In a pavillion hidden amongst gray and white trees.
“For the sake of Sinalat and Aren as a whole, it is imperative that we stand our ground and continue to send reinforcements. The bandits may have retreated, but the city now faces major unrest. The resourcefulness of our maharlika laki shall quell it.
“However, the weapons recovered from the apprehended bandits are of Yamul artisanry. With this knowledge, the timawa are justly asking for reparations from Yamul Country.”
“Yamul Country, is it? Very good, this is not their first offense. Your Highness, let us elders meet with that Yamul Country’s ambassador! We have enough grievances with their people to raise some demands!”
“Since they couldn’t buy our souls, they intend to destroy us? But the identification of the bandits are said to point to Svet, not Yamul. What should we do if this was a joint conspiracy? Are we prepared to anger two countries?”
“Then we interrogate the Svetian ambassador as well! Haven’t they been angering us? Your Highness, what do you say?”
“Your Highness?”
Lark’s brows tightened at the sound of the elders’ passionate discussion. His own thoughts were silent, as if they had drowned in the feelings of urgency and anxiety that he had felt since the day that Sinalat was placed under martial law.
He was there when everything went down. There were already several odd reports of scrimmages caused by ignorant tourists, and Lark suggested that he witness the disturbance in Sinalat personally before dealing with the other places. As a result?
As soon as Lark’s party exited the city, explosions sounded behind them. Roaring flames sprayed glowing embers across the otherwise white and black landscape. The dark of night could not be seen at all, only the burning red of a sun that had fallen.
At that time, he had also heard those clamoring chants of ‘Your Highness, Your Highness’. He was pulled away from the screams for the sake of those who would survive the night.
After all, his life was most precious, as the sole heir to Aren’s reigning Raja.
Lark held his chin in his hand and tried to focus on the pavillion before him. Seeing that he had something to say, the crowd quieted their crowing at once.
He spoke, “I’ll trouble the elders to deal with those international matters as was done before. Moreover, what is the exact situation in Sinalat? Were the timawa able to evacuate on time? How is their maharlika?”
“Sinalat’s public infrastructure is still standing, but many buildings are not expected to withstand the flooding season next month. Private infrastructure must also be rebuilt; the longtime residents of Sinalat have managed to bring their personal belongings to the neighboring villages before anything serious happened though, thank Bathala. The local governance should be more than enough to take care of the details; we only need to keep track of relief allocation. I advise that you change your habits and pay more attention to international discussions, Your Highness.”
Lark pursed his lips in silent acquiescence. It was indeed not a time to pick and choose where his attention lay.
The elder nodded approvingly and continued, “The latest batch of buto-bato produced in Sinalat were reserved for foreign trade, but bore the brunt of the attack and can no longer be used. Coincidentally, that batch were the samples requested by Yamul Country. It wouldn’t be surprising if Yamul Country decided to use this as another example of ‘Areno incompetence’ and try to force overseers on us again.”
“It is possible that this was their orchestration in the first place.” Another elder reminded.
“We’ve made a partnership with them, how could that be the case?” Lark asked earnestly. “What is there to gain from betraying us in such a roundabout way?”
“To summarize, Yamul Country simply believes that they have an upper hand to commit such deeds against us without any repercussions. Say, if we declared war and showed our strength, don’t you think they’d behave more?”
“If we dared to declare war or noncooperation, I suppose that they would dare to raze our homes. You forgot, war is simply a matter of territory for the Central Union: death, what does it matter if it is not them who dies? What does it matter if our homes are destroyed? It is not their homes, which taunt the test of time instead of flowing in the stream of it.”
“What else can we do besides this? Whether we incite Yamul Country or not, we shall bear the consequences. Sinalat is already gone, do we also want to make Aren a name of the past?”
“Then, let us focus on what we can do in the meantime,” Lark quickly cut in between the elders’ growing voices, “Isn’t this all a matter of buto-bato? Yamul Country is just as restricted as they are empowered by the Central Union. So long as we fulfill the delivery of samples, won’t it be fine?”
