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'Is the childlessness on your own side alone? OK, I've gotten children from some lady elsewhere, eh? Or did the doctor say anything is wrong with you or with me? C'mon, we are in this together now! Why behaving as if the entire burden lies with you? I've been trying to pacify you since, you refused to be pacified. Don't force me to change my mind! What's with you now?'

It worked as it always did. She tightened her hold around her man, gave the final sob and sigh, a forced calm then ensued. Segun finished it up with a continuous stroking of her hair and the concomitant repetition of the Christian cliché, 'It is well.' Sleep saw their heaviness and, out of pity, came to soothe it.

Sade did not allow the glimmer of the next day to open its shutter before she took off under the cover of the gloom. Only God knows what she told Mama, but the couple never exposed her atrocity to a third party.

* * * * *

The heavens wailed loudly and the teardrops pursued after one another to the heart of the earth. The highlands tilted the water towards the lowlands and the lowlands emptied it into drainage. The land was thus cleansed. But the political intrigues making the rounds stained it back with a different sort of dirt – accusations, cross-accusations and counter-accusations. They flew freely in the air. He who loves his head should wear crash helmet, ducking won't help. It was the third term era.

Actually, the fire started with genuine concerns about constitution review. But because the No. 1 was at daggers drawn with the No. 2, the good intention of the former received a garb of mud from the latter before it left the boardroom for the public domain. The feedback? It could not get messier! The constitution review effort lost its identity to become Third Term Agenda. Opinion polls here, public hearings there. Where will it end? The two sides fought tooth and nail to overcome at the Waterloo – the National Assembly. The parliamentarians were two – the pro-third term and the anti-third term. Those on the fence before were jumping down fast to take sides. The whole wide world was expecting a crescendo soon.

The venue was the red chamber of the National Assembly. The upper house, the more mature, would have the first go. Nigeria sat before the television to observe the climax of many days of horse-trading, political bickering and mudslinging. The press had had a field day. It was now the turn of the legislature to have the final say. Segun too was glued to the TV like most of the adult portion of the 140 million Nigerians.

Alas! It was a stunning anticlimax. What a disappointment! The constitution amendment bill was devoid of any serious or sensible polemics. It was decided with a voice vote. When the Senate President demanded for the 'aye' of the draft bill enthusiasts, a muffled silence took over the chamber. Where were the swelling ranks of the pro-third term senators? What could make those with vested interest vastly divested of their interest and that sheepishly? The nays eventually had it at the hit of the gavel but neither exultant joy was written on the faces of the conquerors nor grave disappointment on the countenances of the conquered. Only the observers, across the length and breadth of the land, could not afford to be indifferent. To many of them, it was an utter waste of valuable time and scarce government resources to have embarked on a mission that would only meet a dead end at its full stretch. Segun shared in that view. Why throw the baby out with the bath water? The third term clause should just have been removed while allowing all the vital issues like fiscal federalism, resource control and revenue sharing formula to scale through. Why lavish so much money on the senate constitution review sub-committee and their many public hearings only to sell us a dummy at the end.

The failed coup of the militarized democracy resurrected the poet in Segun and he put down a verse of it.

Its trappings from the outset

Look a coup d'état

But settings at the sunset

Cut a cul-de-sac

Much ado about hogwash

Segun was now aware of the pounding pressure on his rectum and he headed towards the john to ease it. As he made an entrance into the conjoined toilet-and-bathroom 1, AY exited the master bedroom for the living room. The TV had been left running. The words of the man on the screen caught her attention. The man, clad in plain blue suit, a sky blue shirt and a chequered tie to match, was one of the operators of modern trado-medical centres in an ongoing traditional medicine trade fair organized by the TV station. He was oratorical and had the charm that would hold his hearer spellbound anytime. He was ahead of the pack. The fluency of his English suggested he was read to some appreciable level. Though AY in her normal self would have hissed and instantly tuned to another station, three factors wormed the man into her heart. One, she was losing hope in this waiting game, she needed a drastic measure. Another, the man claimed that six months were too much for his patients to conceive, and in six months' time the medics would declare hers an infertility case – the medical jargon for two Gregorian years down the exchange of marriage vows without conception. And the last straw that gave her camel's back a compound fracture, the man said the power of herbs and leaves only would do the magic – no incantation, no divination. AY took it all, hook, line and sinker. She copied down the shop stand and also the permanent address of the centre. It was now time for deliberation and decision.

