The drums continued to frazzle the night. It was the third beat of the normal traditional cycle. Well, maybe not the third, but his eyes dazed through the curtains of darkness when the music suddenly stopped. Sitting up from the floor, he strained his weak ears. Waiting, and listening.
Could this be the redemption he had hoped for? Ah, of course not. There was no redemption. His father was dead. No siblings, no uncle. It was foolish to think anyone would come to his rescue.
His stomach knotted as he lazed back on the pole. Not that the music had returned, but the footfalls of silence was the only proof he needed. He was not going home anytime soon. They would not let him return, not while he remains the son of their enemy. Not while he was the child of the best warrior in the land.
Do all you can for the king, but never trust him with your life.
Jide closed his eyes to the voice of his father. If only he had heeded to the advice of the old man
The sound of the ikoro had woken her. It was rare. That wooden gong was never beaten unless something bad has happened or was about to happen. It was hard to tell which of the two was in play. But one thing was certain. The ikoro was a drum of the spirit. It was never sounded in vain. The last time she had heard its sound was a long time ago. She was probably ten or eleven years old then. The kingdom had lost the greatest diviner, the Dibia of the seventh generation. Ejima hurried towards the sandy path, making her way to the village square. The day was young, but the fact that she didn’t see anyone on her way to the square, made her wonder if the enemy had wiped out the entire village. For all she could tell, the village could have turned into a ghost town. Not even the noise of a domestic animal could be heard. Silence and emptiness had mended the crips of the birds. Ejima rested her hands on her sling as she roamed the narrow path. As a novice in the shrine, she w
Five days have gone by since they signed up for the hunt. Until today, everyone had been indoors, waiting eagerly for the final selection. Dukin, the King's horn, had insisted on an archery test since survival in the wild would be shooting a dangerous animal from a distance instead of waiting for them to close gaps. Why most people saw this as a change in the tradition and culture of the people, and would not welcome it with an open arm, others saw it as a good sign. They had claimed it would minimize the proportion of casualties and that more people are likely to survive at the end of the hunt. However good it sounded, there were whispers too. Some have argued that Dukin had enacted the new rule because a brother of his was taking part in the hunt. Ejima rested her leg on the bow, she was not the one to listen to gossip, especially those that have to do with politics. The loose end of the rope that had failed to stay true on the bow was causing enough irritation for her to
Uche picked the first arrow and sauntered towards the line. His lips parted when he saw the glee in his wife's eyes. He was taller than most men in the camp and the muscles that streaked his body made his skin glow. Looking at him, Ejima could not stop thinking about the smooth feel of pottery. His hair was long too, and had been braided into two delicate strands, with their dark color, contrasting the cowries that dangled on them. It was an unfamiliar look, that one was strange. Ejima never liked Uche wearing long hair or beads. But seeing them on him made her... She swallowed. To be honest, he was beautiful. The braids brought out his masculine nature and attractiveness. It was hard to take her eyes away from the man that had won her heart. Seeing him created a bubble in her stomach, sending a frigid chill down her spine and making her shift on the seat. All their years and adventures together, it was obvious how fragile and fluffy life could be. This moment you have every
Counting his fingers did not work, so Jide kept track of time by paying attention to the cocks, whose voices were announcing the break of dawn. He had given up sleep since the princess brought him here and that was because his racing heart would not let his body relax. The guards might be looking for him; it was hard to tell. But Jide hopes they would not find him. Deep down, he prayed he had left no evidence or sign for the palace guards to track. He couldn't imagine what they would do to him if they find him here. And this place was comfortable, but for the... Jide stood and dusted the straw from his body, trying to keep down the nauseating feeling. The straws were old and soaked with urine that could almost draw tears from the eyes. Looking at them, Jide could not help the thought of the decaying antelope his father had shot dead some months back. If someone had told him otherwise, he would have argued with them, but now, he was not sure. Were there no servants in the kin
The drummers and their music took the lead again, with the old women dancing in circles, following the Diviner who was behind the King’s guards and the warriors of the village. The palanquin of leaf and wood danced with the sack clothes of the hefty men who had rings, going through their nose and ears. There were six of them, dark-skinned and with scars all over their body. Each side of the palanquin held some white wool, looking sleek and smooth, it was hard to tell which animal skin it was. And, this was the first time Jide had seen a royal palanquin. It also made him wonder why the princess had decided to ride on an ostrich instead of joining the family in their ostentation of wealth, power, and prestige. Well, maybe she was different from her father. Maybe she was not as foolish as Jide had presumed initially. Golden glows herald the gentle wind that came rushing in. It was comforting. The heat was by no means backing down and the afternoon might last for another six to
She swam through the wet foliage, using her free hands to keep the wetness from her skin. It was a futile effort since the wetness drove a chill from her barefoot to every part of her body. The sun had given way for the dark clouds, and the drizzling rain was just too cold on her skin. Since she assumed the role of working on the shrine, she has not been drenched by a downpour. And that was partly because she hated the rainy season for some odd reason. Plus, her experience with these people the last two years, was not a pleasant one. Even as she walked through the familiar path, she could feel her muscle and strength turning to water. If she had her way, she would have forgotten this mission and focused on winning the hunt. That would change the world. It would change her world for good. Wining the hunt would make her the rightful heir to the throne. It would be an amazing experience. A delightful splendor crawled through her stomach and she wanted to swell with the alluring
It took one last flash of lightning for Ejima to see the empty streets. The drizzling rain had fogged into a mist but was spirited by the torches slitting from the windows. Her wet clothes were glued to her body and plunging cold into her soul. Save for the lack of water and food, she preferred the dry season to wet season. It did not ruin things and activities like this. "It's been like this all year," the muscular woman said as if reading her thoughts. "But we thank the gods for their mercies. Better to have wet season than live like a desert rat" Ejima did not respond, they had crossed the muddy parameter and were breaking away from the heart of the village. Not even a dog was outside. If the torches burning inside every house were not lit she could have sworn that this village was inhabited by ghosts. “Dry season is like its name, dry. But it's time for harvest. A time for plenty of food.” Ejima said. “Ah, what about water?" The woman asked just a
Ugomma swam through the bodies and screams of the people who kept jumping and calling out to the eleven gods. The ceremony had eaten deep into the evening, breaking the sadness that kept meddling with her soul. Nothing will remain the same, even though the happiness on the faces of these people seemed to keep the fear at bay. She knows deep down that the world would change after today. It was politics like her father would say. This was the last blow that would give the heated iron its shape. The king had pried with the affairs of the people; he had stretched his hands into a furnace and only time will tell if he will get burnt or not. Rubbing off the smell of sweat, Ugomma shouldered past some group of men who were drinking away what was left of the evening. They seemed not to care, even though her struggle had spluttered the wine on their clay mug. She didn't care either, her eyes just kept track of the red and white animal skin, bouncing back and forth on the princess's s