Guardian Fall Chapter 8

         A cool breeze drifted into Bran's room, carrying a foreign scent. Bran took a deep breath and inhaled this cold wind that has now overtaken the land. Turning his head to the window, Bran glanced at the changed land outside.

         All of the trees had turned bald and naked. A thick blanket of leaves covered the earth, concealing most of the dry, brown grass. The leaves, which were once dyed with a majestic sapphire colour, had now turned onyx like wet stone. The leaves' smooth texture had turned rough, while its soft stature was now firm and crunchy.

         Clouds often covered the sky, while the sun scarcely shined. Most of the times, if not always, the sky was grey. Rain poured heavier as well. A single drop felt like an entire bucket splashing upon the land. Dalaket was now graced with the next season.

         Bran then looked to a wooden sheet nailed on the wall. A number of scratches were carved on the wooden sheet, indicating how many days he had been living in this different world.

         So it's been more than four months, eh? Bran thought to himself, as counted last scratch on the wooden sheet.

         Looking at his fingers, Bran started counting. About four months had already passed, since he started living in this new realm. Although Bran had never really gone anywhere outside of the mansion, he had already seen quite a few things that would have made jaws drop and eyes pop.

         Stretching his arms, Bran gave a long yawn and looked back at the manuscript on his table. He had borrowed another one from the library. However, it wasn't a story. Written throughout the pages were several concepts, directions and theories about magic and its usage. For the past few months, Bran had been reading these sorts of works, in order to improve himself. Finishing one page, Bran scanned back to the top and slowly reread it.

         Learning magic was like trying to learn how to swim through a storm, with rocks tied around the wrists and ankles. Wiyana had taught Bran the basics of using magic, which was neither too difficult to understand nor do.

         However, trying to learn how to use Psychomancy specifically was a problem. Wiyana had no idea how Psychomancy worked or what it could do at a mastered level. Regardless of this dilemma, Bran did come up with a solution to improve himself.

         Okay, let's give this a try, Bran said to himself. Standing up, Bran picked up Wreath Tooth in the corner and started concentrating. Breathing slowly through his nostrils, Bran poured out his Aether into the staff. He no longer felt the jitter from when he first started. Replacing the sensation was warmth, which felt like a flare from the light of afternoon.

         Taking one last deep breath, Bran raised his staff and readied his fingers. Just as he was about to attempt a spell, a loud knock was heard in his door. Bran twitched as the war aura from Wreath Tooth quickly dispersed like shadows being shined upon. Bran gave a sigh, as he sat back down. Another set of knocks were then heard banging on the door.

         "Come in," Bran said.

         A servant stepped inside. "Young master, my apologies for disturbing you, but the mistress is asking you to meet her in the training room," she said.

         Probably more practice, Bran thought. Maybe I could use this chance to use the new spell.

         Brushing some of the dust off his lap, Bran made his way to the training room. Unlike four months earlier, he was met and greeted by the servants. Although he had grown accustomed to the greetings, it still made Bran's heart skip with a smile. Most adults rarely paid attention to him in the village, so having these servants greet him felt rather pleasant.

         At the training room, Bran found Wiyana dressed in one of her outrageous outfits. She seemed to have something new every day. However, Wiyana wasn't the only person present in the training room. Accompanying her was a man. Looking closely, Bran found no collar or shackles bound to him.

         The man had neatly-shaped black hair, the top being so perfectly round that it looked almost like half of a sphere. His slanted eyes were hazelnut brown and his nose pointed like a bird's. He wore a black loincloth and a violet jacket with yellow collar and cuffs. Gold were pierced on his ears, while his fingers were decorated with rings of several jewels.

         "Bran, there you are," Wiyana said. "I would like you to meet Tirok."

         "Nice to meet you," Bran said, as he extended his hand.

         "The pleasure is all mine," Tirok replied, as he shook Bran's hands with both of his.

         "Tirok is one of my Aswang in the human world," Wiyana further introduced.

         "An Aswang?!" Bran shrieked, as he jumped back with his hand.

         "Don't worry, I won't eat you," Tirok said. "You're too old and, to be honest, a little too skinny for me to sink my teeth into."

         "What?!" Bran yelled again.

         "Will you stop that?" Wiyana said, knocking Tirok at the back of the head.

