A War of Harmony

Recently, I have become taken with an idea. It started as a joke, but day by day, I feel that there is truth in it—some undeniable quality that I cannot resist. Yes, there is something here.

— The Diary, Page 1

Nairobi was, once again, gone.

Where the city had stood just hours before, it was little more than an extended cinder. The skyline hadn’t just been altered… there wasn’t one. Previously existing skyscrapers had collapsed, entire streets levelled—an entire city reduced to mounds of debris and dark clouds of smoke within mere minutes.

Ikinya looked over it all, waiting for something to happen, but there was only silence. There were no screams of pain or cries for help out in the smoke; there was just a quiet, fallen city. This time, there were no survivors.

Power was already surging through him; he wanted to rebuild the city but decided against it. What would have been the point? Rebuilding Nairobi would have just been a cosmetic change then. No one was in the city, and nobody would be willing to venture in for some days. It could wait.

***

Something is trying to dissuade me from pursuing this line of thought. The more I learn, the more resistance I find. Even the weather has turned against me. If it is a hot day, the moment I walk out, the sun burns hotter, as if it means to sear through my skin. If it rains, it begins to storm, and lightning will strike all the trees in the area. There is something very deliberate about all of it.

Something is trying to warn me.

Something is trying to stop me.

Something knows that I may have discovered how to become a god.

— The Diary, Page 3

Ikinya floated over the parliament building, and it broke his heart. The orange-yellow walls were as pristine as ever. Its single tower stood high, the clock face still steadily ticking along. It remained untouched while all around it, the darkened wasteland that had been the city was still smoking.

“Why,” he whispered, “why do they do this?”

That question had bothered him for a long time. In all this time, an attack had never been directed at him. Whoever was behind these atrocities went out of their way to avoid him. Even when he wasn’t there, the State House and the Parliament building were never touched. Was it because they feared him? Was it a message? If this war was against him, why did this unseen enemy never try to hurt him? It made no sense. He was clearly missing something, but what?

Why were they doing this?

Why? Why? Why?

***

A god is a creator. If you peel away the layers, rules and interpretations, then creation is what truly defines a god.

If you can create, then you are a potential god. It does not mean you will become one; it is only that you can, should you be willing to pay the price.

— The Diary, Page 7

Ikinya braced himself to meet the people cowering within the State House compound. They had barged in one day and refused to leave, and he didn’t have the heart to throw them out. It was one of the only safe places every time something happened. How could he demand that they face the force lying outside his gates? A  force so elusive that even he, with all his power, had never managed to glimpse? He could not. Even if it meant he had to face them in times like this.

As he made his way into the gate, a crowd started to form around him. People slowly made their way out of the tiny houses he had created for them and stood watching him expectantly. He did not know what they wanted from him, and even if he did, he did not know if he could deliver it. With a sigh, he wondered how it had come to this. Before, he was a simple music teacher. He wasn’t equipped to be a president, let alone a god. Granted, the latter may have been his fault, but he’d never asked to be a ruler. They thrust it upon him. They insisted that he lead them until he was forced to relent.  Now, they expected things from him, demanded them even.

As a child, he had been perplexed by the biblical story of Saul and how he had rejected his unexpected anointing as King. What would possess a man to go so far as to hide among the luggage when offered a crown? Now, he understood all too well.

He decided that he did not want to bear the weight of these people’s expectations. He did not care to face those accusing stares. What about what he wanted? Did they ever consider that? Did gods not get to pursue their desires? To hell with all of them, he thought. Wordlessly, he floated over the crowds, heading for the entrance. Whatever they wanted, he could not give. They would have to be satisfied with that disappointing truth.

Before he disappeared behind the doors, he heard someone cry out.

“Mungu wangu, Mungu wangu, mbona umetuacha?” My God, My God, Why have you forsaken us?

A host of voices quickly silenced them.

“Nyamaza!” Shut up!

“We! Acha ujinga.” Stop being stupid!

“Shetani ashindwe!” The devil be damned.

He did not know which reaction cut at him more.

***

An artist, like a painter or sculptor, creates a moment. They capture the barest hint of a new world and let you marvel at it. You cannot touch it or go there, but you can look through their window and see a second of this awe-inspiring place.

