The Feast of Angels
The man's white shirt was soaked red with blood, and he carried a thick, two-foot wooden cross in his hands. Blood and gore darkened the cross's wood and dripped onto Eleku's floor.
Eleko sat cross-legged on the earthen floor; he held the one-foot length chain by its middle link and swung it gently over the large square of dark cloth lying flat on the ground. The thin chain consisted of four concave nuts from an Opele tree linked at equidistant intervals down each side. As the village’s Babalawo, their shaman, the divination chain was Eleko’s means of channeling Orunmila, the Yoruba god of wisdom and knowledge.
Across from him, Adagba, the leader of the village’s hunter’s guild, the Egbe Ode, sat cross-legged, watching the chain pendulum over the cloth. Sweat beaded along the forehead of the man’s midnight-black skin, and his dark eyes gazed intermittently from the chain to Eleko, who chanted the sacred Odu of Ifa.
With a flick of his wrist, Eleko cast the string of nuts onto the cloth; it landed in a twisted, snake-like pattern as if a great serpent writhed on the floor. Both men leaned forward and peered intently at the configuration of the chain.
“What does the Opele tell you, Eleko?” the broad, muscular shoulders of the hunter visibly knotted with tension.
Eleko stared at the divination chain; his lips pursed as he studied every twist and turn. The Babalawo blew out a deep breath and sat back, his eyes filled with regret when he finally looked up at the hunter. Adagba met his gaze, searching his face for meaning; his shoulders slumping in resignation.
“It is bad then,” Adagba got to slowly to his feet.
“Yes, it is bad,” Eleko nodded as he looked at the larger man. “Orunmila sees that these Christians will bring grief upon us.”
“Then we must fight,” Adagba slammed his fist into his open palm as he began to pace the floor of Eleko’s simple home.
“Adagba,” Eleko spoke softly. “More villagers join the Christians on their hill outside the village daily. They are abandoning the ways of our ancestors by the lure of this nailed god.”
“Have you seen the market?” Adagba pointed toward the front door, but Eleko knew he meant the village market beyond. “No one sells carvings of the gods anymore. There are no more charms or amulets. Just wooden crosses.”
“All we can do is adhere to the old ways, be there for our people who still believe,” Eleko forced a smile. “This will pass in time. These English holy men will tire of our little village and leave. Our people will return to the gods.”
“No,” Adagba’s eyes blazed with defiance. “I will re-form the Egbe Aro, and we will fight these Christians just like we fought the Oyos in my great grandfather’s time. I will take the head of the Englishman and place it upon a spike alongside the heads of that traitor Ajayi and the twinnings, Yemisi and Bola.”
“Adagba,” Eleko got to his feet and placed a calming hand on the hunter’s arm. “Do not do anything rash. Do not do anything to Ajayi or the twinnings; steer clear of the Englishman on the hill. I will speak to Ademola today; the chief will know what to do.”
“It may already be too late,” Adagba shook his head; his dark eyes held a hint of sorrow when they looked upon the shaman. “Most of my hunters have already gone to worship the nailed god, and Ajayi and the twinnings convert more of our people daily.”
Adagba gave Eleko a resigned nod and reached for the door handle leading out into the courtyard when he stopped and cast a sidelong look toward the small wooden table beside Eleko’s bed. The big man turned and stared at the skeleton of the small monkey perched on the table as if it sat on a tree branch.
“Is there something wrong, Adagba? Eleko raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the man.
“The monkey,” Adagba squinted at the skeleton and then looked at Eleko. “When I entered your home, I was sure the monkey’s arms stood raised. Now they rest in the monkey’s lap.”
“Tunde is just a skeleton, bones held together with wire and twine. He could no more raise an arm than I could a heavy rock.” Eleko gave a little laugh and looked at the skeleton.
Adagba shook his head and looked around the small dwelling. Amulets and charms of stone, branches, and bones hung on the walls alongside ornately carved images of the gods. “Of everything in your home, nothing disquiets me like that little monkey. Why don’t you let me bring you a live monkey from the woods to keep you company.”
“Thank you Adagba,” Eleko smiled. “Tunde is good company and much quieter than a living monkey. I like to think of him as a messenger from Eshu.”
