Post by Cartier on Jan 25, 2021 19:02:11 GMT -5
Outside of Ife, Nigeria
“Aku? Akuuuu?”
The rains were pounding hard through the trees, swallowing young Abeni’s words as she ran barefoot on slick Earth. The winds had begun to howl, ripping away her voice almost as soon as it had left her lips. Still, she cried out for her older brother.
Abeni had lost sight of him when a flash of lightning momentarily blinded her, but not before she had seen something terrifying in that second of impossible brightness. It had looked, in that instant, like her brother was in trouble. Like he was being grabbed by someone or something in among the trees. Almost as if one of the tall, ancient spires had started to move and wrap its long branches around Aku in some form of restraining embrace.
“Aku?”
She called again, but though she felt the air pushing through her throat, she heard nothing but the wind whipping past ear ears.
Another flash of lightning struck then, and Abeni saw shadows moving to her left. Quickly she ran that direction, following a ripping, growling sound and the smell of sulfur, intensified by the ozone dragged down from the heavens by the pouring rain.
She saw light between a group of trees, and when she neared, she realized it was fire. The lightning had struck a large tree and split it down its middle, igniting it even in the deluge falling steadily like a sheet. Half of the tree had fallen off sideways, leaning against another fallen tree, forming a kind of natural arch over a patch of dirt on the forest floor. There, under the flaming split trunk, lay Aku.
“Aku!”
Abeni raced toward him, paying no mind to the burning tree. He was on his back, breathing shallow. Aku clutched his beaded crown in his hands. He’d made it just yesterday, as a joke. Proclaiming himself king of the Yoruba while Abeni and their friends laughed. It was only a couple of hours before the rain began to fall.
“I am the king of our people, Abeni! I am descended from Oduduwa, the one who united our land and began the line of our heritage! Bow to me!”
They had all laughed and clapped, pretending to bow and scrape at Aku’s feet. Aku was always smiling, always laughing, and nothing was ever off limits to him. Even though their parents were fiercely spiritual people, Abeni and Aku found the worship of the old gods, the Orishas, of the Yoruba tribe to be ridiculous and worthy of their laughter. It was, after all, the 21st Century. Lagos, the massive city on the Southern coast of Nigeria, was the largest metropolis in all of Africa… there was no space for gods and goddesses on a modern continent. That was for the old people.
“Aku, I’m here… are you hurt? Are you all right, Aku?”
Aku only groaned in response as Abeni bent over him, looking all over his bare chest for signs of injury. She found nothing. No blood, no bruises, no obvious breaks in his arms or legs. The sound of wood straining above them startled Abeni, and she grabbed Aku by his shoulders, dragging him out of the patch of dirt just as the burning tree above them collapsed. The fire spread quickly after landing mere inches from Aku’s torso, soon nearly encircling them. However, the wet ground seemed to hold the flames back from the open area the two siblings now sat in together.
“What happened, Aku? Were you bitten by a snake? Did you fall?”
But he didn’t answer. Instead he continued to clutch his hands around his homemade crown even tighter, holding it up between his and Abeni’s faces.
“This? What do you want me to do with this, Aku? It’s just a silly toy, a useless trinket, throw it away and tell me where you are hurt…”
“Ẹ kú alẹ?”
The voice frightened Abeni - not only because of it coming out of nowhere, not only because it sounded so close, but also because it was clear as a thought in her own head. How could that be? With the rain falling so hard, with the fire burning so intense, and with her own heart pounding in her eardrums… how could a voice be so clear, and so calm as this?
“Who are you?”
Abeni’s voice shook as she turned to face the source of the interruption. She did her best to put her own body between that of her brother Aku and the woman she now saw walking towards them both from behind the veil of trees.
“Don’t you know, child? Don’t you know the stories?”
The woman walked closer. Each step from her bare feet seemed to kick up little cyclones of dust from the forest floor. Her eyes seemed to crackle with an electric blue, unlike anything Abeni had ever seen. It was as if the storm were behind her eyes rather than reflecting off of them.
“Did you hurt my brother? What did you do to him? Don’t come any closer!”
Abeni tried her hardest to sound intimidating, but her words were swept away by wind and rain. The woman walked closer, her long garments remaining impossibly dry in the torrential downpour that was still growing stronger with each passing moment.
“I am already as close as I need to be, Abeni.”
Abeni’s mouth moved silently. She was taken aback by this strange woman knowing who she was. How could such a thing be possible? Abeni had never seen this woman before in her life. She was nothing like the poor women of her home village of Ife, the women there were dulled by hard lives of labor and danger. They struggled every day of their lives to raise children and protect their homes. They had no time to soften their skin or at glamour to their hair as this woman had done. They had no money for linens such as this woman wore.
