2 comments/ 3829 views/ 3 favorites Vengeance of the Gods Pt. 01 By: switluvxtasy71 Book One (1895-1900) The Beginnings of the Promise Look! Sons are an inheritance from Jehovah; the fruitage of the belly is a reward. Wise King, Solomon (Psalms 127:3) August 1895 RELIEVED, the young man stood up and quickly repaired his clothes, all the time scanning the bushes around him with narrow-eyed intensity. Stopping to ease himself was an unavoidable distraction on his long journey, for which he had to suppress his misgivings about the possibility of running into wild animals; and his concern over the gradually setting sun. To save time, he decided to cut through the bushes in the general direction of the road he knew was ahead. He had taken only a few gingerly steps when he heard the sound. It came from his left, further ahead, and it was very faint; but he had picked it up. Time spent in the bush with his grandfather stalking game had developed in him a very keen sense of hearing, especially when he was in the wild animals' habitat. Like now. He stopped and listened for a while, but he heard nothing. As he started to move, he heard the sound again. It was as faint as the first time and he could not discern what animal had made it. Slowly, silently, he started to move in the general direction of the sound. He had gone only a few paces when it came again-slightly louder this time-and he instinctively dropped down on a crouch, his body tense and still. The sound was human! It was barely discernible but he was sure of its source. A human being had made that sound! He crouched for a while, wondering at its cause. Seasons of hunting made him cautious in this environment. He was still undecided about what to do when the sound came again, borne by a slight breeze, and a little louder still. It made his stomach churn and his eyes narrow in thought. It sounded like a child, and the voice seemed muffled. Whoever made that sound must be in distress, he thought. But what is the cause of the distress? A wild animal attack? He could not hear the bloodcurdling growls that usually went with such attacks. Caught in a trap? Yes, that must be it! He straightened, ready to dash towards the sound when another thought stopped him short. Why was the voice muffled? What blocked the mouth of the person making that sound? He could not find any answers to those questions, so he decided to advance very cautiously. His right foot caught on something and he looked down at a fat, dead frog, entangled around a small shrub. What is it doing there? A premonition of danger washed over him as he stared at the dead frog. This was the third time his feet had caught something on the ground since he set out on this journey, and the second time it had happened since he entered this bush. To him, it was a sure sign that something bad was ahead; and for the first time, it occurred to him that he might be in a life-and-death situation here. For a moment, he thought of turning and bolting, but he knew he would not do that. Not without finding out what was wrong with the child who had made those muffled sounds. Already, two possibilities were playing in his mind, and he liked none of them. In fact, they scared the evil spirits out of him! Nevertheless, he began to move very slowly towards the sound. His heart was beating very fast, his body bent low as he moved. Then another sound stopped him dead in his tracks. It was a man's voice, very low, and it reaffirmed the fears that had begun to gnaw at his innards. The muffled sound he heard before became more sinister to him because, though the man's voice was very low, it was not muffled. Slowly, soundlessly, he reached for the cowhide scabbard at the waistband of his khaki shorts and pulled out the hunting knife there-a long and broad, cruel-looking piece. As he stroked the smooth sides in unconscious reflex, a strange feeling of comfort washed over him. A deathbed gift from his grandfather-the greatest hunter and warrior of contemporary history in the Ngana clans and beyond-it was a staff of office, the old man's anointment as his successor. It was a treasured gift he took on long journeys, and he appreciated it the most now as he moved forward slowly. Memories of his great ancestors filled him with courage, and he blessed his grandfather for it. He crouched behind a big mango tree, close enough to hear the men. However, he could not see them-the bush was too thick from his viewpoint. He guessed that they were within a clearing, but he could not see their entrance point. He thought of skirting around to find it, but quickly discarded the idea. It was too risky. A plan was already forming in his mind, but he needed to know their number for it to work. Though he could hear them, their voices were too faint for him to work out how many they were. Besides, some of them might not have joined the conversation. In addition, he needed to know whether they were kidnappers or ritual killers. Therefore, it was imperative for him to see them. But how could he see them without being seen? Something wet and light dropped on his neck and he jumped. By the gods, he was so tense! He smelt it even before he removed it and looked up to see the culprit-the wild pigeon whose feces had dropped on his neck. He smiled tautly at it, relieved, and an idea struck him. He turned and scanned the area quickly for the right tree. Soon he chose an ukwa tree about thirty paces away from him. It was tall, and the thick leaves would give him cover as he climbed high enough to see into the clearing. He moved swiftly to the tree, not directly, but first to the right, always seeking cover, imbibing lessons from his grandfather. At its base, he quickly scanned the tree to make sure there were no birds or small animals whose flight or cries of alarm would draw the men's attention. Satisfied that there was none, he began to climb. At about three-quarters of the tree's height, he stopped and looked in the direction he thought the voices were coming from. At first, he saw nothing. Then his gaze drifted to his left and his breath caught in his throat. There were five men in a small clearing. They were all bare-bodied, except for one who wore a black khaki shirt; with the equally dark-colored shirts of the others flung around the clearing. Dark clothes-nightclothes, he thought. Sitting opposite the men were two children-a boy and a girl. They sat with their hands tied behind them, backing and leaning on each other. Their legs were bound together, too, and palm fronds ran between their lips, tied behind their heads. They were too far away for him to guess their ages correctly, but the sight of them did something wild to him as the most painful memories of his young life came flooding through his mind. Nduka... Nduka... his beloved cousin, Nduka... Blood rushed into his head and he felt dizzy. Everything was hazy before him and he had to grab at the tree trunk for support. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he slowly recovered. He was disoriented for a moment, then the faint sound of laughter drew his eyes to the clearing again. One of the men was handing out large pieces of roasted yam to the others, which they began to dip into a calabash bowl containing palm oil before eating. He had seen enough, and climbed rapidly down the tree to go and carry out his plan. On his way here, about three hundred paces from where he was now, he had noticed an old farm left to fallow, with many yam stalks. He moved there quickly at a trot; and in no time had selected five slim, straight and strong lengths of the yam stalks, each about two-arm length. Then squatting on the ground, he began to sharpen the ends of the stalks into spears with his hunting knife. He worked fast, the name, Nduka, running through his mind like a litany... Shortly, he was crouched behind the nearest tree to the clearing, waiting for the right moment to move in and strike. His head was bent, his body tense as he listened to the voices behind the thick clump of bushes to his left. His heart beat fast as adrenaline rushed through his veins. He had noted the barely discernible opening to the clearing, and had spread his wooden spears and sturdy, roughhewn rocks behind the clearing, away from the entrance-a task that had taken all his stalking skills to accomplish without making any incriminating sounds. The success of his plan was predicated on creating the impression that several people were attacking the men at once. Therefore, he would have to throw the spears and stones rapidly, from, at least, slightly different positions. He was ready to strike; still he waited, hoping for a lull in their conversation, a signal of relaxation of their guard. They had just eaten, and a soft, early-evening breeze stirred the air. It would relax them; perhaps make them drowsy, as it did to wild animals. With some good fortune, they might even doze off and make his task much easier. Therefore, he waited, his body tense, his hand gripped around the wooden spear. Soon, very soon... Gradually their conversation petered out and there was quiet. After a while, he thought he heard snoring, still he tarried a little while longer, patience born of time spent stalking prey, coming to bear... The sun had receded and formed a magnificent orange ball in the horizon when he started to move. Slowly, very slowly, so as not to make any sound, he crawled towards the clearing, stopping every few paces to listen and then continue. Thirty paces... twenty paces... ten... He approached almost directly by the side of the children as they sat in the foreground, a little to his right, backing each other. From where he was, he could discern enough about the men's positions to know that two of them sat to his far right, with two others a little to his left, in the background. In the middle, directly in his line of vision, and behind the children, sat a man with a gun propped against the short tree on which he was leaning. He would have liked to see them more clearly, but he did not dare raise his head higher than he had already, except to strike. It would happen any moment now. Everything depended on speed and the accuracy of his throws. His body tensed, ready to spring up and attack, then he heard a faint gasp, and his head shot up. He found himself staring into two pairs of frightened eyes. In the span of an endless moment, he stared at the bewildered children-less than ten paces away from him-then he brought his forefinger to his lips. For a heart-stopping moment, he was unsure if they would heed his conspiratorial warning. Then the moment passed and he saw their eyes become less rounded, less frightened. He shook and nodded his head alternately in a gesture he hoped would help calm them down, and watched with great relief, as they seemed to relax. He smiled at them, and to his amazed delight, the boy managed a caricature of a smile. What with the palm frond cutting into his mouth! He smelt it before he heard the hiss and his whole body went stock-still, all his muscles locked tight with anxiety. It was approaching from behind him and the urge to turn around was overwhelming, but he fought it. It was close behind and any sudden movement could make it strike out instinctively in self-defense. Besides, such movement might draw the attention of the men in the clearing. His best option was to stay still and wait, so he stayed still and waited. The faint slithering sound stopped and his body became even tenser with apprehension. He suspected a poisonous reptile and even now, he could easily imagine its body raised, ready to strike. Then he had an inspired thought. With his body held still, he turned his eyes to his right, where he guessed it was coming from. He was right-it was a cobra! The sun was weak; but it cast a faint shadow of the reptile on the ground. He watched the snake's shadow move as it lowered itself to the ground, and a frantic thought flashed through his head. He heard the faint slithering sound again as it approached him from behind and knew that it had to happen in moments! He moved immediately he saw the snake's head emerge, from the corner of his eye, less than a pace to his right. In one breathtakingly quick and fluid motion, he grabbed the reptile behind its head and flung it towards the two dozing men to his far right. The snake still air-borne, he picked up a wooden spear and threw it at the man with the gun, aiming for his torso. Without waiting to see it hit target, he quickly rolled to his left and grabbed the next spear. He heard screams of 'AGWO! AGWO!' as he drew back his hand to throw the second spear, and he knew that the snake had landed on target. The two men to his left jerked up suddenly from their slouched, sleeping positions, and he aimed at the torso of the closer man who stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape. Once again, without waiting to see the spear hit target, he rolled over to his left. He sprang up with a stone in his right hand and a spear in his left. The second of the two men to his left had scrambled to his feet and was making a mad dash for the gun. The young man looked at his hands and opted for the stone. He had done enough killing. This time, he watched the big stone hit the back of the man's head as he reached for the up-standing gun. He toppled over and lay still on the ground. He heard screaming and looked up just in time to see one of the men on the far right side of the clearing run wildly into the bush. He clutched the left side of his neck, screaming that the snake had bitten him. With all