One hukom stepped forward from the crowd to speak: “Responding to Your Highness, my city of Itapalit may have a solution. We have just recently planned a celebration and collected a trove of buto-bato figures in preparation. Since these are donations, it is possible to use them for the nation’s wellbeing—”
“Our people also need buto-bato, even if just for a celebration.” A tagapayo from Itapalit refuted the hukom with a huff. “They were donations, yes, but we had a clause for collecting them! Are we favoring the contract of others over ourselves?”
“Ay, I know that, but family is more forgiving than the stranger. Just explain it to the timawa; we’ll postpone the celebration.” Itapalit’s hukom waved a hand and looked at Lark for validation. “What say you, Your Highness?”
Once again, Lark was prompted, but he couldn’t think of a word to say. Only after a minute of silence passed did he open his mouth: “What would it take for us to end our partnership with the Central Union? So far, I’ve only heard about payment. I don’t know what it is that we’ve signed this alliance for if we’re only to be taken advantage of.”
“The Central Union provides us with protection and a seat on the Central Union’s panel of world leaders, Your Highness. There is also an oath to deliver resources in times of trouble.”
“What constitutes ‘times of trouble’?”
“Natural disasters. Subpar nationwide standards of living. Threats to prosperity by international intervention.”
“Does this bout of terrorism not count?”
“There’s the biggest issue, Your Highness,” The responding elder sighed, “We have no means of proving to the Central Union that this was more than a bandit raid.”
In other words, this instance would only be counted as a domestic dispute; there was no reason for the CU to send out a helping hand, much less reconsider their order of tribute.
Such a deal was not a partnership, it seemed, but a transaction.
Lark closed his eyes with a bitter smile. “Should we wait for the annual meeting to discuss it? But then, we’ll only have a month’s time to prepare the tribute if they don’t decide to give us a grace period.”
“Your Highness, what about closing Aren’s borders once more?”
Lark looked up with a penetrative gaze.
The elder did not shy away and continued to explain: “These troubles have only happened because we allowed these foreigners into our lands. Shut them out once more, and with the knowledge we have gained, we can re-open our borders in the future and avoid being taken advantage of like this.”
For the first time this morning, the surrounding elders did not shout to dissuade or offer their own input, but instead muttered amongst themselves tentatively.
That’s right, that’s right! Where did all these troubles come from in the first place? Why should they work with a union that doesn’t work with them? Before, they were just fine and thriving, but now that there were others outside of their consideration, in what capacity could they thrive?
Some elders found this line of thought to be quite dangerous and quickly found reasons to disagree: “This is tantamount to closing your eyes to avoid the fire. We want nothing to do with the Central Union, but we can’t control whether they want anything to do with us.”
“My pamangkin has made friends across the borders. It would really be a shame to end all relations just because of this.”
“Clothes from Inghom are very soft and fine. Not to mention the work of their engineers are fascinating. For the sake of the pursuit of knowledge, can’t this small matter be worked out?”
“Life is much more enriched now that we have opened ourselves to the world. Why should we be the ones to take a step back when it was we who were wronged?”
“But look at reality: we cannot rely on what should or shouldn’t be done. We can only take the initiative to ensure that our countrymen are safe in the long run.”
Ang grabe.
Feeling a headache encroaching the corners of his mind, Lark cut in once more. “The annual meeting with the Central Union is in a few days. Do we at least know what approach to take when discussing matters?” A thought struck him as he continued with passion: “In fact, where is the Central Union ambassador? What happened to them, why don’t I see them attending these meetings these days?”
“The ambassador sent by the Central Union is still touring Aren. They should be returning the day of the Central Union conference.”
“…What was the purpose of the ambassador again?”
“It seems to be…promoting goodwill and educating the public?”
“On what? No, rather, do we not count as the public?” Lark asked.
None of the elders seemed to know how to answer his fair question, and the pavillion fell silent for a moment.
