How to Tame Your Tikbalang Ch. 07

Here is chapter 7. Thank you for your patience with me. I do hope you enjoy this part of the story and, yes, I am working on the next chapter now, as well as the continuation of Isle of Lays.

*****

20 Junio 1898

Do not wait too long to finish gathering the three golden hairs you need, especially not if you've already taken the first one. Your Tikbalang may sicken if you wait, and a sick Tikbalang is the worst patient you will ever have the misfortune to tend.

You will be enthralled by each other, the Tikbalang losing some of that fight the way a horse being broken gets used to a rider on its back in the middle of a stream with a strong current. Remember to be as gentle in your approaches as you can be, but remain firm and resolute under it all.

You have passed the physically difficult stage, the strong bucking, as it were, of a horse hanging on to its freedom. Now you need to engage your Tikbalang's mind, to show it that we of Lupa are just as intelligent and cunning as they are. Those of the Other World tend to write us short-lived Tao off mainly because we are short-lived and, when compared to them, more fragile in constitution.

What they always underestimate is the strength of our wills, how we can stay our course so doggedly. We are the people of fire and storm, survivors of wind and water. We have weathered disaster after disaster and rebuilt—better and stronger—each time. True, it is rare to find a human who can control the elements as the youngest and most wee of the Other World do from within the womb, but we have our strengths. You have these strengths. Use them well.

You must claim the second golden hair within nine nights of claiming the first one. You will need to travel away from the crowded places humans frequent and, if you can, take the hair on a full moon night. Any other phase of the moon will do, I suppose, but the full moon offers much more power for the kind of magic that increases the power of a Baylan once the second hair is taken.

***

Tala blinked hard to keep her tears (and, truth be told, her fear) from spilling all over the pages of the Bestiario. She was reading this particular passage out loud to Buhawi as she sat on his black leather couch with his head in her lap.

His very busy head. Buhawi was nuzzling Tala's thighs, taking deep breaths as his nose pushed into the crotch of the pink velour short shorts she'd put on after they'd awakened from the exhausted sleep they'd fallen into after her twelfth climax. Her nipples pushed at the soft gray cotton of her tank top. Buhawi had shopped for clothes for her, apparently, before their lunch date, and everything was either very brief, or easy to open. And he'd left underwear completely off his shopping list.

"Hoy! You keep your nose out of my business," Tala said, the irritation strong in her voice as she shoved Buhawi's head off her lap and pulled her splayed knees together primly.

"But your business smells so good," Buhawi shot back with a dimpled grin and a chuckle. "It smells wet and wild and delicious. Just like you and me, up a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G."

He then settled his head beside Tala's thigh and contented himself with stroking that thigh softly, just millimeters from her pulsing wet pussy, raising goosebumps on her arms and around the areolae of her breasts. "I guess I'll just keep busy. Don't mind me. I'm listening. I can multi-task, you know."

Then he took another deep sniff. "I don't need to have my nose in your groin to smell all that wonderful, wet woman waiting to get fucked by me over and over again with my fingers, my mouth, my toys, my tarugo. Mmmmm..."

"Shaddap. I'm not done yet. This is serious business you egghead." Red-faced because she was both immensely turned on and very embarrassed, Tala smacked Buhawi on the head with the Bestiario. "If you know what's good for you, you'll toe the line. Now."

She didn't know which was worse, her arousal at his blatant display of lust for her or the fact she was aroused no matter how sad the text she was reading became. For shame, Tala, your lelang is pouring out her heart and soul here. This is no time to be horny. Ewwww.

Buhawi raised both hands in good-natured surrender as he looked Tala in the eye. Then he reached one hand down and began stroking his massive and quickly hardening member through the silk boxers he had on, worldessly reminding her that he was, indeed, ready for the sex magic that would follow. Buhawi's other hand rubbed that delicious six-pack he obviously wanted to show off, since he was shirtless.

Dammit, Tala wanted to rub that six-pack, but she had to finish this. She pursed her lips and gave him the eye. Which cut absolutely no ice with him. All he did was look at her with an invitation to things lusty and sweaty issuing from his hot, dark eyes. While he touched himself where she wanted to touch him.

