I heard the Obeah’s voice rise above our tribe. It was calm and reassuring as he trembled with the Oguan power held inside his frail body. His speech was succinct as his leathery brown face contorted to get his exact ideas across. I watched in awe of his power as he rapped his crooked walking staff on the ground to accentuate the importance of what he said.

A ragged furry shawl with feathers strapped to it was draped over his shoulders. The feathers came from the birds that were spirit-gods, filled with power. He hunted for many months in solitude, tracking down each spirit-god. When he found them, he killed them and ate them, absorbing their power into him.

I heard him speak in the old tongue, so that the children would not hear him, the fire making his eyes glitter like sparkling black stones.

“We are the chosen people of our Gods.”

I nodded in agreement.

“They would not punish us. They love us too much, and protect us from all things. When the Akua tribe had nothing to kill, did we not receive an abundance of food to share and trade with them? When the Tiwhahi tribe had no water, did we not bring them rain? Surely the Gods have always protected us.”

Sotiki, the almost child wife of Adu, looked sullen. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes, and saw that she wished to speak about the recent events we had all witnessed. The Obeah handed her his staff, giving her permission to speak.

She stood proudly, her head high in the light of the orange fire. The only clothing she wore was a small bronze anklet, to symbolize that she had experienced a death in her family. Her hair fell over her shoulders like black spider woven silk.

“We all know,” she paused, gathering strength in her voice before going on, “That we have lost favor in the eyes of our Gods.”

A gasp fell over the tribe as the Obeah clucked his old tongue in disapproval.

Behind her, the long huts swayed in the jungle breeze as the children stared on.

“Girl. Speak in the old tongue,” the Obeah scolded.

“I don’t care if they hear! They should hear! My son is dead! Not even two years old! They are in danger as much as anyone else!”

She did not hold back her emotions as her face filled with the sadness inside of her.

I felt her pain, but I said nothing. The Obeah knew what was right. It is he who commands the spirits; it is he who talks to our Gods in his dreams. It is he who can heal the sick and bring rain. It is he who can see the future in the entrails of the birds. He is the only one with the power and knowledge to stop this.

The Obeah stood up, his white beard entangling in the air like cloudy wisps.

“Give me back my staff, girl.”

She shook her head.

“No! What I want to say needs to be said!”

He moved towards her, the flames flickering around him. I could see his brown skin lit up with orange lights, the shadows making him more godlike in the night air. The children hid under their blankets. The warriors and I lifted up our machetes; for fear that the Obeah would do something terrible.

He may be the one who walks with Gods, but even he needed to follow the laws of the Onuoga. The laws set down in stone by the gods themselves before the jungle was filled with man. Do not slay one of your own family, for it is punishable by death.

“Girl. If you do not give me my staff…”

“You’ll what? You cannot murder me. I am of the same blood as you.”

“You may speak your mind. But return to me my staff. It is my possession, and even the Gods cannot protect you from the wrath of an Obeah.”

“The Gods no longer favor us. If they did, then why would they murder one of us each night? Why, even when we stay awake and watch the Jungle, does one of us die? In a month there will be no Onouga left. None. The Gods have left us.”

The Jungle filled with the sounds of insects, whirring and buzzing in the shadows. She gave the Obeah back his staff. He seemed disturbed by what she had said. Until now he had not taken into thought the suffering of his people. For a moment he was quiet, and I swear I heard the Gods whisper in the thick green trees around us as they moved just outside of our village.

“The Gods have not left us,” he said.

I’m sure that everyone felt the same relief I felt. Even a warrior is powerless beneath these trees if he does not have the blessing of the Gods. Without the Gods, we would starve to death; we would be without water and without sun. Without the Gods, the jungle would eat us.

He spit into the fire. His saliva forced green smoke to rise up and hiss in the center of the flames. The smoke took on the shapes of insects and men fighting.

“This terror that comes every night is not a punishment from the Gods.”

Adu asked for the staff so he could speak.

“Your wife has spoken enough for both of you. We understand your grief. Your Gods understand your grief. They came to me in a dream last night, and they had said to me that this was not of their doing. Diunii, the God of the water, has been poisoned by a bird-spirit. The healers and the Obeah tried to drain the poison, as we are taught, but to no avail. Once in his blood, the darkness crept into his mind. It turned him into a beast.”

The Obeah paused for a moment and raised his staff into the air. His body elongated and stretched up into the tops of the trees. His staff touched the roof of the heavens, and his eyes sunk into his skull. He was now channeling his dream spirit, the god-walker Uhua-Uhia.

“It is his he who walks these jungle at night. He is now the dark creature, the un-named one. His spirit is no more. The birds had stolen his Godliness. He is the one killing us off. And the Gods can do nothing. It is up to us to stop him.”

The children whispered now, afraid of all they saw. I felt their pain. At least as a warrior, I could fight. I could try to kill this creature if it attacked me. They were powerless. They could do nothing. The Obeah picked a bird from the top of a tree, and brought it down in front of the fire. He ripped off its head, and then tore it apart with his bare hands. With his staff in the light of the fire he flittered through the entrails, searching for the future inside its wrapped organs.

“They tell me one must travel. Tonight. Following the trail it leaves in the jungle. He must go and slay the beast. And he must do so alone,” He paused; his old fingers rummaging through his beard as he tried to spy which one of us would be the hunter.

“You. You are the one they have chosen.”

The finger flew through the air and pointed directly at me. At first, I was filled with honor and pride. Then I was filled with fear. How could I kill something that the Gods cannot? How could I destroy this dark beast that the bird-spirits had made to kill us off? I walked foreword, hearing my wife sobbing behind me. She was scared for me. It was a feeling I understood, but as a man and a warrior, could not indulge. I ate my fear, and let her cry for me. One of us had to feel this. One of us had to bear the grief.

