I anointed Justin with the natural oils that my people had used in their hair for centuries. These oils, these herbs, these roots—they were a tradition, passed on from parent to child, and now from brother to brother.
"But God, I fear nothing. But God, I fear nothing. But God, I fear nothing…"
"Justin, look into my eyes. Say it again."
"But God, I fear nothing."
"Do you believe that?" I asked. He nodded.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I was made in God's image."
"What else?"
"Because I was destined to do great things. Because I was born a human and made a Razadi. I will win because God ordains it."
"Praise Olódùmarè," I whispered.
"Praise God," Justin replied. I patted his back and he stood up, looking at his hair in the mirror.
"Take off your clothes," I instructed. Justin complied, peeling out of his Syracuse t-shirt and unbuckling his belt. His now too-loose jeans easily fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. I grabbed the pot of warm balm from the stove and hurried to the dining room.
He stood before me in his navy blue boxer briefs. I paused just to stare at him from behind. He was a new man entirely. Lean. Defined. Upright and confident. He sensed me standing there and looked at me over his shoulder. He grinned.
"This mixture is one hundred percent natural," I said.
"What's in it?"
"Belladonna is the main ingredient. Nightshade. It's toxic to humans. But the smell of it to Razadi…well, let's just say it's a sign that you're ready to fight."
"Okay. It smells good," he exhaled. I gathered the creamy balm in my hands and rubbed some into Justin's hands. Together, we rubbed it into his skin.
"It's warm," he said.
"It's supposed to be. It will relax you."
He exhaled again. We rubbed the lotion over his entire body, recreating a ritual I had gone through myself hundreds of years ago with my kinsmen. By the time we were done, his body glistened like a bronze statue.
"What's next?" he asked.
"Your clothes." From the duffel bag I had under the dining room table, I produced our simple, pure white initiatory garments.
I wrapped a plain white swath of fabric around his waist and hips several times, tucking here and draping there. I tucked the corner in, then pinned it with a safety pin. His boxer briefs peeked out of the bottom.
"Is that it? It's awfully short."
"It's a shendyt."
"It's really soft."
"Egyptian cotton."
"Nice. So…is this it?"
"Just this and your cloak." I pulled it out of the bag and unfurled it. Made from the same fabric as the shendyt, it fell easily over his shoulders and almost touched the floor. The oversized hood obscured most of his face, except for his nose and lips.
"You're ready," I said. "Let's go."
I walked out the back door toward the driveway where the van was parked. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door before I noticed Justin wasn't behind me.
"Justin? You coming?"
He stood in the dining room with his cloak on. I touched his shoulder. He looked up at me.
"Are you okay? Are you ready for this?"
"But God, I fear nothing. But God, I fear nothing."
I nodded.
"Let's go. You got this."
.
At around three o'clock in the morning when we slowly drove up North Capitol Street and pulled a sharp left into the abandoned McMillan Sand Filtration Site. The usually closed and locked fence was wide open for us.
"Why are we here?" Justin peered out of the back window of the van.
"This is where you're going to fight Victor."
"But…but this…this is where I was attacked, Dante. I'm not ready."
"Yes, you are." I pulled the van close to one of the ivy-overgrown brick buildings that resembled a short, fat smokestack.
"Justin, listen to me," I said, putting the car in park and shutting off the engine. I slid between the seats and got into the back with him. His face was still obscured by the white hood.
"There are three things you need to know and you need to know them right now. First things first. I have lived for hundreds of years, and I have to tell you I am not exaggerating when I say there has been nobody in my life quite like you. Nobody. You hear me? And I've seen the world. It is my job to take care of you. But I don't have to love my job. Justin, there's no better way to say it: I love you. I love everything about you. I love the way you blush when I compliment you. I love the way I can hear your heart beating faster when I enter the room. I love the way you smell when we make love. The way you chew, the way you brush your hair, the way you talk to your mom on the phone. I love it all. I love you. I love you."
