Stone & the Three Kings: Part 3

This is the point in the story that features my mentor, Omofarangbara – Faran for short (and I use the word 'mentor' loosely, as his 'lessons' mostly consist of condescending rants about how I know nothing of my heritage and the spirit world; a problem he could easily fix by actually teaching me something!). I dreaded our weekly training sessions, and now, I was in the unenviable position of needing his help desperately.

Sandra was out cold – as in, she was out like a light, and her skin was cold. I didn’t think she was dead – she seemed to be breathing - though that could have been me looking for reasons not to panic. But after shaking her for the umpteenth time, I realized there was no way she would wake up by normal means. That thing said its mission was to disgrace me. Then why go after Sandra?

I turned the spirit’s words over in my head again and again, but they still made no sense. There’s no time for this! I need to call Faran!

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small case. Inside were two cowrie shells not much bigger than an eraser. I replaced the case, held the cowries to my mouth, and muttered an incantation. The cowries tingled and let out a soft white glow, barely visible in the darkness.

I passed one of the cowries to my left hand and held it to my mouth. I held the other to my ear.

“Faran!” I said, speaking into the cowrie like a mouthpiece. “Faran! It’s Stone, o! I have a problem!”

A few seconds passed without a response. I was about to call out again when I heard something like static from the other cowrie. It took a moment to clear up, and for the familiar, husky voice to burst through the shell.

“Gbare!”

“Faran!” I cried. “Yes! It’s me! I need your help…”

“So you can’t greet again?!”

I hissed. “I don’t have time for this, Faran…”

“You don’t have time to show basic respect? You’re truly like your father, aren’t you?”

“This is serious!”

“I don’t think it is. And neither are you, to be honest.” I hissed again. I was running out of time. It was five minutes past seven by my watch. “E ka san, Baba Faran,” I droned.

“Baba who?” the voice crackled.

I sighed. “Baba Faran, the one who challenged the gods and won.”

“Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” He said. Then his tone became jarringly business-like. “Gbare, the oracle is doing somehow right now. Is there a reason you’re disturbing me this time of night?”

My elbow brushed against Sandra’s cheek. Her skin had gotten much colder. “Something attacked me and my friend…,” I said.

“A spirit, most likely. I suppose you’ve managed to destroy it…”

“I have,” I said, cutting off the sarcastic comment he would certainly have made. “But it did something to my friend, and I need you to help me fix it.”

The inhuman snort that emanated from the shell made me grind my teeth. “If your friend was stupid enough to get caught in your line of fire, that’s really not my problem. And it shouldn’t be yours either.”

I glanced at Sandra. Her breathing was getting shallower. “It shouldn’t, but it is.”

“I don’t have time to play doctor to your friends, Gbare.”

“Abeg na!” I begged. “Her parents will be home soon. If anything happens to her, it’s me everyone will be looking at. I can’t start explaining all this spirit world stuff to these people.”

“You can barely explain it to yourself,” he muttered under his breath. He probably didn’t think I heard him. I rolled my eyes.

“Okay, you can bring your friend to the shrine, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Relief washed over me, only to be replaced with confusion. “The shrine? In Ibadan? Can’t you come here with…like…a magical first-aid box or something…?”

“DON’T…YOU EVER…,” he screamed. I nearly dropped the cowrie. “INSULT MY CRAFT BY CALLING IT MAGIC! OR COMPARING IT TO…” insert snort here “FIRST…AID!”

I had to clutch my chest so my heart wouldn’t leap out. I’d forgotten how touchy he was about the word 'magic'.

“As to getting you here…,” he continued, like the outburst from two seconds before hadn’t happened. “…just put an elbow or something on your friend and hold still.”

“Okay?” I said, gingerly resting my elbow on Sandra’s stomach. I could feel the chill through the cotton.

Before I could blink or shiver, the street and houses around me disappeared into complete darkness. I was thrown into the void at a speed that I wasn’t sure I would survive. I closed my eyes and let out a scream.

“Keep quiet, jare!” I heard.

When I opened my eyes, it was to see a young man, not much older than eighteen, looming over me. He wore nothing but a pair of dirty Ankara trousers and an enormous scowl on his face, which he directed at me.

