THE
LIGHT AND THE SHADE, BOOK ONE, SHORT STORIES AND POEMS
By Ofu obekpa and Sigmund Jay-Sharwan
SMASHWORDS EDITION
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
Ofu Obekpa Publishing on Smashwords
The Light and the Shade
Copyright © 2010 by Ofu Obekpa and Sigmund Jey-Shawarn
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Story 1. Sigmund Jey-Sharwan
THE INVERSION
The reception room was cool and empty, as it was most of the time. The dark wood furniture did not encourage people to stay there very long, since they were hard and uncomfortable. But Fr. Kilian was expecting visitors, so he sat patiently with a bottle of rich lager. He drank it ever so slowly, relishing every sip like an epicurean. The abbot of the monastery had received a message that there was a boy who was demon possessed or mentally ill. It was Fr. Kilian’s job to authoritatively discern and say if the boy really needed an exorcist or some good psychiatric help. The difference between the two is a fine line and whoever presumes to tell them apart walks a tightrope. The large metal door knocker at the main entrance sounded with a firm double bang.
Soon, they were brought in by a young monk, walking with his black hood over his head; he opened the dark wooden door of the reception room and motioned for them to come in. The boy was carried in by the two men who escorted him. He was only four feet tall and very slim, but even though he was bound hand and feet with large nylon ropes, he was still a burden to carry. He snorted and kicked and growled. They lowered him to the smooth tiled floor as the young monk approached the older priest. “Fr. Kilian.”
“Thank you,” the priest said in response. The monk turned to go, but as an afterthought, the priest spoke again. “Brother, please wait.” He then turned to the two men. “Which one of you is his father?”
The man said, “I am.”
“Don’t worry,” the priest said to him. “It will all be fine. Please, go with the brother and leave me with the boy.” The young monk proceeded to leave the room and the two men followed him without hesitation.
The reception room now had two people gazing at each other for a long period of time. This would have made any normal person uneasy. The priest lifted the bottle to his lips, sipped and gave a sigh of satisfaction. He continued with his beer, as though he were alone. The boy began to struggle violently in his bonds. When the priest saw it, he was not perturbed. The creature within the boy decided to speak out. “Ha! You drunken ass!” it said in a voice that could make the hair on anyone’s neck stand. “Do you actually think that you can drive me out of this boy after drinking that?” The voice was so deep, it felt like a tiger’s growl, but the priest regarded it like a pussy cat.
“Well, you wait for me to finish my beer and you’ll see just what I will do to you!” He pointed an index finger at the growling monster behind the boy’s eyes. He raised his head in defiance, but the priest was so confident, he added, “Just you wait!” At these words, the boy went into a violent fit that began to bruise his poor young body. The priest continued drinking his beer, totally undisturbed by the noise. Indeed, he understood the fit to be a final attempt by the demon to resist his power. He had seen it before, so many times, when the devil was about to leave a possessed person. When the fit was over, the boy’s body went limp. The boy was empty of any foreign entity, as surely as the beer bottle was also emptied by the priest. He removed the bottle from his lips and sighed with a drinker’s satisfaction. He then put the bottle down and got up from his seat, untied the boy and raised him up from the cold tiles. With a gentle tap to the face, he said, “Wake up!”
The man lowered the boy into the seat very gently, and the boy asked, “Who are you? And what am I doing here?”
* * * *
The poor girl had been held down on the padded floor next to her bed for over half an hour, by four hefty nurses who had been assigned to her room. They struggled to keep her pinned to the ground, but they could barely contain her. Her skinny arms and legs seemed to lift them all clear off the ground with each burst of aggression, howling and growling. The water, which had made them all moderately wet, caused their feet to skid on the floor with each jerk. “Let go of me! You *$#*^ ass! Let go of me!” she screamed with a belligerent voice that was clearly not hers. “Are you tired of sprinkling? Let me help you.” And she spat an unusual amount from her partly subdued position. The spittle flew and hit the priest’s robe just above his knee. Looking at it, she showed her teeth in a hideous grin that seemed to contort her face into the face of some other ugly person.
The priest looked up from the small ritual book of exorcism which he was holding in his hand. He smiled as though he had just discovered something new. He pronounced a word that was neither Latin nor Greek.
“No! It can’t be! How do you know my name?” She spoke as though the voice was from another source.
The priest then spoke, “You want me to let you go? I’ll let you go.” He motioned to the nurses to release her. She took advantage of the lull in the pressure on her arms and legs and sent the four hefty nurses flying into the padded walls.
“You will *$%&#@ burn in Hell for this!” Her voice echoed as though there was more than one. She rose to her feet, sprang and rushed at the priest. He raised his hand and stretched it out like a human ‘stop’ sign. She collided into an invisible force before she could touch his hand and fell backward. She began to beat her limbs against the padded floor, as if trying to escape an unseen force which was holding her.
“Vade Satana!” the priest commanded, and he continued in that ecclesiastical language; “In nomine filius Deo, qui di crucifixionem et resurrectionem …” As he continued, she became visibly weak. Her violent tantrum slowed, and eventually stopped, and she lay limp on the floor. Three of the hefty nurses had decided that all this was too much for them to take, and they snuck out of the padded room. He was left in the room with one nurse and the patient. The priest dragged a nearby stool and sat on it, then he motioned to the nurse to sit on the only bed in the room. The nurse looked at it as though the scattered sheets could possibly infect him with the same contagion which was responsible for this girl’s sickness. He perched lightly on the edge of the bed and remained on red alert. The seemingly lifeless body of the young woman began to stir and her mouth opened while her eyes remained shut. The priest called out again the name that he had spoken before.
