There were so many of them. Baba bent down and picked up a bow dropped by the soldier he had head-butted. He removed all the arrows from the quiver. My heart pounded so hard in my chest, I thought it would burst. What should I do? It was happening so fast I couldn’t process it quickly enough.
Baba kicked a soldier who approached him in the stomach as he fixed an arrow into the bow. Five rapid twangs rang out.
“Get him!” screamed the captain as he recovered from the swiftness of Baba’s surprise attack.
Gurgling sounds filled the air as five soldiers fell on their knees, their hands clutching at their throats. I looked at Baba; he was out of arrows. His eyes darted around like a wild animal. A sixth twang rang out and Baba fell.
I bit on the flesh of my palm to stop me from crying out. I went numb… stunned. I couldn’t move.
A nudge on the shoulder brought me back to the present.
“Nuju! Nuju?”
I looked up into the red eyes of our neighbor.
“Get some sleep okay. You need to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
I nodded and lowered myself on the mat. The next few days were like a blur.
Mama never asked me what I saw, and I never told. But our relationship was never the same. She became very distant. When I tried to remember what had happened, my memory would only go as far as entering the forest. All I knew was that one day, King Kenzi must pay for what he did to my father.
Chapter Two
10 YEARS LATER
I woke to the crow of a rooster outside our hut and turned to the sound of snores from the corner of the room. Mama and Kemi lay asleep on a mat of raffia and cowhide, their snoring sing-along interrupted by the rooster. They picked up where they left off before the rooster.
Ten years ago, it would have been Mama, Kemi, and Baba on that mat. King Kenzi’s guards had traveled all the way from Ode, a two-day journey, to visit Baba. What business can a hunter have with the king? Nobody knew what happened. I couldn’t remember, either, but I knew, somehow, I was there. I would catch glimpses in my dreams. By the end of that day, Baba was dead.
I told Mama about the dreams, but she said nothing. Instead, she blamed me for what happened, not with her words, but with her actions, or lack of them. Mama was difficult to please. As I got older, I found myself treating her with the same indifference.
I ran my fingers through my long braids, gathered them, and tied them off with a thin strip of dried cowhide.
I already had on my everyday clothes; green dashiki top and pants to blend in with the forest. I slept in them; better to be ready than sorry, Baba always said.
In a hole in the floor between the mud wall and my sleeping mat was the hiding place for my bow and sheath of arrows. I brought them out, slipped into my boots, and strapped my hunting bag over my shoulder.
I picked up a wooden bowl and scooped up water from the clay pot. Tired round eyes, an oval face, and a large nose I didn’t care for looked back at me from the water’s surface. Didn’t I sleep well?
Then I remembered and sighed. Harvest day. That was enough to keep every young person between twelve and sixteen tossing and turning all night. My reflection dissolved in a ripple as I dipped my hands into the bowl and splashed water on my face.
I shivered as the cold water washed away any remnants of sleep still lurking in my eyes and trickled down my neck into my dashiki. I didn’t bother drying; the sun would do that once I was out.
On the opposite side of the hut, on another raffia mat, was a bundle covered with a blanket. Of course he didn’t hear the cock crow. I walked over with the bowl of water and paused. Maybe I should hunt alone today. I put the container away. Anything that would get Mama angry was fine with me.
I tiptoed to the door and stepped out. Our home was close to the major dirt road leading in and out of our village and the footpath to the forest. It would be a shorter distance for me to cut through people’s backyards, but since the incident, people were hostile to our family, especially me.
In our farming community of Nuso, most families blamed us for the increased taxes from the king as payment to the families of the soldiers who died the same day as Baba. People had little to nothing left after paying. I could easily get an arrow in the back for cutting through someone’s property.
As I walked down the path, light from candles and lamps flickered in some huts, and people were waking up, getting ready to head to their farms. The mud huts with thatched roofs looked beautiful with the glow of the golden sunrise in the background, but this morning I didn’t pay attention. I walked as fast as I could so I would be out of sight before Dotan got up.
Just before I got to the footpath to the forest, I spotted something or someone lying by the side of the road ahead. I touched my bow and slowed, the smell of vomit and kai kai, moonshine, reached me, and I relaxed.
Baba was always kind to the village drunk whenever we encountered him on our early morning incursions into the forest. I had always continued the tradition, giving him fruits and food when I could, but this morning I was in a hurry.
I would have walked over to the other side of the road to avoid him, but that would draw his attention and cost me time.
The mass shifted and got up to a sitting position. It was the drunk for sure in his long-sleeved dashiki and matching pants. He had unnatural bulges, and it was apparent he had several layers of clothing on underneath.
“Who has the good fortune of meeting me this early in the morning?” said the drunk.
Another day I would have played the game with him. He would ask if it was the king first, then the queen, prince or princess, and for each, I would say no. Then he would say foolish me, it’s the daughter of the most esteemed hunter of all time.
“Good morning, Baba, it’s Nuju.” I call him Baba as a sign of respect. Similar to how my father interacted with him.
“I knew that,” said Baba. “I have no one to talk—” He raised a finger, as if saying wait, and went into a coughing fit. He coughed up phlegm and spat it out. “Indulge me a little.”