“What happened?” I asked, shaken.

“Question,” the man said. The voice that came from his mouth – raspy and ancient – was strange coming from such a young body, but I’d gotten used to it. “If you’d bothered to learn anything, you’d be able to make this journey yourself.”

He was referring to my ability to travel through space and time, something I’d only done once and didn’t mind never having to do again.

When I said nothing, Faran hissed and looked past me. “That’s your friend, abi?” I glanced at Sandra and nodded. “Hmmn…she does look terrible,” he muttered. He turned and walked out of the room. “Bring her into the altar room. I’ll see what I can do.”

I got up and dropped my bag and sword on the ground. At first, I tried to lift and carry Sandra in my arms, newlywed style, but at this point, she was freezing cold besides being plain heavy, so that fell through faster than she did from my arms. I grabbed her by her armpits instead and dragged her out of the room with me. The cold dug into my hands, but I had to ignore it.

Faran’s shrine hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been here. It didn’t look much different than the stereotypical shrines in those Africa Magic movies, except everything was much more authentic and dangerous. The oracle room was a large, open space shrouded in the darkness that the numerous candles allowed. The walls and floor were bare, cracked mud that allowed all kinds of creepy crawlies to wander about. I couldn’t understand how Faran could stand to walk barefoot all the time.

At the center of the room was a large mound of earth, which more or less served as an altar. Faran stood at the other side, gathering ingredients while muttering something to himself. He got more irritated the further his ramblings went along.

“But what is it exactly?” He was saying, in sacred Yoruba. “If you’re not going to tell me…”

He stopped when I approached the altar. I stood there for a few minutes, hoping he would assist me in getting her up there. But wishful thinking had always been my tragic flaw, and I found myself struggling to maneuver my girlfriend to the top of the altar as my mentor rambled on to no one in particular. It was rough going, between the cold and the distracting soliloquy, but I somehow managed.

“You can destroy all my ingredients if you like,” Faran snapped when one of his vials of questionable liquid started to shake. “I’m sure you’ll be able to take me to where I can get them back.”

I ignored him, and he turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Now, I’ll have to warn you. The oracle’s been doing somehow since you called me, so this is going to be a lot of trial and error. I’m not sure I’ve seen anything quite like this.”

I gulped. That didn’t sound good. Possible explanations for what had happened to Sandra started to run through my mind, each one more stupid than the last. And it was definitely not a good time to mention I needed her awake by eight.

“What’s wrong with the oracle?” I asked, trying to take my mind off my fears.

Faran was sprinkling blue powder all over Sandra while chanting an incantation, so I didn’t get an answer until he was done. “It’s neither respectful nor wise to interrupt an Ifa priest when he’s conducting a ritual, Gbare,” he said, putting away the jar of blue stuff. “But if you must know, the oracle seems to find something funny, and it refuses to tell me.”

That seemed dumb, and I said so.

“Well, the ways of gods would seem inane, especially to one who’s spent so much of his life separate from the spiritual,” he said the last part with a toxic sneer. “Gods also find our ways amusing from time to time.”

When they’re not finding it offensive, I thought.

“The point is, something has happened that the oracle finds hilarious,” he continued then paused to rattle something over Sandra’s body as he chanted another incantation. “I don’t mind that he refuses to say what it is. But it seems to be keeping him from giving me any of the insight I ask for.”

“I’d hate to be the idiot a god would laugh at,” I muttered.

It was quarter to eight when Faran gave up. “It’s only you, Gbare,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at me. “It’s only you that can enter this kind of problem, and then bring it to me at the worst possible time. I think you just exist to disgrace me.”

I looked up from the games on my phone. “Well, maybe if I had a better teacher, I could have saved her,” I said.

“A stunted maize stalk will always blame the soil,” he said in regular Yoruba. I can speak neither regular Yoruba nor the sacred one, but I had heard him say this before.

“Will she live, at least?” I asked, hopeful.

“I don’t even know,” he said. Those were words he rarely ever said, and he reeled from spitting them out. “Whatever this affliction is, it’s immune to all my spells. I can’t even tell what it is.”