“Well, if he is a messenger from Eshu, I hope the trickster god is watching over you,” Adagba looked back at the house as he opened the door. “Ajayi and the twinnings are not just preaching to turn from our gods; they are telling people to destroy their graven images. Your home will not sit well in the minds of these Christians.”
Eleko nodded in sad acknowledgment to Adagba as he closed the door behind the hunter. He leaned his bald head against the door and sighed deeply, troubled by the times in which he lived; then, he cast a sidelong look at the monkey skeleton on the bedside table.
“Why do you take such risks, Tunde?” Eleko turned to face the skeleton, folding his arms across his chest. “Adagba is a friend and a believer in the gods, but even he has limits.”
Tunde hopped down from the table and skittered across the floor, his skeletal feet making tiny striations in the earthen floor. The creature leaped up, sailing through the air to land softly on Eleko’s shoulder like a butterfly on a flower. Eleko chuckled as Tunde nuzzled his boney skull against the Babalawo’s smooth head, and the shaman stroked the creature’s spine lovingly.
Eleko did not understand the magic that re-animated the dead monkey, and he had not lied to Adagba when he said he thought the monkey was a messenger from Eshu, the Yoruba trickster god. He had found the monkey abandoned in the forest, sick and near death.
The shaman had wrapped the frail monkey in a blanket and brought it home; he nursed it day and night with herbs and medicines. Eleko’s heart would melt at the monkey’s human-like eyes staring at him as he ministered to it; the look was the closest thing he had ever seen to pure love. When the monkey died in his arms two weeks later, the old shaman cried unabashedly, wetting the dead monkey’s face with his tears.
Eleko buried Tunde, the name he once planned to name a son, in the courtyard of the house in a sunny spot the poor creature seemed to enjoy in its short life. When he awoke to find the skeletal form perched on his bedside table several days later, he felt no fear. Eleko recognized him as a gift from the gods. He welcomed Tunde home but kept his true nature secret from the villagers. To all who visited his home, the monkey skeleton was just another odd accouterment in the shaman’s home of talismans and carvings.
Tunde cast the hollows of his eye sockets down to the divination chain sprawled on the cloth, and the monkey’s clean white jawbone chittered its teeth together.
“Yes, Tunde,” Eleko nodded and petted the tiny skeleton again. “The Opele says death is coming to the village.”
As Eleko walked through the village streets to the market, he sensed an air of tension and hostility that he had never felt before. Once friendly faces, villagers he had known for a lifetime scowled at him or averted their eyes as they walked past. A few still smiled and called greetings, but the village where he spent his whole life seemed wholly unwelcoming.
“The Englishman has sown much discord within the village,” Eleko thought as a childhood friend stared at him with openly distrusting eyes.
Minister John Cotton had arrived outside the village over a month ago, accompanied by Ajayi, a Christian convert from Okeodan. The English minister set up a makeshift church on a hill beside the village, and Ajayi came among the people and preached the gospel of the nailed god.
At first, the man met with varying degrees of scorn and indifference from the villagers, who still worshipped the old gods of the Yoruba. Then the Ibeji, the twin brother and sister, Yemisi and Bola, converted to Christianity. They stopped wearing traditional Yoruba clothing made from handwoven Aso-Oke, in favor of clothing of a European style Minister John provided them. Soon, villagers converted in droves, leaving the village daily to worship their new god on the hill.
One morning Eleku stopped a family carrying wooden statues of the gods with them. Some were very old, likely handed down from several generations, and Elku asked where they were going.
“We are taking them up the hill,” the father answered. “To burn as we ask forgiveness from the one true god for our sin of idol worship. You should do the same, Eleku; make yourself right with god before the day of judgment arrives, or you will burn for all eternity in the lake of fire.”
Eleku had been aghast that they were burning such sacred objects, but he had seen many families repeating the journey up the hill with charms, talismans, and wooden figures.
As he entered the marketplace, Eleku was surprised to see most villagers were wearing European shirts and trousers or dresses and head coverings for the women. Only a few women wore the traditional wrap-around skirt, loose-fitting blouse, and head tie. Fewer men wore agbadas, the customary Yoruba robe, and fila caps. Gone altogether were the colorful dyes, beadwork, and stitching that made Yoruba clothing so beautiful to behold. They were replaced now by the drab, dark, unadorned clothing of the Europeans.
