Daughters of Nri

by Reni K Amayo

  ‘You look well,’ a low voice said from behind her, sending a cold chill down her spine. Sinai gripped the clay efere in her hand hard, hard enough to create tiny sprawled cracks up and down it. She placed it back on the decorated table slowly before turning to face Ina. The girl stood before her in two-piece, dark purple attire; the top was tight and cinched at her waist, made of a lace material with tiny patterned holes revealing her dark bronzed skin. The bottom half of her outfit consisted of a beautifully decorated, thick material wrapped tight around her thighs and long enough to drag on the floor. Ina had her head held high and her face was tight, pulled back by an extravagant gele. Her long locks sprouted from the nape of her neck and coated her back. Beautiful as she was, a cold and abhorrent scent emitted from her. Sinai’s face contorted in disgust.

  Sinai was overwhelmed with an intense desire to run. She did not want to be anywhere near the deranged girl. Don’t! she thought sternly, be strong; now is not the time to cower and run, be strong!

  Sinai took a deep breath as the small voice in her head turned into a loud siren roar. Sinai let out a deep sigh.

  ‘You will pay for what you did, Ina,’ Sinai said quietly, as Lebechi and Ebun sniggered nervously behind Ina. They were not pleased at all to be in such close proximity with Sinai again. After all, they had both witnessed her fall to her death with their own eyes. Yet, here she was, alive and well, with little to no evidence of her deathly fall. How had she possibly survived? Surely she must be some sort of witch. The girls had heard stories of witches before, evil women and men who used the elements of the forgotten magic to benefit themselves as they carried out tasks with ill intent. No one they knew had ever come in contact with such a creature, but the fear of doing so was still present in most people. The idea of unknown forces exerting control over the people was disturbing, particularly since the gods had left the earth. Who, besides the Eze, a lone man, could possibly protect them against a witch?

  The two girls stood cautiously back from the exchange, with eyes darting nervously between Ina and Sinai.

  Ina hadn’t laughed at Sinai’s comment; instead she looked at Sinai with a tight expression, her eyes roaming over her face like ants. She starred obsessively at Sinai’s dark almond eyes, rich skin, and full lips. The girl was very much alive and Ina’s nose flared with hatred.

  ‘You should have died that day,’ she said through clenched teeth as she took a step towards Sinai.

  ‘You should have made sure you killed me, because I’m telling you the price you’re going to pay for that is high, Ina. You’ve wanted a fight from me for years; well fine, you’ve got one.’

  ‘Oh please, you think you can threaten me? You think that I believe a word of those stupid rumours? You’re not powerful; you’re weak and you’ve always been weak. Don’t think I haven’t seen you sauntering around the room like a tramp. Listen, girl—I’m not going to warn you again, stay away from Obi Ife, or you will pay for it with your life. Your fall was a warning, but mark my words, the day you speak to him will be your last,’ Ina hissed, as Sinai contorted her face in confusion. What did Obi Ife have to do with anything?

  Obi Ife was one of the elite Obis. Despite being one of the youngest, he controlled the kingdom’s agriculture, its most important economic sector. When his father had died unexpectedly, he had succeeded him, to the surprise of the majority of the people in the palace. People had thought his young age would render him unfit to wield the power passed on to the Obis. It was widely speculated that one of the elder nobles, perhaps Chief Kalu, a close friend to Obi Ife’s father, or one of the few nobles consulted by the Obis on complex kingdom dilemmas, would be given the title. However, the Eze had surprised the people by choosing the young boy instead to fill his father’s shoes. While his age may have been hard to respect, his blessing from the Eze was not. As disgruntled as the people may have been by his choice, the Eze’s word was final.

  Sinai knew very little of Obi Ife; as with most of the Obis, she had spoken to him only a handful of times. Strained, forced conversations had left her feeling awkward, and certain that she had somehow said the wrong thing. Sinai looked at the hot anger in Ina’s eyes and a bright light suddenly illuminated in her head: Obi Ife was her way in.

  ‘I have power,’ Sinai said softly to herself, as a light breeze suddenly wafted through the room. It filled her with elation and provided her with yet another encouraging boost.

