The bottom of her agbada ruffles and I see the imprint of a palm, and I realise the howls were the pain of bearing offspring. A hand reaches down to touch the water. There is a plop, like a huge wad of faeces dropping; then something is swimming towards me, swift and sure.
I raise my weapons again, charging fire to them as the creature leaps out of the water and flies at me. There’s just time to see claws and hair and teeth and ugly and know what it is.
Shigidi. A fucking shigidi.
I check its flight with the chain, catching the demon-goblin’s midriff. But the little creature latches on to it instead and is suddenly hanging a few inches from my face. It claws my cheek, and I feel my skin peel from ear to lip, burning. I swing my head back and crash my forehead into the thing. It lets go and tumbles into the water, but rights itself quickly to stand and grin at me.
Fucking nightmare creature with that fucking open-toothed smile; fucking death messenger of the gods. This one has a thick, blunted cone of clay for its head, black hair covering every inch of its twisted body except for its clay head, and teeth and claws for tearing. Black shadows float about the creature, and I suddenly realise Osun must’ve offered Aganju her own essence, the essence of these shigidis, to turn those godlings into shadows. Hence their ability to sap godessence, like shigidis do.
Osun screams again. Another shigidi plops into the water. The two shigidis come at me together.
Shonuga, behind me, takes aim at the first one and fires. The bullet rips its head open and the thing melts into a thick mass of black smoke. The second is close behind it, but I catch this one in the belly with my machete. It dissolves into smoke, and my godessence charges, like a battery plugged, like a fire fed petrol. Osun yells, drops two, three more shigidis in the water, and then suddenly there are too many shigidis to shoot, to keep count, to escape from.
We retreat, stepping back into my mother, who’s emerging from the mist the other way. Oba backs away as a wall of water, a towering whirlpool sucking all of the channel into itself, rises to separate them. Kehinde, to my left, is flung back by a gust of wind; she rolls over and scrambles towards my mother and Shonuga and me.
Then a figure rises out of the water, back to us, and stands between us and the three gods. The figure’s dreadlocked hair is held up with seaweed and water stones. The back of my tongue tastes of fish and grapes, and I smell raw, wet incense.
Olokun catches the first shigidi by the neck, opens their mouth wider than I’d ever think possible, and bites into the shigidi’s neck. The demon-goblin squeals, squirms, and then Olokun bites down and tears its head off with their teeth, spitting hair and black smoke. The rest of the shigidis launch at them, and Olokun swats at the shigidis at they come, grabbing any they can by their stubby limbs and tearing them apart, scattering black smoke.
Suddenly, someone appears before Shonuga and Kehinde, then there is a flash, and both are gone before my eyes. Before I can think anything, there’s that flash again, and my mother is gone too.
Then Oba and Oya shoot wind and water and ice at Olokun, and Osun drops one, two, three shigidis in the water, and suddenly they’re all over the water god, who has just enough time to turn to me with that jerky motion and blink those fish eyes at me.
Then someone places a hand on my shoulder, and suddenly I fall on the hard tarmac of the airport runway.
Chapter Thirty-Two
ALL I HEAR for a second is coughing and water dripping onto the solid tarmac. I blink and count with my eyes. There’s Ogun, standing next to me; Papa Udi and Fati and Taiwo and Kehinde. The errant crocodile lies next to them, bleeding, Fati’s blade lying bloodied further away; there’s Shonuga kneeling next to Femi, trying to get her to breathe as she expels water from her lungs; and there’s Aziza in front of me, standing next to Eshu.
I rise, my essence charging with anger and fire and blood. I bring the machete to my palm and slice. The wound tingles, the blade lights up in flames. I turn and face Eshu.
“You bastard.” I move in on him.
“David,” Aziza is saying, getting between us. “Now, you calm down…”
I take a hand to the whirlwind god’s shoulder and shove him harder than I expect. He scrapes along the tarmac, stilling himself with a swipe of his windstick. Eshu steps back, looking around.
“People, people…” he’s saying, frantic.
“David,” Ogun says softly.
