by Rin Chupeco
2
In Which Carly Rae Jepsen Songs Make Excellent Training Tools
There was no real reason, in Tala’s mind, to make a big deal out of welcoming Prince Alexei Tsarevich, exiled Avalon prince and refugee, into Invierno. First, it made much more sense to celebrate leaving Invierno than coming to live in it. Second, Alex had been very clear about not wanting to draw any attention to himself, and a party defeated that purpose. Third, she still had sparring practice with her father that same night because he had refused to cancel. Nevertheless, the small gathering was to take place at Lola Urduja’s house next door. Which meant Tala had to deal with an audience full of titos and titas criticizing her every move, because that’s what titos and titas do.
A Filipino party in Invierno was light on the decorations and heavy on the food. While Tala stood on her front lawn and focused on avoiding her father’s kicks and punches, the others set up a long table practically groaning with dishes. The savory smells wafting in from that direction were proving a huge distraction.
Her mother was hard at work, but not with the food. She carefully placed four hideous statues in the farthest four corners of their lawn.
Tita Teejay, who was also watching, shuddered. “Lumina, we should probably buy some nicer-looking spells next year. These gnomes look terrible.”
“They belonged to my grandmother. And they’re not gnomes, they’re dwendes.” Tala’s mother manhandled another grotesque statue into place. “These are the only working camouflage spells I’ve got. Rightmart recalled the prettier ones, remember?”
“What’s important,” Tita Baby said solemnly, adding a bowl of bagoong sauce on the table, “is that nobody sees.”
“Eyes on me, lass!” Her father roared when Tala turned to stare at one of the titos, a nondescript-looking man in khaki shorts and a bizarrely electric orange Hawaiian shirt, who was bringing out a whole roasted hog, skin fried to a reddish-brown perfection.
He kicked her legs out from under her, and she yelped in protest as she went down. “Pay attention, Tally!”
“But how did they get their hands on lechon?” she asked, astonished, even as she struggled back to her feet. Not that she was complaining—she could inhale all that delicious, crackled pork skin in one sitting—but she couldn’t even get a taco in this town without someone adding ranch dressing to it.
“He knows people who know some people,” Lola Urduja said primly, sweeping past with her cane and a plate full of sizzling sisig to add to the already growing pile of food. In typical Filipino fashion, banana leaves covered the table in lieu of plates and utensils. “Extend your arms farther, hija.”
“You can’t expect me to keep fighting when all this food is happening literally right next to me,” Tala whined.
“Five minutes,” her father allowed. “Five minutes where ye have tae dodge everything I throw at ye, an’ then a couple of rounds with yer mum’s spelltech.”
Achieving this was harder than it sounded, because Kay Warnock had shoulders built for war, arms and fists that look right at home in a brawl, and a neck like a bearded battlement. Kay Warnock was a Scottish oak in human form, vaguely threatening in the casual way he loomed over other people.
“Did you know about that frog thing His Highness has?” Tala asked, trying to think of anything else but the food she wasn’t allowed to eat yet.
“Aye, but he’s not one tae talk about it, so I don’t. Arms up.”
“What happened to the last family that took him in?” Tala persisted. She’d been left in the dark about most of the details, including why the prince had moved to Invierno. Surely even royalty-in-hiding had better options. Tala’s imagination conjured up hidden rooms within Monte Carlo casinos, private beachfronts in the Maldives, or maybe even magic-shielded apartelles along the Riviera.
“The Locksleys?” Her father snorted, whipped out an unexpected right jab that she only just blocked in time with her wooden staffs. Arnis was a Filipino martial art that relied heavily on stick fighting. Her father, a Scotsman, had no business being good at this. “Got cold feet about hiding him, seems like. Poor lad’s a target everywhere he goes, an’ they’re too much in the news nowadays tae keep him safe.”
“Will they catch him here?”