 A writer, on the other hand,  takes words and fashion entire worlds with them. They almost let you visit them. You know something unique lies behind the page; if you can only push it aside, you might get to see it. Alas, you never do. Their worlds are always hazy, seen translucently as their light passes through paper. It is inevitably always a page away.

But a musician….ah, a musician. A musician transports you to those worlds. They whisk you across this universe and take you to another. They can make you feel a new creation all around you. A musician is the closest men have ever reached to becoming gods. All a great musician asks is that you do not look or you will spoil it. Close your eyes and feel the new worlds all around you.

I know these words are arrogant coming from a musician, but they are true nonetheless. Besides, gods are not humble—not even potential ones. You must know your worth. 

I am very close now.

— The Diary, Page 11:

Inside, Ikinya found an even more distasteful sight. Rows and rows of people were singing praises to him, which got louder as soon as he entered. They were part of the religion that had sprung up around him, The Children of the Step. They had amused him at first until he learnt that it was because Ikinya loosely translated to a single step’ or sometimes ‘the sole.’ Now, it just irritated him.

Over the years, he had tried to put a stop to the religion, but no matter what he did, it only seemed to encourage them. For a religious order for which he was the main figurehead, they did very little of what he actually said. His lectures went ignored, and even supernatural displays of his anger with them, sometimes literal fire and brimstone, left them unfazed. Whatever steps they followed, they certainly weren’t his.

Like most bad ideas, the singing at the entrance started with a politician. The idiot thought he could curry favour by creating a choir to praise Ikinya without pause. People switched in and out in shifts, so songs were sung in his honour every minute of every day in State House. Worse still, for some indiscernible reason, his power had affected all of The Children of the Step in the country, and he could do nothing to change it. Regardless of where they were, every single one of The Step adherents knew what the choir was singing at any given moment, so they often burst out in song or humming at will, especially when he was around. They did not even need to practice to synchronise their sycophancy. It was repelling. 

The supernatural element of the chaos he caused was taken as extreme approval of the idea. He had “blessed” them. He could not even tell them to stop, for it would be perceived as one of his incidents of ‘divine humility’. He was forced to let the singing go on.  However, he was currently not in the mood to deal with them. He clapped his hands in a simple rhythm and struck them all dumb. It was about time they learned to enjoy the delights of silence.

His victory was short-lived, for the singing resumed before he turned around the corner. The now dumb singers had been replaced by the next shift. He gritted his teeth. There was no winning with them.

***

I finally understand the Tower of Babel. I read it and understand what the Christians do not. They interpret it as a story about men trying to climb to heaven, but I doubt this. They were trying to climb to heaven, trying to MAKE their way to heaven. They were building… creating the greatest creation that men had ever achieved—a creation worthy of gods. Inevitably, the gods stopped them.

— The Diary, page 19

Ikinya burst into the main office, falling into the closest seat he could find and closing his eyes. He rubbed his temples, feeling like his head would split into two if he dared to let it go. He heard the door open, and even in his foul mood, he could not help but smile. It was Edith. She was his personal assistant, though nobody ever called her that in anything but official documents. In most people’s eyes, she was the Shadow of God. The one human being closest to divinity, with a direct line to the god’s ear: his trusted counsel. The most privileged woman on all of the earth. In Ikinya’s eyes, it was precisely the opposite. He was the one privileged to have her ear. After all, even though she had met him when he was already a god, she was the only person still treating him like a human being.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. “I’m sure those insufferable politicians will want to discuss this.”

“Not here yet,” she said, “As it turns out, not everyone has the advantage of being able to fly.”

“Hmm.”

“While we’re on the topic of obliviousness, are there any surprises waiting for me?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“This mood you’re in usually means a mess needs cleaning up somewhere.” She raised a pen to her notebook. “Where?”

“You know what…” he bristled at her certainty before realising she was, as always, correct. “Well, I..uh, may have muted some members of the endless choir.”

“You…muted them?”

“They irritated me… I took away their voices.”