  ‘What is she whispering about?’ Ina scowled, but all Lebechi and Ebun could do was to squint at the peculiar girl. They both saw a flash of gold shimmer across Sinai’s dark irises. They snuck a look at each other before turning back to Sinai, who smiled back at them curtly before pushing past them. She headed towards Obi Ife, who now, thankfully, stood a little further away from the group. He looked up brightly as she approached.

  ‘Nwedo Obi Ife,’ Sinai said, bringing her crossed palm to her chest and back towards him.

  ‘Nwedo Sinai,’ Obi Ife replied with a smile, repeating the gesture. They stood awkwardly for a moment before Sinai finally spoke.

  ‘I liked the Eze’s trick,’ she noted, as he nodded.

  ‘Yes, it was very nice,’ he replied, but then a painfully long pause halted the conversation. She could see his attention wavering. Suddenly he cleared his throat; he was about to politely pardon himself. She needed to do something to keep him interested, to keep him talking.

  ‘I actually had a question for the Eze; perhaps you could help me to ask him?’ she said.

  ‘You should ask him yourself.’

  ‘What?’ Sinai choked. ‘No, that wouldn’t be right. I just meant, perhaps you would tell me your thoughts or you could ask—’

  ‘Nonsense. You saw it yourself; the Eze is far friendlier than gossip suggests.’

  ‘No, please,’ Sinai whispered, as he pivoted her towards the tight circle of powerful men. Her heart quickened as she felt the eyes of the room on her. Most of the Obis looked down at her in surprise. Some were clearly disgusted; the Eze, however, was completely expressionless. Sinai scanned the crowd until her eyes landed on the only smile: Obi Ife’s.

  ‘Sorry to disturb,’ Sinai murmured as she bowed. ‘I mean—Nwedo,’ she added quickly, as she gestured her greetings. Her heart slammed in her chest. None of them greeted her back. You have power, you have power, you have power, she recited in her head, but Meekulu’s words now felt like sand in her mouth. They had power, she did not.

  ‘I had a question and my curiosity got the better of me, but now it doesn’t seem like a good idea. Please ignore me,’ she said hastily. She could barely breathe, as she watched their faces sour.

  ‘No, what is your question?’ Obi Ife asked with a wide smile, stepping slightly towards her, as the other senior lords looked from him to the Eze cautiously. The Eze bowed his head slightly, and the crowd gave a slight sigh of relief. Sinai took in a small breath as she racked her mind for something to say.

  ‘I was thinking … I was just wondering—how…’ Sinai trailed off, her face warm and her throat so tight that she struggled for air. She cleared her throat. ‘How certain are you about reality?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Obi Arinze interrupted gruffly, flashing an exasperated glance at the Eze, hoping that he too shared his sentiment, but to his dismay the Eze’s focus remained fixed on the girl.

  ‘Reality—what we perceive as real, what we take as fact,’ Sinai persisted. ‘The fact that we are all here having this conversation … how sure are you that any of this is real? Isn’t it quite possible that all this is an illusion? Or perhaps this is the afterlife? It’s just—with the gods gone, where do we even stand? What can we grasp onto that is solid and … real?’ The crowd looked back at her, perplexed. What am I saying? What am I saying? What am I saying? Sinai fretted, before taking another strangled breath.

  ‘I … I’ve … it’s just something that I’ve been wondering about for some time, and you all are the greatest minds in the kingdom, so you are my best chance at solvi
ng this,’ she continued, as she stretched her quivering mouth into a solid smile. Slowly, they began to smile back, warmed by her compliment.

  ‘Well, it is an interesting question,’ Obi Ife started, with a bright twinkle in his eye as he felt the beginnings of a good debate brewing. ‘I would say that you would need to go to the teachings of Chukwuma Agonon—now he said that we are all the dictators of our reality in our lives and our deaths. Our chis—our souls—are connected to God and through him we can shape everything.’

  ‘You can never know!’ Obi Wale suddenly shouted. ‘That is the whole point of life, after all: that there is no point!’

