Daughters of Nri

by Reni K Amayo

  ‘Kora and Eni are like boulders. Once they have their minds set on something, they won’t change,’ he said hurriedly. ‘And they have their minds set on my brother embarking on this impossible task on his own. No, no they have,’ he said, as Naala began to protest. ‘It’s true, and you know it. I can’t stay and wait for them to change their minds—that day will never come—and really, I don’t need it to anymore. You know where this festival is, you know where my brother is. I have supplies that will last us … spare hammocks in my bag. We can go together and we can do something—we don’t need them.’

  Naala’s eyes gleamed with what he could only describe as a flaming fire. But just as quickly as it arrived, that flame dimmed, and he saw doubt creep into her face. Madi prepared for yet another rejection, but to his surprise she said:

  ‘Okay.’ And after a short pause, ‘Let’s go.’

  NAALA LAY on her belly on the dry sun-beaten grass. She squinted her eyes and cupped her hand around her forehead to shield them from the bright light. Madi sat beside her, in a similar fashion; they both looked out over the cliff edge.

  The land beneath them looked beautiful; the deep-blue lake sparkled in the sunlight and brushed up against the land, lush with green treetops. Naala watched as a breeze rustled through the tree leaves, and swirled them towards the grand large rocks at Udi. The vast mountain did not move in the calling wind; rather, it stood strong and imposing, like the body of a great dormant grey god. Naala turned away from the mountain and looked back at the white curls of smoke seeping through small sections within the forest leading towards it. Her eyes then swept towards the increasing number of small boats drifting on the lake and towards the shore. The Eze’s guests were arriving at the Ofala festival.

  ‘What is this festival for again?’ Madi grumbled, as he turned to lie on his back; he pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. The sun’s heat, mixed with his anxiety over the wellbeing of his little brother, was taking its toll on him.

  Naala was still somewhat shocked at how little Madi knew about the palace and its customs. Ofala was one of the biggest and most exclusive—and therefore most talked about— festivals of the year. But as Madi had noted days ago, the Mpako people lived hidden in the mountainous areas near the north of the kingdom, a far more remote dwelling than any of the other survivors.

  Whilst Naala’s village typically hosted at least one visitor every other week, the Mkpabo tribe rarely saw more than one visitor a year! Naala’s knowledge of the various kingdoms, the palace, the universities, the world, was fleeting at best, formed by patches of conversations from an eclectic group of guests; but Madi’s knowledge on the topic was non-existent.

  ‘I’ll start from the beginning,’ Naala said. ‘Are you aware of the gods’ war?’

  ‘Yes, of course. The elders would tell us stories as children of the Mother’s vengeance on men, and the gods who tried and failed to protect us and the—’ Madi paused with a grimace as he turned his head to face Naala, and lowered his voice ‘—and the Eze who saved the world, and now seeks to destroy it—well, they didn’t say the last part, but I’m sure if they were still alive they would have agreed.’

  Naala could see his mood shift to one of melancholy. She felt his pain. Mourning the dead was extremely hard when you couldn’t justify their passing. She still couldn’t answer why the Eze, the great warrior, now sought to destroy the very people he nearly died to protect. It made no sense, which made the deaths of their loved ones senseless.

  Naala, however, had no time to dwell on such things. They were here for a reason; she could not get distracted by either her own or Madi’s pain.

  ‘How did he save the world?’ Naala asked.

  ‘I understand that part—’ Madi began.

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘He took her heart, the Earth Mother’s heart, from that mountain,’ Madi said, pointing at Udi.

  ‘Exactly; he took her heart on the last Nkwo day of the eleventh month that the year, and the Mother was dead by the end of that night. So every year, he goes on a pilgrimage back to the mountain to remind himself and his guests of his mighty accomplishment. His guests are the highest class of people in all the top palaces around the world: the Obis—not just from the palace in Nri, but those that reside in various kingdoms far and wide. They all come to pay their respects on that day, and make the journey up the famous mountain, and then they dance and cheer in the spot where the Eze stole the heart. Afterwards, they come down the mountain and spend the night drinking merrily and rejoicing further. I’ve been told it’s quite an occasion.’

