The merriment in Elder Enaho's estate, over the birth of his son by Omogbon, continued far into the night, till the wee hours of the morning. Then it closed up as suddenly as it started; one last and fast traditional asolo vocals, and top of the tops drum beats, introduced the final show.
The two elders took the charge once more in quick dancing steps, undaunted by their ages and defying the time of night. The temple stepped up higher and higher to match the pace of their moves as they dominated the center stage, gyrating, now facing themselves, front to front next, drawing closer and farther from each other, next, side by side, then, back to back, leaping into the air and weaving around, jumping up and turning in the air in a spellbinding synchrony, till with a final jump, they landed spontaneously and came to a sudden halt, to bring the beats to an abrupt stop.
Sudden Silence
Stupefying Stillness
Wild applause
It was all over.
Everyone began to troop out of the place to their respective abodes. Soon only the two elders were left.
The Patriarch escorted Chief to the roadside and both stopped. They hugged briefly and the Chief patted his old friend on the back
"Congrats, you old fox." He said
Enaho nodded. "We thank God."
The Chief gave him a deep look and said gravely, "Be vigilant, watch his back." He paused for effect and warned, "Mind Arina," then he turned around and walked leisurely towards his house. By his movements he appeared to be heading to the side of his house where a bush path led to the street behind it, giving Enaho the feeling his guest was not going directly into his house.
Enaho remained standing on the same spot, watching the slow retreating figure of the other.
"Mind Arina". The words kept reverberating in his brain, like a slowly beating talking drum: mind Arina mindarinamindarinamindarina... Over and over again.
Arina was the name of his first wife. The Yellow Witch.
She was married to him even before the age of puberty in a marriage contract settlement. He didn't know when or how, he was just a farm boy at the time. He was told by his father, the chief native doctor, Oji'oboh. His father, who defeated another Oji'oboh, called the one-eyed demon, in a mortal life-and-death duel over a love clash.
The battle lasted for seven years and cost many human casualties. His father lost eight children to his opponent's thirteen. According to the rules, at the count of thirteen, the losing combatant would die. That was how his father defeated his opponent and the loser was to meet his death after seven days. Then the doomed Oji'oboh negotiated for his life and offered all his properties, except his inherited house or ijiogbe, one farmland, and his only surviving daughter, to his conqueror as a slave bounty. It was part of the rules. He survived but died miserably some years later, a loser and childless, he who had raised fourteen children, four males, and ten females, from a harem of five wives. And the only surviving one was sacrificed as a slave and a bounty. Was it, not the rules laid out by gods and the ancestors or enikalo? So be it. His death happened in his farm hut. His skeleton was discovered weeks later after his flesh had been eaten off the bones by termites. The dry-cleaned skeleton was buried in the evil forest.
Before he finally died in that farm hut he had severed his manhood with his farm matchet, raised it to the burning midday sun, intoned a brief incantation, in which one word, Arina, was repeated fourteen times, and threw his gonads to the bush, near an ant hill. He fell and died. His only unshrunk eye still had an evil glint that seemed to pierce into time, at the spell he had cast into the future. It was his last evil stunt, his last testament.
Enaho's father died many more years after him, leaving behind a Son, Enaho, and two daughters, three surviving children out of twelve, six males six daughters, he had fathered from three wives. He killed the traditional goat to cleanse the bounty girl and gave her as wife to his son, along with all his estate and properties. It was so in the rules. She was fair, lithe, and beautiful.
Enaho's father was never buried. The story had it that he went away in a swarm of bees. He was also a herbalist. One day he was returning from the forest with the herbs he had gathered for medicinal portions when a bee flew out of the herbs. A while later a great swarm of king bees overflew the village with a sound everybody heard. It was the sound of a big drone and it went in the direction of the farm road where the herbalist was coming from. They descended on him. Everybody heard his great war cry and the entire villagers became alert. They all rushed in the direction he shouted from. They soon found him along the Bush Road just outside the village.