There was silence. “But…,” I said. “If you were to hazard a guess?”

He shook his head. It was foolish to hope. It always was whenever I was concerned.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible.

My name is Stone, my father wants to kill me, and an evil spirit has frozen my girlfriend.

I am dead serious.

I am not a regular teenager, and it was pretending to be one that got me into this mess.

Now, I have to enter the realm of dangerous and unpredictable spirits to fix my mess.

Will I succeed? I won't bet on it.

Excited for Part Four? We are too! We wonder if Stone will make it back with Sandra by 8 pm. What do you think?

Stone and the Three Kings: Part 2

But there was nothing. Only people going about their day, and a lone firefly buzzing about my field of vision.

“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked. She was concerned.

“Nothing,” I said, quickly relaxing myself so she would relax. The firefly buzzed around my face, so I swatted it away. “Let’s just go.”

While this wasn’t my first time being followed by something I couldn’t see following me, it was the first time it was happening with someone who didn’t know my secret. You can understand the intense pressure I was under - assuming you’re the kind of person who should be reading this. If not, I recommend you give this to your local akara or suya dealer; they’ll know what to do.

“You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?” Sandra asked for what was probably the third time. At this point, we had turned into her street; deathly quiet in contrast to the bright boisterousness of the main road.

“Wrong?” I asked, looking behind me. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“I wonder for you, na,” she complained. “You keep looking back at every little sound. Are you expecting us to be robbed?”

I scoffed. “Of course not.” I was expecting us to be murdered in cold blood on this quiet, lonely street. My head and body taken as a trophy for the powers that be, her corpse left to rot as a warning to my friends. I felt no need to tell her that, of course.

Her house was farther down the street, and I was counting the seconds until we got there. My fear of my father was no longer driving me – although it was still at the back of my mind. The world was deathly quiet, and the night was pitch black, save for some lights in some houses. My sword continued to shiver in my bag, and I shivered along with it. Sandra shivered as well.

“Chai,” she whispered, hugging herself. “How did it get so cold suddenly?”

I made an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “Climate change, I guess.”

She laughed. I laughed too. My sword shook violently.

I gave a little backwards glance, but I saw no one behind us, save for a sliver of light buzzing about my face. Another firefly. I swatted it away, irritated.

There was a loud, derisive snort to my side. “You are jumpy tonight, aren’t you?” Sandra said.

I chuckled. “Streets are rough,” I said sheepishly.

“Not these streets…oww!” Sandra winced and slapped her neck. The firefly escaped, disappearing into the darkness.

“Sorry, eh,” I said. “Does it hurt?”

“It does.” Sandra moaned, rubbing the sore spot. She groaned and hissed. “I didn’t even know fireflies bit people.”

She collapsed faster than I could say, “They don’t.”

A movement to my left (I was now facing Sandra, who was unconscious on the road) drew my attention. A figure stood shrouded in the darkness. He looked like a regular human (who was naked or in skin tight clothing), but my instincts told me it wasn’t. I reached into my bag and pulled out my sword, holding it ready for the attack.

The world stood still, or at least, we did. The figure was unmoving in the darkness, and I was not going to move away from Sandra. The sword shook in my hand, but not from its power. I didn’t know what that thing was, and I had a policy against fighting things when I didn’t know how they could kill me. It’s a sage policy I wish more people would adopt.

After some time passed, I decided I would be proactive.

“What are you?!” I asked, putting down my sword. (What did you expect? I’d actually attack that thing? In the night? With no backup? Like an idiot?)

The thing said nothing, so I repeated the question, this time in the sacred tongue. It was still silent.

“Do you know who I am?” I cried. “I am Obagbagbare, the son of Obajobalai. How dare you stay silent when I command you?!” (Be not fooled by the authority in my words, I could not back them up. As I said before, my father wants me dead. Disowning me was no problem for him).

The figure moved. It put its hands to its stomach and made an odd, guttural, otherworldly sound that caught me off guard, so much so that I moved forward a step. It took me a while to realize it was laughter.

“You? The son of what? The son of who?” The thing said when it was done holding its sides. It spat before continuing. “Let me warn you: don’t you ever call my master’s name in vain again! Ever!”

