Alade (Irunmole Saga)

by Jean-Marc Akerele

  “Leave that to me. Are you ready?”

  “Yes Lord.” The Interloper closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and then exhaled. The Goddess cringed as she was enveloped in a black miasma that began to shrink, smaller and smaller until it was the size of a pinpoint. The Interloper took this monad and looked at it carefully before turning his attention to the crack he had sensed in the interdiction, one that was not large enough for any major power to enter, but for one such as the Quandisa it was relatively simple to place her on the thread of loneliness which had caused the crack and let the inevitable attraction of forces pull her through. She wormed her way along the thread until she stood poised to enter the kingdom, and without hesitation, she manifested in the gardens outside the main palace, and sat down to wait for her target to arrive.

  As Lulu told her story, for the first time in the years that I had now known her, I saw real emotions other than anger or hate on her features and I found it strange to witness. Lulu had taken a break in telling the story to open a fresh bottle of bourbon, and while she wet her whistle my mind began to turn in dangerous directions. Why had Esu visited the Kongo Gods, and was it a mere coincidence that Lulu and I were here together now in this world, slaying shapeshifters and drinking bourbon together? Two creatures bound in purpose to Irunmoles by a destiny which was not truly their own. For Lulu too, bore a heavy burden of her own and as she told me more of her tale I began to suspect once more the hand of Chaos in this. I watched her as she got comfortable, and shifted my own seat when she looked at me and said, “Are you ready to continue? I told you it is a long story; you still want me to tell it?” I nodded vigorously and replied “Hell, yes Lulu. I am completely enthralled, but I tell you what, I will have a lot of questions for you afterwards if you don’t mind. I have a feeling that we are meant to compare notes, but we’ll talk about that afterward. For now, please continue.” She looked at me strangely; as if she too had felt the synchronicity which I was now feeling then took a swig of bourbon and continued her story.

  The Kingdom of Kongo was in good shape now for it seemed that the invaders had given up ever taking the kingdom and had moved around them, taking their war of attrition to the other less fortunate neighboring kingdoms. Nevertheless, the king was disturbed by this and in different times he would have authorized military and magical aid to these besieged kingdoms, but in these times of uncertainty he could not. Normalcy had returned to the kingdom, even to the point that the Portuguese had sued for peace and had begged to resume trade relations with the Bakongo, though of course they would not cede any of the land they have stolen. And the king was content now, for in his daily walks through the palace gardens he had spied an incredible beauty who he had previously never encountered. A woman of medium height with sensual curves and chocolate skin, so flawless to look at had begun to spend her evenings walking through the pleasure gardens. She seemed to be an initiate of some obscure sect judging from her shaven head and the strange sigils which were tattooed all over her scalp. The Kongo Empire had spanned a vast area before the Portuguese had stolen much of its territories, and this meant that there were people from the many far flung corners of the Empire who came to live here in the capital, especially now in this time of war. Some of these places followed strange Gods and entertained even stranger beliefs; but the Bakongo did not discriminate against a person for not worshipping the Kongo Gods, and seeing this strange and exotic woman enflamed the king in way that he had thought was no longer possible. He approached her one evening and attempted to engage her in conversation, but was shocked and disappointed when she dropped to her knees and prostrated her head to the ground and refused to look at him. No amount of cajoling or sweet words on his part would move her and she remained in that position until he had given up and walked away. It seemed that she must have come from one of the Empire’s provinces where the rulers expect this sort of display of fealty. But he was not some star struck boy, no he was a philosopherking and smitten as he was already, he chose to do some research instead, the better to know how to woo the woman. He could have used his position to obtain her if so chose, but though he was a king he was a man first, a lonely man at that, and what he wanted was love not obedience. He would win her love as man or not all. The king first began asking around the palace about her and over the next few months information began to trickle in about her. She was a refugee from an eastern province who spoke very little Kikongo. She had no family to speak of and lived on the outskirts of the capital, working in the palace gardens. It seems that she had an affinity for plants and had been quickly hired for her skills with green things. But of her bald and tattooed head no one knew anything and the king felt that perhaps knowing what they signified would be the key to wooing this woman. For he was tormented by her now. He could not go to sleep without thinking of her, he walked through the waking world in daze with her image superimposed upon everything and in his solitary meditations with his Gods he could only focus on her face. Meanwhile, Mbilia’s task in maintaining the haven for their Gods had not ceased despite the end of the war, just as the interdiction remained as a deterrent, all trade being conducted outside of its boundaries, for the priests and priestess did not trust the Interloper and so remained vigilant. But the ripples of rumor had reached her concerning her father and this strange woman, and far from being worried, she was jubilant for she wanted to see him happy. She took to spending as many free evenings in the garden watching her father watching the woman, and watching the woman after he had left, and being as intelligent as she was, she began research of her own. It was not to long before one day Mbilia approached her father as he sat in his study reading, with a big smile on her face as she presented him with a notebook. “Look inside Papa,” she said excitedly, “I have found out what the woman’s tattoos mean. It means that she was the property of the temple of one the fallen Gods. The Interloper has already struck there and that God is now dreaming in stasis. Perhaps if you let her know that there are other pathways to the Gods, she will open up to you.” The king looked up at Mbilia and snatched up the book and began rifling through it as if possessed. “Ah, my Mbilia! You are incredible! But what do you mean by she was the property of the temple?”