Should she inform her husband of her intention? Negative! He would never be a party to seeking help in traditional, or as they now christened it, alternative therapy. Had they not once discussed an issue relating to it and Segun had made his stand known! If he was ever to use herbs and leaves for physic he would prefer fetching them from the living plant himself. Going for all those crudely concocted herbal preparations was no option for the fear of fetish or metaphysical involvements even when there was a claim to the contrary.

Another deliberation was on where to visit the man – his trade fair stand or permanent address. The latter naturally sailed through because of the fear that too many eyes would be there to pry at the former. Thus she concluded the arrangements but acted as if nothing happen when her husband returned from shedding the barbells in his rectum.

CHAPTER NINE

The azure sky romanced the verdant vegetation and the rustic settlement was sandwiched in a festival of blues and greens. AY alighted from the intercity cab and took her journey to the backwater settlement. Eweje is one of the many villages and towns culturally and socially attached to Abeokuta, the headquarters of the Egbas. It is just a five-to-ten minute drive from the main town and has a Baale, the community head that reports to an Abeokuta king who oversees its relevant section of the Egbas. The kings in Abeokuta are not five for fun.

Two times AY's left big toe kicked against some stone or stump along the grassy footpath. A bit of superstition worked its way up her heart but her Christian frame shunned it recklessly.

Lepers never build their colony within the town walls, the old saying goes. The trado-medical centre was sited on the outskirts of the community. Leprosy. Sin. Sinister. Her heart again ran through the flashes but she came out unscathed.

As she trod the sinking sandy part of the road, cacophony of school-children chatter surged from a nearby primary school. She checked her time; it was a quarter to twelve. Having confided only in a fellow-teacher of her sneaking out, return she must to school before the second period after the long break for her class. Otherwise, what she cooked and the whole house got razed by fire, her no-nonsense head-teacher would get wind of. And not in vain was Mr. Adekunle called the iron man of NUD Primary School, Obantoko.

Among the teacher folks in Abeokuta, only the greenhorns would not be in the know. She had had an encounter with him once, not too long ago. It was still fresh; within the post-specialisation regime of primary school pedagogy. She was tardy for her Home Economics class. On getting to the class, Mr. Adekunle was already there, fuming. He gave her the telling-off of her life right in front of the pupils. Never, not even in never-never land, would she wish another chance encounter with him. So, she hurried.

In no time, the frontage of the lair came to view. The semi-urban bungalow had a low fence of joined wooden posts, tapering at the upper ends, round it. She drew closer. Her eyes caught an object around the lintel and her heart got engaged again. It in fact skipped. 'AY, are you doing the right thing?' her conscience worked the bellows, the bellows of scruples, turbulently. The picture of the previous day burst in on the ember's luminance.

The time was 6:45 pm. Pastor Tunji, flanked by his recently wedded wife, was at the Toriola's for the King's business.

'The Lord asked me to seriously charge you and your household not to relent in your waiting on Him. He said at the appointed time He will come and 'Sarah' will have a baby. Sister AY, it is your turn to be that Sarah. I see Gen. 18:14b read, "At the time appointed I will return, according to the time of life, and Ayoolape shall have a son!"'

'Amen!' responded the couple and Pastor's spouse.

'On a final note, God will want me to leave this scripture with you: Heb. 10:36. Brother Segun, can you please read for us?'