Eleku saw a small crowd around a young man in a jacket and trousers, holding a leatherbound book high. The man appeared to be speaking animatedly, and Eleku recognized him as Ajayi, Minister John’s envoy to the village. The shaman quickly turned away and approached a gray-haired man in a European jacket with various vegetables on a dark blanket.
“Good morning, Saburi,” Eleku smiled as he looked over the vegetables, nodding with appreciation at the excellent selection. “I will take three of those delicious-looking yams and five of those plantains.”
“They’re not for sale,” Saburi scowled as he waved a hand over the produce.
“Oh,” the smile slipped from Eleku’s. “Then I will take six eggs.”
“Not for sale,” Saburi’s dark eyes were hard and cold as they stared at the shaman.
“Very well then, good day to you, Saburi,” Eleku smiled and nodded at Saburi as he moved on to the next outstretched blanket.
However, as Eleku moved from blanket to blanket, the villagers were unwilling to sell him okra, rice, beans, or moin moin bean cake. In one case, immediately after refusing to sell Eleku ponmo, a delicacy made from cow skin, the man sold the piece to a young man in a white shirt and trousers.
“Good morning Eleku, how are you enjoying the market this day?” a soft voice behind Eleku called.
The shaman turned to see Ajayi with his broad, ever-present smile, flanked by the twins, Yemisi and Bola, approaching him.
“It seems like quite an unprofitable day for the market,” Eleku forced a smile and gestured toward the table of meats. “They have carried all these fine foods to the market, yet none are for sale.”
“That is because these foods are only for the chosen of god,” Yemisi’s eyes had the coldness of a crocodile when she spoke.
“They are for the children of god to prepare for the feast of angels,” Bola, the older brother, by less than a minute, added as he brushed dirt from his black trousers.
“What is this feast of angels?” Eleku chose to ignore the twins and address Ajayi directly.
“Let me share with you the word of god, Eleku,” the grinning Ajayi held the holy book before him. “I will teach about the god, his angels, and all his bountiful blessings.”
“Thank you for the offer, Ajayi,” Eleku smiled and dipped his head in thanks. “I have worshipped the Orisa for all my long life. I feel Ogun, Shango, Jakuta, and all the Orisa who serve the great Olorun around me all the time. My house would feel very empty with just one god in it.”
“Then you will burn in the hell fires of damnation,” Bola’s eyes were wide and filled with a fanatical gleam.
“Bola,” Ajayi grimaced momentarily, then the toothy smile returned.
Yemisi placed a restraining hand on her brother’s chest, “What my brother means is that the one true god offers eternal life and happiness to those who believe; however, a far different fate awaits those who deny him.”
Eleku studied the twins carefully and found Yemisi’s calm coldness more frightening than Bola’s stormy volatility. In the Yoruba culture, the second twin was the elder and wiser, having sent its sibling out into the world first to ensure all was well. The shaman felt this aptly applied to Yemisi and Bola. Yemisi was all calculation and cunning, while Bola was brash and hot-headed.
“Come read with me for a while, Eleku,” Ajayi tapped the book. “Our god is a god of peace and love, and when you return to the market, you will find everything for sale again.”
“Why would a god of peace and love turn neighbor against neighbor simply over a difference of beliefs?” Eleku looked into Ajayi’s wide, welcoming eyes but noticed the corners of the man’s mouth twitch slightly at his words. “The Yoruba have many gods, and it is no fault to favor one over the other.”
Bola muttered but quickly quieted when he saw his sister shoot him a withering look.
“You are a holy man, and of course, you have many questions,” Ajayi touched Eleku lightly upon the shoulder. “Come up the hill with me; we can discuss these things with Minister John.”
“Why does your Minister John not come down to the village,” Eleku sweepingly gestured to encompass the marketplace. “We can discuss these things in front of the whole village; I am sure many would be interested to hear.”
“Minister John will be here for the feast of angels,” Bola looked sidelong at his sister as if expecting a rebuke.
“What is this feast you speak of?” Eleku caught Ajayi’s hint of annoyance again at Bola’s words.
“The feast is a celebration in honor of the Lord’s mighty host of angels,” Ajayi raised his eyes toward the sky.