Ah, little witch, I will have you. I can wait. But you're so going to pay for making me wait. With sweet, sweet interest. His dark eyes roamed bold, heated trails over her face, her shoulders and neck. So intent was he that Tala could almost swear he was touching her with his hands. Or his tongue. Or...

Buhawi's eyes lingered a long while on her breasts and their jutting tips before he fixed his gaze on the wet spot growing at the crotch of her shorts (thus making the wet spot grow faster). He smiled happily as he stroked himself through his boxer shorts and made the tropical heat rise even more, air-conditioning notwithstanding, at least to Tala's perception.

Tala pretended to ignore the hot flash of lightning in the Tikbalang's eyes that invited her to push the envelope. Instead she resumed reading, swallowing hard as she stumbled over some words—the smograsbord of prime male before her was, after all, drying her mouth and throat out, as was the caress of his eyes on her body. Soldier on, Tala, soldier on. This is the how-to manual you're reading. Go on, pretend. You should have your speech for a world-class acting award ready after this performance.

***

Know that plucking the first hair commits you to the course you have chosen irrevocably, for good or for ill. So you must pluck the second, and the third.

Let me give you this warning, for woe will befall you and all who follow in your bloodline if you don't heed it: You belong to your Tikbalang, as much as he belongs to you. To have any other creature (save the gods, I suppose, but maybe not even them) stand between you and your chosen Tikbalang will break you both forever. If you will not complete the consummation of your transition into Baylan, then make barren your womb.

There are many herbs in our ancient lore for this. Do not pass the misery you will reap onto another generation as I did. It is something I would regret were it not for the hope that you bring, in what is our family's distant future.

To leave a binding unfinished is to have some longevity and some power, to gain abundance in material wealth. But you lose yourself in the process. You destroy all you love. It is not worth it. If you haven't the courage to stay on the path you have chosen, then you also unleash a powerful and unstable being on all the Three Worlds: An insane Tikbalang that may or may not be immortal.

Such a creature will live on for centuries, as the mortal Tikbalang live three centuries or more, but he will be driven insane by his misery, for his soul has been denied its mate.

A Tikbalang left only half-bound is a creature of fear and nightmare and must be killed. A Baylan left half-bound is the saddest human in the world. I should know. This sorrow breaks me each day I wake and sings me to sleep every night.

Such is the unkindest cut of all and, yes, my dearest Tala, I have unwittingly been very, very unkind. I would undo it all if I could, but I cannot. I haven't even got the strength to undo what I'd left unfinished for I am here, sitting in a shaft of Bulan's light, writing this. My Bulalakaw wanders, homeless, rootless, unbound and quite mad, for I hadn't the heart to slay him, even if I could.

***

The last rays of afternoon sun were streaking in through the garden windows, gilding their faces, and Buhawi was casting intent looks at Tala's face, reading her sadness as easily as she read the Bestiario. He reached over his head and across Tala's lap to snag an open box of tissue paper, which he held up to her.

He sent her an understanding look, something so unexpected that they triggered a silent fit of crying from the soon-to-be Baylan.

"Need a mop-up?" Buhawi reached across Tala's lap to the end table by the sofa and grabbed an open box of tissue paper and held it up to her.

Now he wants to be sweet and caring? Tala eyed the box, then Buhawi's face, suspiciously for a second before she took a tissue and wiped the tears streaking down her cheeks. "Thanks."

"Oh, hey, what's with the filthy look? I was just trying to be nice," Buhawi said with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth look in his black coffee eyes. "Just because I find you so fuckable and I'm always horny around you doesn't in any way limit my capacity to understand that what Beatriz wrote is making you sad. You are human, after all, and things like that make you humans sad."

"It's bad enough that this entry is sad, Buhawi. You being nice to me makes me even sadder. Then you totally confuse me by acting all horny. I need to concentrate here," Tala said. "So cut it out already. I'm not done yet."

Maddening human. Maddening female human. Buhawi huffed in exasperation and rolled his eyes as he sat up, scooted close to Tala and put an arm around her shoulders. "By all means, go on. Don't mind me while I ogle your magnificent breasts. We both know where this will end, anyway. Since I have absolutely no desire to become a wandering ronin of a Tikbalang."

