It’s so close, yet so far away. From your cabin’s window, you see moonlight glinting off Boode Gate. You’re a short walk away from entering Baranda, from finally locating your sister after five years of separation. You want to get to it right away, but the captain has announced nobody is allowed off the ship until the morning.
“Kugbons will attack us if they smell human essence by this time. We’ve not come this far to be torn to shreds by beasts because of some people’s impatience. All of you should stay in your cabins till the sun rises.”
You’ve never seen a Kugbon before, but you’ve heard from Mama Agba how vile the bicephalous monsters are, how they wreck unfortified ships and attack hapless passengers, digging out human hearts and biting into skulls with glee. They are the reason you paid hundreds of King’s coins to board this spiritually secure vessel for the journey from Iluuwa village to Baranda. Seven clay pots filled with fish, clam, vulture feathers, palm oil and other spiritual condiments have been placed at different spots on this ship to mask human essence and ward off Kugbons.
Sneaking off the ship is out of the question. You have to spend one more night without Aduke, one more night in this smelly cabin. One last night.
Cold wind blasts from the tiny window and hits you in the face. You shudder and fold your arms across your breasts. If only your teleportation magic could work over the sea, Egbe would have taken you to Aduke this night. . .
“What will you do if they turn you back at the gate?”
Lanyan’s deep voice fills the room and makes you turn around. He approaches with two corn hubs. The oil lamp in a corner of the cabin reflects in his soft, kind eyes. His eyes remind you of Aduke. Everything seems to remind you of her, but you’re scared because the memories aren’t as sharp as you would have liked.
Your strongest memory of Aduke is from the night a neighbour took you and her to Mama Agba’s hut after the bandit attack that claimed your parents’ lives. It’s been ten years, but you remember how the pestle slipped out of Mama Agba’s hands when the neighbour broke the ugly news. You’ll never forget Mama Agba’s calloused palms holding you and Aduke to her bosom in that tiny room that smelled of boiled cocoyams and sweat.
“You didn’t answer me, Asake.”
You take the corn from him and bite into it. Briny and cold. Far from ideal, but there’s no alternative. “I’ll fight them. No one will stop me from seeing my sister. It’s been so long. She’s all I have now that Mama Agba is gone.”
“The guards don’t care. They separate husbands from wives, and parents from children at will. Once your flower is yellow, you have to accept your fate. Or bribe them.”
There are rules aplenty in Baranda. And one of the harshest is you’re not allowed in until someone in the city is willing to accept you. You have heard a lot about this system of sending a raven to someone inside and getting a response in the form of a flower. A rose flower means you go in and a weeping wattle means you go back. Red is good, yellow is bad.
Lanyan noisily munches his corn and continues. “Sometimes they mess with your flower, just to get bribed. It’s unfair. That’s why I have prepared my money. You should have something at least.”
“I’ll find my way. Don’t worry about me.”
Lanyan peers at you. He clearly doesn’t believe you can get in without some King’s coins. You’ve known each other for two weeks, the duration of this journey. With everything you’ve told him, he should know the depth of your desire to reunite with Aduke, the lengths you’re willing to go to be back beside her, but he doesn’t seem to get it.
“Your skin. . .” he whispers, his eyes fixed on your arms.
The magical runes on your forearm glow crimson. You place your hands over them and swallow.
“No need to hide them. I saw them on the first night.”
“They come out when I’m really cold. Or in serious danger.”
Lanyan grabs an adire wrapper off the floor and throws it over your shoulders. “This rune magic is what you rely on, right? You know, the guards have ways to counter these things.”
“Whatever happens tomorrow, Lanyan, I’ll be on the other side of the gate. The gods know I’ve waited long enough.”
He stands next to you in silence. His soft breathing and the sound of the sea waves lapping against the ship’s port form a melody in your ears. You shudder as his fingers settle on your forearm, gliding down to the metallic bangles that encircle your wrists.
“I wish I had enough money for the two of us in case those beasts act according to their reputation.”
“I don’t have enough magic for two either. But we’ll be fine. I can feel it. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be eating delicacies from my sister’s soup pot, not this stupid corn. You should come too if you can spare the time.”
He doesn’t promise to come and a different kind of cold hits you. A heavy sigh rolls off Lanyan’s lips as he announces he’s sleepy.
You watch him lie face up on the mat, his wide chest heaving with each breath. Your friendship has to continue in Baranda. After two weeks of sleeping next to each other, sharing measly meals and sensitive stories, you’ve become like snail and shell.
Your lives are similar. Like you, Lanyan is twenty and an orphan. A beloved relative awaits him on the other side. Lanyan took a huge loan from a merchant to fund his journey to the greener pastures of Baranda. He had told you he would rather be supper for Kugbons than return to Otoge, his village.