'Ok, sir.' He got his Bible, scuffled it for a moment and eventually rested his search on a page. Then, he ran his eyes down the page to the prescribed verse.

'For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise.'

'Patience is the word, Sister AY.' At the synapse, the words jumped on the train of Memory Present.

Patience is the word, Sister AY. Patience is the word. Pa-tience-is-the-word-Sis-ter-A-Y! Each syllable hit her heart and the sounding was in thumps. The arc of cowries over the door firmly held the heavy drumsticks of syllables and the rising beats became more and more unbearable. She hesitated for some seconds but eventually made towards turning back.

'Madam, welcome,' a voice said over her back. Were she palm oil she would congeal to red stone. The only consolation was that it was an inviting voice. She stepped up her courage and turned in the direction of the voice. It is better to turn around and see what will kill you than to swell the rout of those feared dead. What she saw was not a killer but a kid who looked every inch the physician's apprentice, nay, scout. He must had been there all the while watching the pilgrim's progress towards their safe haven and only came to the rescue when the wayfarer seemed to have missed her way and was turning back. Apart, part of his chores was to give every of the path explorer a welcome feel – a sort of a PR job.

'Have you come to see the doctor, or how can we help you, ma? You seem not familiar with this terrain.'

She calmed down and tried to compose herself.

'Thank you, I – I – I've really come to see the doctor,' she spluttered.

'Why, he's at home. Please...'

She brought down her voice and motioned the boy to do the same.

'Wait. I will like to find out something from you first.'

The boy looked puzzled. What could that be? AY continued, 'The doctor claimed over the TV that he doesn't use juju, but what are those cowries doing over there?'

The boy in his late teens, burst into a belly laugh. He must have gone at it for a minute or so before realizing the embarrassment he was causing the visitor. He adjusted, apologized and then went ahead to give an answer to the question that had tickled him so much.

'Ma, my oga is a man obsessed with the relics of the glorious history of our people before the Oyinbos came to our land to spoil it. One of such is the cowries. You know, ma, that was the means of exchange for goods and services, our legal tender, then. It has nothing to do with his means of healing.'

He looked out of the corner of his eyes to see if she would buy the explanation. She did. She swallowed it whole and heaved a great sigh of relief. Now, she was ready for a consultation with Dr. Were, but not without first passing a commendation note on the boy's pleasantness and intelligence.

'What is your name?'

'Lateef, ma!'

'You have a good head on your shoulders, Lateef. You must not end it here.'

Lateef beamed and responded, 'Thank you, ma. Actually, I was in SS1 going to SS2 when my only sponsor died. These odd jobs I do to raise enough money for me to go back to school.'

'And God will help your determination.' She dipped her hand into her purse – the biggest luggage you can sneak out of school with – and gave him two crisp one hundred naira notes.

'Thank you, ma,' he tucked the money in his pocket as he led AY to the consulting room.

CHAPTER TEN

Segun had been pacing the corridor for two hours. Yet, no soft cry from the labour room, but AY's noises all the way. She sang, prayed, groaned, shouted and lamented. Two hours into the labour and not as much as the head of the baby came close to the obstetrician's hand. She pushed until she ran short of the breath to push. The two doctors, one consulting, the other resident, and two midwives were helpless. Eventually, when everything else failed, the leading doctor dashed out and invited Segun to the consulting room. Segun was confronted with the option of a caesarean. It was a tough decision but with the situation at hand he gave informed consent and quickly appended his signature on the paperwork.

On the way to the theatre, AY's disposition assumed a sharp wonderment. And she engaged an unseen being in a supernal communion.

