by Reni K Amayo
Sinai sighed and rose from the akwa nest. She could not afford to waste away in a sea of regret and self-indulgent thoughts. As heavy as the results of her choices were, they were still her choices, and the only way she could alleviate the pressure building within her, was to tackle the problems that these choices had created.
Sinai decided that she would carry on with her plan; she would use the disfigurement lotion, and once she had successfully gotten Ina out of the way, she would work to renegotiate her ọbara oath with Meekulu. Her task had been to spy on the Eze, and she had, to some extent, done this. Surely Sinai would not be crossing a line if she asked for further … clarification? Perhaps a new clause that would specify a realistic timeframe or goal—something to make this task achievable and finite. Sinai was certain that the old woman would agree; Meekulu was in no way unreasonable.
Sinai rushed out her room and headed towards Meekulu’s kitchens. Delighted by a new sense of hope and purpose, she decided to take an alternative route. This route had always filled her with deep warmth because it took her through the gardens.
The palace was grand and beautiful, and left her in awe, but its cold clean pillars and marble floors were no match for the beauty of the wild vegetation that sprawled freely in its gardens.
The palace had five large gardens, where the most wonderful flowers and intricate trees were planted and pruned only by those appointed by the Eze. People would visit the gardens to enter a state of serenity when the pressures of the palace were too much to bear. Musicians would practise sensational melodies, inspired into rich creativity by the colourful petals and fluttering leaves. Students would theorise in whispered discussions about the formation of the stars and the distance between them, drunk on the endless mental nudges that the gardens offered.
Sinai strolled through slowly, her eyes gazing over the bright soft flowers, as the garden breathed in unison with her.
Something is not right, her mind concluded, as she stopped abruptly. She had been so preoccupied with her fall for the past few weeks that she had completely forgotten the dream that had led her to the window in the first place. It came rushing back to her in seconds and, now that she remembered it, she couldn’t understand how she could have ever forgotten. The dream was so vivid that she could practically smell the world that it had presented to her.
Sinai could see the depths of its colours, its beauty, and feel its overwhelming sense of home. She couldn’t understand it. She had spent her whole life within the grand palace; how could any other place feel more like home than the palace itself?
It seemed to her as though the palace and its garden were merely imitations of what they should be. Sinai started to walk again, her legs moving slowly, her heart still lost in her thoughts. The dream meant something, it felt as real as she did, and yet she couldn’t understand it at all. Perhaps Meekulu would have the answer, Sinai thought, but something told her that this was likely to be beyond the old woman’s capabilities.
Soon enough, Sinai reached the kitchen, but Meekulu was nowhere to be seen. Sinai stood alone in the empty room, among opened bags of powders and spices, mortars with half-ground corn, and a circular ọkụ flame lighting up in the stove. It was clear that Meekulu had begun her preparations for the Eze’s breakfast, but for some reason had stopped abruptly and abandoned the meal entirely. Sinai turned to the sundial in one corner, its golden cone coated with markings that gleamed as the small ọkụ ball hovered about it, imitating the sun.
‘Hmm,’ she said, as she walked over to it. She saw that it was dangerously close to the time that the Eze requested his morning meal.
Sinai looked around nervously.
‘Meekulu?’ she called, but no one replied. All that she could hear was a light chatter, punctuated by the birds whistling outside, and the brass clangs of pots and pans in the other kitchens.
Sinai stepped out of Meekulu’s kitchen and walked along the long hall leading to a number of rooms, where cooks were busy at work. Those who caught a glimpse of her in the door, stared openly, their eyes shining with curiosity and gossip. Sinai stopped at one of the doors and poked her head in. The commotion settled to a stop as the ladies looked back at her incredulously. No noble had ever entered their kitchens before.
‘Please, where is Meekulu?’ Sinai asked hastily, trying and failing to remain calm. They looked back at her wide-eyed. Not one of them replied. Eventually Sinai moved away to look around the hallway desperately.