“My father sent you?” I was not surprised, of course. “Then, why do you stand in the shadows like a coward. If you’re truly a son of spirits and not of man, come and fight me!" (What I’d meant to say was, 'Okay, how about you come over here and we can discuss this as rational individuals without resorting to violence,' but I guess I misplaced a few words here and there. The sacred tongue is complicated like that. We’ll let it be what it is.)

The thing laughed again. “And why would I fight an insect such as you?”

“You said my father sent you after me? I didn’t think he rewarded failure.”

“True. Your father does punish the failure of his own,” the figure replied. “But your father didn’t send me to kill you. Only to disgrace you.”

Disgrace me? That didn’t sound like old man Lai at all. Maybe he’s losing his touch. And disgrace me how? I asked the last question aloud. He replied with laughter that rattled my brain.

“They told me you were ignorant. But don’t worry. My work is already done.” He didn’t give me a chance to reel from being called ignorant (spirits put so much pressure on me for not knowing all the nuances of their world in the little time I’ve known of its existence. They’re like parents in a way) before continuing. “But if you insist on doing battle with your better, who am I to deny you your doom.”

The figure let out a quick laugh and bolted towards me at top speed. And this wasn’t human top speed. This was the top speed of the spirits, meaning he was upon me faster than I could cry “Arggh!”

“Arggh!” I cried. I shut my eyes and swung my sword blindly.

My sword exploded with a light so bright that it pierced through my eyelids. That’s how I knew I managed to hit it. (Fun fact: My sword is made from a steel sharper than steel, and can cut through reality like tissue paper).

I opened my eyes, and focused through the now dimming light. What I saw…would have horrified me months ago. At that point, I’d seen worse.

The thing looked pretty close to human, even with the four eyes and fangs sticking out its mouth. Its skin was golden brown, and it seemed to reflect the light from my sword. It was naked, and I saw a huge gash on its bare chest. Golden light, not blood, poured out of the wound, evaporating as it touched air.

The only thing I could note as odd was the smile on its face. Is it…happy? Proud, even? I told myself it was a trick of the light, but that was an obvious lie.

“And if you’re satisfied now, my prince,” it said, a mocking emphasis on the words 'prince' and 'satisfied'. “My work here is done.” And then, it vanished with the light into thin air, leaving me alone in darkness with my confusion...and Sandra.

I'll try to make this as brief as possible.

My name is Stone, my father wants to kill me, and an evil spirit has frozen my girlfriend.

I am dead serious.

I am not a regular teenager, and it was pretending to be one that got me into this mess.

Now, I have to enter the realm of dangerous and unpredictable spirits to fix my mess.

Will I succeed? I won't bet on it.

Part Three is Coming Soon. Tell us what you think of this story so far, in the comments section!

One Eighty: Part 3

Day One of One Eighty

I try to remind myself that my heart will grow fonder with his absence

An hour later and I am still on the rock-hard bed rolling around

Why don't I have the will to do anything

I move slowly to sit up pushing my legs down the side of the bed facing our one large window

I stare out to the long stretch of green that's dull in comparison with the first day I saw it

Little animals roam free all around the field and I cannot help feeling imprisoned

Suffocating in my self-made prison

I shiver

I am alone again

This time I truly am alone

We came to the village to be alone together

Now I am alone alone

I wince

Chance walks past the window, heavy looking logs of wood in hand

I hear the soft creak of footsteps on our loose front stairs

I hear him enter through our front door

We had just finished erecting our cabin house

We needed logs for the fireplace because it felt like winter was here

It felt like snow was supposed to be falling already

We had finished our home just in time

Or we would have needed to lodge at an inn we didn't have money for

The location was perfect

It allowed us the illusion of being apart from the world

It was what we needed

We were young

We were in love

He sat next to me on the bed and pulled me to his lap

He rested his forehead to mine and we stared into each other's eyes for a long time as the heat of the fire he had just stoked in the fireplace and in my heart enveloped us

And then he proceeded to tell me why I am the one

I am different from him

In culture and thinking

He will never understand how and why I think and act the way I do

And so it's going to be a great adventure spending his entire life trying to understand me, he said

In looks

He is so white and I am so dark

My tough and curly hair that never obeys

My dark eyes the shape of almonds that remind him of hot cocoa

My pudgy nose he loves to pull

My soft, swollen lips are too kissable and reminds him of honey or caramel

My round stubborn chin

My fresh ebony skin that makes him think of melted chocolate.

