Chapter 11 Warning from Old Bones
The days after Victory Fire blurred into heat and whispers.
Manny barely left his room as the glowing cracks refused to stay quiet anymore. At first it was only at night,thin lines of white-gold light pulsing under his skin like restless lava, but now, even in the afternoon, they flared without warning. One moment he was washing clothes at the shared tap, the next a sharp burn raced across his forearm and the cracks blazed bright enough to cast shadows on the concrete wall. A small boy fetching water dropped his bucket and ran screaming.
People have started to talk,not the excited kind from the early videos but this was fear.
He kept his arms covered with an old long-sleeve shirt even when the sun tried to cook him alive. The fabric stuck to the heat radiating from his body, but it was better than letting Ajegunle see what he is now becoming. The Voice never rested. It spoke in short, furious bursts now, pushing images into his mind,Pastor Victor’s black-veined smile, the desperate faces in the crowd, the hidden rot beneath every “Hallelujah.”
They need judgment. You deny them.
“I need peace,” Manny muttered to the empty room, pressing his forehead slammed against the cool wall. His scars answered with another flare of pain.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Manny! Open up before these mosquitoes finish me!”
Chinedu.
Manny cracked the door just enough. His friend stood there sweating, eyes darting left and right like he was being followed. The usual playful energy was now gone. Chinedu looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days.
“Guy, are you hiding?” Chinedu pushed inside without waiting, closing the door quickly behind him. His gaze dropped to Manny’s covered arms. “what people are now saying is it true? That your body now shines like Christmas light?”
Manny sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “Leave that matter.”
But Chinedu wasn’t here for gossip. He paced the small room, rubbing his hands together.
“Bro, I’m in serious trouble. Those boys that I borrowed money from… the interest has turned to a monster. They said if I don't pay by the weekend, they will go visit my mother house. I don't have anybody else, Manny. Just a small touch. Just… clean their heart or something. Make them forget the debt. Or expose their own sins so they will run away. Anything!”
The Voice surged forward instantly, eager.
He is right. Use what you are. One command and their chains break.
Manny’s right hand twitched. For a second the cracks beneath his sleeve glowed so brightly the fabric lit up from inside. Chinedu stepped back his eyes wide.
“Jesus, Manny…”
“I can’t,” Manny said, gritting teeth. “Every time I use it, the fire grows. I don’t control it anymore, it controls me. Last night I woke up and my whole chest was shining like a lantern. If I help you, I might burn more than just their sins.”
Chinedu dropped to his knees, grabbing Manny’s wrist before he could pull away. The moment skin touched skin, Manny saw it,thin black veins crawling through Chinedu’s desperation. Gambling,small lies to his mother. Fear of eating him alive. Nothing like Pastor Victor’s ocean of rot, but still there. Still ugly.
“Please,” Chinedu whispered. “I'm going to die.”
Manny yanked his hand free, breathing hard. As new cracks were forming on the back of his left hand, thin and luminous, splitting the skin like glass but he hid it quickly.
“Go home, Chinedu. I’ll think of something else. Normal something.”
His friend left looking broken.
Night fell heavy and humid. Manny couldn’t stay inside anymore. The Voice was too loud, the heat too much. He slipped out and walked toward the quieter parts of Ajegunle, where the shanties gave way to bushes and old shrines people pretended not to visit.
That was where Baba Tunde found him.
The old man sat on a low stool beside a small fire, bones and cowries spread on a mat in front of him. Ancient. Skin like cracked leather, eyes sharp as broken glass. Everyone in the area knew Baba Tunde,a traditional healer, speaker to ancestors, the last of the old bones. Most pastors called him the devil. And manny had always avoided him.
“Sit, Emmanuel,” Baba Tunde said without looking up. His voice was as dry leaves scraping together. “The fire you carry does not let you hide.”
Manny stopped. “How do you know my name?”
Baba Tunde smiled, revealing teeth stained by years of herbs and secrets. “The ancestors talk a lot. And your light may disturb their sleep.”
Manny stayed standing. The cracks on his neck and jaw were glowing again. He could feel them.
The old man finally looked up. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the living light moving under Manny’s skin.
“Ah… Godspark. But twisted. Old gods have tasted it.” Baba Tunde shook his head slowly. “This thing that entered you, it's not pure holy fire. It's a mixture. Something from heaven, yes,but the old powers, under the ground,have wrapped their hands around it. That is why it grows wild. You keep resisting like this,it will burn you from inside until only ash remains. Or will turn you into something worse than the rot you see.”
Manny felt cold despite the heat pouring off his body.
“What do you mean, not pure?”
Baba Tunde tossed some powder into the fire. Sparks rose in strange patterns.
“The prophets of old, their fire was clean. Yours has teeth. It gets angry,the Voice way they talk to you? Sometimes na God. Sometimes na the other ones laughing. You choose which one you will feed, or it will choose for you.”
A strong wind suddenly blew through the bushes though the night was still. The glowing cracks across Manny’s body flared violently, as if answering the old man’s words. Pain lanced through him. He gasped and stumbled back.
Baba Tunde stood, surprisingly fast, and gripped Manny’s shoulder with surprising strength. For a moment, Manny saw something in the old man’s eyes, pity mixed with fear.
“Warn you I have. The house of rot you escaped? They haven't forgotten you. And now the old things had notice too.” He released Manny. “Go home, boy. Before your light calls for more darkness.”
Manny walked away on shaky legs. Behind him, the fire crackled louder, and he could have sworn he heard dry laughter in the smoke.
When he reached his room, Chinedu was waiting outside again, eyes red.
“Manny… my mother's house, they have reached there. One boy is in the hospital now because of me. I don't have time again.”
The Voice roared.
Help him. Judge them. Burn it all.
New cracks split open across Manny’s collarbone, bright and painful. The light spilled out, illuminating the narrow alley like daylight.
Manny looked at his desperate friend, then at the growing fire inside his own body.
He was running out of ways to say no.
And something ancient, something that was never meant to be holy, is now learning how to smile.
