by Reni K Amayo
He took a deep breath before taking another step forward; he refused to let the girl get to him. But she already had. Before he knew it, he had turned and marched towards her.
‘We all risked our lives to save yours. You don’t have to be grateful, but I will not stand by whilst you accuse us of doing nothing,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘What on earth would even possess you to leave? Why does that make sense to—’ he stopped mid-sentence and drew back from her as he shook his head ‘—never mind—just go. I shouldn’t have to convince you to stay.’
Naala stood stunned for a moment. She had not expected an outburst, least of all from Eni. He always seemed too composed to lose himself to reckless things like anger. She was stuck for words. He thought she was spoilt and ungrateful; she did not like that at all.
‘I’m sorry—but, unlike you, I can’t wait here safe and sound, while my brothers and sisters die.’ Her voice trembled slightly, and she felt weak and silly. She desperately wanted to get her point across, but it seemed trivial and petty in the light of day.
‘So what exactly do you plan to do?’ Eni asked.
‘I will warn the others … go to the villages one by one, so that they are prepared,’ she replied.
‘So you plan on navigating the forest on your own.’
‘I can survive,’ Naala replied quietly.
‘You only learnt how to get clean water two days ago; if it wasn’t for Gossy, you would be dead by now after eating that black spotted redberry that he had to pry from your hands.’
‘Well, I know now, and I will not be eating anything that I don’t know from now on—I don’t need to explain myself –I know how to hunt, I’m capable, I can do this.’
‘You won’t. But let’s say you do … you arrive scruffy, like a madwoman, into the village, yelling that the Eze’s army is coming for them. Do you expect them to believe you just like that?’ He clicked his two fingers together.
‘I—’
‘They won’t!’
Naala crossed her arms in frustration. Why did I tell him? Why?! she inwardly screamed at herself. She didn’t need to explain herself to anyone or go over her plans; she was perfectly capable—
‘Ow!’ Naala cried, as something small and hard hit her forehead. She looked at her feet to find a small papaya fruit lying on the ground. She looked up at Eni in stark shock that quickly turned to a blind rage.
‘You little—’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Eni protested with both hands in the air.
‘Well, that’s rich … who else coul-eyahhh!’ Naala yelped, as she took a step back in fright, as a small ball of grey fur fell at her feet. She blinked momentarily before breaking into a deep laugh for the first time in weeks. Enwe leapt gleefully into her arms and squeezed at her neck as she snuggled against his grey fur.
‘I’m guessing you know this monkey,’ Eni murmured, as he took in the warm reunion.
‘Yes, it’s Enwe. He’s from Igbakwu … from my village,’ Naala replied, her voice sobering as memories of her dead village found their place back in her head. She tapped softly on Enwe’s tail and the monkey bounced off from her shoulders and scrambled back into the leafy forest. Naala watched him leave before bending down and picking up the papaya from the soft grass.
‘Visitors came to my village countless times, talking about these attacks,’ Eni said. ‘But no one believed them until it was actually happening. Why would they believe you?’
‘It’s different,’ Naala added, a statement that led to a pregnant pause. It was different; she had actually survived an attack. All the visitor stories that she had heard were word of mouth, not one of those visitors said that they had experienced it first-hand.
‘It’s not,’ Eni said eventually. ‘But say they do believe you—then what? They pick up and leave … to where? They fight? Against the Eze’s army? It would be a slaughter.’
‘It already is a slaughter—I just want to do something,’ Naala said, mostly to herself. ‘And yes, it might fail but at least I would have tried. What are you doing?!’
‘But we are doing something … we’re the only—’ Eni started, before blinking hard as if he had just said something that he shouldn’t have. ‘It doesn’t matter, go if you want to go,’ he continued sheepishly.
‘What do you mean?’ Naala replied.
‘Go if you want to go,’ he said, avoiding eye contact with her for the first time since they’d met.
‘You are doing something?’
‘We are surviving. Look, if you want to go, then go; if not, then don’t. Either way, I’m hungry and I’m not going to waste good fish for an ungrateful girl,’ Eni said harshly before walking away, as Naala stared after him, still holding the papaya.