The answer he got was not what he had expected. “He is not here,” said the voice. Her mouth was wide open, and neither her tongue nor lips moved as the voice came forth. “He ran away like a coward, afraid of a mere mortal.”
“Afraid of a priest of God,” corrected the priest. “I have sent him to Hell, and you too will follow in a short while.”
“Ha! Priest, my ass! You can’t lay off the women and the booze, and you call yourselves priests! ” The voice continued with a slightly different tone. “Let me make you a deal. Don’t send me to Hell and I will tell you anything you want to know.”
“No! Don’t trust him. He lies! I will tell you the truth. I will tell you the future.” This voice interrupted the first; it seemed to have a hiss, which made it sound more serpentine.
As if that was not enough, a third voice echoed roughly, “No, no! Let me tell you a secret about your family lineage, but only if you’d let me stay out of Hell.” The voices were coming out of her, as though she were a puppet being animated by half a dozen ventriloquists at the same time. They argued and contradicted each other.
“And where would you go if I don’t send you to Hell? Surely, you can’t be allowed to roam the earth and torment new victims.” The priest said.
“Send me to the desert where there is nobody.”
“I will go to the bottom of the sea, where no man can go.”
“The far side of the moon is better for me.”
The priest said, “you really take me for a fool, for I know that you are so hateful that you’d endure months of pain if you knew that it would cost someone just one minute of misery.”
“You are right,” said a fourth voice, more subtle than the others. “They insult your intelligence, priest.” It sounded almost human, as it made all efforts to sound sensitive.
“And who are you?” the priest asked.
“I am the Inversion,” said the fourth voice. As it spoke, the girl’s head raised and her eyes became half-open. Clearly, this demon was showing his superiority to the others. “And I know that you are not like most exorcists. You are not to be toyed with.”
“And what do you offer, Inversion? What would you require in return?” The priest asked.
“I require nothing. Of course, that is, besides the satisfaction that I had a conversation with a priest of God. All I offer is the truth, but I will not answer many questions,” said the Inversion.
“Ha!” scoffed the priest. “A demon talks about truth! That would be the day!”
“Try me, priest,” said the spirit, in a tone of persistence. The eyelids widened as it spoke patiently and with much cunning. “After all, you are a man of great discernment. If I lie, you can just ignore it and get on with your life, right?”
The invisible creature was making a lot of sense, as it voiced its thoughts through the body of the poor young woman. After all, Fr. Kilian did not have to take to heart anything that it would say. It was all lies, of course. But he could humor himself with whatever it was that the foul creature had to say. “Speak! Foul thing. What truth do you imagine that I’d be interested in, when all truth subsists in the church?” The Priest said.
“I speak not of eternal truths. For that, you have your dogma,” said the demon with a veiled regard for the church. Veiled, but still intended to be perceived, as that would make excellent bait for the exorcist’s ego. The demon continued, “I can speak of things to come; A little prognostication, perhaps? Ask me a question, any question, but just remember that I will answer only once. So you’d better make it count.”
With the thought of making it count, Kilian began to realize that he was suddenly taking the words of the evil spirit rather more seriously than he had first thought. Maybe that was why Fr. Abbot had asked him, even begged him, not to take on this case. He had told him that he knew how dangerous these demons were. But already, his curiosity did not allow him to think it through before he spoke. “Just out of curiosity, what ultimate end does the future hold for me?”
“Well, a broad question to be sure, but I will begin by saying this…”
“Straight to the point! No embellishments,” the priest cut in sharply.
“Well, I really need to embellish a little, because the ultimate end for you is death!”
“And how will this be?”
“As you grow old, your powers of discretion will fail you and you will suffer an accident.”
The priest laughed with contempt for the spirit whose face he could not see, but even behind the young girl’s face, he could sense the seriousness with which it spoke. “These are the machinations of a mind sick with hatred and a lust for revenge. You invert the truth well, but all that you have said is rubbish.”
“You, of course, have the right to discard all that I’ve said as nonsense. Indeed, it is right that you should…”
“Of course I will,” said the priest in a rising tone of voice. He was angry and he let it show. He rose to his feet and resumed the use of Latin, beginning the final rite to drive the demons out of the girl for good. Within minutes, all the demons were expelled. As they left the girl’s body, they screeched and screamed and filled the whole hospital with their eerie noises, but it was all over soon.
The psychiatrist was amazed at her quick recovery. He said that it was extraordinary. Within three weeks, he was ready to discharge her, but still wanted to keep her under close observation thereafter.
* * * *
Fr. Kilian was a renowned exorcist. He was so proficient that he had even used his power to extract truthful information from the demons about how they gained access to a soul. This had proven useful in defending the victim against the prospect of being possessed again. And so, he was confident that the nonsense he had heard the demon spew out was of no consequence; or was it? However, it would not hurt him to take a few precautions of his own. He often took the bus, the train or a flight when he travelled out of town, but now, he would use his car. He would be safer, he thought. He started using his car more often; in fact, the habit grew on him like an addiction, until he forgot the bus, as one would forget an old overused piece of clothing.
Nearly two decades had gone by since that encounter with the demon who called itself the Inversion. Fr. Kilian had worn himself out with long hours of driving over the years. Even so, it did not seem to affect his duties, and much less his work of exorcism. He was glad that he had successfully avoided the malicious prediction of an accident. All was well; at least, until that snowy evening, when he took his twin cabin pick-up truck, which he had kept in excellent working condition. He was driving round a hillside with a steep slope that ran a distance of about five minutes drive. The priest was more tired than a marathon runner after a race, and had been dozing at the wheel. When he approached the point where the slope descended sharply from the road, he lost concentration. The truck veered slightly towards the edge and hit a large stone in the ground with a protrusion like an iceberg, small enough not to be seen under the falling snow. The priest straightened with a start from his half-sleep delirium.