“You sold us to those things,” I say.
“What?” Eshu’s angel face twists. “What, no, what?”
Good actor. Bastard. “What did they offer you?”
“What?” He steps back again, looks to my mother.
“David,” my mother says again. “Calm down.”
I whip the chain, light it up, dragging fire along the tarmac. “You’re dead, you hear me? Dead.”
“David, calm down,” Kehinde says.
I whip the chain in the white god’s direction. He turns, swivels, dodges the end as it reaches him, the chain snapping at air like a hound’s iron teeth.
“Ogun, help!”
“David, stop it now!”
I whip the chain at him again. He dodges. His face twists, his immaculate form giving way to something darker, more primal.
“Last warning, orisha ’daji,” he says.
“Fuck you,” I say, and go for him with my machete. He’s right before me when I swipe, but when the machete comes down, it swipes air.
“Told you,” a voice says behind me, then a heavy blow slams into the back of my head. I grit my teeth, sweep around to find nothing.
“Stop this,” I hear Kehinde and my mother chorusing, and then another blow to the back of my head. I turn and wait, wrapping the chain around my fist, then reach out behind me just as Eshu reappears. I catch him by the arm and jam my chained fist into his chest.
The immaculate god skids across the tarmac. I follow him, readying my machete, when a large gust of wind sweeps him further away and raises dust to block my vision. I power through Aziza’s dust devil to find nothing on the other side.
Then my mother is in front of me, a massive frown on her face.
“Stop it, right now,” she says, taking hold of my arm. “Stop.”
I spot Eshu reappear in the corner of my vision. I shrug my mother off—her grip is strong; her arm doesn’t leave—and I want to head for Eshu, to finish him off, when I realise it’s not one of him I’m looking at but two, three, four, a multitude.
We’re surrounded by the 256 iterations of Eshu, their foreheads creased and jaws set as one.
“Stop now,” Ogun says. “I won’t repeat it.”
“He wanted to kill us,” I say to her, anger burning in my chest. “Can’t you see?”
“No, oga,” Shonuga says. “He helped us.”
I look from face to face. Everyone’s eyes are on me, laced with fear, their bodies tense as if poised to defend themselves from me, as if I’m a rabid animal set free.
“He delivered us to the sisters!”
“I delivered you from them!” the multitude of Eshus hiss back, a company of snakes. “They ambushed us. All of us!”
“It’s true,” Femi says, her voice weak. “He rescued me. He also rescued Olokun. They had Olokun bound.”
“He got all of us out of there,” Aziza adds.
I look back at the Eshus, who shake their heads in return, glaring at me. “You’re not worthy to hold those things,” they chorus, all pointing at the weapons in my hand. “You’re not worthy.”
They look up at the group, their eyes shining with the àshẹ of the gods: “And you are not worth fighting for if I will have to watch my own back the entire time.”
The iterations pop out as quickly as they appeared, and we’re looking at one immaculate god. Eshu turns about on a heel and walks away, reality pulling at the seams and gathering about him, fabric warping, as if opening its arms to embrace him, and then he has walked right into the air in front of us and is gone.
We stand in silence
for a beat.
“It’s good riddance, anyway,” I say. “His loyalty had a question mark on it.”
“Oh, stop it!” Kehinde snaps. “Just stop. You messed up and you know it.”
“How, how?” I turn to face her.
“You want to come for me too?” She steps from the group to lean down from her seven-foot frame and put her nose in front of mine. “You want to attack me too? Because you’re strong now? Come, then, do it.”
“Stop that,” Ogun says, sterner than before.
“Look at your son,” Kehinde says to her. “He’s drunk on power. Is this how he’s going to lead us? By killing us every time he gets angry?”
“I’m not killing anybody,” I say.
“Oh, aren’t you? Look around.” She sweeps her arm at the group. “Look at how they look at you.”
I do not look. I already know what I’ll see.
“It is you we cannot trust, David Mogo,” Kehinde says. “It is you.”
We stand and stare at one another. Aziza turns, whips up a small dust devil and disappears into it. When it fades, he’s no longer there.