that excited activity, and the position of the bite, he would surely fall to his death soon. A movement to the left caught his eye and he turned to see his mate disappear through the entrance. He ran as if all the evil spirits in all the evil forests were after him. It would have been funny but for the situation at hand. A horrible gurgling sound drew his attention, and he looked down to see the man with the gun clutching feebly at the spear embedded in his throat as his body fell into spasms, twitching on the ground. Blood gushed out from his throat and dribbled from his mouth. The horrible sounds he made chilled the bones. Fortunately, his agony would soon end. Further to his left, the other man clutched at the spear buried in his abdomen, making pitiful grunting noises as he struggled to sit up. Great spurts of blood poured out from his wound, covering his hands; and the look of sheer terror on his face was almost comical. The young man picked up another big stone and watched it hit his forehead, knocking him unconscious. It was better for him to die without so much pain. Quickly, he ran to the terrified children and cut them loose. The girl had fainted during the attack, so he lifted her to his shoulder. Then grabbing the perplexed boy by the hand, they ran out of the clearing. Everything had happened in moments. They ran through the bush for a while before bursting out onto the road. Shortly after, the girl started to groan and then struggle on his shoulder. He put her down and she crumbled to the ground, whimpering in fear. She had a look of terror on her face as she scrambled away from him. He stood watching silently as the boy held and comforted her. After a while, he managed to reassure her and they set out again at a run. The young man noted with a grim smile that the girl stayed beside the boy, away from him. They ran for quite a while and were panting heavily by the time they slowed down to walk at a brisk pace. He had to think fast about where they would go. Darkness was falling and getting to Obosi was out of the question. As they got to a deserted Eke-Uz'agu market, he took a left turn and headed towards Umuoji. They would go to his sister's home and spend the night-it was the nearest place they could go from there. Throughout their journey, they did not exchange any words and the children asked no questions. Despite the terrible violence they had witnessed, they knew, instinctively, that they were safe with him. As they neared the village, he turned to look at them and they smiled at him-the boy broadly, and the girl rather tentatively. He smiled back at them, moved by the trust he saw in their eyes in the late evening's dying rays of light. He knew then that the risk he took to rescue them was well worth it. At his elder sister's marital home, the spontaneous expressions of joy that greeted the news of his feat in rescuing the children went on late into the night. It was already dark as they entered his brother's compound and found him discussing with some men at his obi. The men stared at them for a while, before recognition dawned on his sister's husband; and he got up to hug him. Though they were together two days ago at his mother's Ilochi ceremonies, he was startled to see him at his home at this time. "Nw'ony'ocha!" Ok'afo exclaimed, calling him a pet name that referred to his association with white people. "Nnukwu-ogom," he replied, calling him 'my big', in deference to his greater age. "Nnoo, nnoonu", Ok'afo continued, welcoming them warmly. "Who're the children with you?" His warm welcome could barely mask his curiosity and slight anxiety as he regarded the children. Ok'afo, a very jovial man of average height and build, was said to have won his elder sister's heart with his irresistible jokes, and he was very fond of him. However, he could only gaze at his anxious face, illuminated by lamplight, as he asked again about his companions. "Let them come in first and sit down before you start asking those questions, Ok'afo", interjected an old man seated inside the obi, looking up from the snuff he was about to put into his nostril. "Some questions are better answered sitting down." "Yes... yes, come in and sit down first," Ok'afo enthused as he ushered them into the obi and they all sat down. "Welcome, my son. Welcome, my children," greeted the old man with the snuff, and the other two men joined him in welcoming them. "Thank you, Nn'anyi. Thank you, our fathers, for welcoming us," the young man answered. The two children sat mute, staring at everyone with wide, bemused eyes. The men offered garden eggs and palm wine to them, but they all declined. "Where's my sister? Is she at home?" Oziel'onye was the first daughter of his father's second wife. "Yes, she's at home. I'll send for her shortly, but won't you tell us where you're coming from and about the children with you?" Ok'afo could hardly contain his curiosity. "I'll tell you, my great, I'll tell you," he assured with a heavy sigh. "But it's a long story and I think that everybody should hear it, including as many members of your kindred as you can get here." His expression had all of them staring intently at him. "Ehee, I said so!" exclaimed the old man with the snuff. "Some questions are better answered sitting down. Quickly, Ok'afo and Nwan'eli, go and call our people, please". "Yes, Ogbuefi", answered Ok'afo, getting up to go. He called out to his wives to come and greet their visitors, then he hurriedly left with Nwan'eli and some other fellow he had invited to accompany them. Oziel'onye exclaimed in surprise when she came out of her mkpuke part of the compound and saw her little brother. She hurried over and gave him a big hug, then gazed curiously at the two children beside him, but said nothing. Soon, other members of the family, including her co-wife and their children, surrounded them. They chattered excitedly, all the while glancing curiously at the children with him. Vengeance of the Gods Pt. 01 Soon, Ok'afo, Nwan'eli, and several other kindred men and women, joined them. There were over forty people gathered there, including curious passersby. Eventually, Ogbuefi Okechukwu called for silence so that the young man could tell his story. He coughed nervously and started to speak. "There're two sides to this story-my own side and the one these children have to tell. I think it's better for them to tell their own side first." He paused and looked at the boy. "What brought you to the place I saw you two this afternoon?" The boy swallowed nervously and looked around at the gathered people, then at the ground, then at the young man. At length he started to speak. "They... they were slave-hunters..." His voice trailed away as cries of 'who?' and 'what?' echoed around the gathering at the deeply