When Gods Bleed

by Njedeh Anthony

  At that point she knew it was over. She ran up to see her child for the last time. As she got to the top of the platform leading to the palace, right in front of her the Ogun priest appeared. He gripped her firmly around the neck, clamping hard enough to make her breathless.

  “Aneaton, save me the trouble of looking for the child and I will give a very quick death. Where is the child?”

  Queen Aneaton tried to speak, but the words weren’t coming out clearly.

  “I can't hear you. Sorry, forgive me. I am holding your neck too tightly,” The Ogun priest said, releasing his grip. “You may talk now.”

  “Over my dead body,” Queen Aneaton gasped.

  “That will not be a problem.”

  The Ogun priest took his dagger out of the scabbard and was about to strike when Nneka shouted, “No! I am with the child, take him.”

  As she spoke, she gave him the crying baby.

  Queen Aneaton was still gasping when she saw the child. She tried to shout, but the words came out very soft. “No, Nneka, no.”

  “Is this life not funny? All the child had to do was cry about two days ago and he would have been the prince. Now the oracle requires his life,” the Ogun priest said with an ugly grin.

  “Now you have the child. Please let my sister go,” Nneka pleaded.

  “Queen Aneaton has committed a crime against the King, the customs and our kingdom and that is punishable by death.” Without a thought, the Ogun priest plunged the knife deeply into her chest and took the child away.

  Nneka ran to her sister's side as she was dying. Her sister wanted to say lots of things, but the only words that came from her mouth before she died were, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 2

  Nneka returned home to her husband, Ifeanyi, and older son immediately after her sister was buried. News of the Queen’s defiance and the battle at her palace had spread around the kingdom with the aid of the market women and tradesmen. They looked for means to console Nneka but concluded the best way was to give her time to herself.

  That night in the depth of her sleep, she heard her baby cry. She went to the child, picked him up, and started laughing.

  With a frown Ifeanyi said, “I also wondered whether the child was okay. Since you came back he refused to cry.”

  The smile on her face vanished and she turned toward Ifeanyi. “This child is not Obiani, it’s Aneaton's child.”

  Ifeanyi's face tightened. “I noticed. I am not that stupid that I can’t differentiate my child from another. Where is my son?”

  “They took him thinking he was…” she said, her voice fading and tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Speak louder woman, I cannot hear you.”

  “They took him thinking that he was Queen Aneaton's child.”

  “Don’t lie to me woman. The reason I did not question you about the child was because you were in mourning. Why would they think my son was the King’s son?”

  Nneka realized the truth would destroy her family, so she lied. “Aneaton gave them my child claiming that it was hers after the Ogun priest tortured her. I screamed to let him know it was the wrong child but they ignored me.”

  “But the Ogun priest should know the difference between a prince and a peasant.”

  “No man has seen the child.”

  “The King took my son for sacrifice.” Ifeanyi spoke covering his face with his palms, as a tear slid down his cheek.

  “I tried my best, Ifeanyi. I really did try to let them know they had the wrong child.”

  “They took my boy.”

  “The King took your boy, but you have his prince. Our child would have grown to a limited existence, now we have a child with the power to change everything we care about.”

  “Does anybody know about this?” Ifeanyi for the first time spoke firmly to his wife.

  “I don’t think so,” Nneka responded, sounding confused.

  “I don't want you to think. I want you to know. Does anybody know about this?” There was an intense seriousness in his voice.

  Nneka raised her head to look the towering bearded man in the eye and spoke with firmness.

  “No one.”

  “Good. Now that my son, Obi, has gone to bed, I insist that you come back to bed.”

  She did as he requested, immediately her eyes closed, she fought to hold back the tears. She had sacrificed her child for the Queen, not for her sister. The ugly truth was she felt her child was worth less than the future king of the kingdom. She loved her son but her duty to the kingdom she lived in came first.

  *

  Time passed and the baby who once could not talk, stand or walk was now ten years old. Obi was in the forest with his father and big brother Odagwe. As they squatted in the bushes, they watched the lion and the lioness mating slowly, as though the world would last forever. The two boys laughed while leaving the forest with a dead deer on Obi’s shoulder.

  When they got home, they met their mother preparing supper with her servants. “Odagwe, pound the yam. Obiani take these cowries and get me some salt from the market. Make sure you hurry so the night will not catch up with you. Where is your father?”

  “He saw some grasscutters on our way, so he decided to set some more traps,” Odagwe replied.

  Obi ran because that was the only way he could make it to the market and back in time, before his brother grabbed every decent looking meat on the table. Their home was far from where the other inhabitants of the kingdom lived, due to his father’s Ikaza nature. Ifeanyi used to be the general in the Didasu capital, until his predecessor ordered him to destroy the Gwanji tribe. He confronted the Gwanji warriors in battle; their men were few and lacked experience. After obtaining a victory, as the general, he ordered the death of every man in their village, but he left the women and children. This aggravated the chief, which led to the general receiving fifty lashes publicly and banishment from the province.