“Come,” Kehinde says to Femi, Shonuga and Fati. “Let’s take Payu to the healing group.”
Femi and Shonuga help Papa Udi rise and hang an arm between them, Fati supporting him at the waist. I watch them leave, Kehinde darting hot glances in my direction. I turn my back to her so I won’t see, and point to the crocodile, looking at Taiwo.
“Fati,” he says, gesturing towards the discarded long knife. “Eshu helped her finish it off.”
Ogun comes to stand by me. “You will need to fix this thing that you have broken.”
“Whatever.”
“Not whatever,” Ogun says. “You will need to fix this, and fix it quick.”
“Because?”
“Because,” my mother says, turning me by my arm so that I face her, “you see that?” She points to the crocodile’s black blood congealing on the runway. “That thing is one of Osun’s children. And she knows where every single one of her offspring in this world are, dead or alive. As long as they live or breathe or bleed, she knows where they are.”
“Oh, no,” Taiwo says, his hand to his mouth.
“And what do you think Aganju will do with that information?”
“No, no, no,” Taiwo says.
“Get your people together, David Mogo,” Ogun says. “The time has come.”
THERE IS NO communal bonfire in the evening. The airport is cold and dark and miserable, and there is a grey sheet of rain for the remainder of the day. Most people stay indoors and pack up, say goodbyes to those with whom they’ve formed bonds of friendship, family and romance.
I stay in the plane and do not get a lot of visitors, neither do I visit the rest of my group in the FAAN quarters. Taiwo and Fati come by once, tentatively, to check if I’m okay. Then later, when the rest of the airport has wound down, Ogun comes to visit.
“Odivwiri will not be going with us,” is the first thing she tells me when she settles into the plane. She is now dressed in a red tunic, decorated in symbols from various godtongues I cannot read, over a green pair of long shorts, bound at the calf with strings of cowrie shells, similar to those tied about her biceps. She does not carry any weapons, but I’m sure she will be wielding something eventually.
Fati’s animal fat lamp still burns in the plane interior, ensconcing us in an otherworldly cocoon of smoke.
“Guessed as much,” I reply. “He was badly hurt.”
We sit in silence for a while.
“You will have to be careful,” my mother says. “You only have a few more chances before you lose their trust.”
I can’t blame them; I am no longer even sure of myself.
“What is happening to me?” I ask her.
“Nothing. Everything,” she says.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Neither. You will need to be that person again when the time comes. It will be in the best interest of those you protect that you do not hesitate then.”
I observe her for a moment. “Has this happened to you? Do you make terrible decisions on impulse?”
She nods. “It is the only way I’ve lived. The curse of being part of chaos, I believe.”
“Is that why you stopped?”
“Maybe.” She stares off, towards the darkened rear of the plane. “But it doesn’t guarantee anything, really. We are fire and blood and war. We do not have the luxury of family or friends. Sooner or later, the heat drives them away. Sooner or later, we ruin everything.”
Unless, of course, I reject this new aspect of myself that offers me so much power, and let the whole of Lagos and everything I know and love be overrun.
Either way, I’m screwed.
“Story of my life,” I say, and rise. “Good night, mother.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
THE LONGEST BRIDGE in West Africa is officially named the Ibrahim Babangida bridge, but no one calls it that. Snaking out of Oworonshoki, the Third Mainland Bridge curves away from the many fishing slum-villages and into the lagoon, giving way to the concrete and glass graveyard that is the Lagos city-island, a once densely-populated, resplendent metropolis now empty and deathly silent against dawn’s misty breath.
We cross Aziza’s threshold at the Murtala Muhammed Airport in Ikeja, and step into the middle of the Third Mainland Bridge, heaving and retching from vertigo.
The morning is cold and the sea breeze is unforgivable. Not much has changed since I was last here. The once-vibrant LED billboards have finally lost their power. No one has bothered to remove the years-old political feather banners, still flapping in the wind, advertising aspiring governors that have since abandoned Lagos to its own devices. The skyscrapers in the distance are old and broken and monolithic and silent. Nothing has changed, yet everything has.
