Ter woke up to strange sights and sounds, he was laid out on a straw pallet in a large hut, strings of fetishes and charms hung from the roof supports and adorned the walls. ‘Herbalist den’, he thought to himself.

He tried to sit up but found the effort too much for the physical state he was in. He opened his mouth to call for aid but only managed to release a croak. He quickly stopped the embarrassing sound.

Trapped in his body and unable to move, the memories of his pursuit by the guardian spirit leading to his desperate summoning flashed through his mind and he felt a shudder run through him. He was lucky to still be alive; there were rites of preparation before one welcomed the ancestors to one’s body. He had skipped all that and gone straight to the summoning and possession, trusting in the truth of all the insults he had endured throughout his childhood.

He was about to pass back into the realm of sleep when a seemingly random observation how strangely dark the moon appeared startled him back to wakefulness. Bringing his vision back into the hut, he was made aware of the absence of a source of illumination. He could clearly make out minute imperfections that marred the mud bricks in the walls. Looking out at the moon again, Ter marveled at the vision; It looked like the remains of a blown-out lamp. The more he stared at it, the more details he observed; what looked like mountains, valleys, rivers and people bathing? His injuries must have been very severe if they were enough to cause hallucinations.

One of the figures in his vision of the moon suddenly stilled and jerked around to stare right at him. Ter’s senses were instantly overwhelmed and his spirit strained under the weight of their regard. Luckily, he was already weak of body, his mind slipped behind the veil of dreams. Unwittingly saving his spirit from severe damage as the young warrior passed out instead. There was a snort that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, carried on the light of the moon.

Ter found himself sitting in a mound of snakes; they crawled through and around him, showing no regard for his presence or the boundaries of personal space. The larger ones occasionally swallowed smaller ones with a lazy violence. A whisper of layered voices reverberated in his head, a hiss, lurking just out of earshot. Looking around, he was inside a massive with walls of tree bark, looking up, he could just barely notice a tapering but the ceiling was lost to darkness. ‘I’m inside a tree?’ he thought to himself incredulously.

“Little warrior” The whispers finally gathered into a single sibilant voice, “You have shown great strength. We acknowledge you as son, thus we have branded you. Our strength will hold you up in your times of need. You are yet weak and need healing. Return to restful slumber, we will meet again when your strength is recovered and we will set your foot upon the path your heart desires.”

The vision was immediately swallowed up by a wave of darkness and his remaining sleep was dreamless.

Two days later, Ter was off his back and strong enough to fell a fully grown Neem tree with a single stroke of his now cursed cutlass; a phenomenal recovery for one that had practically been knocking on death’s door. The village they had been directed to by the ancestral spirits lay on the southwestern bank of the Quorra River. Abodes were created from molded reddish-brown bricks of river mud. Dried out raffia-palm leaves woven together and tied to stout wooden beams formed the roofs. Each homestead was built around a central hut that served as the kitchen. The homesteads in turn were built around a central compound that overlooked the market/festival square. A layout typical to most settlements in the lower reaches of the Quorra River.

They had arrived right before the harvest festival day. Uche had charmed his way into the village, even being invited to help prepare for the day’s festivities. So it was, that the two young men had taken to the drinking and festivities with great enthusiasm, passing around gourd after gourd of palm wine till darkness fell.

Under the light of the moon, Ter wrestled with the strongest of the village youths to the appreciative giggles of the older girls, and found none to be his equal. Uche gathered with the village old men and women. Collecting their stories and trading some he had heard in his travels, every so often he would be interrupted in his telling, the elders pointing out discrepancies in the stories that told similar to some of theirs.

Eventually, the adults of the village all gathered around a great communal fire. Village maidens and newlyweds danced around the fire, singing songs of their gods and ancestor-heroes accompanied by the rhythmic thumping of their feet. Young ones sat at the feet of three village elders giggling and sighing alternately at the stories they were regaled with.

Deer and boar specially hunted for the festival were roasted on several fires around which the unattached young men sat and drank. Ter and Uche were seated around one of the cooking fires and the men had just finished talking about Ter’s wrestling performance when Uche deep in his cups turned to his companion.

“You know, if I had been born say a thousand years ago, I might have ascended into godhood by now.”

Ter frowned, “You are a proud one, but I never pegged you as one who had that large of a head.”

Uche gestured wildly with his gourd of palm wine, sloshing it around dangerously.

“It is not a delusion my friend, the gods were people or close enough once; old ones, strong in knowledge of the arcane.”

Ter gave his friend his full attention.

“What are you saying? That the gods we worship are human? You have been too long at the drink and now you spout blasphemy.”

“You misunderstand me, not all the gods once walked the earth as men.” “Some were born of darkness and light, the stars and the waters; Chaos.”

“This is why I collect stories from the elders whenever I can. ‘The path to ascendancy hides in the words of a thousand stories’ the threads become clearer to me with every new tale.”

Uche picked up a twig and began to trace in the sand, his voice taking on a haunting lilt.

“Chi is the source of all life. As men have souls so also is Chukwu to creation. You’ve heard it called Olorun by some we have met.

“As the world is surely not flat, so also does it not only exist in this dimension. The living know not how many dimensions exist nor do the dead speak of it.