hated word. "Yes, go on", Ogbuefi Okechukwu urged the boy, as he seemed to lose his tongue at the barrage of questions that greeted his first nervous statement. He started to speak again, and the whole gathering was dead silent as he told of how he and his cousin were caught by four strangers when they went to fetch firewood in the bush. The men had tied palm-fronds between their lips, tied their hands with twine rope, and dragged them through the bush until they got to a small hut, right in the middle of thick bushes. They had rested there for a while before they were joined by a fifth man with a gun. Shortly after his arrival, they had all left together, traveling throughout the night. Sometimes they walked on the road, but mostly through bush paths, until early that morning when they came to the clearing where he saw them. Since they were caught, they only ate that afternoon, he told them. By the time he finished, there were tears in many eyes, especially those of the women. They gathered around them, clucking in sympathy and fusing over them. At the prompting of Daa Mgb'oye, one of the oldest women in the kindred, the children were led away to bath and be fed. Then it was time for the young man's story. By the time he finished telling it, shouts of 'Eze-nwata!', 'Omek'agu!' and 'Nna-nnia!' rent the air, eulogizing him, calling him 'the child king', 'leopard-like one' and 'his father's father'. Before he could answer any of the myriad of posed questions, young men in the gathering carried him shoulder-high and started parading around the kindred. They did this to the accompaniment of music played with the ekwe, wooden gong, and ogene, metal gong, which had materialized as if by magic. There was a lot of hand clapping, too, as they sang his praises to the high heavens, praying to be blessed with more of such great men of valor who made nations strong and secure. When they brought him back to Ok'afo's compound, Ogbuefi Okechukwu, the oldest man in the gathering, asked for a kola nut and some palm wine. Then he asked the young man to kneel down before him. First, he gave thanks for the life and health that made it possible for them to see this great day. He gave thanks for the strength and courage the young man needed to do what he had done in paying those evil slave-hunters the full wages of their sins. Then he blessed the young man and declared that in all his considerable time on earth, he had never seen such valor in one so young. He also predicted that greater feats would come from the outstanding young man. He finally commended him for risking his own life and freedom to rescue children he did not know, proving correct the ancient axiom, Nwanne di na mba-brothers can be found in foreign lands. Then he broke the kola nut and threw out a cotyledon of it on the floor for their ancestors. He also poured out some of the wine, calling on the ancestors to come and take their share. Then the rest of the kola nut and others they brought were shared among all present. The palm wine was also shared among the gathered people. Then the impromptu celebration started in earnest. Food and drinks materialized from all corners of the kindred, brought by men and women who were very pleased with the young man's feat. By the time he took his own bath and came out, the mood was high and the atmosphere charged with the joy of the moment. There were little groups of men and women singing songs of reminiscence of great achievements of the past; and they added his name among those great men of courage who made nations strong and secure. He could not refuse their promptings to join them, so he went and did a few dance steps while the music became more frenzied and the singing got louder. When he eventually sat down to eat, he felt eyes on him and looked up to see the girl staring intently at him. Their eyes met and she looked away shyly. When their eyes met again, he smiled and she smiled back shyly. Her prettiness struck him-with the grime washed away, the transformation was great. He noted that she was quite fair in complexion. She was thin, though, and her face looked pinched. He glimpsed a haunted look in the depths of her beautiful eyes, and wondered about that in one so young. Perhaps, a result of the trauma they went through, he thought grimly. The boy joined her and he noted the resemblance between them for the first time. He beckoned on them and they came to him. "Sit down and eat with me," he invited with a smile. "Thank you, but our belly is full," the boy answered, rubbing his stomach. "So full that you can't eat meat?" he teased. "No, thank you," he answered with a smile, eyeing the meat all the same. "What about you?" He turned to the girl. "I would have liked to eat, but my belly is bursting. Those women wanted to kill us with food in there. They kept asking us to eat more and more, and now I can hardly walk." She spoke so artlessly... so innocently, that he laughed heartily, charmed by the lack of self-consciousness. How like a child, he thought dryly and smiled at her. She smiled back, and once again, her thin face lit up as the sun does a sullen sky. He gazed at her happy face, thinking, this one will be a real beauty one day. "Where're you from?" he asked, idly stirring his soup with his forefinger. "We're from Nnewi," the boy answered. He had already guessed that much from their dialect. "Where, in Nnewi, are you from?" His tone was teasing, challenging. "Otolo". The boy had picked up his tone and was playing along. "Where's Otolo?" He was unrelenting. "Near the Nkwo market. Do you know the Nkwo market?" The boy took over the challenge. "Yes, I do; it's the biggest market in Nnewi. So you know you're from Otolo, Nnewi, near the Nkwo market. Does that mean you'll be able to find your way home if you're asked to do so?" The challenge was back with him. "Not from here, but from the Nkwo market, I will." His face was screwed up in thought as he answered, and the young man laughed again. This time, they joined him in the laughter. "Are we going home tomorrow?" the girl asked, her tone eager. "Yes," he assured her. "Are you in a hurry to go?" he teased with a smile. "Yes, I am. I want to see my mother. I know she must be crying a lot by now." Her expression grew serious and her eyes clouded over. Then it lit up again. "But I want to come back to see Nneka". She pointed at a young girl about her age who was engaged in animated conversation with another girl. "She plays a wonderful oga," she said excitedly, referring to a favored game of girls that involved songs, clapping and dexterous leg movements. "Will you come home with us tomorrow?" the boy asked expectantly. "No, I can't," he said regretfully. "I have to go to Onitsha early tomorrow morning. I work there." He watched their faces