3 Kabanata 2

"Customer, are you looking for something?" the shopkeeper asked, catching his attention.

"Hm?" the man said. As he turned to the counter to where the owner of the voice was, his smug face had dropped at the sight of a woman with a thick mane and cold, unwelcoming eyes.

Intimidation ran through the man as even though she was merely a few inches shorter than him and had the appearance of a simple villager, her posture gave off the air of a person who would not hesitate to snap a person's neck if given the chance.

A small shiver ran down his spine.

"O-oh! Hello," he said and leaned an arm onto the counter. Tala narrowed her eyes on the limb. "Yes, well," he continued. "I am actually looking for these products." He took out a rolled parchment from an inner pocket of his upper robe and handed it over to her. "I was told that this er… little… shed has all the best resources in this little village. But, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if you have some things out of stock."

Tala frowned then took the parchment off the man's fingertips, unrolled, and read the script.

Little shed.

She huffed. What an arrogant boy.

After she finished reading the list, she rolled the paper back and flicked her eyes back to the customer.

"Well, mister customer, luckily this little shed has everything that is listed," she said grimly then turned to the cabinets to look for the items.

The cabinet behind the counter was filled with three hundred metal amulets- agimats- that have been individually enchanted by the old Mang Ulan. Every day, that babaylan would wake up at five in the morning to do his meticulous duties and enchantments, and each day without fail, each of the drawers was always filled to the brim.

With this amount of work in just a few hours, one would think the quality of the items would falter but with his years of experience, each of the artifacts had the strongest enchantments of demon-warding Tala has ever seen.

So to belittle this 'little shed' and say they 'have some things out of stock' was a grave insult to the old man's ability she greatly respected.

Tala shook off her thoughts, trying to focus on the customer's orders. Her hand glided through the rows and columns of drawers, opening and closing them after getting each of the metal amulets prescribed in the paper.

Kunat.

Pamako.

Bali-og beads.

- those were the common ones that babaylans usually gave their patients or clients for protection during their rituals in case something went wrong. Tala didn't pay them any mind, but it was the fourth on the list that made her raise her brow.

A tagabulag?

Tala pursed her lips. Tagabulags were not uncommon. But it was certainly rare to use within small secluded places like this said barangay and were most likely to be used in highly populated areas to avoid people or aswang, as its name suggested.

So unless you were planning on robbing someone in the barangay at night and don't want to be caught, or avoiding a low-level aswangs such as a tik-tik or a tikbalang (which was highly unlikely in this barangay as those only came out during harvest season), then you don't really have any need for this.

Tala shrugged the thought off. Oh well, regardless of the purpose for the item, it was no business of hers what he does with it.

She took one piece of tagabulag and wrapped it with a white cloth. She did the same with the other amulets then put them inside a small abaca pouch.

"Here are your items, customer," she said as she handed over the pouch to him.

The man took the small bag with a confident "thank you" and took out one of the amulets to analyze closely.

"Amazing. The carvings on this are very detailed, and the spiritual energy on this radiates heavily," he commented. "For such a small nameless shop, it surprisingly creates passable agimats." The tip of his mouth tilted upwards as he twirled the amulet along with his fingers.

Bathala. Let him leave already.

But he continued, "Although, I would like to inquire -how effective is your kunat?"

"The wearer's wounds will start the healing process as soon as they wear it after citing the incantation. The healing process takes about two to three hours for medium-sized cuts and wounds and around four to five hours for deep wounds," the woman replied as if reciting from a book. "That is of course if the wearer rests during the process."

"Hm, that is indeed impressive. Quite a fast healing process. That must be because of the shrine's spiritual essence." The woman's eye involuntarily twitched.

"And I assume the pamako and the beads take immediate effect once worn as well?" he asked.

"Yes, and they wear off twice longer than the ones from the other shops below."

"Hm." The man nodded in approval, a hand on his chin as he feigned contemplation. "And what of the tagabulag? See, my patient was shot a while back, got an infection, and has gained a terrible allergic reaction to silver. He plans on going back to the field and continue being a guard but since slingshot bullets are made of silver, it increases the risk of him dying."