A SERIES OF GAMES
CITY OF NRI
‘YOU’RE GOOD AT THIS!’ Obi Ife said with a clap, as he leaned over the table to better inspect the mancala board. Sinai smiled as discreetly as she could, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. She had been holding back the whole time they were playing; she could have beaten him five or so times already, if she hadn’t wanted to prolong their encounter. Sinai wasn’t there to play games; she was there to gather information.
‘FANTASTIC!’ Meekulu had said the day before, when Sinai had finally found time to tell the old woman about what had happened at the gathering.
‘But I didn’t find out anything about him,’ Sinai replied in a low voice, afraid that the very mention of the Eze’s name would conjure him up. She had been initially excited after her encounter with the Obis. She had felt truly powerful and commanding, as though she had been reborn as a new woman. However, with time came subdued thoughts and self-doubt. Now the entire ordeal hung over her like a dark cloud.
Sinai hadn’t said a word to the Eze that evening, but she’d caught him looking at her every now and again, his head bobbing around like a deadly snake’s, and she had to force herself not to shiver.
‘Nothing at all?’ the old woman mused.
‘Not really.’ Sinai frowned. ‘Just that he values justice—which everyone who’s ever heard the man speak knows, so …’
Meekulu dropped the daga that she was using to chop fresh herbs and turned to Sinai.
‘Justice?’ she murmured low.
Sinai sat up, alerted by the roughness in the old woman’s voice.
‘Yes, is that important? Obi Ife, he just said—well, I told him I admired the Eze’s journey and I asked what would one need to win such a man’s favour, and he said that the single most important thing that the Eze cares about is justice.’
Meekulu shook her head.
‘Justice,’ she said darkly. ‘Amadioha and his followers have twisted that concept so much that the word is now obsolete.’
‘Amadioha? The god of justice …’ Sinai shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Meekulu, I don’t think you should say such things.’ Their conversation had become too illicit for her liking, bordering on blasphemous.
Meekulu flashed a hard look at Sinai before her face softened into its usual leathery warmth.
‘It seems that I have gotten ahead of myself. Perhaps we will find time to discuss it later, but you are right: now is not the best time. Not the best time at all.’ Meekulu smiled, but Sinai couldn’t help but notice that it did not reach her eyes. ‘I think you have made good progress; you have even formed alliances with people who know him, no?’
Sinai fidgeted uneasily. ‘Alliance is definitely too strong a word.’
‘Obi Ife—you can speak to him again, yes?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You can arrange a meeting with him.’
‘No … maybe … perhaps …’
‘Alone?’
‘Ahh, I’m not an akwụna, Ma,’ Sinai said, as she leapt up from the table.
‘My dear, akwụna are some of the bravest women you would ever meet—you should be glad to be considered one of them—but saying that, yes, you are right: you are not an akwụna—you are an Ọnye Nyocha.’
Sinai exhaled loudly; she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with where the conversation had led. The thought of having to sell her body for this cause unnerved her; truth be told she wasn’t entirely prepared to spy on the Eze for the cause either.
As her wounds had healed and the memory of her fall subsided, her desire for retribution had also faded. The thought of gaining some sort of control over Ina still remained attractive, but it was not nearly as pressing as it had been when Sinai had first woken up broken and bruised.
Ina’s anger seemed to have burnt white hot until it slowly sizzled into nothing but pale dust. Now, whenever Ina walked past Obi Ife and Sinai, she no longer held any of her previous intensity; it had all melted away into a glazed look of boredom, or a slight curl of her lips.
Ina had always known when it was time to change the game plan. She hated to lose, and so she never did. She simply re-adjusted. If Obi Ife was low enough to fraternise publically with the likes of an efuọla girl, then clearly she must have been wrong about him and his prospects all along.
Now her goal was to find her true equal, and she would, and with her by his side, he would be far more powerful than Obi Ife would ever dream of being. Eventually, when she was finally at the level she was destined to be at, she would deal with both of them for this slight, but for now she could no longer afford to waste any more thought on them.
