“Can you smell them?” Nguru asked his daughter, Anya, as they both crouched in the belly of the Ishike forest.
“Don’t make a sound. Just do as I do,” He crawled on his belly, moving surreptitiously in the undergrowth, and Anya followed closely behind. Soundlessly, they crept up on a young man, no more than thirteen years old, as he took a bath in the stream a few yards ahead of them. Nguru signalled halt with a clenched fist, and they stopped moving. He gave a knife carved from stone to Anya, “Hold his image in your mind as you cut,” he said.
Anya took the knife in hand, and peering intently at the unsuspecting bathing boy, she drew blood with its sharp edge, tracing a diagonal line across her palm, then she clenched her fist, as if trying to prevent her blood from spilling onto the earth. She recited an incantation under her breath, and as a drop of blood escaped her grip and touched the floor, the boy dropped into the stream, motionless, lifeless.
“Quick, let’s collect him before his people come searching for him,” Nguru said, and together they collected the young man’s body from the stream.
*
Back in the village, women and children cheered as Nguru and Anya returned, pulling the boy’s body in a wooden cart behind them. Shouts of praise filled the earthen streets, and the village was ripe for a celebration. Boys, no older than the deceased, relieved Nguru and Anya of the cart, dragging it to the village square where everyone was gathering.
“Two moons ago, Nguru informed me that your blood juju had awoken, and today you present us with your first kill. You are indeed the daughter of Nguru, descendant of the strongest hunters in all of Aro,” The dibia, chief priest of the high god, Chukwu, said. Anya stood in the village square, encircled by the denizens of Aro, her first kill on the earth next to her feet, a young man whom for all the world looked to be asleep, his brown skin an unbroken sheet covering him from head to toe.
The chief priest circled the dead man three times, inspecting his body with discerning eyes. “You,” he pointed at two young men in the crowd, “turn the body over,” he commanded, and they hurriedly flipped the dead body onto its abdomen, and the dibia continued his inspection. “You killed a great one, my child,” he said to Anya. He pointed to a cluster of birthmarks on the dead boy’s right heel, and then to another cluster on his left heel, “you felled a twelfth generation Inhabiter on your first hunt,” he said. And then he repeated for all of the crowd to hear, “Anya, daughter of Nguru has felled a twelfth generation Inhabiter.” The crowd erupted with praises for Anya.
“You have the blessings of twelve mothers,” the dibia blessed Anya. He pressed his thumb into the earth and traced the Nsibiri symbol of hunter on Anya’s forehead, and so dubbed her a hunter of Aro. He then raised both his hands in a gesture to calm the ecstatic crowd.
“It is good we remember why we do what we do, why our traditions and customs exist, for it is with the past that the future is forged,” the dibia said. “Mazi Onwuka, eldest of the ndi ichie, will remind us of our history. Let the young among us know that we are not barbarians who kill for sport. Let them know that although we celebrate the death of the Inhabiters, we also mourn the loss of our children, for it was our mothers who bore them.”
Mazi Onwuka, a wizened man with hair the colour of chalk, walked to the middle of the gathering, one slow step at a time, supported by his oaken walking stick which towered over his bent frame. He became the cynosure of the gathering as all voices fell silent, even the birds stopped singing in anticipation of his speech.
“Umu Aro, ka wo!” Mazi Onwuka greeted the crowd, and they responded with a guttural hum in unison. Then, as if infused with unseen strength, Mazi Onwuka straightened his curved back and began to narrate the history of Aro.
“In the beginning, we were prosperous in all that we did. We had the blessings of our father, Chukwu, and our mother, Ani. Our women birthed strong sons and daughters. The first of us lived for hundreds of years without the faintest sign of ageing, and we continued so until our women began to birth children who died soon after delivery, only to be reborn again and again. These children who sped through the cycle of life and death as if in haste to complete a marathon, are who we call the Inhabiters, because they are evil spirits who inhabit the wombs of our women. In those early days, it was common for a woman to give birth to the same child seven times.
“Then the Inhabiters started to survive into early teenage years, and at the same time our people started to die young, such that it became a feat to live up to a hundred years, where before you were considered young at two hundred. With the Inhabiters came sickness and ageing, and this led to the Cleansing which saw umu Aro slaughter every last one of the inhabiters, who were easy to identify by their unique birthmarks which numbered as many as the number of times each Inhabiter had been reborn. Sadly, the Cleansing did nothing to reverse the changes that had occurred to umu Aro, and nine moons later, four-hundred inhabiters were reborn to the women of Aro, costing the lives of half the mothers during childbirth.