  When Obi got to the market, he met an angry mob chasing after a man who had stolen a bag of salt. “Ole, Ole, Ole,” they screamed. They all kept shouting as they chased the man. They eventually caught the thief, but before the Omees came to pick up the looter, he was beaten and burnt to ashes. Everyone was transfixed by the event. After the corpse was taken away, the rumors kept flowing in the air.

  By the time Obi got the salt—then among the most prized possessions on earth—the sun had gone to bed. He started to run, not because he was scared of walking in the dark between deciduous trees, but because his mother would block his ears with insults if he were late. On his way home, three boys blocked him. He looked at the boys, all about the same age as his elder brother and also about the same size.

  “Is it not a little late for someone like you to be out without your mother?” asked the one with the broken tooth as he played with his nails.

  Obi looked at him and walked past him as though he did not exist.

  The shortest amongst them held up his hand saying, “Do we look like people of your age group?”

  Obi continued walking away. This time the two boys grabbed him and brought him toward the biggest member in the group.

  “I like your spirit young man, but we did not follow you from the market just to harass you like a gang of jobless criminals,” the biggest boy said. “Odagwe owes me and it seems he does not have any intentions of paying back. If I had my way, I would have killed your brother personally. But since I have been installed an Omee, I can't kill anyone except by orders from my general or the chief.”

  “The youngest Omee ever to be initiated!” the boy with the broken tooth yelled.

  “And the greatest Omee this kingdom will ever provide,” the shortest boy among them added. They started hailing the young Omee, who had a grandiloquent smile on his face.

  Disgusted by this scene portrayed by the bunch of delinquents, Obi nodded and started walking home. What irritated the bullies was that he could not give them their dignity by running away; instead, he chose to walk—majestically.

  “
Bring him here.”

  They could feel the anger in their leader’s voice. This time it was not easy to hold the child. There was an intense struggle and Obi broke free.

  “Stop,” the young Omee screamed and everyone paused. He walked toward the boy. “Your brother, Odagwe, refuses to pay the debt he owes me. Each time I look for him, he is nowhere to be found. I could decide to beat you up, but the pain is not yours, so I’ll take what they sent you to buy as a reminder to your brother that he owes me and I will continue seizing anything you are sent to buy until I find him or he pays back with interest.”

  The two boys released their grip. Obi took the salt, dropped it on the ground and drew a circle around it. It was a challenge to wrestle.

  In all the provinces men of equal respect who desired similar goals that could not be settled amicably, normally preferred not meeting with a chief, which put them at the mercy of the law. But a wrestling contest needed nobody’s consent. This contest did not have to be public; the only people required were the witnesses from both parties. Whatever the common desire, a circle was drawn around it. It could be a dispute between family members for land, the uncertainty of parents about to whom they want to give their daughter’s hand in marriage, or an item to buy. To win you had to make the opponent’s back touch the ground, and if a speck of dust was noted on your back, you lost the contest.

  The two smaller boys started laughing. They realized Obi was tenacious enough to prevent them from overpowering him, but they knew that the young Omee had the strength of an elephant.

  The process of becoming an Omee normally took about ten to twelve years. The training did not only teach about how to use strength and weapons, it also taught the Omees about honor, respect, patience, diligence and self-control. To enter the training program, an Omee, or someone of greater respect, had to vouch for the person; few people in the program were accepted. It took this boy only seven years to become an Omee, which made him the youngest Omee ever in the kingdom.

  “Amazing the time we live in, a time where a bag of salt is more expensive than the life of a man.” Smiling, “Okay, you have won. Take your salt and go,” the young Omee said with admiration.

  Obi spoke as though the young Omee did not say anything. “The terms of the wager are: If I win, my brother owes you nothing anymore; if I lose, you take what is in the circle and my brother still owes you.”

  The young Omee laughed. “Do you think I would wrestle with you over a pinch of salt? First, we are not in the same age group; secondly, we are not of equal respect; and thirdly, I prefer dealing with your brother personally to make an example to others. Let’s leave this frustrated baby to his delirium.”

  “I am still talking to you. Don't turn your back on me,” Obi shouted, and all three boys turned toward him, astonished. “Am I to believe that the Omee is scared to go on a bout with someone greater than him? Then I was right all along. I knew I smelled the womb of a woman in front of me.”

  With restrained anger the young Omee looked deep into the boy’s eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You are Gbangba, son of Ikechukwu the general of the Ozuoba. Now that I know who you are, can we create some action instead of standing here like market women?”

  Obi took some sand and poured it on the young Omee’s body. This was a form of provocation to an individual challenged to a bout. If the individual did not heed the challenge, then the witnesses had the right to spread the word that the person was a coward.

  “All right, if this is what you want, but the terms of the wager will change. If I win you will be my slave.”

  “Gbangba, don't you think you’re over doing it? Imagine what people will say, that you fought with a child to make him your slave. You would kill the respect you have created for yourself,” the shortest amongst the trio whispered in his ear.