'Who are you?... I have nothing to do with you... Leave me alone in Jesus' name... covenant? What covenant?... Yes, I was at Dr Were's place. And so what... I say leave me in... the coin I dropped in the bubbling chalky water. You know about it?... I dropped it actually into your hand? ... Liar! You are a damn liar. Yes?! I took out of the water after dropping the coin. Were said the water contained ground limestone and some purely herbal mixture that would hyper-stimulate pregnancy hormone on contact with metal such as the coin. True to Were's words I took in a month after. So, stop lying. I never had a deal with you. I rebuke you in Je... What! The coin! That's the coin! Ah! The exact coin I dropped into the water. Ah! Deceit! Fraud! Were deceived me! Ah! Were! Were! Doctor, help me tell Segun, my loving husband. Tell him Were deceived me. And I allowed myself to be bought for a price as a sacrifice to Were's thirsty demons. Ah! Segun, I'm sorry!.. Yeh! Please, Death, please, have mercy. Don't strike me. Please don't bring down that cudgel. If I had known I would have ...No, don't hit...Yeh! Yeh! Yeh!'

She started jerking and gasping for breath. The team forgot about the operation for the moment and quickly grasped the life-saving apparatus. She was put on oxygen and resuscitation pressure was applied on her ribcage to simulate breathing movements. But all failed, woefully failed. She passed on to an uncertain eternity.

The medical team saw it all, they were petrified. Breaking the news of the split gourd and its spilt water is enough burden. How can Segun cope with the much more details they saw en route the theatre? They therefore agreed to keep the latter off the record.

Segun was broken to the bones when the doctor eventually broke the edited news after a rather long pacifying preamble.

'AY! AY! AY! My God! My wife, gone?! No!' On and on the emotional turmoil went. The doctor tried his best; only God knew the number of pats on the shoulder, 'Take-heart' and 'Be-a-man' that eventually brought Segun to a momentary calm. With no family member around to offer support – they had all gone out in search of money for the caesarean section – he took his destiny in his hands and walked out in sullen quiet.

* * * * *

The room saw its occupant's predicament and quickly wore a sombre mood to blend in, like the chameleon. Thanks to the power cut and the approaching evening shadows. Exactly a week after the demise of his better half, the haunting shadows were here again. And he was all alone to receive them. Had he not turned away family members and sympathisers after four days of unending flocking!

Dilemma? Segun was not in a dilemma, but a trilemma; nay, a trilemma of dilemmas. The dilemmas, each historic in itself, from the Biblical to the Shakespearean – Job's to blaspheme or bless, Peter's to deny or defy and Hamlet's to be or not to be – stayed for hours in his higher mental function area. A million and one suggestions and the dilemmas intertwined to pull the network of strings across his brain. From the sublime to the ridiculous, the suggestions flowed till late into the midnight.

Tick-tack-tick-tack-GONG! The modern pendulum clock adjacent the electronics stand hit the gavel for 1am. Segun's blankness continued. His eyes fixed glassily on the window blinds while he himself was fixated on the considerations and deliberations gallivanting his neurones. He sat still as a statue on the three-seater, cut off completely from the surroundings. Power Holdings had just restored the electricity. The TV shouted for its volume to be reduced, the security light begged to be switched on in the gross darkness outside and the industrial fan revved to call attention to its control knob, the statue remained unmoved.

The glassy eyes suddenly thawed and hot tears emerged in showers. The black leather cover of the Bible that had sat quietly on his lap received the loadful on its centre and then redistributed them, in-between its embossed groves, to the spine and edge. The spine drained its portion on his trousers while the water that travelled to the edge soaked the hapless sheet-ends nearby. When the rains subsided, after about thirty minutes or thereabout, Segun suddenly grasped the Bible, rose in a single stroke and flung the sacred book as far from him as possible and shouted: 'God, you are dead!'

EPILOGUE

Segun was at the dining table waiting for the meal. He was beginning to grow rather impatient. Every other thing was set on the table except the food itself. The spoon and the knife lay supinely on the table-mat to his right while their counterpart, the fork, lay low in preparation for action on the left. The sweating bottled water fizzled at the top beside a scrupulously clean glass cup. Even the toothpicks were stacked in their container like Joseph's standing sheaves. But the food was missing.

