Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

It was a lovely night in the Ethereal Plane. Not “night” as mortals might describe it, for the deities had no need for the demarcation of time by the physical rotation of the ephemeral on its axis. And, indeed, what was time to those who lived outside of it?

Nevertheless, in a world that fed off the worship and adoration of men, there needed to be a semblance of order. Day, for when the supplications and sacrifices of the devoted rose up by faith to the orishas, and night for the tasks they needed to undertake to preserve, from the Ethereal, the things that kept the balance of the cosmos.

On this night though, Shango was preparing for the coronation of the new Alaafin of Oyo. He had been watching his priests making their preparations all week, efforts which would culminate in their proclamation of his blessings on the new Alaafin the next day.

No one else would see it except the Oluwo, but after the crown was placed on the Alaafin’s head, Shango would touch his Oshe – his famous battle axe – onto the new Alaafin’s forehead and imbue the new ruler with his graces, wisdom, justice and power.

His fellow Orisha never said anything, but he could tell a few were jealous. Yes, they received sacrifices from their devoted but these gestures were invariably for fleeting things. Money, favour, fertility and the like. Not a tradition that had endured for centuries.

He drank from his gourd, picked up his Oshe and started to head back to his chambers. He saw Eshu in the distance with the child-orishas at his feet, listening intently to every word that fell off his lips.

“Stop boring them with your multi-pantheon fantasies, storyteller!” he called out, laughing. “I keep telling you they are not fantasies,” Eshu retorted. “Little ones, do you know that Shango here is not the only axe-wielding thunder deity?” Shango felt the hair begin to rise at the back of neck. Not tonight, Eshu. Not tonight, he thought to himself and retired for the night.

A surge of prayers and incantations spiked Shango’s consciousness not too long afterwards and he realised the coronation was about to begin. He went into his vestiary to select his raiment for the day, settling on what men (more likely, women) might describe as burgundy robes with flashing white trimming and chartreuse hemming.

Feeling resplendent, Shango returned to his chambers for his Oshe but it was not hanging where he usually kept it. Thinking he might have absentmindedly taken it with him to the vestiary, he returned to retrieve it, but it was not there either. The deity of thunder was not known for being of measured temperament and started to bristle visibly.

He tried to feel the presence of the Oshe and have the Oshe call out to him and when that did not work either, he let out a cry of frustration, smoke beginning to pour from his nostrils. “WHERE IS MY OSHE???” he bellowed, shaking the ethereum to its core.

He could not perform the benediction without his axe. And a coronation without the benediction of Shango would be dire not just for him, but all the Orishas in the Ethereal Plane. Why? Because an Alaafin that was not imbued would be completely incapable of manifesting the mystery and divinity of and behind the throne. Without that, the devoted would begin to doubt. With doubt would come the fading away of the sacrifices and supplications. And if those went away, of what use would the orishas be?

Shango quickly summoned Eshu.

“I don’t have your Oshe,” Eshu protested. Shango ignored the protestations and looked Eshu squarely in the eyes.

“Did you say I was not the only thunder deity with a hammer? Is this the truth or one of your tricks?”

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********