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Ala-ọnwụ's town crier walked around the village hitting his gong.

“Everybody come and hear ooh! A very sad news has befell Ala-ọnwụ. Adaeze, 10nwa Maduenu, the son of 11ichie Edoga is dead. According to her parents, she could not be found yesterday after school, and her body was found this morning in the market square, tortured and battered.”

The morning was now bright because of sunset, but a news like this put a dark cloud up in the sky. Villagers who were on their way to farm or were already in their farm either shook their heads in disbelief, sorrow or shock. A woman walking with her child even had to hold his hand tight to be sure that he was still there.

The town crier went ahead to spread the news further. Silence replaced cockcrows and the village which should have been bustling with activities was in a state of disarray.

From the bed he was forced to lay on, Dike stood up and approached the window. Curious and afraid of what the news meant, his eyes searched for anything that could prove what he had just heard to be false. Instead, he saw an alignment. In front of the house directly opposite the window, a mother was shouting at her child who was outside sweeping, to go back in because it was not safe for him to be out in the open.

Dike felt the possible summon of a meeting later in the day and knew for a fact that the rumor mill would be at work till then.

But that was not what was in his heart. The assumed rumors were definitely not a bother. What actually was included the fact that the girl he had seen, being strangled and tortured in his sleep could actually be the one that was just reported to be dead. She was fair, had a chubby face and wide eyes filled with fear. Worst, she was in a uniform, her uniform. The uniform of a school whose name he did not know and in addition to her tears and lifeless eyes, he kept seeing her parents who had stopped him the night before, crying while holding the body of their child.

He sighed dejectedly.

He was actually in their neighbour’s house because of his mother’s incompetence and now, there was news of a murderer in town. What was next? He thought. What would be his fate?

So far, their neighbour had been taking good care of him. On his arrival in their house, they had fed him and made him take a warm bath, after which they had proceeded to cleanse his wound and re-adjoin his dislocated arm but he was not letting them. It was just too painful.

So mama Obiora, being the action woman she was, told Obiora to show him to a bed and to make sure that he was well rested before they will visit a nurse who would treat him. Right now, papa Obiora was out in the farm; everyone was out and he was all alone at home. He could not be more grateful to the family for accepting him in, worse yet, letting a stranger stay in their home without a watcher. He got that he was a child but still, a strange and unpredictable child. Or was he predictable? Nope, he would not refer to himself as that. He was especially not predictable or easy to care for, if not, his mother would not have been struggling.

He went back to lie in bed after some time, and with his uninjured arm, raised the duvet to cover himself. Half a minute passed and he was getting bored

Since there was nothing to distract his heart, his eyes took up the job of wandering from left to right, along the length of the room.

Two black and white portraits were hung on the wall. Along with calendars whose faces had past events where they were probably shared as souvenirs. The clock that was above the door barely ticked because of a dead battery and then, at the far end of the wall were a pillar of bags placed near a table decorated with skin care products and comb. There was not a single doubt that the room belonged to Obiora before he came to disrupt things. It may sound like a lie but it truly was not. The custody of the child of a drunk mother had been  unofficially shifted to the arms of a poor, happy family. What could go wrong!

*****

Kwento was shocked, he could swear that he had never seen anything like that in his life: the staff of a god, not on his neck but on display in a random study in a human's house, untouched.

He could swear that only rogue gods do that. They are the only ones who abandon their duty and their main purpose of existence. But who could it be?

There were several angles for him to view it. Could it be that the woman currently wailing on the floor was a god and she did not know or could it be that her husband is? He immediately crossed out the first alternative. There was no way that she would be a god and she would not know, because according to popular myths, when gods mate, they actually loose their immortality and the fact that they even partook in the act in the first place was enough to alert Onye ndu for him to enforce the law of the domain. And as far as he was concerned, there had not been a news about anyone succeeding in such act in the domain. Trust him, he would know! Which left him with two other alternatives, each narrowing down to the currently absent husband. Was he killed by a rogue god or was he a rogue? And if he was rouge, where was he and what does it make his son?... that was if Dike was actually his son.

And that, was a question that was almost impossible to answer because tracking a god needed special skills. He was not an SOC and he would not claim to be one, but he needed answers that couldn’t be readily available. He needed to know why his staff of office was particularly concerned with Magdalene’s household. Even if it was to chase away the boy’s nightmare which was not his job or in anyway his field, he would do it as far as his staff of office requested he did.