Justin sat as still as a stone.
"You feel me?" I asked.
He vigorously nodded his head and grabbed my hand. His mouth quivered and he barely eked out a whisper.
"I love you, too."
"I'm…I'm…glad you feel the same way," I stammered. "The second thing I wanted to tell you…in the Razadi culture, there's a word we use. Ipsaji. It means…"
"Soul mate," Justin finished.
"You know?" I asked.
"The last time you transferred memories to me, I kept hearing the word over and over. And…I don't know…I just knew. But it's deeper…it's like a partner. For eternity."
I nodded.
"Do you believe in eternity, Justin?"
"Yes."
"What do you think about…about what ipsaji means?"
"There's nothing to think about. It's just a fact. You are my ipsaji. And I am yours."
I lost all composure and began to weep. Justin held me close to him.
"What's the third thing?" he whispered.
"This is the fight of your life. Draw your strength from God. Strange things may happen to you, but know that they are all from God. From Olódùmarè. There is nothing evil about what happens here tonight. All of this is God's will."
"I love you," he said again.
"I love you, too. You're one of us. Now stand outside for a second. I gotta change."
Justin let himself out of the van and stood by the door while I shed my shoes, socks, and jeans. In another bag, I had three items: my long, red and white ritual robes; my black cloak; and a rope.
When I emerged from the van, I felt the cool grass beneath my feet.
"Justin, I'm going to put this rope around your neck. Follow me and stay silent until you're spoken to."
He nodded.
The McMillan Sand Filtration Site was scheduled to be renovated and made into a mixture of condos and retail space. For now, however, the space looked as it had for the past fifty or more years: wide open parkland with squat towers that had been overgrown with ivy and other plant life.
We left the area near the short towers where the van was parked and I guided Justin via his cable-tow to the circle of cloaked Razadi in the middle of the field. A little more than a dozen of my brethren awaited us.
Justin was nervous, but his posture did not betray him. As I glanced back, he walked tall, his chest poked out ever so slightly. He knew this was his time to shine.
As I approached the circle, two of my cloaked brothers faced me and blocked my path.
"Who goes there?" a third member of the circle shouted.
"A brother of the great and majestic golden valley of Africa, where the legendary Razadi once thrived."
"And who is it that you bring with you?"
"A neophyte in the blood, who seeks to prove himself worthy and ready for the responsibility of our tribe."
"Does our blood course through his veins?"
"It does."
"What is your pleasure, brethren?"
"Proceed with our ancient rites," said everyone in the circle.
I walked Justin to the center of the circle.
"My brothers," I began, shouting, as was our tradition. "My name is Aragbay
e, son of Abeo! In the centuries since our displacement from our homeland, we have maintained our traditions. We have survived the middle passage! We have persevered through slavery! We have worked through Jim Crow! And now we are here, living among humanity in peace. It is time for us to once again grow and thrive, and be the leaders of all living things on this planet.
"Gone are the days where we pined for the better halves that we left behind in our village. A new day has dawned upon our kind. The day when a human has become one of us.
"Behold, I introduce to you Justin Kena!"
I removed Justin's pure white hood and he stood tall in front of the Razadi with his rope intact around his neck.
"Justin Kena, son of Theresa, is The Key! I present him to you with my full endorsement!"
Justin flexed his muscles as the Razadi stared in silence.
"Why?" one of my brethren asked. "He's just a Son of Adam."
"Yes, he was born a man," I replied. "But he was a man who willingly walked into a den of nightwalkers…for us! He put himself in harm's way just to earn our trust. And because of that, he put his life on the line, almost died, not even a hundred yards from where we stand, when a nightwalker tore a hole in his neck in retaliation! Yes, brothers, he has the courage, the intelligence, and the fortitude of a Razadi."
"Is he strong?" another asked.
"As strong as any one of us."
"Tell the truth," another began. "Is he your ipsaji?"
