OGBANJE (PRIDE OF ALAOCHA BK2)

CHAPTER 2

I said to the man by the gate, give me a light to walk into the unknown. But he said to me, put your hands into the hands of God and travel into the unknown. It shall be to you brighter than the light, and safer than the known

—From Ezekala
(Second hand of the king)
Subject was an Ajah warrior

The Chase

The winds howled as she plunged into the forest. From the grasses, fog billowed in hot and cold mist, shrouding the moist air and devouring the moonlight. The paths were unfamiliar, but she clung to them, sprinting Eastward, towards the moon, towards the city of Light—also called Ihe, in the old tongue. Despite keeping to herself, images flashed before her. Images of Loti and Nama charging recklessly towards the Jivers. Loti had yearned for a fresh start, envisioning a new wine press, where he would savor his dreams and banish his days of slavery. Nama also craved to be a fisherman, dwelling beside a lake, with a charming Idorian woman. He longed for children too, hordes of them.
Not that it mattered now, Kintra thought. They were gone. I propelled them to their death, I vowed safety but only ushered them to doom.

She swallowed the guilt as she crossed a steep valley. Both men had risked their lives for hers. Yet she had abandoned them. She had left them. There's nothing you could have done, a voice reassured her. She ignored it.

The music of the sunbirds had begun echoing from the treetops. Though the sun’s light was hidden somewhere behind dark clouds, she could see the path more clearly. Any other day, she would have paused long enough to watch the golden rays piercing through the clouds. But not today. Those luxuries were for kings and queens, princes and princesses in the comfort of their domain. Yes, they were for Amadi’s—freeborn—and not for commoners, Osu or Ohu. She doubted she would ever experience such pleasure in this life, maybe in her next.

"There she is," a crackly voice rasped.

The sound jolted Kintra, stabbing the sides of her stomach with emptiness and cold. Light!! She thought, How did they track me? The question echoed as she whirled around.

At least five Jivers skulked in the shadows, their red eyes painting the dark forest like a macabre artwork. Flesh and blood oozed from their curved blades. On each hilt gleamed a blue spot, about twenty-four of them. Kintra knew the lore: Jivers were infamous for tallying the lives they'd stolen, the people they'd devoured. Were Loti and Nama among? No, they can't be dead. Kintra insisted, despite knowing the grim truth.

Accelerating her pace, she hurtled down the slope. Through the heart of the moist forest, leaves and grasses lashed her face, causing her feet to snag on a jagged stone edge. She tumbled into gravity's merciless grip. Thorns sliced through her sash, burrowing until they found the flesh underneath.

She swallowed the scream as blood gushed in a fountain from the torn skin, transmitting pain like a vile venom. Gnashing her teeth instead, she tried smothering the pain with touch. Everywhere screamed for attention—her head, hands, face, body, and feet. But the pain seared like countless needles, muddling her thoughts. Why had she lingered? She should have fought instead of fleeing for dear life.

Inhaling deeply, she began to rise but recoiled when a stabbing pain ambushed her left diaphragm. She leaned away and managed an upright position, praying her wobbling feet would endure. The ground seemed a mile away, and each step through her foggy vision crafted its own reality.

She couldn't feel her right leg, and despite its protests and pleas for rest, Kintra growled and persevered, dragging the limb until sensation seeped back. She must find the City of Light. She must, and she will.

Using the tree trunk as a crutch, she staggered as her multiple visions merged into one. She could feel her feet again; she could sense the world around her.

Maybe the gods haven't abandoned me after all, a voice whispered in her head.

She attempted a left turn, towards a canopy of leaves and scrubs, but then, an arrow zipped past her ears and embedded itself into a nearby tree.

Or maybe not. Kintra gulped. Limping through the pain, she started running, and it didn't take long to burst out of the forest.

Just ahead, about a stone's throw away—lay a river. It was called the water of transitioning, the river Arate. This was the first rendezvous point. The place Loti and the others agreed to meet in case they got separated.

Not important anymore, she grunted.

The water's surface shimmered with colors that morphed from one ripple to the other, giving it a fine glassy appearance. No canoes or rafter raiders dotted the scene. The shorelines stood bare, and the glistening water surface loomed with pride, as if daring her to plunge in.

Kintra accepted the challenge. She surged into the waist-deep water and was halfway across when it struck her ‘she couldn't swim.’

Her heart raced again, but she knew she had no choice. It was either the water or the Jivers, and either way, she was doomed.

I'd rather be a corpse than meat. She smeared away tears as eight years of her life flickered before her. She'd been promised to a high Lord. She was destined to live in ecstasy and bliss. Flicker. She was five, laughing in a field with her mother. Flicker. She cradled her bloodied husband, who stared at her, wide eyes unmoving, still and silent. Flicker, flicker, flicker.

"Kill her," the slurry voice of the Jivers jolted Kintra back to reality.

She hurried further into the river, hoping to maintain a good distance from the flesh-eating demons.

“You'll never escape, Slave,” another creature bellowed. “You're going to perish. You can't even swim; nobody in Nachi can. Why gamble your life when you can be my master's meat for the rest of your wretched existence?”

The rancor in its voice resonated like a sweet melody in Kintra's ears. Uliro. She remembered the creature's name. It was her master's servant, one of the many who wanted her head on a platter.

Kintra forged ahead, treading carefully in the shallows. In front, the far shoreline beckoned, whispering in her ears like the symphony of a melodious gong. It was her path to freedom, her path to life, her path to a new phase.

“Do something, all of ya! Don't let her escape!” Uliro shrieked.

The smile on Kintra's lips widened as her eyes locked onto the shoreline ahead. It was her freedom, one she had beseeched for so long. After eight years of living in chains and sacrifice, her liberty was just ahead, calling with a sweet, small voice.

“Almost there,” Kintra breathed. The glee was intoxicating; she could almost taste the smooth flavor of liberty.
Something splashed into the water, yanking her back to reality, but knowing what it was, she didn't pause to inspect. The Slavers were pelting stones and arrows at her, since they couldn't risk the water themselves.

I'm too far to be struck by one of those, Kintra thought. Her elation was short-lived, however, when an arrow found its mark on her shoulder blade.
An electrifying pain flooded through her body, and in her struggle to grasp the arrow, she slipped.

Water slapped her face and tossed her from one side to the other at its whim. She tried to find her footing, but her leg kept meeting an endless void. It was like being hanged with a rope.

Despite the pain, her lungs screamed for air as the water churned her up and down. Through and through, her struggle began to ebb, and she could no longer feel the arrow in her back, or hear the creatures clamoring on the shoreline, or the pitiless roar of the rushing river.

Her life flickered before her eyes as everything grew quiet and pleasant.

Perhaps death wasn't so terrible after all...

Perhaps dying was better than living.