“I…” her mouth hung open for a moment, then she chuckled.“This may actually be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Remind me to return them to normal later. When I have the time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. We can just leave them like that.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes, Edith!”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s a sad day. You’re right. I shouldn’t make light of it.”

“No, I’m….I’m overreacting. It’s just that today was the worst I’ve seen. There were no survivors. Not even one.”

She didn’t say anything, but her expression was clearly pained. He should have let her keep her jokes. Humour made it easier to live through the horrors that had come to the country along with his godhood. More and more, he found himself starting to lose patience with people, and now even with Edith? It worried him.

“I think I’m being punished,” he said at last.

“I’m sorry?”

“Everything that’s been happening—I always knew it was about me, but I think I know what it is now. There are other gods out there, and they’re punishing me for daring to… I don’t know. Be them, maybe? This… this is all my fault.”

She was still for a moment that felt too long, observing him with an expression he couldn’t read.“I’ve never seen a man so eager to take up every burden he finds in front of him. Is it all your fault? You can’t possibly know or believe that.”

“But I can. Nowadays, I hear their music, Edith. The earth pounds like a drum playing a violent song whenever it happens. I know that method. I feel it like it’s a part of me. It can’t be anything else. It’s a god. Or gods.”

“Even if it is gods, you’re jumping to conclusions. What’s to say they’re punishing you? How would we even know if this has anything to do with you? Maybe they’re just — evil.”

“I’ve been looking at the big picture, and I’m certain of it. They’re mirroring me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re reacting to what I do. I don’t know why, but I can see that’s what they’re doing now. Whenever I do something, they do something in response; if I save one person, they kill one. If I make food to improve the supply, we get a drought and diseases in the crop. If I do anything big, anything that will save a lot of people… we get a massacre.”

“You’re saying what happened today is about…your health centres? That’s why they did this?”

“Yes. The miracle centres have saved thousands, hundreds of thousands even. So we get… this. A negation of what I’ve done. It’s the only explanation I can think of”

“Maybe there isn’t an explanation. Not a logical one. Even in ordinary matters, not everything makes sense.”

“Edith…I’m sure this is it.”

“How sure?!”

“I know it the way I know the heart of a song. I can’t explain it, but I know the truth of it.”

She closed her eyes, unconsciously pinching her lower lip, lost in thought. Finally, she said, “Then retire.”

“Excuse me?”

“Retire. Stop doing this. If what you say is really what this is, there is only one thing to do. If they’re reacting to you, don’t give them anything to react to.”

“Edith-”

“No, think about it. Really think about it.”

“The people would never let me…”

“Please,” she scoffed.“The people can’t do anything to stop you.”

“But…”

“Just disappear one day. Let them make up their stories about what happened. If it doesn’t help, you come back. If it works….”

“I stay gone.”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me.”

He was surprised at his own words. He’d hidden his feelings for Edith behind an ever-thinning veil of professionalism. He suspected she knew, but if it remained unspoken, there could be no consequences, no potential dispelling of delusions, no rejection—no happy ending either, but that had been a risk he was willing to take—until now.

 “Ikinya…”

“Please come with me.”He hated the desperation in his voice. “We can go anywhere you want.”

He knew it was too much, too fast, but she was the only person who still saw who he was, not what he was. She was the only person who did not make him feel so alone. An exile with her would be no exile at all.

“You…” her face could not seem to settle on an expression —  sadness, anger, discomfort, fear, and pity morphed from one to the other.“I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Ikinya leaned towards her, but she turned away. They stood awkwardly for a long time, trying not to look at each other. He wanted to ask why but resisted. He didn’t want to know, or perhaps a part of him already knew and didn’t want to face it.

“Alright,” he said, turning away from her. I’ll go now. It’s no use waiting until something else terrible happens.”

“Goodbye, ”he heard her whisper as he flew away. There was a finality to how she said it that he wished he was imagining.

***

My enemies bring suffering to my people without remorse or reason. These faceless opponents. Why do they not show themselves? Why do they hide? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

— The Diary, Page 21

Ikinya had been away for a month, and everything had gone to hell. As soon as it was ascertained that he was gone, everybody started moving in different directions. The politicians were trying to gain control while the people were trying to oust the politicians they believed had chased their god with their immorality. The Children of The Step held prayers calling him back; Christians and Muslims held prayers celebrating the defeat of the false messiah. Riots. Parties. Vigils. Crusades. Anywhere that a group gathered, more often than not, ended in violence.