He was standing ramrod straight, hands crossed on his chest, and the bees all over him. It was almost dusk by then, and trees contributed to blacking out the last rays of the sun and further reduced the visibility. Nobody could go near, those were king bees, and their sting was deadly. From the much they could see, he seemed to be in harmony with the bees, though they were attacking him. The villagers were screaming, some urging him to leave the spot, to run. More bees swarm down as it got darker and soon they did not see him again except for the hum of the bees. A lot of people concluded that, maybe, the Oji'oboh was texting some new power, a kind of talisman or jaz, and a lot of them went back to the village with uncertainties. A few remained to witness the end, even if they could no longer see anything beyond the buzz of the bees. After what felt like an age the bees rose into the air and buzzed away in the opposite direction they had come from. As the buzz faded into the night, the few last men waiting rose and approached his last position cautiously, calling out his titles: Oji'oboh, Ohen, Eziza, Abanaba, Ikan, Ogidigan, O Ekpen'nekpen, say something, speak to us...
No answer.
They got to where he had stood against the bees. He was not there. The few of them searched the bush that night to no avail. The next morning, at the break of dawn, the entire village entered the bush to search for their beloved Oji'oboh. He was nowhere to be found. They kept the search for the next couple of days. No trace. He was gone with the bees.
That was the story.
Enaho shook his head vehemently and snapped out from the past where the mere mention of the name, Arina, the Yellow Witch, had sent him.
The retreating figure of the Chief stopped. He did not turn, his voice came through, low, but it cut through the stillness of the night like a knife.
"About the issue of the fly whisk, we will discuss it in seven days."
The Patriarch nodded thoughtfully and let out a slow breath. "Good night, old pal."
The Chief turned slowly. Across the space of about twenty meters, the old men looked at each other as if they were still standing in the same spot without any distance between them.
"Rest well," the Chief replied. "And don't misuse my snuff box, you old rogue."
Enaho was startled. How did he manage to find out? It was while they were in the final dance that the snuff box popped out of the other's pocket and Enaho magnetized it with a supernatural field. He had earlier rejected a free offer of the stuff out of annoyance. But when the opportunity came as they were dancing it was too tempting to resist. Little did he know that the other still discovered the deed. Come to think of it, it appears that his friend deliberately allowed the box to pop into view for him to snag it, the sly old snake. What a nerve! He had been flaunting the freaking thing temptingly all night. Well, nothing to worry about, both of them knew he was always going to return it anyway.
Across the space, the chief seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled. The Patriarch struggled briefly, lost the battle to not chuckle back, and joined his friend. For some time the quiet pre-dawn night was disturbed by their crackling laughter, which developed from low chuckles to a long and mutual guffaw.
But now it was time.
A teleport interrupted is like a call of nature held back. Bladder pressure, or just plain call it by name, piss. Bowel movement, or just plain effing name the s**ty word, demit. You hold it long enough in a gentlemanly, or, by the way, gentlewomanly, negotiation. It must eventually be released. One way or another. You find the nearest opportunity or, you know the rest. And there are too many calls of nature for effing comfort. You release some, you answer some. Only you. Only you? Or ain't there some that are done with other people? Dunno where your mind wandered, but some folks say hunger is a call of nature, and you eat with other people. Anyway, whether alone or in company, you've got to eat or else. So hunger's got to be nature's call, in fact, the only one that's probably audible in a rumble. Not only you, though especially you, but even folks close by may hear the rumble in your grumbling, sorry, hungry belle. Maybe it's even nature's loudest call, hunger pangs. There is an adage in Esan; ohanmhen 'agboria gbe, oki 'azilo non'wegbe. When a person is too hungry, he starts developing hard ideas. I don't know what's congy, but some say it's a call of nature too. What's grinding, grunting, groaning, and gasping got to do with nature, literally? Even the positions are awkward, still literally. Pooping is clear, no doubt about its being nature's call, though the positions could be awkward too, seeing that sometimes, you have to run into the bush.