  “He is man enough to call me a market woman, pour dirt on me when I gave him a chance to walk away and still look me in the eye. Or has the young man realized that he is a baby where men stand?”

  “Definitely not. I accept your wager. Please, can we start? My mother is expecting me to deliver the salt.”

  “The only thing you will be delivering will be to my hut.”

  Both boys walked in circles, their eyes fixed on each other, watching for the slightest flaw in positioning so they could attack. Obi ran and attacked his opponent. Gbangba gripped him by the crotch, lifted him in the air as though he was a feather, and dropped him, but he landed on his feet. Gbangba nodded to show he was impressed.

  They took their stances again, crouching with their hands spread out like claws. This time Gbangba attacked. He caught Obi by the waist and started to squeeze him in a bear hug. Obi used the back of his head to hit him continuously until he started to bleed from his eyebrows. Gbangba staggered back a little and Obi then used the back of his leg to hit him on the chest.

  As Gbangba was about to land on his back, with the agility of a monkey he turned in the air and landed on his hands and feet. He rushed at Obi like a wild bull. He tried to grab the boy, but the child kept swerving through every little gap between them.

  Obi attempted to trip him from behind, but his opponent was by far stronger. Gbangba threw him like a stone against a tree. Obi hit the tree forcefully with his back and then landed on his hands and knees.

  Gbangba walked to him. “Are you still ready to play this game?”

  Obi again threw sand on his body. His opponent kicked him in the jaw. The force of the kick made him land on his stomach. The older of the opponents tried to turn him over, but Obi refused. He coiled himself to prevent from being overpowered. Gbangba put an arm around his neck and squeezed. He gestured for the boy to give up, but Obi shook his head. When Gbangba saw the look of declining pride in both his friends’ eyes, he loosened his hold on Obi and started walking away.

  Obi staggered to his feet, picked dirt from the ground and threw it on Gbangba again.

  Gbangba turned to the boy’s direction thinking, If I walk away, everyone will say I could not defeat this needle in a man's heart. An experienced hand trained this boy. He should be able to take an experienced punishment.

  Gbangba charged at his opponent like a bull, while his victim stood in the same position like a dead animal. As he was about to pounce on the boy, Obi sidestepped him, gripped Gbangba at the back of his neck, and used his momentum to throw him on the floor on his back.

  Everyone was astonished, including the victor. Gbangba went to Obi and gave him a slight bow as a mark of respect. Obi answered the bow and started home.

  “Don't forget your salt.” Gbangba threw the salt to Obi.

  “Thank you, Omee.”

  “Call me Gbangba. To you I owe the respect.”

  The victor walked toward home, unable to run, without looking back.

  Obi got home with the rays of the moonlight as his only source of light. He reached his home to meet his mother waiting for him.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, carrying the boy inside.

  “I was attacked by a hyena.”

  “You were fighting again,” Odagwe said.

  “This is not the time for you to be asking those kinds of questions. And by the way, woman, why would you send him at this time of the night?” the father asked.

  “It wasn't that late when I sent him,” she replied while applying herbs to the injury.

  “Father, I have something to tell you.” Odagwe’s tone was soft.

  “Then talk, I am listening.”

  “It’s something I would like to talk with you about privately.”

  “It’s okay. Obi and I will finish up in the other room,” his mother said.

  “Nonsense. If you have something to say, you can say it in your mother and brother's presence. If your sisters were here, I would ask them to be present. So what do you have to say?”

  “It could be something that requires only your ears,” his mother said in a soothing manner.

  “I have spoken. This family is b
uilt firm by the things we share together. Now Odagwe, what is the problem?”

  The boy looked up in the air then faced his father and spoke harshly. “I have been offered a space in Omee training.”

  “So why are you telling me?”

  “The general has vouched for me.”

  “Is there anything they teach Omees that I have not taught you? The constitution of anything good has been debased by their lust of power.”

  “With all due respect, Father, I want to be an Omee with a future to look forward to. I would rather be a ruthless warrior than live in this isolated place you call home.”

  “Odagwe!” Nneka shouted.

  “You are now a man to choose your destiny, but I expect you not to hide under the skin of your prey. Why don't you say what hangs by your tongue, ‘Your father was weak. That’s why he did not finish what they sent him to do.’”

  “I did not mean to say that.”

  “I did not raise a liar and a coward. That’s exactly what you had in mind, so be bold enough to say what you mean.” Ifeanyi was burning with rage.

  “If you are interested in my opinion, I know you are weak and the fact that you cannot handle the niche you are in, doesn’t mean you would bring us down to your level.”

  “Ifeanyi,” his wife said shakily, “forgive Odagwe, I think he drank too much of that old man's palm wine.”

  “Mother, stop defending me. I am no longer a child. I have watched the world turn around without me in it. I am over here wasting my life as a diminutive trader while my mates like Gbangba are now Omees. I am not drunk. My eyes are as wide as an owl.”