by Reni K Amayo
‘That can’t be true. Someone must know something,’ Naala implored. ‘How else would he know to collect the key? Someone must have told him, so someone knows.’
‘There is a network of people, survivors like us, hidden in the forest,’ Kora explained. ‘We are all connected via a group of people called the Amaghị. We don’t know where they are or even who they—all we know is they want the killings to stop. They want the Eze’s madness to stop. We send them our information, and they piece it together with the other information they receive—just like a puzzle. They are the only ones that see the full picture, so they are the only ones that can make informed decisions. We told them about Madi’s brother, someone else told them they had seen the head general’s platoon heading for a town, and someone else was instructed to leave a message. We do not know where he is because all of this works by chance. It was pure luck that made it possible for the Amaghị to get that message to Emeka in the first place, but by the time we knew that someone had contacted him, the platoon had moved.’
‘He knows that he needs to get the key,’ Eni said. ‘And he knows where to go when he has succeeded. All we can do now is wait and see.’
‘Or send a message to call the whole thing off, before he has the chance to go through with it,’ Madi murmured.
Naala stood up in frustration, turning her back on them as she burrowed into her own thoughts.
There must be a way.
The wind whistled through the sun-kissed leaves, carrying with it the songs of the forest: high-pitched clicks, stringy rattles, and the slow gush of the blue-green river.
There must be a way.
Naala’s peculiar stance had started to garner unwanted attention, causing Kora to suddenly jump up and join her.
‘Okay, fine, no need to get upset,’ Kora said, as she gestured for Naala to sit back down. ‘You can have my portion.’
‘The Ofala festival,’ Naala replied, with her eyes brimming in disbelief. She did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.
‘I—can we sit down?’ Kora stressed, looking around at the rest of the survivors with a smile, as she attempted to reassure prying eyes that this outburst was perfectly normal.
Naala let herself be guided to the ground by Kora. ‘The Ofala festival!’ she emphasised once more, nodding her head in excitement, as Eni creased his forehead in thought, and Madi looked back, clueless.
‘The Ofala festival,’ Kora added, shaking her head as she spoke. ‘Surely that is too dangerous.’
‘It’s a death trap,’ Eni added.
‘It’s the best solution we have.’
‘Can someone explain this to me, please?’ Madi hissed in frustration.
‘Madi, we know exactly where your brother will be. He will be in Udi for the Ofala festival.’
‘With the entire army, and half of the palace,’ Nakake said softly.
‘And the Eze,’ Eni added.
A GIFT FOR INA
CITY OF NRI
‘YOU LOOK VERY NICE TODAY,’ Obi Ife said, as his eyes trailed over Sinai’s body, and a smile formed on his lips. ‘Very nice.’
‘What are you …? I thought … sorry, aren’t you supposed to be at the Ofala festival?’ Sinai said in annoyance, as she attempted to look past Obi Ife’s frame for Chief Ojo.
‘Why would I be there, when you, my dear, are right here? Looking so … ravishing,’ he said, taking one step closer. Sinai caught a whiff of the strong pito emitting from his pores and instinctively stepped back. She took a deep breath; her mind swirled in distress as the zoro stone hidden in her bag began to weigh heavily on her soul.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? she thought, as she tightened her grip on her bag. She stretched her neck once again, and stood on the balls of her feet with her heels raised from the ground, but Chief Ojo was nowhere to be seen.
Ina, however, was front and centre. She was wearing drapes of long woven raffia cloth, dyed deep red and embroidered with golden lions. The outfit was tailored to suit her body, and topped off with a red-feathered ichie okpu hat. Ina looked strange, strong, and regal. The parts of her skin that she chose to show looked supple and soft against the glow of the floating ọkụ.
Meekulu had done a marvellous job of clearing up her bruises and wounds, and Ina had concealed what was left with dark-brown body paint. Her lips were darker than usual, lined with dark-red dye, and she had marked her face with white lines; symbols of a warrior. To the unsuspecting world, Ina seemed defiant. She laughed so hard that she had to clutch at her stomach; she talked animatedly with her long arms flinging around. However, Sinai could see glimmers of desperation and fatigue in her eyes, and, on several occasions, Sinai spotted Ina pinching her own hands to stop them from quivering.
