The screeching of metals against the edges of the stone door echoed noisily. The slaves constrained in bars of speaking chains were the first to pass through the gate, and the others followed behind silently. They had been walking for hours in a tunnel of stones but the entry into the gate, introduced an open environment of sand. One of the hefty men—about seven to eight feet—who bore the keys to the chains, snorted angrily and lashed out with his whip, at the little boy who had fallen on the rocky ground. “Get up you lazy fool or I will lash you with my sword,” the man scorned as the boy cried out in pain and struggled up to his feet but failed. The wimp from the other slaves—about fifteen of them—was the only thing that tried to stand up against the huge man and the boy. Nobody moved a limb; they just stared helplessly as the man continued to flog the boy with the horse whip. The other hefty men laughed and spoke in ton

Ada was not so certain; the image had come like a flash. She had seen the head of a black mamba snake, the type that would send a man on his heels. But, like a puff of smoke, it had vanished with the fog—the darkness of the path serving as a good camouflage. Maybe she was being paranoid; maybe the sleepiness night was getting to her, making her mind play tricks. Either way, she decided to trace her steps carefully, that was the best thing to do, at least, until the grace of the sun was golden enough.The beat in her chest was racing. It was as if her heart was immersed into her stomach, and the resilience shooting up to her throat. She couldn’t continue, though she tried convincing herself that what she had seen was not real. Everything within her protested against it. In Alaocha, people avoided the black mamba, as best as they could, because, a single bite could kill instantly. Its appearance was mostly perceived by the elders, as a bad omen—mostly death. A

Leaves and twigs crushed under the weight of the men who traveled along what should have been a sandy path, only that it was covered now with leaflets of dead petals, whose depth almost drowned the joints of their ankle. The noise complimented the scary screams of the wild birds and buzz of the insects, which meander in the dry hot air.“My bones are crying out, can we just rest for—”“Not again Okwunta,” Mbakwe interrupted. He paused in his wake and averted his blazing gaze to the stout man who was sitting on the leaf bed, with legs spreading out. Despite the shade provided by the numerous trees, Okwunta was bathed with the salty liquid, which was oozing out from his skin. “I have had enough

“So, tell me,” Nnamdi said as he forced the words amid the bolus of the pounded yam going down his gullet. His guest watched him and gulped, grateful that his stomach had not growled to disclose how the hunger of the past days had affected him. “How long have you stayed in Dota? I mean, how long since your training?”Mbakwe scowled at the habit of the man. Parents sprung their children for talking while eating, but an elderly man…the peop

Mbakwe heaved and leaned on the bamboo door. He allowed his gaze escaped through the window, to behold the racing feet of the of vast land, which chased after them as the two zebras, hurried the chariot down the sandy path. The sun was high up–a matured day–but the passing air made it impossible for the heat to scorch the skin, he could no doubt tell that it was noon, and that soon the sun would start setting.