Suppressing a sigh, Lark continued with an attitude of compromise. “Since we’ve agreed to it, we should fulfill our side of the deal. I also believe that we shouldn’t tap into civilian reserves, so why don’t we open the national treasury and finish the tribute with the buto-bato stored there?”
Lark looked at the treasury’s guardian, who nodded in assent: “This is possible, but only for this once. Our treasury is for our nation’s emergencies, not these petty politics.”
“Ay, salamat.” Lark thanked weakly.
“Then, moving forward, let us take a look at the domestic reports…”
The ten hukom of Aren’s major cities stepped forward and spoke with the assistance of the numerous regional tagapayo.
Compared to the convoluted tangle of international politics, the domestic reports of Aren were straightforward and hardly differed from month to month. Crops were thriving. The gold miners collected several more mounds of gold. Sages exchanged and bantered thoughts. Families gossiped and feasted for any reason under the sky.
The assembly of elders debated in depth, and Lark was keen to listen carefully the entire morning. Although his head felt swollen by the end of it, he was determined to make the most of these tedious meetings that he was previously so loath to attend.
For too long did he neglect his duties. How could he allow anyone to call him a child of the Raja if he could not do these things?
As for the current Raja, or as for why Lark, a young man, was still considered the child of a Raja—
His mother, the current Raja, was still alive, albeit barely. For two moons, Lark’s mother had been bedridden due to an obscure illness that only the royal family’s albularyo could tend to. Doctors and healers both foreign and native had failed to assist her, and it was in this semi-living state that she existed.
During those two moons, the royal capital of Aren was in full despair. Lark, for his part, was quickly spirited away from the maharlika laki in order to fulfill his civil duty in the captial. Gone were the military training regimens, the errand running, the labor projects, the locals’ welcomes and farewells; instead, Lark donned the gentlemanly barong to attend these tedious meetings with the country’s elders, who congregated sporadically every moon. These elders were free to come and go outside of the capital to visit the timawa every now and then, but Lark himself was not. Being the only acting member of the Raja family, he held the responsibility to oversee all of Aren’s matters.
But there was nothing for him to complain about when everything crashed and burned like this. Lark always had an affinity for the military, but any in-depth strategization or political implication left him lost at the gate, tripping on glass beads planted by himself. It was easy to feel frustrated with the sudden influx of work, but Lark still found himself to be the most frustrating thing in his world.
Looking down at his hands that should be brown and powerful, he would wonder in silence: what good is it to transform the body when the mind is still a barren waste?
Or was even his body being taken for granted?
While he was worried about rising to the occasion, should he have instead been grateful that it wasn’t him who fell ill?
…In fact, both ways of thinking were wrong, but Lark couldn’t help but to have these thoughts at times.
After the elders’ congregation, Lark walked a familiar path down the royal gardens.
In Aren, much of the natural scenery was pale and colorless. The few places that had color were all structures touched by man. This was possible because although the shells of the bountiful plants could only be described in shades of gray and white, deliberate mutilation and preservation of Aren’s plants revealed vibrant dyes that proved the vitality of the land.
Paired with this inexplicable landscape, Lark’s presence in the gardens made an even grander attraction.
His hair was long, black, and worn freely down his back, decadent like the tales of Areno nobles of the past. Having spent much time outdoors, his skin was brown and luxurious despite the calluses made with hard practice. Large eyes, brows of character, full lips, a steady figure; from the tanned white barong on his shoulders to the Raja red skirt around his waist, every part of Lark’s ensemble only exaggerated his breath within the black and white gardens.
Down the familiar path of stones, a large residence was revealed. The wood slatted windows had the pattern of diamonds in a grid, letting light pour inside in the shape of stars once closed. Fruit trees grew in abundance, separated from the residence by a hand water pump and some overgrowth.
With a soft knock, Lark entered and shut the door silently behind himself.
In the dim room, there was but a grand platform bed that occupied it. Mosquito nets draped from the indented ceiling, concealing the motionless figure that lay there with a white mist.
Lark knelt at the bed’s side.
Behind the nets was the sound of the Raja’s slow, nearly silent breathing.