You didn’t need a loan because before Mama Agba passed, she gave you her blessing to sell the family farmland and do all it took to find Aduke. You started approaching merchants about the land sale on the day you turned eighteen, the minimum age limit for Barandan visitors. Constant bandit attacks delayed the sale. It took two years to find someone willing to pay enough to cover your traveling expenses.
Lanyan’s heaving chest holds your attention for a while, then you turn to the window again. The moon continues to glide through the white clouds, its rays still illuminating the massive gate and the stretch of sand that leads up to it. You’re not sure you can find sleep. With the intensity of your eagerness, you will stay up watching the silver ball travel in the sky until darkness prevails and there’s nothing else to see. Then morning will come. and it will finally be time to see Aduke again. You can’t wait.
***
Boode Gate looms behind a squad of guards in all-white armor, the last major obstacle between you and Aduke. You’ve crossed the great sea between Iluuwa and Baranda and survived horrible hunger pangs during the journey. The end of your toil is near.
You stand with your hands at your back, fiddling with your bangles as you bow. The guard closest to you smells of an evil essence. You must bear it until the raven returns.
Your eyes linger on the guard’s sandaled feet as you chant the invocations Mama Agba taught you. Your neck aches and the tiny hairs at your nape bristle, but you don’t look up. No visitor looks a guard in the eye. They determine if you make it through the gate, or return onto the cramped, smelly ship that brought you from Iluuwa village.
A return to Iluuwa is not a part of your plans. Life is hard there, the earth is unyielding, bandits plunder at will and nobody knows how to stop them. After five years of waiting, you want to see Aduke and remain with her in Baranda forever.
You steady your breath and try to imagine your sister’s face again. She had left Iluuwa to fight for a better life in Baranda, to put things in place ahead of your arrival. You faintly remember her wide smile as she got ready to board the special vessel that took her away from Iluuwa five years ago. Her beaded locks had jiggled as she nodded and waved to you. Aduke had gotten your mother’s locked hair, while you inherited her magic.
From the side of your eyes, you see Lanyan on the line set apart for men. His head is bowed too. You wish you can get close and reassure him that you’ll both make it to the other side.
The sound of flapping wings fills your ears. The raven is back. Your mouth runs dry. The moment of truth is here. Hot breaths hit the back of your neck. The woman behind you is just as tense as you are.
Your gut clenches and your legs threaten to lose their youthful strength. For you, it’s not the fear of what Aduke has sent. It is the fear that the guards have manipulated the flowers, like they are rumoured to have done with so many other visitors at Baranda.
On the men’s line, the middle-aged man in front of Lanyan pleads with a guard.
“Please, let me in. You can’t tell me my son doesn’t want to see me after ten years!”
The guard remains stone-faced. He calls for the man to be taken away, amidst his screaming and kicking. His screams tug at your heartstrings.
“Look up!” The guard in front of you barks at you.
You look up and see a yellow flower. Beautiful thing, but yellow means no. By the rules, you’re not allowed through the gates. Your fingers curl into a fist. These bastards have done it again. There is no way Aduke will pass up the chance to see you after these years. Your eyes dart to the guard’s face. There’s a mocking smile on his charred lips. His eyes mock you. His existence mocks you.
“Do you want a way out?” He whispers. “If you have money, we can help you.”
Your eyes dart to Lanyan who is now in front of a guard and then back to the big man in front of you. “I don’t have money.”
“Send her back to the ship!” The guard growls to a nearby subordinate.
A strong hand circles your wrist, squeezing the bangles against your flesh and pulling you away from the guard post. Behind you, there are long queues of Baranda hopefuls. Most of them will be refused, just like you and the weeping old man. Lanyan was right. These bastards mess things up for money.
You try to look over your shoulder and see Lanyan’s result, but the guard forces your head forward. He drags you toward the sea, toward that smelly ship. You close your eyes and breathe deeply. Your feet sink into the soft sands on the seashore. The ship is a few steps away. You will return to Iluuwa and people will mock you in whispers. They will say you’re one of those who tried and failed. No way!
You snatch your hand from the guard and when he tries to grab you again, you smash your left fist into his stomach and follow up with a kick to his groin. As he staggers backward, you call on the ancient names of fire and point your wide-open palm at him. Balls of fire fly out and knock him to the sandy ground. He won’t die, but he won’t be hurting any visitor any time soon.
All heads turn in your direction. You see Lanyan standing in front of a guard holding a raven on his palm. The flower on the bird’s beak is a depressing yellow. Lanyan will have to use his coins and you will bank on your magic.
Your lips slap together as you cast a spell for a portal. In a blink, a burning hole blasts open in the air. You feel weak as you run toward the flaming circle, blood trickles down your nose and your head is light. It’s been a long time since you used the magic based on the sacred runes on your skin.
