“Walker of the earth, who are you to come to me?”
“Great spirit, I bow to your presence, I ask for aid and protection.”
“Tell me your tale.”
“Of course, venerable one.”
=————————=
I am but a humble, old, woman, but I have seen the changes wrought by the moving of the winds. It wasn’t like this, not like in my youth. In those days the trees would break the destruction from the storms. The mountains would challenge their power.
And we would be safe.
But now the typhoons carry more devastation. And I know it isn’t our fault. My people, the people that pray to you for guidance, are but victims in the tides of the world.
They would cal it ‘climate change’, I say ‘that which brings ruin’.
The beaches moan with bursting waves.
The landslides signal suffering.
And the trees.
The trees that are no more.
I have come to you, with all the humility I can muster.
Please,
For your people.
=———————————————=
“Let me tell you my tale, elder of your people. The spirtit realms trembles wit a power that only reveals themselves now.”
“Please bless me with your wisdom.”
==——————————————==
We were legion then.
The rumble of our footsteps were heard throughout this eastern island we both call our home.
It is a mistaken assumption that we are eternal. Spirits can be born in this world and the next. Popping up as witnesses to the natural world.
But as time passed on to centuries.
We died.
I am almost the last of the spirits attempting to protect your kind.
There are spirits born in the last few decades, those that lay waste to this and other islands.
We try to do battle.
But we have lost countless times.
These new spirits are those of heat and storm, of famine and blood. Only they will remain afther the death of us who were once guardians of this realm.
They have been given power by humans in this land and over the seas.
There is power in names, and humans have foolishly given them even more force.
Auring. Dante. Huaning. Quedan. Obet. Neneng.
Names for the storms.
Humans in their folly , sought to try and control the horizon, they try to prepare themselves for the coming storms.
I laugh at their audacity.
Your own leaders steal from your coffers.
Those that mine the earth bald the mountain slopes, the spirits cry with no audience.
No one can stop them
Not the spirits of the land.
Not the people of this island.
It is laughable to think that your people are part of a greater archipelago.
But what does that give you?
Leaders that plaster their visages on goods meant to sooth the suffering of their constituents.
Leaders that travel to other lands while their people cry out for aid.
Thievery. Corruption. Death.
If the lives of their people mean nothing to them, then whu do the spirits still try.
I am an elder, just like you. And I am tired.
Storm after storm.
Lives lost to greed.
I am sorry, I cannot help you.
The next typhoon-spirit is coming. More deadly than any one these bones have felt.
Take your people, elder.
Take them far away and find a new home.
Your face shows defiance, but alas my own words fail me.
You cannot run.
The earth its shedding its realm.
I told you to go far, but wherever you land it will be the same story.
The spirits of heat boiling the oceans.
The spirits of the mountain abandoning those who once held power.
Fear of the unknown, of the uncertain.
That is the world we live in, both in spirit and incarnate.
=———-
“That is my tale, elder.”
“So there is nothing you can do?”
“These people have done irreparable damage to the twin horizons.”
“They will not stop.”
“How can they? Greed speaks volumes, and those with black hearts listen.”
“So are we just to die?”
“Only you can answer that.”
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverza
Inspired by the Tamyaw entry in Mga Nilalang na Kagila-Gilalas by Samar. 2019.
Illustration by Angelo Adonis Chavez used with permission from Rob Martin of Pine Box Entertainment and Secret Garden Games