Ina was here for a purpose; she was here to save her reputation. If she had succumbed to her pain, missed festivals and locked herself away, questions would start circling. Where is Ina? What happened to Ina? Ina was one of the most sociable women in the palace; she couldn’t disappear without spurring on a herd of rumours. Chief Ojo would undoubtedly feed the rumours; he had nothing to lose. Everyone knew that it was women who paid for the crimes that men committed against them. More importantly, he had her reputation to gain. He wouldn’t stop until she was completely destroyed, and knowing this, Ina was fighting back.
Ina was clutching desperately at a future that she could control. She was trying to take back her narrative, by remaining consistent, appearing to thrive, so that any rumours that began would be strangled by her resilient demeanour.
Sinai admired her conviction, but she could see it came at a cost. Despite Ina’s attempts, Sinai could see the tremors in her hand and the quick glances over her shoulders. Ina too was on the lookout for Chief Ojo.
Sinai had no clue what she would do with the zoro stone if she was unable to find him; she wanted to kick herself for not foreseeing this potential scenario. Chief Ojo had never attended an Ofala festival; he couldn’t be there. Sinai also couldn’t imagine him missing the nobles’ celebrations either; he was not the type to shy away from the social events that he was permitted to attend. He tended to show up early, throwing his loud voice and heavy frame around, with a constant stream of alcohol gushing down his throat.
Sinai had not accounted for any variations in this behaviour, an error in judgement that could cost her dearly. The zoro stone was not something that she could simply discard. Once the stone dissolved, the ụtọ plant would be open to the world. Anyone that came into contact with it would meet the wrath of Asilia. If she did nothing, that person would be her. Sinai shivered at the thought of such an encounter.
‘What is wrong, my dear?’ Obi Ife said softly, his voice sticky and sweet. It irritated her like messy honey stuck between her fingers on a warm day.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered, turning in case she’d missed anything in the time that she had spent looking away; still no sign. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Fine,’ Obi Ife noted sceptically. Sinai sighed inwardly and turned her full attention towards him; she needed to remain as close to normal as possible. She smiled and he smiled back warmly. Her fist tightened.
‘I actually had a question for you. When the Eze returns I thought that we might …’ Obi Ife’s voice floated away from Sinai as she noticed a commotion at the corner of her eye. She turned her head to find Chief Ojo entering the hall, his hands raised as he chastised two of his wives who he’d brought with him. Sinai watched as the large man plopped down on one of the Obis’ seats at the end of the hall. Her heart pounded vigorously.
‘Oh, sorry, I’m—well, I—could you excuse me, please?’ Sinai said suddenly.
‘Sinai, what is the meaning of this?’ Obi Ife hissed with narrowing eyes as she darted away from him and towards the large seats at the end of the hall.
The seats were made of a beautiful mahogany and carved with care, cushioned with plump bird feathers, wrapped in soft leopard fur. Only Obis were permitted to sit on them, but in the absence
of the majority of the upper class, Chief Ojo had stated his claim. He had sent his two resigned wives to fetch him some food. Sinai’s face darkened in anger as she noticed a large dark-purple bruise on one wife’s arm, and the slight limp in the walk of the other. Sinai approached his seat and looked down on him before attempting to rearrange her face into a more inviting expression.
‘Move out the way, girl,’ Chief Ojo said, raising his left hand dismissively as he fanned himself with a large feather fan in his right hand. Large beads of sweat ran across his face and his light mud-brown eyes rolled in disdain.
Sinai was thrown off by his demeanour. She had always been thankful that he had never shown any interest in her, but how was she supposed to get close enough to plant the stone on him if he remained so reproachful?
‘I said move then—ah ah,’ he huffed, slapping his large hands against his even larger thighs, his garish orange and black clothing creasing.
‘You’re not supposed to sit there,’ Sinai blurted out suddenly, and a look of horror spread across Chief Ojo’s face. His eyes bulged before narrowing as he delivered a dirty look, kissing his teeth at her.
‘What is the meaning of all this?’ he rumbled, as a vein throbbed in his forehead. ‘You … this efuọla … you who can’t even open your mouth to talk to me? You are the one telling me where I should sit?’