         "Come now mistress, I was just having some fun with the boy," Tirok laughed.

         "Tirok, it's because of jokes like those that humans are still afraid of the Aswang," Wiyana sighed, as she shook her head.

         "It can't be helped, now can it?" Tirok snapped. "Considering centuries of sticking our tongues in the stomachs of pregnant women, we don't exactly have the best reputation."

         "That is the only way to actually remove the corruption, unfortunately," Wiyana replied. "Of course, if you've found another discreet method, I would like to hear it." Her eyes shifted to Bran, who was shrinking away.

         Bran quietly kept his eyes firmly on the Aswang, denying himself moments to blink. His fingers strapped tightly around Wreath Tooth, as if he were ready to lash out any moment. Sealing his lips, Bran swallowed every few seconds. Although he didn't say a word, deep down, Bran snarled like a puppy that has been cornered by a larger and fiercer animal.

         "Calm down Bran," said Wiyana. "There's no reason to be wary of Tirok."

         Bran glanced at Wiyana, and then back at Tirok. Of all the stories that the elders had told him, stories about the Aswang were the ones that kept him awake at night. Villagers often frightened their children with stories about these creatures, telling that they would take naughty and disobedient children. However, children weren't the only ones who would wet their pants, when told about the Aswang. Even adults would find themselves shivering under their sheets.

         Looking back, Bran recalled a moment in the morning stages of his life. It was dawn, people crowded around one house. The adults told all the children to stay away, but he and Marcus were as curious as cats.

         Peaking through a window, Bran saw it. A woman fainted on a mat. Blood splattered on her stomach and all over the floor. Pieces of flesh littered the floor, like crumpled paper that has been thoughtlessly discarded. To this day, the image was burned in his eyes. Bran also remembered what the adults were mumbling about.

         "An Aswang came in and ate the child in her belly, while she was asleep."

         "What did it disguise itself as?"

         "Don't know, but it was able to get in without any of us realizing it."

         A shiver ran down Bran's spine as the memory flashed in his mind, like a resounding echo through an endless tunnel. For a small second, Bran was locked in his own thoughts. Everything else escaped him like a passing breeze. Shaking his head, Bran returned to Wiyana and Tirok, who were staring back with concerned looks.

         "Is he okay?" Tirok asked, leaning to Wiyana's ear.

         "I've seen this happen many times on humans," Wiyana replied. "This particularly happens to those with troubled behaviours."

         "I'm not troubled!" Bran snapped. "I just remembered something, that's all!"

         "So blanking out in the middle of a conversation is just a habit?" Wiyana replied. "You really are troubled."

         Bran growled and then held his breath in. After a few seconds of calming down, he asked, "Did you summon me for something?"

         "Oh yes, I almost forgot," Wiyana said, with her face lighting up. "I'd like you to test your current skills against Tirok over here."

         "By skills, you mean my magic?" Bran clarified.

         "Indeed," Wiyana nodded. "You've been practicing and learning for four months and now it's time to see some of those results. I brought Tirok over here, because he almost does nothing - err, I mean because he's one of the best choices I could think of."

         "Thank you, mistress," Tirok bowed, not noticing the first description. "Well boy, I'm ready to start this little session of ours."

         "You're going to use magic?" Bran asked nervously.

         "No, I can't use magic," Tirok replied. "However, I'm going to see how fast and how well you can use it, under the heat of battle."

         Stepping away, Tirok moved the end of the room and stretched his arms to the side. "As a sign of chivalry, I'll let you make the first move," he called out.

         "Good luck," Wiyana said, as she stepped out of the way.

         Although Bran didn't expect this, it was still a good chance to attempt the spell he was trying to conjure. Raising Wreath Tooth, Bran repeated his earlier steps in a few seconds. Power flowed from his body, like snake shedding. Pressing his thumb, Bran tightened his chest and pushed the Aether out of his staff and into the open. What came next was something that made his jaw drop.

         An orange bubble blew out of his staff and drifted into the air, like a feather. Bran covered his face, which was bursting with pink blush. All that reading and amount of effort he had put and this was the best that he could do? Biting his lower lip, Bran shrugged and looked down at his feet, unable to look at Wiyana directly in the eye. Lifting his head a little, he took a quick glimpse of the Dalaketnon's expression. To his surprise and confusion, her eyes were burst wide open, while her opened lips formed an upward curve.