  ‘You spoke to someone who went?’ Madi asked.

  ‘Well, no. We’ve had a few servants on sabbaticals who passed by the village. But servants are one of the most reliable sources!’

  ‘According to a servant, I presume?’ Madi chuckled, as Naala became increasingly irritated.

  ‘According to people with sense,’ Naala retorted, before taking a deep breath, determined not to fall into the trap of Madi’s inane teasing.

  ‘Okay, okay—so what is the plan?’ Madi asked. ‘How do we find Emeka?’

  ‘We join in, of course,’ Naala replied, as Madi’s eyes widened in shock.

  ‘You can’t be serious … we would be killed on sight!’ Madi replied. He rubbed his hands against his eyes as he recalled Eni and Kora’s protests nearly a week ago.

  Madi had been so pleased with Naala’s willingness to join him on the excursion that he had brushed aside how ill-advised the whole thing was, and how unbalanced a person really needed to be to agree with him at all. He remembered that gleam in Naala’s eye, and rather than filling him with hope, it now made him uneasy.

  ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, Madi. Now is not the time to give up. There’s a way in, trust me! Look, look at the boats,’ Naala said, and Madi followed her gesturing hand.

  ‘Éh, I see them.’

  ‘And they are carrying?’

  ‘People?’

  ‘With?’

  ‘With?’ Madi repeated, as a look of confusion swept over his face. Naala took it in with a sigh.

  ‘With luggage and clothes and servants—and clothes.’

  ‘I’m not following …’

  ‘We can take them—the clothes—from a man and a woman. Look, you see the boats vary in size: some are big and hold groups of people; some smaller boats travel in groups of three or four; and some, well, some are the small boats traveling alone. Those boats typically hold a man and a woman travelling solo. We could easily take the place of the man and the woman,’ Naala explained.

  ‘But how would we take their place? Surely someone would notice—we’re not like them; our mannerisms are different.’

  ‘I can make a mixture that will send them to sleep. My grandma used to make it all the time for Hanye—’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘—never mind. The point is I can make something that will send them to sleep for at least two days. All I need are some ụra leaves, and I’m certain I saw some on the way here. We could also use tribal marks to disguise ourselves. And just look at how many people are coming to this thing from various parts of the kingdom …. It may be an elite event, but it’s not small. We could easily get lost in a crowd. Listen, this will work; can’t you feel it?! It’s a good plan; tonight as they prep for tomorrow, we will sneak into their dwellings, put them to sleep, put on their clothes, and then take their place and find your brother!’

  ‘It’s feasible … but I don’t know,’ Madi said pensively.

  ‘What is there not to know?’ Naala tried hard to keep the anger that had begun to simmer within her from rising to her voice.

  ‘Giving people ụra leaves? Misusing sacred tribal marks? Stealing their clothes? It just doesn’t sit right with me; it has no honour,’ Madi said, as Naala rolled her eyes.

  ‘So what would you rather we do? Barge in? Fight to the death until someone points us to your brother?’ Naala said dryly, her irritation peaking.

  �
��Well, no—’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I just don’t know if I’m comfortable drugging someone,’ Madi replied.

  ‘Then you’ll have to get comfortable with losing your brother,’ Naala replied sharply. She saw a slither of raw pain flash behind his eyes, before Madi could blink it away.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair. Look, if you have another plan, then I’m happy to listen to it; if not … well, I’m happy to turn back too,’ Naala said gently. She was lying; she was not at all happy about the idea of turning back, not after what they had been through.

  THE JOURNEY that they had embarked on was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Madi was gullible enough to believe her when she had said that she knew the way to Udi; she didn’t. All she had was a vague recollection that it was somewhere in the north-east and that it was likely to take five or so days to get there.

  Naala had decided to rely on her natural sense of direction to get them there, hoping that if they walked in the right direction, eventually they would see the mountain, and from that point on they wouldn’t even need to navigate; they could simply walk towards it. Whilst her time with the survivors had no doubt made her a formidable traveller, her limbs had ached all the same. Naala’s feet became sore and blistered, her crocodile footgear had soon become tattered and worn, the mmiri leaves that lined them dried up, and the broken twigs and hard stones tore her flesh. Naala’s throat had screamed for more water and her stomach growled constantly.