Kwento listened for the sound of Magdalene’s wails. She did not sound like a god but he would still monitor her. And like that, he listened until the sound of a gong being hit outside took his attention and what was left of his sanity. At least, it was the gong that started the process and left the rest of the work for the male voice that came after to disclose death of a child.

A child was hurt while he was on duty? Wrong. A child was tortured and killed while he was on duty? Yeah, that was it. He needed to get to the root of that, he told to himself, believing that there was no way his staff would direct him to the wrong household. There was nothing like a coincidence. It was either he did it or he did it, no backing down.

He needed to know what was wrong and fast. If there was a murderer on the loose who for some unknown reason was interested in children, there was no doubt that they’d be hearing about another death soon unless he stopped it.

And after all this, he would go ahead to see the person who remembered him real well to go pray in his shrine.

A lot of things to do with so little time, Kwento thought, fitting the necklace into his pocket.

*****

Bismuthic rice, the most preferred in the domain, sizzled in palm oil at constant heat and produced such a nice aroma that wafted round the kitchen till it diffused  through the window, into the open air and exposed to the highway.

Passers-by could smell it. The whole street could smell it. —and that was the main reason why this highway, fitted with a thousand flying coaches, loud music and a particular vibrant sky, was named “Rice Highway”. At least, that was its name before the god-of-liquids-that-pleases-man decided to relocate. Now, the popular Rice highway had never been more famous, if not for its unfitting name that deserved a change, it was for the change in its air constituent, where the scent of bismuthic rice dueled with the smell of wine.

Kwento highlighted from a commercial coach and could not help but marvel at the sight before him. The fact that he had not been able to for thousand and five hundred years was just an irony. In fact, anytime he missed his friend and came here to visit, he was always treated like a family. “BTWD” was like a second home to him.

“Bring The Wine Deals” stood tall like other shops but instead of being represented by rainbow colours, Micheal has been pretty particular about its hues being a combination of wine red, liquor brown and silvers sparkles. According to his words “let the aesthetic represent what we serve”. Funny it was that the goddess of aesthetic would not still approve of his design.

Kwento inhaled the air of Rice Highway and had to battle hard to kill the nostalgia he felt after remembering Clara’s words. As hours passed he found himself believing her, because he knew, his subconscious knew that he would no try to get drunk on purpose.

The doors to BTWD were just a foot away and before he could think twice about disembarking, he thought about the child of the world with a drunk for a mother who could currently be having a nightmare.

Nope.

Even though he did not want to do it,  he had a second reason to. It was now his responsibility to save the boy and many other children like him. He must go in despite how the time lost may have changed his life, his relationships and his mentality. No backing out and no room for excuses no matter how big.

A sudden hush filled the space when he entered. Kwento could swear that he had heard the door whisper “silence!” in the most shunning way possible. All he could see was a blinding ray, a beam of rotating stereo lights focused on his bare feet. He heard nothing and the air smelled like wine, his old companion on good days.

And nope, he still believed that he was not a drunk. He was just a god who appreciated the sour nature of wine, especially white wine.

“Yup, there’s the god of children coming right up!”

He knew that voice to sleep and there was nothing that would change the fact. Multiple eyes became fixated on him, like crickets looking for a dwelling place.

“Well done Grace. Just my luck that after years since you’ve last seen me, you decided to call the whole world to experience my beauty with you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself Nanu–" she waved him down. "Matthew actually just saw a client out. Let me notify him of your presence,” she said, clearing the table of wine glasses. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Kwento nodded at her before she left. He would have smiled but he had not the energy. The eyes on his body were making him itchy and he had to rid them off himself. He started staring down onlookers, a particular lady with big braids and wide lips had a persistent gaze.

“You want to tell me something?” he mouthed at her, but she kept looking at him so he decided to do her the honour of leaving the premises of her gaze.

At the balcony of copper railings and a heart shaped couch, Kwento found his comfort, the peace and quiet he so deserved. It was like a rainbow with an extra view of sparkling streetlights coupled with the disappearing motion of flying couches speeding past.

Nothing could beat Rice Highway's night time view.

Plagued with thoughts of his supposed crime and arrest, Kwento did not know when he dozed off into space until the cheery voice of his close friend pulled him from the trance.

