Alade (Irunmole Saga)

by Jean-Marc Akerele

  Much later, when I was done with him, I dumped an unconscious Ian Gregory on his bed at his house in a beautiful suburb of Washington D.C. called Bethesda, but I did not kill him. His punishment would continue because I could reach him anytime I wanted to with a simple thought, and he knew it. He would be on his best behavior for a while and I would leave him alone, until the urge that must inevitably arise again in him rose and would become unbearable. He would be forced to act on it by perhaps looking at some kiddie porn or worse by trying to molest another child. And when that happened I would be waiting to devour his soul completely, but not before I had the pleasure of castrating him and feeding him his own fried testicles as a last meal. Niño’s people were well pleased with my work, for they had watched him for a while, seeing the terror in his every action and the damage which I had inflicted upon his very soul, and quite frankly it made them nervous, but we had an agreement, Niño and I, and I needed to blacken myself further, so they quickly gave me new tasks to occupy me and to keep me appeased. I was now feared and respected; gangsters crossed the street to avoid me, because people had seen the results of my work and were horrified by my extremes. Whether it was to collect a debt or to punish a sex offender, those who crossed me ended up broken and soulless but because of this brutality of mine, I was denied the very access that I so desperately needed. Quite frankly, I had become too evil, too dark for the criminal world, which was essentially one of business. They could not understand my motivations, they feared my unnatural abilities, my strange beauty and they most certainly did not trust me. They felt my barely contained hunger and very few people would remain in my presence for longer than was necessary. Niño was keeping his part of the bargain, but in half-assed sort of way. I soon realized that I could have chased this darkness on my own and I protested to his men the next time they came to take me to work. “Who are these people that you want me to play with tonight,” I demanded uncharacteristically to Miguel who was my handler, so to speak, after we were driving towards my next blank canvas, on whose body and soul I intended on painting a picture of pain and savagery so profane that the devil himself would weep with joy from the precision of it and from the passionate depravity of my unforgiving actions.

  “That is not your concern,” he said, “just know that they must be punished severely and creatively in your own unique way.”

  “You do know that within a few minutes of being in my presence I will know everything about them? So why play these games? Just tell me now, I am curious.”

  “Just do as you are told.”

  “Here we go again. That is all you ever say. I am getting bored of this. You know what? Let me out, I have just decided I am not working tonight.” Miguel turned to me and smiled, saying, “Stop showboating, Alade; we both know that you have no choice. So just sit back, shut the fuck up and do what you are supposed to.”

  I looked carefully at the men in the car who had all fallen silent. Miguel turned back to the front and ignored me, but in that tense moment in that car, I discovered something. I knew now that I would never gain access this way, because I had been under the mistaken impression that I needed to be granted access by a gatekeeper, by the guardians of this world I so desperately needed to enter. But the truth was that there was no one to grant me access, because there were no guardians, there were no gatekeepers, there was only me and my desperate need. If I wanted to enter I could enter whenever I wanted to, I only had to let go of everything that I once knew. As Agent Reese had said to me, I had to kill Alade so completely that I no longer recognized that name. It was a revelation and with this new understanding in mind I tapped Miguel on the shoulder and said, “Stop the car now, I am getting out.” He looked at me incredulous, about to say something slick until he saw the power behind my eyes lurking near the surface, finally free, unchained now and forevermore, unbound and creeping forward out of my eyes and he told the driver in rapid Spanish, to stop the car. I opened the door and immediately got out, but just before walking away from them I turned back to the car and said “Tell Niño that I thank him for everything, but my time here is done. The map I have given him is true one but there is one more thing he needs. Miguel give me your knife.” He complied, looking at me fearfully. “Don’t worry,” I said calmly, “I’m not going to harm you. Jose, empty out your drinking flask and give to me.” He did so quickly and before they could panic I slit my wrist and held it over the flask, letting my black blood fill the flask. They watched shocked while I filled the flask the bleeding quickly stopped and mere seconds later the wound was sealed, fading as they watched astounded. I nodded and handed both items back, “Tell Niño, to drink a small amount before he crosses the border between my world and yours and to anoint his brow and eyes with it. The rest he should keep for the journey back, though if he finds his God it will not be necessary. Tell him that I say that perhaps we will one day see each other again. Goodbye guys.” And with that I walked away, the first few steps of freedom onto the path to power that I knew I must take. It was time to become a force to be reckoned with in this world and to achieve this I would draw to me other dark creatures and bind them to my service so that I might fashion the tools that would allow me to harness the power within me and give my Gods the weapon they needed to win their war and to free me from this darkness that I might be reborn once more. In this world, there would be no more Alade Akeju, and from that moment onwards I would be known as Lucius. It would become a name that would be whispered and greatly feared.