“Oh no!” he grunted, as he tried to regain control, but the right front tire had gone over the steep edge. His car skidded in spite of the full application of the brakes, as the tires tried to knead the large stones beneath the falling snow. The truck tumbled down the slope until it hit a rock that was twice its size. The impact broke up the accumulated snow and sent it flying into the wind that swept the hillside.
The car now looked like a tin can trampled by the feet of many. The truck was upside down with the glass on every side broken. It was a wonder that the priest was still conscious. He struggled, slow as a wombat, and crawled out of the broken truck. He tried to get to his feet, but he could not, and remained on his knees. His head was bleeding so badly; he realized that his skull had been split like a coconut on an anvil. His red blood was a sharp contrast against the white of the snow that covered the ground. He wanted to remove his shirt and tie his head, but he was so weak, he could barely take off his jacket. Then it dawned on him that he would most likely bleed to death, or freeze, before anybody could sound the alarm that he was missing. Despair suddenly filled his heart; it sank to the pit of his stomach. He slipped and fell. He tried to raise himself from the ground, but slumped, and the thick snow beneath him began to give way to his body temperature. As blood continued to drain from his head, he soon felt the cold seeping into his body from beneath, while the blizzard wind swept over him.
In that strange moment of calm, it all began to become clear to him, right from the time when Fr. Abbot had tried repeatedly to discourage him from taking on the case. Why did he not simply order him to refuse? He began to see how his attempt to avoid an accident had led him to overwork himself and brought him to this. If he had not taken extra measures to avoid an accident, he would have avoided one; perhaps, with greater certainty. Conceivably, travelling by public means could have been safer. All must someday die, but the demon had twisted that simple truth and used it to destroy him. While his eyes grew dim from the loss of blood, and his breathing became more labored, he could hear them in his mind, laughing at him with glee.
STORY 2. Ofu Obekpa
Torgny
The harsh dusk wind becomes placid, while snowflakes become tiny drops on yew branches. Torgny holds a torch, shines his way, and runs through a thick forest. Wolves, and about ten wild-looking men holding flame torches, pursue.
He runs frantically, wheezing through leaves that seem to be alive in his eyes. He catches a glimpse of the full moon. Loud howls increase; his pursuers draw nearer. Despite the cold, his shirt is soaked in sweat. He skips a few withered yew and bends, passes some Scots pine. “Not my lucky day,” he says to himself. Arrows whistle past his body; he runs farther into the forest, but the persistent adversaries press on without relenting.
He quickly runs to a bend, tosses his torch away, and hides himself at a corner behind a chopped log. His hands quiver in fright as he tries to control his breath. He unveils his cloak; a patch stretches across his left eye, blending well with his smooth face. Sweat flows from his fore brow, blinking his SILVER eye. He inhales deeply and exhales methodically. He unsheathes a Nordic sword from a brown scabbard strapped to his side. His boots are covered with mud from the chase. His adversaries now cover the perimeter in which he hides. A wolf amongst the pack sniffs and trails his hiding spot. Sensing danger, he steadies his sword; the beast approaches. “Stay calm,” he mutters to himself.
Suddenly, the wolf leaps, gliding and shading the moon. She opens her mouth wide. Her sharp teeth glisten from the reflection of the moon, as she descends to meet Torgny’s sword.
The cry of death draws their attention towards Torgny’s concealment. They draw their swords; their eyes are filled with death.
Suddenly, the wolves dive at him from several directions. Adroitly, he spins thrusts and slashes. The animals lie dead. Blood stains on his silver blade drip down.
The men glare with hate, what seems to be a collective snort. Their leader, Mr. Osvald - stout, a skilful hunter of an average height, with unshaved facial hair - steps into view with his sword drawn. He utters with a SLAVIC accent, “Give me potion and no more blood will be spilled tonight.”
“I don’t have a choice,” replied Torgny.
“You can give me potion or die.” Osvald points his sword at Torgny.
Torgny inhales and breathes out slowly; he grabs his sword with both hands and points at his adversaries. Without further hesitations, the men close in on him. They dance with blades under the moon, the forest gazes. After the performance, Torgny stands victoriously with blood stains all over his clothes. He digs into his pouch and brings out a transparent bottle filled with a dark blue liquid. One can hardly differentiate the colour in the darkness.
PART 2.
At dawn, Torgny arrives fast at a huge gate, guarded with armed soldiers holding spears, and shields. He halts at the entrance and unveils his hood. A scrawny guard asks, “What is your business here?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Edvard,” Torgny says.
“For what?” the guard asks curiously.
“I have that which all men of this land want.” Torgny digs into his pouch, brings out the potion and shows it to the guard.
The guard whispers into another guard’s ear. The guard tells Torgny to wait; he opens the gate and enters.
Torgny clenches his fist repeatedly; he blows air into it and walks back and forth a short distance. After a short while, the guard returns and opens the gate for him.
Lamps hang on fences as Torgny walks on concrete pavements through well-trimmed gardens of beautiful flowers. He walks hurriedly towards a big wooden door in a near distance. When he arrives, he opens and enters.
“Well done, I knew you were capable of accomplishing such a simple task. I rather have it than those wretched thieves.” Edvard, a bald headed man wearing a wolf’s fur, sits on a chair several feet away in a well-furnished room of velvet curtains and silk. Torgny passes a few armed guards standing in the short hallway. Excess gold coins, treasures and expensive clothing material lie carelessly at corners; plundering and looting from merchants, noblemen and travellers from near and far.
