Ochosi Feeds Olófin

It was early morning; the sun was barely above the horizon, and a thin, cool mist rose from the forest floor. Its dampness made the earth soft, muffling Ochosi's slow, careful steps. His body was poised but his muscles relaxed; and in his left hand, he carried a simple bow. With eyes narrowed and ears focused, he concentrated on the woods, and tried to feel life around him. A twig snapped somewhere ahead, and another; he knew there was an animal walking, almost as soundlessly and carefully as he. Ochosi barely breathed as he tried to focus on it.

It was a buck, wandering and nibbling mindlessly on wild grasses and leaves; it was oblivious to Ochosi's presence. In one quick, fluid motion, he lifted his bow with his left arm, and with his right hand snapped an arrow in place. It took only a single heartbeat for him to tense the line and send the arrow slicing thin air. The buck never saw Ochosi; nor did it feel the arrow. It pierced his heart so cleanly that he fell down, dead, before his body could feel its mortal sting.

The wet thud on the forest floor alarmed the birds in the trees, and a massive flock flew away in fear. It was thunderous for a moment, then dead calm. The orisha stood over his kill, and for the first time, he let himself breathe deeply and sigh. In the morning silence, it almost echoed.

Ochosi hoisted the carcass on his back, the legs dangling over his shoulders and brushing his chest. The buck's head bounced limply on his left shoulder as he walked. He went deep into the forest; so far did he go that it was noon when, finally, he laid the body at the feet of an ancient Iroko tree. Pointing his arrow to the sky, he began to sing the sacrificial songs sung since humans first had a voice, and a blinding white shaft of light from Heaven engulfed the tree.

Olófin stood in that light and watched as Ochosi slit the deer's neck, letting the blood flow into the earth. He removed the head and offered it to him. In acceptance, Olófin touched the head; a great current of ashé traveled from his hands to Ochosi's.

“Once again, our pact is fulfilled,” said Olófin. “You feed all of Heaven, and Heaven gives you the ashé that makes you the great hunter you are. You will be blessed forever among the orishas.”

Ochosi saluted Olófin, and he tapped him on the shoulders, bidding him rise. Then, the shaft of light faded, and the forest returned to normal. Ochosi was left with a headless, bloodless carcass. He gutted it, removing its vital organs, and left these at the foot of the tree as well. What was left, he carried back home.

This was Ochosi's mission every day: to hunt, feed Olófin, to give ashé back to the earth, and to feed his family. In return, Olófin refreshed his ashé every day, making him the most skilled hunter on Earth or in Heaven; but, Olófin gave Ochosi his ashé for hunting with one string attached. No one was to know that he sacrificed to Olófin every day. It was to be a secret thing, done at the feet of Olófin's favorite tree.

This part of the pact would have been simple had it not been for Ochosi's wife. She was curious and wanted to know everywhere he went and everything he did. Night after night, when he came home with his kill, she wondered why every animal was missing its head, and she wondered why every animal was drained of blood.

When she could wonder no more, she demanded answers from her husband. “I never get an answer from you, and I want to know now,” she whined, her voice shrill and caustic. “Why are all these animals cut as if in sacrifice?”

Ochosi was quartering meat when he looked up at her and said, “Woman, what are you talking about?”

“The animals you bring home are always drained of blood. And they are always missing their heads. And the vital organs are already removed. The legs, the heart, the liver, everything is gone. Why?”

“There are some things that a wife should not know about her husband,” said Ochosi, continuing his work.

Back inside the house, the woman's curiosity consumed her. “My husband is a good hunter, yes, but how can he kill so much game alone? And what happens to the heads, or the entrails, or the blood? And why won't he tell me? I am his wife!” She had to know the answers; and she plotted.

The next morning, as always, Ochosi woke before the sun rose; silently, he dressed. In darkness, he stood over his marriage bed and kissed his wife lightly on her forehead. True—she was a source of aggravation for him, but he was fond of her. Sometimes, he thought he loved her.