“Women lived in fear of catching the Inhabiters disease, a nine-moon long gestation leading to the birth of a sickly child who died in childhood, only to then be reborn again. This fear persisted for years until Nwagha, the first man in whom blood juju was awoken, saved us. Nwagha used his juju to sever the link between an Inhabiter and the cycle of life and death, preventing the Inhabiter from being reborn. Blood juju continued to awaken in Nwagha’s descendants, who carry out the sacred duty of ridding Aro of the Inhabiters.
“Today, we celebrate the latest descendant of Nwagha, Anya, daughter of Nguru, who has joined the ranks of the great hunters of Aro,” Mazi Onwuka ended, returning to his feeble self, his back regaining its curvature as he walked, supported by his staff, back to his seat within the crowd.
“This is our history,” the chief priest said, and the crowd chorused, “this is our history.” Drumbeats erupted and the air was again charged with the feeling of festivity. Gourds of palm wine passed between hands, food was shared among the villagers who celebrated until the moon was high up the sky before retiring to their homes.
*
The hunters of Aro gathered under darkness of early morning in the village square, hours before what was planned to be a re-enactment of the Cleansing, only this time, with their blood juju they would ensure the Inhabiters were never reborn. Dike, the leader of the pack, stood encircled by other hunters as they made plans to raid the Ishike forest, where Inhabiters were cast away to live out their short lives.
“In pairs we will flank their huts, remaining unseen in the bushes. Anya, you will pair up with your father, Nguru—” Dike laid out the strategy. “Today we wrest our fate from the Inhabiters once and for all. Today we avenge our mothers!” Dike said, and the hunters cheered. “We attack at first light,” he added. Most had bags, which held knives and varied other charms, slung across their chest. Anya was one of two women who were hunters, the other was Nneka, a middle-aged woman who a decade ago had birthed an Inhabiter. Nneka, whose blood juju had not awoken at the time, did not have the courage to end her child’s life, instead, under the cover of darkness, she had stolen to Ishike forest to hand over the child to the Inhabiters that called the forest home.
At first light, the hunters surrounded the Inhabiters as they lay asleep in their huts. An Inhabiter, a young girl, no more than seven years old, exited a hut, and as soon as she was within the sights of the hunters, she dropped to the floor, lifeless. Dike had taken the first kill, his prerogative as leader of the hunt. The hunters killed any Inhabiter that had awoken from their night sleep and had the misfortune of stepping out of their huts. Soon, cries rent the morning air, as other Inhabiters discovered the bodies of their fallen.
Anya had been unable to make a kill since the siege began. As soon as she picked out an Inhabiter to attack, she soon found that he was already dead, slain by one of the other hunters. Then she heard a scream from the bushes. Nguru heard it too, and they turned to look. As they turned, a young man appeared from the bush behind them and plunged a dagger into Nguru’s back, driving it into his heart. Nguru let out a scream, writhed on the floor like an earthworm that had made contact with salt, and then he was still, lifeless. Anya jumped to her feet and lunged at the boy with her dagger, but he easily sidestepped and she missed. She made another attempt at stabbing the boy but was restrained by two other boys who appeared from the bushes.
*
On her knees, with hands restrained behind her, Anya took in the sight of her dead comrades, bodies piled in a heap, each with a dagger jutting from its back. She saw her father, his face contorted in agony, the last feeling he experienced before his death.
“We have waited for this day for a long time,” a young girl said to Anya. “I am Ada, chief of the Inhabiters, as you call us.” Ada regarded Anya as if searching for something not apparent to the naked eye. “Tie her to the udala tree, we will have words in the evening. Let us bury our dead.”
As Ada walked away, Anya saw her birthmarks, too many to count, on her heels. It explained the command Ada had in her voice; she was at least a hundred generations old.
With hands tied behind the udala tree, Ada observed the Inhabiters as they went about burying their dead. She noted how the Inhabiters, none older than early teenage years, had an air of maturity around them that could not be found among children of Aro. They talked and worked like adults, their eyes were not the eyes of children, but of elders who had seen more than their mouths could say. Most of the Inhabiters were at least seven generations old, having lived and died at least seven times, and then there was Ada, the chief, who was at least a hundred generations old, if her birthmarks were to be believed.
