Daughters of Nri

by Reni K Amayo

  What could it possibly be? Naala asked herself once again, her legs crossed on the soft grass as she picked up handfuls of stems before throwing them back on the ground. In her lap lay the thick, springy, and deflated mmiri petals that she had just finished suckling for water.

  With her thirst quenched, she sat slumped, her eyes glazed over, with a laziness that only the warmest day during the hot season could inspire. Naala had learnt how to look at people without looking at people, very early in life. While she may have appeared lazy, her mind was not.

  As a child, her curiosity had often gotten the best of her. Her grandmother would often scold or smack her softly on the mouth when Naala fired a series of questions out into the world.

  ‘Why does she look like that?’

  ‘What is the real colour of the moon?’

  ‘How many ikos would create a river?’

  ‘Grandma?’

  ‘Nana?!’

  Naala had soon learnt to keep her stream of questions locked safely in her mind, and to instead seek the answers with her eyes. Eventually, someone or something would tell her exactly what she needed to hear, and another piece would be slotted into the puzzle.

  Naala took a deep breath and sighed with what appeared to be boredom. But Naala was anything but bored.

  The group of survivors had taken a small break on their way to a new location in the vast Furuefu forest. Azu had led them to a clearing shrouded by towering branches festooned with dangling vines and large leaves of varying hues. The ground was clustered with dense shrubs, recently grazed by the herd of bushwick that had fled at the sound of the approaching survivors.

  Naala watched as the clearing dazzled with greens, yellows, and browns. Shadows cast by the imposing trees cut through the numerous streaks of sunlight. The space comforted her immensely; it was not too difficult for her to feign sleepy boredom as she watched Kora spring up from the ground with strips of fish tucked inside her balled fingers.

  Naala twisted her back and stretched as Kora dropped to the ground near a handful of birds, opening her palm and cooing to encourage them to eat. Naala leaned back on her arms while her eyes sauntered over the surroundings; at the corner of her peripheral vision, a black hamerkop bird with a yellow patch on its back dropped into Kora’s hand.

  Naala’s heart tightened as she forced herself not to react. She had only ever known two types of hamerkop birds, the grey ones that the villagers used to send their messages to and fro, and the green ones that were said to reside in the palace, powered by the Mother’s crystal to travel long distances. She had never come across a black hamerkop before; it looked strange and awkward amongst the flock of birds competing for scraps of fish meat.

  Kora caressed the black bird and coaxed it to open its beak. She gently dropped a strip of fish into its wide mouth, but not before taking something small out of it first. Naala blinked as the girl slipped the small package, discreetly, into her garment. Kora then bounced away from the flock of scrabbling birds, as Naala began to nonchalantly inspect a strand of her own hair, her heart pounding fast as her mind burst into frenzy.

  What in goodness name are they up to?

  ASILIA WAKES FROM HER SLUMBER

  CITY OF NRI

  SINAI PAUSED on the polished marble floor of the empty hallway, and watched the bright morning light bounce beautifully off of the white sand pillars, encrusted with golden patterns, the saga of yet another battle. She had found herself, once again, in an obscure section of the palace, somewhere hidden where only those who were lost wandered. The space was deeply calm, inviting, and bathed with a weightless soft light. Unfortunately, Sinai couldn’t feel it.

  For days now, she had woken to the feeling of heavy pressure on her body. Sinai would clutch at her chest, as she willed herself to take one deep breath. She was finding it increasingly difficult to come to terms with the burden that she had willingly lifted. With each choice, she had walked into her conflicted predicament. Sinai had no one to blame but herself. That thought alone made her restless, desperate to fix the situation or, at the very least, to escape it. So she had started wandering around the palace.

  This used to give her a sense of peace. Her mind would dispense all of her endless thoughts, like a soaked owu cloth being wrung by strong capable hands. Sinai had spent countless hours walking around the vast palace, learning its obscure crevices and finding rare solitary spots. Sinai would often discover new spaces, people, and artefacts on her walks. However, today she had found nothing. All she had was the same heavy thought that followed her day after day: I’ve failed myself.