I glanced behind me. “Baba, I have to go.”
“You’re in a hurry.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ll get you something from—”
“Nuju! Nuju! Wait for me!” a voice shouted.
My heart sank.
Chapter Three
“Ah, you left your brother behind,” said the drunk. “You wanted to hunt alone?”
I tried to control my anger. It wasn’t easy to deal with people Baba dealt with, especially when they were right.
The drunk continued in a shaky voice. “Your family is all you have. Never forget that.”
I wanted to tell him he didn’t know my family, that he was just drunk. What does he know? “See you, Baba,” I hurried off. Dotan called behind me to stop, but I kept going. He would catch up.
The grass got taller as I neared the woods. The tall elephant grass and shrubs would give way to tall trees with their canopy of leaves that kept sunlight and rain away from the floor of this tropical forest. I looked behind.
Dotan jogged towards me. “Come on, Nuju, you should have woken me up.” He wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his dashiki.
I adjusted my bow on my shoulder and increased my pace. “Why should I always have to wake you?”
Dotan caught up, and we continued in silence, moving deeper into the forest.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” asked Dotan.
I preferred to hunt alone, with no one to bother me. Everything came back to the harvest.
Nobody knew what caused the gods to abandon Oyiria and its people and withdraw their gifts. People had gifts that resembled the powers of the gods. Some people called those powers magic, but it was real. The power of divination, the ability to ensure a bountiful harvest, success in hunting, fertility, strength. The control of wind, fire, and water. The abilities were endless, so we’re told during tales by midnight. But one day, roughly sixteen years ago, p
eople lost their powers and became regular mortals.
King Kenzi took advantage of that vacancy and built up his army when other kingdoms did not see the need. He went on a rampage and attacked Ibadan, the capital of Oyiria, and other kingdoms, killing and taking hostages. Some communities, like Nuso, gave up without a fight and pledged loyalty to King Kenzi.
That loyalty came at a high cost, paying tributes to the king. Soon after father was murdered, King Kenzi ordered that every year, two children from each of the remaining kingdoms from the age of thirteen to sixteen were to be handed over to the priest at Ode to serve in the temple and pray for the good of the nation. Those children never came back, and rumors abounded.
“So, are you ready?” asked Dotan again, pulling me out of my thoughts.
The same question was on my mind; how could one ever prepare for the harvest? It had been a part of me since I was thirteen. I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen in a few months, then it would be over. Dotan was fifteen and Kemi would turn thirteen next year. If they took one of them, it would break Mama’s heart.
His words drew me out of my deep thoughts. I stopped and turned to face him. “No, are you?”
Dotan's eyebrows shot up. His brown eyes registered fear, but he tried to hide it. In this vulnerable state, he reminded me of Kemi. They both had more in common with each other than with me. Square jaw, prominent cheekbones, brown skin, just like Baba and Mama; I was as dark as night. Maybe that was why Mama hated me so much, as if I wasn’t a part of the family.
“Of course,” said Dotan with a laugh.
At fifteen, he was already taller than most men in Nuso and looked strong, but I knew better; he was scared. King Kenzi had instilled a state of perpetual fear in everyone. Only if magic came back would this end, Baba would say. People said that Baba had the grace of the god of hunters in him. But now he was gone, snatched away by the same King Kenzi.
“The only thing I don’t like is the suspense,” said Dotan. “When those priestesses run around like mad women and sniff at you like starving rats, you don’t know if they will select you or not.”
I nodded. “They are mad women.” The harvest was a harrowing experience. Deep down, I wished the priestesses would pick me and take me away from Nuso. Away from Mama and the people in Nuso that hated our family. “We have to be quiet now. We don’t want to scare the animals away.” I unhooked my bow and knocked in an arrow.
“Did you set traps yesterday?” asked Dotan in a whisper. “Are we going to check them?”
I shook my head and whispered back. “We’ll check them on our way back.” The cool forest was warming up as the sun got higher and higher.
We’d been hunting for about twenty minutes, taking no shots. Squirrels, rabbits, rats, and the occasional bush fowl would show their heads and vanish once they sensed our presence. It was frustrating, but not unusual.
“It’s all your fault,” said Dotan.
I frowned. “What's my fault?”
“Why we can’t see any animals.”
I stopped walking and straightened myself. “What do you mean?”
“You shoot without missing,” said Dotan. “They’ve learned to forage without stopping.
At that moment, I heard a faint thud and raised my hand for silence. It sounded like something had dropped from a height.
Dotan heard it, too, because now he was crouched low, weapon ready, scanning our surroundings.
I combed the forest floor around us with my eye and soon found the source of the problem. Wings featherless, the baby bird flopped around on the ground. I looked up in the tree and saw its home, a nest on a high branch.
“We sure can’t eat that,” said Dotan and munched on something, a fruit he must have picked off the ground. He seemed not to care what happened to the chick.
“Darn,” I groaned. If I left it on the ground, a snake or ants would get it. I’d seen a colony of army ants reduce an antelope to a skeleton in minutes. The bird would be a snack for them. If I took it up, we would lose valuable hunting time, and animals around would become aware of our presence, eliminating the advantage of surprise we might have had.