In the end, there are different calls of nature with accompanying probable failed results. Piss; embarrassing, warm halfway bath. Hunger; dangerous hard thoughts. Poop; please naaa, please, please, please. Congy; I said, dunno. And, of course, what was really in discussion: Aborted teleport; the repercussion is death, instant ugly death. If after a suspended teleport, exhale teleportation does not take place within the period of sundown to sundown, approximately twenty-four hours, that person will go into a ruptured teleport. The suspended teleport is violently activated. The victim will vanish uncontrollably in a ghastly death before hitting an unknown destination, where the charred remains may never be found. In the case of the two elders they had until sundown the next day to exhale.
Teleportation is a defensive act of danger evasion in hopeless situations. That was the primary purpose, to serve as an inevitable alternative, a last resort, in clear and present danger or life-threatening situations, a matter of life or death. Teleportation is also known as evasive defense, and it can be advanced to a counterattack in a higher grade mastery of the ehbo, known as double teleportation. This is a process where a person can vanish in front of a more formidable foe and reappear behind him in a split second for a sneak, decisive counterattack.
Of course, there are side effects in all forms of teleportation, especially, an intentional or wilful teleport. The aftermath is dizziness, giving one a sluggish effect for hours, days, or, even months, depending on the level of the teleport. So it is not a fun show. Rather, it would be correct to describe it as a last act of desperation to save a more desperate situation. It is said that a wilful teleport is executed only if unavoidable. The ugly aftermath is why.
The most common teleport is accidental teleport or triggered teleport. This was the case when Otiti badged unannounced on Elder Enaho. Then there is a tremor teleport which results when ripples from a nearby teleport can activate the teleport in another unprepared person within the wavelength of the ripples. This tremor type is also called ripple teleport or shockwave teleport. Other variants are stray teleports or captured teleports and aproko teleports, all summed up under the general term of involuntary teleportation.
Usually, involuntary teleportation is short-ranged, both in activation, in reaction, and duration. That is, the source must be close by, the victim cannot be teleported far away from the impact point, and the effect is short-lived. When Otiti triggered her father, for instance, he resurfaced in the sherd in front of the compound. This was not only because the teleport was involuntary, but also for the added efforts he made at damage control, because, even as he was being triggered, a dawning sense of realization that it was a false alarm had begun to set into his subconscious mind and his built-in damage control faculties, preset to auto-activate neutralization, was hastily mobilized on emergency mode, to apply the mind speed emergency brakes and short circuit the telepathic wavelengths that fuel teleportation speed, and thus bring the teleport distance to just outside the house, to end up in the sherd.
Voluntary teleportation is a different ball game. It is the conscious and wilful exercise of the power of teleportation. This is the real deal. Its power and scope depend on the mind development of the telepathic level of the spirit and enigma of the individual, and his cultivation of the teleportation level is a function of the blend between telepathic ethos and wavelengths to his teleportation arrays and faculties. Both levels cross paths in the eonic sphere of the water, air, and emde transitory in the spirit and essence realms. Mass liquefies to form water, water vapourises to form air, and air vanishes to invisibility. The spirit and the essence are fused into the subconscious, into one beam, and are evicted through the enigmatic void, but still connected through the alphan embryonic strand, to pair along in the various transformation transitory, at the speed of telepathic wavelengths, that is in the region of the super ethereal plains. The telepathic wavelengths attain the next level speed of the mind, the time-defying speed of thought, endowed to the essence in the alphan aegis. , In the reverse order, air eonize and condenses to form water, water emdify to form Mass, and the beam follows the reverse order to integrate back to the alpha embryonic strand and is injected back through the enigmatic void.
This is the process of teleportation, the act of vanishing in plain sight, the secrets of which are known to the select elect, who choose to be damned, or, to be free, for, the process is neither the secret nor the act. And the secret is not the process, but the act.
There is yet another variant of teleportation. The exhale teleport. Also known as the mildest level teleport. This is the completion of the interrupted teleport.
