Asira Awakens

by Chevelle Allen

  No matter how many rubber trees they fell, how many grand beasts are slaughtered for ivory, or how much iron is brought up from the ground, it never seems enough.

  During daily Mass, the people’s eyes reflect death and hope lost. And Sese… he glares at me with such hatred and contempt. And he has every right.

  The more she read, she was deeply saddened for Sese, his family, and community. She also felt Willem’s genuine pain as he held himself responsible for so much suffering. The subsequent passages detailed how Willem chose to make amends. While all the able-bodied worked, he returned to the village. He salvaged what he could among the fires set. Venturing further into the forest, he began clearing an area far from the village. He was determined to build a new ceremonial ground. It took him over six months to fell trees and build the rudest of stockades to protect the area. When it was completed, he led a reluctant Sese to the area. Getting on his knees, Father Willem presented the greatest gift he could… himself. He would secretly learn the ways of the Bakongo.

  Deborah couldn’t get the passages out of her head. With each word written, Willem’s transformation was unexpected yet somehow, right. Each passage reflected how deeply and genuinely sincere he was. The words she read reflected his thoughts, his fears, his joys, and discovery of a wondrous religion. By day, he portrayed himself as a faithful Jesuit priest. At night, he ventured to the village to learn and practice the beliefs of his adopted people. Willem had become one with the Bakongo, and they embraced him.

  July 7, 1896

  I have witnessed the birth. This child is like no other. The stillness that fell on every creature great and small when the baby cried out the first time was beyond any miracle I have witnessed. God is with us.

  With eyes blazing like the sun, I could do nothing but fall to my knees in awesome wonder. However, my fears are great. If Father John or the Force Publique discovers this by way of rumor or treachery, harm will come to all.

  The diary’s passages entranced Deborah. Fortunately, the new ceremonial ground Willem erected was protected. But a new threat devastated the villagers… smallpox. Death was widespread, and thousands died. With so many people sick and dying, those who remained healthy were given ungodly quotas to fill the unwavering needs of their oppressors. The child and parents were spirited away for safety. Deborah’s heart sank for them all.

  Closing the diary, she finished her notes and transferred a copy to the encrypted file she’d send to Ben. If she continued at her current pace, she’d finish this diary and be on to the next. Gathering her things, she returned to her office, reviewed the day’s emails, and left for the day.

  Settling at home, her cell phone rang at exactly seven.

  “Hello, my sweet.”

  “Hi! How’re you doing?”

  “Miserable.”

  “What happened?”

  “I awoke, and you were nowhere to be found.”

  “That’s sweet. You miss me, huh?”

  “I do.”

  “I miss you, too, but we’ll see each other soon enough. This is our life, right? We have to adjust.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So when do you leave for Kinshasa?”

  “In the morning. I have to be at Heathrow by six.”

  “No jet this time?”

  “No. The political environment is too unstable making that unwise. But I’ll have a government escort when I arrive.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “I’m picking up an artifact.”

  “Don’t you have people for that?”

  “Not for this.”

  “Please be careful.”

  “Always. So tell me, how was your day?”

  “Pretty good. You may have a rival for my affections.” She chuckled.

  “Is that so? And who is this chap?”

  “Mr. Mugabe seemed a little put off when I told him I was in London with someone special.”

  “The gardener?”

  “Yes.”

  “I imagine hearts are breaking as word spreads that Miss Deborah is no longer available.”

  “Has word spread that you’re off the market?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “I’m sure your broken hearts far exceed mine.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  After some prompting, he shared a story about his first love affair with a Parisian named Daphne. He told her about Monique, the West Indian beauty who attacked him for cheating. Laughing through it all, each new glimpse of Ben was equally endearing. She loved chatting with him about everything, even ex-girlfriends. He was equally amused by her stories of ex–boyfriends. Nearing one in the morning in London, she wanted him to get plenty of rest before his long commercial flight. After professions of love, they ended the call. She picked up her book, nestled on the couch, and read until it was time to go to bed.

  No matter how brief their calls, she cherished the conversations. To help pass time as quickly as possible until he returned, she filled her days with a plethora of activities. Fortunately, the semester was ending so she had plenty to do for her interns. Evenings were spent reading the interns’ project submissions. Unlike other classes she’d mentored, the students’ work was accurate and well documented. They hadn’t succumbed to insane competitiveness often resulting in sloppy work. Friday afternoon, she hosted a luncheon for them to celebrate their successful completion. She couldn’t have accomplished nearly as much on the Dubois Collection if they had been heavily reliant on her.

  When the week came to a close, she was exhausted. Finishing with the students, she sent the encrypted files to Ben and left for the day. After a light meal and their evening call, she crawled into bed. As she slept, the familiar dread descended upon her. She was now of two minds—one, slipping into the night terror, the other trying desperately to stave it off—but it returned nonetheless.

