The Mantis Bride of Modekun

Chapter 3

"Be quiet," he grates in my ear. "I will not harm you."

The contact of our bodies allows me to feel his spirit. His calmness tells me he’s telling the truth. Anger usually precedes violence, and there is no anger in him.

"Tell her to stop," he whispers gruffly, his breath against my nape.

"Shola, stop screaming," I say to my frantic wife. "He's not going to harm us."

The wind fades.

Shola turns up the lantern, quivering. "Who are you? What do you want?" she says to the intruder.

"Assistance," he says, getting off my back. "We need your help, Anjorin."

“You can't come in like this,” I blurt, “and just expect me to—"

"Can we talk privately?"

I hesitate. "Wait for me outside. As you can see, I'm not dressed. And neither is my wife."

The intruder leaves.

"Don't go," Shola begs.

I strap my loincloth around my waist, look around for my dagger, find it next to the fishing spears I was sharpening, and stick it in my loincloth's scabbard. I cover everything with a straw kilt.

"Relax, I'll be back. Please stay inside." I push my way past the stiff bamboo curtain.

***

An evening campfire sputters and wheezes its final breaths. The flames lick weakly at the air, casting jagged shadows across the muscular frames of the intruder and four others, each one poised and watchful like thieves in hostile territory. The firelight dances across their skin, highlighting scars, the glint of weapons, and the tension in their stances as if in the ambush of the huts that form a perimeter around the open courtyard. Their heads are shaved, and their faces are painted black, making their eyes gleam white in stark contrast.

"Ajasin is my name," the intruder says, “and these are my men. We are the Afefe."

The minute he says 'Afefe,' I fall to my knees, honored to be in their presence.

"Get up," Ajasin croaks. "There's no time. Are you ready to serve a higher calling?"

"I am."

"Come with us."

"But my wife..."

"She will not want you to leave with us, and if she tries to raise the alarm, we may be forced to silence her permanently."

His words hang in the air, blunt and cold, not quite a threat but just as distressful. A primal pull inside me overrides my resistance. I fall behind the men, my feet moving almost against my will. The six of us slip past the faint echoes of night drunks, our footfalls silent. Are these strangers as familiar with the nooks and crannies of Egba as I am? But in the blindfold of darkness and inner turmoil, I lose my bearings.

Dawn breaks, pale and hesitant. The sharp, smoky scent of roast pig fills the air. Around a crackling fire, five strange men sit on logs, their postures relaxed. Where is this place? This isn't my hut. My roof is gone, replaced by an open sky and the faint hum of the wilderness. Panic flickers in my chest—where am I?

Memories of last night rush back: the shadowy figure in my bedroom, his hand firm but not cruel, his voice low as he speaks of the Afefe. He and his men have brought me here.

'The Afefe' is a name I know too well from my training. It's a reclusive cult, shrouded in mystery, that devotes itself to its own clandestine, sacred missions. Widely considered the voice of the gods, they are warrior-priests divinely called to guard against reincarnations not sanctioned by Oya, the goddess of rebirth. As enforcers of Oya's will, they maintain the balance of order by ensuring that no soul returns without her blessing. And now, for reasons I’m yet to grasp—except for the nuance in our roles as keepers of the balance—they need my help.

"Ah. You're awake," Ajasin's voice cuts through the haze. "Come join us."

They're all strikingly built—square shoulders, bulging deltoids, and pectorals, arms that taper into veined forearms—but it’s the bearded Ajasin who draws the eye, his beard failing to hide his thick, muscular python of a neck. I’ve never seen such fine specimens. They must eat like royalty—have private physicians like royalty—but unlike royalty, they subject themselves to punishing exercise routines.

I stumble forward, legs unsteady, sleep still clouding my head. Their laughter rings out around me. Before I can find my footing, one of them flings a bowl of water at me, soaking me in my straw kilt (and straw should never be wet). The icy sensation spears through me. It’s a cold morning, the kind that makes me wait for the sun's warmth to take my bath.

Their laughter swells. I shuffle to a space on a log and plop myself down, still a little sleepy.

"Here. Smell this," another says, thrusting a gourd under my nose. He uncaps it, and an acrid stench fills my nostrils, clawing its way into my lungs. My body recoils, and I collapse to the ground.

Their cackles rise again, a chorus of merciless amusement. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Ajasin's voice, dripping with mockery: "That should wake him."

When their amusement wanes to smirks, Ajasin introduces his men. They have strange, outdated names.

“We need your help to capture 'The Seed,'” Ajasin says. “It’s an ajogun.”

"Why me?" I ask.

"You are an empath, are you not? The ajogun we are looking for carries a curse that takes over our minds, forcing us to feel what we should not. We need someone who can tell whose mind has not been possessed—someone who can trace the obsession back to its source."

I shake my head. "I can't feel anything without first making physical contact."

"That is because you have not been properly trained. No disrespect to your olukos, but they seem to believe in waiting for Orunmila's appointed time. You waste years praying for guidance from him when what you need is to practice meditating religiously."

That isn't accurate. We pray to the gods for guidance in nurturing our talents because we know it’s just as easy to get it from demons. It isn’t safe to develop your gift without praying, it could mean losing your purpose—your destiny.

"We will teach you how to harness your gift,” he says. “By the time we are done with you, you will no longer need to touch anyone to know how they feel. You will simply channel your thoughts and dive into the chaos of a soul and make it yours."