“Not if I’ve anything tae say about it. Hopin’ he stays long enough tae enjoy the rest o’ his childhood. We’ve got a better chance at protecting him than those rich sooks.”
“Because Mum and I can break spells?” Magic didn’t work in Invierno, but spelltech was already a way of life in the Royal States of America. Everyone liked the convenience of it, even if magic nearly caused Armageddon every now and then. Minor spells were harmless even by local government standards and worked only about a third of the time, but as far as many Invierno residents were concerned, a third of the time was still better than none of the time. Invierno’s natural magic dampeners still afforded her family some protection, even as they brought more spelltech back to phones and airports and cars.
“Aye, that’s one reason.”
“Does that make Lola Urduja and the others Alex’s bodyguards?”
“Don’t let your lola’s age fool you—she’s good enough tae fight wi’ the Lost Boys, an’ there’s no one I know stronger.”
“Are we the prince’s bodyguards too?”
“If you can arse yourself enough to beat me for once, sure.”
“I’m getting better!” Tala protested.
Laughter sounded behind them; her mother was now laying out a dozen cell phones in a circle on the ground. “Then let’s see if you’ve perfected control of your agimat, anak.”
Tala looked a lot like Lumina Warnock, down to their short statures, long black hair, and flashing brown eyes, with dark skin more nature than sun. People were wary of Kay, but it was her quiet mother most people were afraid of.
Tala groaned, but handed her arnis sticks over to her father. Magic didn’t work on her, but sometimes she could disrupt spells around her without meaning to. These exercises were to help her control it better. “Again?”
“If you’d like to help protect His Highness, you’ll be needing the practice. Shall we begin?”
The phones rose into the air, hovered five feet off the ground, and buzzed merrily as their antigravity hands-free selfie spells activated, then began blasting Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe.”
“Now,” Lumina instructed. Tala reached out toward the floating devices, felt the telltale crackle of energy in her hands. There were several category three spelltech apps installed in each phone, and she could taste each and every one of them. The sensation of mint-cool air on her tongue—that was the levitation spell. Another with a heady rosewood smell, coupled with just the hint of lilacs—a charisma add-on for texting. She ignored them, seeking out the spell that felt rich and buttery: the music app.
The song cut off abruptly.
It was one thing to stop magical devices from working within a given range. It was another to isolate and prevent only one spell within that device from working while keeping the rest active. Doing so to multiple phones at the same time upped the difficulty level exponentially. If Tala had to describe her agimat, she would have likened it to a sphere with herself at its center. Magic within it didn’t work, but she could expand or contract that sphere however she wanted, to allow spells to function. It required a lot of patience Tala wasn’t always ready to have.
“Six o’clock.”
Tala allowed the phone at the six o’clock position to slip free from her agimat, and it resumed playing where Carly Rae had left off.
Alex stepped out of the house next door, nearly colliding with one of the titas armed with a bowl of savory sinigang soup. He followed her until she’d set it down on the table, nose twitching.
“No eating until we’re all ready,” the tita warned.
“He’s the guest of honor, ate,” another
of the women scolded. “He can eat whenever he likes.”
“I’ll wait,” the prince offered, staring at the ring of mobile phones. “Lola Urduja, what are they doing?”
“Nine o’clock,” Tala’s mother continued.
Sweat shone on Tala’s forehead as she relinquished her hold, cutting off six o’clock’s music. She changed direction, pulling back the curse surrounding the phone at nine o’clock, and the song sputtered back to life there.
“Learning to handle her agimat,” the old woman responded, inspecting one of the viands on the banana leaves. “She hasn’t quite mastered Lumina’s discipline yet, but she’s improving. Even in Invierno, they must be careful. Are these instant noodles, Chedeng?”
The plump, pretty tita with the soup bowl shrugged. “That’s the only thing the general can cook.”
“Chili calamansi,” said General Luna, like that solved everything. He was a tall, stocky man with a luxuriant mustache. His rank was an affectation more than an actual officer designation, but people still called him Heneral.