I sighed, dropped my weapon, and scooped up the bird. It was so tiny. With care, I placed it in my hunting bag, reminding myself not to crush it as I started to climb.
“Be careful,” said Dotan. “It’s a long way down.”
As if they would miss me, I thought. I placed the bird in the nest with its three siblings. On my way down, I noticed a squirrel. It would dash out of a hole in the tree and run back. I made a note of its location. Once on the ground, I grabbed my bow.
“You saw something?” asked Dotan.
“Squirrel,” I said in a hushed voice. I pulled the arrow and aimed for the spot where it had last appeared. I didn’t wait for long. Its head appeared, and it came out further. I released the arrow.
The force lifted the squirrel out of the hole and off the tree. I knocked in a second arrow, just as Baba had taught us. His words were clear in my mind, as if he’d just said it. An injured animal is more dangerous than a living one, always be ready to shoot a second arrow into it. I searched the ground and found my arrow sticking in the air.
“Nice shot,” said Dotan.
I nodded and walked towards the squirrel. A flurry of movement caught my eye; I crouched ready with my bow. A huge black bird swooped down, claws extended. It grabbed the squirrel and flew off.
Chapter Four
My mouth went dry. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. This cannot be happening. I raised my bow, shut my left eye, locked in on the bird, and followed its flight pattern with the arrow. The huge bird flapped its massive wings with ease, the squirrel clutched in its claws.
“Stop ole, thief,” I mouthed. I held my breath and pulled the string deeper, shifted the bow to my right to make up for the distance, and released the arrow.
It seemed to take forever, but the bird flew right into the arrow. I let out a shaky breath and felt a welcomed release of tension in my body.
The bird released the squirrel, and it dropped straight down like an overripe paw paw. The bird struggled to stay in the air, losing altitude with every flap of its wings.
“Yes!” shouted Dotan. He pumped a fist in the air. “Two for one, good job!” He led the way, and I followed. “I don’t know why you need me.”
My mind raced, searching for answers. Why had I spoken the Oyirian tongue? The tongue of the gods? The language of magic? Was there a hidden meaning to what just happened? Or was I being sentimental, as tomorrow was harvest day? Since magic had disappeared, only the priestesses seemed to have retained some powers to help them with the selection. I wiped sweat from my brow. Tomorrow they would come and make their selection.
“Where’s that palm tree?” asked Dotan, his eyes darting around.
I nodded. “We must find both.”
Dotan pointed. “The palm tree is hidden by the Iroko tree; go find the bird. That’s a big one, you might need a second shot to be sure. What type of bird was it, anyway?”
“I don’t know. An eagle, hawk maybe.”
“As long as it’s not a vulture, I’ll eat it,” said Dotan.
Meat is meat, I thought. Even though vultures are known for eating dead animals, a lot of other smaller birds also peck on dead animals, and we have eaten a few of them in the past. The bird had drifted from the palm tree before it hit tall trees and fell. I waded through low grass and shrubs, my eyes peeled, ready with the bow. The brush was sparse in some places and thick in others, enough for the bird and any other dangerous animal to hide in wait.
“I found it!” yelled Dotan a few minutes later.
I looked up. He had the squirrel by the tail. Now it was just for me to find the bird. Leaves rustled to my right. I crouched low, pulled the string taut, and cocked my head to listen. The breathing sound continued to my right. Whole body tense, I moved toward it.
Dotan made his way toward me. The noise he made could wake up the dead and cause
panic in a wounded animal; a dangerous situation.
Sticking in the air was the feathered end of my arrow. The heavy breathing like a huge animal continued, maybe a defensive measure used by the bird to ward off predators. What type of bird would do that? I wondered. I went closer. My hand was not steady. The bow moved with every beat of my heart.
I lashed out with my foot on a nearby shrub to draw the bird out. Nothing happened. I made a louder noise, and this time the bird emerged, hissing and shrieking, its uninjured wing raised in the air.
The bird's eye bore into mine and seemed to reach inside me and squeeze my heart. I froze. A chill traveled down my spine, and all I wanted to do was run.
The bird shrieked louder, flapped its good wing, and lifted into the air.
“It’s getting away!” yelled Dotan.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him drop the squirrel and reach for his bow. He whirled, searching the sky.
“Ah, it’s gone,” screamed Dotan with a flop of his hands. “It just vanished.” He turned. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”
My whole body shook. I wasn’t alright. The bird, the thing, had spoken before it flew away. “Oru yoo wa ni ọjọ, Night shall come in the day.” The bird spoke the Oyirian language in a monotone voice, snarled at me, then flew away. I knew of birds that mimicked human voices and wasn’t too bothered with that. What troubled me was the face; it had the wrinkled face of an old woman.
Chapter Five
We walked back to the village, and I was mostly going through the motions. We checked the traps I’d set the previous day. All empty; maybe it was time I moved them to another location? My mind wandered again back to the bird. What did it mean?
“What happened to you back there?” asked Dotan as we walked back to the village. He had the squirrel secured in a pouch tied around his waist.
The Selection Page 2