“All things are known and are written by the hand of the giver of life whose words cannot be taken back. So men may pray and give libation to the giver of life only in thanks. Olorun will not cause the wild goat to hunt the jungle cat, so also, he will not change that which he has pre destined.

“Chineke does not deign to intervene in the affairs of the universe, satisfied in its existence as he has wrought it. There exist however, Great spirits.

“Those who have gazed deep into the nature of existence, they that lay claim to the mysteries of the world; denizens of different dimensions from ours, priests, god kings and wise men of ages, most of them lost to the memories of man.”

Ter scoffed at the explanation, his inability to feel any effects from the large amounts of wine he had ingested beginning to fill him with a churlish apprehension about the blessing of his ancestors.

Though he was almost certain in his conclusion that it was futile, he drained another calabash of palm wine anyway, before replying.

“I know of Great spirits for I have just called upon them, however men being gods seems outlandish. Why would we have worshipped them for centuries if they were human like us?”

Uche scoffed, “human memory is disgustingly short. It has been but a short few thousand years yet we’ve all forgotten the god-emperor Gilgamesh”

“Who…?” Ter asked in confusion

“He once ruled the lands and the ocean kingdom, but that’s a story for another day.

“Not all our gods have mortal origins but the more active ones certainly do; their penchant for meddling is a leftover urge from their humanity.”

Ter shook his head. “I don’t believe that, it seems too easy. If it were true the world would be overrun with gods.”

Uche’s lips split in a shrouded smile. “Who says it isn’t?”

Ter’s eyebrow rose in inquiry when his companion failed to continue speaking. Uche’s only response was to shake his head and push another gourd into Ter’s hand.

“You are right in that godhood is not easily achieved, as a matter of fact, to my knowledge, no new gods have reason from humanity since the era of the great bestowment. My journey is to find the answers, I will know more in time.”

“By the way, Amaka over there seems to be trying to get your attention.”

Ter looked around in confusion. “Amaka?”

“Don’t ask questions like a one eyed Oracle.” Uche rolled his eyes. “I don’t know her name, so…. Amaka. You’ll break your neck with the way you’re swinging your head around. She’s over by the palm trees; second one from the left of the river path.”

Ter immediately spotted her standing some ways off, wide hipped and practically thrumming with lustful anticipation. They had flirted heavily earlier in the evening as he wrestled with the boys. She smiled at him and looked meaningfully over his head towards the farmlands and bushes. Blood already heating up; he smiled back and gave the slightest of nods.

“Well my friend, seems I must leave you for a time.”

Uche snorted, “Take your time, enjoy yourself; I will likely have business of my own before the night is over.”

There were no words; her breath came out in a gasp of pleasant surprise as he slammed her against one of the palm trees. Their mouths joined, tongues dancing. He hitched her up, her legs wrapped around his waist. Her wrapper fell away, the circular ridges on the tree ground into her back

His tongue flicked her ear, traced its way down to her neck. Her teeth nipped his shoulder, Ter slid into her.

Uche woke up with a sour mouth and a splitting headache; he stretched a hand and encountered a breast, his other hand brushed a penis. He snapped to complete wakefulness, scrambling to retrieve his clothes. The woman stirred and mumbled something, the man remained passed out; Uche paused and slowed his movements, whispering a quick incantation under his breath for the earth to quiet his feet. The moon was in its last moments of hegemony over the sky; he weaved around sprawled bodies and entwined limbs till he got to the river path. Muttering a charm to enhance his eyesight, he started jogging towards the river; the early morning breeze was cold and crisp, his body more alive after every impact of his bare feet on the beaten path. He got to the river winded but feeling alive.

“Took you long enough, thought you had been held hostage by the chief’s children.”

Ter melted out of the shadow of a tree, startling Uche who tried to hide his surprise with a witty comeback.

He hadn’t sensed Ter till his friend revealed himself, and he had been in constant touch with the earth. It sent a shot of unease up his spine; what did it portend when one of the living was hidden away from the earth itself?

Ter stretched muscles that had doubled in size and definition within the week since their flight from the masquerade.

“Come then my fair friend; wash that we may depart this dreary arrangement of huts.”

“I share your haste, but certain rituals must be observed first.” Uche responded.

Ter raised an eyebrow and Uche gave a hearty laugh and began to shed his garments. He was going to raise a protest but it died in his throat as he caught a glimpse of Uche’s uncovered torso.

Whorls and angular writing covered his companion’s body; they looked to be done in chalky ink and appeared to be moving when he wasn’t looking directly at them. They were faintly luminescent in the pre-dawn light. Ter could only surmise the tattoos were spiritual in nature as he had seen his friend uncovered severally but had never noticed them until that morning. Idly he wondered what other things he had missed while his eyes were shielded from the spirit realm.

A new appreciation for his new gift began to grow in him and he could almost forgive the spirits for their steep price; his inability to feel weightlessness of good wine or the pleasure of a woman.

Ter had just worked himself up to ask about the luminescent tattoos but the moment had passed and his friend was already fully dressed.

Instead, he asked a more pressing question.

“Which way do we go now young Dibia?”

Uche grimaced at the moniker; it seemed to be the only thing Ter remembered from his possession. He however took revenge in the form of his answer to the question.

“We go north and east, across the great waters of the Quorra.”

Ter paled visibly at the news; he was deathly scared of water.