  A multitude of unanswered questions and fleeting words filled her mind. Ọnye Nyocha … was that really what she had become? She didn’t feel like one. Sinai felt like a child, taking on a role and acting it out half-heartedly alongside friends that took the play far more seriously. If she was a spy, what did it mean about her mortality, or, worse, her morality? Sinai could very well die on this assignment and, if she did, who would absolve her? Spying was against the law, spying on the Eze was sacrilegious. While these various thoughts circled her mind, one stuck and burnt her at her core.

  Why am I even doing this? Sinai finally thought, shaking her head vigorously from side to side. She was tired of asking herself the same questions and, if she was being honest, terrified of knowing the answer.

  Grrr …

  A low and deep inhumane sound materialised behind her, sending a chill through Sinai’s body. Her throat closed up and her head felt light. Sinai was terrified to look behind her; whatever had made that sound was not something she wanted to encounter. Sinai turned her head slowly as she clenched her fingers into a tight ball. She looked around the empty hall, shocked to find that there was nothing there. However, she was not at ease. She had felt a shift in the air.

  Sinai marched forward. Adrenaline fizzed down her back. She needed to leave, and she needed to leave now. A flurry of movement behind her paralysed her. Sinai felt fear’s grip against her throat. She flashed another look behind and shook her head as something caught her eye. Her body reacted far quicker than her mind; her heart quickened and a thick sick feeling dropped in the pit of her stomach. Sinai took a quick breath as she turned to face a large, albeit still, beast. It resembled one of the lions that resided deep in the wild forest; while she had never seen one face-to-face, Sinai had spent many nights reading passages describing the beasts.

  It stood large and firm on its four strong legs, and its long slender tail slithered on the marble floor. Locks of beautiful black hair tumbled around its majestic face.

  ‘Lion?’ Sinai gasped wordlessly, not entirely sure whether she was calling for help or asking for clarification. The magnificent beast shone in the sunlight, its glossy black coat, unlike anything she had seen on any other of its kind, whispered secrets of wealth and dignity.

  Suddenly a strange sensation washed over Sinai; her eyes were locked on the lion and it stared back at her with remarkable focus. It was almost as if the beast was seconds away from opening its mouth to speak to her, its large head cocked to its side and its black round eyes softened with an emotion that resembled understanding.

  Sinai’s heart pounded in her ears. Her only solace was that everything was completely still; that was, until it wasn’t. The beast began to move deliberately. Slowly it placed one paw in front of the other. A ripple flowed through its muscles.

  However, that did not last; as the beast grew eager, its pace picked up, until it was almost at a gallop. Sinai’s head felt light as a low heavy growl vibrated through the lion’s body. Her mind was screaming at her to run, but her body was frozen with fear.

  ‘Asilia!’ a voice behind her said, short and snappy, like the finger click that accompanied it. The beast broke its focus, and halted; its large eyes immediately looked towards the direction of the faceless voice. The beast abandoned its pursuit of Sinai and turned abruptly to walk towards the man that summoned it.

  Sinai released a wrenching breath, doubled over with
her hands grasping her knees. Her head spun but she forced herself to turn to see who the voice belonged to. As she did, another dose of gut-wrenching fear washed over her … the Eze.

  He stood before her tall and composed, with the lion rubbing affectionately against his leg. Sinai straightened her back with great unease, her mouth slightly ajar as she searched for words to explain herself … before she realised that, in this situation at least, she had done nothing wrong. Displaying guilt would only make her look suspicious which, given what she was involved in, was dangerous. Unsure of what to do, Sinai lowered her eyes to the floor as she brought her crossed palms to her chest cautiously, letting them fall softly towards the Eze. Though her hands shook slightly, she kept them there whilst she bowed.

  ‘Ndewo,’ she murmured.