He ignored it all. The people could live as they saw fit. They were no longer his responsibility; he had never been their moral authority. He was free now. He was free to do as he pleased… though it was not turning out as he had expected. He was eager to look to the future, but his mind was obsessing over his painful past. His memories would not stop haunting him. Edith almost constantly swam through his thoughts, poking at his fragile state.  He thought of her face, her voice, her rejection, but mainly the fact that he would never see her again.

Why did I even do that? What was I thinking?

A part of him could see why it had turned out this way with Edith. Perhaps years of hiding his emotions, presenting himself as nothing more than a friend before suddenly asking her to ride off into the sunset with him, had not been the best of strategies. But he used to relish in the uncertainty. As long as he had said nothing, it was possible to believe they both felt the same way; they just shared the fear of speaking up. Now, well, he wished he had kept that blissful silence alive.

When he wasn’t obsessing over how he could have handled his last conversation with her, flashbacks of his transformation were never far from his thoughts. He remembered playing instrument after instrument and seeing which combination of notes moved him. The ones that touched his soul; how to combine them so that he could mould himself into something new, rewrite his make-up, change his entire composition. He remembered the pain from that. Oh yes. That endless pain. Those crawling days and weeks and months where he was caught in between man and god and something else entirely. He shuddered. All things considered, it had not been worth it.

Worst of all were the questions. The questions that refused to be answered. Why? Why? Why? Why had it all been done? Why had he been targeted? Why had they been so eager to destroy and respond to his work? Why? Just why? Not knowing ate at him more than Edith. He would even have gone through the transformation again if it meant he could know. He had to know. This was why he had spent most of his ‘retirement’ developing a plan to do just that.

Ikinya was levitating cross-legged high on Mount Kenya between its two highest peaks in the region called The Gate of Mists. He had always liked it there. It was his little zone of solitude. It was also where there would be minimal danger to bystanders if his decision led to trouble. Closing his eyes, Ikinya let his presence seep through the mountain, into the ground and spread across the country. He breathed in deeply, sensing everything vaguely.

Then… he held the country. He could think of no more accurate description of what it felt like. It was like he was using the entire nation as a musical instrument, preparing it, tuning it, getting ready to play. That was precisely what he was doing. If whatever was fighting him was responding to what he did, what would it do if he used his power for no actual gain? Using power just to use power. Would they respond? If they responded with evil to every good act he did, what would they do to a neutral one?

It was time to find out.

With a surge of energy, he began. The waves of the Indian Ocean crashed onto the Kenyan coast with sudden vigour. Winds howled in the north, raising billowing dust storms. Water from hot springs shot up into the air in varying patterns. The ground shook in several areas, and trees trembled to their roots. Those sounds came together in a perfect song of ethereal beauty that only Ikinya could hear. Or at least, Ikinya and something else. It was a song composed with a simple message. Come. Reveal yourself.

Thunder was heard, even if no lightning had been seen. The gentle sound of falling leaves cutting through the air was amplified since it happened to billions of leaves at once. Birds picked up the song, chirping in patterns never heard, and fish jumped in and out of the water, their splashes contributing to the melody. He played and played and played and played, but nothing happened. He put his soul into the music. He put everything he had to give into this one creation. He created a masterpiece like nothing the world had ever seen before. Nothing happened.

He gave up, letting the power dissipate and the song die. An empty silence settled upon the world. Wasted and disappointed, he opened his eyes and nearly jumped because of what he saw in front of him. It was the first time Ikinya had felt truly afraid in several years.

***

From the very beginning, it has fought me. But what is it?

— The Diary, Page 28

“There’s a question some people have asked and wondered about over the years,” said the—  thing before him. “They ask, why does God never kill the devil? He clearly has no problem with killing; he kills all the time. So, one cannot help but wonder why he lets the devil run free. Oh, the trouble he could save himself if he just killed the devil and washed his hands of the matter. Yet, he never does it. Do you know why now? Do you know why gods never kill their devils?”

