by Reni K Amayo
DAUGHTERS OF NRI
THE RETURN OF THE EARTH MOTHER SERIES
RENI K AMAYO
CONTENTS
Praise for Daughters of Nri
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1. The Black and Gold Oracle
2. The White Mahogany Tree
3. Death at the Window
4. The Birth
5. The Namibian Cook and the Efuọla Girl
6. The Visitor from the City of Nri
7. The Chief’s Fatal Mistake
8. A Walk to the Soldiers’ Quarters
9. The Emerald-Eyed Soldier
10. The Request
11. The Survivors
12. Ọnye Nyocha
13. The Girl who Shook the Earth
14. The Seven Obis
15. An Old Friend
16. A Series of Games
17. The Three Puppet Masters
18. Asilia Wakes from her Slumber
19. The Midnight Meeting
20. The Girl who Fought
21. The Head General’s Key
22. The Timbukan Scholar
23. An Idea Forms at Breakfast
24. A Gift for Ina
25. The Journey to Udi
26. Enikan
27. The Obis’ Court
28. The Coward
29. The Right Question
30. Ashes to Ashes
31. Meekulu’s Cave
32. Taken
33. Sharp Arrows and Soft Hearts
34. The Basements
35. The Akwụna
36. The Ìhè Courtyard
37. New Arrivals
38. No Light
39. Born of Black and Gold
40. Dancing Leaves
41. Strained Lunches
42. Four Friends
43. The Nzuzo Gardens
44. The Flame Tree
45. A Night’s Dance
46. A Parchment from the Eze
47. Wooden Boxes
48. The Golden Doors
49. The Hidden Villagers
50. Wooden Darts
51. The Ndụ Crystal
52. The Daughters of Nri
Acknowledgments
Dictionary of Words
PRAISE FOR DAUGHTERS OF NRI
‘Oh . . my . . . goddesses! This book is something special. There is so much myth, fantasy and genuinely great storytelling packed into the pages of this novel. Excellent writing, brilliant book.’ Dorothy Koomson, Best-selling author
‘From a rich and deep culture, Amayo weaves a world of literary magic. Daughter's of Nri is a beautifully written novel paving the way for a powerful collection to follow.’ Buzzfeed
'A phenomenal debut from a brilliant writer which kept me on the edge of my seat from the first page. This is a beautiful story full of heritage, passion and bravery that every young black girl should read.' Black Girl Book Club
‘With Daughters of Nri, Reni K Amayo conjures a magical world that truly centres black sisterhood. Combining lush prose with a fast-paced plot, this is one read that everyone - but especially black teens - will struggle to put down.’ Alex Sheppard, Author of ‘Oh My Gods’
‘This book is a love letter to black women. It is beautifully written and its message is so powerful and incredibly important. Every black woman needs to read. We deserve this story.’ WCAN
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Onwe Press Ltd
This eBook edition was first published in 2019
All rights reserved; no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright © Reni K Amayo, 2019
Maps and graphics © Onwe Press, 2019
The rights of Reni K Amayo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Printed and bounded by Clays Printers (UK) Ltd.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-9160429-1-9
eBook ISBN 978-1-9160429-2-6
Hardback ISBN 978-1-9160429-3-3
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
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To my sisters, you deserve the world.
THE BLACK AND GOLD ORACLE
Akoko
HE STOOD outside the cave and took a deep breath, but the fresh night air did nothing to calm him. He tensed as the vine-covered entrance drew him closer. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as low, inhumane sounds from the creature within filtered through the moonlight. The Eze was not completely sure why he had chosen to leave the comfort of his akwa nest to wander into the starless night. He was neither intrigued nor was he curious. When the blubbering village chief had spoken about the mythical creature that his people had supposedly found earlier that day, the Eze had been filled with nothing but contempt.
He had watched as the old chief’s eyes had grown larger with greed; the man’s tongue had hung over his chapped lips and his fingers had rattled agitatedly. Chief Akunna was clearly hungry for recognition and thirsty for fame. His reckless rumour had brought the great Eze, the ruler of the entire kingdom, to his humble village, and now the chief’s palms were laid open for a reward.
If it is a reward you are seeking then you shall receive it, the Eze had thought as he’d considered killing the man right on the spot. But he had not. Instead the Eze had ended the conversation abruptly, with his right hand raised dismissively in the air. The chief had lowered his eyes, visibly withdrawing into himself as he recognised his mistake.
The Eze’s eyes had glazed over the wide-eyed village folk. They’d stared back at the large, powerful man with whispers of the umu ada ogu, the lost goddesses, stuck in their throats.
What did they know of the umu ada ogu? the Eze had reflected inwardly. He had regarded their simple expressions and frayed clothing, dulled by the red sand. They’d seemed to him like shadows of people, with no thought or life behind their eyes. He had found himself clenching his fists.