“Don’t let her get away.” A guard bellows. Shouts echo behind you.
Nobody can stop you from meeting Aduke! You look over your shoulder, dozens of armed men race after you. Their footfalls resound like thunderclaps in a stormy sky. Your eyes squint from the harsh glints of the morning sun on their swords.
“Sekeseke mu! Aba mu!!” one of the guards chants.
Just before you reach the portal, something hot and hard curls around your neck and tightens against it. The heat sears your skin, forcing your eyes to widen. You feel it right away, a chain laced with magic potent enough to subdue the power of the runes on your skin.
You raise your neck and claw at the links. Pain sinks into your fingers as you try in vain to get the chain off. You push forward in an attempt to squeeze your body into the portal, but a sharp yank forces you backwards and robs you of balance. In a blink, you’re on the sand, mind numbed by white-hot pain. Your eyes sting with tears as the portal spirals inward, closing up. The guards are getting closer, you hear their thudding steps, and you try not to imagine what they will do to you.
“Asake!” Lanyan’s voice rings from far away.
He was right. You should have set money aside for the guards.
As you lie helpless on the ground, Mama Agba’s wrinkled face floats in your mind.
“Your time is not up yet, child. Beyond your magic, you must strengthen your mind against failure. You can break the chain if you see victory in your mind. Smell it, taste it, embrace it. Smash the chain and call on Egbe for the invisible portal.”
Mama Agba’s ethereal voice drowns in the cacophony of Barandan voices. The guards have surrounded you. It’s now or never!
You squeeze your eyes and think of victory, of broken chains and a night in the warmth of Aduke’s house.
Your arms begin to heat up. Without looking down, you know the runes on your arms have been activated again. The tightness on your neck slowly eases and the broken chain falls to the ground with a gentle plop.
“She broke it! The witch broke it‼”
You scramble upright and see the guards backing away, fear boldly written on their faces. They’re wary of the powers you have.
“Egbe, take me to Aduke. Bear me in your arms. Take me there!” you whisper. The magic will drain your blood and sap your energy. But you can’t think of anything else to do. You close your eyes and mutter ancient words, ancient words of magic that can bend the winds and spit fire.
You feel yourself being lifted off the face of the earth. The faces of the men around fade away and you experience lightness of poplar fluff.
“Stop her!”
The voice of the guards floats into your ears, but it is far, far away. They can’t stop you. The secret channels of the mystical mothers have opened to you. Nobody can stop you from seeing Aduke.
The lightness fades away and your eyes flick open. You’re now outside a tall building made of mud bricks and timber. When you turn around, you see stretches of similar buildings on both sides of a wide street. Throngs of people fill the street, so much that it looks like a market. There are no stalls or hawkers in sight, just a mass of people moving back and forth with cold, hard faces. Their bodies are so pressed together that you’re sure if anyone falls, they’ll get trampled on and no one will bat an eyelid.
You’ve always thought of Baranda as a beautiful place with verdant landscape and happy people. There’s a form of beauty in the perfect rows of mud brick buildings, but it’s too far from the image you had in mind.
“At least, Aduke is here and there’s lot of money to be made,” you mutter. “No bandits too.”
You turn around and peer at the wooden door in front of you. It’s surely the right house. Egbe can never mislead you. You step forward and knock.
It takes a moment before the door creaks open and you see Aduke. She’s not the pretty, smiling young girl you saw five years ago. Her lips are pulled into a frown and there are bruises around her neck. The light in her eyes has dimmed. Your mouth falls open when you notice her locks have been shaved off.
Aduke’s frown deepens when she recognises you. “Asake, I sent yellow. Why did you come?”
“I thought we agreed…”
“I’m not ready to accommodate you now.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”
Aduke’s eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. She opens her mouth to say something, but her words are swallowed by loud blasts of horns going off in different parts of the street.
“Ah, that’s the call to search.” Aduke inches backwards. “That’s for you, right? You broke in.”
“I had no other choice.”
“Well, the city guards are ready to smoke you out of any hole you may crawl into. Use your powers to find a way out. You can’t come in here. We’ll both be in trouble.”
Before you can get a word out, the door slams in your face. Aduke is gone. Your hopes of a happy reunion with your sister have been dashed in the cruelest way.
For the second time that morning, your eyes sting with tears. You turn around and notice that there are now fewer people on the erstwhile bustling street.
You hurry away from Aduke’s residence and get on the dusty road. People are running and vanishing into corners and crevices between the buildings lining the street. Tears stream down your cheeks as you elbow your way to the centre of the thinning crowd. You believe there will be a way out. There must be.
THE END