Lola Urduja sighed. “Chedeng, help your sister bring out the pinakbet, please. Heneral, assist Boy with the lechon.”
“His parents named him ‘Boy’?” Alex asked, amazed.
“Of course not. His name is Jose. Expert marksman. Took out Jon Burge ten years ago, at nearly a thousand yards.”
“Burge?” Alex said. “The torturer? They said he died of natural causes.”
“I know,” Lola Urduja agreed, looking triumphant.
“And if his name is Jose, then why is he called…” Alex closed his mouth, thought better of it, and waited a heartbeat before opening it again. “I know of the Makilings’ long-standing alliance with my kingdom, and also of Maria Makiling, but I’ve never seen their work with my own eyes until today.”
“Then you are aware at the very least of the sacrifice Maria Makiling made when she chose this curse.” In front of them, the general had produced a large cleaver, grinning. Boy wisely backed away, and the other man attacked the lechon with gusto, hacking off bite-sized pieces. “How she deprived herself and her descendants of magic to prevent others from abusing theirs. It has served them well over the centuries, but not without cost.”
“You didn’t need to do all this,” Alex said.
“If it eases your mind, Filipinos will use any reason to plan a boodle fight like this one.” The woman gestured at the table spread. “You were just a bonus.”
“What I meant was, I don’t know if I can ask this again of any of you. I imposed too much on the Locksleys the last time. I’m hesitant about doing the same with the Warnocks.”
“Circumstances are different, hijo. The Locksleys are a little too much in the spotlight now, especially after their eldest married that poor Bluebeard heiress. They agreed it would be too risky to hide you for much longer.”
Alex studied the ground. “Sure. That’s the reason.”
“This is a quiet town, and it’ll be easier to keep you safe here. The Warnocks shall protect you, as will we.”
“But…”
“You ask nothing from us. It is our choice. Like the Locksleys, and the Inoues, and the Eddings, and so many others.”
“Nobody cares,” the prince said, the words harsh and biting. “We protected everyone for centuries. But when Avalon was attacked, no one else raised a finger. They sat and watched my country freeze. They watched my parents die. All they want from me is access to the Avalon mines for our glyphs. They want our spells. They don’t care about any of my people still trapped within. If they’re even alive in there. It was always about the money.”
Lola Urduja spoke, weighing her words carefully against the silence of what she didn’t say aloud. “Few nations liked Avalon. Avalon was a constant meddler of politics, even if they always had the best intentions at heart. Your forbearers warred with Leopold II of Belgium over their treatment of the Congo. They gave out cornucopias during the Great Depression, hoping to mitigate its effects. They fought the radicalization that threatened Europe, and demanded countries adopt the Equality Act in exchange for their spelltech. On paper, this was a good and noble thing to do. But Avalon only treated the symptoms, and not their causes. Avalon helped many people, yes. And many remain grateful. But it is the governments, the leaders, the dictators—they see that we have something they don’t. And that will always be met with anger and resentment. To truly help, we must first understand why they hate and how to bring them away from such hate. And that is infinitely harder to do.”
“I know.” Alex’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe if the firebird came for my father, things would be different. But it didn’t. And if it doesn’t for my eighteenth birthday, then Avalon is truly gone. What would the point of fighting be, then?”
“Nothing is set in stone, Your Highness. And should the worst happen, well then, your life is worth more to us than just a prophecy, or for glyph mines.” Lola Urduja paused before a package of soft cakes that had been set down on the table. “And what is this?”
“Puto and bibingka,” one of the titas said. “Where do I put it?”
“In that green can over there.”
“That’s the trash bin.”
“Exactly. What packaged food nonsense is this, Teejay? Is this from that vile Serendipity bakeshop again? Their puto tastes like cardboard, Diyos ko.”
“I bought it,” Kay volunteered, approaching the duo. “Thought I should contribute tae the fare.”
