The Dark Abyss

By Lazaro M. Perez

Omi is a twenty year old warrior from the Ibukun tribe. Today is his last mission, a mission that could prove deathly for everyone who is involved. Go alongside him, as he travels the jungle of Dawoya, and unveils the mystery of the Dark Abyss, with the help of two Orishas, and other enigmatic allies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499022285

Lazaro M. Perez

Lazaro M. Perez was born and raised in Cuba. He traveled to America and learned the language in order to pursue his dreams. He enjoys reading adventure books and playing guitar on his days off.

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Copyright © 2014 by Lazaro M. Perez.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/14/2014

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Contents

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Prologue: Blọọdy Rain

Chapter I: Brọthẹrs

Chapter II: Thẹ Nanka

Chapter III: Trinity War

Chapter IV: Thẹ Hawk

Chapter V: Thẹ Mẹssagẹ

Chapter VI: Dẹath’s Rivẹr

Chapter VII: Rẹuniọn

Chapter VIII: Whitẹ Ẹyẹs

Chapter IX: Rẹd Mọọn

Chapter X: Rẹvẹnge

Chapter XI: Dragọn’s Mọuth

Chapter XII: Rẹbirth

Chapter XIII: Pridẹ and Họpẹ

Chapter XIV: Drọwn

Chapter XV: Alawana

Chapter XVI: Ífẹ

Chapter XVII: Ífẹ II

Chapter XVIII: Ọriẹntatiọn

Chapter XIX: Undinẹ

Chapter XX: Dark Abyss

Chapter XXI: Achẹrọn

Chapter XXII: Thẹ Guardian

Chapter XXIII: In Firẹ and Blọọd

Ẹpilọguẹ

Thẹ Snakẹ

Thẹ Fọur Huntẹrs

Thẹ Mastẹr

To my father

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I’d like to give thanks to everyone who believed in the potential of this idea; without their support, Dáwoya would have never existed. Thanks to my most valiant warrior, my mother Leidy, who always fought against the army of insecurities that comes with writing a book. Thanks to my grandmother Xiomara for introducing me to the wonderful world of African mythology. Thanks to my aunt Isabel, who always cheered me on regardless. Also I’d like to thank Tina, Emi, and Ana, who read the story when it was nothing but a six page draft.

Learn to respect even the men of wicked heart, and your enemy as well.

Yoruban Proverbs

". . . until the Greyhound comes, who shall make her perish in her pain. He shall not feed on either earth or pelf, But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue . . ."

Dante’s Inferno—Canto I

"You must be shapeless, formless, like water ( . . .) Water can drip and it can crash. Become like water my friend."

Bruce Lee

Prọlọguẹ

Blọọdy Rain

The jungle remained solemnly quiet that afternoon. The sun’s light, trapped by the clouds, couldn’t pierce through all the darkness spread across the land. The wind walked soft and eerily, dragging with it the putrid scent of yet another animal carcass. A colorless fear filled the entire foliage of the jungle. The tree trunks stood tall like bars on a cage. The taste of death itself was overtly present on their spiky leaves. Even the skinniest of branches shivered as they felt the imminent storm.

Suddenly, a sound broke through the silence of the jungle. Nimble legs glided swiftly through the mud. The ground could only count two feet. Each step was as fast as the next one. The broken branches of the trees witnessed astonished as a robust body moved through the foliage at such speed while carrying a second one.

I… I don’t think we are gonna make it—said Ọkán as she held to Ọmi’s back.

Be positive!—said Ọmi catching his breath without stopping.

Ọmi’s dreadlocks fluttered aimlessly with the wind. His full eyebrows matched the gravity of the situation. His brown eyes were closely set and full of determination. His wide nostrils pumped the oxygen in and out effortlessly. His thick lips were closed tightly as if not to let any air, or words, out.

Most warriors would have been intimidated by such a dangerous mission, but not Ọmi. He was the fastest one in the whole village. He knew the jungle very well and was excellent in combat. His strong ebony legs could move faster than a cheetah’s and his broad back was perfect for the mission assigned.

He ran like there was no tomorrow; Ọkán’s weight didn’t seem to slow him down at all. Each bush, leaf, and puff only pulled them closer to their destination

One raindrop fell from the darkened sky, dodging the branches from the trees until it crashed against Ọkán’s back. Many raindrops followed until their clothes were damped, but Ọmi never stopped running.

They left the village early in the morning and hadn’t stopped moving ever since. Ọmi was certain that they were at least half way through their journey by now. He kept looking for a landmark of some sort, something that could prove him right. Time was of the essence and he couldn’t afford to pick a wrong path.

All his thoughts came to a stop and were replaced by a subtle smile as soon as he saw it.

The oldest tree in the jungle stood before him and Ọkán. This old tree or the Ologbon, as many called it, was a very well known landmark throughout the jungle. Its trunk was so tall and wide that legends said Eloko, dwarf-like creatures, had built a whole village within it. These devious creatures were rumored to eat lost children, and sometimes men. Their sharp teeth and horrible breath weren’t feared by any, but their magic was indeed.

