Chapter 2

A servant burst into Sango’s throne room with surprising urgency. He would have flared up if not for the visible anguish on the man’s face. The man collapsed to the ground, body shaking with trepidation.“Oh great god of storms, we need your help! Forgive us, we do not know what we’ve done to incur your wrath, but we beg your forgiveness. We shall offer sacrifices, anything you ask of us, but please—do not continue to punish us. The storm, it’s destroying everything! All our—”

“Speak clearly! What are you rambling about?” Sango cut the man’s incessant babbling off harshly. What storm did he mean? Sango had definitely not sent any storm.

Hearing Sango’s raised voice, the man trembled even more.“We are sorry, my lord,” he kept repeating mindlessly. Seeing his fear, Sango was puzzled.

He rose from his throne and approached the mortal lying prostrate on the floor. Forcing his voice to be calm, he lifted the man up. It was his favorite priest, Ayo, a man known for his cheery, carefree disposition—but now, Ayo was anything but carefree.“Calm down, Ayo.” Sango steadied him, though the priest still trembled like a leaf in the storm.“Whatever our transgression, we are sorry. We beg your forgiveness!” Ayo stammered.

“What do you mean, Ayo? I have done nothing to punish the kingdom. No wrong has been done to me.”

Ayo looked up, confusion heavy in his dark eyes. He appeared years older than Sango remembered him to be.“There is a storm. It’s destroying everything—it’s—”“I did not send a storm,” Sango countered.“Then come help us dispel it! People are dying. Everything will be in ruins unless you help!”

“Where is the storm?” Sango asked, now both confused and worried. The only other being capable of controlling storms like him was Oya, and she would never willingly harm mortals—especially in his territory.

“It’s in the west of the empire, in Olutun village, and spreading like wildfire.”

Sango grabbed his double-headed war axe and the priest, then, with a mighty swing, took to the skies. He flew as fast as he could without harming the priest, heading toward the western boundaries of his empire. Soon, the horrific maelstrom came into view, the sky billowing and dark. Sango landed and set the priest safely down, out of the storm’s reach.

As he took to the skies again, he spotted a figure flying and landing directly in the heart of the storm—a figure he would have recognized anywhere. Ogun, god of iron and war, once a beloved friend.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Sango gritted his teeth, already anticipating Ogun’s entitled disapproval. He flew into the storm, seeing Ogun in all his glory: a simple black robe, staff in hand, long hair whipping furiously in the wind as his ase flowed, trying to rein in the storm—a storm Sango was sure Ogun would blame on him.

“Leave here. I’ll handle this,” Sango called out, annoyed that, even after centuries of not speaking, Ogun still thought he had to clean up his messes.

Ogun’s coal-dark eyes snapped to him, filled with self-righteous judgment.“Why are you always causing destruction, Sango? The past has taught you nothing!” His voice was heavy with reproach, hitting Sango like a sucker punch.

Sango wanted to yell that this time it wasn’t him, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. Ogun had long made up his mind about him.“This is my territory. I’ll do what I damn well please! Get lost and leave this to me,” Sango shot back, jumping into the fray.

“Leave you to do what you want? You forget, my people suffer under this storm too—a storm triggered, no doubt, by your petty anger.”

Sango felt his anger begin to boil. Ogun was hitting all his nerves. The thunder roiled ominously above, growing in response to Sango’s mood.

“Sango, stop—just stop. Leave. I’ll quell the storm,” Ogun’s sharp voice called out.

Sango looked at him in surprise. How dare he? His nostrils flared. The storm responded in kind.“Can’t you see? You’re making it worse! Leave!”

Sango was ready to explode, but a particularly awful rumble of thunder brought him to his senses. His volatile mood, combined with Ogun’s provocation, would only worsen the storm, not stop it. With a grunt, he flung his axe and flew a short distance away. He felt Ogun’s ase pulse wildly for a moment before the storm reached its peak and was finally dispelled.

Sango watched as Ogun departed, but the bitter taste of his disapproval lingered in the air.

----------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Orunmila sat cross-legged in his chambers, his glowing orb reflecting the storms. Two such storms in such a short span of days… it was the Loom’s effect. Without the Loom’s strong, orderly forces, the world was becoming erratic. He knew this was only a small preview of the chaos to come if the Loom was gone. He needed to act fast to stop whoever was behind this.

He couldn’t help but berate himself. If only he had noticed sooner. If only he hadn’t grown too comfortable, forgetting his role as the Loom’s protector. The sacrifices they had made long ago—the sacrifice of his father—were becoming meaningless because of his carelessness. What kind of god of wisdom was he if he couldn’t protect the world he had given up so much for?

He had to fix his mistake. He waved his hand and the images in the orb shifted to shadowy silhouettes. For months he’d been trying to identify the one doing so much damage, but they had eluded him—so far. It wouldn’t be long, though. He was getting closer to unraveling the mystery.

And though he could already guess who it was, after all, there were only so many gods powerful enough to threaten the Loom—and cunning enough to find it.

He would need help to stop his suspect. Not just brute force, but a sharp mind. A mind capable of weaving the most convoluted plots and executing them flawlessly. Someone who would appreciate the Loom’s importance, who understood the need to guard it. A weaver himself.

He needed to visit Anansi.