  It replayed in her brain with every vivid detail present. Startled awake, rather than push the images away, she lingered in them trying to make sense of it. Focusing on the ominous figures chasing them all, she realized some were soldiers, but the others were far more threatening… almost surreal. Whatever stalked her was a presence so terrifying and sinister there could be no escape. Deborah concluded once again, what she’d read invaded her night terror.

  Thinking about everything Ben said and pushing her fear aside, she resolved to finally combat the dream. Intellectually, she concluded the horrors she read merged with some deep, dark fear harbored since childhood. She understood dreams were just that… a jumble of images and thoughts framing a narrative to make sense of unexplainable bits of information. Her brain was trying desperately to make sense of repressed memories and intense feelings. She was determined to find out if there was a pattern to the dream’s recurrence.

  For the first time, she decided to take Ben’s advice and keep a sleep journal. By recording everything happening in the dream, new details were less likely to fade into the recesses of her mind. Why she never thought of it before was beyond her, but she was discovering a lot of things about herself since Ben entered her world. A seemingly simple solution brought a peace she thought long elusive.

  CHAPTER 20

  “General Bunta, you assured me you had the items.”

  Speaking English very well, his Congolese-French accent was still very thick. “Well, Mr. Stewart, it seems the items are no longer available for the price we discussed.”

  “And why is that?”

  “We know who you are. The price is now two million euros.”

  Ben laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am very serious.”

  “You overestimate values in the antiquities markets, General.”

  “But I do not overestimate you, Mr. Stewart. You went to great lengths to come to Kinshasa. That makes you a brave man or a fool. Don’t you know civil war abounds here? Which only means you have money and want th
is for far more personal reasons, yes?”

  General Bunta was known for his shrewd political maneuvering as well as his brutality. He deftly played various factions in the raging civil war against one another without ever getting his hands dirty even though they were covered in blood.

  “Do I at least get to see them before agreeing to your extortion?”

  General Bunta slid a cellular phone across the elaborate desk toward Ben. Picking it up, he scrolled through the images of the artifacts.

  “This is it?” Ben asked.

  “That is the Altar of Oyo Mangua. The village has stood for over a hundred years.”

  “You’re lying. The village was destroyed long ago.”

  “Your information is flawed, Mr. Stewart.”

  “And you take me for a fool, Bunta. That is not the Altar of Oyo Mangua… and you’ve wasted my valuable time. A very dangerous decision on your part.”

  Ben was very angry. The Altar of Oyo Mangua was a sacred shrine built to honor and transform Asira. It was rumored to be the place where Asira’s sleep was conjured by the Dajume. Among other items, he wanted the divining tray and transmutation figurine used during the ceremony. The fact General Bunta was foolish enough to think he could pass along what was clearly an elaborate forgery was infuriating.

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Stewart? Because I could chop your body into pieces while you watch and bleed, and no one would ever find you. So be very careful how you speak to me!”

  Ben was seething… and unflinching. With an eerie calm, he said, “And I can rip your wretched soul from your body and spit it into the ground to the very pits of Hell where you belong.”

  General Bunta shot up from his desk while his soldiers pointed their Russian-made automatic rifles at Ben’s head. “You will die or pay me three million euros for your disrespect!”

  “You’ve wasted my time, Bunta.”

  “It is General Bunta, you white dog! Now what is your decision?”

  Ben looked around the room at the menacing faces watching his every move. He carefully positioned himself in the chair.

  “I imagine my options are clear,” he said with his eyes fixed on Bunta.

  “You are not so dumb as your words imply,” Bunta said sneering back at him.

  In a split second, Bensaí emerged sucking up every breath in the room into a fiery ball before any of them could react. He laughed sensing their souls’ terror within the glowing orb held in his grasp. Then with great force, he threw it out the open window. The ball of fire hit the asphalt parking lot like a bomb but dissipated into nothingness. Returning to his body, he stood unfazed due to the short duration. Looking around the room at the five dead men, he smirked. Leaving them where they lay, he left the office walking down the hallway as if nothing happened. He nodded casually as people passed him.

  For a brief moment, he wondered if surveillance cameras captured what happened. But he didn’t care. Even if they did, his essence would appear as a blur while his body sat lifeless in the chair. Once outside the modern office building, soldiers rushed past him trying to find the source of the explosion. With no remnants of what many saw, confusion abounded. He listened as some intimated it was an illusion, some thought it a new weapon being tested, and others claimed it was dark magic. Reaching his awaiting car, the driver took him to the airport for his flight to Paris.

  He’d traveled almost fourteen hours to get to Kinshasa from London. He wanted to call Deborah to let her know he was fine. But it wasn’t time. Since he told her about the trip, she was terrified something might happen to him. Making matters worse, she began tracking international news outlets to warn him of violence in the region. Despite his assurances, she still worried. He found her protectiveness endearing. She has no idea.