As Torgny approaches, Edvard grabs a gold cup filled with wine from a side table next to a male servant and sips. The table is filled with roasted pork, fruits and wine. The servant quickly grabs hold of a wine vase and attempts to refill Edvard’s cup. Edvard raises a stopping hand; the servant bows and drops the vase on a table. Torgny stands. A few talk in the distance, and he notices two half-naked, brown-skinned women, painted with gold and red colour on their faces, dancing and rolling.
Edvard reaches his hand into a bowl, grabs a chunk of meat and munches. He seems to be enjoying the entertainment. He speaks while chewing. “Those fools had the nerves to steal from monks, rather them than us.”
Torgny stares at Edvard gauchely; his patience is running out. He has no time for dancing women.
“We are celebrating your return,” Edvard says, not taking his eyes off the dancing women. Torgny’s silence and gaze draws Edvard’s attention. Edvard drops his cup and gestures to the women to leave; they rise and exit. Edvard rises; his robust belly is bigger than expected. He laughs and dances towards Torgny. When he approaches, he gestures with both hands. “Show me.”
Torgny digs and shows him the potion.
Edvard points at the potion. “You know, only one of this exists. It is said to have the real blood of Christ, and if anyone drinks of it, they’ll live forever, just like the tree of life in the Garden of Eden. For a thousand years, men have waged war, wiped out generations of families, only to get a glimpse of this. With this, I can become king of the world.” Smiling, Edvard rubs his hands together and points at an open palm for Torgny to drop it in.
“My wife, I’ve to be sure she’s alive before I give this to you,” Torgny says irritably. Edvard knew Torgny wasn’t only a skilled mercenary and thief, but also a clever man.
“Walk with me,” Edvard gestures. Leading the way, they exit the room, walk some few distances and approach a room with a metal door, what seems to be a dungeon. They enter and witness a guard lashing his whip on a male servant’s bare back, who’s tied up in chains. Exhausted from the whip, the servant hardly groans. When they walk past, Torgny stares at the helpless man with pity. Edvard notices and says, “Thieves who can’t keep their hands to themselves, I have to make an example.”
They walk past a short hallway and approach a room with a guard standing watch. Edvard nods at the guard. He opens the door to reveal Torgny’s wife, Anni; a beautiful, slender, light-skinned woman, sitting on a floor mat in a small room of one window. She rises with tears of joy rushing down her cheeks; she brushes aside her dark curly hair from her face to see her twin soul standing next to Edvard, a man she disdains. She runs and hugs her husband. Torgny wants a guarantee that he and his wife will not be harmed. Edvard assures him. Torgny hands the potion to Edvard.
“Are you sure no one followed you here?” Edvard asked.
“No one,” Torgny replies.
Edvard gestures for them to leave. As they attempt to leave, Edvard speaks excitedly, “Drink of his blood and you’ll never die again. Men will worship and adore me.” A wry smile spreads across his chubby face as he watches Torgny and his wife exit.
Part 3
Torgny and Anni sit at a dinner table in a cabin-like living room, with hardly any furniture in it. Anni smiles at Torgny; he smiles back and scratches his eye patch. Maps on scrolls lie next to an unlighted lamp on a centre table. Torgny dips a piece of bread in a soup and eats. Anni rises from her seat, walks towards her husband, and pours water in a cup for him. Gently, Torgny’s fingers stroke Anni’s; she smiles and bites her lips, facing him. He stands up, and kisses her forehead while embracing her.
“Do you believe blood can last that long?” Anni asks.
“Well, there are mages and men with powers who have preserved their blood with certain elements from the earth over the years. Besides, it is God’s,” Torgny replies, while stroking her hair gently.
Anni does not feel safe in her environment; she wants to move far away. But Torgny is thinking of settling down here, retiring from his mercenary work and starting a real family. They keep quiet for a short while, as if reading each other’s thoughts. “You know he is going to come after us when his excitement stops,” Anni says, with a soft yet concerning tone.
Torgny clasps Anni and says, “He gave me his word… I’ll hunt and farm; I have enough saved to sustain us for a very long time.”
“He has no honour. He has not changed. If possible, he’ll kill his own shadow if he thinks it’s standing in his way,” Anni says concernedly.
Torgny sees a flicker of shadow creeping outside his slightly cracked window, while the sun’s rays melt the rest of the snow outside. Anni attempts to speak, but Torgny shushes her and says, “We have company.” Torgny dashes away from Anni. He quickly grabs a scabbard from the wall and unsheathes a sword. “I should not have trusted him,” Torgny says, as he motions his hand for Anni to hide. Frightened, she quickly runs into a nearby room and hides underneath the bed.
Torgny tiptoes his way towards the doorway and peeps outside. He sees men dressed in black, holding clubs, swords and axes. There are little or no escape routes. He peers and takes cover behind the exit door. A man kicks the door wide open and rushes in. Torgny shuts the door behind and cuts him down. Two others rush in; Torgny deflects their strikes and cuts them down quickly. Anni watches in fright from her hiding spot. More men rush in; they nick Torgny. Torgny runs outside; they follow.
His house seems to be in the midst of the woods. Assailants in black give colour to the melting snow that covers the entire area. Torgny is surrounded. He senses death, but will not give up easily. They exchange swings and deflect. Blood splatters on the snow, drenching it like wine on a carpet. Even though Torgny is outnumbered, he adroitly exchanges slashes, deflects and thrusts. Some of the men keep him company with swordplay, while others rush into his house and seize his wife from her hiding spot; she resists to no avail, as they bring her outside.
They light torches and set the house ablaze. The men drag Anni hurriedly down the hill towards their horses and mount. They ride off, believing their men will kill Torgny. On seeing this, Torgny’s eyes widen in rage. He tries to run after Anni, but the men apply more pressure, attacking him mercilessly. After some moments of fighting, Torgny stands alone; blood decorates his outfit and face. He inhales and exhales frost. Dead bodies are scattered all over. The dark foggy sky stays without the companion of the moon. The wolves howl from a far distance. Torgny turns his head one last time to glimpse the dim smoke rising from his burnt rooftop as he runs in pursuit of Anni.