  “I mean that she would have in time been sacrificed on the altar to this God. It seems that this God kept these tattooed slaves in the temple for times when sacrifice was necessary. Perhaps that is why she refuses to look or speak to you; you represent our Gods and she believes that she is your property, your chattel, to do with as you wish.”

  “Then I must disavow her of this mustn’t I?” he said. Within a week of that conversation, the king and the woman, whose name was Seku, were seen together talking every evening. Using his arts, the king had quickly learned her language, and since he was now able to communicate clearly with her he had persuaded her by word and deed that he had only the highest regard for her and not all Gods were as bloodthirsty as her own had been. A few months later they had become inseparable, and after one year had passed, King Nzinga Elenke Kimpanzu was married to Seku and life in the Kingdom of Kongo changed forever.

  “The storm approaches Lubaniba. Will you and your siblings be ready?” said Esu, leaking chaotic power in all directions.

  “Yes, Esu we are prepared to do what needs to be done.”

  “And the vessel? Can she contain you? Will she whether the storm?” “Without question, I have been molding her all her life.”

  “And the power I gave you will it suffice?” “Perhaps, but a little more will not hurt.” Having said this, Lubaniba steeled itself in preparation of the jolt of power it expected, but instead was surprised to feel a delicate trickle of sensation wash over it, almost as if it were being lulled into a dream. When it was over the Spirit looked at Esu, who was watching it, trying to gauge its reaction. When Lubaniba finally spoke it said, “God of Chaos, why are you helping us? The others have no idea that you are involved and at times I wonder why I allowed you to persuade me. What is you
r agenda?”

  “It is quite simple really, if you think about. But first answer this question. Who is Oludumare?”

  “Oludumare is Nzambi.”

  “Then answer this one. Who is Esu?” Lubaniba thought about it for a second before the revelation hit him and when he opened his eyes he quietly looked at the God facing him and slowly knelt before it. “Esu is Lungombe,” the Spirit said.

  “Good, now that you understand,” said Lungombe, “See that you do not fail me, for there is too much at stake.” The Kingdom of Kongo lay in ruins and as an example to all other strong and free peoples the Interloper instructed his people to enslave the Bakongo and scatter them to the far corners of the world. The Quandisa had achieved her goal and she had stolen the king’s heart. She had caused a change in the king that none would have thought possible as the king began to abandon his spiritual and intellectual pursuits in favor of all things material. He would spend days in bed frolicking with his new wife while matters of state were left unattended. But most detrimental was the fact that he had he no longer served his Gods faithfully as he had once before, indeed it seemed that all his worship went to the creature masquerading as his mortal wife. It was not long before the king ordered the interdiction to be taken down and despite the counsel of his advisors and even his beloved daughter Mbilia, the king withdrew his power from it and it frayed and collapsed. Rumors flew about the kingdom that the king was bewitched, and when loyal members of his royal guard attempted to slay the Quandisa, the king responded in the most brutal fashion. He had them and every member of their families crucified or sold to the Portuguese as slaves, a shame that even Bakongo with all the love they had in their hearts for their great king could not forgive. The man who once represented a conduit to the Gods had become corrupt and those around him soon succumbed to same corruption, as the foreigners began to exploit the growing divisions and bitterness between classes, while in the great temple Mbilia could only weep for her father. The priests and priestesses had regrouped and barricaded themselves in the temple at the behest of Lubaniba, and even now knew that the Interloper would soon arrive. As soon as the last Bakongo had turned to the material and had forgotten their trust in the king and the Gods it would be over. Mbilia was still the anchor of the haven for the Gods and by their will she was to take a great burden unto herself for as long it took. She had been prepared for this eventuality, but had never truly believed it would be necessary, yet here she was surrounded by fourteen priests and priestesses, representing the sum total of the knowledge and power remaining to her people while they prepared to transfer it all into her mind for safekeeping. But there was more, for in the ether, in the spaces between the seconds she could feel Lubaniba opening a space in the veil between worlds and she screamed as she beheld all the Gods staring at her from that place. She did not stop screaming as they one by one merged their powers and moved the singularity from their haven between time and into her own inner space, deep into her soul. As she felt these celestial powers tearing her apart she heard the chanting of her fellow priests and priestesses suddenly the knowledge of her people flowed into her and she realized what must be done. Seizing the power that Lubaniba offered to her she snatched the forms of all her Gods and hid them deep within the singularity now inside if her soul reaching out to her teachers and ripping the remaining power and life from them and sealing all the Gods, including Lubaniba into the singularity and masking their presence. Her Gods were now in her hands now and she must endure until she could restore them. Theirs would be a worship of one person, but such was the magic that she had wrought that it would be enough. She stood up and surveyed the wreckage of the temple and the bodies of the servants of the Gods and quietly walked to the barricaded entrance. She knew now that the Interloper had already arrived and her father was now dead. Kongo was no more, and soon she would be a slave. But she had a plan, oh yes, she had a plan.