“The Lord of hosts will prepare a lavish banquet for all people on this mountain,” Yemisi stares unwaveringly at Eleku. “It’s from Isaiah, twenty-five, six.”
A commotion drew their attention, and Eleku could see Adagba in a heated argument with one of the villagers selling vegetables. The tall hunter held a yam in one hand and pointed angrily at the villager, who adamantly shook his head, further enraging Adagba.
“It appears Adagba has just discovered that none of the food at today’s market is for sale,” Eleku watched the heated exchange a moment longer, then turned to Ajayi and the twins. “You may worship a god of peace and love, but Adagba worships Jakuta, the Orisa of thunder, lightning, and fire. Unless you are eager to meet your god this afternoon, I suggest you not cross paths with him when he is in such a foul mood.”
“I wish you an enjoyable afternoon,” the smiling Ajayi nodded to Eleku and gestured for Yemisi and Bola to follow him in the opposite direction of Adagba.
Yemisi gave Eleku a curt nod, and Bola eyed him warily as they trailed behind Ajayi. He turned back, sighed, and saw a small crowd forming around Adagba and the villager. This village was peaceful and harmonious only a few weeks ago.
“Eleku! Eleku!” a large, heavy-set man called to the shaman from a courtyard doorway across the market. The man’s meaty, dark brown arm gestured for Eleku to join him.
Eleku smiled to see at least Chief Ademola still wore a traditional brown Yoruba robe and matching fila cap. They had been friends since childhood, and the village chieftain often sought Eleku’s advice and divination abilities in resolving dilemmas. If anyone could navigate the village through this Minister John’s business, it was Ademola.
“Eleku, my old friend, how are you?” the village chieftain had a broad, welcoming face and a booming laugh that often became infectious.
“I am well, my friend,” Eleku embraced his old friend in greeting. “Though my heart is troubled.”
“Oh?” Ademola’s face creased into a frown. “Come in, Eleku; let us talk.”
“I am concerned about these Christians,” Eleku followed Ademola into the courtyard. “I was just in the marketplace and had attempted to buy…”
Eleku’s words trailed into a grave silence, and Ademola stared at the shaman with concern, “What is it, Eleku?”
“What is that, Ademola?” Eleku pointed toward the chieftain’s home at the large wooden cross that hung beside the door.
Ademola followed Eleku’s gaze and closed the courtyard door to give them privacy. When the chieftain turned to face Eleku, his face was a mask of shame.
“Ademola, have you become a Christian?” Eleku could not hide the sadness and disappointment in his voice.
“No, No,” Ademola shook his head but did not meet Eleku’s eyes. “You know me, Eleku; I believe in the gods.”
“Then what is that doing here,” Eleku gave Ademola a withering look as he pointed at the cross.
“Eleku, we must be able to change with the times,” Ademola shrugged. “The English and their Christian god are here; we cannot ignore that. We can still believe in the gods in our hearts, but we must join with the others and their Minister John.”
“The others?” Eleku searched his friend’s face. “How many others have gone up the hill to Minister John?”
“Almost everyone, Eleku, that’s what I wanted to speak to you about,” Ademola looked pained. “Most of the village has already joined Ajayi, and those damned twinnings, all of the elders except old Oluwole, have become Christians. If I am to be their chieftain, I must be a leader of the village, not an outsider like you, Adagba, and Oluwole.”
“Then lead the people out of this darkness that turns friend into foe,” Eleku grabbed the chieftain by the shoulders. “There is still time.”
“No, Eleku, there is no more time,” Eleku recoiled from the deep look of grief he saw in Ademola’s eyes.
“What do you mean?” Eleku’s voice came out hoarse as his throat dried with a horrible apprehension.
“Minister John refuses to come into the village as long as there are blaspheming idols here. Tomorrow on Ojo-Aiku, the day Minister John calls Sunday, they will hold their feast of angels here in the village. Ajayi and the others intend to remove all the offending items from the village before then. Starting with the wards placed around the village.”
Eleku looked up in alarm, “Ademola, you are the oba of this village; you cannot let that happen. Those wards guard against evil spirits; they have existed since our ancestors came to this village to protect the Children of Oduduwa.”