"No need to worry, the tagabula-"

...

Wait. What?

Tala furrowed her brows together. "Customer. I believe you are mistaken. The one for bullet wounds is not the tagabulas. Those are the tagaliwas."

The customer's smug face faltered and his smile became tight and forced. "No. I believe it's the tagabulas. You must be the one who's mistaken."

The woman frowned. "Customer, I have been the shopkeeper for thirteen years, I hardly believe I would forget such a detail."

The man didn't seem to be convinced, only looking away with his face strewn bitterly. The sight irked the woman. "Moreover," she continued, "tagabulas agimats are made only of silver. If you don't believe me, that's fine. But I will not allow you to prescribe the man the wrong agimat and end up risking his life or worse, killing him."

The young man snapped his face to her with a glare. "Excuse me, are you assuming that I plan on murdering my client?" he said, voice filled with venom. "I'll have you know that I have been a babaylan for ten years and not once have I heard a complaint! I have served countless Maginoo and you? You're just a simple shopkeeper on this no-name barangay!"

Tala countered his glare. She was about to say something when the sound of a breaking jar and the squeal of a girl caught her attention.

Back at the shelves, the children had apparently broken a jar of live pig leeches. The woman clicked her tongue and headed over to the scared young ones. "Excuse me for a minute," she said.

But the young man was not only angry but also impatient. "Hey, we're not done yet," he said but was ignored. Now furious at having been humiliated, he went after the woman and attempted to catch her right arm.

As he went to grab the place where her right arm should have been, his hand was only greeted with nothing but the elbow-length cloth of her sleeve.

"!"

His eyes widened in surprise. There was no arm.

And before he could react, a hand tightly gripped the wrist of the arm that he used, twisted the limb, and his body was thrown over, face-down on the wooden panels of the floor. The children squealed at the loud sound and have now become even more scared of the violent shopkeeper.

The woman's face dimmed, a deadly glare was made at him and a voice that made the hair at the back of his neck rise spoke.

"Do not touch me, ever."

.

Outside at the right facing the shop was a fairly large garden that led to the shrine. There, the old shrine keeper Mang Ulan was peacefully conversing with the wife of the barangay's chief-captain.

"Your santans are blooming quite beautifully once again, Mang Ulan," the wife commented, looking at the array of pinks, yellows, and reds that lined the stoned pathway. "Are you sure you don't apply any type of special fertilizer or enhancer on them? I could never make my own plants to bloom as beautiful as they do."

The old man simply smiled. "Oh, I merely water them and let nature play its part." He looked over to the gumamela flower above the santans and examined its petals. "And if they need a little cheering up, like this one right here, a little compliment always helps."

"Compliment?"

"Yes," the old man said. "Plants are like people more than you think." Then he paused, and with a quiet voice added, "Although, between you and me, sometimes I use organic matter from the chickens for the weaker plants." He winked.

And the two of them chuckled.

"Oh, you," the wife said. "Oh, I forgot to mention. My husband received a letter the day before saying a babaylan from the Capitol was to arrive for an inspection."

Mang Ulan's ears perked. "Oh? Hm, well I'm not at all too surprised. There has been a lot of aswang mishaps here lately."

"Yes," the wife agreed. "He had also said that, if it's not an issue, you would be willing to accommodate our visitor? The lodges are quite busy this time in preparation for the festival next week and I'm afraid our house is rather occupied with visiting relatives."

The old man shook his head. "No, it's alright, ginang. There are plenty of rooms here, no need to worry. When will the guest arrive?"

"My husband said they will arrive by today around noon."

Mang Ulan nodded in understanding. "Ah well, in that case, I better start preparing the extra room. Shall we?" Mang Ulan motioned to the lady back to the entrance of the garden. But before the woman could respond, a loud crash, followed by a scream, and then another loud crash was heard from the store.

"Oh dear," the old man sighed.