Dark Flow and Light Gust
Act I: The Bones Beneath
Chapter 1: The Boy and the Blades
Water holds memories…the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers given information. Mystery, not just something to be said as difficult to understand, but can be interpreted as ones rites to culture and traditions…the art of accepting the unknown and the beauty of it. Life, a gift or a curse given in the form of breath of a creature that walks the lands, the growth of a plant that breaks through the grounds, the fluid exchange of a serpent to extract oxygen through the oceans. Motion, like the tiny bug that continues to crawl as a breathing soul. Even the rocks are more than gravel, a show of being still and how life provides stability.
Life in potential. Life in stillness. Life as the foundations of all living things. Water has always provided that. Wota Lunel lifts his head from the river, feeling the sun against his deep honey and mahogany skin. Cleansing his thoughts as each reflection of his own soul adds to the pool of memories. His eyes shift and his gaze locked on the village he calls home. Enkil Gate, the land borrowed by the tribe of Turning Water, once a village that was considered blessed by Mami Wata, the spirit that protected it and gave life to all things that nourished and thrived off the land. Trees that held leaves that gave the appearance of bushes, thick - full, a hue of green that look as if the grass had rose to kiss the sun, now dried, not even capable of bearing the seeds of the next generation to continue their legacies. All this thanks to the Bone Clan, a band of resource thieves. Using the bones and dust of the dead to engineer weapons that drains all things of life. Enkil Gate has met them, and with that was robbed off its glory.
Wota stood to his feet, his legs build like well fed cattle, his face as cold as the rocks on the moons surface, and his heart the same type of cold. He carried the loss of his mother, Rosh Lu. Both literally and physically as the blades of his mother were stationed on his back. Two sickles born from the bones of a great hammerhead shark, crafted to cut anything. Along with his blades he was blessed with the gift of water by Mami Wata herself, to restore life to the lands, but he would also use this gift to curse the ones who had stolen his mothers life. To receive such a blessing, he had to also give something valuable away. Wota gave half his soul to the waters in exchange for his power, his teeth now sharpened, his eyes now blood red like the enemies who he swore to tear apart. Something human, but something not. Tattoos etched his body proving his devotion and divinity, glowing with water in his veins. He had a thirst now, kept in check with the blood of fish as he made a promise to bring no harm to anyone other than the merciless bastards that had robbed him already of everything. All his hate would be saved for the right moments.
He made his way from the river, the ritual now complete, full of new power and purpose. Grabbing his kente cloth, he began his walk towards the village, passing by the temple shrines he paused only to offer a loc of his hair and a prayer to the statue of Mami Wata. Continuing through the quarters, there stood hamlets made of whalebone frames, complimented by sun-bleached driftwood and roofs lined with thatch. Each home accessorized with fish skeletons and upside down triangles painted on the doors to offer prayers to the water spirit, hoping for renewal and life to come back to the land. Sea stones sitting in vases as offerings. He saw his people carrying woven baskets of old and fresh fish, all the same, to exchange for goods and to keep. Some others lay still in dirt fields that were once covered in blue grass, starving - maybe a father never returned, a mother could not nurture, or perhaps they could not find ways to fill their needs. Children, ignorant and innocent making the most of anything, laughing and playing, mimicking the roly-poly as they dirty the clothes meant to be washed just once a week to ration the rest of what could be salvaged in a family.
Wota had just reached the heart of the village, the market square. His aim was to purchase a few items needed for his journey ahead. The market square was full of sellers, buyers, and beggars alike. The sound of bargaining between the common and heckling of the damned everywhere. A smell of fish, smoke, wood, and herbs filled the air. He made his way to a stall, there hanging was dried fish and table lined with herbs.
In a rustic voice, ”Hello there, what will you have?” an older salesman asked. He stood hunched over, worn down from years of survival and hard work, hands covered in onyx black from working the fire. He had one gray eye, the other blue as the ocean, hair bundled into a messy silver bun, and his bronze skin wore the tattoo of an upside down triangle to show his devotion.
“I have many things one might need, some may want, several may have if you don’t pick your choices now.” the old man delivered his pitch with haste, quick to make it seem as though his product was better than the others. A tactic familiar with salesman in the market square, each one eager to make a coin or few to feed their needs.
“I’ll have some dried fish.. oregano, tumeric, and milk thistle.” Wota stated, “do you have any rope and sea beast hide bags?”
”Sure do boy, but the sea beast hide will cost ya!” The old man gathered all the requested items returning with them neatly bundled in nori paper, edible and useful, all placed into the bag. “That’ll be bou’ 15 coins, what ya think?” he asked. “10.. and here..” Wota tossed a polished sea stone onto the table. He knew how valuable a sea stone was to the tribe members since many believed that if offered to Mami Wata, it would bring life and nourishment back to their families and the land. Eyes widening, the old man snatched up the stone and threw it into his coin bag, along with the 10 coins. “Thank ya boy…you are blessed.” the old man stated, kissing two of his finger, touching them to his forehead and presenting them to Wota as he half bowed. Quietly, Wota bowed back, grabbed the bag and flung it across his shoulders. He had what he needed for his journey and now he could leave the village. See there was no need to bargain when you know the soul of your people and what they hold value to, but as he both devoted himself to Mami Wata, he could not offer prayers without action so he knew he had to leave to make the proper changes for his people. To bring back the riches of the land, the fullness of the stomachs, the grass for children to play in, the simple needs of his people to survive.
Walking away from the market square, Wota fixated to begin his journey, he made his way back through the quarters, trekking along the waterfront. He began to conjure memories of his childhood, how he would swim along the sea turtles that visited, braving the dives with sharks that hunted the waters the same as his people did. He remembered building a sand house with his mother, her hands steady to help form the foundation, her smile as soft as bamboo velour, eyes blue as the ocean itself, and skin that smelled of shea butters. Those memories came flooding in like a mad river, only crashing into the mountain of a wall he placed in front of his heart…he would kill the man that took it all from him, he would destroy the clan that took his peoples spirit. Making it to the outskirts, he did not stop, he only walked on blades attached this back, bag filled and strapped across his shoulder, boots kicking up the dirt that left trails of dust behind him, water in his veins pulsing with anxiousness to fulfill his duty. Wota flowed on, his resolve as strong as his faith, Mami Wata was in his blood, it pulsed in the direction he needed to travel, leading him to the forest of wind, he would walk this path blind knowing he could trust the spirit in him. Truth, life, memories, and mystery… all worth the blood he would shed.
To be continued…
Water