As Ina became increasingly impassive, Sinai grew less sure about the price that she had agreed to pay to protect herself against the girl’s supposed wrath. Fear had propelled her into a deadly oath, and with that the fear was subsiding, the reality of what she had chosen to do weighed heavily on her soul. After all, the Eze, as abstract and cold as he seemed, was still the kingdom’s ruler. He was still the people’s hero.
Sinai had been told the story a million times as a child. Like everyone in the kingdom, she could recite it effortlessly on demand. The story was set in a lost time, hundreds of years ago, when the gods roamed the earth. They were said to be incredibly beautiful, unbelievably strong, and surrounded by auras of brilliant, raw energy.
Ala, the Earth Mother, had given each of the gods a piece of the world to rule. Some were given the physical elements, such as rain and thunder. Some were given the emotional elements like lust and anger, and others were given power over conceptual elements like justice. The gods were said to have walked amongst the humans, tall and outstanding, as they collaborated to help them navigate Ala’s elements. The gods grew to love the humans, and the humans worshiped and loved the gods.
Slowly, the Earth Mother grew envious of the love that the humans and gods shared, for neither of them loved her with the same intensity. One day, Ala decided to wipe the humans away, and start again with a new, more gracious form of life. The gods pleaded with her, begging her to reconsider her plans, but her mind was as hard as granite.
The gods loved the people so much that, when it became clear that pleading would not be enough to save them from the Mother’s wrath, they decided to fight. United, humans and gods waged a war against the Mother and her followers. Each side sustained irrevocable losses, but Ala remained unmoved. That was, until one man changed it all. Just as humans and gods alike were at the brink of extinction, he stole Ala’s heart, the Ndụ crystal.
Ala’s heart was said to resemble a small emerald quartz that could fit easily in the palm of a child’s hand. It was said to hold enough energy to sustain countless stars, build infinite worlds, and end all life. When the light touched it, it would spring to dazzling brightness like nothing ever seen before. Ala had kept her heart hidden in one of the caves at Udi, shielded by ancient magic. Only the purest heart, brightest mind, and fullest soul could find it. It was thought to be impossible to steal, but Eze Ochichiri had done just that.
When he snatched the crystal from the cave, the earth screamed in pain. Hurricanes erupted, the land tore itself to pieces, and the rivers burnt with rage. The Earth Mother was dying. One by one, the remaining gods died, until there were none left. They said Ala used her dying breath to kill them, refusing to be the only one to leave the earth.
Soon after, all was still. The sun emerged once again from the blood-red clouds, the rivers settled, flowing with tears of those who mourned, and the land sighed in exhaustion. The Earth Mother was dead.
The earth was broken, but Eze Ochichiri, still armed with Ala’s heart, began to repair it. He restored peace and order. He brought back stability and security, and soon enough he was named the Eze of all the kingdoms. While his reign stretched over centuries, his body and wisdom remained preserved by the Ndụ crystal.
This was the being that Sinai had agreed to spy on: Eze Ochichiri, the man who had saved the earth.
‘Meekulu, why do I need to spy on the Eze?’ Sinai asked for the first time. She had wanted to ask this question ever since Meekulu had given her the details of the ọbara oath, but she had been afraid of anything that could jeopardise her plan, including her very own conscious.
Sinai had been swept up by the notion of doing something as inconceivable and illicit as spying on the Eze. Meekulu had been so nonchalant about the whole operation; her unshakeable faith that Sinai could pull such a thing off had deluded Sinai into thinking the same. However, she was beginning to experience steadying thoughts. The mission was not only dangerous; Sinai feared that it was also wrong.
‘He took something from me,’ Meekulu replied pointedly.
‘I’m sure if you asked …’
‘It’s not the sort of thing one asks for,’ Meekulu said softly, her eyes saddened by old memories. Sinai had never seen her like this, completely lost in thought. Her heart ached for the old woman. Meekulu was both strong and frail; Sinai was always comforted by the old woman’s strength but her fragility pierced Sinai like a shard of glass through the heart.