  ‘Rubbish. I am standing here, I am real—I say I am here, so I am here.’

  Sinai smiled with a nod, as if she were taking in all their responses, her eyes locked on whoever was talking at the moment. But she was not listening. Her mind was racing at an unbearable speed, because at the corner of her eye she could see the Eze. She could feel his still and powerful presence just like scorching heat from the giant sun. She could feel his eyes fixed on her, and she couldn’t help but feel like prey, caught in the traps of a skilled hunter.

  AN OLD FRIEND

  Furuefu Forest

  NAALA HAD NOT SLEPT in days. Her body ached and her mind buzzed with a low sound that made her thoughts slow and troubled. They bounced lazily around her head, a mesh of sporadic ideas and hurt feelings. As aimless as they were, they all seemed to migrate back to the same thing: I have to warn the others. Naala had spent some days with the group of travellers; they called themselves the survivors of the Eze’s attacks. The group was formed of eight people, no two from the same village. They had found each other haphazardly, and now wandered aimlessly around the dense Furuefu forest. They were terrified of reaching another village; they were all convinced that if they did they would meet death at the hands of the army, waiting patiently for their lost prey.

  Naala hated them. A deep and thick pool of anger dwelled within her, working as fuel for her body in the absence of sleep. She was angry at the group; they were cowards, as far as she could tell. They had all witnessed the atrocities of the army, and yet they hid away like scared mice, not thinking to spread the word to prevent future attacks. She was angry at the army. They were weak; they attacked the innocent with no remorse. They treated death like it was a sport, and they were getting away with it, perhaps even revered and cheered as heroes when they returned to the palace. She was furious at her dead family and friends. They should have listened to her; they should still be alive. She should not have to mourn them all on her own. Most of all, Naala was angry at herself; she had failed all the people that she had loved. She had let that army take everything from her. It was all her fault.

  Naala needed to do something. Unlike the self-proclaimed survivors, she could not hide away, knowing that somewhere a village was being attacked. She needed to spread the word and warn the others. Naala rubbed her eyes and climbed out of the woven hammock that she had made with the assistance of Kora soon after she had joined the survivors. The group slept in the trees, using strong vines that they weaved into hammocks and tied between the branches. Naala would be lying if she said that she didn’t miss her strong wooden akwa nest, lined with soft beast furs and her grandmother’s tightly woven quilts, rich with the smell of sweet cedar wood and ehuru spice. That said, she appreciated the soft sways and the safety of her hammock. It allowed her to sleep peacefully without fear of encountering the army or a beast on the ground. Naala had learnt a number of useful survival tips from the group. She had already known how to hunt; her uncle had taught her when she was young.

  ‘Our family doesn’t have enough sons,’ he’d grumbled once, as they’d marched through the thick, moss green forest one day. It had been during the raining season, and a soft mist had risen from the ground. Bushes of vibrant green leaves had glittered with beads of water soaked up from the air. Naala had felt as though she was floating through a cloud.

  ‘So you will have to pick up the slack; we will not be a burden to the village, you hear me?’ he’d said sternly, before breaking into a smile when she’d responded by flexing her muscles to show how strong she was.

  Her uncle had taught her how to traverse the forest for hours on end, without falling prey to beasts or poisonous insects. He had taught her how to hunt and gather, but the group had taught her how she could live in the forest. They had taught her how to find the freshwater that Ńjābá, the river god, had stored in the round, large white mmiri flowers. They had taught her how to identify the dull red stems of the poisoned mmiri’s left behind by the trickster goddess, Agwu. These spoilt flowers looked exactly like the safe ones, except for their dull red stems.

  The survivors had also given her footgear to shield her feet from the forest ground, not the flat thin slippers that she had been used to, but thick crocodile skin, lined with the cool mmiri leaf and tied securely at her ankles with strong vines. They had taught her how to sleep in the woods without fear, how to navigate the terrain. Naala may have hated the survivor’s inactivity, but there was no doubt that her time with the group, short as it was, was incredibly valuable.