Nighttime soon came, and a bonfire was lit in the centre of the settlement, the fuel for the fire was some firewood and the bodies of the slain hunters. The air filled with the smell of burning flesh. Anya recoiled from the pungent smell as it permeated her nostrils and filled her lungs.
“You don’t like the smell?” Ada appeared from the other side of the fire. “Umu Aro have killed us for many years for the crime of simply existing, surely you do not expect us to honour them with a burial. Burials are sacred things reserved for the worthy. Are you worthy, Anya?”
Anya recoiled at the sound of her name. “How do you know my name?” She asked.
“There is a lot I know. Tell me, when you slew Ikefuna with your blood juju did you feel him quicken in your womb? I can hear his faint heartbeat as we speak, clamouring to join us, his people. In eight moons perhaps.”
“Why did you spare my life?” Anya asked, uninterested in Anya’s seemingly meaningless rambling.
“Soon child, soon,” Ada said.
“Let us celebrate this victory. Today, we cleansed the land of those who will see us dead in our sleep. Today, we mark the beginning of a new dawn for the Ngui,” Ada said in a raised voice to the inhabiters who were now gathered around the bonfire, and they cheered.
“For the benefit of our guest,” Ada gestured to Anya, “I will recount the history of woe that has been our lot since the beginning.” The bonfire cast an ethereal shadow of Ada that seemed to dance as she paced about telling the story of the Inhabiters.
“It is partly true as they tell it in Aro, a long time ago, women died from birthing the Ngui, as we call ourselves. Then came the sorcerer, Nwagha, who obtained the power to break the Ngui’s link to the cycle of life and death, and allow them live full lives. However, instead of breaking this link, Nwagha killed the Ngui and shut them out from the cycle of life and death completely. And so, what should have been a good thing turned into a massacre, as Nwagha and his descendants, the hunters, dedicated their lives to killing us—”
“You lie!” Anya shouted. “Why would Nwagha kill the Ngui if he could save them and the people of Aro?”
“It is because Nwagha’s mother died birthing a Ngui, as did his wife,” Ada answered. “He hated the Ngui and swore to put an end to us. He used dark juju to bind his blood to the chi of the land, and this gave him dominion over the Ngui. In exchange for this power, he gave up half of his life, and that is why till this day hunters never live past thirty years.”
“All lies! How would you know any of this?” Anya spat on the floor. “Lies!”
“I know because I was there, and every Ngui knows because we have memories from our past lives.”
Anya did not believe Ada’s account, but she knew the Inhabiters had the ability to retain the memories from their past lives, and so it was possible that Ada was telling the truth.
“Why did you not approach the hunters with this information? Why did you allow us to go on killing the Ngui? You are also to be blamed for the death of your people,” Ada said.
“You think we did not try? We tried several times, but your elders would hear no words that came out of our mouths. We were killed on sight. But all that is in the past now. Like I said, today marks a new beginning for us.”
“Why didn’t you kill me?” Anya asked.
“Because you remain unsullied by the blood of the Ngui,” Ada replied.
“That is not true. I took the life of one of your own about a moon ago.”
Ada laughed and her laughter spread through the crowd.
“His name was Ikefuna, and you did not take his life. As he bathed in the stream that day, he sensed you and your father lurking in the bushes. And just before you could use your blood juju on him, he took his own life with the aid of a poison held in his mouth. You see, Ikefuna was one among us who had the ability to choose his mother, and that day, as you rejoiced that you had made your first kill, Ikefuna took refuge in your womb. You know I do not lie. I am sure your monthly flow is late in coming this month,” Ada said.
“No! No! No!?” Anya cried, struggling against her restraints.
“I will teach you to use your power the right way, for the good of all of Aro. This is why you have been spared. This is why you are here. In eight moons, when Ikefuna is born, your training will be complete. Untie her, and let the feast begin,” Ada commanded.