“Eleku, there is nothing I can do. The people will not listen to me and go against Ajayi and Minister John. They believe in all that has been promised them from this nailed god,” a pained look crossed Ademola’s pleasant face. “Listen to me. Leave this place right now, go up the hill, and join the Christians. I cannot protect you from what may come if you do not.”
Eleku dropped the long wooden locking bar into place as he closed his courtyard door, something he had not done in decades. The conversation with Ademola had badly shaken him, and he felt a fear unlike he had ever experienced before. He knew the Opele spoke the truth when the divination chain revealed that death was coming to the village; however, now Eleku wondered if it was coming for him too.
Tunde chittered noisily as Eleku stepped through the doorway, hopping from one skeletal foot to another.
Yes, Tunde, I feel it too,” Eleku nodded. “Something bad is coming.”
The monkey skeleton hopped onto the wooden table where Eleku ate his meals and watched the shaman with his dark, hollow eye sockets. Eleku removed several wooden images of the gods from their places on shelves. There was the image of Oshun that had once belonged to his mother, the images of Ogun and Eshu he had carved as a child, and the carved totem of Obatala covered in a sacred white cloth that had been in his family for generations. The shaman placed these lovingly on his bed.
Eleku added the Opele and several other precious talismans to the pile. They were irreplaceable and more beloved to Eleku than life itself. The shaman took a small bowl from the table, and Tunde cocked his head curiously as the shaman slid the wooden bed to the side and dug in the earthen floor, using the bowl as a makeshift shovel.
Tunde hopped onto the bed and stared into the hole, then over at Eleku’s sweat-streaked bald head. The shaman sat back on his behind and let out a deep breath. He turned to the monkey and smiled, petting the creature’s skull with a dirty hand. Tunde made a chattering noise with his teeth and glanced into the hole.
“No, Tunde, “ Eleku smiled. “You are not going back into the hole.”
Eleku wrapped the idols and talismans in his mother’s old blue head tie and placed the bundle gently into the hole. He filled the hole with reverence, secreting away the precious items. The shaman put a small rug over the area to hide the disturbed dirt, then pushed the bed back into place. Satisfied he had done his best to hide the items, Eleku flopped onto the bed, tired from the stress and exertion of the day.
Tunde hopped onto the bedside table, his skeletal tail swaying slightly. The monkey leaned in close to Eleku, chittering quietly.
“I know Tunde,” Eleku stroked the monkey’s back. “I am afraid too.”
Eleku was awoken from a restless night’s sleep by shouts and pounding on his courtyard door. He sat up, suddenly alert, the night air feeling stale and oppressive. There was an acrid smell of smoke in the air, and Tunde was hopping with alarm on the table.
A loud cracking noise accompanied the thumping on his courtyard door, and Eleku knew that the locking bar would fail shortly.
“Tunde, you must hide,” Eleku’s voice came out in a panicked hiss. “Now!”
The skeletal monkey scurried around the small dwelling, looking for a place to curl and secret away. Outside, the locking bar gave way with a loud crash, and Eleku heard angry voices rush into the courtyard. He was not violent; it was not in his nature; he would reason with them but not resist.
Eleku stood and flattened out the creases in his robe with sweaty hands. He looked and could not see Tunde; smiling, he said a silent prayer to Eshu to keep the mischievous monkey safe.
The shaman jumped as the door crashed open, and men rushed in the door. They were faces he recognized, knew, and laughed with, but tonight the men’s dark, sweaty faces held nothing but malicious in wide, crazed eyes. They threw Eleku to the ground, strong hands pulling and punching him. Kicks rained down on his body, and he desperately tried to cover his head. The room became a cacophony as the men smashed and splinted all they could find; Eleku gasped and grunted as they kicked and punched him mercilessly. Then all became still.
Men still held his arms and legs, but the rest backed away. Eleku spit out a mouth full of blood and looked toward the doorway as Bola entered the room. The man’s white shirt was soaked red with blood, and he carried a thick, two-foot wooden cross in his hands. Blood and gore darkened the cross’s wood and dripped onto Eleku’s floor.
Bola’s eyes stared hatefully at Eleku as he slowly approached.
“This is the home of a blasphemer and idol worshipper,” Bola addressed the mob of men. “Burn it all!”