  As soon as she had learnt a new skill, Naala became increasingly anxious about leaving the group and using it. After spending a few days with the survivors, she was convinced that she had more than enough skills to spread the news to the villages. Naala had even begun to formulate a plan; she would start off going to the villages that she knew and then gather new information about obscure villages along the way. Perhaps one of the villages would gift her with a small oxen, which could help her get further on her travels. Naala was not concerned about getting lost. She had always had a good sense of direction; one of the few things that her uncle had been vocally proud of. It was as though she could feel a pull towards wherever she needed to go, even without using the stars or trees to help her navigate. In any case, she was sure that in time her words would serve like ripples in a still lake, travelling far beyond her.

  Naala gathered her hammock under her arm before jumping from branch to branch down the tree until she finally hit the ground. She looked out at the vast forest, clustered with towering dark brown trunks engulfed in an army of dense green leaves. The shimmering light of the morning sun filtered through the giant trees, creating an array of brilliant yellows and striking greens across the scattered vegetation. Silver waters from a narrow stream cut through the trees, and the birds whooshed gracefully in the air.

  Naala rested one hand on the huge trunk of the tree she had spent the night in.

  ‘You were supposed to be my freedom,’ she said softly to the mute tree, wishing she could go back to a time when marrying Chinedu was her biggest worry.

  ‘Do you often do that?’ a voice said behind her, causing her to jump slightly, her hand clasping at her chest as she stifled a scream.

  ‘Why are you always here?’ she replied, as she gestured to the air in frustration before turning around to face Eni. His personality, like his eyes, was intense. He was constantly watching, focused on the world and its minute details and connections. He knew everything, seemed to be everywhere, relentless and attentive. He dipped his head slightly as he wiped away a smile.

  ‘Ndewo to you too,’ he said, as he let his crossed palms fall from his chest towards Naala. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you; I heard you talking to the tree, and I was curious,’ he shrugged.

  ‘I wasn’t scared. Or talking to the tree,’ Naala replied shortly, avoiding his razor-sharp gaze. ‘I was just remembering … a simpler time.’

  He nodded, concluding that this was probably a topic better left alone. Instead, he swept his gaze over the busy forest. Endless shades of green surrounded them, and the air smelt fresh, as the birds whistled in the morning.

  Eni took a step closer towards Naala, the new girl that they had discovered only two weeks ago. He had found himself doing that often, as though a thick rope existed between the two of them, tightening every time he took another step closer.
Eni could not explain it. Perhaps it was simply her beauty that drew him to her. Even with her eyes darkened from a lack of sleep and her thick lips tightened into a foul scowl, she was breathtaking. Her long intricate braids framed her face perfectly, and her thick sweeping eyelashes created shadows at the corner of her eyes, whilst her rich supple skin shone brilliantly in the sun.

  Eni stopped himself from shaking his head as he took another step closer. It wasn’t just her beauty that drew him. It was something much deeper. He felt as though he had known her before, as though they had always been destined to meet.

  ‘The group is about to eat; will you join us for breakfast this morning?’ Eni asked. He asked her this every morning, hoping that one day she would accept. She had been keeping her distance from the group, remaining an outsider and only interacting with them when it was absolutely necessary.

  ‘No,’ she replied, aggravated. People are dying and all you can think about is breakfast, she thought disgustedly.

  ‘Suit yourself; more tilapia for me, I guess,’ Eni said, as he shrugged again, careful not to reveal his disappointment, but his heels dug more forcefully into the thick shrubs as he turned to head towards the group.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ Naala suddenly burst out.

  Eni halted. He forced his hands to still and attempted to steady his racing heart.

  Naala immediately regretted saying anything. She didn’t know why she had told him. She had already decided that when she left, she would not say a word to the group. She didn’t want to be stopped. She had no desire to even discuss her reasons for leaving. She knew that it would start an argument, and she had no energy for it.

  Eni relaxed his hand and turned around, looking back at Naala coldly.

  ‘Goodbye then, and good luck,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yeah, thanks—I’ll be glad to be actually doing something,’ Naala replied snarkily. The words had slipped out of her mouth like slugs; she had not wanted to say them, but Eni’s comment had irked her.