the conclave

The conclave—the like of which had not been called in a few thousand years—had an aura of terrifying magnificence. Barely contained ire met suppressed fury, mated with stranded rage and gave birth to a determination to use any methods deemed fit to achieve necessary ends. Those who know swear that it is better to never have known relevance than to have held exalted offices—plus influenced the course of human history for more years than there are grains on a cob of corn—and then have to plot to get that back. Everyone in attendance wore the serious look of those in a war council—which in a way was what this was.

Amadioha, the Igbo thunder deity, had conceived it, he shared the idea with Sango, his Yoruba counterpart. They had fallen into serious disrepute. They, once powerful and revered, now relegated to the background. They—gods not minions, mind you—whose names used to strike fear in the hearts of men, now struggled for a foothold. If not for a few humans who still believed, who still offered sacrifices, the majority of them would have just ceased to be and the remnant driven berserk by hunger.

The objective was simple really—get back, in a striking fashion, into reckoning. And take their due place in the scheme of things. As Sango noted, the phenomenon was much larger... Others of their kind across the globe, except for a negligible few, were in the same situation. Why not all stakeholders have a meeting and hammer out a solution?

Thus was borne an unusual gathering of preternatural compeers. Originally, it was meant for just fulminous deities. Thor of the Nords, Slavic Perun, Pele the Hawaiian, Tohil of the K'iche' and Tlaloc of Aztec were invited—the passport that enabled them to come into Amadioha's domain. They were territorial entities and unilaterally entering into another's area was an act of aggression.

So, they came. And extended the invite to others of perceived pertinence—ancient principalities like Hadúr the Hungarian, Mars the Roman, Nubian Apedemak, Wurrukatte of the Hittites, Set of Egypt and Erlang of China. Everyone in this group had something to do with war and chaos except the last, with his third, truth seeing eye. More than one wondered why exactly he was present. Shortly before they started Ares, Greek god of war, materialized, flanked by Phobos (Fear), Deimos (Terror) and Enyo (Discord), by appearance alone, each of the trio could be distinguished.

When everyone was seated, Amadioha, amidst pyrotechnics, addressed them. He declared that the fault lay with them—individually and collectively. They had neglected to protect their turf. The more he spoke, the more agitated he became. At a point, he hurled a bolt of thunder in anger. It hit a pregnant woman returning from the farm. She died where she stood, body blackened instantly by the over 300 volts that coursed through her system. Afterwards the villagers would label her a sorceress—and deny her body a burial.

Erlang raised a crooked talon, and Amadioha's harangue petered out then ceased. He stayed quiet till he had their attention. Finally, he opened his maw and in measured, lilting tones said,
"The solution is clear," before the incomprehension in their stares became questions, he continued.

"Let us invade one another's domains, and unleash mayhem on the inhabitants. Phobos and Deimos can work together to keep them harassed and in check; I will reveal to some people that the solution is to turn to us."
It was debated, modified and adopted. Amadioha's region was chosen for the pilot scheme. Take off was immediate.

Then it happened. A tremor began, soon it became a quake. Folks began to fall off their seats. Then chains leapt out of the air and proceeded to bind wrists and ankles.
It was Erlang who saw what was happening. A small group of Christians, that met every Friday night in a little house around the corner, had begun to pray.




© 2016 John Chidi
All Rights Reserved
Picture credits: Google

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