When the two elders joined forces to abort involuntary teleportation, which was almost triggered when the riotous members of the Patriarch's family exploded on the two elders in the sherd, it left them with a burden that they had to bear all through the night. Because a paused or delayed teleport is like a delayed answer to a call of nature, such as bowel pressure. It has to be unburdened, the sooner the better, or there would be sorry consequences.
So, all through the night celebration, the elders had held back in a paused teleport. There are many ways to put a teleport on hold. No one noticed that both elders kept their left hand loosely clenched throughout the feasting and dancing. Not once did any of them open their left palm, not even to clap, and it was not just arrogance.
Now as they looked across the distance at each other they know it was time.
Time to exhale.
But, just a second, elder Enaho had a hunch, but he was still curious. "Where is your destination?" he asked Chief.
Chief cocked an eye, Enaho could sense the facial movement, it was Chief's trademark mischievous wink, and he knew the rest even before the words came a cross in conspiratorial, near-whisper. "Idia is warm and waiting." Then he finally unclenched his left hand and nothiness resulted, just invisible waves of air ripple spreading out from the place he was a moment before.
The Patriarch did not wait for the ripples. He opened his left hand, and the next moment he was outside his junior wife's door, leaving his airwaves to spread out and meet Chief's and dissolve into the thin air.
After all, they were merely twin exhale teleports. Mild enough not to affect Chief's trysts in his concubine's arms just behind his house, through the side street, or his own time to meet his newborn son.
Omogbon did not hear him entering the room, and she was certain Otiti did not know when he came in either, she only just woke up and found him sitting on the midwife's bedside chair.
On opening her eyes to see him, the first thought that came to her mind was, how long has he been here? Her next action was to try to get up and do something, not knowing what, but do just anything. This man was here and she had actually expected, and again, not expected that he would be here. All that night-long bash to welcome her son, his son, their son, had been so overwhelming and she had fallen asleep in complete symphony with the sounds of celebrations coming in from outside.
He put a hand to stop her from rising from the bed and she relaxed back again.
"Amonghor," he said. Congrats.
He leaned forward and took her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes.
" I am here to join you to thank your God. He is truly the only God there is."
So many issues are joined in that declaration. First, Omogbon was a Christian, but he was a traditionalist. When the issue of her difficulties to give birth to a male child became a serious concern, after the birth of her third female child, he wanted to find a solution traditionally, but she refused. Enaho was a renowned herbalist by inheritance and training, a great trado-medical guru. His prescriptions and admonitions were feared and respected all over the State.
But when his junior wife begged him to give her a chance to rely on her Christian God he surprised himself to oblige her. And here is the outcome of her faith in her God. Hence his declaration. It was as if it was his catena.
She converted to Christianity in his house, after their traditional marriage, as he was liberal on personal religious belief, but she was loyal to him and he allowed her to freely continue in her faith. They had a mutual pact: she could go on with her Christianity provided she does not infringe on his own beliefs.
And now he had business to do.
At a word, he asked her to allow him some private time with the child. She complied without hesitation, rousing Otiti who was sleeping on a mat on the floor, and taking her out of the room.
When he was left alone with the baby he closed the door. He did not bolt it. He knew she would not come back in uninvited.
Outside with Otiti, mother and daughter folded their wrapper around their bodies and leaned with their backs against the wall. Otiti was still groggy from being interrupted in her sleep, she thought she had had enough for one day. But here she was again, one moment fast asleep, the next moment huddling outside the erie, her back against the wall. She couldn't even say whether she was awake, or still asleep and dreaming. Faced with the new development she slid down the wall with her back and sat on the ground to rest her back on the wall again. In a minute she went back to sleep. Her mother remained wide awake.
Behind the closed door, Enaho briskly stripped himself naked. He pulled a six-inch nail out of the handle of his walking stick. He had no time to waste, what he had to do, he had to do fast.
"Watch his back". The Chief's warning earlier was still ringing ominously in his head.
mindarinamindarinamindarina...