         Tirok, on the other hand, was blowing up like a frog. He soon exploded into uncontrollable laughter and pointed at the bubble. Tears jerked from his eyes, as his voice blasted around the entire room, which appeared far more impressive than the bubble he had made.

         "I'm sorry, but is that it?" Tirok laughed. "It's a tiny bubble with a cute colour!"

         "Um, Tirok, I wouldn't start laughing if I were you," Wiyana warned.

         "My apologies, my lady, but it's just too much!" he continued to laugh as he approached the bubble. "Here's what. Just to show what a good sport I am, I will let the bubble hit me."

         "Tirok you fool!" Wiyana yelled.

         Her words came too late. Reaching out, Tirok pricked the bubble. Upon popping, a great force lashed out like a gust of wind, accompanied by the cries of a thousand screeches. Tirok found himself taking two steps back. Bran fell to his knees and covered his ears, as the voices pierced his eardrums and shook the concaves of his mind. It felt as if a drum was pounding inside his skull, while a flute was being blown directly into his ear. Then, for a quick moment, colour evaporated from his vision. Everything turned black and white, no shades of grey.

         Before Bran had a chance to fully absorb all of this, everything turned back to normal. The sounds went mute and his vision restored. Bran looked around the room and found Tirok and Wiyana still standing in place. Wiyana remained placid, but Tirok was hunching over. Sweat dripped from his face, as his arms trembled, appearing ready to fall off.

         "W-what was that?" Tirok panted, as his eyes turned black.

         "It's the power to cause madness and chaos," Wiyana answered, as she looked to Bran with a smile. "What you experienced was a touch of Psychomancy."

         "Psychomancy?" Tirok repeated, as he looked at Bran with a baffled expression. "You mean, you're really going to fight against the Guardians?!"

         "Indeed, I am," Wiyana replied. "And you're going to be helping."

         "Me?!" Tirok jumped. "B-but Mistress, I can't possibly help in this endeavour! I have to watch over the village and make sure that no dark spirit befalls any pregnant women!"

         "You're living in a village full of men," Wiyana remarked. "There aren't any women there!"

         Tirok bit his thumb and scowled. He looked around for a moment, until a spark appeared in his eyes.

         "Ah, mistress, isn't it forbidden for a Dalaketnon to command their Aswang or peons against the humans?" Tirok asked. "You could suffer great consequences if you violate your kind's decrees."

         "An Aswang telling a Dalaketnon about their own laws? Surely you jest?" Wiyana coughed. "Your task isn't to fight against the Guardians, but rather protect the boy."

         "But he's your underling, isn't he?" Tirok continued. "Wouldn't sending him against the Guardians be a violation of your people's laws?"

         "Technically, Bran isn't my servant," Wiyana replied. "Unlike you, or all those who serve me, he hasn't been branded by my mark. He is still, by all accounts, a free human."

         Tirok snarled and sighed, "There isn't really any way out of this for me, is there?"

         "Nope," Wiyana replied, shaking her head. "Look, if the boy succeeds in his task, I'll pay you a handsome reward of fifty caches of gold."

         "Make it seventy," Tirok quickly responded.

         "Fifty-five," Wiyana replied back.

         "Sixty-five!" Tirok pressed on.

         "Sixty!"

         "Sixty and a few pouches of jewels!"

         The two went on and on about how much should be given, for services. Bran was surprised to see Wiyana bickering and raising her voice in front of someone. For a moment, Bran thought he saw a vein bulge on her smooth and clean forehead.

         Bran couldn't help, but grin and chortle at the argument. Back in his village, servitude wasn't as uncommon as it appeared. There were servants who bowed and did all that their master commanded, without asking for anything in exchange. Even the most hard-headed warriors behaved with more humility to the Datu and elders. Seeing a servant and master argue about pay was something he never thought he would see. For a moment, Bran forgot that he was in the same room with a monster.

         "Alright, alright," Tirok groaned, finally ending the bargain. "Fifty-eight caches of gold, a few jewels and three sacks of spices, agreed?" He extended his hand.