Where is Chisi? she thought; surely she would know where the old woman was, or at the very least be able to get clear answers from the women down here.
Sinai had reached the end of the hall and had found neither Chisi nor Meekulu.
She was about to turn away when she heard a small sound, a whimper, coming from one of the resting rooms.
‘Hush, my child,’ Meekulu’s deep soothing voice said out of nowhere.
Sinai nearly jumped out of her skin, before following the voice like a starved animal that had suddenly caught wind of food. Meekulu’s voice led her through the last room, a small empty kitchen with a door slightly ajar. Sinai nudged at it and found a small resting room, not at all dissimilar from the room she had recovered in after her fall.
Meekulu sat on a stool by the wooden akwa nest, her hands rubbing a pungent oil against the temple of the disturbed, young woman who thrashed her bruised limbs. Her garment was torn and stained with blood, her hair dishevelled, and her eyes wild with sorrow. Her long locs draped over the side of the nest and pooled on the ground.
Ina—the beautiful woman who held her head high and spoke with sharp intelligence and unbridled ambition—was unrecognisable.
Sinai stood at the door, motionless. She didn’t know what to think or feel. For months now, Ina had been her enemy, the bane of her existence, and one of the principal causes of her discomfort; yet here the girl was, broken and in pain, and Sinai felt an urge to sit and cry with her.
‘What happened to her?’ Sinai whispered into the room.
Neither of them acknowledged Sinai’s question; instead, Meekulu brought a wooden bowl with a bright-blue liquid swimming in it near to Ina’s lips.
‘Shh shh, be still, child,’ Meekulu said softly, as she tipped the bowl into Ina’s bruised mouth. ‘This will ease the pain.’
Ina let the liquid slide down her throat as streams of tears rolled down her face. Soon enough Ina fell into a deep sleep. The look of anguish and pain had been wiped off her face, but the bruises and cuts remained as a reminder that something terrible had happened.
Sinai took a step forward and stood behind Meekulu, her eyes stinging with emotion that she fought to control.
‘Meekulu, what happened?’
‘The world is a strange place, Sinai. It can be cruel and brutal, especially if you are a woman.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Sinai said quietly.
‘Ina is a strong woman,’ Meekulu said, as she wiped Ina’s wounds with a white cloth soaked in a medicated concoction. ‘In weak men that inspires a need to tear them down. The man uses the closest tool he has in an attempt to break them down.’ She paused for a moment, and held the girl’s hand, turning it palm up as she leaned closer. After a moment she resumed tending to her wounds.
‘She fought. She fought hard,’ Meekulu murmured.
Sinai looked at Ina’s battered body. She was always fighting, she thought sadly.
‘I can help her to heal her body, but only she can heal her mind, and that takes incredible strength,’ Meekulu said as one tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.
‘Who did this?’ Sinai asked, her voice thicker than usual. Enemy or not, Ina had been hurt in an inconceivable way. Any man who could do that to a woman deserved nothing but the worst of outcomes.
‘Chief Ojo,’ Meekulu muttered, her face darkened with anger as she wrung out the blood-stained cloth into a separate waste bucket.
Chief Ojo was a large loud man who often slammed his fat fist against the table at dinners, sending trem
ors through the wood. His face constantly shone with grease as though he woke up every morning and smeared palm oil over it. He had taken eight wives, and each one wore the same look of resignation and shame when they were chosen to attend a royal function with him, their hands shaking for fear of upsetting him somehow and sparking his short temper.
Sinai looked at Ina’s broken body. He must have asked her to be his ninth wife. Everyone knew that Obi Ife was no longer interested in Ina, so naturally new suitors had come to stake their claim. Ina would have laughed in his face, and why shouldn’t she? He might have been a chief, but he was a lowly one, controlling but a small segment of the wheat plantations. He was more than twice her age, a vile man who had a reputation for mistreating his many wives. While Ina, on the other hand, was beautiful, young, and conniving; equipped with a wit strong enough to help her husband reach previously unattainable heights. The fact that he felt he could ask for her hand was an insult in itself. Angered by her rebuttal, he must have sought a way to break her down; perhaps he thought that once rumours started swirling, she would become undesirable to any man, and then would run back to him.