"Ronin only applies to Samurai, Buhawi, not your kind" Tala said, ignoring the shivering his breath on that sensitive spot on her neck was causing. "So let's go on with this. Read now. Sex magic later."

"Promise?" Buhawi laughed in the face of Tala's best 'wither the leaves on the trees' look aimed straight at his face. Buhawi's laughter was sexy, charming, yet there was something in it that Tala couldn't pinpoint, something that was not funny at all. Was he anxious? Oh, well, he'd tell her or he wouldn't. She needed to finish this entry in the Bestiario first.

***

Perhaps it is hope I feel as I put this all down in words for you, but it is a selfish hope, I know. Yet, I digress. So let me wipe away these silly, useless tears of remorse and continue. Some solutions take decades, if not centuries, to complete and I am only at the beginning of this one. You are the conclusion, or will be if you choose it. After you become the full Baylan you have begun to be, you may begin a new chapter of your life. There will be no closed doors and no regrets for you if you see this through.

Pluck the second hair from your Tikbalang's tail. This is the piece of gold that will unleash your power over wind and water. I do pray that you find an island where you can do this, one where there are few people. It would be even better if the island is uninhabited, or at least that is what the witches of Siquijor isle advise.

Those witches are powerful and will not steer you wrong, though I also believe you must approach them with caution and humility. Such is their power, drawn from the Dark Gods whose names are not spoken by even the most perverted mambabarang. Do not bargain with the witches of Siquijor, because they will want things you may not be able to give them. Instead, ask politely for what you need and take their aye or nay with gratitude.

If you have reached an accord with your Tikbalang, then let him lead the way to the isle where you will take the second part of your power. Tikbalang are masters of all pathways, opening up ways that did not exist before. This is why they are the messengers between worlds.

If not, I have drawn, faithfully, all the best maps to the isles I know will suit your purposes. I pray that the world hasn't changed so much that my maps will prove useless. They are kept folded in the pockets of this journal's front and back sleeves.

The maps show seven isles, three to the north past the head of Luzon, and four in the south within the belly of the Visayas. The most mystical is Siquijor, but go to the Isle of Seven Volcanoes only if none other will suit, there is such strong magic there and I fear it, fear for you.

Yes, you will need to couple with your Tikbalang, something you must prepare for well. The coupling must last seven days and seven nights, with only the most necessary breaks for food, water and your ablutions.

He will bring fire and shake the ground and that is all very normal for this sort of thing. Do not be frightened as I was.

The goddess Bulan told me in a dream that you would hold much more power than I and, for all that I fear for you, I am proud of that. I will do all I can, coward that I am, to give you what strength and knowledge I can add to yours.

I may not know you, nor you I, but I know my love is contained in these words, in the honesty I have given only to my lost Bulalakaw. I know you will rise through this victorious and my tears now are tears of love for you and pride in you, my Tala.

***

"Pathfinders?" That one word was a query, along with the cocked right eyebrow and the look she sent in Buhawi's direction.

"Pathfinders," Buhawi said with mock seriousness as he suppressed a grin. "We tend to make travelers we chance upon lose their way, especially those annoying hikers and mountain climbers. Especially when they use their puny little knives to cut into the Diwatas' trees. You have to agree that's much better than the rapine and murder we're usually accused of."

"So that part of our Tikbalang lore is true? Does turning one's shirt inside-out work, too?" Tala's query was rather sarcastic.

"Actually, yes," Buhawi said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Especially if the lost person is a woman with a great rack and she's not wearing a bra. We'll definitely help such a beauty find her way back to civilization. Ugly men, however, are likely to find themselves in a lair of wild boar or something equally feral. Especially if they're careless about where they piss. Bathala the SkyFather himself gave us that power. How we use it is up to us."

"Why is that, if I may ask, o great Tikbalang?" Tala was rolling her eyes and setting hands to hips and standing as she posited her question, something Buhawi found immeasurably cute. Along with the way she tapped that bare little foot with its pretty pink piggies on his shag carpet.

"Because we are the guardians of the gates to other realms, o temptress Baylan," Buhawi's answer was just as glib. "We are the messengers of the Three Worlds. We are the keepers of all paths. Or at least that's what my father says. Now, enough talk. We have another ritual to get on with, don't you think? The timing is perfect. Look out the window."

