Scribing the Blade

by herliterary and CeeVee

“I want to be a hero, Nanay! A hero!”

I scoffed at the memory, wishing I wasn’t so ambitious and stubborn. I kept fitting myself into narrow spaces, oblivious to how it was closing in on me.

I wish I had listened to Nanay when she said I can’t be a hero for two reasons: First, I was just a girl; second, I was only a kid.

Why did I even think I could ever be a hero like the stories I read in books? Have I forgotten that they have a sharp dagger and an army that would follow their every word? And what do I have? Measly sentences, some ink and paper.

But I was stubborn, and now, I have to face the consequences.

I stood before the press, their cameras blinding me. With every flash came their demand for answers ringing in my head like it was an endless dark chamber. I felt like a child, where my mother would berate me; her thunderous voice rang in my ears as she gripped my hands tight, the same as the metal cuffs cuffed around my wrists — its cold metal stinging my skin.

“Ressa, you have a visitor,” one of the guards called.

I looked up to see my mother, her face wrinkled with worry but eased as soon as she saw me.

“Nanay,” I whispered with a trembling voice.

Nanay smiled weakly and stepped closer. “I thought this might give you some comfort.” She slid a notebook through the bars.

“Thank you, ‘Nay,” I mumbled and glanced at the aged notebook with an empty heart. How was I supposed to tell her that even this couldn’t bring me the comfort I needed?

After a few moments of unbearable silence, Nanay asked, “What will you do next, Maria?”

I shrugged, then sighed. The silence was enough of an answer.

“Well,” she lets out a breath and rubs small soothing circles on my palm. “I know you’ll figure it out. No one scares them more than a woman with a brain.”

A scoff slipped out of my mouth. “Really? You still believe that?”

Nanay’s eyes widened by my sudden shift, a flash of worry crossing her face. “They are not scared, ‘Nay,” I spat. “If they were, they would have faced me head-on and not thrown me into jail for something I didn’t do.” I gritted my teeth as I continued. “They don’t see me as a worthy opponent. All they see is a mad woman with nothing but words as her weapon.” I let out a bitter laugh.

Nanay’s face was unrecognizable when I looked back.

“You were right, ‘Nay.” I dropped my eyes to the floor. “I could never be a hero.”

The guard arrived and took my mother away. She glanced at me one last time and mouthed, “You’re wrong. You’re already one,” Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to believe her words. I had been deceived far too much for the past 24 hours. Now, I’m beginning to believe that even my eyes are starting to deceive me. Even more so when I got back to my cell and flipped the notebook Nanay gave me to a blank page where from its bare parchment, words came out of nowhere.

Maybe I am being betrayed by my own sight.

“It is the year 1763. The blood of my husband, Diego, still stains my hands.”

My first instinct was to throw the notebook, but two reasons kept it in my hands.
One, this is a family heirloom. I don’t want to ruin it.
Two, I only know one person whose husband is named Diego.

…Could it be?

I struggled to hold my pen firmly in my hand, the letters shaky as I scrawled, “What is happening? How is this notebook writing something I didn’t?”

But as I wrote, the words — seemingly bleeding from the other side of the notebook like some kind of door — continued to pour.

“What is this witchcraft?! What have you done to Diego’s journal?” More sentences continued to appear, the ink smearing across the pages. “Is this one of Miguel’s schemes? Is this a curse? And who are you??!”

The last question sent a chill through my spine, but I interrupted her before she could even continue. “I-“ My words stopped before I could even begin. What am I even supposed to say? “I honestly don’t know. I’m just as surprised as you are! Maybe I’m beginning to go crazy…” I didn’t mean to write down all of my thoughts, but this was my notebook! Can’t a woman vent to something without constantly thinking she’s oversharing?

“Oi! I don’t know about you, but if anyone is crazy here it is NOT me. Do you think I could afford to go crazy when I have to lead a whole revolution?” Her words rampaged the empty space. I stifled back a laugh, which surprised me. I shouldn’t be laughing, but something about the connection seemed so easy and…smooth, which is bizarre. But I couldn’t ignore how my heartbeat no longer galloped around my chest, begging for more space.

“Well…” I write, my cheeks aching from smiling too much. “I’m not saying that,” I clarify. “But I’m just as surprised as you are,” I admit. “Although, I want to ask…are you Gabriela Silang?”

”Yes.”

My heart bombed again, shaking the bars of my ribs like a prison cell. Ironic

“And you are?”

”Maria Ressa,” I didn’t hesitate to write. “I’m a journalist from 2020…”

There was a tense silence before Gabriela’s words exploded on the page. “A connection across time? This cannot be possible!” Her panic translated through her words. “I am in the midst of a revolution; my people are on the brink of devastation! I cannot possibly waste my time on this!”