“How do I kill him?”

“Hold out your machete, boy.”

I held it out to him, its blade glowing white in the light. He chewed up the green powder he had made while hunting and then spit it onto the blade. He screamed in the old tongue as the milky fluid climbed my blade in serpentine coils. The poison tainted my blade the color of the flames.

“You kill him with that. It will not be easy. But now you have magic in you and on your blade

.” I stood still and silent. Around me the sounds of the jungle filled my ears and my head. I felt possessed by Ioniji, the God spirit who was the Jungle and the river that ran through it. I felt him seep into my body and fill my heart and lungs with power. The Obeah then instructed the drummers to begin drumming. The night filled with the sound of the music, of the thunder that talked to the Gods. They danced around me then, imitating the fight that would come. Creating a likeness of a battle that would benefit us all.

Their magic overwhelmed me, and I felt faint. I collapsed as the fire spun into the air. Somewhere, I could hear the birds laugh. They thought us silly to try and destroy the beast they had built. But I would show them. The magic filled me. No bird could kill us now.

When I awoke the rest of the village was asleep. Around the circle they lay, the flames a pile of ashes in the center. They had fallen asleep while dancing, making the magic more potent and powerful. I leaned over and kissed my wife and my daughter. I grabbed my machete, and smeared the white paint we had made for war over my face and arms.

I heard something move in the darkness. It sounded like whispering. Soft, it was a flutter of movements. Leaves moved back and forth as it moved as the voice slowly grew louder. It chanted.

I saw its eyes rise out of the jungle. Blue steel eyes, its shadowy body like a thick tree snake, winding into the jungle. It stood up, and I could see thick legs and arms attached to its serpent body. I listened closer to the whispering, crouching behind where the fire had been earlier.

I could hear what it chanted now, in the old tongue.

It was a rhyme used to put children to sleep. I listened closer, and could feel myself being pulled towards the creature. It began to weave back and forth with a hypnotic dance. I thought I could see my mother in the creature’s eyes. My mother, who would rock me to sleep while I lay on her brown breasts in the summer heat.

My mother, who would sing me that very same song as I was trying to get to sleep. I began to fall, almost dropping the machete to the ground. It moved closer to me, the body shimmering like rain in the mist of the morning. I could see myself being held by my mother. Taking me back before I had reached the age of manhood and underwent the trials of the warrior. Before I learned the song and dance of the fighter, before I learned how to toss a spear and wield a machete.

It was upon me then. I could smell the stench of human remains on its breath. I fell back into reality, and ducked as it flew over top of my head. My mother had been dead for many days now, killed by this very same creature. Did it have her soul inside of her? Did it feast on the souls it killed?

If that was so, I thought, then I need to set her free. I need to set Adu’s child free. I need to set Makika’s wife free and Doia’s dog free. I need to set the souls of all who had been taken by this beast free from its body prison.

I rolled out of its reach, angering it. The creature rose up into the shadows, hissing and screaming. Its blue eyes locked on mine. I pulled my machete up and saw the blade glowing in the darkness. I could see it look at my weapon, and inside I felt stronger. Their magic pulsed inside of me like a beating heart.

I began to chant myself. It was the old war songs, sung in the eldest of all tongues. It was the one tongue that every tribe in the jungle understood. It was considered the Gods’ tongue, the tongue of the spirits that roamed everywhere. I hissed the words between my teeth as the creature darted over top of me.

I ducked and rolled out of the way as it screamed above me, lifting my machete up and into the beast’s belly. Blood spilled over me, the stench of its innards causing me to hold my breath. Landing on the ground, it held its stomach with its thick right arm. I could tell it was trying to hold itself together.

The others around me awoke with a start. They looked at me, covered in beast blood. My blade glowed orange. I could feel my body temperature rise and burn up the air around me in a halo of fire. They looked frightened as they saw me stand there.

In the corner long huts, by where the children lay awakening, the beast slowly rose. It held itself as it moved, one arm dragging along the ground. Blue eyes shown out a light across the sleeping children and spied my daughter.

The others looked at me in shock.

The Obeah rose up and saw me staring at the Beast.

“Back off! Off I say! He is the only one that can see it now. We have cast the spells, danced the dances of the Gods. It is up to him now,” the Obeah’s old voice trumpeting like thunder over their heads.

They formed a circle around us. I leapt through the air, riding across the jungle wind and landed on top of the beast, pulling it away from the children’s long houses. I pulled him closer to the circle, and could hear the drums beating. The drums talked to the Gods. Talked to the bird-spirits around us. The Obeah danced and chanted, pulling poisonous snakes from his mouth and tossing them into the ground.

I began to chant the warrior chant from before, the rhythm of the drums beating into my bones and my body, making me strong and full of fury. They began to chant with me as the creature tried to move itself outside of the circle and back to where the children lay. I knew it was trying to get something easy to kill. Something easy to eat and regain it’s strength. There was no way it would feed upon my child, I thought.

I rose into the sky as the drums became my wings and their voices became the wind I flew upon. My machete came down, again and again. The beast screamed and tried to chant some more of its spells to lure me into its gaze. This was of no use. I was protected now. Protected by the Obeah. Protected by the circle. Protected by the chants around me.

I cut through, and ribbons of its soul splashed the ground. The beast sank into nothingness. The poison of the bird-spirits spill into the black earth and are eaten by the foliage around us.

I stood up and removed its head. I held it high, high as they applauded. The dance was soon over, and I had won. There would be no more deaths of our tribe. Not now. Not ever again.

We are truly within the Gods' favor once more.

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