Whispers and Shadows

The red and blue flag with a lion totem rustled in the wind atop the sky-piercing tower. Babel II was Anglon’s finest: arches upon arches of stone and brick. The doors arched, the windows arched, the roof arched, and inside, the priests wore hats that arched too. The General pushed the double doors open, and the heavy oak monstrosity swung in silence. The clouds grumbled in the dark, but no rain had come yet, only a drizzle. When he walked in, the sky flashed white, spilling into the hall through coloured glass. On the window, fashioned from green, red, and blue glass, a crucified man could be seen; on his head, a crown of thorns. In another pane, a robed and sacred woman hung with a solemn look on her face, suggestive of innocence and an idolised state of purity. The third pane housed the image of a chalice.
‘General Sax,’ a man in a black robe and a hat that could have been a bald spot bowed to the General, ‘We were not expecting you so late.’
‘I wanted to come alone. These matters are not for all to attend.’
The General took off his coat, a large sheep wool cover stitched with what looked like wolf fur at the collar. Inside, he wore a green uniform, top and bottom, with many emblems and badges. On his waist, he wore a strong leather belt with a cross for a buckle to hold his large frame together. Even without the coat, he was still a mountain, grey-peaked and strong-jawed. His nose was crooked like it had been broken a few times, and his eyes were a cold blue. Even in the darkened room, they hung like two moons, almost luminous in the way they starred.
‘I understand, General. The bishop is here. He will attend to all your questions.’
The pair made their way through the aisle, rows and rows of empty benches on each side. At the front was an altar, a podium, and a large piece of art that covered the centre wall, spilling onto the ceiling. It was impossible to see any detail in the darkness that came with the night.
‘General Sax, pleased to see you.’
The bishop was not wearing his pointy cap. It sat on the altar next to a silver chalice that swirled with blood-red wine.
‘I trust you have read my letters, so you know why I am here.’
The bishop smiled, his small round head exposing yellowing teeth in the candlelight.
‘You are in the right place, General. You are with men of knowledge. We have spell books like you will find no place else.’
‘And these spells you have, you say they will turn brown eyes blue, or at least grey?’ The General’s doubt was not lost in his tone.
‘You are in the house of faith, yet I hear doubt in your voice.’
‘Forgive me, Bishop. It is just that as a scientist, these matters of spells are quite…’ the General paused, ‘strange.’
A small door opened behind them and a young boy came in. In the candlelight, it was hard to see much of his dark face until he was close. In his hand was a tray balancing a silver jug and a fresh chalice. Sax watched in silence as the boy topped up the bishop’s wine.
‘You don’t care for wine?’ the small-headed monk asked.
The General shook his head and waved the boy away. But then he froze. This close to the light, the boy’s eyes could be seen: two dull grey pearls between his broad nose.
‘I don’t believe it!’ the General spat.
‘James,’ the bishop called to the boy, ‘tell General Sax here – who is Yasus Xrist? And why is he so important?’
As if on command, the boy’s eyes flashed with a glow. ‘Yasus Xrist is the son of the one true God, sent to earth to die for my sins so that I may be washed anew; so my soul be saved.’
‘Washed of what?’ the General probed.
The boy did not break the frozen hypnosis on his face. ‘Washed of the foul juju, the wicked and evil past of my ancestors. He is the way, the truth, and the life.’
‘Hmmm, perhaps I will have some wine. Maybe there is cause to celebrate.’ The General reached for the chalice and the boy proceeded to pour from the decanter. When he was done, the bishop rubbed his head ever so tenderly and ran a finger over his lips in a gentle brush.
‘You may go take your rest. I won’t be needing anything else tonight.’
Like a mouse, the boy slipped through the back door he had appeared from and closed it with a gentle click.
‘He said a word, juju. What is that? A spell word?’
‘I see you have an understanding of basic spell theory.’
‘If knowing that some words are spell words means having a basic understanding, then yes.’
‘I was warned about your humility. You have probably read all the spell books cover to cover. Half of our congregation can’t even manage a single book of the Lieble. That’s why we have to teach passages every week. To fortify their minds.’
‘Mind fortification, that is what you think of spelling?’ the General asked.