“I don’t understand. How… how can this be?”

“You summoned me, and I came. What is there to understand?”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Mocking you? No. I’m too proud to mock myself.”

“You’re not me. You can’t be me. You’re him. You’re the enemy.”

“Ha, the enemy. What a good story you tell yourself—a lie, but a good one. I’m not the enemy. I’m you. I’m you, and you know it. You’ve always known it. You just didn’t want to face it. That’s how we are, isn’t it? Denial to the very end, you and Me.”

Ikinya could not take his eyes away from what appeared to be his double—another him. He wanted to think it was a trick, some kind of mind game the other unseen gods were playing with him, an apparition created to unhinge him as the first personal strike in this war. But, somehow, he knew it wasn’t. He knew that this thing was him. He didn’t understand it, but it was a part of him.

“Tell me why. Why have you been doing this?” said Ikinya finally.

“You still haven’t stopped asking that, have you? Why, why, why? That’s all you ever think about. It’s actually very annoying.”

“Tell me why?”

 “Because,” the thing sighed, “you cannot have one without the other.”

“Have what?”

“If you create a god, then you also create a devil and vice versa; there’s really no way around it. These things come in pairs. It’s like two sides to a coin. You can’t have a head without a tail. You can keep cutting the coin, but they’re both still there unless you destroy it..”

“So you’re the devil? My devil. The devil I created by becoming a god?”

“You didn’t create me. I’m you, and you’re me. Don’t you see? We’re the same person. All part of the same spinning coin.”

“I’m not you. I don’t destroy. I create. That’s what I am. That’s who I am. A god is a creator.”

“I already told you, these things come in pairs: creation and destruction, life and death, gods and devils. They’re linked no matter what you do. The day you became a god is the day you became a devil. You just didn’t want to see it.”

“No, I didn’t stumble on this by accident; I worked for it. I worked to create, not to destroy!”

“Yes, you didn’t work to destroy. You just created, and by sheer coincidence, things started to get destroyed around you. All those heat waves and storms in the early days were just by random chance. Is that what you want to believe? “

“That wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t? Why? Because you never destroy? Like when you stripped away the voices of the annoying singing people. That was creation then, was it?”

“That was different.”

“Yes. It was different, and that’s the point.”

This didn’t make any sense to Ikinya. “If you’re real, if you’re really me, then why didn’t I know about you? Why am I just now learning that you exist?”

“Because you were in denial. You’re the one who’s so proud of your creations, so why are you surprised that the delusion you created was so thorough?”

“No…”

“And now that you created a delusion,” the double smiled, “guess who’s here to destroy it.”

“Shut up. I haven’t been doing this. This wasn’t me. I didn’t destroy Nairobi. I refuse to believe I did that. I would never…”

“Then why were you so quickly on the scene? Why do you always just happen to be around when these things happen with your body humming with songs of power?”

“I was rushing and preparing to defend.”

“Ha. Even you don’t believe that. I should know.”

“Stop it.”

“You might as well just accept this. It’s easier for both of us that way.”

“But I’ve stopped. I’m not doing anything any more. I’m done.  That means you’re done, right? It’s over now.”

“It could have been done. It really could, but you couldn’t take that, could you? You just had to summon me here. You were just too curious, and you know what they say about curiosity.”

“Can you for one second just say what you mean-”

“I’m saying that you’ve done something exciting. I was always you, and I’m still you, but now, I’m also not. I’m you and me. You see?”

“I don’t…”

“Think of a coin… no, no, forget the coin. Think shoes. We’re a pair of shoes, mirror opposites of each other. We’re not connected physically or at all, but in the end, we’re both part of the same idea. We do different things but walk together. Ha, would you look at that? They had it right all along, the Children of the Step.”

“What if I don’t want to be any part of you?”

“Well, left shoe, you don’t get a choice. You did this. You didn’t like this part of yourself, so you kicked it out—kicked me out. How do I put this? You banished me from heaven. Yes…I like that.”

“I didn’t banish you.”

