Voiceless, still, dark, and starless. Some middle-aged women walked in the shadows, with animal skin drooping on their flat chest and with the tongue of torches to light alight the unspoken words that hung on the cloak of the night. But for the giggles coming from the huts, the little village would have passed for a ghost town. Somewhere, the wind danced with the trees, slowly and quietly as if afraid to perturb the solemn harmony in matrimony.Ume sniffed and hurried through the brush. The women had disappeared into the shades on the right-hand side of the village, yet he kept to himself and did not walk into the clearing. They had not seen him, he was one with the night, just as his many training had kept his feet voiceless.He picked the pace and continued further into the village. The hilt of his dagger was cold, and the adrenaline urging his feet forward kept his skin warm. It was an important mission, one that would enrich his pocket, one that would buy him the w

Taking a long deep breath did little to ease the confusion, so he stood and paced the room, with hands folded over his chest. There were a thousand 'what ifs' and a million 'Whys. However, he was happy that the coast was clear. He was no longer mad with his father. With everything that had ensued, his only regret was losing his father in the process. All the man had done was for the betterment of his family and people. All he had ever done was keep them safe."Can you explain better?""Of course, Jide," Godson said, taking the time to lose the first button of his shirt. But for the torchlight, only the man's bright eyes would have been visible."Your father belongs to a tribe of people called Osu. According to legend, during the breaking of the world, about some six hundred years ago, there was a great war that shook the bedrock of the earth itself. It was a cold war between our tribe and a distant enemy tribe. However, the enemy village was more powerful and wo

Another wave of dust followed the marching feet as the men snailed through the mountain peaks like migrating ants. From one end of the hill to the far side on the horizon, war songs upheld the calmness that once asserted the forest. There were at least a hundred men on horseback and a thousand or so on foot. These were husbands, fathers, farmers, brothers, and uncles. Before now, they were familiar with pitchforks, knives, and other household materials. But not anymore. Years of torture and torment from the Freeborns have drilled them into valiant warriors of anger and vengeance. They were fearless and would battle anything that stood in their way. While some people in the council had argued about their brutality, the truth no one was seeing was the fact that these men had kept the land safe for the past fifty years. It was the will to keep their family and loved ones from oppression that kept them going. That love was so stronger than any force in the universe.Bozo deepened

The almond eyes flashed into Ejima's memory and instantly she could place the horny skin and the rich dark hair that had turned grey. "My goodness. What happened to you? You look-" "Old?" Mmechi laughed, "Ije Uwa. Constantly working on the farm, with the sun blistering its heat on your head could leave your hair as snow white as mine." She laughed again. "But those are the good days. It brought me here." "You look fine." Ejima smiled. The woman's hunchback was gone and even though Ejima would love to know how she didn't ask. With the misery that came with the woman's condition, Ejima decided to keep that part aside. Unless Mmechi told her along the line, she was not ready to prey out the information. The past should remain buried sometimes. "I never thought I would see you again." Ejima helped herself out of the bed. Mmechi was already lost in thought. The woman was once her servant. Ejima had taken her in after the villagers had condemned her because

He kept looking into the bright eyes, lost in the exuberance of the woman he had longed so much to meet. The past twenty years had not changed her much, just the crease that was gliding towards the sides of her face. Despite the age, her chocolate skin was almost radiating like that of a baby. Gray was the song of old age, yet her hair had failed to sing its songs. She fitted the picture he knew since he was still ten years. Nothing about her had changed nothing.She has been through a lot. Guilt crawled through Bozo's stomach triggering regrets and maybes. He should have remained here to help her. He should have found her earlier.“You are my son? You are…Bozo?”“How did you know my name, Mmechi made sure we remained hidden from the rest of the village?” Bozo said as he helped her to her feet. He could still hear the rustle and the crushing leaves, he still remembered the night when Mmechi had smuggled them out of the village, for