The men cheered wildly, and Bola grinned at their adulation. He stood directly above Eleku and stared at the shaman, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Eleku met his gaze defiantly; he would not give Bola the satisfaction of seeing any fear in his eyes. Bola gave a feral scream as he raised the cross high above his head, bringing it crashing down on Eleku’s skull.
Eleku felt the jarring blow echo through his head, and his vision swooned before all went black.
Consciousness came slowly back to Eleku, his head throbbed, and his eyes failed to focus correctly. He could not move his arms or legs, and the shaman struggled to fill his lungs with air.
Eleku heard someone calling his name from far off and turned toward the sound. After blinking several times, the battered face of the elder Oluwole slowly came into focus. The man was mouthing something through bruised lips, and after several moments Eleku realized the man was saying his name. Incomprehensibly, Oluwole seemed to be flying, soaring like a bird with outstretched arms.
“Eleku, can you hear me?” Oluwole’s voice was a desperate whisper
“Oluwole?” Eleku’s voice sounded weak and faint in his ears.
“Yes, Eleku, it’s me,” the man’s face was swollen and bruised. “Do you know what happened to Abagda?”
“Abagda? No.” Eleku struggled to shake his head; then, he peered groggily at the elder. “Oluwole, am I flying too?”
“Flying? Eleku, wake up! They are crucifying us like their nailed god,” Oluwole’s words finally jarred Eleku back to full consciousness.
Eleku blinked and saw the sun was low in the sky, early evening by his account. He looked at Oluwole and realized the man was bound to a large wooden cross several feet off the ground. Thick ropes tied Oluwole’s outstretched arms to the cross and his feet to the lower portion.
The shaman saw that his arms and feet were similarly affixed to a cross. With some effort, Eleku could lean his head forward far enough to see a dozen crosses standing before the marketplace, where villagers were busy placing large plates of food on a long wooden table. Some cast furtive glances toward the men and women on the crosses, and others sneered and laughed at the crucified figures, but most averted their eyes. Eleku saw Ademola, dressed in a European coat and trousers, glance toward Eleku and quickly look away.
Eleku’s cross was closest to the woods at the end of the twelve crosses. Thoughts of escape quickly faded as he heard a mixture of laughs and cries emanate down the line of crucified villagers. He craned his neck, and he could see Bola, a long spear grasped in his hands, making his way down the line of crosses. Bola would thrust the spear into the crucified villager, and he would laugh cruelly as they cried out. Eleku watched the twin make his way down the line. Thrust. Laugh. Move.
“Bola, how could you do this to your own people?” Oluwole stared down at the man, shaking his head.
“Thou shall smite every male thereof with the edge of the sword,” Bola spouted with fanatical zeal as he thrust the spear into Oluwole.
The gore-slick spear slipped in Bola’s hands, the pointed tip grazing Oluwole’s chest, leaving a bright red line and sliding into the elder’s eye. Bola frowned as he pulled the spear free with a sickening sucking noise, and Oluwole’s head lolled forward lifelessly.
“That was not supposed to happen,” Bola shrugged and grinned at Eleku. “Our Lord and Savior was pierced as he suffered on the cross. Minister John wishes you heathens to feel that pain.”
Bola thrust the spear upward, and Eleku grunted as he felt the tip slide into his left side, just below the ribs. Eleku gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside into a mind-numbing throb.
“I had you placed here last Eleku,” Bola’s grin was broad and filled with malice. “I wanted you to have the perfect view of the feast.”
Bola laughed as he joined the others around the large table. From the corner of his eye, Eleku saw Ademola watching the exchange and turned toward the chieftain. Their eyes met momentarily, and Ademola’s mouth moved as if he was going to speak; then, he hung his head and turned away.
As his lifeblood leaked from the wound in his side, Eleku watched the villagers assemble around the table. Had it not been for their dark skin and black hair, Eleku imagined this was how European church gatherings likely looked — the men in their fine black jackets and pants, the women in long dark dresses.
A hush came over the villagers as Ajayi led a tall blonde man dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and wide-brimmed black hat into the village. Eleku knew this must be Minister John; the man was tall and lean with beady blue eyes and a sharp, pointed nose.
“Praise the Lord, you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey his word!” Minister John raised his hands skyward as he greeted the assembled villagers. “For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.”
