Author Topic: TULAREN MAYU, WITCHES LAVENDER  (Read 5667 times)

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Offline babushe

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TULAREN MAYU, WITCHES LAVENDER
« on: October 12, 2009, 11:19:38 PM »
NA DAN GUTSURO NE, AMMA YA KUKA GA WANNAN?

[WITCHES LAVENDER



The face of Badiíatul Jamal, maiden of pure incense,
mermaid with the tail of the golden fish, lady of the
lavender mist, princess of the light of the skies,
queen plenipotentiary, invader of the hearts of men,
of male demons, of male spirits and androgynous
ghosts poped up before you.

You stared at her. The tongues of your heart protruded
like a chamelionís, licked her smiles and kissed her
dimples. A silent invisible spear emanated from the
heart of her eyes and pierced through your heart. The
cast iron armour, a protective charm which Audu Baduku, the
half demon , half human, crippled-cobbler
wizard gave you, watched, heplessly as the spear drove
through your heart, with the ease of a needle piercing
a lump of wool. As the spear journeyed through the
labyrinthine corridors of your heart, your
counternance changed. You were surprised: a spear
penetrating through a charm of Audu Baduku, the
interpreter of the language of the invisible spirits,
guardian of the shrine of blood and skulls, the
master,profounder and discoverer of the seventy seven
condensed mediums of sorcery?

Suddenly, tall shadows of soundless winds seized you,
like an motherless chick in the mighty clutches of a
hovering hawk and wheezed you into the past.

"No substance , related , associated, connected to
metals of old and new, past or present, dead or living
shall; even in the turbulence of seas , quakes of
earth, explosion of galaxies, dare, penetrate your
heart." Audu Baduku whispered forcefully , as he
thrust the charm into your hands. His palms felt like
heavy heated magnets.

"Go," he quirked.

As you hurdled out of the twisted stems of the large
baobab tree, the shrine of the wizard; an oasis in the
middle of the sahara , surrounded by seven oceans,
seven wild forests, seven black skies and protected by
seventy seven rows of ihiritus (demons of the seventh
grade), the voice of Audu Baduku rose again and
thundered:"when the wild whispers of the whirling winds nudge
the stubborn eyes to sleep in the invisible
receptacles of the 10th night of the 10th month of the
year of the warring tongues." He paused, inhaled a sea
of air , then spurted: "inhale the incense of
tubarkal, place the charm on your chest and recite in
the language of the spirits of the metals, the dark
alphabet of the black verse from the invisible
chapter of the book of sorcery."

You staggered out of the shrubs like a drunk, swam
across the oceans with the happiness of a dolphin,
charged through the forests like a raging bull and
pierced through the rows of the demons with the
temerity of lightning, carrying about you , a moutain
load of fear, a load as heavy as a bad conscience and
as mighty as the rocks of kwatarkwashi.

You did not sleep that night, you placed the charm on
your palms and stared at it in wonder and awe. How?
You begin to doubt, can this piece of worthless black
wrought iron protect me? But when you remember the
ugly look on Audu Badukuís face , his red sullen eyes,
which to you resembled that of an ihiritu ( a demon of
the seventh grade, even though you have never seen
one). The frightening faces of lifeless masquerades
and transparent ghosts floating in the atmosphere of
Badukuís shrine, and the ugly guttural rumblings that
that sent the earth vibrating in the name of
incantations , you became a believer.

Your belief became steady , firm, fixed and
absolutely unflinching when a volcano of voices
erupted with a fast-flowing magma and solidified the
barren fields of your mind.

He outwited Sarkin Bokaye Ayyana; the chief of all
wizards, in a sorcery-duel.

He commands the loyalty of seventy seven thousand
ihiritus (demons of the seventh grade).

He is the inventor of seventy seven sciences of
geomancy, sorcery and wizardry.

He is the father, husband and mentor of Inna the
wretched witch of witches. Inna the sorceress who
sucks up the limps of infants with her affliction ,
shan Inna, the suck of Inna
.

But now, your belief began to loose it grip and
firmness as the spear drove through the charm . It gave
no pain and there was no blood. You watched as the
charm melted and how the spear began to pierce your
heart. Quickly, you rummaged your pockets, brought out
a plain , light , silver ring. You slut it in your
fingers. You remembered, how the turbulent waves of
black seas splashed against the banks, how the fiery
bolts of lightning flashed haphazardly across the sky,
setting it aflame with glow, how the explosive
rumblings of thunder clapsed like the roar of a
thousand devils, how the howling winds seized your
fingers and tossed them into smokeless fires to burn
for a brief eternity ; a purification rite which
prepared you and made you worthy of being the occupier
of zoben sihiri, the magic ring. The ring which
enables you to commune with Audu Baduku at any given
time. You remembered how the skies growled:

This ring is worthy of only the pound of flesh of
pristine purity.

You caressed the ring, you loved its smoothness. You
admired its essense. You remembered the simple rules
of its use:

Rub your palms on fresh dust

Sprinkle the fresh dust

Blow a fresh breath

Wait for the soundless rumblings of a gigantic thunder
and the invisible haphazard flashes of dark
lightning.

Then make your wish

And it will be.

You extended your hands down to the floor. Your body
quivered and emitted waves of shock. Your hand was wet
and decorated with mud. The floor was watterlogged.
You bacame disturbed. How do I get fresh dust? As you
ransacked the holes, edges, columns, spaces of the
room for the availability of dust, the face of
Badiíatul Jamal vanished.

You jumped up, tumbled , summersaulted, danced and
cried. A raging madness seized you. Seventy local
wrestlers led by shago, the undefeated champion of
dambe boxing assembled in your medulla oblongata. They
clenched their fists , closed their eyes and locked
their horns in a violent combat. Dan Anace, the
legendary dambe musician cheered them up. The pitch of
his kalangu, talking drum, echoed into the distant
skies. Seventy seven legions of air-kicking , wild,
ingarma horses formed up in the plains of your
cerebrum for a durbar procession.

Your eyes protruded out. You wailed:

How dare she vanish?

But your voice was not heard. It was muffled by large
pangs of pain.

The sword of Barbushe, the sword of Yunfa , the spear
of Da'u fataken dare and the arrow Gogannaka,
all together struck the eye of your brain. You stood
up, shook your body vigorously and spoke unitelligibly
in seven dialects of the language of the silent
ghosts. You bent down on all fours, like a gigantic
spider, and began to crawl, taking giant slow strides
towards the thin, narrow path of contaminated sanity.

*

 


 


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