  Naala’s heart had lit up five days into their journey, when they spotted a remote village on the way; she dreamt of warm food, fresh water, and villagers who would listen attentively to her warnings about the Eze’s attacks. They had found the water, in a disused well. They had found food: cold, spoilt, and abandoned. They had found the villagers: dead from wounds inflicted by the Eze’s army.

  After a few more days they had finally begun to see Udi in the distance. Naala’s heart had sunk deep into her stomach. For some reason, she had never imagined it being so monstrously large.

  How on earth will we find the Eze’s procession? she had thought, wearily.

  But she had refused to let her angst show. The images of the dead villagers still burnt in her mind. This plan needs to work. Naala had let a familiar tug in her stomach lead the way. It was the same tug that had led her to countless hidden beautiful areas within Furuefu forest; the same tug that had led her back home in the darkening night after she had spent an hour too long exploring. She trusted that tug to lead her to the Eze’s procession now, and it did.

  Eventually they had reached an unexceptional hilltop; Naala looked down and saw small royal boats landing on the shore. She had felt called to this place, and was certain that they needed to be here, and that her plan would work. Their journey itself did not explain their arrival; there was no way that they should have reached this place.

  Watching the festival preparations from the hilltop, Naala was sure that those tugs that she’d felt were nudges from the old gods guiding her along the way. She was desperate not to turn her back on them now, not after they had brought her so far. And so she had no intention of turning back. She waited impatiently for Madi’s response.

  Finally he answered, ‘I don’t have a better plan and I need to help my brother. Turning back is not an option, so I think it’s time to pluck some ụra leaves. I believe I saw some growing by the wetlands a few cubits away.’

  ENIKAN

  Furuefu Forest

  ENI’S EYES narrowed slightly as a strong gust of air flew across the green forest, creating a spiral cloud of dancing dust. He blinked hard, but wasted no time rubbing at his itchy eyes. He couldn’t risk the chance of missing her in the scene below. With every glance he took, he willed her to appear. He ran his eyes across the forest, greyed by the onset of the sand storm, but she wasn’t there.

  Eni had been struck with disbelief when he’d found out that she had left. During her time with the group, she had woken up at sporadic times during the morning—at times she was the first one up; other times they wouldn’t see her until after breakfast—so he’d thought nothing of her absence that morning. The day had been young and bright, with the huge ripe sun stretched across the horizon.

  ‘Where’s Madi?’ Kora had asked absentmindedly, and, for a reason unknown to Eni, a wave of anxiety had broken through his previously calm state. Madi was never late for breakfast.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Eni had mumbled, but only Naala’s face had flashed bright in his mind. Remnants of her scent, her smiles, and scowls had rippled through his soul and his throat had tightened.

  ‘Why?’ Kora had replied, but Eni had already sprung up and was heading towards the trees that the survivors had chosen to sleep in that night. The thick trees had towered over him and showered him with dry multi-coloured leaves as he’d stalked through the forest. Like the leaves swirling around him, fragments of their conversations had fluttered in his head. The girl is insane but she wouldn’t … she’s not … he’d thought but, deep down inside, he knew he was throwing empty words at an unchangeable reality.

  In Naala’s dark almond eyes, he’d seen her unshakeable resilience, but had brushed it aside. She had told him on more than one occasion that she was going to leave. He’d thought she had changed her mind; he had been foolish enough to think that the same ache that erupted within him when he thought of parting with Naala also sprouted within her. He should have known that she was simply waiting for a better plan, a better reason to leave.

  Now, Eni looked up at the tree that she had slept in the night prior, his throat too dry to call her name. He clambered up the tree faster than he had ever done in his life. He pulled himself up on the branch holding her hammock, and his heart sank as he came to terms with what he already knew. The empty hammocks swayed slightly in the morning gust. They were gone.