Part 4
The stars brighten the dark sky as Torgny rushes towards a poorly built shack in the near distance. He scouts the area and notices that no one is around. He thinks it is some hunter who has probably gone hunting for some game. But he sneaks into the shack cautiously. No one is present, but a rugged table made of wood from the forest - holding some wooden cups, bowls, and an unlighted torch - stares at him.
He walks around and searches. He sees two daggers placed next to a wooden bed. He picks them up and straps them to his side; he sees a scimitar hanging on a wall, placed in a scabbard. He unsheathes, admires, sheathes it back quickly, and straps it around his waist. He picks up bow and arrows from the table, dashes out of the shack, and heads towards the forest.
After a while of running and trekking, he approaches Edvard’s house. He conceals himself behind yew branches. He scouts his surroundings and notices two guards on the roof and two on the ground level. He aims at a guard walking towards the other side of the rooftop by himself. Torgny does not hesitate; he lets an arrow fly. The arrow hits the guard; he slumps on a nearby sack, sending him to eternal rest. Quickly, Torgny sets another arrow and aims at the unaware guard standing watch at the other end of the rooftop. Torgny shoots; the arrow protrudes from the guard’s chest. He makes a low groan, alerting the ground-floor guards, as he drops dead. Arrows whistle through the air, killing both ground-level guards.
Torgny rushes towards one of the dead guards, changes into his uniform, and disguises. He enters into Edvard’s compound. Two guards, standing near, nod at him; he nods back and walks past them. Smoke rises from a distance. Drumbeats are heard while Torgny walks farther in.
Edvard holds some kind of ritual ceremony at the back of his wide spacious land. A bonfire blazes towards the bright sky, next to a six-foot wooden cross. Guards and servants stand near and far, while Torgny tries to locate Edvard. Edvard wears a red robe, holding the potion in the transparent tube. Torgny sights Edvard standing a few feet away; he places both hands on his daggers and glare at him.
Anni’s face is painted red and gold. She has a dim countenance and wears silk clothing. Jewellery covers her neck and hands. She sits amongst deceived and distinguished guests at an elevated balcony, a few feet at Edvard’s side. Edvard gestures his hand and summons her. She ignores. “Anni,” Edvard scolds; reluctantly, she rises and walks down towards him.
Torgny turns his head towards Anni, inspecting; he hardly recognizes his wife. When he realizes it’s her, a sense of joy and confusion rushes within.
Part5
Feeling untouchable and excited, Edvard tells Anni, “I am offering you a chance to live forever. You’ll be my bride and we shall rule this world together; rather me than him.”
“My heart will never belong to you.” She stares at him scornfully.
“With time,” Edvard replies. Edvard gestures to one of his servants holding a silver bowl to place it on an altar. The servant does as instructed. Edvard opens the potion and pours it into the bowl.
Torgny walks closer to Edvard; the guards do not recognize him. Torgny wonders what Edvard will do with such powers and could not stomach it. His mind is racing with options; he has to come up with a quick plan. He scans and notices that too many guards are standing around; his purpose here is to get his wife to safety.
But now, he is thinking about the safety of the world. Something is changing in his eyes. He sees the world differently. It seems his life is flashing before him. He notices the emptiness of his life. He doesn’t mind dying now for doing the right thing. After giving it much thought, he mutters within, “Lord, I know I have lived a lifetime of sin. I pray for forgiveness. Please grant me the strength to carry on this task ahead of me. Amen.” He sighs, scans around one more time, and unsheathes his daggers.
He rushes towards two guards standing next to Edvard, plants a dagger in one’s chest, and stabs the other in the stomach. He removes the helmet covering his head and tosses it to the ground. Edvard is astounded; he stands still. A rush of joy fills Anni when she sees her one-eyed patched prince. The crowd becomes bedlam as everyone runs away for safety. Six guards force their way through the melee and approach Torgny.
He quickly kicks the silver bowl containing the potion to the ground. The soil imbibes it. In desperation, Edvard gets on his knees and attempts to lick the dissolved potion; he gets a kick to the head and falls to the ground. He attempts to rise, but his fat belly makes it difficult. Torgny squats and removes a dagger from one of the dead guard’s chest; he throws it quickly towards an approaching guard, falling him to the ground.
He turns to Anni and says, “Run, I’ll meet you at our favourite sycamore.” Anni refuses, but Torgny insists. She nods and runs away.
Five guards close in on Torgny; he unsheathes his scimitar, deflects a downward strike from one of the guards, swings towards the guard’s mid-section and cuts him down. Two guards attack him from both sides; he bends down, dodging their strikes. He crouches, swings quickly from left to right, and cuts them; they fall, never to rise again.
Edvard manages to get up; he attempts to scuttle. An arrow WHIZZES and pierces his upper chest; he SLAMS hard. Two guards press on Torgny. He spins around, dodging a thrust coming towards his chest. He swings and cuts down one. He turns around, deflects a head strike, and thrusts his scimitar into the guard’s throat, breaking his wind pipe. The guard falls like a log and dies. More guards close in on him, but he has no time to waste. He removes an arrow from his back, dashes towards the bonfire, ignites the arrow, sets it and lets it fly towards an approaching guard. The arrow hits home, falling the SCREAMING guard. Torgny ignites more arrows and fusillades them towards Edvard’s house. Some of the arrows shatter window glasses. They land in the interior and set ablaze the fabrics. The fire quickly spreads and burns everything on site.