"Without question he is my ipsaji."
"Oh. Well, excuse me." Several of my brothers chuckled. A grin crept across my face as I spoke.
"As I said, brothers, I vouch for him with every fiber of my being. I implore you to accept him as one of us."
One of my brothers slowly approached Justin and I. Underneath his cloak was an old, dusty tuxedo with a dead, red rose in the lapel. He took his black hood down and replaced it with an old top hat with a tattered silver band.
"Uncle John…Babarinde," I said, nodding in his direction. "This is him. This is Justin."
Justin and Babarinde looked at each other. My uncle cupped his face and looked deep into his eyes.
"He's The Key, Uncle."
Babarinde smiled and lightly slapped Justin on the cheek.
"I see," he replied. "Razadi men! Before you is Justin Kena, son of Theresa! He is vouched for by Aragbaye, son of Abeo. Do any among you challenge his worthiness?"
"I challenge him," Victor said, emerging from the shadows.
"I, Eşusanya, son of Nkoyo, challenge Justin in the traditional ways of our people. Though we have survived and thrived hundreds of years removed from our homeland, Justin must still be crowned and named. And he ain't getting either without coming through me."
Victor shed his cloak and revealed a crisp red and black camouflage uniform.
"Yo!" Justin hissed at me. "How the fuck does he get a full uniform and I gotta fight in my drawers? That's some bullshit!"
"Stay in your zone," I whispered.
"I'm barefoot, my nigga!"
"Get your head in the game. You have everything you need to win."
Justin exhaled and flicked out his fingers a few times.
"Justin, son of Theresa, do you accept this challenge?"
"I do," he said.
"Aragbaye, join the circle. Justin, Eşusanya. The rules are simple: stay alive."
I hurried to the circle in between two of my brothers who I knew would be rooting for Justin to win. They nodded at me as I stood between them.
"Assume your stance, gentlemen," Babarinde said.
Justin and Victor squared up. Two drummers began a slow drumroll that built up in volume and in speed.
"Ready? Go!" Babarinde shouted.
Justin and Victor bared their fangs and charged at each other with all their might. The drummers beat a mid-tempo cadence that set the tone of the fight. Victor leapt into the air with a spinning kick, and Justin immediately dodged it by dipping to the right and kicking out with his left leg, grazing Victor's body and throwing him off balance.
Victor stumbled, but didn't fall. Justin came after him with his fists raised, attempting to pummel Victor, but he missed every shot. Victor's reflexes were too quick for him, at first.
"Is that all you-"
Victor's taunt was met with a right hook to his temple. Justin's face went from anger, to disbelief that he had actually landed the punch, to fear that the fight would escalate.
In disbelief, Victor felt the lump form on his temple, which almost immediately subsided. He bared his fangs.
"You fucked up now!"
Victor launched himself upward into the sky at least twenty feet and then soared back down, aiming himself toward Justin, who performed a series of back flips to evade him.
Victor landed on the ground with a crash, shaking the earth and unsteadying Justin. As the drumming continued, their fighting intensified, with Victor on the offensive, striking out and landing most of his punches, with Justin deflecting only a few.
Each punch was horrendous, with the sound of flesh hitting flesh only intensifying. Justin was taking his licks well, but not landing many of his own. The worry crept over his face.
"Remember the formula," I called out. Justin nodded while defending himself.
He performed a roundhouse kick to Victor's torso and used the momentum to flip in midair and kick his head with the other foot. Landing back on both feet, he immediately charged again with a left hook and then a block. He changed weight, landed a right hook, and blocked again.
Victor quickly adapted to this strategy and began blocking every punch. Justin adapted as well, blocking Victor's punches and kicks and anticipating his next moves, upping the intensity and power each time.
"Go back home, Son of Adam," Victor taunted. "You can never be one of us!"