  ‘No need to fear, child, she will not harm you. She only harms the guilty,’ the Eze said in a low deep voice, as he ruffled the lion’s mane.

  Sinai lifted her head and placed her clammy hands by her side. She felt as though she was falling … guilty: that word was plastered against her head, sewn into her skin, and melted into her blood. I need to go, she screamed at her immobile legs. The Eze released a low chuckle as he stepped closer, with Asilia following faithfully by his side.

  ‘So nervous,’ he murmured, as he stood over her, his eyes twinkling in delight as though he enjoyed her discomfort. After staring at her for some time, the Eze circled her slowly, increasing the distance between them as he did so.

  ‘I understand. We all have guilt somewhere, over something; even the smallest crimes could make us feel as though we have lost our souls,’ he said, trailing off into thought. He stepped towards her abruptly. ‘But it’s all about balance, see,’ he said animatedly, with one finger wagging in the air. ‘The impact and reasoning are crucial. To know this, to understand this … well, that, my dear, that is to know justice.’ He paused, searching her face for something, but his eyes darkened when he didn’t find it. ‘In any case, Asilia is still … tired. Ever since she was tasked with delivering justice to Obioma, she has lost herself somewhat.’

  Lolo Obioma, Sinai thought frantically. She felt a twinge in her heart as the Eze’s heavy words settled on her. What justice did Asillia deliver to the quiet and dutiful queen?

  The Eze watched Sinai intently, his eyes brightening as hers widened in horror.

  ‘No one is immune to the call for justice,’ he said firmly. ‘A price was paid, and my dear Asilia has been spent ever since. In fact, this is the first time I have seen her wandering the palace corridors in decades. She no longer wishes to be my overseer of justice,’ the Eze murmured distantly. ‘Not unless you do something truly gruesome.’ He looked back at her, his eyes twinkling once again, his body slightly bent towards Sinai.

  Sinai held her breath, afraid that he would be able to smell her fear.

  The Eze seemed momentarily lost in thought. ‘Well, either that or you happen to have some ụtọ plant on you! Nasty business. That’s why I banned it from the kingdom; she can be uncontrollable, this girl.’ The Eze chuckled as he bent to pat the beast on the head.

  Sinai didn’t know what to think. In all her time at the palace, she had never actually seen the beast, except in the various artists’ depictions scattered around the halls, yet the Eze spoke as though this lion was an old friend that followed him everywhere. She was bursting with questions; after all, this was the most that she had ever spoken to the man in her entire life. Are you good? Where is the queen? What are your plans? Why did you save us? But only two words tumbled out of her mouth.

  ‘Thank you.’ She wasn’t too sure what she was thanking him for: perhaps saving her from the friendly beast, or spending the time to help rationalise her fears, or maybe saving the very existence of humanity.

  Whatever it was that she had thanked him for, the Eze seemed to understand. He nodded solemnly before saying, ‘You have become more … present.’ He squinted quizzically. ‘Since your fall,’ he added.

  Sinai was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. ‘Yes, I am present now—more present than before … the fall … I suppose it … well, it woke me up,’ Sinai replied, her head pounding as she fought hard to contain the screams within.

  The Eze’s smooth, deep brown skin revealed neither his countless years on earth, nor his thoughts on Sinai’s response. ‘Yes,’ he replied, nodding. ‘You are very lucky.’

  Sinai lowered her eyes, terrified of locking gazes with him; she was convinced he could look into her soul.

  ‘Very,’ she replied quickly.

  ‘That, or Meekulu is very skilful,’ the Eze said quietly.

  Unable to stop herself, Sinai’s head sprang up at the mention of Meekulu’s name. She almost kicked herself right then and there. Indifferent! she yelled at herself. Be indifferent!

  The Eze’s eyes lit up once again in amusement.

  ‘Or both,’ he suggested, as he walked past her, hands clasped behind his back and Asilia following at his heels.