“I’ve known you since the moment your parents made you, just as I’ve known every ancestor you’ve ever had, and every child to come. I am the one who gave Shango the power to make storms, child. I am the one who suckled your people from infancy to adulthood. I am your mother. I am your warrior. And above all, I am the seeker of truth.”
Abeni squinted as the rain fell harder, pouring into her eyes. She remembered the stories from her mother. Oya, the Storm Goddess. Oya of the Nine. Oya of the River. But those were stories. No one but the elders ever spoke of Oya as anything more than mythology anymore. Even last night, after the rain began to fall, Abeni had joked with Aku about his silly crown he’d made.
“Now you’ve done it, brother. You offended Oya and brought the storm!”
They’d howled with laughter. All through the night, when the thunder and lightning would wake them from their sleep, they’d crack some new joke about the goddess and how she was coming to get them both.
“You and your brother are not Oba, child. What makes you both believe that you have the right to place a beaded Adé upon your insolent heads? What made you think I would allow such a show of disrespect to be performed within the borders of my holiest of cities?”
Abeni quickly looked to her brother, who was still holding the crown out to her with shaking arms. Was this the problem? Was this woman angry about the jokes she and her Aku made about being king?
“The Bringer of Light, Oduduwa, gave your people his own blood. He is the father of your father’s fathers. He and he alone is your king.”
The woman came closer, and Abeni could see she was holding a curved ivory staff in her hand. An Iroke. It looked like a carved horn of a beast, with symbols and faces etched into its surface. Abeni had seen an old diviner use one once, dragging its point along an Opon Ifa board and tapping it in some ritual she didn’t understand.
This woman wielded it like a knife.
“Give to me that which was never yours to begin with. Save your families. I will ruin entire villages if need be to maintain the balance of truth and justice among my people, but if you do what is right you can prevent their suffering.”
As she spoke, the fire surrounding Aku and Abeni leaped upward, closing into a full ring around them both. Then, the woman simply stepped through the flames, pointing her gleaming Iroke down at Aku’s quivering chest.
Abeni grabbed the beaded crown from Aku’s hands and held it out to the woman, who smiled down at her. The woman smiled at Abeni, and put her Iroke down to her side.
“Well done.”
And then the rains stopped, just like that. The golden sun emerged from behind dark clouds and lit the treetops with a yellow glow.
And then the fire began to close in.
Abeni looked all around for the woman who had promised to spare Aku and Abeni’s family, but she was nowhere to be found.
When the flames fell upon them and Abeni screamed, no one in the village heard her.
Cartier stands in a low-lit basement, surrounded by displays of ancient artifacts. It looks very much like a museum’s attraction, though it is clear that this is a hidden area, not one put out in front of the public.
In the room we can see many examples of Egyptian artwork. Long papyrus scrolls, golden headpieces, tablets carved with hieroglyphs, etc. We can also see other items, such as drums and piles of small bones as well as a sculpture of the Haitian loa Papa Legba.
Cartier stands in front of a low table, and she places an item onto it with a small smile. The beaded crown of a Yoruban Oba. As the piece settles onto the table, a drop of water rolls out from within it, staining the tabletop a darker hue. Dozens of others follow, and Cartier’s hands are glistening with moisture.
Though the room is silent, the sound of a far off thunderstorm seems to hang in the empty air as Cartier picks up a lit candle in a golden holder.
“It makes me happy that I get to travel across the Atlantic Ocean an’ prove what I been sayin’ once an’ for all in the Wimbledon Arena. I don’t think they could have picked a better place for a strong, black woman to rise up an’ show her true dominance than the very town where Venus an’ Serena Williams have combined for a dozen championships. Those two women, just like me, had to prove themselves every step of the way. Way longer than they shoulda had to. Even today, people act like they overrated or that they somehow don’t belong when you talk about the greats of their sport.”
He snickers, turning away from the crown and looking directly into the camera.
“Sound familiar?”
Cartier stands in the center of the room, reaching out to various artifacts as she speaks, as if they were feeding her with energy.
“Compare my journey wit’ that of someone like my opponent… y’all heard of him. The Revo1 World Champion. Miles A. Way. This is a man who rode a wave of privilege all the way to the top prize in the company. Did he earn it? Most people say he did because he beat the champion at the time, Daniel Dream. Well, shit, I’ve beat Daniel Dream. But Miles was in the right place at the right time… which really is all privilege is all about at the end of the day, ain’t it? Havin’ a easy ride to the top while others struggle due to reasons they can’t control. Sometimes people can overcome that privilege an’ make a better person out themselves… but has Miles done that? I don’t think so. Let me tell you why.”