‘What a waste,’ he’d murmured as the village chief had cowered before him. The Eze had been certain that not one of these dull-eyed people had wandered further than the ten cubits of forest that enclosed them. It was simply impossible to believe that these were the same people that had somehow stumbled across one of the most majestic beings that had ever walked this earth. No living soul had laid eyes on the umu ada ogu in centuries. They, like all of the magical entities, had died with the Mother. He’d been certain that whatever the villagers had found and locked away was anything but an umu ada ogu.
Yet here he was, standing alone outside the cave.
He had closed his eyes to sleep that night but something strange had lain heavy on his soul. A low and inexplicable sound. It had drawn him from his nest and compelled him towards the cave. Now it crept, thick and dark, over his black skin. It tasted like fear.
‘Remember who you are,’ he said under his breath. ‘Remember what you have done,’ he added quietly. He stared blankly into the cave’s veiled mouth and took a deep breath.
THE EZE DESCENDED LIKE A SHADOW, blending seamlessly with the deep black that met him. He hesitated in the nothingness for a brief moment, before taking another step forward. He waited. He could still hear the leaves rustling in the wind outside the cave, but everything was still within. H
e shook his head. What was he expecting to find here?
‘Nothing,’ he muttered.
Just as he turned to leave, the air shifted.
The Eze stood deathly still. Hushed whispers suddenly bounced off the walls like birds dashing through a summer sky. The sounds started slow and low before growing in intensity and speed.
‘Ke iso Ala.’
‘Ikenga.’
‘Ekwensu.’
‘Amadioha.’
‘Anyanwu.’
‘Agwu.’
The whispers crept closer and closer to him, until they suddenly stopped and the cave fell back into silence. The Eze turned around as a heavy sigh was released into the air, and watched as two shadows materialised before merging into what appeared to be a woman seated cross-legged on the ground. Her eyes were shut and her bare black skin was outlined by a golden glow.
‘So it’s true,’ he said, bewildered.
‘Aljaneṣu-ojọọ. You have finally come.’ Her voice was strange, both low and high, as if she had two souls trapped inside her, both struggling to be free. She opened her large eyes and they darted across the room before settling on him, shimmering with the same brilliant golden glow that coated her body.
The Eze stood frozen as he gazed with astonishment at the creature. She had spoken in the forgotten language.
‘An oracle?’ he gasped. A crippling shock overtook his body. Seconds passed as a cold sweat trickled down his forehead. The Eze sank into a sickening combination of anger and fear.
Stay strong! The phrase pounded harshly though the Eze’s head as he shook himself, before falling into a defensive warrior stance. He forced himself to focus on his one strength: the enchanted crystal that lay hidden within his garments.
Oracles were said to be marked goddesses amongst the umu ada ogu, uplifted because they were not bound by time or space. They were the only beings with the power to utter words in the forgotten language. Oracles had always been a rarity, even during the time of the Mother, when it was commonplace for gods to roam the earth. Many considered them to be myths even back then. Only a select few students of the magical realm knew the true extent of their power. The Eze felt a cold chill run down his spine. Despite the fragile smell of mortality emitting from her bare skin, he could still feel the pulse of that intoxicating power.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, his voice so low and deep it sent vibrations through the small cave. The oracle opened her mouth, as if she were going to speak, but stopped and settled back into herself. Confusion suddenly flashed across her beautiful, dark face.
‘I don’t know,’ she finally replied, lowering her bright eyes and staring wildly at her hands, as though she had never seen them before. ‘I was nothing for a long time, but then the black birthed me, and I remembered. Once I remembered, I knew I had to wait for you.’ Her eyes, smouldering softly in the night like dying stars, flicked back to him. The Eze shivered.
‘Be careful, witch; I have no qualms about slitting your throat tonight,’ he spat, allowing his fear to fuel a vicious rage.
‘That is not how you will do it,’ she replied.
‘I said be careful!’ the Eze roared.
‘Why?’
The Eze felt exposed and raw. He didn’t want to open his mouth, lest she stole whatever was left of him.
‘I asked why, Aljaneṣu-ojọọ.’
‘Stop calling me that,’ the Eze said sharply, taking a measured step closer to her.
The oracle cocked her head in confusion. ‘Do you not know what you are?’
‘How dare you?’ he spat.
‘Do you not know what you are?’ the oracle repeated as the Eze stalked closer until he was towering over her seated body.
‘I …’ he started, before pausing abruptly.
‘Yes, Aljaneṣu-ojọọ?’
‘I am not Aljaneṣu-ojọọ! I am not a demon. I am Eze Ochichiri, son of Amobi, Keeper of Justice!’ he proclaimed.
The oracle recoiled in disgust.
‘Justice,’ she murmured wearily. ‘You dare to utter that word. After what you have done? You who blindly followed destructive greed under the guise of Amadioha’s false justice. You robbed the earth of its greatest treasure and you dare to call yourself just? Once you took the Mother’s life, you were and will always be Aljaneṣu-ojọọ; that title will always follow you.’
The Eze breathed heavily, his head swirling. With resolute determination, he used his brewing rage to burn up any traces of fear. Oracle or not, the wench is mortal now, as mortal as those foolish villagers, he thought coldly as he bent and pulled her up by the neck.
