Chapter 1: The Child of Lion and Eagle

I be the Immortal Lord of Oke Idan Mountain.

Na title wey heavy well-well—sometimes e press my shoulder like calabash wey full water. Oke Idan dey for heart of old Yoruba land, ancient stones dey stand like silent elders, dey look down from mountain top. For night, you fit hear spirit people dey sing from valley below. I dey here, spirit never gree carry me go. Na me dey guide my disciples, guard secret path of power for this mountain wey get long history. Sometimes, breeze go blow from valley, carry old memory come, like ancestors dey whisper for my ear.

My eldest disciple once rescue one small pikin from inside one scattered shrine.

That time, thunder just finish to shout, rain still dey lick ground. The shrine, e resemble old Ifa grove wey masquerade people no dey visit again—bush don swallow am. My boy Ayo, stubborn like goat wey no dey hear word, see the pikin wey dey shake for ground, almost naked, bruises full body. E carry am run come mountain, say e no fit leave human being for that kind place. I look the pikin, small like palm kernel, but him eyes get fire—e no be ordinary child.

He call am the “Child of Lion and Eagle, a Nze prodigy,” say na seed of big promise.

You know how Yoruba people dey give pikin special name if dem see strong sign—this one, my Ayo say him spirit tell am. Lion for courage, Eagle for vision. Nze, Igbo title, e show say the child na blessing from crossroad of tribe. From first day, the boy just different; if e look you, you go feel as if e dey see wetin dey inside your heart. Word spread fast for mountain say new prodigy don land, some disciples start dey jealous small small.

I give am one sacred foundation-building pill—ogun-ile pill, bitter like bitterleaf, round like kola nut—come dey guard him path of power by myself.

No be ordinary thing to do, o! Even elders wey don dey meditate for years, no see that kind chance. The sacred pill dey rare—na only true master fit make am, and even me dey use my life essence to bind am. For Oke Idan, to get that pill na like person see Sango for market. So, as I give am, I carry the boy matter for head like mama wey get only son. My other disciples dey look me with big eye, but my spirit never gree complain.

But unlike my former disciples wey for don dey happy anyhow for this kind gift,

the boy just stiff him neck as he swallow the pill, e come frown, him face twist—

as if say na some dirty, slimy, live worm e just chop.

The kind face wey e do, e shock me. Ordinary person go dey roll for ground, dey shout thank you. This one, lips tight, eye like say e wan vomit. Some disciples notice am, whisper for corner, say maybe the pill no strong again. For my mind, I just dey look am—wetin this child dey carry for chest? Spirit wey dey inside him body different, true, but this one pass ordinary wahala. For our culture, to refuse gift from elder, e dey mean something serious. E resemble as person push blessing back to sender.