Lola Urduja passed a hand over her eyes. “Of course you did.”
“Your Highness,” the man greeted. “I hope yer not too overwhelmed.”
“I’m all right. Thank you.”
“My goddaughter is improving quite well,” the old woman noted.
“Still needs a bit more work,” Kay grunted, looking proud.
“If the firebird doesn’t arrive on my eighteenth birthday next year,” Alex persisted, “what happens then?”
Lola Urduja looked at him. “That’s for the Cheshire to decide. Kay, tell your daughter and my niece to take a break. I made dessert for later—real dessert—Tala’s favorite leche flan. Come, Your Highness. Let me introduce you to the rest of the troops.”
“I still don’t think she likes me,” Kay noted to his wife as she drew nearer, as the other two moved away.
“You should have known better than to offer her dry puto to eat. Tita Urduja’s always been protective of me. And she trusts you, regardless.”
“It’s better than I deserve, I’d say.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She paused. “If we recover Avalon, will you be returning there with us?”
“Course I will. Anywhere you and Tala go, I go.”
“The Avalonians weren’t very kind to you the last time, Kay. I was afraid…”
“You of all people know they have every reason to despise me.”
“They shouldn’t. Not after everything you’ve done for them. And if they haven’t changed their minds, even after all this time…then I’d rather stay here with you.”
“Ah, lovely.” Kay turned so he could frame her face with his large hands. “Look at you. You’re beautiful as you’ve ever been. And me? I’m growing old, faster than I should be now that her magic ain’t up to snuff. It’s fading and taking its toll on what’s left of me. I’ll take the whispers about how I ought tae be dead, how I’m soilin’ the Makiling clan with my name. I’ll take all that and more, because it’s true. I’ve done things, love, and you know it. A lot of things I shouldn’t have done if I wanted real repentance, but I’d rather have their hate as long as I have your forgiveness.”
She kissed his nose. “If she’s alive like you fear, then I don’t want to put you in a position where you may have to kill her, mahal.”
He snorted. “You’ve always been too kind. I’ll do it without a second thought, if it comes down tae that. Gerda’s due f
or a killing, and you know it.”
“Kay…”
“I don’t love her, Lumina. I don’t know if I ever did. I don’t know if it wasn’t just some spell dragging me along, making me do her dirty work all those centuries. It’s you I love, and Tala.”
“I know. But I don’t want to see you hurt either.”
“We don’t always get the things we want, mahal. Someone told me that once.”
She was smiling. “What would I do without you?”
“Be better off, probably.”
“That was two o’clock,” Lumina said, without bothering to turn. “I asked for three.”
“Nineteen out of twenty isn’t bad,” Tala protested, already angling toward the table.
“We need perfect marks, anak, not a passing grade. It only takes one mistake to short-circuit Amtrak’s rail system, one accident to scramble air traffic control. And until you can show me full command of your abilities, we can’t risk any of that. We’ll try again after eating.”
“All right,” Tala said, already seated and reaching for a piece of chicharon bulaklak. “After I eat.”
“What’s this?” Alex asked, sliding into the chair beside her and taking a piece for himself.
“Tissue.”
“No, thanks.”
“I meant this is tissue. Chicharon bulaklak is made by deep-frying tissue. Pork organs.” Tala popped it into her mouth, while Alex nearly dropped his.
“What?”
“Squeeze some calamansi over it. Here’s some vinegar. If you’re going to be staying with Lola Urduja and the rest of the Katipuneros, you’re gonna have to get used to eating delicious food made from questionable animal parts.” Tala ate another. “You’re lucky,” she added. “Lola Urduja and Tita Baby are fantastic cooks.”
“She isn’t your real lola, though, is she?”
“It’s a Filipino thing. If she’s old enough to be your grandmother, it’s a custom to call her lola.”
“The other tita. Her name’s not really Baby, is it?”