Torgny runs towards a corner and unties a destrier, mounts and rides towards the gate exit. Three guards attempt to close the gates; Torgny fires at them. Two guards are pinned to the fence and the other lies flat with an arrow protruding out of his back.
Torgny rides freely. He turns his head and no one is in pursuit. He rides for a while through the woods and spots Anni hiding behind a sycamore at a near distance. He dismounts and approaches her. The scattered paint on her face does not shade her beauty. He embraces and kisses her passionately. They look relieved, smiling at each other. Torgny assists Anni to mount his horse; he mounts after her. They ride away, fast into the wood, as the sun sets gradually from the horizon.
Story 3. Ofu Obekpa
Jessie Barram and the Vainglorious Wizard
In a dark room, pencil scribbling hisses on a white sheet of paper. A small flicker of light shines through a slightly cracked curtained window, illuminating Jessie’s hand; he draws a goat-like creature with a huge horn protruding from the side of the head. A loud door knock sends his attention away from his drawing. He growls and ignores it. Another knock makes him rise from his seat. He opens the door; sun rays reveal a dark-skinned, tall, young, handsome teen, wearing boxer shorts and a white “T”. Several drawings of peculiar creatures, such as a spider with human features, men with goat heads, horses, and wings, are scattered on the table.
He yawns, facing his mother, Anna, a middle-aged lady, average height, with thick prescribed lenses, who’s caring. Her hands are behind her back, as if hiding something.
Jessie stretches his hands up and asks, “What do you want?”
Anna is startled and replies, “Honey, it’s your seventeenth birthday.”
Obviously, Jessie had forgotten that today was his birthday. He uses his palm to clear his face. He sighs and says that he was busy drawing something important. Anna seems to be confused, because Jessie is usually excited on his birthday. This birthday is different. “Is he becoming a man? Or is he sick?” Anna thinks. Anna still has her hands behind her back and attempts to sing “Happy birthday to…”
Jessie raises a stopping hand, freezing Anna. Jessie stares back at his drawing, not giving his mother his full attention.
“Honey, what is wrong?” she asks.
“I need to get back to my drawing as soon as possible,” he simply replies.
Anna leans by the side of the door and peeps through; the drawing strikes a concerned look on her face. She’ll not ruin his birthday; she brings her hand forward and gently hands him some money. “Buy the boots you always wanted.”
Jessie has a slight smile on his face. Anna attempts to leave when she hears, “Thank you.” She turns and hugs him. She walks away and heads towards a not-so-furnished living room, next to a small dining table with plates arranged on each chair. It looks like they’re expecting some guest.
Jessie closes his room door, and sits, pencil in his hand. He draws. After a short while, the creature on the paper seems to be staring at him, limiting his concentration. He drops his pencil, runs his hands through his short dark hair, and rises. He runs into the bathroom annex to his room and shuts the door.
The water splashing from the shower can be heard in the kitchen as Anna stirs a pot of stew. A few minutes pass. Jessie walks by, wearing a shirt, jeans and a pair of old sneakers. “I’m going to the market to buy my boots, Ma.”
Anna smiles and says, “You should eat first.” Jessie is anxious to get his boots and tells his mother that he’ll be back before the guest arrives. Anna speaks to Jessie as he walks towards the door. “Don’t forget now, always do the right thing regardless of your…”
Jessie concludes the sentence for her. “…Feelings and good will return to you ten folds.” He has heard this over and over again. It’s like a ritual that must be said before exiting the house. Jessie is known to be carefree and influenced very easily by other people.
PART 2
The market square is overcrowded with several people who are bargaining and buying items from clothes to food. Jessie walks through the crowd, squeezing his way past pedestrians. Shop strips face each other on the narrow streets. Jessie manages to arrive at a shoe and clothing shop next to a butcher’s shop, where flies buzz and fly around. A particular black, laced-up boot on a display cabin in front of the shop catches his attention. He gazes towards it in wonderment.
The shop owner, Mr. Kunle, dark as night and tall, gestures with a blue dress in his hands; he points aggressively at a corner, with a young naive ebony-skinned lady in the near distance. Mr. Kunle turns his head towards Jessie, and raises a false polite finger at him. “Give me few seconds, sir; I’ll be right with you.”
Jessie’s eyes are so glued to the shoe that he doesn’t notice anybody’s presence. A young black man of an average height, Cyprus, Mr. Kunle’s apprentice, walks into the shop, and greets Mr. Kunle. Kunle shoots him a ‘do not disturb me’ eye. Cyprus is intimidated, as usual, and walks towards Jessie with less confidence. His English is broken but he tries. “Sir, may I help you with anything?” Jessie shakes his head, indicating that he’s satisfied and keeps staring at the shoe.
A few feet adjacent to the shoe shop, a fat hairy butcher, wearing a white apron, adjusts some beef in front of a table. He slams his axe hard on a chunk of meat, halving it. He turns his head to his side and notices Jessie staring at the boots.
Mr. Kunle neatly folds the dress, digs behind a table, brings out a brown bag, and bags the dress for his customer. She pays him and cat walks her way out of the shop. Mr. Kunle can’t help but stare at her behind as she exits. He smiles then turns his head towards Jessie; his smile quickly fades.
A tall shadow looms over Jessie, drawing his attention towards Kunle, who stands a few inches away from him. Kunle has a forced smile across his black face. All he sees are money signs. He waggles his tongue briefly and rubs his hands in false excitement. His white bulgy eyes blink unusually as he asks, “What can I do for you today, sir?”
Jessie turns and points at the boots in front of him. “I like that one.”
