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CHAPTER 18
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EJIMA CHAPTER 19
Thick bamboo fences separated the King's compound from the rest of the village. As usual, the urine fustiness trimmed the outer court, bringing back the image of the decayed deer Jide had seen some months back. Old women of different sizes and shapes promenaded to and fro, with royal animal skin, lining their waist, leaving their breasts to flap from side to side like a banana leaf. They were chatting the morning away, obviously unaffected by the stench looming on every corner. Jide has never seen so many old people clustering in one place before. That must be the reason for the stink. Perhaps they rarely bathe or wash. Or was it unanimous with old people? Well, if growing old means smelling like an abandoned cloth that was soaked in a smog of wasted garbage, then Jide prefers to remain a kid forever. He would rather smell like butter every day and remain a kid than have gray hairs and folded skins with flies as a company. “This way,” Maduka said. Taking the lead. Jide hurried behind
EJIMA CHAPTER 20
Commotion rose from one corner of the rough wall, bouncing on the edge and spreading through every side as Jide and his father stepped into the throne room. It was hard to move a muscle, not with the men, squabbling like little ducks quarreling over a little fish. Standing there did not add any light to Maduka’s ignorance. Too many people were talking at the same time. Too much verbiage. Snorting he pointed to the space on the right, some strides from the throne. Jide lowered the seat and settled it so that it could balance on the lumpy floor. The throne was empty, no wonder the noise from the elders. Even the palace guards were absent. It was not strange but Maduka could feel the emptiness slacking with laxity. This has never happened before, not in a long while. The last time the king had been late to court, was the day his only son and heir to the throne, had fallen sick and had died the day after. Yes, it was not strange for the King to be late, but not to this extent. “Are you
EJIMA CHAPTER 21
“What nonsense. Who gave this dog the right to speak in this gathering?” Ichie Echefu stood, giving no thought to his wooden stool that flew backward. More crease covered his brow, and the skin under his jaw twitched. All those anger. All those hate. Were they for Jide alone or was the man using this as leverage? “How dare you speak to your elders with such insolence? Ara ana apugi (are you mad)?" Jide looked away, knitting the helm of his pelt with his fingers. He wished he could tell the man to go and wash his filthy mouth in the river, but that would only give him a bad name. Pride is the grease track to the hands of failure, his father normally says. Jide was willing to follow his father's instructions. Out of respect. For all he could tell, Ichie Echefu was nothing but a wealthy old fool. He was prominent among the people. He was one of the wise men whom the villagers bow to, especially when the king was off duty. It was a dangerous game. Yes. A very dangerous one. But right now
EJIMA CHAPTER 22
The cold wind swirled again, and this time, he held tight the blanket made from the fur of a wild wolf, hoping to keep the cold from bashing his skin. It had rained twice today and even though he was among the many that had prayed for the downpour, he was a bit annoyed. The drizzle was drenching his expensive hood and it would take days to remove all the water. Circumstances like this often make him wish for the dry season. The privilege and freedom to travel into any city without care of being drenched, especially when one was in their ceremonial attire. He snort and tugged the rein, hoping the Zebra would increase its pace. If he had his way he would have remained within the walls of his house, under his roof, and with the warmness of his wife. But comfort was something he had never known since he was a child. Just as the land of the dead was not satisfied with the number of souls it eats, so too the quest for comfort. Solving one problem always brings back another, it was an endles
EJIMA CHAPTER 23
As always, the language that speaks on the stone wall was the language the dead spoke. At least five torches were hanging in circles on the rough wall. It was a simple room and could have been empty but for the stone chairs. Men in blue gowns sat in silence with their thoughts, watching and observing. Each had the customary chalk and hid their identities beneath a mask. Hawk could not place a name on any of the men. Name was forbidden. The only name that was allowed was the name of the stone, a name given to each individual according to the animal mask they wore. "You are late," Someone said. He had the mask of a bull, which matched the heaviness in his muscles. He was also tall, perhaps the tallest in their midst, and like the rest, he wore a blue vest, twice the size of an average man, but too small for his protruding muscles. Hawk ignored the man at first as he walked towards his seat. Bull, as he was called, was the right hand of the King, perhaps, the most trusted individual w
EJIMA CHAPTER 24
Jide swallowed the last pounded yam, licking his fingers, one at a time. The wine tasted good, or better than what his father normally gets from the old wine tapper in the village. Life was stunning if one was born with blue blood. Who could have guessed that a nobody like him would one day be a special guest of the King? Breathing in, he leaned on the chair and rested his legs on the stool. It had rained last night and twice the day before. Planting season has begun and not many men have good yam in their barn. The ones who do would probably want to sell at a higher cost. And that's where being rich has its advantage. Jide's lips broadened as a small smile smudged them. He knew he shouldn't be here. He'd heard stories of how cruel the king could be on anyone that fails to play by his rules. These men were brutal to outcasts that crossed their path. But the buffet kept his foot entrenched. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he was going to grab it with both hands. He la
EJIMA CHAPTER 25
He held up his snuff-box and taped the edge, hoping to get the content into a homogenous mixture. It was not among the best in the kingdom, but he had decided to give it a trial, partly because Ume had persuaded him that the snuff was the real thing in the seven villages. The other part was the shrill fact that the man was his father-in-law. He had married three of Ume's daughters and while they were still being trained to fit into the court’s way of life, Bozo had agreed to buy Ume’s snuff. Out of sympathy than willingness. This was not their first deal of course. He had patronized the man before, a long time ago, and it was a blunder Bozo was not willing to repeat, not while there were still good palm wine tappers across the district. Bozo hoped the man’s snuff was better than his wine, or else, he would consider Ume as a man who only knows how to bring forth children and nothing more. Bozo frowned as he uncorked the cover lid. The content in the wooden box looks nothing like a snuf
EJIMA CHAPTER 26
Despite the uneasiness hanging on every side of the camp, Bozo could feel the comfort under his hood—made from an antelope hide—as he walked through the hordes of men that stood, facing the distance ahead. Their hands were clenching their weapons as though their life depended on them, and the torrential drop of sweat that came running down smeared their faces with a glare that almost gave Bozo a skin burn. Pathetic. Bozo thought as he held up his chest, walking through the open space which the surprised men had torn for him. The heavens have parted ways with the golden glows of the beautiful morning and the heat of the maturing day was beginning to show its face. But for the ceremony—usually at night and once in a twelve moon cycle—Bozo has never left the comfort of his palace in broad daylight. He had never liked daytime. Of course, he had been born into daylight and had walked in their comfort at a time. But those days are gone. Too many things have transpired in those years. It al
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