My heart raced as I quickly wrote, “Wait! Please hear me out. I know there isn’t a probable explanation for this, but we can work on it together.”

“What could you possibly offer me in exchange for my help?” Gabriela’s words blazed across the page with urgency; each stroke ended with an ink blot. “I am fighting for the survival of my people. For each second you waste, my people may die. Convince me why I should trust this strange connection, specifically you, and invest my time in your plight.”

“Because I could strengthen your army.” I paused before hesitantly continuing. “I’m Maria Ressa. I’m a journalist from the future.”

“And do you think you could trick me into believing that?! You are mere words on paper. How am I supposed to believe you?!”

Once again, my words seemed powerless. But I needed her to pull out the hope I had as a child when I read stories about her and her bravery.

And that’s when it clicked.
I know her story like the back of my hand.

“Ask me questions about what happened to your husband.”

Her silence didn’t surprise me. I knew I was demanding, but as the minutes grew, there was still no response from her. Will she ever reply back? Did the magic somehow cut us off–

“Very well. If you truly are from the future, what were the names of those who killed my husband?”

It didn’t take me more than a second to respond.

“It was Diego’s two friends: Miguel Vicos and Pedro Becbec. They were hired by the church and elites to carry out the plot of your husband’s assassination.

And I know that a few days from now, the Spaniards will enforce a counterattack and take the lives of your army.”

The words spilled out of me like carnage, and I could feel the embers of writing the truth igniting once again.

“Please believe me, Gabriela. I’ll help you if you help me. You are my hero. Please. Help me.”

I didn’t notice I was crying until I saw tears staining the paper like parched dirt.

“Very well then. This will be a leap of faith for me, but I will have to trust you, Maria. If what you’re saying is true, I can’t waste any more time. So tell me now.”

“What do you need?”

“I want to know… how do you do it? ”

My hands shook as I continued. ”How do you keep on fighting?”

The seconds stretched into an agonizing stillness. My breathing became shallow and uneven, and the walls seemed to close in on me again. But just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, the ink began to seep on the page, forming the sentence, “Because I fight for what is right. And I fight for my people.”

My breath hitched, for once, I saw a beacon of hope pierce through the darkness.

“Despite always being confronted with whispers and scorn, calling me weak and unfit. But, I must not falter — I absolutely cannot.”

“But what do you do if you’ve been imprisoned to fight for justice?”

Gabriela was silent for a while but responded with flame. “You speak of justice, but can you truly grasp the true cost of leading? Each failure and each doubt weighs heavily, not just on me but also for those who look up to me for hope. What did you expect, Maria? You are a woman with a pen that I assume permanently inks the truth. Of course, they are going to do something just to spite you.”

“But now it’s your decision to make. Will you continue fighting for your people? For our people?”

The air around me seemed to thicken as I read her words. The room grew colder, but somehow, I could feel the same burning rage we shared.

“There are days when I want to just give up. I figured, maybe someone else could carry the burden, but…”

I reminisced about my past, the articles I scribed like a blade: ‘The Battle For Truth,’ ‘Fighting the Virus of Lies’, ‘Defending Our Rights.’ The conferences where I would be the only one standing in a room filled with fear and uncertainty.

“I think of all those people who don’t have the voice nor the power to fight. Knowing that someone out there is fighting the same battles as you… it makes all the difference.”

I felt my chest lighten. The fear that once gnawed at my heart was overshadowed by knowing that my words do have meaning and power.

“You are right. We fight for those who can’t. For those after us. And most importantly, we fight for each other. That’s why you have to continue. You must, Maria. We may be women, but we are also with brains.” I smiled at a phrase so familiar… so close to my heart.

“I know you may doubt yourself. It’s inevitable but all heroes have kryptonites now don’t they?” I read Gabriela’s words with an image of her smiling. “Block all the useless noise with the voices of our nation saying they need you.”

“You don’t always have to wield a dagger to be a hero, Maria.”

Our connection ended quickly when the guard barked, “Get up. You will be interviewed before you’re transferred to a secure facility.”

The guard’s grip on me was rough, but walking with my head held high came easier. They led me down the corridor with its lights flickering overhead before a door opened, revealing a blinding flash of lights and a cacophony of voices.

“Maria! Is what you published in those articles true?”

“Do you have any proof to back up your claims?”

The barrage of voices was relentless, but I stood tall and took a deep breath. “I have spent my life fighting for the truth and only the truth,” I said and paused before meeting the reporters’ eyes with my steady gaze. “I will not give in, and I will not be silenced.”

“Pilipinas!” I exclaim with vindication, “Hear me when I say I will fight for you! I may not be a hero, but I will wield my words and scribe my blade to protect the truth.”