Kunle smiles and gestures for Jessie to follow him; Jessie reluctantly follows, but hardly takes his eyes off the boots. They walk to a corner of the store where several shoes are on display. Kunle gestures; “These are for sale.”
Jessie shrugs, obviously not interested. He turns his head towards the boots on display, points, and says, “I want those.”
Mr. Kunle nods in disagreement and says that the shoes are not for sale; they are only for decorative and display purposes. Jessie is not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He walks away from the numerous displays of shoes towards his one and only new love. A sudden rush of excitement flashes within him, something he has not felt in a long time. Kunle mumbles under his breath, “Another time waster”.
At the meat shop, the butcher and a white-bearded elderly man whisper amongst each other.
Jessie stretches his hand and attempts to pick up the shoes. Mr. Kunle raises his voice a bit loud to make his earlier statement felt. Jessie is not moved by Kunle’s words. Still staring, Jessie says that he’ll pay double for the shoes. Kunle says that they’re not for sale. Jessie moves closer to Kunle. “Can I at least try them on?”
Kunle refuses Jessie’s proposal.
“I am only trying them on. What’s the big deal?” Jessie insists.
The nearby busy shop owners seem to be glancing at Kunle’s shop from the distance, trying to understand why the butcher and other shop owners are looking towards Kunle’s shop. Jessie suddenly takes his eyes off the shoes and walks around the shop. A look of relief runs through Kunle’s face. Everyone looking at Jessie gradually takes their eyes off him. If they only knew that he had other plans.
A male customer walks into Kunle’s shop. Kunle’s eyes widen. He waggles his tongue, smells money, and he’s going for the jugular. Greed is his middle name. He excuses himself from Jessie and asks his apprentice to take care of Jessie while he attends to some new potential. The apprentice gently follows Jessie, holding both his hands in front. Jessie moves around the shop, asking for the prices of several shoes.
After a short while of bargaining, Mr. Kunle closes the deal; he puts the pair of shoes in a brown bag, receives the money and hands the bag to his customer. The customer nods at Kunle and walks off. Kunle has a smile across his face and stares out into the direction of the customer exiting. “Come back again! We appreciate your business.” Kunle feels great as he approaches his apprentice. “I am going to take a smoke. You better not screw up.” Kunle looks at his apprentice and shakes his head. He wonders why he hired him.
“I will, sir. No problem,” the short man says with little confidence. Kunle walks off.
Jessie’s heart pounds fast; he ponders the opportunity set before him. He sends the apprentice to fetch a pair of shoes at a corner. As the apprentice begins to walk away, Jessie quickly switches the display shoe with a similar one next to it. Cyprus walks back to Jessie with a pair of shoes. Jessie nods his head, indicating that he has changed his mind. He shows Cyprus the display shoes in his hand and says, “I’ll take this one.”
Cyprus strains his eyes awkwardly at Jessie, but when he sees a pair of shoes on the display cabin, a cheerful smile spreads across his face. Jessie quickly brings out cash from his pocket and hands it to Cyprus. Smiling and looking pleased, the apprentice reaches underneath a table, brings out a bag and bags the shoes for him. Cyprus is proud of his accomplishment; he has made his master proud. Jessie quickly rushes out of the shop into the throng.
He passes a less occupied clothing store and steps into an alley; people barely walk past here. He stares around, bends down, and drops the shoe bag on the floor. He removes his old sneakers, opens the new box, brings the pair up to his nose and sniffs. He sighs with a certain satisfaction and wears them, smiling. He has never felt more alive. He feels he was born to wear them.
Mr. Kunle arrives at his store and sees Cyprus smiling unusually behind the counter. Cyprus approaches Kunle and stops at a talking distance. His tone of voice is high with excitement. “Sir, I sell this shoe for you, see. If you give me chance, I go sell for you and bring you plenty money.”
Kunle hisses, not paying Cyprus any attention. He glances at the display shoe and notices immediately that something is wrong. He rushes towards it, scowls, turns and glares at his apprentice. “Fool! What have you done?” Cyprus is startled, confused and frightened. Mr. Kunle quickly rushes out of his store, and makes eye contact with the butcher next door. Without saying a word, the butcher abandons his customers, standing on a line, and approaches Kunle. They run in pursuit of Jessie, knocking people down in the crowded space.
Black birds patrol the hot sky; a few children play on the sandy road while ducks flock around. Kunle and the butcher approach a small zinc shop at a near distance, standing alone in the street. They squint from the reflection of the sun heating the zinc. At the side of the shop, a wide open window shows the display of several sorts of candies arranged on display cabins.
An elderly dark-skinned lady, in her seventies, sits and knits. She drops her knitting, grabs a walking stick by her side and rises. She looks strong for her age. She opens the door, walks out of her shop, and approaches Kunle and the butcher.
They stand stiff. Kunle’s teeth clenches fast, while the butcher sweats profusely. The old woman points her crooked finger at them. She stares at Kunle and is annoyed by his presence. She speaks eloquently for a lady who owns a shack. “I knew I shouldn’t have left it in your care. Now, you have put this whole market square in jeopardy.” She drops her stick, and raises her hand high. Her face contorts and her eyes turn black. Her mouth opens wide and her black tongue stretches a bit outward. She growls in strange tongues, unusual, scaring the men. Hush wind blows violently and the sunny sky turns dark. Her curly dark hair rises as thunder sparks. “Go find him before he wears it,” she retorts.
“It was not my fault. It…”
The old lady interrupts Kunle as he speaks. “What are you still doing here?” She drops her hand. They quickly run away in search of Jessie. They run, searching thoroughly through the market square corners, inside and outside several shops. They stop anyone who they think looks like Jessie.