         "Agreed," Wiyana replied, as she shook Tirok's hand to seal the deal. "I can't believe how much you want, when you don't even do that much. The other Aswang would give me money to do tasks such as this."

         "Well, I am a special case, aren't I?" Tirok grinned, as his eyebrows tapped.

         "Ugh, don't remind me," Wiyana quivered. "Now that that is settled, why don't you head to the kitchen and fix yourself whatever food or refreshment you want."

         "Neither of you will be joining?" Tirok asked, as he glanced at the two.

         "As nice as that sounds, Bran and I have some business to attend to," Wiyana replied. "I'm sure you don't need me to guide you?"

         "Don't worry, mistress. I'll be fine," Tirok said. He bowed to Wiyana and then to Bran, before leaving the room.

         As soon as exited the room, Bran heard Wiyana grumble. Looking at her, he saw the muscles in her face pressed together, as if she had just sucked a cupful of lemon juice.

         "Now that he's gone, let's begin with your training," Wiyana started, her face returning its smooth posture. "First of all, I must say that you did quite well being able to advance your magic. What kind of magic did you copy, projection magic?"

         "Actually, I tried something called solidification magic," Bran answered.

         "Solidification magic?!" Wiyana said, unable to keep her brows from lifting. "But that is the magic that requires control of air, something you aren't capable of. Just what did you learn from those manuscripts?"

         "There were a LOT of things that I didn't understand," Bran replied. "However, one thing I did understand was that magic still used and needed Aether to work. So, I treated my own power as if it were air and followed the guides, which ended up as a bubble. Not too impressive, I'm afraid."

         "On the contrary, that was very impressive," Wiyana remarked. "I was actually looking through various forms of magic, inspecting the ones that felt very close to Psychomancy. Yet you decided to not limit yourself to such similarities and expanded your horizon! For a human, you're quite bright!"

         Presuming her words as a compliment, rather than an insult, Bran's cheeks burst pink. Puckering his lips, Bran fiddled with his fingers and swung around like some child that had been praised by an adult. His heart raced and his mind jogged, thinking of the next best thing he could do or say to impress the Dalaketnon. Besides his childhood friend, Wiyana was one of the few (if not second) who actually complimented Bran on something, other than his ability to tell stories.

         Reaching from under her clothes, Wiyana pulled out a small box and transformed it into a long staff. It was coated onyx with a golden point at the end. Its head was shaped like a crescent and appeared as if it were carved from refined marble. Comparing the staff with Wreath Tooth was like trying to compare a crystal with a diamond.

         "Now that we have discovered a method of using Psychomancy, let us begin learning something a little more specific," Wiyana said.

         "Solidification magic is one that requires the wind and air all around us," she began. "By using Aether as a needle, one can weave the air so tightly together that one would manage to create an invisible solid object."

         "So that magic you showed me," Bran said. "The one where you turned a sword into nothing was solidification magic?"

         "No, that is something far more difficult," Wiyana replied. ""As I said before, I don't know Psychomancy, so I'm not sure if what I am going to teach you will translate smoothly with your magic."

         "It has so far," Bran said. "If it gets tough, I'll just have to adapt."

         "Please do so," Wiyana remarked. "Now, here is what I want you to do next."

         For the next few hours, Bran had to release his powers and then immediately compress it into a specific shape, as soon as it exited the staff. Releasing his powers was easy, but instant manipulation was another story. Finding a speck of salt in a mound of sugar was an easier task than this. Bran's head was ready to bust a nerve.

         "Stay calm," Wiyana directed. "Don't try to force everything together. Weave your powers slowly and precisely. There is no need to rush."

         Unfortunately, calm was the last thing that Bran had in his mind, at the moment. Wanting to further impress Wiyana, the boy kept rushing his magic. He would push out his power and compress without too much time or effort. He was acting like some child who tried to boaster his abilities, by relying on speed, rather than accuracy or fluency.

         After hours of trying and blowing steam from his ears, Bran left the training room with a long, sulking face. The best Bran was able to accomplish was a howling wall, which charred away into nothing, after a few seconds.

         "We'll try again tomorrow," Wiyana said, as she patted him on the shoulder.

         Frustrated and tired, Bran made his way back to the library, hoping to find something to read to relieve him of his stress. As he walked down the corridors, Bran caught glimpse of a sight that nearly made his heart pop out of his chest.