“Long time no see, brother,” Micheal said, going for a hug that could not have been more impossible but was still achieved. “News about you had spread around town but I wasn’t opportuned to attend the party in your honour because my co-workers haven’t been  in their right state of mind."

“You give mental leaves now?”

Micheal raised a brow and laughed. It was one of the lots Kwento had longed to hear while in prison.

“It’s good to have you back brother!”

“You too,” Kwento said, sighing into the night air.

Micheal sad beside him and the couch became depressed from his weight.

“I wouldn’t ask how your time there had been.”

“You don’t need to ask but I’ll tell you. It was shitty–“ Micheal’s eyes widened. But Idi ọcha continued, hands expressing the anger and pain he felt. “It was so shitty that the god of the innocent was left to rot in prison for a crime he may not have committed.”

“What do you mean Nanu?” Micheal asked leaning towards the innocent god. “You mean that–“

Shocked that he had let that out, Kwento tried to recover. “That’s really not why I’m here.” Michael was stunned to silence. But Kwento was even more perplexed. Could his closest friend do it? Could Micheal have been the one that framed him up all those years ago?  Most especially, when did he start keeping secrets from Michael?

“I actually came to inquire if it it is possible for a god to conceive. Has there been a report on any of that in history?” He asked. The main reason he asked was that Micheal was quite specialized in wine making, especially historical wines that required age and tact. He should have an idea since his business requires that he learns history.

Michael shook his head and said, “You know, right now I’m baffled. I’m not even shocked at the first assumption you made but this thing you just said out loud right now–“ Micheal laughed in disbelief. “Why would you even inquire of such a thing?”

“To be sincere, I’m not even in the right state of mind. I think I need one of those sanity breaks you give your workers.” Kwento shakes his head . “A deep meditation would probably clear my head.”

“See…” Micheal hesitated, “I really want to ask questions but let me just answer yours first. To be sincere, I have never heard of that happening in the history of this domain. I have never heard of a god and a goddess partaking in the act. I have never heard of a god or goddess conceiving.”

"Okay–" Kwento paused and asked, “What about a god and a human?”

With a deep look into Kwento’s eyes, Michael said, “I don’t think that is even biologically possible.” And then, a tension filled silence took over.

The air surely stank of suspicion. The person at the receiving end of such heavy intuition was just so hard to pinpoint. It would be safe to say that the feeling extended both ways: Kwento suspecting his friend of drugging him and Michael suspecting that Kwento and Chimma had done the unthinkable.

*****

After his pretty long conversation with his closest friend, Kwento had resumed work back on Earth. He needed to visit the murdered girl which his irresponsibility had caused.

So, with a whisper to his staff of office, he appeared there, next to a tree that was close to a house on the outskirt of town, surrounded by a colony of tall, evergreen trees, and a feet away from his leg was a raised hip of sand, freshly weeded and wet.

He turned back to the house and heard a loud wail followed by murmurs of encouragement and condolences. It was probably the child’s mother and a group of sympathizers. May the child’s soul rest in perfect peace!

But who would have such a mind to do this? Hurting a child for fun?

He had to think of a way to end it. It was probably the rogue god he was hunting and he would find him, god cop aside.

*****

So guys, I want to tell you a story, albeit fictional. You can skip, it can be quite distracting.

There was this little boy who sneezed when people lied and he was to escort his dad to go visit the president of Nigeria whom was his dad's employer since his dad was employed by an appointment and referral by him.

The president's villa was heavily guarded and his father had smiled each time they successfully passed by a security arm.

Finally, they got to the porche and met another security arm. A team of five hefty men all armed to their souls.

"Why are you here?" One of them asked. He had a thick scar that elongated from his neck to the underneath of his left eye.

"The president requested for me," his father replied.

Unconsciously, the boy sneezed. The guards all looked at him not understanding what was happening but when the boy shared a look with his father, emotions were shared.

"Son, don't," his father said, eyes pleading. " It'll kill me."

"You punished me for this same reason last night."

"We're all guilty to our pleasures aren't we?" his father asked with a smirk, suddenly changing to a personality he'd never seen in his life.

"Arrest them!" One of the guards said and two rushed to the man and handcuffed his wrist. As he was being moved to the cop car, his father turned to the son and said with a wink, "All you need is love to keep the pleasures going, despite sinful. So, when you get back son, hit that like button at the bottom, okay?"

And he didn't wait for answers before entering the jeep.