‘This seat is for the Obis … Ozo,’ Sinai replied with a small smile. Her heart pounded so fast that her head became dizzy, but deep down she was enjoying herself. She watched Chief Ojo grow increasingly distressed, his blood boiling and his eyes bulging. And all for what? Because an efuọla girl was telling him what to do? He puffed out his chest in anger.
‘Get out of here, bastard,’ he replied, as Sinai reached into her bag before charging at him. She used her right arm to tug at his garment, and, as she suspected he would, he responded by flinging her off violently, but not before she could slip the zoro stone into one of the pockets at his hip with her left hand. Chief Ojo stood up, the motion knocking her to the floor. He raised one hand, prepped to deliver a mighty slap. Sinai scrambled up from the floor, her eyes darting between the subtle bulge in his pocket and his thick hand.
‘You little—’ Chief Ojo spat.
‘Hey! What is going on here?’ Obi Ife demanded from behind her. Chief Ojo dropped his arm quickly and scanned the room briskly, the hot anger that had been in his eyes cooling, as he remembered where he was.
‘Obi Ife, eh, I’m glad you are here. This efuọla—’ Chief Ojo began, as he flung his arm at Sinai, who responded by widening her eyes and shaking her head.
‘Hey! Hey!’ Obi Ife said briskly. ‘Don’t you ever use that kind of language in this lady’s presence. That is not the way of an honourable man.’
‘I … look, this whore is—’ Chief Ojo tried again, before Obi Ife cut him off.
‘You better watch yourself, Ozo. You think we all don’t know how you carry on?’ He gestured towards Chief Ojo’s wives at the food table, who turned around instantly when they noticed the new attention bestowed upon them. ‘It is outrageous behaviour. Keep talking and I’ll be forced to have a word with the Eze about all of this.’ Chief Ojo pursed his lips in irritation.
‘Okay.’ Ojo raised both hands. ‘The oga has spoken,’ he snarled, before letting his eyes saunter towards Sinai’s chest. ‘But don’t worry, girl, you now have my attention. I’m sure you’ve heard of how I deal with disrespect.’ He plopped down once more on the seat.
‘What has gotten into you?’ Obi Ife hissed at her, once he had put some distance between Sinai and Chief Ojo. ‘Why would you seek out such a man?’
‘Can I step outside, please?’ Sinai replied. Her head was reeling. He has the zoro stone. Sinai was not entirely sure what emotion was coursing through her blood. It could have been relief or regret, she had no idea, but whatever it was, it left her feeling dazed.
‘Yes, that’s probably a good idea,’ he murmured. Sinai followed Obi Ife’s lead through the bronzed thick pillars and into the dark-blue night. They stepped out from the marbled raised floor into the lush vegetation. Sinai felt a wave of warmth softly brush her skin. The air smelt sweet and thick.
‘Raining season is coming soon,’ Sinai said quietly, almost to herself.
‘What?’
‘The air … nothing,’ Sinai attempted, before turning to face Obi Ife.
‘Well?’ Obi Ife questioned. ‘Aren’t you going to explain yourself? What exactly were you doing over there?’ He was embarrassed at being involved in such an incident, at a noble event, no less. The girl was undeniably beautiful, familiar yet different, but it appeared she was also reckless. Obi Ife despised recklessness. Perhaps he had made a mistake by forgoing the Ofala festival to accompany her instead.
‘I just … I’d heard a … rumour about him, and I wanted to confirm if it was true,’ Sinai said carefully.
Obi Ife looked confused. He began to speak before stopping suddenly, and nodding stoically, as though something had inexplicably clicked in his head. His eyes softened as he approached Sinai slowly. She shifted back uncomfortably.
‘Oh dear. Yes, I’m afraid whatever you’ve heard might have been true—which is why it is important that you stay far away from such a man. Things must change—it’s difficult—but for now you mustn’t worry yourself about such things. I’ll speak to the Eze tomorrow, when he’s back, and get that man sorted.’
