SCRIBES & SCRIBBLERS

Illustrations by Andrea Danielle A. Gamboa

Angela A. Coronel Anna Theresa S. Parayno

Carl Hason T. Gerale Christian Dominic L. Ledesma Earl John B. Pabular Kiara Nicole D. Villa

Words by

Alvin Brian S. Legario Hana Patricia Raj E. Hautea Lance Christian M. Juarez

Paula Mae E. Villarosa

Ms. Jean Patindol(The World) A dynamic union between the spiritual and physical, the Self and Other, balance and evolution—all encompassed in one woman. She symbolizes the undisturbed harmony amongst the energies and is wrapped in fulfillment, success, and infinity. Finally at the peak of wholeness, she has forged resilience against life’s sourer lemons and merely basks in the afterglow of her hard-earned triumphs. Watch out: she’s unstoppable now. Lance Christian Juarez (Judgement)

In a constant period of awakening, he faces his last judgement every moment. He is aware that in order to understand, to grow, it is vital to see beyond and stretch your arms out to the call of the universe. All choices, no matter how miniscule, have an irreversible mark on the pages you author, and so he considers every detail with a measured meticulousness. Everything may seem black and white, but his reflections have led him to see all the varying shades of gray in between. Hana Patricia Raj Hautea(The Sun)

In the middle of the pueblo, a woman clad in white silk skips her way back to the palace after spending the day with the timawa. They know her in their own ways: an exchange of laughter outside the tavern, quick gossip by the inns, small talk in the barangay—to them she is sunshine incarnate. She hums to herself, quickly noting the agenda for the night, though blissfully unaware of the dozens of flowers sprouting in her trail. Paula Mae Villarosa (The Moon)

Finding an open field, she laid down. The witch cared little for the dew seeping through her dress nor the chirping of crickets in the distance. She gazed at the moon in awe, doe-eyed and silent. Pursing her lips, she marveled at the unlimited power it must have, not realizing she was staring at her own reflection. Starlene Joy Portillo (The Star)

The foot in water reminiscent of spiritual capabilities and inner strength, the other on land symbolizing her practical abilities. This Aquarius is a nurturer, guarded by thought and nourished with love. She is abundantly blessed by the universe, but it may not be apparent as of now. First, she is in need of courage and faith to appreciate all that she really has; all that she really is.

Shan Marc Jabagat(The Tower) “Burn it,” the chieftain commands, gazing towards the horizon. “B-but sir they—” “All of it,” he asserts, eyes now primed on the soldier. “Nothing must remain to build anew.” He slowly steps forward to the raging inferno engulfing what he once called home. Alvin Brian Legario (Death)

He was an enigma. No one knew where he came from, where he went about during the day, nor where he’d turn in at night. They say he came to these parts after escaping the clutches of the Datu’s henchmen and started afresh under a new name. Some say that he was a voyager looted by pirates—forcing him to take refuge here, plotting his next course. No one had the nerve to come up to him, much less ask if any of them were true. He never spoke for himself, never tried correcting the stories to mere townspeople. He’d smirk after overhearing gossip from conversations in the alleyways, and sometimes (if I remember correctly), he’d meet their stares and offer them a small smile. If they only knew. Ma. Kristine Joy Bayadog(Temperance)

“Again,” she persisted. “A-are you sure, dayang? I’m not cer-certain if—” She cut him off with a stare that pierced through him. “This is my last resort, Lakan.” Beads of sweat were now accompanied by slow rising tears. “No more wondering if the cup is half full or half empty. Tonight I’ll fill it to the brim. AGAIN!” Joshua Mahilum (The Hanged Man)

Bound by choice, he knows best that sacrifices are ultimately key to progress, to moving forward. He forms a triangle of passion, composure, and intelligence while dangling on a tree meant to be deep-rooted in the underworld while simultaneously sustaining the heavens. Always in a state of waiting and suspension, The Hanged Man is not wasting his time; he is simply biding it. Ivee Manguilimotan(Justice)

“I-I did my best, sir. I truly did,” the maid whimpered. “That’s a shite thing to say as yer last words,” the executioner quipped as he raised his axe.