fall, and an expression akin to fear fleet across their eyes. "I want you to come with us," the girl pleaded. "I want you to tell my mother how you killed... how you beat those men to rescue us." "Please, don't be upset, but I can't come with you. I'll like to go with you, but I can't. Don't worry, I'll see you soon." "When? Where?" the boy asked, all eager excitement. "I don't know when, but soon, I promise." He tried to reassure them with a smile, but their disappointment, and a hint of sadness, showed clearly. Just then, his sister called out to them to come and sleep, and they turned reluctantly to go. "Wait," he called out to them and they turned back to him. "You haven't told me your names." "My name is Nduk'aku and she's Sool'uka," the boy answered. "Eem... eem... okay, goodnight," he stammered painfully, and they called back the greeting as they went with his sister. He sat staring after them for a while. Then he turned back to the food that had become much less appealing than before. The deadly encounter with the slave-hunters had destroyed the euphoric mood he was in as he left home late that morning; and he lay awake long into the night, his mind playing back the extraordinary event. He was on his way to see his brother, a blacksmith, and catechist of the new church at Obosi, en route to Onitsha, where he lived and worked. He was coming from his home clan, Umuelo, where he had gone to take part in the Ilochi-nwanyi celebrations, an annual festival when women paid tribute to their chi or personal guardian angel, for all they believed he had done for them in the course of the season, and asked for a bountiful harvest. He had felt compelled to respond to his mother's invitation and be part of the festivities, since he had not gone home for several moons. The festival was very memorable because all his married sisters had come with their husbands and children; and many relatives and friends he had not seen for several moons were there too. It was the best Ilochi he had enjoyed for many seasons, and the visits and merriment had gone on late into the night. Most of the invited guests had left the day after the feast, but he had stayed back to help his mother in her farm and help his father prepare his barn for the forthcoming harvest. He had left today, after fulfilling some obligations of his age-grade society, and visiting with bereaved relatives and newly delivered women-people forbidden by custom to be part of the Ilochi-nwanyi festival. He sighed deeply as his mind switched from more pleasant preoccupation to the gruesome events of that evening. Grimly, he fought the inevitable feelings of remorse slaying his fellow humans invoked. The trauma the children's family must have gone through, the agony of worry and fear, made him feel he had done the right thing. Moreover, the thought of those slave-dealing lowlifes marching the children through the bush all night without food or water made him want to do the killings all over again! How they must have suffered! By the gods, how frightened they must have been! How anyone could conceive and treat children that way was beyond what he could comprehend, because he loved children. He was no fully mature adult himself, but he had special affection for those younger than he was. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he strove to assure himself that there was no point in feeling sorry for those slave-dealing crooks. Had he been less ruthless, not only would he have failed to rescue the children, they would surely have killed him or captured him as a slave. Nonetheless, he could scarce believe what he had done. Despite the haze in his mind, however, he knew exactly why he had done it. He knew where all that fearless courage had come from. Nduka... Nduka... his beloved cousin... His favorite human being in the whole wide world. They had done so many things together. Nduka had taught him how to fish; how to swim; how to climb and how to play okoso, a favored game of boys. He had taught him how to wrestle, too. No matter how difficult a task was, as long as Nduka was part of it, he always found the strength, drive, and inspiration to accomplish it. In spite of how much he loved his grandfather and their hunting expeditions, Nduka's presence was often the tonic that made him go on some of them. He was a cousin dearer to him than a brother was. Then those animals had taken him away! He was only fifteen seasons of age at the time and Nduka was seventeen. However, he felt sure that if he had been present, they would not have taken Nduka. Together, they would have defeated those men, whatever their number or strength. And that was what pained him so-his absence when Nduka needed him the most. They had grown up together at his eldest brother's compound at Obosi, but that planting season, he had gone home to help his parents. Then had come the devastating news that Nduka had been taken by slave-hunters, early one morning, when he had gone to fetch water with a few other children. The other children had managed to escape, which made him feel worse, as though he had betrayed his cousin by failing to be there for him, illogical as that was. For several moons, he had slept poorly because of the nightmares he had. Every strange young male voice reminded him of Nduka, and sometimes he ran after strangers he saw from behind, thinking they might be Nduka. He had nurtured, somewhere at the back of his mind, the faint, elusive hope that he would see his beloved cousin again. Perhaps, it was his own way of dealing with the terrible pain of his great loss. And that was what today was about, really. Granted, those children, at about thirteen and eleven seasons of age, were clearly younger than Nduka was when they took him away. But when he saw them in that clearing from that tree, he had felt the same half-crazed pain that had overwhelmed him when he learnt of what happened to Nduka. Therefore, what happened this evening was not only about rescuing those children. It was also vengeance for what slave-hunters did to Nduka. And he would inflict that vengeance again and again if he had the opportunity to do so! After all, that was why he had gone to work for the Royal Niger Company. He was Chidebem, George, Orag'amadike Akadike. It was 1895, and he was nineteen seasons old. ***** Thanks for reading, please do vote. Vengeance of the Gods Pt. 02 CHIDEBEM woke up suddenly from his sleep. In an instant, he was wide-awake, listening for the sound that woke him. He heard nothing for a while, but he did not relax. If anything, he became even more alert and tenser because he was sure he had heard something. He slept like a dog and the slightest sound would have him wide-awake in no time. Another instinct horned by seasons of hunting and warrior training. As