“You summoned me. You wanted me to come. You wanted this part of yourself to be revealed. How else was that going to happen? You used your power, and you gave me a body.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“It’s what you did, and in the end, that’s all that matters, right? Though … I must admit, I did help a tiny, little bit.”

“What does that mean? What did you do?”The apparition’s sinister grin unsettled Ikinya. He especially did not like seeing it on his face.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The grin widened. “Think about how you got here, how this all happened. The catalyst.”

“It can’t be…” Ikinya’s eyes widened with realisation. “Edith?”

“It seemed the best path to achieve our self self-actualisation…

“It can’t be. Edith works for you?”

“No, no, no, nothing so crass. You have your little specialities; manipulation happens to be one of mine. I whispered the right things in her ear, guided her to you, and occasionally ensured she was nudging you in the right direction. The ideas were mostly her own, just…guided.”

“You’re lying!”

“People rarely question a voice that sounds like their own. That’s why it worked on her—it’s why it worked on you. A woman was telling you just enough of what you wanted to hear. You were falling in love with her, weren’t you?”

“Shut up!”

“Considering I was guiding what she said, and in the end, I am really just you. If you think about it, the part of her you fell in love with was yourself. That’s a bit narcissistic, isn’t it? Even for us.”

“SHUT UP!” Ikinya did not know if he was trembling with rage or despair.

“You didn’t make it easy, though. I mean, talk about whiny. It’s no wonder she didn’t reciprocate. Indecisiveness and lack of confidence would be unattractive in a man, but in a god? That’s just…”

Ikinya tried to strike at his double, but nothing happened. The power was there, but for once, it resisted him. He looked at his hand, stunned.

“That won’t work,” the double cackled. You will find the power of destruction does not come to you so easily anymore. That is my domain now.”

Ikinya reached within himself and wrestled with his power. It was stubborn and slippery, but he would do what he wanted. But, by the time it relented, he had lost the will to do it. His shoulders slumped, defeated.“So what now?”

“Now, you go about happy to be mostly a creator. I go, happy to be a destroyer. And then we fight each other for eternity. If we believe the stories, that’s how it usually goes. It’s probably going to be a lot less dramatic than that.”

“I’m not going to fight you. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t really have much of a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

“So what, you’ll watch me destroy and destroy until there’s nothing left?”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Nobody asks for the lot they get. You’d think the guy who got god in the lottery would complain a lot less, especially when he went out looking for it.”

“You want me to do this? You want me to play out this little script, don’t you? Why? Why would you want that?”

“To maintain the harmony.”

“Harmony?”

“Yes. If no new things began, then all things would end given time. But if nothing ended, then everything would eventually collapse on itself. There is a balance that must be maintained. Do you know how much destruction went into this mountain’s creation? It’s all necessary. You and me. Creation and Destruction. Our little war is important for harmony to exist.”

The double, Destruction, finally shifted position and stood. For once, he did not seem to be mirroring Creation. He started to appear different, even if he still looked the same. He stretched his hands out, and there was a loud crashing sound somewhere on the mountain. A giant avalanche of boulders. He smiled.

“But if you want to sit around questioning your role,” said Destruction, “I can’t stop you. But we are what we are. Whether you accept that or not, it catches up with you. Look at all the damage you caused even when you ignored it. Acceptance is not necessary. It just makes it easier.”

With that, Destruction took off into the air and crashed into Batian, the highest peak of Mount Kenya, bringing it down with a crash, and then he was gone. As the dust settled, Creation sat quietly, contemplating.

“We are what we are,” he whispered to himself.

He put his hands together, and the dust in the air swirled back to where the peak had been and started to solidify. Rocks rolled up towards the top, and Batian started to reform slowly, bit by bit.

“I am what I am.”

Kevin Rigathi

Kevin Rigathi is a Kenyan speculative fiction writer based in Nairobi. Over the years, a near addiction for creating things has seen him don multiple hats as a writer, digital artist, software developer, sound editor and podcaster. His stories include ‘Where The Gods Go" and ‘A War of Harmony.’ Additionally, he serves as the writer and host of the Kenyan history podcast, "The Kenyan Experiment."