Karl Brian Marqueza (The Hermit) “You drive a hard bargain, boy,” the tradesman scoffs. The merchant, clad in worn-out cloth retorts, “I’ll toss a coin for it.” Moments later, the trader leaves disgruntled and empty-handed. Only one of them knew how much fortune a weighted coin held. Andrea Danielle Gamboa (Strength)

The metal clanged as she searched frantically. Her hound bristled as the signal bell rang. Amidst the chaos, she made a decision. “Ugh, I’m wearing a crop top today.” Gerico Guanco (The Chariot)

Amid desert sandstorms, a traveler aboard his caravan treks the canyons, driven by his steeds. He dons a pair of sunglasses, primarily to guard his eyes from the harsh sands, but secretly to hide his eyebags. Angela Coronel & Christian Dominic Ledesma (The Lovers)

In the epicenter of a thunderous coliseum, the king’s host announces the next fight. A rusted, metal gate lifts to allow entrance to two warriors: a barbarian and a valkyrie. They both raise their brow, and without warning, the masses cheer for onslaught. The boy throws his axe only to be outmaneuvered while the girl charges at him, aiming her spear. As the two clash, the barbarian sidesteps her weapon but gets tackled to the ground, her hand around his throat. The crowd roars. They both smirk. Anna Theresa Parayno (The Wheel of Fortune)

Surrounded by a plethora of symbolic creatures, each of them are indispensable to the card. An expert with the changing tides, she is aware that no one can evade the inevitable, so what else is there to do but take it in stride? She may find herself rising high or falling low, but it surely won’t last for too long as the Wheel of Fortune always turns. Alan Villanueva Jr. (The Hierophant - reversed)

“We’ll scale mount Kalaon, steal the weapon of the Gods, plunge headfirst into Kasanan, and finally cross the fields of Makka.” “Isn’t the shortest route via a one-way jeepney ride?” “Yes.” “So shouldn’t we—” “No.”

Hezron Pios (The Emperor) He gazed out from his balcony towards his people—all was well, he thought to himself. He took a step back and traipsed towards the great hall that led to his throne, eyes wandering the portraits lining the wall. His gaze affixed itself on a particular drawing of himself when he was a mere boy—a smile illuminating his whole face as he swung himself to and fro on a hammock. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and averted his attention to his throne. Katherine Co (The Empress)

A Lyrebird was looking intently at a nearby nest as newly born eagle chicks chirped in hunger. Not soon after, the mother eagle arrived with odd-looking straws in its beak. Not wanting to be outdone, the Lyrebird collected nearby straws from trees and began violently pecking at its own young. Inocencio John Keith Ferrer V (The Magician)

One well-placed blow to the jaw sent him careening to the dirt once more. “Stay down, we only want your piece of land.” For the third time, he stood up, brushed off his trousers, and smiled. “I can do this all day.” Martini Falco (Ace of Wands)

A magician sits impatiently before the council of elders. “So why am I here again?” he asks, half-annoyed. “You’re on trial for the murder of eight men using forbidden magic,” the judge looms over him, gavel in hand, “What is your defense, wizard?” Expressionless, the sorcerer replies, “I was bored.” Carl Hason Gerale (Page of Wands)

Blessed with curiosity and a never-ending supply of ideas, there’s so much potential that lies within the Page of Wands. A wide-eyed dreamer, he sees new horizons to explore and new opportunities to grasp, yet he hesitates. It may be due to inexperience, fear of the unknown, or the fact that he gets easily distracted, but all he needs is a little sip of courage before he can conquer the world. There’s a vast scenery before him—all it’ll take is a single step.

Kiara Nicole Villa (Knight of Wands) They were onto her—she knew. But she took her time, strapped on the feathered contraption to her back, and fastened it to her chest. She could hear their boots climbing up the flight of steps towards her. She looked out the window and marveled at the glistening ocean below as the rays pierced through its crashing caps. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall—spreading her arms wide. She granted the sun a kiss upon her bare complexion and let the waves tickle her exposed toes as she flew away— where the deep blue met the horizons above. Dianne Porras (Ace of Swords)

Her father’s advisers seated themselves, plump and emblazoned with their jewels and gold. They held their gazes high towards the crown perched on her head as she took the helm of the table, easing down on the seat. She crossed her hands in front of her, “Let us begin, my good sirs.” 橙(Three of Swords - reversed)

It started with a light drizzle at noon; she hadn’t minded it at first. She went along her way delivering her hen’s eggs ‘round the village. The downpour came a little later as she plodded through potholes on her way home. A passerby took notice of her, pointing to her soiled cloak and muddied sandals, “Would you like a shade?” She paused and glanced at the Samaritan, looking down at her whipped state. “It’s quite alright, it’ll dry off,” she replied and continued her trek homewards. Keilah Baldomar (Page of Swords)

Enthusiastic and playful, she exudes a thrumming energy wherever her wandering feet take her. She’s constantly full of questions as her insatiable curiosity and eagerness often lead her to wonder. And with the wheels of her brain always turning, her mind may tend to work faster than her mouth. But do not be fooled—this adolescent is one who grasps at her sword unwaveringly, smirking as she stares her opponent straight in the eyes. Earl John Pabular (Eight of Pentacles)

The artificer’s once dull tent lit up as the sun’s fingers slowly crept within. The hues of orange smeared across his sculpture brought him to tears as he gazed upon it. “Now I am ready for my magnum opus,” he said before throwing his masterpiece in the trash.