he lay tense on the bed, waiting and listening, he looked through the little slits in the wooden windows and saw that it was still pitch-dark outside. The night sounds confirmed that it was nowhere near dawn. He had no need to look at his timepiece-a treasured gift from Captain William-to know that. He had an in-built timekeeper, and it had not indicated to him that it was time to wake up. Besides, he would need to light the lamp to see the face of the chronometer. And he could not afford to let the intruder know that he was aware of his presence... Then he heard something! It was very faint and sounded like it came from several paces from his window, but he had heard it! Instantly he rolled over on his bed and pulled out the scabbard from under the bed of raw cotton fillings. Slowly, so as not to make any sound, he pulled out the hunting knife from its scabbard. Then quick and silent as a butterfly's flight, he moved and crouched beside the door, listening, his heart beating a familiar tattoo in his chest. He heard the sound again, slightly closer this time. It was barely discernible, as light as a wild cat's padded walk, but he had heard it. Who or what could it be? It certainly was not the constabulary recruits: they had no need to move with such stealth. He was familiar with the reassuring thread of their occasional night patrol. Might it be some straying wild beast? He instantly discarded the idea. He had been told that that had not happened here for quite a while now. Besides, he would have perceived the smell of such an animal. Again, the only animals that would move with such stealth were the flesh-eaters. And they would have attacked the recruits on guard-duty long before getting near his room, anyway. Therefore, it could not be them. He heard the sound again! It was much closer this time and he knew instantly what it was. It was the slightly chaffing sound made by bare feet walking on the ground. Going by the faintness of the sound this late at night, and its intermittence, there was only one conclusion to make. Someone was creeping very slowly towards his room! By the last sound he heard, he must have passed Nana's room and was virtually by his window or door now! He gripped the knife tightly, his body tense, his heart beating very fast. A trickle of sweat ran down his back as he waited, ready to take on this nocturnal intruder. Whoever he might be! He heard a slight scrapping sound on his window and felt his muscles tauten with apprehension. Then he relaxed a little. The scrapping sound came from a human nail, and as he listened, it became slightly louder. Then another nail joined the scrapping. There were two of them-at least! He used that signal with some hunting friends at Oba. It was necessary because some of them had wives and mothers who would not hear of them going off at night, in the name of hunting wild prey. Could they be the ones outside his room at this time of night? If so, why were they here? How did they find him? He had not seen any of them since he came here to work. Might it be a trap? He decided to find out. He reached out and scratched at the window frame. He made four distinctive scratches and the person on the other side replied with two scratches, half the number of scratches he had made. "Chidebem? Nw'ezenta?" The whispered words were very faint and barely discernible. He could not work out whom the voice belonged to, but only one person called him by that nickname. He was Augustine, his closest friend at Oba, who was involved in virtually all of his hunting expeditions when he was there. Augustine called him 'the king-hunters' child' because of his grandfather. Augustine's father was part of a hunting expedition Asom'ugha had led, and he never stopped talking about the man's cunning and fearlessness. But why would Augustine be here in the middle of the night? For a reply, Chidebem scratched at the window four times again. "Nw'ezenta? It's Augustine. Open the door." His voice was still a barely audible whisper, even in the dead quiet of the night. Chidebem knew he was not alone, and for a moment, he wanted to ask who was with him. Then he changed his mind. He would find out for himself. For a reply, he scratched twice on the window, and then moved over to the door. Slowly, he unlatched the door with his left hand, while his right hand gripped his hunting knife tightly. No one would take him by surprise! As the door swung silently open, he thanked his ancestors, whom he believed gave him the inspiration to oil its hinges with bleached palm oil two days before. He stayed behind the door, but as Augustine stepped into the room, he moved forward. Quick as lightning, his left hand shut out and grabbed Augustine's left forearm, spinning him around with the same motion. Before the startled young man knew what was happening, his back was resting on Chidebem's torso, and he was facing the open door. Chidebem's left arm was curled around his throat from behind, the back of his head resting in the crook of his left shoulder, the cold blade of his big hunting knife pressed into the side of his neck. "Chideb...what..." Augustine croaked as his friend's powerful forearm pressed hard into his windpipe, cutting off the passage of air. "Who did you come with? How many of you came here?" His voice was a tight little whisper. "There are...three of us. I came with...Egwuonwu and...Okpal'eke". His voice was a low gasp as the pressure on his windpipe eased a bit. The two young men he mentioned were their friends and hunting mates, so Chidebem relaxed a bit when he heard their names. "Egwu...Okpala...come in quickly", he whispered, his eyes trained keenly on the open doorway as both men came in. "Shut the door", he whispered urgently, ignoring the barely discernible, startled expressions on their faces as they saw him holding Augustine, with his evil-looking knife pressed into the side of his neck. "Lock the door!" he ordered in a low, harsh whisper as they closed it. He did not want anyone to take him by surprise. He trusted these three men, but what if someone else had followed them? He was not given to taking any chances in potentially dangerous situations; his grandfather had drummed that into his ears countless times. He watched Okpal'eke lock the door; then released his hold on Augustine and took a deep breath, realizing for the first time that he had been holding his breath. "Why...why...did you do that?" Augustine spluttered as he gulped air into his burning lungs. Chidebem patted him on the back apologetically, then went and lit his lantern, turning the flame low. The expression of shock and outrage, which still lingered on Augustine's face, was rather funny. The others would have laughed, if not for the circumstances. "Relax, my friend; don't be