He started walking slowly from one end of the bed to the other. He walked slowly front and back seven times each without turning, taking forward and backward steps in turns. At the end of the seventh circle, Elder Enaho stopped and stood beside the bed to make a long incantation. The child's eyes were open by then, but he lay quietly in the manner of recently breastfed newborn babies.
Next, Enaho put the head of the nail into his mouth and pushed it in until it melted magically in his mouth. Then he bent over the baby and shot a jet of frothy spittle into his face. The child jerked and began gesticulating with hands and legs in the appearance of a hectic struggle. It went on for quite a while, fast-paced at first, then gradually the struggle slowed down and the baby went into a deep sleep.
The Patriarch was impressed. The little brute had put up a long and hard struggle and not even a whimper. He smiled brightly as he looked proudly down at the sleeping child. "A true tiger of the ancient stock," he murmured, nodding severally. "Welcome to the world of the strong and the brave, my infant warrior."
Then the old man stepped back and reached for his walking stick again, and this time around, he removed a small tube vial and a piece of a broken razor blade. Beginning from the forehead he made tiny incisions on strategic parts of the baby's body and rubbed in the black powdery substance from the tube vial. He turned the baby over and over to cover the whole body and was finally satisfied.
Enaho put on his dress. He took a glance at the fat wristwatch he preferred to wear on his right hand. It was almost 5 am, and barely six minutes to go. He was just in time. It was coven rush hour. The next stage was to test the potency of the fortification that he had just performed. This was odeishi.
Elder Enaho stepped to the farthest part of the room and then lunged towards the sleeping child, brandishing the walking stick menacingly in his hand, mock murder in his heart.
He had just taken three steps when an invisible force stopped him. He was lifted clear off his feet and suspended momentarily in the air, defying the law of gravity. Then he was flung flying backward to crash heavily against the wall. He crumbled to the floor in a heap and blacked out.
Meanwhile, at that same time at the four junctions in the village Square, there was an okha tree, and on top of the tree, a meeting had been in progress. It was about to adjourn.
Queen witch Anira was presiding. Here was her empire, here her name was pronounced backward. Here was her coven and she was the law.
Without further ado she raised her staff of office, it was a golden cane of exquisite quality. Or so it appeared in the surreal world of the coven. In real life, it was just a broomstick. Even the plush golden fine leather chair she sat on, behind a magnificent oak and gold table, was a mere illusion. The throne was actually made up of a discarded mortal and pestle, local kitchen equipment used for pounding yam and fufu. She had picked them from a dead mad woman's roadside abandoned sherd.
She closed the session in haste and stood up. Her raiment was garments of silk, silver, and golden pendants, but in reality, she was wearing dirty old rags and twigs.
She flashed out of the coven and took off at full speed.
Destination, Omogbon's erie!
Mission, obliterate the newborn!
Block the prophecy!
Kill, kill, kiiillll!
From his dreamland, Baba watched from afar. He had observed the hasty departure of the Yellow Witch from her coven. He was not a normal wizard, He was what could be called anti-witch, or witch Police. As an Oji'oboh he battled wizards and witches for a living.
His knowing eyes followed Arina's flight trajectory and her destination was clear.
Not good!
He struggled frantically to rejoin his body that was lying prostrate in Omogbon's erie. He just had to come out of the coma he had inadvertently caused to himself or he'd soon be a slab of meat on Arina's chopping board. The efficacy of the odeishi he had done for the baby was strong. He was powerful, a talisman and all. But Ariana's strength was phenomena. And then the child was only a baby, just a day old. And he, Baba, the great Oji'oboh, was lying hapless on the floor while Arina was bearing down in a murderous blaze of fury.
Newborn, father, and mother were in dire peril.
In a blink of an eye, Anira the Queen witch of ukeran, the most dreaded coven in the village, arrived at Omogbon's erie.
The latest battle between Enaho n'Oji'oboh and Anira his first wife and Queen witch, almost a foregone conclusion, was about to begin.