya needed to keep safe anymore.
Yaya walked through the rooms of the hut. It was a little larger than Digan's hut had been at the opposite side of Takatak, composed of one main room and two smaller chambers. There was no furniture inside, no sign that anyone had been staying there.
“You never saw him when you came by?” Yaya had been too busy during the days following Luwan's arrest to attend to Digan. She had been under tight surveillance, mostly for her own safety since she was the only witness to the entire situation. But she did manage to get word to Binhi and ask her to deliver some help to Digan. He and Yaya had agreed to this hut not exactly as a meeting place, but as a spot to exchange messages.
“No, it was always empty like this,” Binhi admitted. “But the messages would be under a stone right over there.” She pointed to a corner of the smallest chamber. That spot did look a little less dusty than the others.
Late morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the woven-bamboo walls. The air in the hut was stale and warm.
“Do you think they caught him?” Yaya asked.
A new voice came from behind her. “If they did, they didn't catch the right person.”
Yaya and Binhi spun around. Standing by the door was someone who looked like Digan. He had the same ponytail, narrow forehead, and low brows. The characteristically sullen mouth was still there, and so were the shoulders that could block a doorway.
But this man was different. He was no longer visibly a man. His skin had morphed into burnished metal. His joints had the telltale rivets for hinges. His face had a clean crevice down the left side through his eye. A dull green glow shimmered from it.
Digan smiled at them. “How's my new look?”