  THE OBIS’ COURT

  CITY OF NRI

  SINAI HAD HEARD, through whispered conversations, that Chief Ojo was still alive. He was maimed, of course. After the attack he was left unable to walk and, given the proximity of the attack to his groin, he would never be able to abuse another woman in the same manner that he had done to Ina.

  Apparently Chief Ojo’s mind had also changed. His booming voice had softened and now only incoherent mutterings tumbled randomly out of his mouth during the day. His mud eyes were now glazed over and Chief Ojo spent his time in his akwa nest, being dutifully seen to by his eight wives, who now sang songs in harmony with wide smiles spread across their faces and a fresh gleam twinkling in their eyes; they had only dreamed of tasting this type of freedom again.

  At first Sinai had been numb to the whole situation, as though her mind had refused to process the events that had occurred at the party. She avoided thinking about it and was adamant about not talking about it either, so much so that she had avoided visiting Meekulu, for she knew that the old woman would certainly have a basket of probing questions that she would be unable to answer.

  That said, Sinai’s ears sniffed out conversations on Asilia’s attack, and followed them like a dog. Sinai would hide in the shadows as people discussed updates on Chief Ojo’s condition. The more she learnt, the more pleased she became. Sinai was shocked to find that she felt no guilt. Instead she felt pride; she was pleased that she had corrected such a terrible wrong.

  That was, until Ozi came with a parchment from Obi Ife nestled in her beak. Sinai looked at the sage-green hamerkop in despair. Ozi was old and ugly, her pale green feathers ruffled and dull. Unlike the other enchanted hamerkop birds in the palace, who whistled delightfully through Nri, with sharp efficiency and intelligence, Ozi was lazy and often made mistakes. It suited Sinai well. What use would an efuọla have for one of those smart birds? Sinai rarely received or sent messages, and she had always preferred to walk to anyone she needed to speak to. Ozi was more of a familiar, scruffy friend whose soft cooing kept her company during lonely long days. Sinai had spent countless hours staring at the curious bird, imag
ining what Ozi might have been like as a nnunu woman, an exercise that never failed to amuse her.

  However, in that moment, Ozi felt more like poison, bringing slow and timely death to her door. Sinai looked down at the thick grainy paper, soft and frayed with thin wispy remnants of the bark tree, resting between her fingers. The black ink was smooth; it curved along the paper and spelled out a message that caused Sinai’s heart to plunge into her stomach.

  Lolo Sinai

  The council and I request your company in the Court of the Obis at the 8th hour of the day. You have been summoned to trial. This invitation is for you alone. However, if you require defence, we shall provide it for you.

  Obi Ife

  IT WASN’T until the parchment slipped out of her fingers that Sinai realised that they were shaking. She looked down at her hands before tightening them into fists.

  ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ she muttered, as she paced up and down her room. How did he know? she thought.

  The Eze’s lion had only recently been seen in public; the beast, for the most part, remained a mystery to most. With the Eze gone, Sinai was sure that no one would have been able to connect the ụtọ plant to the lion’s attack. Sinai had yet to hear the plant mentioned in the snatches of conversations that she had listened to. As far as she could tell, people assumed that Asilia’s attack was an accident. Some had even theorised that it was the lion itself that had targeted Chief Ojo, due to his lifetime of dreadful sins. Some blamed the fact that Chief Ojo dared to sit on the Obis’ chair; perhaps that was what angered the beast. As the theories and rumours circulated around the palace, not one person anywhere had suggested any foul play, so why had Sinai been summoned?

  Sinai brought her hands to her head as she thought more deeply about that night. She reflected on how she had brazenly looked for Chief Ojo. She recalled being in the middle of the commotion that preceded his attack. She was hardly stealthy at the party, so how could she be surprised now at being a suspect? Sinai took a deep breath and walked towards her window; the sun was still high but gathering clouds had slowly dimmed its light. She walked over to the sundial in the corner of the room; the small ọkụ light hovering above it bobbed excitedly. Sinai peered closely at it before taking another sharp breath and exhaling loudly; it was steadily approaching the eighth hour. After a short pause, she walked out of her room and towards the Obis’ court.