  THE MIDNIGHT MEETING

  Furuefu Forest

  THE GROUP HAD RETIRED EARLY for the night. They had spent the last two days trying to gain as much distance northwards as they could. After a brief conversation with Eni, Azu had told the group that they needed to move.

  ‘We’ve been in one spot for too long,’ Azu had announced. ‘We’ve become lazy and complacent, moving our camps at a stone’s throw from each other. We’re leaving trails and evidence, and very soon, just as we lay like sloths, the army will come and wipe us away!’

  Eni’s words had sounded slightly forced on the big man’s tongue, but their effect was still impactful. The group unanimously decided to embark on the journey.

  Naala had found herself flirting with the idea of deserting the group for the hundredth time before their departure. But, once again, the allure of discovering the group’s secret had kept her tightly bound to the survivors.

  She needed to know their plan. She suspected that it might be much better than her own. The amount of energy they spent keeping it a secret exceeded anything she had done. If their plan was indeed better, then she wanted to get involved. The urge to be useful in the face of the senseless killings had not left her; rather it had grown stronger with each passing day, and over time it had also become intertwined with her desire to unmask the survivors’ secret plans, as though they were one and the same.

  As the survivors traversed the lush green forest, the hot sun pounded on their sweat-drenched backs, and their feet throbbed with fatigue, but the fear of encountering the army kept them going. They found some solace as they waded through patches of knee-high, moist grass, with water buds that worked to cool their legs, inflamed with activity and the relentless sun. The wind whistled through the emerald trees, bringing with it the deep smell of damp warm wood coupled with rich soil and sweet flowers.

  Bright sunrays pierced the green clouds of leaves and shone brightly in their eyes. But they did not falter. They marched on resolutely. Any fanciful dreams of the strong rhinos or even the sturdy ox that might have helped them were immediately chased away by the knowledge that such large animals would impede their on-going need to be stealthy.

  They had only stopped to collect bark from one of Anyanwu’s uchie trees.

  ‘These trees have not always been like this, you know,’ Azu said to Naala, as he placed one of his large hands on the black soot tree trunk.

  Naala looked back at him with her eyes squinted in confusion and fatigue. Surely this man is not going to recite the legend that every child in Igbakwu has learnt after their fourth year? she thought in exhaustion.

  ‘When the fire goddess still walked the earth they were wreathed in flame constantly—not black and broken as they are now. Imagine the sight of a tree constantly coated with undying flames.’ Azu whistled.

  Naala had imagined it, countless times, in fact; she had always been fascinated by the fire trees. When the Mother died and the god’s vanished from the earth, Anyawu’s uchie trees became
flameless. The once blood-red trees were now dry and covered in black soot. The Kingdom of Nri soon discovered that it could still obtain its beloved ọkụ flames using the dried bark of the dead uchie trees. Caressing the bark in specific motions would throw ọkụ flames into the air; a small scrap of bark could keep Naala’s family going for weeks on end. They would use it to cook, to stay warm, to light up dark nights.

  ‘Yes, uncle, my grandmother actually tol—’

  ‘Not just that,’ Azu interrupted, causing Naala’s blood to run hot with annoyance. ‘But even the ọkụ flames themselves … they used to be amazing. You could just gather them at ease and mould them into anything you desired. Anyone could have been a flame tamer. Now we only have these ye-ye circles, but back then it was magnificent.’

  ‘Yes, I know; thank you, Uncle,’ Naala said, taking a deep breath as Azu rolled his eyes.

  ‘Sure you know, because I just told you,’ he sneered, punctuating his statement with a forced laugh that crept up Naala’s spine.

  She smiled tightly.

  ‘You know,’ Naala said nonchalantly. ‘The castle still apparently has quite magnificent ọkụ shapes. The flame tamers there can make flames as beautiful as living art, I’ve been told.’ She enjoyed seeing the slight bulge in the big man’s eyes.

  ‘No—’ he started.

  ‘It’s true, Uncle,’ she insisted.

  ‘What do you know?’ he bellowed.