The Ilokana

Chapter One

Vigan, Las Islas Filipinas -  7 de Noviembre de 1703

In the humid night, the buzzing of insects and rustling of wind against biga leaves were drowned out by their uneven footsteps and panting breaths. She didn't remember the shore being so far away from town, but perhaps it was because they traveled a way different from usual.

Her skirt that wrapped around her hips and legs had some leaves and dirt on it, and her formerly clean shirt was now stained from her first fall earlier that evening. Her small, imported heeled shoes weren't made for more than walking, and in their rush, dirt and small stones lodged themselves between her bare toes.

She wouldn't let her mild discomfort slow them down. The boat wouldn't wait forever.

She stepped down on the dirt path and at once, her foot slid out from beneath her.

A sharp breath was forced out of her as her body followed. Her leg stumbled and she tried to steady herself by throwing her arm out. It didn't work and only the firm hand grasping hers managed to stop her from landing on her butt and further dirting her dress.

"Leona!" The man in front of her stopped and turned around when he felt her hand squeeze his. His arm tensed to give her something to hold on to as she tried to regain her footing. He reached for her with his other arm as she gripped the rough material of his shirt. "Estás bien?"

No. She wasn't well at all. How could she be? Everyone thought he killed her cousin. Everyone hated him and wanted him dead. She knew the truth and could verify his alibi, but he refused for her sake. Now, he could only flee to avoid a vengeance killing.

Leona looked away, her lips pressed together, keeping her angry, painful thoughts to herself.

Her slender brown hand rose and pressed against him as she stood up straight. There was no pain in her ankle and she could continue. Leona met his brown eyes - several shades lighter than hers, and smiled.

"Si," she said, giving him a nod and pulling away. "Estoy bien."

He gave her a once over, as if to make sure she wasn't hiding any pain, then pressed on, towards the shore. Their pace was still quick, but she noticed it was slower than before.

Tomás kept her right hand clasped in his left one as he moved along the river bank on their way to the shore. Bright moonlight came down, illuminating their path. Lanterns were out of the question; someone could see them.

Leona heard the familiar crash of waves and the scent of salt in the cooling air. They were near and as they walked around a bend, she could see the curved expanse of the beach.

Her chest tightened; a small wooden boat was on the shore.

"Good, they're here." Tomás breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God in Spanish as a wide smile filled his face. He looked over his shoulder, back at her with reassurance. "We made it."

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she forced a smile. "I told you they wouldn't leave without you." Her own accented Spanish sounded odd when she spoke longer sentences. Still, he never corrected her and often said he was impressed.

Grinning, Tomás brought her hand to his lips and grazed the back of it. His lips were warmer than the tropical air. He gave her hand a gentle tug before leading her out of the treeline and onto the open beach. She followed a step behind him, admiring his board back and the way his dark, wavy hair was tied at the nape.

Upon the sight of them, one of the three men by the small boat stood up straight. Under the full moon, Leona identified Padre Francisco, the priest who was helping get Tomás out of the islands, in his brown missionary robes.