Sango

Wahala in Valhalla – Part Four

/ Scribe of the Tword / 3 Comments

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.

“His name is Shango and he is trespassing. He does not belong here.” It was Heimdall, son of Odin and nine mothers, watcher of the Bifrost – the rainbow bridge connecting Midgard (the world of men) and Asgard.

“I would pronounce it differently myself,” Shango replied, “but, yes, I am Shango, son of Oranmiyan, the orisha of thunder, lighting and justice. And what are your names?”

Gasps echoed through the Great Hall, everyone shocked at Shango’s unknowingness and his impudence.

“You will bow to the All-Fathers, outsiders!” Thor thundered.

“We will not!” Shango thundered back. Not quickly enough though, for Eshu had already taken a knee in genuflection.

Odin smiled patiently. “Perhaps we should let him answer my questions, and the one Heimdall is undoubtedly bursting to ask. Where have you come from, Shango, what are you doing here and how did you arrive undetected even by Heimdall?”

“I am an orisha from the Yoruba pantheon. Orishas are not ‘gods’ but you may think of me as the god of thunder and lightning. In my pantheon, anyway,” he said returning Thor’s glare.

“Eshu, my companion, is our orisha of chance and mischief and he cloaked us with the likeness of your homeward souls on our journey.”

“He is the Loki to your Thor,” said Odin.

“I don’t know what you mean, apart from him over there being Thor. I am here to borrow his hammer, Mjolnir.”

Again, the gasps rang through the great hall.

“Outsider…”, began Thor.

“ – Shango,” interjected Shango.

“…how dare you utter that name and by what dark design have you come upon its knowledge?” demanded Thor.

“Mjolnir has been speaking to me since we arrived. I think it considers me a friend.”

“Do not vex me, outsider.” Thor warned.

“Again, it is Shango. I do not mean to antagonise you, especially as it is your favour in particular that I have come to seek.”

“Hear him out, brother,” encouraged Loki, who had heard the commotion and come eagerly to see what had so unsettled Thor.

“Thor,” continued Shango, “you see, I began my existence as a human man, of royal birth, and reigned over the largest empire in the land of my people.”

“You want me to lend my hammer to a mortal?” laughed Thor. “You’re not even a god, you’re an ‘orisha’ – is that akin to a demigod?” he teased.

Eshu rubbed his chest, signalling to Shango to reign his temper in. Shango took a deep breath and continued to make his case.

“All the kings who have taken the throne since me have been crowned in my name and at each coronation, I have imbued them with my virtues and power by touching my oshe – my double axe – on their heads in benediction. There is such another coronation today, happening right now, but my oshe is missing. Someone has stolen it. I only need Mjolnir for a few hours and will return it afterwards, on my honour. Eshu can remain here until I return, as a show of good faith.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, outsider. Anyone can wield your hammer, or axe, whatever, and you think you’re worthy of Mjolnir?” This time, all the Asgardians laughed with Thor.

Shango felt his palms tingling once more. He heard Eshu whisper again about containing his rage, but a louder voice was drowning out Eshu’s.

Call me. Mjolnir was whispering to him again.

Summon me!  The whisper grew louder.

HOLD OUT YOUR HAND!! Mjolnir commanded with urgency, and Shango complied.

As Shango reached out, to the amazement of Thor, Loki, Heimdall and all the Asgardians, Thor’s hammer detached from its belt and flew right into Shango’s grasp. Red lightning rent the air, searing through the skies and coursing through Mjolnir into Shango.

“OUTSIDER, YOU WILL PUT MY HAMMER DOWN NOW!!!”

“My… name… is… SHANGO!!!” Shango raised Mjolnir in the air and lightning flew once more.

Thor advanced towards Shango and Shango stood ready to defend himself.

*** TO BE CONTINUED ***

Wahala in Valhalla – Part One

/ Scribe of the Tword / 2 Comments

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 ********