“I hope Libum and Tikba are taking care of things back home,” she said out loud once she was in the comfort of her own room and the cat had been dismissed. “There’s a high possibility that Tikba may be ready to leave when I return.” 

Not many lives held such heavy weight in Kolupati’s heart, but the thought of Tikba departing from the two so soon saddened her. She could feel a sense of understanding between Tikba and herself that she found in Libum. Libum had stayed with their body the entirety of the time Kolupati asked, and he did not ask for anything in return. Maybe he was just as curious as Kolupati was to see just who had fallen in their backyard.

The next morning called for immediate response. A follower of Batala was ready at Kolupati’s door, bowing and holding out a box. “Lord Bluebird has presented a gift and requested that you be dressed and in the hall before Arangwa pulls the sun to its peak.”

“Did he not like my dress already?” Kolupati spun around as if she were showing off her wedding gown. The edges of the dress were frayed and torn and matted in dirt, while she wore a light bamboo-thread sheer jacket with white lilies sewn around the sleeves. Kolupati inspected the gown Batala requested she wear. “He knows I hate this shade of red.”

“Red is a very honorable color, Lord K-Kolupati,” his follower stammered. “He asks that you be presentable.”

Kolupati undressed after she was left alone, the first layer covering the top half of her body, drenched in old blood; she ran her fingers from the raised scar on her neck and down to her chest, right above her heart. She used the comb Batala provided to comb out the small tangles in her hair. Proceeded to tie her hair up with golden thread, wrapping her long silk gown and fastening part of it around her waist so that it held itself without falling. 

She’d memorized the feeling of her heartbeat in her palm.

The red that decorated her body was as vibrant as the santan flower, a tiny drooping flora that looked like jewels of blood. The headpiece sat heavy atop her head, a motif Kolupati thought closely resembled a skull, santan flowers blooming from the openings. Batala would not have been so obvious, would he?

When she arrived back to the hall where the Gods gathered, a seat close to Batala was empty and saved for her. She bowed before she took it and said, “Thank you for the gifts, Ama has blessed me.” For good measure, she removed her mask. Her Mark was written in rice powder decorated across her face, just for the occasion.

“She actually looks presentable for once!” howled Galitbyan, and the other Gods laughed. He wore a top that only covered his bare shoulders, and exposed the growing collection of  tattoos on his chest. He was boastful as he was prideful. 

“Yes, you are looking like your old self again. Please, take a seat. I’ve only called us all here to voice our concerns, together. Everyone will be heard, and no violence is permitted unless given permission, but pray it does not escalate to such extreme measures.” Batala waited for Kolupati to sit before speaking again, “Do you know why you have been called here?”

“The number of cursed human children located in the human realm currently is unknown, and I do not have a grasp of how many there are. I understand that as of the past few years, the amount of children has unfortunately increased. I am keeping tabs on the situation and trying to come up with solutions to these problems.”

“If you hadn’t been a coward and neglected the power of Batala inside you, this problem would have never existed in the first place. Your negligence and lack of responsibility has poisoned many.” Byuhan was the first to speak. The pleasantries during the feast had disappeared and now she was glowering in Kolupati’s direction. “Do you know how many curses I’ve received in my name? People blame me and beg me for answers for cursing their children when my hands are clean. Why must we all carry the sins of a God who doesn’t care for the life I’ve so painstakingly helped nurture?”

“More people are cursing me and turning their backs, following others!” the Medicine God wailed. “My ways of healing were beloved for centuries before your mess.” He looked to Batala and stuck his lips out. “It’s not fair, Ama. There must be a solution that you can provide to heal these lost anito.”

The Gods argued back and forth for what dragged on for hours until one, who had remained silent the entire time, spoke up. Anuk Buwan stayed silent while the rest of the group argued about how their faults could be solely blamed on Kolupati until, through clenched teeth, he mumbled something.

“You’re all annoying.”

He cleared his throat and said, “Pagaling, all of you, why are you so eager to toss blame to Kolupati and not look inwards? Might it possibly be that your followers are losing faith because you are unable to keep up with the humans evolving?”

“My medicine has brought famous heroes back to life, laid curses on the wrongdoers and demons of the world, and saved the bravest of warriors, but it cannot heal this! This is the work of a corrupted God of Death! Only she can be blamed, and she’s the only one who can right this wrong.” 

Anuk Buwan was about to speak again before Kolupati silenced him and stood up. What sweet words, she thought. But they would only be used against her. 

“I understand and hear all of your concerns, and I have no need for Anuk Buwan to defend me. I have made a horrible mistake. It was done under my supervision, and so it is my error to correct. I ask that you give me some more time to find a way to free these children of their curses. The rest of you will have to take my word, and I intend to honor it. Ate Byuhan. You may think I am disrespecting and hurting the ones you’ve given life to out of spite, but I assure you, chaos is not what I desire. I just wish for peace for these children. I beg your forgiveness.” 

She turned to the God of Life, sincerely apologetic. In an act of surrender, Kolupati fell to her knees and purposely ripped the gown Batala picked out.

Byuhan blushed and threw her hands in front of her, skittishly crying out, “God of Death, stand up! Don’t lose your dignity. There’s no need for this, please…” Byuhan sighed and put her head in her hands. “Rise. I accept your apology.” 

Kolupati’s smile disappeared the second she got up and was equal to Byuhan again. “Ate!” she weeped, her arms flailing and wrapping Byuhan in a half-hearted hug. “Thank you for forgiving me. You truly have the kindest heart of all the gods combined.” When Kolupati looked up at Batala’s seat, he looked perturbed. 

His expectations, based on evidence from the past, would stir it in his favor. The conversation was supposed to end in anger and threats, and Batala would be able to exert his power over the other Gods and Kolupati would have to beg for him to show leniency. Dealing with Anuk Buwan and Batala, she would not let either of them gain favor by weaving stories about her. 

“You all can learn from following in the ways of resolving matters without resulting in unnecessary violence, like these children here.” Batala finally spoke, his voice tight. “Although Byuhan has forgiven you, others have brought up valid criticisms. These problems cannot be ignored, and so I will demand that you find a solution by the time of the next ascension ceremony. If you are unable to provide evidence that this matter has been cleared up, your fate will be decided by your fellow Court. We as a collective shall decide a punishment for you.”

A few Gods wanted to speak up but were too afraid to question the word of the Batala. She watched as they all mentally counted the days until the ceremony and then they all laughed. There was no possible way Kolupati could manage it.

“Lord Batala, I...” That wasn’t enough time! Before she could bring back the conversation in her favor, he continued speaking over her.

“I find this a fair compromise. I hope that the ceremony brings good news to us all, my children.” Batala flicked his wrist, the sound of gold bracelets ringing like chimes against his skin. “These concerns must be brought up, of course,” Batala shrugged his shoulders. “But we must never leave a salukolu with sour moods.”

The kudyapi was moved by Batala down to where the Gods sat, and a follower approached it and began using his fingers to strum out a fierce tune. The star of the show, though, was the kulintang. 

The kulintang started fast, a group of four all dressed in brown joining in consistent harmony as the first follower hit against the lined gongs. The Goddess of Harvest pulled Pagaling, Arangwa, and Thala onto the cleared out floor in order to dance with the three of them. This performance had been performed ten thousand times over the course of thousands of years, and the followers of Batala were dedicated to such music.

It brought joy and laughter to the other Gods and the players were unrelenting and deafening.