offended. Strange happenings bring strange reactions. How did you get past those guards? Is it just your hunting skills?" he asked, a wondering expression on his face. "Eem...I'll say...that and something else", Augustine spoke uncomfortably and it had nothing to do with the soreness at the throat he was still rubbing. "Something like what?" Chidebem was curious, not least of all because of Augustine's obvious discomfort. "We used 'edi-ula' on them," Egwuonwu volunteered, a sheepish smile on his face. "'Edi-ula?' The deep sleep magic charm?" Chidebem could hardly contain his mirth. "Augustine, I thought you said you're a true Christian?" he smirked, covering his mouth with his hand to stop the laughter from bubbling forth. Augustine was a newly converted Christian who scorned virtually every traditional practice of his people. His given name was Nw'ofo, but he would not answer anyone who called him by that name, except his mother. The reason for the exception was that he did not joke with food! His conversion was causing ripples in his family; with the maternal uncle who had converted him barred from visiting hiss. And this extreme reaction had the firm support of his elder sister, Augustine's mother! The woman was bitter that, simply because she had allowed her son to go and stay with their old and lonely mother, her ofoogeli, lousy younger brother had gone and lured the foolish boy into the evil, witchcraft religion. Despite all the persecution, though, Augustine had stuck to his guns. To think that he would consult a witchdoctor when he often disparaged virtually all the practices of his ancestors! "If you used 'edi-ula' on them, then why were you moving as if you were stalking an antelope?" Chidebem asked curiously. "We still needed to be cautious. We know they're not the only people here, and the charm may not work on anyone who's 'well-cooked'. We also know that some white people live here and we hear that charms don't touch them". Okpal'eke spoke with an amused expression on his face as he observed Augustine's continued discomfiture. "That's fine... that's fine." Chidebem paused for a moment, studying his friends. "I know that a frog doesn't run in the afternoon for nothing. So why did you have to use the charm? Why did you have to come here by this time? How did you even manage to find this place?" He could hardly contain his curiosity and unease any longer. "You asked good questions, and the answer to them is why we're here." Augustine paused and took a deep breath. "Chidebem, your life is in danger." He looked away as his body tensed, his eyes flicking searchingly at the three of them in turn. "My life is in danger?" he mused, his voice tight, his eyes narrowed as he stared intently at his night guests. "Why is that so?" "Yes, it's true. That's why we came here to warn you." Egwuonwu's worried expression weighed in more than his words. Chidebem studied them silently, and the expressions on their faces told him they were dead serious. "So, who wants to kill me?" His voice was coated with sarcasm. "The relations of the men you killed to rescue those children from slave-hunters," Augustine said with deadly calm. "You know about that? How...? At a loss for words, he stopped and stared at his friend, perplexed. "I know because those men are from my kindred." "You mean you're from ...?" His voice trailed away lamely as he continued to stare at him. "Yes, I'm from that dreaded kindred. You don't know that because your school is in a different village from mine. And while you were at Oba, you were too busy with your school and hunting to bother to learn some things." Augustine's voice had maintained the same deadly calm. Chidebem stared at him, an involuntary mental shiver going through him. This Augustine was different from the one he used to know. He was a good hunter and showed considerable guts in the bush, but this cold calm was a characteristic he had never seen before. And to think that he belonged to that dreaded slave-dealing kindred; feared and hated, even by their own people. So, in spite of the friendliness and charm, underneath was the blood of a slave-hunter. And blood never lies. Within the soft paws, a lion has killer claws. "How did you know how to find me and why are you betraying your people to warn me?" Chidebem's voice and manner had become deceptively insouciant. "I knew how to find you because some of your warriors here are with my people," replied Augustine, his lips curling mirthlessly. "You mean our guards?" Chidebem queried disbelievingly, then, "impossible!" he snapped when Augustine nodded derisively. "I can't believe that! Those men are supposed to fight slave-traders!" he declared in an indignant whisper. "Believe whatever you like; I've told you the truth." "Things are not always what they seem, Chidebem. A ripple in the grass can mean a gazelle, but it can also mean a leopard or even a lion. Remember that, my friend." Okpal'eke spoke gently, understanding how disillusioned Chidebem must be by this piece of information. "You asked how we knew where to find you. You should also ask how we knew your own door; after all, there are four doors here. Why did we come here in the dead of the night instead of at daytime? Why did we use the deep-sleep charm on your warriors instead of asking them to send for you?" The sarcasm dripping from Augustine's voice would fill an earthen water pot as he moved and sat down on the floor. "Don't be angry that I doubted you," whispered Chidebem, giving himself a mental shake. "It's just that I didn't know...I didn't think...it never even occurred to me at all..." His voice trailed away as he sat down on the floor too, suddenly feeling weak. "I know...I know, my friend. You trusted these people-both the white men and our own people. Your hunger to avenge your cousin's kidnap had blinded you and blurred your reasoning. You should be careful and use that tortoise brain of yours all the time." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Ask yourself these questions: who do the slave-hunters sell their slaves to? And who do your warriors work for?" Augustine's voice had gentled as he spoke. "White people," whispered Chidebem. He sat with his head bowed, his big toe drawing formless patterns on the floor. "But not all the guards are involved in that, and not all the white men, too. I'm sure of that". He spoke with deep conviction, for he could stake his life that Captain William was not a slave-trader. He also felt sure that the recruits' joyous celebration and revelry of the other night was genuine, though he knew now that his tale must have been a sore one for some of them. But who among them could it be? Who? "What you said is true. Only a few of them are involved in this. But who knows who they are?" Egwuonwu spoke as if he had read his thoughts. "You took a great risk in coming here, especially considering that we have these traitors in this place. Why did you do it?" Chidebem asked in a rather subdued tone of voice, looking searchingly at his friends. "You're a good person, Chidebem," Augustine answered for them. "And you shouldn't die for doing a good thing. Besides, you saved my head more than once in the bush". "But the 'good thing' I did had interfered with your interests and your relations had died there." Chidebem ignored his last statement as he probed him for answers. "It's their interests, not mine. I don't share their slave dealing profits with them. As for my relations dying there, they got what they deserved in my own consideration." There was a snap in his voice and his lips tightened. "What do you mean by that?" Chidebem stared at him with interest. "Those fools were told to stay away from Nnewi because we have relations there, but they won't listen. Now their greed has caught up with them. The small girl, Sool'uka, is the daughter of my mother's youngest sister, who's married to a man from Nnewi. The boy with her, Ndukaku, is the son of my mother's younger brother. He's from Oba, but from a different village from ours. My mother is the eldest of them all. So you see, the fools had captured their own clan's boy and relation," he finished hotly. "But the boy said he was from Nnewi. He also spoke their dialect very well," Chidebem said slowly and musingly, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, he likes to tell people that. You see, my mother's younger sister, Sool'uka's mother, is very fond of Nduka. A fondness that started from when he was a baby. She claims that he's a reincarnation of their father, whom she was very close to when he was alive. "Nduka's mother died when he was very young, and naturally, my aunt took him home. She preferred to raise him by herself instead of leaving him at the mercy of her older brother's first wife. Therefore, Nduka grew up at Nnewi and that's why he speaks their dialect. He sees himself as a boy from Nnewi. Of course, he's still a child. When he gets older, he'll understand. "Meanwhile, Sool'uka being her only child has not helped matters with my mother's sister. She rarely allows Nduka to go home. As far as she's concerned, Nduka is her son. The love between them is untouchable. As far as Nduka is concerned, too, his 'mother' can do no wrong." Augustine paused for breath, an indulgent smile on his face. Looking at him closely in the lamplight, Chidebem could see the bit of resemblance with Nduka and Sool'uka-the fair skin and fine features. "It must have been terrible for the woman, losing her two children on the same day", Chidebem said slowly, a curious pain reflected in his voice and eyes. "Yes, they stopped her from committing suicide just before the children were brought back. She's a very softhearted woman; and couldn't bear the pain of losing those children that way. They said she had cried from the time it became clear that something had happened to them, until they were brought back, refusing to bath or eat. Then she had fainted when she saw the children being brought back. "I was there at the time and I can tell you, it was real confusion. On one hand, there was great joy that the children had returned; on the other hand, there was fear for the woman who had fainted because of that. So you see, Chidebem, you had done a truly great thing in rescuing those children. Those animals from my kindred were going to take away two children who were each the only child from their mothers' wombs. Two children who now belong to one woman. A woman who would have become childless if not for what you did. Why should someone who did what you did be left to die? My mother gave her full support to this journey. This is the first time we've agreed on anything since I converted," he concluded with a rather sheepish smile. "So you're not planning to join your kinsmen in their evil trade?" Chidebem asked searchingly. "Even if I had any such intentions, this has taught me a lesson." He paused for a moment, and then with a glitter in his eyes, declared, "but there are times I feel the urge to do it just to show them that I'm not a coward." Then he laughed softly at the look of dismay his words brought to Chidebem's face. They went on talking for a little while longer, with Augustine filling Chidebem in on his people's revenge plans- information he got from snippets of conversations he had with those of them who were sympathetic to him, and from attending their secret meetings. Meetings from which someone always remembered to send him away after a while. He told Chidebem that they planned to attack him on his way home for the planned tributary visit of the families of the rescued children. It was another piece of information Chidebem was amazed that the slave-hunters had. His eldest brother, Mbaj'ekwe, and his uncle, Onwuzul'ike, had come to the RNC camp just four days ago, in the company of Sool'uka's father and Ndukaku's uncle, to thank him and inform him of the planned homage trip to Umuelo. But then, considering the traitors at the RNC, and the relationship between the children's family and the slave-traders, it should not surprise him. Augustine did not know for sure what they planned to do with him-kill him, or sell him off as a slave. They had fierce disagreements over that, he told Chidebem, and he could not find out their final decision. They left as stealthily as they had come, after each had given Chidebem a big hug, bidding him take care and wishing him luck. Vengeance of the Gods Pt. 02 After they left, Chidebem lay on his bed, thinking. Sleep was, of course, out of the question. It dawned on him now that the people he was so determined to fight would also fight back. That was a prospect he had not considered until now. He also knew that not all that slithers through the water is fish. Some are snakes-dust-green snakes in dirty-green colored water. Those traitor constabulary recruits must be fished out and dealt with. They must not be allowed to camouflage their evil deeds with that honorable blue uniform. It was four days since his brother came with those men from Oba and Nnewi, and he was supposed to go home in three days time to await their visit the next day. It was three days in which to decide whether to go home or not. Three days in which to make a choice that could decide and shape his future, if there would be any after that. As all these went through his mind, Augustine's last words kept echoing through his thoughts: 'you had better look the other way if you see slave-hunters, unless they've captured your kinsperson'. Will he heed that advice or not? Only time will tell. ***** Thanks for reading, please do vote.