Many villagers raised their arms in imitation of the minister, while others knelt and clasped their hands together in prayer. Several shouted Hallejuah and other praises that Eleku could not hear clearly.
“Human beings ate the bread of angels; he sent them all the food they could eat,” Minister John gestured to the bounty of food the villagers had assembled.
Ajayi and Yemisi stood behind Minister John as he extolled the goodness of the villagers, the bountifulness of their feast, and their devotion to the one true god.
“With the assistance of Brother Ajayi and Sister Yemisi,” Minister John gestured to the two, who bowed their heads deferentially to the man. “I have chosen this village amongst all the Christians in the land to host the angel’s feast.”
Ajayi and Yemisi gave smiles that did not reach their eyes as the villagers cheered at the minister’s words and sang the praises of their new god. The minister began to stomp his feet and flail his arms in a chaotic dance, shaking his body wildly as he chanted and called out to god and the angels. Eleku saw many of the villagers imitating the same mad, frenetic dancing.
“He will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other,” Minister John shouted above the din of the feast, and Ajayi raised an ivory horn to his lips and blew a loud clarion call.
A loud thunderclap overhead answered the horn call, and Eleku raised his head to see clouds swirling over the village, moving in a circular pattern unlike he had ever seen before. Many of the villagers looked skyward in awe.
Eleku felt something thump against his outstretched arm, and with great effort, he turned to look. Tunde’s hollow eyes stared back at him as the creature chittered at him.
“Tunde,” Eleku smiled through the pain of his injuries at the sight of the skeleton. “You are alive; I was so worried about you.”
The monkey’s head cocked this way, and that, as he surveyed the ropes binding Eleku; then he scampered down the length of the cross, and the shaman could feel the monkey’s skeletal claws against his feet. With fierce determination, the small monkey sank its teeth into the rope binding and began to tear at the strands.
“But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly,” Minister John had stopped dancing and thrust his arms heavenward. “Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders.”
The villagers stood transfixed as the swirling cloud took on the shape of flying forms, dozens of human-like creatures; they were snow white with broad feathered wings and long, flowing hair of golden blonde. To Eleku, they circled the village like vultures over a carcass. Men and women fell to their knees praising the nailed god, some weeping uncontrollably.
“Then I saw another angel flying in midair, and he had the eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth — to every nation, tribe, language, and people,” Minister John’s voice sounded loud, shrill, and maniacal as he looked from the flying angels to the villagers. “It was time to feast.”
Eleku saw the feral grin on Minister John’s face as the first angel dove from the sky, the soft white skin of its face stretched wide as the creature crashed into Ademola, driving the chieftain to the ground, its mouth full of jagged teeth sinking into his face. The angel raked long, sharp talon’s across Ademola body, spilling his innards onto the earth in a rush of hot blood.
Voices raised in praise and worship turned to screams of pain and terror as the angels swooped from the sky and tore into the villagers, feeding upon them in a blood frenzy.
Eleku felt the ropes around his feet slacken as Tunde climbed back up the cross and began working on the bindings around his right hand.
“Hurry, Tunde,” Eleku looked from the monkey to the angels darting from the sky in terror.
Minister John surveyed the scene, grinning and laughing, as Ajayi and Yemisi smirked behind him as the villagers called out to save them.
“Eat my angels, eat,” Minister John laughed and clapped his hands.
Eleku saw Yemisi watch impassively as one of the angels fell upon her brother, tearing his face from his skull before sinking its long teeth into his neck, Bola’s red blood splatting the pure white wings.
Amid the carnage, a tall man stepped from the shadows, and Eleku quickly recognized Adagba. The hunter bore a long spear in each hand. Eleku did not know if he was more amazed that Adagba had survived the purge of non-Christians, or that the man had returned to aid those that had forsaken him.
Eleku watched as the Adagba reared back one mighty shoulder and let one of the spears fly. The long shaft sailed through the air and pierced the chest of one of the angels; the creature pirouetted out of the sky like skewered meat and crashed to the ground in a pile of broken wings and bones. The hunter raised his fist triumphantly and readied another spear just as three angels fell upon him, teeth and claws tearing at the valiant warrior. Eleku turned away from the grisly scene but could not block out the anguished sounds of Adagba’s dying screams.
