Trials of the Orisha's Chosen

Chapter 40: Trials of the Orisha's Chosen

Dr. John pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, there was a flicker of the hope that had initially drawn him to Bayo. "Very well," he said gruffly. "You have until 8 pm today. Make it count, Adebayo."

As Bayo moved toward his workstation, he could feel the weight of their expectations—Dr. John's cautious optimism, Dr. Harold's scorn, Ms. Anderson's anxiety, and Mrs. Christian's misplaced cheer. He took a deep breath, centering himself. The challenges ahead were daunting, but he had faced worse in Eternaforest. With the memory of Aroni's trials fresh in his mind, he set to work.

Bayo's fingers twitched at his sides, his eyes darting between the faces surrounding him. The familiar weight of pessimism settled on his shoulders, a well-worn armor against the sting of rejection. Yet, beneath it all, a flicker of hope persisted—fragile, but stubbornly alive.

As he walked towards the library, Bayo couldn't help but reflect on the trials he had faced in Eternaforest. The cryptic messages of Aroni, the tests that had pushed him to his limits – all of it had led him to this moment. He may be back in the familiar halls of Harvard Laboratory, but he was no longer the same man who had left. The knowledge of orishas and the weight of desperation added a new dimension to his already complex situation.

The corridor to the library stretched before him, a welcome respite from the laboratory's charged atmosphere. The distant hum of machinery - perhaps the new IBM calculators he'd heard whispers about - provided a soothing counterpoint to his footsteps.

As he entered the library, the familiar scent of old paper and leather bindings enveloped him. Bayo paused, letting the scholarly silence settle around him like a comforting blanket. His eyes darted to the corners, half-expecting Mrs. Christian or Dr. Harold to materialize. When no one appeared, he moved swiftly to the door, turning the lock with a soft click.

Surrounded by towering shelves, Bayo leaned against a sturdy oak table, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. The events at Harvard Forest with Aroni and Emeka seemed a world away, yet the weight of that encounter pressed heavily on his shoulders. He rubbed his birthmark absently, recalling the strange itch he'd felt in the presence of the orishas.

Taking a deep breath, Bayo straightened. Time was short, and he couldn't afford distractions. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind as the information from Aroni power had taught him during the moment of the gift. The air around him seemed to thicken, taking on a gelatinous quality that was both familiar and alien.

When Bayo opened his eyes, the library had transformed. A soft, green glow suffused the space, visible only to him. The books pulsed with an inner light, their knowledge reaching out to him in tendrils of equations and formulas. As information began to flow into his mind, Bayo couldn't shake a nagging doubt. Was this truly his own ability, or another of Aroni's tests?

"Èsù," he murmured under his breath, "is this another of your tricks?" The possibility of divine mischief at play wasn't lost on him. By all rights, someone else in his position might have been cast aside long ago. Yet here he stood, at the center of a story far larger than himself.

Pushing the thought aside, Bayo immersed himself in the ethereal sea of academic wisdom. He felt the equations and formulas swirling around him, complex mathematical concepts unfolding in his mind like blooming flowers. The mark Aroni had left on him pulsed with energy, a constant reminder of the supernatural forces at play in his life.

As the hours passed, Bayo found himself navigating through layers of knowledge, each revelation leading to new questions and insights. The problems that had seemed insurmountable before now appeared as intricate puzzles, challenging but not impossible. He lost track of time, absorbed in the flow of information and the exhilaration of understanding.

When Bayo finally emerged from his trance-like state, the soft glow of evening was filtering through the windows. He blinked, momentarily disoriented as the library returned to its normal state. With a start, he realized how much time had passed. Gathering his notes, he hurried back to the laboratory, his mind racing with newfound knowledge and possibilities.

As Bayo entered the room, the soft glow of evening cast long shadows across the faces of Dr. John and his team. Their expressions spoke volumes - a mixture of disappointment and waning hope etched into the lines of their faces.

Dr. John's pen creaked under his grip, his knuckles white with tension. He glanced up at Bayo, his eyes searching for any sign of breakthrough. "Well?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained frustration.

Before Bayo could respond, Dr. Harold rose from his seat, a forced smile plastered across his face. "Well, well, look who's back," he said, his tone dripping with false warmth. He approached Bayo, hand outstretched. "Feeling refreshed after your little... study session?"

Bayo shifted his weight, subtly angling his body away from Dr. Harold's advancing form. His fingers brushed his birthmark instinctively, remembering the itch that had warned him of supernatural presence. Though Dr. Harold was no orisha, the feeling of unease was eerily similar.

"Dr. Harold," Bayo acknowledged with a slight nod, his Yoruba accent more pronounced in his wariness. He sidestepped the offered handshake, moving towards Dr. John's desk instead.

Mrs. Christian approached, her perfume a subtle mix of lavender and vanilla. "Oh Bayo, you've kept us on our toes!" she said, her voice carrying a note of forced cheer. She reached out as if to touch his arm but seemed to think better of it. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in there!"

Bayo's patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap. He took a deep breath, centering himself as life had taught him. "Mrs. Christian," he said softly but firmly, "I appreciate your concern, but I believe we should focus on the task at hand."

Ms. Anderson's sharp voice cut through the awkward silence that followed. "Is that how you address your senior colleagues, Mr. Adebayo?" Her eyes narrowed, disappointment clear in her gaze.

Bayo met her look steadily, refusing to be cowed. He thought of Èsù's riddles, of Aroni's tests, of the journey that had brought him here. This was just another trial to overcome.

Turning to Dr. John, Bayo straightened his shoulders. "Dr. John," he began, his voice calm despite the tension thrumming through him, "I understand your doubts. I've been... away, and I know that's caused problems." He paused, looking around the room at each face in turn - skeptical, hostile, confused. "But I'm ready for the test now. Whatever you need me to do, I can do it."

The certainty in his voice surprised even him. It wasn't bravado - it was the quiet confidence of someone who had faced divine trials and emerged changed. Whatever challenges the Harvard Computing Laboratory could throw at him, Bayo knew he was prepared to face them.

Dr. John's eyes narrowed as he studied Bayo, his pen tapping a restless rhythm on the desk. "Alright, Adebayo," he said, his Boston accent clipping the syllables. "You have thirty minutes." The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder, emphasizing the challenge ahead.

As Bayo moved towards the workstation, he silently vowed that this would be the last time he'd allow himself to be put in such a position. This test was just one more hurdle on his path to keep his place in this world and find his purpose.