Sinai felt her blood boil. An unfamiliar emotion crept through her body; it felt strange and foreign, but she embraced it all the same. The idea of such a man, of such a notion, made her want to scream. She wanted to curse at the heavens; she wanted to yell out abusive words and shout horrid insults. Instead she simply said, ‘Meekulu, where can I obtain the ụtọ plant?’
THE HEAD GENERAL’S KEY
Furuefu Forest
‘SPEAK,’ Eni snapped, with his hand still cupped against Naala’s mouth. Naala tried to pull away from his iron-firm grasp but found that she could not.
How am I supposed to do that? she thought, exasperated, as her eyes rolled to the starry night. After another failed attempt to free herself, Naala bit down, hard. Eni yelped and backed away.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Eni muttered as he examined his hand. ‘I think you drew blood.’
‘You were the one that told me speak!’ Naala retorted. ‘How did you expect me to do that with your hand over my mouth?’
Her mouth pursed into a scowl and her dark skin glowed in the soft light emitted by the insects.
‘Well, now that your mouth is free—speak.’
‘What exactly do you want to speak about, Eni?
‘What did you hear?’
‘What did I hear?’
Eni stalked towards her furiously and pressed her hard against the tree. His thick eyebrows were forced together in a pronounced frown, but behind his eyes she could sense conflict.
‘Get off me,’ she exclaimed. ‘You need to learn how to use your strength responsibly. You’re not a small man, Eni, and there’s no need to throw me around like a straw doll.’
‘I didn’t—’ he began, as he loosened his grip, only to tighten it as soon as a smile played on Naala’s lips. ‘This is not a joke, Naala, this is serious—I need you tell me what you heard,’ he stressed.
Naala found herself struck by the intensity of his gaze. His slanted eyes with slightly heavy eyelids stood out against his broad face. His prominent cheekbones made him seem as though he was always smiling, even though he rarely did. Least of all now, with flashes of anger within him.
‘Why does it matter?’ Naala scoffed. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? Run off and tell the Eze about your secret plan? That man and his army massacred my village. I would die before I got in the way of the abara that could pierce his heart.’ Naala pushed Eni away. The ero fungi scattered around them began to glow crimson.
The moon lit up the right side of his face, and his forehead furrowed, creating harsh shadows.
‘I suppose so …’ he said quietly, before taking a step back. He sighed. ‘It’s sad, isn’t it? The lack of trust in this new world, even amongst friends?’
‘You think we’re friends?’ Naala replied, without thinking.
Eni looked amused.
‘Well, I was not actually talking about you. I was referring to the group that you were just spying on,’ he replied.
‘Oh. Well, I didn’t mean …’ Naala began, before clearing her throat, her cheeks hot with shame, ‘It—your statement was very confusing … I wasn’t trying to assume that you and I were friends or anything. I just—’
‘I would say that we are friends, despite your biting and eavesdropping,’ he said, taking a step towards her.
Naala cleared her throat.
‘You mentioned trust … well, that is already difficult under the best circumstances. I imagine it’s close to impossible when you create a dynamic where everything you do together is shrouded in secrets? Like Azu; what exactly is the point of having him and the others around if you don’t want to get them involved?’
The clouds parted and a pale mist of light hovered between them.
‘Do you know how many times Azu nearly killed the group?’ he suddenly asked.
Naala laughed softly. What an absurd thing to say, she thought.
‘No, really,’ Eni replied with a smile, pulled into Naala’s easy chuckle. He stopped abruptly before he could join in. ‘It’s really not funny. These are dangerous times and people like Azu or those that gravitate towards his loud baseless rhetoric … well, they are no longer safe. If we abandon them, then they die. If we include them in our plans, then they slow us down, or, worse, jeopardise us.’