         "Hello there."

         Leaning his back against the wall was the Aswang Tirok, who carried a smirk on his face. Bran's fingers twitched, as his foot slid forward. Looking around, Bran found no one else present in the hallway. It was just him and the monster. Steeling his senses, Bran gulped and continued through the hallway with his chest out and head up.

         "Hi," Bran said, as he approached. Despite his efforts to appear calm, he was unable to conceal the drop of sweat from his face.

         Just as he was about to pass Tirok, the Aswang shot out his arm and blocked Bran's path. Caught off guard, Bran gave a gasped lowly and hopped a step back. Tirok eyed Bran like a snake and chortled huskily. There was a strange air around the Aswang. It was the kind that animals felt, when being confronted with danger. Bran wanted to walk away, but his legs remained firmly still, as if they had been rooted down.

         "Come now, boy," Tirok said. "There isn't any reason for you to be scared of me."

         "And there is no reason for you to bother me," Bran replied.

         "Were you this friendly with the mistress, or am I a special occasion?" Tirok asked, as he pulled his arm away. "Just because I'm an Aswang doesn't mean that I'm a monster."

         "And I'm just supposed to believe that?" Bran asked.

         "You've been brought into a realm different from your own," Tirok said, as he leaned back against the wall. "You've been exposed to new things and ideas, as well as learned that not all things are as they appear. I'm sure you've learned by now that the Dalaketnon aren't devilish kidnappers and that the Guardians aren't the heroes that you've always believed them to be."

         Bran scowled. As difficult as it was for him to accept it, Tirok was right. Two important things that the elders had taught him weren't entirely true. The Dalaketnon weren't evil and the Guardians weren't entirely on the side of justice. Loosening his muscles and calming his heart, Bran turned to Tirok with a quieter flame in his eyes.

         "Why does your kind do it?" Bran asked. "Do you do it because you're ordered to, or because they're your food?"

         "What are you talking about?" Tirok asked, as he tilted his head to the side. Suddenly, a thought came to mind. "Oh, you mean you're asking why we Aswang..."

         "Yes," Bran nodded. "Why do you devour the unborn children within pregnant women?"

         "In order to keep the spirits in check," Tirok answered.

         "What does that mean?" Bran said.

         Tirok took a deep breath and then swallowed before speaking. "Death is all around us," he said. "It may come to us at the peak of our lives, or before it even starts. There are those that accept death and move on, but there are certain others that refuse to embrace it. Those spirits can become ghosts that haunt the mortal realm, or frightened beings that are willing to take part of the future, in order to restart their past."

         "Quite a few spirits try to return to the world of the living, by occupying a host," Tirok continued. "The easiest host to take is the one that has yet to fully develop. In other words, these spirits enter into the bodies of the unborn."

         Bran's eyes lit like a flame, upon hearing this.

         "Then the reason you devour children is..."

         "To make sure that the spirit doesn't get a second chance," Tirok ended the sentence. "It may be cruel, but it is the only way it can be done. We Aswang sniff which womb has been taken and we drag it out, one way or another."

         Bran went silent and stared at the floor. He knobbed his knees together and organized his thoughts.

         "Now that that's out of the way, how about you and I spend some time together?" Tirok said, as he placed his arm over Bran's neck. "Come on, I'll show you something."

         Pushing Bran by his back, Tirok brought him over to an area in the mansion that Bran wasn't very familiar with. The area was a complete contrast to the rest of the mansion. It felt like a hollow cave and reeked of a smell that would have made blood squirt from his nostrils. The floor was blanketed with sheets of leaves and polluted with a putrid mush that could only be identified as manure. Flies buzzed in the air, something Bran had not seen anywhere else in the mansion.

         "What is this place?" Bran asked, as he covered his nose and kept his lunch in his stomach.

         "Feast your eyes on that," Tirok said, as he held his hand out.

         There was only one crystal in the area and its light was insufficient. Everything was camouflaged together that Bran couldn't even tell the difference between the wall and the floor. However, he did notice something in the dimness. Taking a closer look, he saw movement and a pulse. Adapting to the darkness, Bran's eyes beamed wide open like the sun and his jaw dropped like a crashing tide. Was what he was seeing real?!