Victor gave Justin an uppercut that took him off his feet and sent him careening toward us. We broke his fall and let him slide to the ground to rest. His eye was swollen shut and his mouth was bleeding.
"Get up, Justin," I said. "Get up. You can do this."
We wiped the blood from his face and propped him back up.
"You got this."
"Dig deep."
"Pray."
"You're almost there. Pray. Fight. Pray some more!"
Justin staggered then stood up straight again, both fists in front of him. He ran toward Victor, leaned and faked a fall to the left, landing on his left hand and making a perfect right angle with his body, kicking Victor in the face. Victor fell backwards, but leapt back up instantly, head-butting Justin.
Justin, for the second time, staggered backward toward us.
"Catch him!" I shouted.
Two of my brothers caught him on each side. Justin began to chant:
"Ma fo na yi Olódùmarè. Mi o beru enikan sugbon Olódùmarè."
"You've been teaching him Yoruba?" Salako asked me.
"No," I said, bewildered. "Just a few words here and there."
Justin looked into my eyes and smiled. The swelling in his face had nearly disappeared. He winked and blew me a kiss.
"I think…" Salako began, and then stopped. Justin began to convulse.
"He's been crowned!" Makinde exclaimed.
We held hands and formed a small circle around Justin as he jerked back and forth.
"Don't fight it, Justin!" Salako yelled.
"Let it happen!" Makinde said.
Justin's convulsing stopped. He stood as still as a post. "Are you okay?" I whispered.
Justin opened his eyes. They glowed yellow and bright like the sun.
"Tell the drummer I need something up-tempo." He put his hands on his hips and posed in a feminine posture.
"Oshun!" the three of us exclaimed. We fell to our knees. Our drummers immediately began drumming furiously and the rest of the brothers dropped to their knees except for Victor.
Justin stepped outside of our circle of protection. He touched then lightly scratched my scalp as he walked past me. I looked up
to see Justin confidently strutting toward Victor.
"Thought you had him beaten, didn't you?" Justin asked in a soft and high, but stern voice. "Thought he'd never get crowned? Hmm?"
"I…I…" Victor stuttered.
"I, I, I," Justin mocked. Now let's get this over with. I said faster, drummer!"
Justin leaped into the air straight up, at least twenty feet. Victor was awestruck and forgot to move as Justin came back down. We practically heard the crack as Justin's elbow hit Victor's skull. He went down.
Justin put his hand on his hip and made an imaginary mirror with the other.
"Damn, I think I broke a sweat," he said.
Victor scrambled to get up. Justin kicked him hard to the chest with each foot.
"This… is what… you get… for making… me… come… down… here!"
Victor began spitting blood.
"Stand up!" Justin said. "Fight back like a man!"
Justin squatted down and grabbed Victor by the collar.
"Send your ruler here so this can be a fair fight!" Justin shook Victor violently and slapped him repeatedly.
Victor bared his fangs and wailed. The pitch of his sounds got lower and lower until it was a constant growl. His eyes, with each blink, began to glow a deep red, like that of a hot coal.
"Now we're talking!" Justin said. "Good to see you again, Papa Legba!"
"Let go of my prince, Oshun," Victor growled.
"Tell your prince to leave the king be!" Justin shrieked. He threw Victor clear across the field. The Razadi stepped aside as Justin ran in a blur toward the short towers.
Victor stood up and ran directly toward Justin. Their red and yellow blurs collided in fireworks as their arms and legs furiously struggled in mid-air. The sound of the pounding was unreal—indistinguishable from the rapid beats of the drums.
We ran toward them. Justin's punches were so quick that he looked like an octopus punishing Victor.
Not to be outdone, Victor's red-eyed fury built up and exploded in a collision of legs upon legs.
This fight was epic. We stood before them gape-mouthed and astonished. Even back in Africa, the crownings weren't so furious.
Victor grabbed a handful of Justin's hair and yanked it down hard, sending him to the ground.
Birth of a Dark Nation Page 26