Sinai wasn’t too sure why, but she believed in the old woman’s conviction; she believed that there was a reason, a sound, good reason, for all of this.
‘And we’re not harming anyone innocent?’ Sinai asked again, seeking reassurance that any crime she had already undoubtedly committed was as moral as it could be. Sinai was certainly not above delivering justice to those who deserved it, irrespective of what the law said; that was fair. Causing pain or discomfort to those who didn’t deserve it, solely for her own gain … well, that she could not abide with.
‘Absolutely not,’ Meekulu scoffed, as her face slowly regained its usual exuberance. The old woman smiled wide, as she stepped closer to Sinai.
‘No one innocent will be hurt, but a lot of wrongs must be righted. Sinaikuku, you are such a sweet child—good heart,’ she said, as she squeezed Sinai’s cheeks softly. ‘Most people would have asked me to help them kill that girl, but you don’t even want to disfigure her properly.’ Meekulu took a step back to look at Sinai.
‘Thanks. Also—’ Sinai implored, ‘Why do you keep calling m—’
‘Such a good child,’ Meekulu continued, before rushing over to the corner of her kitchen. ‘Let’s get started on this disfiguring agent, shall we?’
THE THREE PUPPET MASTERS
Furuefu Forest
WHAT ARE YOU UP TO? Naala thought, as she looked out at the group of survivors huddled together under the large looming palm leaves, eating a mix of berries, smoked cod fish, and the coconut fragments that the men had smashed open with a flat stone.
Naala had been conflicted after her conversation with Eni; his words weighed heavy on her, acting like a cord and keeping her chained to the group of wanderers. Naala wasn’t entirely sure if she was staying out of curiosity or fear, but either way, she was here and her eyes were wide open.
When Naala had first encountered the group, she’d felt as though she was blocked by a dark mountain of despair. Its presence drove her out of slumber and tormented her waking hours. But that was beginning to change. While the loss of her family and friends still hung over her, she was no longer blocked by the mountain of pain. Instead, she allowed it to melt do
wn into an ocean that washed over her; her head was always bobbing at the surface, but she had yet to drown.
She had started to eat again, and sleep no longer evaded her. Her mind was regaining its former sharpness, and she was astounded by how much detail she had let slip.
She quickly realised that, just as she was watching them, they had always been watching her. Eyes were constantly locked on her as she ate, went for a walk, bathed, or sat in thought. She was never alone. She was overwhelmed with the level of secrecy that existed even within the group. Hidden glances and whispered conversations plagued the group of mixed personalities. Only a select few were privy to portions of these secrets, and one man, Azu, foolishly thought he knew them all. He was convinced that he was the group leader. He is the eldest, Naala mused; perhaps that is why he feels comfortable in this role.
Azu would moderate any serious conversation and nod stoically before declaring his final conclusion. His booming voice would wake them up in the mornings, and tell them when it was time to retire into their hammocks at night. He would dictate when they moved locations and to where. On certain mornings he would declare that they all needed to ‘train’. In a wide clearing with the smell of green wafting through the air, he would walk them through fighting manoeuvres that he guaranteed would help them defend themselves against a chance encounter with the army. Outside of his nonsensical demeanour, he was relatively good at playing the leader. Naala would be lying if she said she had not once believed him. In fact, when she had first joined the group, she was convinced that Azu was a sheep leading a group of lambs aimlessly.
However, when Naala paid closer attention, she soon realised that of the eight people within the group, three of them seemed to be the puppet masters—or, at the very least, knew that the strings existed: Kora, Eni and Madi. From what she could see, all the others were oblivious. These three alone held all the power. They would engineer the conversations with covert but attractive baits that Azu never failed to gleefully pick up. He would then proclaim, with resounding certainty, a conclusion that he had been guided to by the three members. Even his haphazard training sessions were neither haphazard nor his. Every time the fighting sessions occurred, two out of the three members would never fail to be paired together, and during the one-on-one combat Naala would spot them having private conversations.