Shonuga, riding Aburo with Femi Onipede holding tight to her waist behind her, half-appears on the bridge. The horse refuses to cross over completely, whickering, spooked. He stands there, snorting and petulant, his forelegs over the threshold, his hind quarters still at the airport. Shonuga tries to goad him into crossing, then threatens, but neither do the trick. So she dismounts, places his head in her hands and her head to his, and speaks to the horse in low, comforting tones, until he takes one step, two, and is finally over the line. Aziza steps over the threshold last, then closes it up.
That’s the agreement. Whatever happens today, the airport community remains safe. We told Papa Udi and Fati to move them to a secure location that not a single one of us knows. Fati was terribly upset with me and refused to speak to me until we left, no matter how I explained that I needed her to stay and help the force we left behind protect the community.
The rest of us stand in the middle of the Third Mainland. Femi leads one group, spearheaded by her remnant LASPAC men who blended so well into the airport community that I forgot they were there. They’re to focus on long-range attacks: guns, slingshots, spears and arrows. Shonuga leads the other group, prepared for close combat, armed with short knives, machetes, clubs and axes. I lead with my machete and chain, smeared with my own blood. My mother looks as she did yesterday, now sporting a machete similar to mine and a thick iron shield. Kehinde appears with nothing, as usual, but Taiwo carries Fati’s long knife.
We wait.
Aziza and Ogun have our intel. They did some reconnaissance together in the dead of night, reporting that a shadow horde was indeed on its way from Upper Island, but not visibly led by anyone—not Aganju, not his generals. They seemed very focused, very much on a mission. No points for knowing where they were headed. Given the number—a couple of hundreds—the two have advised us on how to approach.
Shonuga dismounts and leaves Femi on the horse to offer her a good vantage point for her shooting. The two spend a few minutes whispering things to each other that everyone pretends not to notice. They embrace for a long time, as much as the height difference allows them. When Shonuga leads her faction away
to rally behind me, I think her eyes might be shiny with tears. The exchange seems to set people off: Kehinde hugs Taiwo tight and kisses his forehead, and others in the group follow suit, embracing one another, holding hands, kissing lightly. My mother and I look at one another.
“Be careful,” she tells me.
“Sure,” I say.
We wait.
The first sign of the horde comes almost a half-hour later. The slowly brightening dawn sky sours quickly, the morning blue succumbing to a thunderstorm grey, with black clouds scudding in on the fringes. The lagoon on both sides of the bridge breaks into small, choppy waves, as if someone turned on a turbine underneath.
Around the bend come the shadows, vampires of godessence, galloping like a band of tar primates. Teeth, claws, formless middles rippling, catching the morning light and turning it into something… wrong. They see us and charge, crying from the depths of their larynxes, wails for survival, calls to warfare.
“Ready!” I say, surprised at the sound of my own voice, the anger it contains. Scenes from the Arena flash before me. I draw blood, drawing fire.
The lagoon’s waves grow choppy, and I already know what lies beneath it. I breathe and move. The force comes with me, charging, yelling. We crash into the horde.
My machete blade meets the first shadow. The tar-like creature of night cries and dissolves into a substance like black sand, and power courses through my body like an electric charge. I inhale it and fuel more fire in my weapons. Slash, slash, slash. I whip my chain in a circle and take out five, six. The sounds all around me: sand on concrete, flashes of gunshots, my mother’s fire, the screaming, the iron.
Then two Eyos are suddenly right there in front of us. Ogun and Aziza peel away from the shadows to stand with me. I move on them, my machete and chain dripping fire, beating shadows out of my path. A few feet out, I swing my chain at the Eyos. They break their stance. One rises into the air—Oya—and Aziza follows with his windstick, brandishing it like a sword. Oba pulls a wave out of the lagoon, rearing above us. The airport force shows its first signs of fear when the shadow of the huge wave falls over us; and that hesitation gives the shadows their first opening. The first humans fall within seconds, the life sucked out of their very beings.
David Mogo Godhunter Page 23