*
The Ishike forest was brightly lit by fires from the Ngui’s celebration. Anya had been untied and had a plate of roast meat and a cup of palm wine set before her which she had not touched, too broken to eat as she was. Some Ngui danced around the large bonfire to a wonderful melody sung by the night birds of the forest. Suddenly, two dancing Ngui fell to the floor, a pool of blood collecting where arrows had punctured their chests, and then three more fell. The song of the night birds was replaced by the whirring of flying arrows and screams of injured Ngui. The celebration broke into a frenzy, as the Ngui scurried to escape with their lives.
Anya was stunned by the abrupt change in atmosphere, and as Ngui ran past her from every direction she caught sight of Ada, two younger Ngui in hand, making their way into a nearby bush. Soon, the clearing, where moments ago the Ngui danced, was emptied of all except Anya.
“Anya, is that you?” A voice called from just beyond the Ngui’s huts. Anya turned to the voice which she recognised as the chief priest’s.
“Yes, it is I,” Anya responded.
The dibia appeared from the bush together with a group of young men.
“How?” Anya asked
“I feared the Inhabiters may have bested our hunters when you did not return by noon, so, I called upon the young men of Aro, and we set out to find you people. What happened my child?” the priest asked.
Anya narrated her capture and the deaths of the hunters, but she left out Ada’s story about the Ngui and the child growing inside of her. The young men wailed at the sight of the burnt corpses, and they swore they would chase the Inhabiters to the end of Ishike forest until every last one was dead. The priest asked that they stayed their anger and return to their village.
*
Aro was thrown into moons of sadness and grieving following the news of the deaths of their hunters, but their resolve to wipe out the Inhabiters also intensified. The dibia and his priests set about screening all children for signs of the awakening of blood juju, in an effort to rebuild their army of hunters.
Anya had still not spoken of Ada’s revelation, and when asked, she explained that she was simply lucky to not have been killed by the Inhabiters. As the only remaining hunter in Aro, it fell to her to protect Aro from the inhabiters, especially the women as the number of Inhabiter births swelled; a consequence of the attack by men of Aro. She attended every inhabiter birth, all too willing to give the newborn babes a gift of death even as they lay connected to their mothers via their umbilical cord, and with every inhabiter Anya severed from the cycle of life and death she felt the child growing in her kick, as if expressing its disapproval of her actions. It would be several moons before she would meet this thing inside of her that dared rebel against her.
*
Hours before the cockcrow, on a windless harmattan night, nine moons after Anya had encountered Ikefuna, the Inhabiter whom she had thought she slew; she was thrust into the throes of childbirth. In the moons prior, when her belly had begun to grow, rumours as to the father of the child had spread across Aro. Some held that Agada, one of the younger hunters who was slain on that fateful night, was the father of her child, as he was closer to her age, and Nguru, Anya’s father was his mentor who had shown him the ways of a hunter and so, was partial to him. Still, others believed the father was a young man from a distant village, a thought they had no proof or reason to hold. The entire village speculated, but none, not even the dibia dared ask Anya who the father was.
As the pangs grew stronger and more frequent, Anya set out of the village in the dead of night without alerting any of the birthing women of Aro as to her state in fear that Ada’s words may come through and she births an inhabiter in full view of the midwives, and be forced to take his life as she had done to others before him. She wanted some time with this child she had carried for nine moons, this child that was the beginning of her life as a hunter. She chewed on the leaves of a weed she had picked days before, and this numbed her pain as she made for Ishike forest half hoping to find the inhabiters returned to their homes. Her plan was simple: if she delivered a child bearing the mark of an inhabiter, she would leave him with the inhabiters of the forest until she made up her mind about taking its life.
On getting to the forest, the inhabiters had not returned, and all she found were their deserted huts, most of which had been burnt to the ground by the people of Aro.
She was gripped by a particularly violent pang and fell to the ground.
Anya laboured for two days, untended, in the Ishike forest. By the end of the second day, she birthed a child, a boy with caramel brown skin, unblemished, save for the birthmarks numbering ten and three on his heels. When Anya saw the marks, she knew she had birthed Ikefuna. She held him close to her bosom to quieten his cries.
A pool of blood grew around her and she felt her life ebb with its widening diameter. With what was the remainder of her life force she touched her thumb into the pool of her own blood and marked her child with the Nsibiri symbol for life. Remembering what Ada had said about how the power of a hunter should be used, she looked into her child’s eyes and severed its link to the cycle of life and death. Just then, as she felt the invisible bond break, she saw the birthmarks on his heel fade away, and it was the last thing she ever saw.
END