‘You scientists think you know it all, that with your knowledge of matter and mathematics, you are free from spells.’ He took a sip from his chalice. ‘Science itself is a spell too.’
‘Well, you would say that.’ The General turned to the fire. ‘So, this spelling you are proposing, what does the Order of Xrist want from the Crown in exchange for it?’
The bishop looked at the monk, and he knew to dismiss himself without a word. The two men remained in the corner of the altar.
‘We lion spellers do not speak in slithers, so I will be direct.’ He stared the General in the eyes, one blue moon to another.
‘We want a part of the land, a slice of the pie. We want to build sacred grounds in their cities, schools, and healing houses. We want to baptise their children in our waters and marry their lovers through our spell rites.’
The General chuckled.
‘You are aware that their men marry more than one woman? In fact, they say it speaks to a man’s strength, the more he can marry.’
‘Oh, ye of little faith! General Sax, I tell you, after we are done binding them, they will see black and call it white. They will spit in the eye of the so-called ancestors they venerate, cursing their ways as vile and evil. They will covet the skin they now call pig. They will see their gods and call them idle idols.’
The General shifted his belt and cleared his throat.
‘And you have the capacity to do all this? Or you will make spellers of soldiers?’
‘Are you not aware, General, that the war we are about to win has been waged since the casting from the garden? That it is a promise, bound by time to be fulfilled? Do you know nothing of the prophecies in the snake tongue?’
The General’s ears perked.
’Snake tongue prophecies? What are you talking about?’
‘Pawns, rooks, bishops, knights, kings – these are only pieces on the board. Beyond all that, there is also the hand that plays. Which are you, General? Because the things you ask, even if told, a mere piece would never understand.’
Sax’s nose flared, but he kept the frustration out of his eyes.
‘You say you do not speak in slithers, yet your words are cunning and slippery.’
The bishop smiled.
‘We have covered good grounds in the Old Afaraka, especially in the Nigra area. It is a very vast region, with many gods and tribes.’
‘The Order knows about these things, or have you forgotten our role in the slave supply? Is it not with our spells that the captives were taught to be obedient to their masters even through whipping, mutilation and death?’
‘You make a good point.’ Sax turned to face the tapestry. With his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he could at least make out some shapes in the dark – a woman, the same one from the window, and a man too, also the same from the window. The man was slim and bruised with multiple cuts, a stab wound on his side leaking red. He rested his head on the woman’s thighs, his long straight hair covering much of his face. What was left held pain, pain and death. There were other women too, surrounding the pair. They all wore robes and scarves over their heads. But only the woman comforting the man wore blue, the others were clothed in brown. The man wore only a white cloth around his waist and a crown of thorns on his head.
‘You know, in the north of Afaraka, it is impossible to spellbind anyone. The Ottomen passed through a few hundred years ago, leaving footprints of their Modamidian spells in large cathedrals crested with the moon and star, in their Barab tongue, and in many books which the most dedicated of their priests have memorised by heart. They even have schools where they teach this memorization and all manners of spelling to their children.'
'So how have you conquered them?' the bishop asked.
'Well, after the rule of the Ottomen, they developed strong monarchs. So, we have bought their rulers, and now they rule for us. They farm the lands, and we claim the taxes.'
'Hmmm,' the bishop scratched his beard. 'Indirect rule is no colonisation.’
'Yes, but it is the best we can do. You cannot completely colonise a people with concrete access to their history.'
'And the Yarubas? We dealt with many in the slaving days.'
'They too have monarchs and are averse to war. They also welcome Anglon knowledge. After all, we have been trading with them and have established a strong seaport in their waters. Wilfully, they give their sons over to us to be educated in our ways. They assimilate fast.'
'So, your problem is the Ogbi?' the bishop asked.
'Yes, religion is the only way possible. Their power structures are too decentralized, and their kings are more stewards than they are lords. They even have a spelling tradition that makes it impossible to corrupt their language. I don't know how it works, but they call it Igo Afa. I really don’t know how you will do this, but I hope we can.'
'Worry not General. Their juju is very strong, but we will defeat them. Our spells are stronger.'
'I hope you are right. I will hate to see what we are doing in the Americus and Austriland spill into Afaraka. The colonial project must succeed.'
'And it will, General. It will.'