EJIMA

CHAPTER 50

Bozo found a stone from the fallen building and relaxed his weight. He tucked his sword under his armpit and with his free hands took out his snuff-box from his pouch. He taped the coverlid and scooped a large portion into his nostrils with his index finger. The electrifying rush that went from his brain to all parts of his body made him shiver as he groaned with pleasure. The people of Umunta have become his favorite. They were skilled in grinding the tobacco smoothly and the lack of adulteration made him fond of their product. Unlike his previous sellers who often mix the tobacco with colorants and other useless leaves, this was the best anyone could ever ask for.

Sneezing twice, he wiped the tears before dropping his finger into the snuff box again, ready to begin the process all over.

Before him, sizzle and frizzles of burning buildings and roofs sang the melody of his conquest. Smokes rose in all directions, raining soot on their wake. Men and women lay on the dusty floor, lifeless, a contrast to the screams of the children who were reaching out for them. He had ordered his soldiers to spare the children, but to kill every living thing in the village. Not even livestock was to be spared. He was out to build his empire and would stretch it as far as the riverside. Anything that stood in his way would taste the wrath of his burning rage. He would level the world before his feet and would make his dynasty the greatest in the entire universe.

Another immersed rush went out from his brain to every part of his body. It has nothing to do with the snuff. This was something more, something pacifying and the pleasure made him close his eyes. The smell of the smoke and the cries of the dying men and women; this was the power he had searched for, the thing he had yearned so long to have.

“My lord.”

The voice of his commander made him open his eyes. Chimba was on his knees, with his head bowed. He was covered with blood, the blood of their enemies, and of innocent men and women who had caused pain and suffering to his people.

“Are we ready to move?” Bozo asked and dusted his fingers, suddenly losing interest in the snuff.

“Yes my lord.”

“Good,” Bozo stood and sheathed his blade into his silver scabbard. He was the richest king in the world, rich enough to afford luxuries like mirrors and metals for his men and people. From the perspective of tradition, they were supposed to be poor and crawling on the streets. The society had rejected them, they had called them Osu (outcast), an abomination that was never meant to happen. But the revise was just the case. He had found his way to power, and he would not stop until every knee swore allegiance to him.

He was about to walk back to his horse when he noticed that Chimba was still on his knees. The man must have fought all afternoon, yet, his posture was not deformed in any way to suggest fatigue or its like. 

“What?” Bozo asked.

“My king and lord,” Chimba said and lifted his head, “Agwo no n’akirika (there is trouble)”

“Ogini (what is it)?”

The man breathed in sadly and before he could blink it away, Bozo thought he saw a tear, lining the edge of his eyes. Was he suddenly sorry for the village they had destroyed or had the cries of the children get into his sturdy brain?

“It’s about the Hawk, sir. Our emissaries just brought a report that he is dead. We found his head on a spike, not too far from our boundary with the people of Umudike. It seems they had done it on purpose. To strike a warning, I think.”

Bozo closed his eyes and the bile that coursed through his body made his head swell. He could have sworn that the news nearly stopped his heart. Breathing was difficult and so was speaking. The sorrow was like one he had never felt before, not even the day his parents had died in the hands of those barbaric creatures.

“No, no. This is not happening. Why now? I warned him but he wouldn’t listen to me, I warned him.” Bozo blinked and the tears gushed out like a fountain. He slouched on the dusty floor, feeling the weight of sorrow crashing on him like the weight of ten thousand mountains. He could still see the smiles of Maduka as they played around the moonlight fire. They had promised each other forever. They had promised to build a world of their own, together.

“You did all you could my lord, but we are at war, and things like this happen.”

Bozo gnashed his teeth at Chimba’s words. Any other day he would have chopped the man’s head for thinking like a fool. Maduka was not just a subject. He was something more and had sacrificed everything to make ends meet without bloodshed. But he had been beaten in his own game, by the same rain he had tried so hard to prevent. 

“Ready the army,” Bozo said and returned to his feet, “We match to Umudike. We will retrieve his body.”

“But my lord,” Chimba’s brow deepened as he stood, “That village is still infested by disease, or have you forgotten how we sent two leapers there? Plus, their finest warrior, Jide, is still lurking in the shadows. If he is as powerful as the stories said, then I don’t think we would stand a chance. And we don’t know who he is or what danger we might be walking into. This must be a trap.”

“Chimba” Bozo groaned and tightened his hands on his sword, “If you were not my trusted servant and warrior, I would have separated your head from your shoulders at this moment.”

The man’s eyes widened as fear gripped him. He swallowed, but lowered his head and begged for his life.

“As I said before,” Bozo looked away from him. His men had gathered around. Their hands were still glued to their sword, ready to fight, ready to kill at his command. “You are a trusted servant and a warrior. This hatchet I would bury today. Speak like this again and I will dig you up after killing you and kill you again.”

“Thank you, my king,” Chimba said but Bozo was not paying attention. 

His gaze was fixed on the horizon, even though the burning buildings obscure his vision, he could almost see the village of Umudike, trembling with fear at his anger.

“We ride to Umudike,” Bozo shouted and clenched his sword tightly, “Kill, destroy, level to dust anything that stands in our way. Spare on one, but the king and his family. I would kill them myself, I would wipe their name from the slate of history, and generations to come would only use their name as a swear word.”

The men cheered in return and dust rose on their heels as their horses galloped towards the direction of the village. 

“My lord,” Chimba was saying as his Zebra walked up to the king. “Permission to speak freely sir.”

Bozo nodded to the commander, just as his squire handed him his helmet.

“A question sir,” Chimba stammered, “I just want to know why? There are still kingdoms out there, waiting to bow down to your sovereignty. Why choose this cursed village? Why walk us into a diseased land? And all for what, for the Hawk? Another one of your subjects?”

Bozo smiled and wore the helmet. It was made of silver but had been shaped like the face of a bull. Chimba’s sudden curiosity was beginning to get on his nerves, but he tried to swallow the man’s ignorance. He would reserve Chimba’s punishment for later.

“Another subject you say?” Again, Bozo’s question drove a cold chill down Chimba’s features, and fright held him. But the man did not back down. He was curious, a curiosity that might send him to an early grave.

“Hawk is not just a subject, dear Chimba,” Bozo breathed in, still trying to contain his anger. “His name is Maduka. Son of Obi, of the tribe of Obigwe, from the clan of Obigwenigwe and the true heir to the iron throne.”

“Chime ooo (my god)” Chimba’s jaw dropped, “so…does that mean that the Hawk…I mean, Maduka is—”

“Yes, Chimba” Bozo tugged the rein of his horse, “Maduka is my brother. And may his spirit not rest until I destroy everyone who soiled their hands in his blood.