After five more minutes the food finally arrived. It was rice and stew garnished with a lot of beef. No sooner was it placed than Segun grabbed the spoon and buried it into the profusely steaming rice. Though the eyes were suggesting the food was very hot his stomach would not want to wait a second longer. In no time a spoonful of the rice landed on his tongue and all hell was let loose. His mouth danced wildly and his tongue recklessly. It was uneasiness all over. Quickly, his lips made an O-vent in-between them to suck in air continuously. The bloated grains knocked about in his buccal cavity for some time before their eventual cooling off to make the onward journey to the gullet. But not without leaving a permanent mark in the cavity – a burnt tongue and a scathed palate.

As he nursed his wound, the old man, his server, came to the dining room and sat on the chair at the narrow edge of the table, opposite him. He gave him a stern look for a moment and then asked,

'Your wound, whose fault? I that brought the food or you that took the food? Whose fault, Segun? Whose fault? Whose fault...'

Segun long closed eyes popped suddenly from the REM and alarm was written all over him in his reclined position on the three-seater. He stealthily arose and got his mind stormed with the dream and its obvious interpretation. Impatience kept jingling his upstairs bells. No doubt he had been impatient in many things. The wind of memory breezed in in a flash bringing to him Kemi's condolence visit the other day with her husband and her six-month-old daughter.

He had been impatient and maybe AY too. Though he had his own areas of haste at his fingertips, he could not pinpoint AY's.

'Old man, the fault's mine, not yours. It's mine!'

The clouds again gathered in his eyes and when fully loaded another round of showers was delivered on his laps. The swelling emotions tugged his legs and straightway he fell on his knees to weep in the bosom of his Lord. He cried passionately for mercy. And how he found peace with God and with life!

The Amulet

(Custodian Novel #1)

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 by Alison Pensy

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

Published by Laxsaro Publishing, Publishing on Smashwords / September 2009

ISBN:978-0-9825438-1-8

I would like to say a big thank you to the following people:

First and foremost to my soul mate, your unfailing love and support are beyond measure.

Andi and Mary Jo, who listened to my hare-brained ideas for stories, and still read the book.

To Marisa Wagner who edited this version for me. Thank you.

To all of my beta-readers, your feedback and support was invaluable.

Jen, your library of books helped tremendously. And last but not least to Jocelyn, who may just show me her wings one day.

CHAPTER ONE

This is no ordinary fairy-tale, but I shall start it just the same...

Once upon a time, eleven years ago to be precise, in a land, oh, just around the corner, lived a young girl called Faedra. Her mother and father doted on her, and at the tender age of just six years old, she considered herself to be the luckiest little girl alive. That was until her world, suddenly and without warning, came crashing down around her...

University Hospital, Norwich, England

Faedra sat in the cushioned hospital chair that was positioned in the hallway just outside the room her mother occupied. She could hear the voices inside the room behind the closed door. One of them she recognized. It was the voice of her father, sounding much more anxious than usual, talking with growing concern to whom she assumed was the doctor. The other voice sounded like it was trying to remain calm, but she could sense bewilderment was bubbling just below the surface.

Her father, Henry, had told her to sit for a moment while he talked to the doctor. She was trying hard to block out the voices by concentrating on her feet that were swinging nonchalantly below her, but try as she might, she could still hear every word they said.

"There must be something you can do?" Henry pleaded.

"I'm so terribly sorry, Mr. Bennett, but we have never seen anything like this before," replied the doctor.

"Is there a cure?"

The doctor's voice rang heavily with disappointment. "I wish I could tell you there was, but we have tried everything we know and her organs are still shutting down."

"Well, try something else!" Henry raised his voice in frustration. "I can't lose my wife, I just... can't." His voice cracked.

"Henry?" Faedra's mother, Lillith whispered.

"I woke you sweetheart, I'm sorry. What do you need?"

"Don't be angry with the doctors, Henry. It's not their fault."