  Mbilia, almost died on the journey to the New World on the slave ship, chained as she had been in a filthy, excrement filled hold with one hundred other slaves from various parts of Africa. But somewhere in her delirium she had reached inside herself and tasted the power of Kobayemede and used his power over disease and death to fight back. She awoke after a week of delirium to a White man’s hand placing a water bowl to her lips, and mumbling something about the care of valuable slaves. She was carried to a straw cot in the captain’s cabin and allowed to regain her health. It seems that they recognized not only her beauty but her intelligence and this made her much more valuable on the auction block than other slaves. Nevertheless, it was an extension of her power which had prevented them simply throwing her of the ship and calling it a loss. It was her destiny to reach the various parts of the New world because it was there she would find the remnants of her people, a people now broken and Godless, who needed the knowledge that she held just as the Gods she had hidden within her needed their faith.

  Three years after the fall of the Kingdom of Kongo, Mbilia Nsimba Kimpanzu was no more and in her place, was Lulu, of no family name. She had been sold to a French household in Martinique, and due to her command of languages and her obvious intelligence she was soon working as the assistant to the governess for the children. And her beauty became a problem for as she had turned eighteen, the owner of the plantation with his rapacious French eye for Black flesh took a liking to Lulu and she found herself the unwilling recipient of his nocturnal visits. At first, she had fought to no avail, for when she wounded him in his attempts to rape her, she had been beaten senseless, then chained up and forced to endure his disgusting attentions and that of his drunken friends. No, Lulu learned to not fight it and to even feign pleasure, for in time because of it she earned for herself special privileges and soon she was able to spend a large amount of time by herself in the woods surrounding the property.

  It was not long before slaves from neighboring farms and plantations heard of her and her powers for Lulu had used her time in the woods to remind those few Kongo slaves who remained nearby of their roots and they had begun to meet in the woods. She would heal their wounds from beatings, give them strength to continue working in brutal conditions and administer herbs to the women so that they would not give birth to the next generation of slaves. Soon there were full on Kongo services regularly occurring and the White owners began to feel anxious every time they heard the drums pounding in the night. She initiated others into her mysteries and gave them knowledge of not only the Kongo people, but of all Africans, and instituted in them a pride that no slave master could take from them.

  It was not long before the rumors of the existence a powerful witch came to the ears of Lulu’s owners, and it soon became evident the witch in question was Lulu. She did not deny it; indeed she was proud of it, and in so 1725 at the age of 40 Lulu was sold and sent to the French colony of Louisiana. But she had made her mark; all the neighboring islands had taken up some form of worship of the old Gods and just as others before had done, they perverted the worship of the Interloper and because of this her Gods began to grow in strength once more. She knew that she had much work to do and this burden would remain with her for many lifetimes, and in time she would be hard pressed to explain why she was not aging. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she was in in America, and if her plan was to succeed she would have to endure much as she followed the path her Gods had set for her.

  By 1823 Lulu had run away from her most recent master and had fled to the bayou in Louisiana, living deep in the swamp and finally able to practice her mysteries without scrutiny. The Blacks and the Whites of the area respected her and in time she took on many students and her Makaya sect was resurrected. But throughout it all Lulu, could not understand why the Gods needed such elaborate measures, could they not come forth now, especially when their worship had been resurrected in the world? She was tired and she missed her father, yearning to be able to join him and her ancestors. She had learned how to change her features to confound the masses so in each generatio
n they thought her the daughter of the Bokor before, but still she yearned for peace.