Tunde freed the shaman’s right hand, and Eleku silently prayed to the gods that the monkey could free him before an angel spotted him. However, for the time being, the angels seemed fully occupied, feasting upon the villagers. The night carried the iron-like scent of blood and the terrified and pain-filled cries of the village converts as the feast of angels continued unabated.
Eleku groaned as pain shot through his wounded side. The monkey freed the shaman’s left hand from the bonds, and his body tumbled from the cross to land hard upon the earth. Tunde hopped down, landing beside the shaman, his skeletal face closely inspecting Eleku’s dark features.
“I’m ok, Tunde,” Eleku grimaced and placed a hand over his wound. “We need to get to Abeokuta; the city is fortified, they will be able to stand against these Christians and their angels.”
Eleku got slowly to his feet, still numb from the bindings, and swooning, realized how significantly weakened he was by his wounds.
“We do not have much time, Tunde,” Eleku pressed a hand firmly against his wounded side. “I fear my life force is draining from me like the sands of an hourglass.”
Tunde hopped onto his shoulder, and the shaman ran a loving hand over the creature. He half ran, half stumbled into the forest’s darkness, leaving the dying cries of his village behind him.
They stuck to the cover provided by the canopy of trees to hide from any angels searching the woods overhead for more victims. Beads of sweat dotted Eleku’s forehead and bald scalp like glistening pearls when he finally stopped against a tree to catch his breath. Tunde hopped from his shoulder and scurried into the underbrush as Eleku stared after him. The shaman noted that the edges of his vision were black, a further sign that his body was quickly failing.
“Tunde, have you finally run back to Eshu?” Eleku called after the disappearing form of the skeletal monkey.
However, when Tunde returned moments later, the monkey gripped large handfuls of green leaves and bright red flowers in his boney fingers. Eleku watched the monkey shove the leaves and flowers between his bone-white jaws and teeth, grinding them into a mushy red-green ball that he spat back into his paws. The monkey’s hollow eye socks gazed up at Eleku as he held out the ball to the shaman and placed it in his palm.
“What’s this?” Eleku sniffed the ball and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The flowers and leaves of a Roselle plant.”
Tunde pointed to the wound on Eleku’s side; the shaman nodded and winced as he packed the ground mixture into the wound. The wound was raw and painful, but the medicinal plant took some stinging away within a few minutes.
“I am ready,” Eleku nodded to Tunde, and the little monkey hopped back onto his shoulder.
The two pushed on through the night, stopping only once more for Eleku to drink cool water from a stream. As the shaman knelt to drink, he spied two piercing yellow eyes staring at him through the darkness. He could smell the stink of the beast’s breath on the night air and the guttural growl of the lion knotted Eleku’s innards with fear.
“To come all this way, only to be eaten by a lion,” the thought almost made Eleku laugh.
Tunde stepped forward, placing himself between the lion and Elku. The small monkey silently stared at the lion, the dark hollows of his eye sockets meeting the lion’s gaze until the beast receded further into the forest’s darkness and troubled them no more.
Eleku rose and staggered into the night, with Tunde following behind.
The night was giving way to sunrise as they approached Abeokuta, the horizon glowing a golden orange as the sun rose behind the fortified city. Eleku’s steps had become labored from blood loss and exhaustion as he emerged from the forest. His body swayed precariously in the morning light as he peered at Abeokuta.
Eleku let out a deep breath that turned into a muling sob as he sank to his knees. The shaman’s shoulder’s slumped as he gave in to despair. Tunde hopped onto Eleku’s shoulder, placing a boney paw on the man’s head. The monkey turned his skull toward Abeokuta, and the creature’s hollow eye sockets stared at the long dark shadow on the ground. Tunde followed the length of the shadow up the city walls to the large wooden cross that stood upon battlements in the morning sun.
That would be great!! I am looking forward to hearing it read aloud! Thank you brother’
This is great. Once again you have shown your ability to create an immersive story and leave us, the readers, with a ringer of an ending. I would like to read this to an audience week after next, if that is okay with you? It is short enough for the second half of my podcast and it would make for a great read aloud. Especially since I empathize with your main character as a non-Christian believer. I have my own horror stories, real life ones, of the Christians and their predatations around the world. Let me know and I will read it on June 28th for the An Crann Bethadh Podcast, then put a link to the story in the followup newsletters.