Still shrouded by the night, Ochosi went into the dark forest as he had for years, alone; he was its master, and it was his source of life. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the musky, damp air, and reached out into the woods with his mind. This was part of the ashé Olófin gave him—to meld with the life of the forest, to feel its heartbeat, to know what lay within it without using his eyes. It was all darkness as he felt the forest's strength closing around him; a part of him was there, in his body, breathing deeply, while a part of him went forth among the thickets and the trees and the rivers and the streams, in search of his prey. He felt the deer in the forest, sleeping soundly on mossy banks; they were quiet in their thicket, curled together for warmth, their chests rising and falling in unison as they slept.

A stag lifted its head, sniffing at the air. Warily, it narrowed its eyes and lifted its snout, as if trying to focus on an unseen enemy. This happened each time Ochosi used his inner vision to find his prey; one of the animals would feel him, sense him, and try to find him. It was part of his ashé, to not only track his prey, but call them to their death. The buck rose to its feet, first the front legs, and then the back, and walked cautiously in Ochosi's direction. Little did it know that its own curiosity was leading it to Ochosi, and its death. At first, the orisha focused on it with his mind; there was no way he could track it physically, for the animal was too far away. Focused so sharply on the stag, Ochosi did not notice the occasional snap of a twig behind him; he didn't hear the light breathing that was mere yards away from his back.

Ochosi was being followed, and he had no clue.

When finally Ochosi and his prey were within eyesight of each other, before the animal could run, Ochosi sent a single, swift arrow to make its kill. The stranger who followed marveled at the orisha's skill; and so focused was he on his prey, he still felt not the stranger's presence.

Ochosi gathered up the carcass and continued to walk; the stranger followed him to the sacred Iroko and watched him lay the buck reverently at its feet. Once done, he prostrated himself before the mighty tree, singing the ancient, sacrificial songs.

At first the lights came down from Heaven gently; small, bright sparks falling like rain, and these were followed by larger orbs that pulsed and shimmered as if alive. The Iroko glowed; the stranger could not tell if it was its own light, or light borrowed from the sparks and orbs reflecting off its surface. Then there was a flood of white-hot brilliance; it was so intense that the stranger's eyes burned. “What ashé is this?” Ochosi's stalker whispered.

A final flood of white light came, and as the glow dimmed tolerably, the stranger saw a figure inside: Olófin. “He makes sacrifice to Olófin himself!” In fear, knowing this was somewhere no one should be, the stranger backed into the forest slowly, but still watching as Ochosi slit the deer's neck, and the blood flowed into the earth at Olófin's feet. Finally, when there was enough distance and the trees hid the view, the stranger turned and ran.

Ochosi was down on one knee, holding the head up in offering to Olófin. Instead of taking it, he glared at the orisha and demanded, “Who did you bring with you to my sacred place?”

The anger in Olófin's voice frightened Ochosi; he was confused and dared not look up. “No one, Father,” he said. “I am all alone!”

“No, we are not alone. There is another. You were followed without your knowledge.”

Ochosi was angry. He stood up and spun around wildly, looking for the trespasser. He saw no one. Olófin stood, watching him, as if to see what he might do. Ochosi's anger flared. No one in the world was able to hide from him, but Olófin insisted there was another in the forest. “With your permission, Father, I will punish the one who has defiled your temple.”

Olófin said not a word; he merely shook his head once and narrowed his eyes, as if giving permission.

Staring up at the heavens, Ochosi loaded his bow with an arrow, and pulled its cord taut. Mustering all his ashé behind his words, he incanted, “Arrow of justice, strike him who has defiled this sacred place. Pierce his heart and take his life!”

Like a silver flash, the arrow sliced into the heavens; and so quickly did it move, forced onward by Ochosi's wrath, that neither he nor Olófin could trace its arc. It simply disappeared into the distance.

Then they heard the scream.

It was a frustrated, pained cry that was part defiance and part disbelief; it echoed through the forest as the arrow struck its mark. It ended as suddenly as it came. Ochosi ran toward it, tracking it from its sound. He stopped running when he saw the limp body with the arrow deep in its back, and his jaw dropped when he realized: “It's a woman.” Slowly, he walked to it, and froze. “It can't be.” He fell to his knees. “It can't be!” Gently, he turned the body over, and cried when he saw his wife's face, eyes wide in terror, and mouth frozen in a painful grimace. In his anger and vengeance, he had killed his own wife.