  The meeting had degenerated into a grand squabble, as the Orishas scrambled to use the meeting as a forum for their selfish needs. None would entertain the idea of creating a race of beings dedicated to serving the balance and the Orishas, because each believed that somehow it would be taking power from them. As for the threat from the younger Gods they laughed this off, believing that they could crush any incursion on their part easily. For a while they settled down when Orunmila shared his vision, but a direct result of how far they had fallen was that they questioned the source of the vision, the vision of the Witness of Fate, the first servant of Oludumare, a name that was no longer mentioned, not out of reverence but because they refused to be reminded that they too were servants and not the all-powerful beings they believed themselves to be. Only Yemoja kept silent throughout, shrewdly watching both Orunmila and Esu and watching the subtle play of gestures that was bouncing between them. Abruptly, Esu stood up and laughed mirthlessly. “You are still the children you have always been, aren’t you?” he began, “Quite frankly I am glad you do not want to follow this course of action because as long as you are forced to maintain the balance all by yourselves, with no help from these younger Gods, the balance tips further and further into Chaos. I only came to remind myself what fools you are. I am going to meet some of the younger Gods to confirm their own similar stupidity.” Both Sango and Ogun had immediately unsheathed weapons and were making their way towards Esu, red-faced and angered by his insults, while Obatala was quietly gathering power to strike at him. But Esu stood there smirking, wellaware of the danger he was in but all the while he watched not those menacing him, instead he watched Yemoja. Just as the three irate Orishas were poised to strike, Yemoja stood quickly and shielded Esu with her own power as Ogun struck out with his blade. “No,” she cried “This is what he wants can’t you see? He is Chaos and striking him will not harm him it will make him stronger.” She turned to Esu and said “Esu, you Trickster, your presence here is not needed, please respect our wishes. Please leave.” Without hesitation Esu bowed to Yemoja, and then to Orunmila and walked casually out of the hall but not without one last look at Yemoja. As he vanished she heard his voice in her mind saying, “When you and Orunmila are done here call for me and I will come, there is much we need to discuss.” She turned back to the gathering, keeping her own confused thoughts disguised, and spoke loudly, “Are we not in agreement that the balance must be maintained and we must have aid? Look at what just happened. Esu disrupted this meeting because he does
not want us to achieve this, but why? It is our duty to maintain the balance and that means preventing Chaos becoming ascendant. Orunmila has been given a vision, do we honor it and press on as is our duty or do we fight, squabble and fail in our task?” At her bold words, Obatala strode forward, looking chastised, his eyes leaking power, “I will lend my power to this task. Forgive me Orunmila, my arrogance has blinded me.” And just like that they all followed his example and quickly agreed to create a magnificent dream, the dream of Ife-Ile, and the Omo Orisa, the beings who would inhabit it, diligently serving the Orishas and maintaining the balance.

  They took the most pious men and women from all the various races of humanity, those whose faith in the Gods was unshakeable and put them into a deep sleep. While they slept they dreamt potent dreams and their mental powers grew as the Orishas merged their powers and changed their neural pathways, allowing them to use all their brains. And their bodies were altered also. More substance was added to them making them denser and heavier, increasing their strength, stamina, and speed. Their strange angular features were unearthly but they were all uniformly beautiful, perfection in the flesh. But the final masterpiece of this creation was done when in unison the Orishas breathed new life into their creation and a special energy blossomed within them. Ase was a byproduct that was unplanned but was a welcome addition, for through it they could allow their creation the freedom and power to maintain the balance because their faith and service to the Gods increased and renewed their ase and thus they were bound to the Gods more profoundly than any human could ever be. They would be very long-lived too, essential immortal, so that the need for reproduction would not be a pressing issue. They could reproduce but only sporadically for they and the dream that they would inhabit which lay hidden within the folds of reality, deep in the heart of Africa, must remain unknown and unseen for large numbers would only draw hostile eyes to them. The borders of Ile-Ife would remain sealed from humanity except to those individuals of faith and vision, the shamans, the witches, the priests who truly had faith in the Gods. The Gods named these new beings who would maintain the balance the Omo Orisa and they were pleased. Yemoja was exhausted from her efforts, and drifted away from the others who were excitedly watching their children explore their new home and went and hovered next to Orunmila who sat alone, quietly contemplating the carvings on his staff. “Esu put on a great performance don’t you think?” she said.

  “So did you,” he said. She looked at him sharply and said quietly, “No games brother, what is going on? What are you and Esu planning? I saw the subtle communication between you two before his calculated outburst.”