Patrick Billojan (Knight of Pentacles) Summer had long fled these lands, yet one could still hear the unmistakable sound of plowing out in the coarse plots—day in, day out. But these fields seem to prove themselves barren—sterile for any farmer to harvest crops. Many had abandoned these grounds for toil in town, yet a mere young man remained, tilling the earth alone at his own steady pace. “The only thing you’ll get from this lump of soot is a coughing fit,” the others would tease.

“It’s alright; it’ll all pay off someday soon.” Alexandra Bachoco (Three of Pentacles)

Three virtuosos of artistry were quarrelling about how to begin their shared painting. After squabbling for three hours, a silver hue of light streaked skyward as one of them stroked the first shade. “Shall we begin?” she asked as her lips curled. Angelo Despi (Seven of Pentacles)

Often toiling in silence, this man is no stranger to fatigue and the other cons of hard, honest work. Always facing forward, he is aware that his efforts will be rewarded in the long term. He has been investing much time and effort into his harvest and is infinitely proud of the fruits of his labor. At long last, his crops are beginning to thrive. Bench Quilantang (Nine of Pentacles)

The pencil slowed to a stop in between his fingers—his palm weary from grasping the pencil for too long. He set it down on the table and flipped through the pages of his pad, tracing his calloused fingers on every curve and stroke. He marveled at each sketch, recounting how they came to be before wrapping it tight with parchment and twine. He dropped it off to the scribe in the other tribe, letting his shoulders slump as he did and allowing a smile to creep upon his lips. Kynah Rhea Fuentes (Ace of Cups)

Two maidens settled down for tea, turning in for the day. One maiden took the pot and poured her friend some before fixing a cup for herself—filling it nearly to the brim. She stirred sugar in, causing it to overflow from the petite cup. “Oh dear, you put in too much sugar!” her friend exclaimed.

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” she dismissed before taking a sip, unbothered by the spilt tea that pooled in her saucer. “It tastes better that way.” Archel Barayoga (Four of Cups)

He scribbles down on the worn-out pad he had on his lap as the jesters carry on with the show before him—noting every faint fault and missed cue. Sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, eyes set on the page, and fingers stained with ink. He raises his gaze towards the act before him, “Where are the performers?” A spectator turns to him, “They finished moments ago; it appears you missed their piece, sire.” Lex Diwa Aloro (Five of Cups - reversed)

The mistress often loses a trinket or two. She’d once misplaced her mother’s ring during one of her evening strolls by the shoreline. “I hadn’t lost it,” she’d argue, “I laid it inside a clam’s shell and buried it in the sand, at the spot where Ina used to watch the sunset.” A necklace of hers had snapped and unclasped from her nape as she jostled in the fields of tall grass behind their hut. “No, no. I’m certain that I left it in one of my dress pockets.” But it’d seem that the mistress often found them, one way or the other. Maegan Joy Matamoro (Seven of Cups)

She waves her hand to the left. “Next,” she mutters, half-awake with her head tilted and resting on her palm. A crowd of sheepish princes line up, waiting their turn to perform. “She’s been listless—near asleep for days now,” a peasant comments. Later that night, she tiptoes her way to the gardens. “Are you there?” she whispers, keeping her head down. “Of course,” a figure replies. They recede on the same bench and gaze upon the abyss of the night. Joshua Guanco (Eight of Cups)

Smooth. Oaky. Tannic. He took a sip from each cup—the liquor brushing against his chapped lips. He never downed a glass, much less savored more than one taste. After each goblet, he’d turn away, reaching for another. “That’s not it, something’s missing.” Thomas Militante (Ten of Cups)

The father chopped firewood and traded them in nearby villages, stopping by the square to chat with village folk. The mother was a seamstress in their side of the country and sometimes made garments for free. The children tended to a horse, two chickens, and a dog in their

own accord—running leisurely ‘round the yard. They’d have porridge, some game, and ale for most meals along with stories and laughter. They didn’t have much, but their little cottage was more than enough. Nash Julio Aurea (Queen of Cups)

Everyone came to the seer to remedy ails and seek good fortune. She spoke in verses of prophecies and restored people through her riddles and rhymes—each one taking its toll on her being. From the moment the cock crowed ‘til the crickets sung their hymn, she’d hear laments and wishes that reflected her own. She’d deliver her foretelling, eager to hear the oracles spilling from her to echo her name.