Jessie approaches a magazine and comic book store. The busy store looks deserted on this day. Shoppers and shop owners are nowhere to be seen. Most people left the market square, anticipating a thunderstorm. Jessie walks inside the shop. “Hello, is anyone here?” He walks around the store, grabs a few books, flips the pages, and hopes that someone will attend to him. “I can always come back later,” he says to himself. He drops the books and steps outside.
Suddenly, a crowd of angry-looking shop owners, holding sticks, cutlasses and knives, stand forty yards away from him. Kunle, leading the group, steps out in front and walks towards Jessie, while the rest follow behind. Jessie begins to walk fast, away from the angry mob. Kunle sees the boots on Jessie’s feet; his bulgy eyes widen in fright. He freezes in his tracks and speaks to Jessie, “Take them off, boy!”
Jessie’s fast walk turns to a quick run. The angry mob pursues. As they pursue, they gradually transform into weird creatures. Kunle morphs into a goat-like creature with a big horn protruding from the side of his head. As Jessie runs away, he turns his head and sees several peculiar creatures fast approaching him. He freaks out and wishes to disappear. Suddenly, he’s gone.
Jessie reappears in a stream of flowing water, where birds of red, purple, yellow, green, and other unique colors, fly and perch. “Wow,” he says out loud. “Is he glad they’re no longer chasing him?” He looks up at the distance and sees a rainbow above a waterfall. He smiles and stands still, trying to resist from walking towards it, but his curiosity wins.
After a while of walking, he stands and enjoys the view. He notices footpaths stretching and passing in-between two huge rocks, where the waterfall descends. He shrugs and walks on the footpaths, approaching tall and clustered buildings. “What is this place?” he thinks. He walks past some buildings and notices that they’re made of lapis lazuli and diamond. Men, women, and children wearing robes walk up the street in his direction. He can hardly read their facial expressions. His heart pounds not knowing what to expect. They walk past him without noticing his presence. He sighs deeply in relief, but his curiosity gets the best of him again, as he proceeds onwards.
He walks and admires the complex structures of the clustered buildings. He decides to talk to a woman walking towards him. “Hey, what is this place?” But she strides past him without eye contact or a word. Jessie stops and frowns. “What is going on here?” he asks himself. Maybe he’ll find some answers if he walks ten blocks before giving up.
As he walks farther down the long stretched street, a building, standing on its own, catches his attention. He walks towards it, peeps through the window and sees a grey-robed man with a long white beard mixing herbs, as well as different kinds of liquids, like potions, in a spacious room. Jessie eavesdrops and observes curiously. The grey one grabs hold of a liquid bowl, amongst many others from a cupboard. He mixes it with the already positioned one on the table in front of him. Fumes arise from the bowl. He mutters some words underneath his lips. Suddenly, a rabbit appears and hops out of the bowl.
“Not what I was expecting, fair enough.” Jesse’s eyes widen in wonderment. “A wizard,” Jessie says in a low tone. The room transforms into a huge mansion, sparking Jessie’s attention. Jessie watches the transformation like he was watching television. After a short while, the mansion transforms into a Lamborghini. The wizard snaps his fingers and the car changes into several Hershey’s chocolates scattered all over, Jessie’s favorite. He is astounded by what he sees. “He knows what I like,” Jessie thinks.
Suddenly, the wizard appears before Jessie, frightening him. “Ye have much courage, young man. A very inquisitive one, ye are.”
Jessie says, “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you want.”
“Be careful how ye use that word ANYTHING here…I have a proposition for ye.”
Jessie’s heartbeat increases; his knees buckle. He looks around to see if there are people around besides him and the wizard.
“Be at peace, young man. I am the lord of this land, and they call me VAINGLORIA. If I wanted ye dead, ye would have been,” the wizard mutters. Suddenly they disappear and reappear under an apple tree in a garden. Jessie continues to be amazed. The leaves of the trees warble from the gentle wind current. The wizard plucks an apple, and hands it to Jessie. Jessie politely refuses. The wizard munches and throws the rest away. “Harmless,” he says.
Jessie summons a little courage to ask, “Sir, what is this place?”
“That’s irrelevant, but since ye asked, I shall tell. This is the land of dreams, where things are bought with only one item. That, my friend, is another story.”
Jessie seems to be at ease and asks comfortably this time. “That is?”
The wizard reaches his hands towards a red ripe apple, plucks it and hefts it towards Jessie, who is sitting less than a few feet away from him. Jessie catches and bites. He smiles and eats the whole apple. Jessie stands up, plucks some more apples, sits and munches. “Did ye like what ye saw?” The wizard asks.
Jessie, not sure for a while, suddenly remembers the transformations he saw and says, “Yes.”
With his hands behind his back, Vaingloria tilts his head towards Jessie and says, “Ye made away with the enchanted boots. The shoes of wishes, one of my proud inventions, if ye may so call it. The spell took me several months, but it works. Ye arrived here because ye simply wished to disappear; ye were not specific in ya wish. The rightful owners paid a price for it, and now ye have it in ya possession.”
Jessie shakes uncomfortably and almost chokes on the apple in his throat. “I, I am sorry I took the boots, sir. I can take them off now.” Jessie drops the apple on the low leveled grass and attempts to remove the boots.
The wizard quickly speaks. “If ye take them off, ye’ll never return home again.” Jessie is not ready to part ways with the shoes yet. But he’ll do anything to save his life and return home eventually. The wizard says, “Back to where we were, I can make ya fantasies come true. All ye saw in the room can be ya’s if ye only say yes.”
Puzzled, Jessie asks, “What is your price?”
“Ya soul!” the wizard says.
Jessie, not aware of the gravity of the request, scoffs. But when he sees the seriousness in the eyes of the wizard, he becomes quiet. “Maybe I should think about this for a while,” Jessie thinks.