  He looked up at her and sighed. “Please sit down Yemoja, we need to talk.” When she was seated he asked her, “How much do you know about the Interloper?”

  “The Interloper,“ she asked, “who or what is the Interloper?”

  Orunmila sighed and took a deep breath. This would take some time. It was much, much later that Yemoja moved away from Orunmila, stunned by the words he had spoken to her. She felt the winds of war rising and in watching the newfound freedom of her siblings degenerating into something else she realized what that would mean. No longer restrained to maintain the balance most of her siblings would challenge these new Gods. Most of these new Gods would fall very easily but others would not and the powers her siblings would face would be unlike any they had ever seen. And if the Orishas fell who would renew the ase of the Omo Orisa? The Orishas failed to realize that they still had a responsibility to the balance but now it would be impossible to persuade them otherwise. That they had achieved this much was amazing; there would be no more cooperation. She now understood what must done, Esu’s and Orunmila’s words had touched her and she would act in defense of the balance. But it was not yet time to call Esu; he had promised power and she would call him when the time was right but for now she must begin to build her strategy. The balance must be protected at all cost. She knew she must build a weapon of awesome power and as she watched the Omo Orisa from the Refuge, as she carefully studied the one whom she had chosen to be her own high priest, she realized right then and there just how she could build it.

  7 I was watching the crack addict called Cee beating the hell out of his old friend Shawn, all for a piece of crack that neither of them had bought. I had placed a one-hundred-dollar piece of crack on the stairs of the fire exit in an apartment complex which I was turning into my base of operations by slowly making my presence known in it. The crack, I had laid out as a trap to see what I could lure to my cause. I was on a research mission to gather information before I began recruiting in earnest and I needed to understand the demons which possessed most addicts so that I could turn them to my own purposes. Most mundane criminals shunned me because they feared me and despised me, but addicts did not care at all one way or another. If you could provide them with what they needed then you were their best friend, if not then they wouldn’t give a damn about you until you were able to provide them with the goods. I had also been pleasantly surprised in my first few nights alone in this world, to find out that I was not the only supernatural creature inhabiting it. I could sense them all around me, alien energies that recoiled from my presence as soon as they sensed me with a skill and craftiness that could only be preternatural. They were aware of me these beings and were curious, for like me they were rejects and unwelcome in this world. They somehow sensed a possibility, a new hope for freedom which lurked in the aura of despair that cocooned me and filled me with its power. They wanted in but did not know how to approach me, so they waited in the shadows watching me and waiting for me to make a move. I needed them to see what I was capable of, so here I sat in a stairwell, hidden from the addicts battling it out for the crack that my dark ase informed me was filled with a spiritual poison that led to a trap where hungry demonic entities waited to devour their souls. This was the truth about addiction and I needed to understand it. The puppet masters who devised this evil phenomenon concerned me not, for they were not a threat to me and nor was I one to them, though each time I witnessed acts such as what I was now witnessing I could not help but take my hat off to their consummate skill. I had thought that I was proficient at sowing despair, but they were the true masters. The action was dying down and it seemed that the Cee, the larger of the two addicts was victorious, having knocked out Shawn, the smaller of the two. I settled down to watch his victory celebration as he picked up the rock, broke off a piece and eagerly stuffed it into his tiny glass pipe. I chuckled silently, watching with wry amusement, as he ignited his lighter, his hand shaking in anticipation, all the while being completely unaware that the smaller and dark-skinned Shawn had silently gotten back up and was now creeping toward him with a small serrated lock knife in his grip. As Cee touched the flame to the pipe the little man struck, stabbing him in the Adam’s apple while viciously twisting the knife and as the large man thrashed upon the stairs choking on his own blood, Shawn calmly took the crack pipe from his dying hands, took the large rock from his pocket, walked up a few flights of stairs and lit the hit that his old friend would have now been enjoying in his lungs. He smoked in silence for a while until he was calm and then got up and walked over to the body of his old friend. As he watched the body cooling, watching the last nerve impulses causing spasms through Cee’s dead body in seeming regret, his hand seemed to rise up with a mind of his own, holding up the large piece of crack that started all of this mess and he looked at it in confusion. He froze for a moment contemplating something and then a smile crept across his face as the Mwbiri demon possessing him took over and snatched pleasure from the carnage and in turn fed him more strength. He shrugged his shoulders and turned from the body, humming an old tune and quickly walked toward the exit, grabbing his black kangol hat which had fallen off during the fight, exhilarated and content for now he had enough crack to tide him over until the morning, and just as he opened the door to leave, I stepped from my hiding place and cleared my throat. “Hello Shawn,” I said as he spun around
in panic, looking for a place to run, “My name is Lucius and I desperately need your services, you wonderfully savage little man.”