On the island of Zubu...

  Captain General Magalhaes whirled back with his sword raised and legs firmly apart, facing the three indios without a stain of fear in him. If they decide to fight, then he will fight back. Will against will and fang against fang, as the old saying goes.

  But instead of aggression, the leftmost savage turned to his fellow, ignoring him entirely.

  Magalhaes raised a brow, confused by the natives actions. Clearly, it was not what he expected. Were they not going to fight him? He searched his mind for any explanation. While every soldier and crew member held their breath as the tensed face-off continued. They knew that showing any kind of weakness or even a glimpse of intimidation would spell catastrophe. And that it may hurt their chance of continuing their expedition.

  The captain sighed. Any misstep now could be the difference between success or disaster. But he was still unsure as to how he should approach all of this. Should he challenge them and declare his intent or just be a gentleman about it and swiftly attack before they realized anything.

  Luckily, the three savages from the bushes were too awestruck to react or comprehend, giving Mallaca time to collect himself and speak their version of 'We're strangers who just want to pillage your village and perhaps violate your women without you even knowing it.' which roughly translates in the natives' tongue as:

  "We are friends and we come in peace." Hearing this, the indios raised their brows in synchrony. So, the amiable Mallaca pointed at the wooden chest carried by two armored soldiers. "And we have gifts for you!"

  One of the savage native replied with a yellow stained smile, nodding his head, settling the supposed confrontation anticlimactically.

  ***

  The three savages were short, middle-aged men with tawny skin and long unruly hair. They were all clad in loincloth just like those they met earlier in Homonhon island. Their only difference was that these ones wore more golden bracelets and their ears had gilded piercings big enough to let a hand through it.

  Captain Duerte Barboza's men lowered the chest and Magalhaes hands shook as he opened it. Offering his help to his master, Mallaca presented the contents to the savages. The tallest of the indio knelt down and whispered something that only Mallaca could hear. Then, he took one shiny glass bottle from the trinkets in the trunk, raising it up to the sun's light.

  "What did he say?" Magalhaes asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Mallaca scratched his head. "He said... welcome to Zubu, welcome to paradise."

  Barboza gave a malicious smile and twirled his mustache, "Ah, paradise...finally!" He clicked his tongue giving his crewmen a knowing look. "Well, tell them to show us around the place, will you? After all, everyone here always wanted to go to paradise, aye?"

  All of the crew nervously laughed.

  At first, the savages were hesitant but they soon relented as Mallaca assured them. He then went with the natives through the thick greenery to their village. A short time later, one of the savages came back with Mallaca and told Magalhaes and the rest of his men to follow him. In their tongue, they called their town Singhapala-Mavolo, which according to Mallaca; means the lion set in marble.

  After a short trek later, they arrived there without any fanfare. The sound of the town's smith hammering something on an anvil resounded like a church bell, welcoming them all like honored guests.Or so they thought. The village itself consisted of raised huts with thatched roofing and rattan woven walls. While a sturdy bamboo fence snaked between each of them. One of the huts even had ornate pots displayed around it, probably a potter's house or one of the town's artisan. At first, the villagers received them with curious hesitance. But that soon changed when the three indios shared their gifts to the rest of the villagers. With curiosity and greed satiated, they then ushered Mallaca and the rest of the sailors to the biggest hut in town.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  They entered its great bamboo entryway and waited for the village leader inside. At the center of the town hall, an array of red velvet and leather chairs stood unused. Without ceremony an obese man sat on a cushion across the bamboo hall. He, unlike the earlier natives, was dressed in a fine silk loincloth that was belted with a purple-dyed sash. But like them, he was also adorned with ornate jewelry that rivaled most (if not all) monarchs of Mother Espa?a. He was immediately flanked by two armed men with lamellar armor plates, carrying unusual swords– for their blades were wavy like a sea serpent seeking its prey. A hook-nosed man with a humongous mole in his forehead trailed behind and as soon as he entered the place a strong aroma that smelled like benzoin filled the room.

  The obese man adjusted the white linen wrapped around his head which made the huge golden chain around his neck jingle. He was a bit on the rounder side and as he grinned his thick eyebrows arched. Mallaca quickly stood up and met him with a bow. After a short but respectful introduction, he told the chieftain that he was to be the interpreter of his master, Magalhaes.