Buhawi took Tala's chin in a firm but gentle grip and tilted her face up so she could see the big yellow moon suspended high in the blackness of the night sky. "You get to touch my otherworldly ass and I get to fuck you silly all over again. Then dinner and some sleep before we plan this vacation sexathon of ours, hmmm? I even have salve for the friction burn we'll be making."

"But we're in the middle of the metropolis! It says here we need to find an island, preferably deserted, before we get to the plucking and fucking," Tala protested, as much for the delay as for the locale.

"Shush, woman. Let me get our things," Buhawi said. "I'd packed them while you were still asleep and we're ready to go." He exited the living room and came back out of his bedroom a few minutes later dressed in faded black jeans that did nothing to hide the huge weapon it contained and a tight black shirt over which lay a silver necklace with a small, perfect brown cowrie hanging from it. He had slung an old olive green duffle bag over his right shoulder and carried two large footlockers in his equally large hands.

"Now, get a hold of my arm," he told Tala. "I've got my two-way pendant to paradise on and you'll need a firm grip, since I've got the bags."

Tala took a deep breath and took hold of Buhawi's proferred arm and felt the hardest jolt of her life as they were sucked right out of Buhawi's house, through a blur of colors and out into the starriest night she'd ever seen.

***

When Tala was finally able to pry her eyelids open and her clenched fingers from their two-handed deathgrip on Buhawi's (mmmmm, delicious...) muscular upper arm, she felt soft, still-warm sand underfoot, sifting between her toes.

"You could have warned me we weren't taking a plane. Or a car," Tala said, her voice squeaking with shock and residual fear. "I don't jet-set this way, horse-man."

"But the surprise on your face and that tight grip of yours made it all fun," Buhawi said as he took one of Tala's fear-cold hands in his and swept the other in a wide arc before them. "Look around you. This is my island, smack dab in the middle of the Calamianes group that includes Boracay and Coron."

Looking in the same arc swept by Buhawi's hands, Tala saw the waterfall glittering in the moonlight, offset against a lush wood of what looked like ancient mangroves that practically encircled the isle, save for a ribbon of pink-sand beach with a small jetty where a sporty red speedboat bobbed at a mooring post.

"You can't tell me you don't want to be in this beautiful place," the Tikbalang said in a low, seductive tone. "Why, we'd be so happy here. Fucked-out, totally blissed-out happy. Sore, but oh-so-happy. And comfy, too. I've got my own waterfall over a hot spring, a lovely little love nest and no one else around us at all. For many nautical miles. We even have solar power on the roof and a small hydropower thingamajigabob under the jetty and a distillation plant and rainwater catchment-slash-water heater thing so there is enough fresh, hot water for the spa in the backyard and my phenomenal shower stalls. Designed them myself."

There it was again, that tinge of pride in Buhawi's voice that hinted at something more than mere lust among his intents. Skittish over that, Tala looked everywhere (or at least tried to) but at Buhawi's marvelously sculpted butt and legs snugged in those damned jeans.

Okay, I can probably do the sex part, but that undercurrent in his voice, that thing I can't pin down, it's freaky. It's almost like he wants to impress me, to show me what a good provider he is. Creepy. Really creepy. Tala mentally shook herself. You can't tell what he's thinking you idiot. He isn't human. He doesn't want forever. So stop reading more into that tone of his voice than there is. Prepping her heart's armor, Tala took a deep breath and took another look around.

The "little love nest" Buhawi spoke of was actually a pretty large house covering maybe 400 square meters. It was faced with marble from Mactan island, accented with white adobe trim around large picture windows covered by bamboo blinds and sported wraparound lanais on the ground and second floors made of hardwood and bamboo with long-armed planter's chairs in rattan weave over polished dark teak positioned near end-tables of black wrought iron topped with immaculate white marble amid large potted palms and ferns.

The yellow moon was even bigger and the dark night was starrier here, Tala noticed. The only thing breaking the silence around them was the gentle smacking of waves hitting shore and the rustling of leaves in the salty wind. Buhawi walked to the house and up the steps to the massive narra front door, opened it and carried their baggage in, with Tala trailing behind him.