‘Please don’t.’ She sighed, already tired of this conversation. She no longer wanted to think of Chief Ojo or the Eze. ‘I mean … I’m sure that the Eze—and you—are busy with other—’
‘Neither of us are too busy to protect a fearful girl from an uncontrollable beast. You are right to be worried; you in particular need of protection. You saw how he acted; it’s only a matter of time bef—’ Obi Ife began, before he was cut off by loud screams.
Sinai closed her eyes for seconds longer than what was appropriate, her heart thundering, as bloodthirsty cries and gruesome growls filtered through the open night.
Obi Ife looked back into the party hall, straining his eyes slightly to get a better look, before they widened in fear.
‘Ehhh! Wait here—you hear me? Wait here!’ he said quickly, before scrambling towards the halls. People rushed out of the hall to join Sinai in the gardens, cowering under thick bushes and clutching one another in fright.
Sinai squeezed through the frantic bodies. She stepped back onto the marble floor and witnessed a gruesome scene. Chief Ojo lay slumped on the Obis’ seat, beaten and bruised with the cloth around his stomach and groin soaked in bright red blood. Large red paw prints led away from him. One of the two wives he had brought with him held his large head in her lap, whilst the other screamed in a panicked high-pitched voice. Ina stood frozen in front of the three of them. Crowds of people watched in awe; some, afraid that Asilia would make another appearance, edged closer to the nearest exit that they could find.
‘I told you to stay in the gardens! This is no place for a Lolo,’ Obi Ife said, as he tried to usher her out to the hall.
‘What happened?’ Sinai asked, before pulling out of his grip.
‘I’m not sure; it seems the Eze’s lion attacked him.’
‘Just him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good,’ Sinai said swiftly, before she felt Obi Ife’s eyes dart across her face, dumbfounded. ‘Good that most people are fine … relatively speaking.’
‘The man will need a doctor. I’ll fetch him, but please stay away from here. Go back into the gardens—it’s not safe,’ he pleaded, as he darted out of the hall.
Sinai did not go back to the gardens. Instead, she walked towards Ina and stood beside her. Ina was so engrossed in the scene that she failed to acknowledge Sinai’s presence.
‘That was not for you; it was for you. You are now in my debt. If you don’t respect that, respect this: cross me again and next time it will be you, lifeless, on the ground.’ Sinai spoke far more quickly than when she had rehe
arsed the words countless times over the past few days. She hadn’t accounted for the huge dose of adrenaline rushing through her body.
Ina turned her head and looked down at Sinai, her eyes glossy with tears that refused to fall, and her mouth slightly ajar. She was in complete and utter shock. Ina blinked, and one tear escaped and rolled down her face, carrying with it smeared white warrior paint.
‘Thank you,’ she replied in a low raspy voice.
Sinai nodded curtly, before walking out of the hall with her head held high and chest tight.
THE JOURNEY TO UDI
Furuefu Forest
‘IT’S TOO dangerous and it’s not a solution. The army and the members of the palace, and the Eze … he will sense us on sight!’ Kora cried, as she threw her hands in the air.
‘Not to mention Udi is a long journey away, perhaps even weeks away. Chances are we’d miss the Ofala festival anyway,’ Eni added.
Naala argued, ‘No, it’s no more than eight days from Igbakwu, and we’re much closer to it now than I was at home. Also the festival is on the last Nkwo of the month; that’s ten days away! We can get there in time if we move now.’
‘What would we even do when you get there?’ Eni asked.
‘We would do something,’ Naala replied excitedly. ‘I’m sure we can figure it out. We can go there, inspect the situation from afar, and act accordingly. If the answer is that there is nothing to do, then we turn back, no harm done. But if we can, then we succeed—the point is we have a way to meet Emeka.’
‘Meet him in death, you mean,’ Kora muttered absentmindedly. Silence fell on the group before she brought her hands to her mouth, realising what she had said.
‘Oh, I didn’t—’ Kora began, as all the scattered ero in the clearing suddenly flushed with a low blue glow. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Madi— no, Madi,’ Kora called, as she tried to follow after his large frame, but he had already stormed away.
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Madi woke Naala up gently, with a finger pressed against his mouth, signalling for her to not make a sound. She silently followed him down the tree and out of the dwellings of the sleeping survivors, before asking what was going on.