There was a time blurred up in my past, I used to think myself ugly in the face of those pale faced golden girls in school

But I can't even remember why I would think that

In truth, there weren't many people who looked like me

I am special!

The way you carry yourself, he continued

Like you were worshipped in your past life

Like you have everything under control

Like you don't need any protection

My queen

I looked into his soft hazel eyes that looked grey from a distance

Or under the sun

Hot breathe from his nose fanned my face

You are mine, I said to him

I chose him again as he chose me

The window blurs out of view and I realize I am crying

My eyes burn and I shut it tightly

I don't understand myself anymore

This is ridiculous

Teardrops fall to my fat thighs

And I feel insecure again

Am I fat again?

Am I ugly again?

I look vaguely toward the dresser mirror but I don't move to stand before it

I can't

If I look, I will become that girl again

I look at my stubby dark hands, my dark skin

Ebony, he called it

Chance's are as pale as milk

We really are different

Day Fifteen of One Eighty

I make it my mission to be up and out of the house by dawn

The house is a trap

A house of mirrors haunted with too many shadows

Nights have become torturous

I haven't had a wink of sleep in perhaps a week

I am barely conscious

Barely sane.

Art is the only answer

Yet all I paint is doom

I look at today's creation half smeared with my tears

There is fire in the sky and a body lies on the floor in the midst of several people running around in obvious panic

The body is intricately detailed, two bullets to the head.

But it has no face

In fact none of the people have faces

My tears have smeared them all out

Suddenly, there are shadows hanging over my paper

Dark inverted figures, getting bigger and bigger

I look up to see heavily suited men approach me

I take a few minutes to look at their faces

And immediately I know why they are here

I don't know when I start to run but I see approaching landscape flash past me as I move thoughtlessly away

Far away from the evil people

I mustn't hear what they have to say

I just know I mustn't hear it

A pair of arms grab me from behind and suddenly I am back in the departmental store five years ago

When I open my eyes it is not Chance standing in front of me

I put my hands over my ear and scream loudly

I cannot hear my scream but I feel my throat aching, piercing

When I open my eyes again, I am in a strange place

At first my vision is blurred

Smeared grey and dark figures moving into each other

I hear loud voices but I cannot make out their words

I need to know where I am

Suddenly, I feel panicked, restive

I move and realize I am lying down

I attempt to lift myself but something pins me down

I shut my eyes as a series of sharp pains explode in my head

I hear myself groan

And suddenly everything goes dark, oblivion

I open my eyes

I remember the last time I opened my eyes but I don't remember anything beyond then

I stare straight ahead of me where a blurred man is standing, his back to me,

He seems to be talking to someone out of view, outside the door

As my vision comes into focus, I notice the room looks vaguely familiar

The walls are muralled with blue daisies

I blink

A lady rushes in through the door and pushes a cup with a straw sticking out of it, towards my mouth

And I realize I am, in fact, thirsty

A barrage of people breeze in as I drink the water longingly

Who are all these people?

I count eight of them

The man at the door is now facing me, he is wearing an all black ensemble, suit, shirt, tie

Angel of death

His eyes lock with mine

I look away nervously

The lady with the cup now has a hot towel over my fore head

She tucks the thick blanket over me more tightly and then I realize how cold I am

I feel like I am back from the dead

And yet I can't remember what could have happened to me

I can feel these people's stare on me, wanting to talk

Wanting to tell me some grave bad news

But the lady has given them a stern look effectively shutting them up.

And now she plants a warm, flower kiss where she the towel used to me

She whispers for me to go back to sleep

My subconscious immediately obeys her as I feel myself already drifting

I must truly be exhausted

My last vision is of the lady leading everyone out and closing the door behind her.

Part 4 is COMING SOON. What do you think of the story so far? Tell us in the comments section!