Images of her village laughing off her warnings came to Naala’s mind. Chinedu’s mother, in particular, with her hands on her hips and her piercing eyes. If Naala could have manipulated each and every one of them into following her orders, would she? Of course, she realised. Her heart leapt at the thought of it. Imagine, just imagine, if she had somehow managed to save them. If she had not failed. If her message had not been smeared with erratic breaths, dripping sweat and years of wayward behaviour.
‘I see,’ Naala said softly.
He opened his mouth to say something, but after some cooling thoughts decided against it.
‘You should get back to sleep,’ he finally said.
‘Can you give me more detail of your plan? I doubt that I’d be able to get to bed with all of this just buzzing around in my head!’ she exclaimed.
His eyes lingered on her lips as she spoke.
‘Fine, yes—but before I do, tell me what you thought about the conversation that you did not hear,’ he replied.
‘Why?’
‘It would be good to discuss it with someone not emotionally involved, someone more objective,’ he explained.
Naala’s forehead furrowed. Her family had been killed in a vicious attack by the Eze’s army; how could she be objective in a conversation about a way to fight back? She felt an urge to argue this point, but she was already so tired. Her prior excitement about the whole situation was steadily dying. Right now all she needed was a goodnight’s sleep to settle her thoughts, and sort out her conclusions.
‘Your group is going to fall apart when Madi’s brother fails,’ she noted after a while.
‘Who says he is going to fail?’
‘Madi—and he has far more insight into his brother’s character than any of you.’
‘He’s afraid of his brother getting hurt. That’s understandable.’
‘No, he’s not. I mean, yes, he might not want his brother to die, but that’s not what he’s afraid of; he’s afraid of his brother dying without honour,’ Naala replied. ‘Those raised marks on his body—’ Naala gestured to her forearms, ‘—they are symbols of the Mpako tribe. We had a guest from there once. Dying with honour is vital for them—it’s everything. Death for the Mpako tribe is not a loss, not as you or I would perceive it. The Mpako people believe that if they die with honour then they will be transported to another life, another world, like ours but better. They believe that they will all meet again in this other life, and so death is nothing more than a long trip—as long as the person in question dies with honour. A death without honour results in the ultimate death.
The person will never reach their loved ones again. Madi fears that his brother will experience ultimate death; he fears that he will fail.’
‘He doesn’t know. He can’t be certain.’
‘My odds are with the man who grew up with the boy. I’d wager that he knows more than you.’
‘But he’s clouded—’
‘No, you are. You are clouded by your need for Madi’s brother to succeed.’
‘Perhaps, but what if I’m not—we should not let an opportunity like this pass us by. If Madi’s brother can get the key, then we have access to the army’s weapons—all of them, including those that have been enchanted with the Mother’s crystal, no less! We can raid them, leave them defenceless and arm ourselves. The Eze is powerful, yes, but if we have the palace weapons, then we have something. If, for some time at least, his army is defenceless, we have a chance; surely that’s worth taking a risk.’
Naala’s eyes widened. So that’s the significance of the key, she thought.
It was a grand plan, perhaps even foolish. The Eze controlled the all-powerful Ndụ crystal. He could do things that they couldn’t even dream about. No one truly knew the extent of his powers, but they were enough to kill the Mother. Who knew what he could do, even with a weapon-less army. Naala’s mouth started to water and a sweet dose of adrenaline pounded through her body, as she thought, But he’s not a god, he’s not invincible, and even if he was, wasn’t he just a man when he defeated the Earth Mother? Perhaps it could work; either way it certainly offered more of a solution than anything else she had in mind. The ero on the ground gleamed a low, luminous yellow and a flurry of glowing insects swooped towards the brightening fungi.
Naala said, ‘I agree; you shouldn’t waste this opportunity, especially not by leaving it solely to a boy who you know is doomed to fail. You need to put a better plan in place.’
‘Any suggestions?’
‘I can’t give you all the answers,’ Naala said with a sigh, before breaking into a wide yawn. ‘Your turn. Tell me everything.’