The crossroads outside of Osogbo was less of a mystical nexus and more of a muddy intersection where the old highway met a dirt path leading to the nearby villages. Zélie arrived the next morning, the air still damp from the previous night's impossible rain. The Ogun stone was secured on a leather thong around her neck, hanging heavy against her sternum.
Eshu was not hard to find. He wasn't a grand deity in robes of office. He sat on a discarded tire by the junction, looking like a market trader who’d seen better days. He wore a simple red cap that tilted rakishly to one side—his signature iconography—and chewed loudly on a piece of sugarcane.
He looked up as Zélie approached, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous intelligence that made the hair on Zélie’s arms stand on end.
"The little river spirit comes to the dusty road," Eshu said, spitting a piece of sugarcane fiber onto the ground. His voice was melodic but raspy, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "The paths are infinite, yet you chose this one."
"I was told you guide the way," Zélie said, stopping a few feet away, remembering Mama Tunde’s warning about the Trickster God. Never give him a straight answer.
"I open doors and I close them," Eshu shrugged. "I bring chaos, yes, but chaos is just potential that hasn't been organized yet." He pointed a long, bony finger at the stone hanging around her neck. "Ogun’s calling card. The Iron Master has a heavy hand. Why seek his path?"
"The Veil Sickness," Zélie stated, keeping her eyes fixed on his. "The balance is broken. I need the Orishas to fix it."
Eshu laughed, a dry, chortling sound. "Fix it? Ase, child, these gods barely speak to each other. Ogun refuses to forge weapons for a war he can't win. Shango is busy chasing old glories. Oshun, your own patron, spends her days weeping into her river about lost love and fading adoration."
"Which is why I need to find them," Zélie said. "Starting with Ogun."
"Ah, the stubborn one," Eshu grinned, standing up with surprising grace. He was taller than she expected. "He is in the place of his power: the Forge."
"And where is that?"
"Everywhere that iron is worked, everywhere metal clashes," Eshu said, stepping closer. A sudden scent of palm oil and spices replaced the dusty smell of the road. "But his favorite spot? The oldest rail yard, where the great iron snakes sleep. You know the place."
Zélie did. The old, abandoned colonial-era rail yards on the edge of the city. A place of rust, sharp edges, and danger.
"If I go, will the path be open or closed?" Zélie asked.
Eshu smiled, revealing sharp, white teeth. "That is the fun part, Zélie of the River. It will be both. The path to Ogun is open, but the price of entry is high." He tilted his head. "The gods demand sacrifice, even when they are in hiding. Ogun values strength and will. What are you willing to forge, little Scion?"
He vanished before Zélie could answer, the air shimmering where he had stood a moment before. All that remained was a single kola nut balanced perfectly on the center line of the road.
Zélie walked to the nut and picked it up. It was warm. She looked toward the direction of the rail yards. The journey had begun, and the first god she met was a mischievous wildcard. This was going to be harder than she thought.
She began to walk, the Ogun stone pulling her like a compass, the weight of the world settling on her young shoulders. The path was open. She just had to survive walking it.
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