Sean stood on the balcony of his small, modest apartment, staring out
over the city. The lights of Lagos twinkled like stars scattered across the
earth, but his mind was elsewhere. The storm inside him was building again,
that familiar pressure that made his skin tingle and his blood hum with
electricity.
He closed his eyes, seeking calm. Instead, he was assaulted by a vision —
a great storm, darker than any he had ever seen, swirling over the city, its
eye glowing with an unnatural light. He saw shadows moving within the storm,
figures emerging, stretching long, claw-like hands toward him. He heard a
voice, distant yet clear: “The storm within is stronger than the storm without.
Beware the eye that sees what is hidden.”
He gasped, opening his eyes, his heart racing. He could feel a bead of
sweat trickling down his forehead despite the cool night air. He knew these
visions were not mere dreams; they were warnings, messages from a realm beyond
the ordinary.
He needed guidance. He grabbed his jacket and left his apartment, moving
swiftly through the streets until he reached a narrow alleyway that led to a
small, hidden shrine. Inside, seated on a mat surrounded by burning incense and
ancient carvings, was Baba Ifa, the blind diviner.
Baba Ifa's voice, though raspy with age, carried a deep, resonant timbre
that filled the room. His hands trembled slightly as he raised them, palms
open, in reverence. His clouded eyes seemed to see beyond the physical,
recognizing the spirit that stood before him.
He began, his tone both respectful and awed:
Baba Ifa's voice fell to a hush, his eyes fixed on Sean. A knowing smile
played on his lips, and he nodded as if greeting an old friend whose strength
and spirit he could still sense, despite the modern guise.
Sean stood still momentarily; his expression unreadable as he listened to
Baba Ifa's exaltation. The old man’s words hung in the air, heavy with
reverence, echoing a past that seemed both distant and near. For a brief
second, something flickered in Sean's eyes — a glint of memory, a flash of old
battles and ancient rituals.
Then, a small, almost wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He
took a deep breath and spoke, his voice calm and steady, but with an
undercurrent of familiarity that showed he was no stranger to such words.
"Baba Ifa," Sean said gently, "those days are long behind us,
buried under centuries of dust. The storms I once called have quieted, and the
fires have cooled. I am not here for old honors or memories of what was."
He paused, his eyes searching Baba Ifa's face, softening as he continued,
"I come now not as Sango, but as Sean — a man in need of answers, a man
seeking the truth in these strange times. Tell me, Baba… what do you know of
the forces stirring in this world? What is it that I feel in the wind, like a
whisper from the past?"
He leaned forward slightly, brushing aside the old titles, bringing the
conversation back to the present urgency that had brought him here.
Sean knelt before him. “Baba Ifa, I need to understand. The fire today…
it was different. I felt something else, something… dark.”
Baba Ifa nodded slowly. “I have seen it, too. The darkness gathers, like
a storm ready to break. But it is not just the fire you must fear, Sango. There
are eyes upon you, eyes that see more than they should.”
Sean frowned. “Akin Ajayi… the journalist?”
Baba Ifa shook his head. “Not just him. There is another. She moves in
shadows, seeking your true form. She carries a talisman of power, a gift from a
dark force. Be wary, Sango. She will not rest until she has what she seeks.”
Sean’s hands tightened into fists. “Then we must stop her. I cannot let
her threaten the Orishas or the people we protect.”
Baba Ifa chuckled softly. “Always so ready to fight. But this is not a
battle you win with strength alone. You must be wise, and you must act quickly.
The balance is fragile. Too much exposure, and everything will fall apart.”
Sean nodded, rising to his feet. “I understand, Baba. I will be careful.”
As he turned to leave, Baba Ifa’s voice called out once more. “Remember,
Sango. The storm within is stronger than the storm without. It is not the rain
that destroys, but the thunder. Do not let your power consume you.”
Sean paused, taking in the words, and then stepped back into the night, feeling the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders.
Back at the underground bar, hidden beneath the city streets, the other
Orishas were already waiting. The bar was dimly lit, filled with shadows that
seemed to shift and move on their own. The air was thick with the scent of
ancient herbs and the low hum of magic that pulsed through the walls.
Olivia paced back and forth; her brow furrowed with concern. Zeke lounged
in a corner, a playful smile on his lips, while Ogun sat at the bar, his
massive arms crossed over his chest. Maya was seated at a small table, her
hands resting on a bowl of water that shimmered with an otherworldly light.
Sean entered, his expression serious. “We have a problem,” he said, his
voice cutting through the silence.
Ogun grunted. “We know. You almost exposed us today with your little rain
trick.”
“I had no choice,” Sean shot back. “The fire… it was different. Alive.
And there’s more. There’s a woman. She’s hunting us, and she has a talisman
that can see through our disguises.”
Olivia stopped pacing. “A talisman?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.
“How did she get her hands on something like that?”
Sean shook his head. “I don’t know. But Baba Ifa warned me. She’s
dangerous, and she’s not working alone.”
Zeke leaned forward, his grin widening. “Well, this just got interesting.
Sounds like we have a little game of cat and mouse on our hands. I do love a
good hunt.”
Olivia shot him a glare. “This is not a game, Zeke. If she exposes us,
everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve protected, will be at risk.”
Maya nodded, her voice calm but firm. “We must find her before she finds
us. And we need to be careful. The human world is already noticing too much.”
Ogun slammed his fist on the table, causing the glasses to rattle.
“Enough talk. Let’s track her down and end this.”
Sean raised his hand. “No. We do this carefully, strategically. We find
out who she is, who she’s working with, and what they want. Then we strike. But
until then, we lay low. No more displays of power. No more risks.”
There was a tense silence, and then Olivia nodded. “Agreed. We watch, we
wait, and we find her.”
The others murmured their agreement, and the tension in the room seemed to ease, if only slightly. But as they made their plans, the shadows in the corners seemed to grow darker, and somewhere in the city, a figure watched and waited.
Ireti walked through the busy streets of Lagos, the talisman hidden
beneath her clothes. She could feel its power thrumming against her chest, like
a second heartbeat. She knew the Orishas were onto her now; she could feel
their eyes searching for her, their energy probing the city.
But she was ready. She had prepared for this moment for years, ever since
she first sensed their presence among humans. She would expose them, drag them
into the light, and claim the power and recognition that was rightfully hers.
She paused at a street corner, her eyes scanning the crowd. She felt a
tug, a faint whisper in her mind. “There,” the voice inside her said. “He is
close.”
She smiled, turning in the direction of the whisper. “Soon,” she
whispered back, “soon they will all know your secrets.”
To be continued …..
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While this blog draws upon Yoruba mythology, the specific expression, interpretation, and reimagining of the deities and stories presented here are the original creations of the author, Kunle. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or creation of derivative works based on this unique content is strictly prohibited without explicit written permission from the author.
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