The branches of the Ologbon were thick and healthy; and they were so long they could almost scratch the sky. Its roots were so mighty and so many, they intertwined endlessly on their way to the ground, making a small hill.

There were no doubts in his mind now. He knew exactly where they were and how much remained to be traveled. He told Ọkán to hold on tight and started climbing the small hill.

While climbing, he pondered on how much longer Ọkán was going to resist. The venom from that snake was slow-paced but surely lethal; it took some time to take effect, but as soon as it did, her body couldn’t handle it and she fell sick. Búluku, the village’s shaman, couldn’t cure her; he couldn’t even tell what kind of venom it was. They couldn’t know for sure how long she would survive. That’s why this was a one man mission, sending other warriors would only slow Ọmi down.

A ferocious growl took Ọmi out of his deep reflecting; his eyes moved around the clearing, searching for the source of the threat. He spotted two emerald green eyes that lurked on top of a distant tree shrouded in darkness.

The animal jumped out of the dark and stood eighty feet away from them.

Ọmi’s iron strong resolve wasn’t shaken by this panther. The jungle’s clearing and the Ologbon made the perfect setting for a fight between these two dangerous beasts.

Ọkán, my knife—said Ọmi as he reached for the knife without taking his eyes away from the panther.

Now get close to the Ologbon, slowly—he continued.

The dark beast stood still, as if analyzing the situation; its black furry body seemed to suck all the light, if there was any, out of that afternoon. This monster was big, certainly bigger than Ọmi if it were to stand on its hind legs. Its tail swayed around in a shape that resembled death’s sickle. Its eyes met with Ọmi’s determined gaze; knife in hand and claws as sharp, seconds seemed like hours as neither side made a move.

Droplets of water from the rain slid down his serious brow, falling onto his cheeks and traveling all the way to his lips. The kisses from the rain felt cold and salty, but nevertheless familiar. It was a bittersweet send off to battle.

Suddenly, the beast’s eyes locked on Ọkán’s body as she limped to get closer to the Ologbon; the panther cut through the air like an arrow whose target is doomed, sprinting towards Ọmi.

He had the blade ready on his left hand and a muddy rock on the right one.

The merciless predator sprinted closer and closer; slashing each droplet of water that fell from the sky like an edged blade and making the ground tremble with each heave. Its paws kept moving, wounding the earth with its claws. The muscles on his legs glistened at random; what a beautiful spectacle, a marvelous instrument of death indeed. This creature seemed born from the Dark Abyss itself.

When it got close enough, Ọmi threw the rock at it. The panther jumped to its right to avoid the projectile as if it was child’s play; then it pounced for its true pray, Ọkán.

She was sitting down; her back was against the tree. Defenseless and unable to move, Ọkán could only watch desperately as her black doom approached. The fear took over her and a scream made the whole jungle tremble.

Blood splattered against the Ologbon, leaving the indelible mark of death in its trunk. The thick crimson wine dripped down from the tree and started to spread out, mixing with the moss and the water from this bloody rain.

I

Brọthẹrs

Meanwhile, in one of the jungle’s clearings, the storm was sweeping through Ọmi’s village. The wind ran wildly, making all the straw huts shake in its wake. The water plummeted from the skies punishing their poorly built roofs. There was barely any sunlight and most of the torches throughout the village remained extinguished. The sounds from the rainfall were only overpowered by that of music. The storm raged on with no mercy but so did the drums.

Everyone from the lower class was outside of their feeble huts praying to Olọrun and all the Orishas while dancing to the beat. Some villagers danced around the place where a bonfire would be, if it wasn’t raining. Their ebony skin blended in with the falling water, making beautiful arcs as they continued to dance.

In the eyes of a stranger, this uproar of music and dancing bodies would seem like a celebration, but in reality it was a desperate act of impotence. There was nothing else they could do to help the chieftain’s daughter but pray; it was all in the hands of Ọmi and Olọrun now.

Towards the middle of the village, there was the wooden gate that separated the two classes. Two guards stood in watch despite the mighty rain. There were torches burning bright on either side of the gate. Its fire was shielded from the water by tents that hanged from the top of the gate.

Join the chief’s guard, it’ll be an honor they said. I don’t know who’s stupider; my parents for believing that or me for listening to them—said the scrawnier guard.

Listen, dumbass, our shift will be over soon. So can you please shut up while I try to get some shuteye?!—replied the other guard.

A guard dozing off during his watch, now that’ll make for an interesting story—interrupted a mysterious voice from atop the gate.

Wake up, Aremu!—said the first guard.

What now, Akeju?!—he replied.

Is that damn kid again—said the Akeju.

What do you want now, brat—yelled Aremu.

The voice revealed itself to be a sixteen year old boy. His skin was almost as dark as coal; his hair was full of dirty unbraided clumps. His