The moment Dralex came into the kitchen, Prislla knew she had slept no better than her. Her face looked almost as grey as the clouds that hung in the sky dropping a steady drizzle whose chill seemed to have come right through the walls of the house.
But Prislla could see that it was something more than lack of sleep that had brought the pallor to Dralex's face and the dark circles to her eyes. Something inside her had changed.
Though she still looked like the daughter she raised, there is something in her eyes. Something inside has changed.
Something in her eyes she'd never seen before. Or more exactly, something she'd always seen before was suddenly gone.
A lot of things have been happening since the past two weeks she returned from school. Everything seems to have changed except that her room had remained intact as she had left it.
But why was she looking so different this morning?
Or her academic had suddenly become a huge nut to crack?
No, it can't be. Dralex has been a brilliant student, then what?
Her mind worked as she heard her feet approached. It barely made a sound on the tiles and she never said a word until she stood before her. "Mum when is Dad going to be home?"
Most times Prislla wondered if Dralex loves Eric more but at other times, she preferred to assume otherwise.
She uncovered the soup pot without saying a word.
Dralex noticed she refused to turn around but instead watched as silence crept in and stayed above them for minutes. She pondered for a while and then reluctantly shifted the silence. "I saw him—"
"Saw what?" Prislla shouted angrily as she wheeled around to glare at Dralex.
"Mum it is nothing—"
"There is something Dralex. I see you like keeping things from me and letting your Dad into everything—come on, we are women or you will be someday!"
Dralex's mind walked down memory lane. She could remember when Pastor Mandolin was all over her mother and what happened thereafter when she told her father what she saw. Prislla didn't quite like that and relating afterwards with her, seemed difficult. It is all in the past now but the hurts still lingered.
She sat down looking away from Prislla who had never stopped wondering if she was alright. She felt she is still a kid even if she is growing fast.
She lowered the gas cooker and then turned in her direction quietly. "So tell me what is this forsaking look on your face—you said you saw him. Now tell me what you came to tell me this morning, Dralex? Have a dream or what?" She whispered but with her eyes still on Dralex and a little piece of napkin on her left hand.
"Nothing mother is just that I wanted you to talk. You weren't talking to me when I ask you a question." Dralex muttered.
"Oh, that means you saw nobody, not him and had no dream—absolutely nothing, right?" Prislla walked closer to her and frown as she watched Dralex nod. "Dad will be home soon but I will like to see you leave the kitchen now."
Dralex wondered why she said that.
Does she guess mother doesn't seem to like her anymore ever since the Pastor Mandolin incident or was there anything else?
Time will tell, but—her thought sank as she dragged the door open and disappeared.
She heard Prislla sighed heavily as though she had pushed a burden off her shoulders.
But she wasn't bothered either as she strolled into the sitting room to continue where she stopped in her video game.
"Why did you let him go?" The thick voice resounded again this time with an exceptional authority that got Pastor Mandolin head spinning.
He wasn't dizzy but could sense the confusion everywhere—from where?
It can't be the hall of bread and life bible church he started by himself but these men have become too powerful for him to control. He stared at them again with his eyes shifting from one to the other until it finally landed on the one asking the question.
He was Idris Sanligan. A short man with an obnoxious character and well known for his resilience and doggedness, but more recently had suddenly become a faithful disciple of Demora Tala.
His eyes were deeply fixed to his head but the strength that poured out of it bred evil. He sat down with his legs crossed and with one of his hand to his jaw—waiting.
He was a slow talker but his words are powerful enough to break through walls. As his words lashed in again, Pastor Mandolin cut in rudely. "Please, don't start—don't." His hand almost turned into a fist. And his voice became dangerously low. "You don't give orders around here—I am the founder of this church and I appointed you to operate in this office and to become the head of the church council to assist me and not to Lord over me."
As he made another attempt to continue, Dayan Huntre lifted his hands to stop him.
He is the assistance council head but he was as heartless as Idris Sanligan. They both appeared to be the secret eye of Demora Tala. He hates sitting down when he talks and never stopped demonstrating with his left hand raised that has four fingers. He sneezed as he increased his voice. "Not even you can stop us Pastor Mandolin—yes not even you! You are supposed to do what is right but you deliberately refused and we see you are no longer loyal—loyal to the power that is—that made you." His boring eyes shifted to the other men of the council seat.
And seconds later, it fell on Pastor Mandolin again who interrupted and flared "And what is right if I may ask and who the hell seek my loyalty?" His lips took an angry curve but with strength piling up strong within him to resist the men he selected to be in his council of elders.
He knew how he selected all of them but Demora Tala had suggested two men he never liked—Idris and Dayan. Idris and Dayan were occult fearless men whose mission was to ensure everything Demora Tala said was strictly adhered to and nothing left out. He wouldn't have allowed these two into his council but he now felt Demora Tala deceived him and now—
His thought got frozen when Dayan hit his hand hard on the wooden table he sat, making a horrible awful sound, "Don't you ever pretend, Pastor Mandolin. Remember the words of Demora Tala. They are the wind that never ceases coming back—yes, it keeps coming back. We were not there at the formation of this church but he told us. The covenant must be adhered to, remember?"
Pastor Mandolin eyes widened as the memory of the past resurfaced.
How did they know?
Demora Tala will never cease talking—the sacrifice and the blood are linked to him and he never stopped asking for more blood on the altar.
"No more blood, Demora Tala had had enough. He killed one but I have killed eight already because of his evil counsel and hunger for blood. No more killing and that is final," Pastor Mandolin shouted.
Rufus Affonga looked troubled. "But how then will the church keep increasing in numbers? We need the blood—the sacrifice for increase, don't we?" he asked staring into the eyes of the members of the council. "We all know that the blood counts in increase and not the bible and—"
"But the people are enslaved—" Pastor Mandolin had barely finished when Dayan interrupted.
"Mind your tongue Pastor—you have enjoyed wealth, women of all size, colour, and shapes and also enjoyed fame—yes, you have also tasted power. What's the matter with you? No more sacrifice. No more numerical increase. Down you go and I know you won't like that. Blood must be offered for the people to stay. No blood no people and the church become empty and we all know the consequences."