‘My name is Eze Ochichiri and I am the Keeper of Justice,’ he said, deliberately sounding out each word for emphasis.
‘You are Aljaneṣu-ojọọ,’ the oracle noted, her voice slightly distorted by the Eze’s squeeze on her neck. The Eze’s eyes opened slightly before narrowing in anger.
‘Yes, you will kill me tonight,’ she continued, as the Eze dropped her to the ground before turning his back on her. The thought of such a creature filled him with revulsion.
‘Stay out of my head,’ he bellowed into the hollow cave.
‘I’m not in your head. You have lost your grip on your thoughts. They wander like ants all over your skin, the walls, the floor,’ the oracle said, her two voices intertwining in a soft dance. She lifted her head up, ‘do you know who you are?’ she asked abruptly.
‘I am Justice,’ the Eze said once again. His voice remained solid, but lacked its prior strength.
‘No,’ the oracle replied, and her voices sang. ‘You are the murderer, the thief, the corruptor of justice. The Mother’s killer, and therefore the corrupter of souls. You stole hope and promised joy. You took everything, and you don’t even know it. You don’t even have shame. If I could, I would rip you to pieces over and over again for all of eternity, and let you soak in the evil that you have caused—’ the oracle hissed as her body rose weightlessly from the ground and drifted towards him before settling down to a stop. ‘But I cannot. Your fate is waiting for you and my fate is to tell you it.’
‘You threaten me, wench?’ the Eze asked.
‘No, I do not need to. I have seen.’
‘Hmm,’ he grunted as he turned to stand squarely before her. The oracle’s large eyes glowed even brighter. The Eze couldn’t help but look away.
‘I suppose you want me to ask you what you have seen,’ he said quietly.
‘You will ask, Aljaneṣu-ojọọ,’ she stated.
He could feel the pull of the forgotten language and his hand found her neck once again.
‘Tell me,’ he murmured, as she shivered in his arms.
‘Eze Ochichiri,’ she said, her two voices more distinct than they had been previously, ringing loudly with a muted melody, rising slowly. ‘Aljaneṣu-ojọọ, your time is coming to an end.’
The Eze held his breath in anticipation.
‘Time will birth hope back to the earth; it will be brought forth by the daughters of Nri, brought forth by Ala—the Earth Mother’s twins!’ the oracle screamed as the Eze clamped his hand down and squeezed with all of his might until her golden glow dimmed into oblivion.
‘Lies,’ the Eze breathed as sweat appeared on his forehead. He shook his head violently. He must have been mistaken. She was no oracle, just an umu ada ogu driven mad by the snakesweed.
‘Ala has no daughters,’ the Eze whispered, as the shadow of death covered the cave.
THE WHITE MAHOGANY TREE
Igbakwu
NAALA ALLOWED an army of red dust to swallow her whole, as she lay cocooned in the swirling cloud she had created. She squinted her deep brown eyes to prevent the particles, and speckles of bright orange sunlight, from irritating them. She’d held her breath but she could still taste the heat of the dust particles as they danced around her. Once they had settled, she exhaled loudly and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be washed by a wave of serenity.
For a moment, she was only aware of
the hot sun caressing her and the feathery particles of earth lying against her body. As sweet as that moment was, it did not last. Slowly, images of her future marched unceremoniously through her mind. She saw starless nights spent pounding yams, bright mornings by the river washing Chinedu’s clothes, wistful days waiting for something to happen, tiny feet rushing towards her eagerly, faces awaiting her instruction. Chinedu would make a good husband. He would build them a stable life, and Naala would teach the young ones the ways of a world she had never really explored for herself. Pressure began to swell in her chest; it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to breathe.
Naala drew her feet up against the floor and spread her arms wide against the earth. She tapped her feet and swayed her long arms, creating yet another frenzied cloud of dust. As she waited for the particles to settle around her, a strange feeling whirled within her, a slight tug that caused her to cautiously open her eyes. Naala’s heart skipped a beat as she saw millions of tiny particles hanging weightlessly in the air. They drifted above her head, as though offering up a dance of worship to her.
‘What the—’ Naala started, before the dust suddenly all settled down towards her. Naala huffed thoughtlessly and dust scratched against her throat. She sprang from the floor and coughed violently. I must be mad, she thought, shaking off what she’d just seen—what she thought she had just seen.
Naala often found that her mind played tricks on her. Strange, sometimes delightful, tricks. Her grandmother had once told her that dwelling on the minute oddities of life was a sure way to lose one’s mind. Naala rarely stuck to that principle. The oddities of life usually sparked an endless stream of thoughts and questions for her; she would gladly spend hours trying to get to the root of all obscurities. Only these peculiar occurrences that happened around her did not exactly feel like oddities to Naala. More like the facts of her life: her hair was black, her toes clicked occasionally, strange things occurred around her at a whim.
Naala looked down at her once-vibrant bridal garment, now dulled by the blood-red dust.
