Star

God-Death

As Ṣàngó, god of thunder, lord of the storms, commander of lightning itself, walked to his death in chained hands, chained feet and a heavy heart, a small thought prodded his back:

Who do the gods themselves pray to when the end is nigh?

The chains that bound him were made of pure Aru—the metal of the heavens. They were forged for forty years in the heart of the sun and cooled in the eternal rivers of Yemoja. They would never dull, or weaken, or break. They bound his physical and metaphysical form, crisscrossing around his entire being. They were the perfect bonds for the criminal he had become.

The rest of his brethren, the Òrìṣà, all watched as he shuffled past, slowly. Nobody spoke a word or made a sound, nobody dared. Even Èṣù, the trickster god, only looked on with his poison green eyes. Ṣàngó sneered at Èṣù, and Èṣù.... Èṣù smiled.

He saw Ògún, the Òrìṣà of Iron, cutlass in one hand and sword in the other, and one of his remaining allies, Yemoja, goddess of the waters. He had his lips curled in disgust, while Yemoja had her eyes open with fear. Òrúnmìlà was there with his grey eyes that saw all, and his face was impassive as Ṣàngó passed. It is said that Òrúnmìlà had seen all that had ever happened and all that was to happen, and so, to him, this was already finished. Obá stood beside him, Obá his first wife, and she bored holes into his soul with her eyes that screamed fury.

Oṣun was being held back by the others as she tried to reach him, just to touch his skin one more time. Tears of blood flowed freely from her eyes and Ṣàngó felt her anguish, her love.

He shook his head quietly, and he knew she understood. No, my love. No.

There are two laws in The Above: The first is to never lay hands on another, they are spawn of Olodùmarè, and so are brethren. And brethren do not slay brethren. The second is to never speak an untruth, for lies are stories, and stories have power. That is the domain of the humans, and the both cannot, can never, mix. For eternity and a day, these are the laws in The Above.

And Ṣàngó broke them both.

The punishment in The Above was simple for crimes committed. There needed to be no jury or council when Olodùmarè was present. He knew all. What need be for anything else?

Ṣàngó walked with shoulders that sagged and shimmied. He could feel the eyes of every god staring at him on either side as they made a row to the throne. All four hundred and one gods were present that day. There had not been a congregation like this since...since his coronation as general of all the forces in The Above. He could hear the whispers as they travelled to his ear. He could see the disgust on their faces. He could feel his own shame, curling and coiling in his heart.

But still, he tried to walk with his head high, his chin lifted. He was a criminal and had committed a heinous atrocity. But he was still Ṣàngó, slayer of the three thousand, the one god to whom even the All-Storm bowed to, and though he was meeting his end, he would meet it with dignity and honour. The same values with which he lived his life. That is, of course, until the end.

Secretly, he wished this end, after what he did, he did not want to survive another day. Now, he thought, his suffering would be over.

He had reached the edge of all there was and will be when he stopped and knelt. All the gods gathered behind his back, forming a semi-circle, giving him a wide berth.

Ṣàngó had only ever witnessed one God-Death, two hundred years ago, it stuck to his mind and haunted him for decades until he was finally able to drink the nightmares away. He had been present that day, at the very front of the crowd, still a very young god, and so, he knew what came next.