  The obese man opened his arms and spoke, "Good day, strangers. My name is Rajah Humabara and this is my chiefdom! You may take your seat now." Mallaca translated every word with ease.

  Magalhaes nodded as he sat on the velvet chair. Not far from him, the rest of the principal crewmen occupied the leather ones. While the remainder of his crew sat on the mats.

  The interpreter respectfully pointed to Magalhaes and said: "My master is the greatest King in all the world. We are sailing at his command to discover the Spice Islands. But we have heard of your fame great rajah, and the fame of your country, and have come to visit you."

  "You are welcome in my kingdom," said the rajah as he fiddled with end of his golden chain, "but you must know that to show courtesy a visitor must pay me tribute. And I must say, I value respect much more than any gift."

  "My...my master," said the interpreter, "is the greatest of all Kings, but we could not pay tribute at this moment." He sighed, letting the tense moment pass.

  Rajah Humabara paused for minute, one brow raised. "And what does he intend to give me then as his offering?"

  "Perpetual peace, for now! And then perhaps more gifts... later!" Mallaca said a bit unsure about his response.

  Rajah Humabara gave a benign smile as the man with a huge mole whispered something in his ear. The chieftain nodded. "Does your leader talk or is he a mute who let others do his own bidding?" the rajah finally said.

  Mallaca translated it and as soon as he was done Magalhaes stood up and spoke. Although he spoke in another language everyone including the rajah's men were astonished. Passionate and charismatic, Magalhaes told everyone about himself and his Almighty God, surprisingly (for the natives) his only god. He explained his reason for traveling and exploring the world and how his faith aided him during the trying times of his journey. Mallaca diligently translated every word, omitting certain unhelpful details.

  When he stopped the rajah smiled and clapped his hands. "I want to hear more of this Almighty God, Lord Magalhaes." He turned towards Mallaca. "Can your master leave behind two of his men so, I may hear more about this god of yours? I promise to give them their due."

  He raised his hand and his servant brought out a tray of fruits. But what turned everyone's head was the roasted pig and wild fowls skewered on a stick– all fresh from the fire. Other uripons brought in jugs and clay pots full of arak and basi wine. They laid all the food down the bamboo floor for every one to see.

  The Captain General's reply was left unheard when an old man with a cane interrupted their conversation. The venerable elder wore a collarless jacket and every step he took made his golden anklets glint. The ancient man leaned and whispered something to Rajah Humabara.

  Humabara nodded and stood. "You may rest and take your leave for now my new found friends! We will continue our peace negotiations and my good friend Datu Zullah will take care of you." He indicated the hook-nosed man with a humongous mole on his forehead behind him. "For now, enjoy this food in return of the gift of perpetual peace that you offered to me."

  Rajah Humabara exited the hall, an entourage of servants following behind him. Old Banglud hobbled as he tried to match Humabara's pace.

  Humabara paused to let his aide catch up. "He did that? How could he? My brother fought with him against the invading Moorish sultans. Ungrateful warmonger! Does he not respect me, Banglud?"

  "Master, I did everything but he wouldn't say his reason for breaking his promise to you and to Datu Zullah."

  "Does Zullah know?"

  "He's about to," old Banglud said as he pointed at the scowling Halang entering the town hall. No doubt, to squeal and report to his father, Zullah.

  "I'm starting to wonder if Zullah's past advice against Pulaco was right! First, he keeps the trade routes in Opon Matan all for himself, threatening and confiscating goods from Boltavarians, Chi'n's and other traders. Now, this!" Rajah Humabara removed his white putong head wrap to scratch his dandruffy hair. "Go, tell Zullah I want to talk to him tonight about something important. We may need his help to finally eliminate our dear old friend in Opon."

  Old Banglud leered. "Perhaps, your newly-found friends could also help us." Both men stared back at the town hall filled with the pale strangers.

  "Perhaps, you are right," Humabara said, anger dissipating from his flabby face as an idea took hold on his mind, latching in his head like clawed anchors on the reef...