She takes a step toward a shimmering Was Sceptre, a long, golden rod held by pharaohs to connect with their gods. She holds it in her hand and stares with awe.
“Now… right off the bat, you wonder how a guy like Miles got to the top of Revo1 so quickly. Right? I mean… six months ago this place was dominated by Sarah Lacklan. That’s a tough challenge right there, that’s a girl I’ve met, that I know wouldn’t have even sweated a little sweetboy like Miles. Mattafact, Miles wasn’t nowhere near that belt until not only Lacklan was gone but also her successor Madman. Now, Madman is already a hell of a step down, but it ain’t nothin’ compared to the fuckin’ deadweight that Miles took the Revo title from, Daniel Dream. I’ll give Miles credit in that regard at least… both times he’s won a championship in this company, he’s raised the standard of that title. Back at the end of 2019 when he took the International Title, it by bein’ the only speck of talent in the damn company at the time. An’ when he won the World Title? Well, like I said… look who he took it from. But although Miles would love to consider himself a man who held a title for a year, he’s little more than a man who once again got lucky at the right time an’ right place. Trinity closes up shop, Miles gets six free months of title reign, right? In fact, Miles wasn’t in no hurry to get back in the ring after winnin’ that gold at all… what he do when Revo came back wit’ the Sin City Special? Was he holdin’ his hand up to defend the title that’d been collectin’ dust next to his Magic the Gathering cards? HELL no! It was over a month before the quote-unquote champion got into a Revo1 ring, wasn’t it? Against some nobody, Austin St. Peters. Wow. An’ what did he follow up wit’ after that? He wasn’t at the Monster Mash show even though they tried to put him in it. Nah, he made Revo wait a whole month. A win by FORFEIT a month later. Once again… right place, right time. Miles ain’t had to do nothin’ but exist in order to succeed so far. If you at home countin’ along, that’s nine months it’ two matches an’ only one opponent. But he was a champion.”
Cartier replaces the rod, turning now toward a short spear - the iklwa of the Zulu Impi. She hefts it and stares at the sharp point as she rotates the weapon in her hand.
“We all know the story. Miles won a battle royal at Remembrance to earn his shot at the top title, right? Sure. He did. But watch the tape. Look closer. The ring was empty when he came in at number three. He got to just stand there an’ wait for someone to show up… an’ then Sylk Michaels beat his ass like a drum. Miles ain’t did shit from that moment until the very end when he managed to get stuck in the damn ropes instead of gettin’ eliminated. Did he eliminate Pasha? No. Did he eliminate Snow? No. Did he eliminate Ginger Snaps? No. Anya Coyle? No! Miles ain’t did a damn thing except hang on to the ropes. You know who won a battle royal since then? Me. I showed up an’ handled a battle royal on my first day in Revo. Ask Miles. He was there that day. You know what he did in the main event the same night I surpassed his greatest achievement on day one? After he took another two months’ vacation, of course… he lost his damn title, that’s what. So after almost a entire calendar year of holdin’ that strap, Miles lost it the second damn time someone tried to take it from him. They had the damn nerve to advertise how long he was champ, too. You gotta laugh.”
The iklwa is placed back next to the large isihlangu shield. Cartier now puts her full attention directly into the camera lens, walking slowly toward it with a smirk on her face.
“Oh but we ain’t done… nah… Miles actually shocked the world an’ showed up to work two consecutive shows in a row! An’ guess what? We learned the reason why he don’t like to do that when he got another L dropped on his ass courtesy of Amelia Hearts. Then he got carried in a tag match by Dream before losin’ in the next round to Amelia an’ some other bitch I don’t know. At least he beat Jace Myers… that win-loss record was about to be a embarrassment for Revo1.”
Cartier cackles, and her voice resonates in the otherwise quiet room. The stone walls look more and more like a tomb.
“That’s why I had to come test that mettle for myself after the match last week, Miles… I felt how soft you was. How easy you got dropped. I could tell right then that you wasn’t no one to be afraid of. You was just another recipient of more than he ever deserved. A long line of underperforming, overrated white boys who don’t stand a chance next to black excellence.”
Now just inches from the camera, Cartier’s eyes gleam. Her brown skin, flawless, shows no more emotion than the face painted on a sarcophagus. She waits a long moment, staring unblinking into the lens, before she finally flattens her lips in a stern expression and furrows her brow.
“Slaves built this country while white men got their faces printed on all the money, Miles… but this is 2021. Your privilege about to run out. Wrong place. Wrong time.”
Then Cartier lifts the candle in front of her face, and blows the candle out. The world falls into the black.