  He was getting tired but wanted to hold on one more hour to reach her at seven. To pass the time, he connected to the plane’s Wi-Fi and reviewed incoming communications on his tablet. He was delighted to see the file from Deborah. Putting in his encryption key, he opened it and began reading. The more he read, the more alert he became. In the pages of her translations was the information he’d been looking for… Willem built a new altar for the Bakongo.

  At seven, he called Deborah from the plane.

  “Hello, my sweet!”

  “Hi.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Busy… like the whole week… but you know that already. Are you on your way to Paris?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how was Kinshasa?”

  “It is a beautiful and equally deadly place. But as you can tell, I’m fine and in one piece.”

  “Were you able to acquire the artifact?”

  “It was a forgery.”

  “Wow!”

  “It’s always a possibility. That’s why I trusted my instinct and went myself.”

  “So the trip was a waste of time?”

  “Not entirely. It merely confirmed I was on the right track before.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Dubois Collection. I read through the latest files you’ve sent. Willem was very clever. Is there more? Do you know where he built the altar?”

  “No. I haven’t gotten to that. I mean, he says what he’s doing, but so far he hasn’t said where it is.”

  “The location has to be there… in those pages.”

  “Is that what you’ve been looking for? Information about the altar?”

  Carefully answering he said, “I’m not entirely sure, but it certainly leads to something far more valuable.”

  “Which is?”

  “If I’m right, it’ll lead to a… religious symbol.”

  “From the Bakongo people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

  “You’re doing superb work, Deborah. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, but this is what I do every day.”

  “I’m appreciative nonetheless.”

  “You sound tired.”

  “I am.”

  “How long is the flight to Paris?”

  “Six more hours to go.”

  “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

  “Goodbye, my sweet.”

  “Goodbye, baby.”

  Back to work the next day, Deborah was having a much harder time with the materials. Of the six diaries, the fourth was the most bizarre of them all. She wasn’t sure what she was reading. She couldn’t figure out if Willem had switched to allegory and metaphor to encrypt his activities from prying eyes or if he was tripping off some exotic hallucinogen. Maybe he was suffering from a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after seeing so much violence and death. Perhaps he’d simply lost his mind. None of the new entries contained dates making it unlikely she could connect its contents back to his letters to his family. None of what she read made a shred of sense, but she translated it anyway.

  In flowers so wilted. We are betrayed. Snakes swim. I think there is none. The ivory walked away. Eat and be happy. Wretched sea. Too happy in grass.

  None but me. The gorilla dances. Is that my father? The sexes faired. We are betrayed. Lay down. The sun rises.

  The next one was equally bizarre. What is this? she thought.

  Cool winds. Heaven weeps in rocks. Minister knows. Where little hands lay, weeds dance in the moonlight. Bugs sing. I am lost. Father births the sun.

  Mother gives breath. Trees dance in moonlight. Sing me a song. Minister knows. Passage of Bakongo.

  With each passage more of the same insanity repeated.

  Young eyes see so much. What day do we celebrate? Fires burning in the rain. Smiles warm the aching. The dead dance about.

  Passage of Bakongo. Little feet dance. Earth shakes. To cover. Shield. Young eyes see so much. All is well. Time is short. Only this life and no more.

  Willem, what’s happened to you? she thought reading passage after passage of more of the same. A few words here or there were different, but it was much of the same with
each page. The whole thing was giving her a severe headache. Closing her laptop, she went to her office to get some pain reliever. Maybe I’m getting hungry. If I eat, this might make more sense.

  Megan tapped on her door.

  “Hey! You good for lunch today?”

  “Funny you should ask. I was just thinking about getting something to eat. I’ve got a wicked headache.”

  “Let me grab my purse. I’m pretty sure I have something you can take, then we can go.”

  “What do you have a taste for?”

  “I’m open.”

  They ended up at a Thai restaurant just across the city line in Southfield.

  “Nice job with the interns,” Megan said.

  “I really didn’t do a whole lot with them this time. Maybe that’s why they did so well. I wasn’t hovering over them like a mother hen.” She chuckled.

  “This was your third year at it. I think you set up the project well. You let them come to you with any issues rather than trying to anticipate everything. You made them solve their problems.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it! If you do the same with the new archivists, you’ll get a similar result, if not better.”

  “At the rate I’m going, we may have this thing wrapped up a lot sooner.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The prayer books didn’t take long at all. The dairies are taking much more time. I’ve got two more in the batch to finish. Granted, I still have seven boxes of letters to translate and code. That’s going to take far longer than the diaries.”

  “That’s fantastic! Does Ben know?”

  “Yes. I talked to him last night.”

  “So things are still going well?”

  “Very.”

  Megan smiled. “I’m not going to lose you, am I? I don’t know what I’d do if you decide to leave for London.”

  The remark took Deborah completely by surprise. “We haven’t discussed it.”

  “If he asked, would you?”

  She paused for a moment, not because she didn’t know her answer, but because the answer came so quickly. “Yes.”