Say Walah

39: Black As Death (Part 3)

The two guards lunged for my arms, but I was already moving. My body twisted between them, a fluid spin that broke their reach. As they stumbled forward, I pulled the knife from my satchel, my muscles coiling like a worm.

I launched into the air, my body rotating in a tight somersault that carried me over their grasping hands. Time seemed to slow as I inverted, the moonlight catching the blade as I released it mid-rotation. The knife spun through the air, a silver arc that winked in the darkness.

Nkili's eyes widened as the blade sliced through the air, just grazing her throat. She barely flinched as a thin red line bloomed on her skin, and the knife buried itself in the wall behind her, quivering. She touched her fingers to the shallow cut, shock written across her face.

"All that just to miss?" Her laugh was shaky but mocking, even as blood stained her fingertips.

The guards recovered quickly, tackling me as I landed. My shoulder hit the floor hard as they pinned me down, rough hands forcing my arms behind my back. But I couldn't stop grinning – everything was going exactly as planned.

They hauled me roughly to my feet, fingers digging into my shoulders. I let my lips curl into a knowing smile as Nkili dabbed at the shallow cut with her fingers.

"Did I really miss, though?"

Her mocking laughter wavered, just for a moment. The guards began to drag me toward the door, my legs scraping across the floor.

Breathless but steady, I called over my shoulder, "If you want the cure, you'll tell me what you gave Rimi."

"Empty threats," she snapped, but there was a flicker of doubt in her voice. "Take this fool—wait."

We all turned. Nkili's hand trembled as she touched her forehead, her vision blurring, unsteady.

"What did you—" The question cut off as her eyes rolled back, and she swayed on her feet.

"My Lady!" Ehime darted forward, catching her before she could collapse. My laughter rang out, wild and triumphant, echoing through the moonlit chamber as chaos erupted around us.

Rough hands dragged me down wood-on-clay spiraling stairs, past flickering torches that cast wild shadows against walls made of ancient baobab and iroko wood. The wood here was older than most of the kingdom's elders – massive heartwood beams dark with age and the absorbed suffering of countless prisoners. Each step deeper brought a heavier weight of despair, as if the very air grew thicker with the accumulated pain of those who had descended before me.

The guards' bare feet echoed against steps worn smooth by decades of similar journeys. My feet caught splinters from the weathered wood, and the musty smell of rot and age filled my lungs. Here and there, I spotted intricate carvings in the wooden walls – protection symbols and ancient warnings, their edges softened by time and the brush of desperate hands.

"Mind your head," one guard sneered, a moment too late as my forehead struck a low beam. Stars exploded behind my eyes. The other guard chuckled, his grip tightening on my bound arms.

The stairway opened into a corridor lined with cells. The walls here were a combination of earth and massive iroko trunks, their natural curves forming brutal barriers. Baobab posts thick as three men stood like silent guards between cells, their pale wood turned almost black in the perpetual darkness. The air hung heavy with the sweet-sour stench of decay.

They stopped at a cell near the end, where the darkness was deepest. One guard unlocked the heavy wooden door, its hinges groaning like a soul in torment. The other shoved me forward, his foot catching the back of my knee. I stumbled into the cell, unable to catch myself with bound hands.

The impact drove the breath from my lungs. Behind me, the door slammed with a finality that shook dust from the ancient beams above. The lock engaged with a sound like bones breaking.

"Welcome home," the first guard laughed. "Hope you like your neighbors. They're quiet ones."

Their torchlight receded, taking with it my last clear view of the cell's previous occupants – or what remained of them. In the darkness, I could make out shapes pressed against the walls, some still bearing scraps of cloth that might once have been fine wrappers. Their empty eye sockets seemed to watch me with hollow sympathy.

Ehime's footsteps descended the stairs, measured and deliberate. She entered alone, carrying a torch that cast her shadow long against the walls. The flames reflected in her dark eyes as she studied me.

"The knife," she said finally. "What did you lace it with?"

I pushed myself up to sitting, my ribs protesting where her knee had caught them earlier. "Just sleeping herbs and kola nut. They'll wake with nothing worse than a headache."

"Like the guards in the courtyard?" A hint of professional admiration crept into her voice. "Eighteen trained men, disabled without a single death. That's not the work of a common assassin."

"I'm no assassin."

"No." She crouched outside the cell, bringing the torch lower. "You move like shadow. Your pressure point strikes, your footwork..." Her eyes narrowed.

I met her gaze, unflinching. "I just need the antidote, and I'll be gone."

Ehime studied me, her silence stretching into the shadows. "Rimi," she said at last, the name heavy on her tongue.

"She's dying." I stepped closer to the bars, pushing past the ache in my muscles. "Whatever poison your mistress used is killing her, inch by inch. And for what? The favor of a man who will never see her as anything but a pawn?"

Ehime sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The brat exhausts me... but I'm bound to her."

"I know that kind of chain," I replied, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between us—a quiet, mutual respect.

She straightened, the flickering torchlight casting sharp shadows across her features. "You had every chance to kill the guards. Why didn't you?"

"Because life is precious."

Her eyes narrowed, searching for something beneath my calm exterior. "Like the life you're risking everything to save?"

The question lingered in the stale, heavy air. I tightened my grip on the bars, feeling the rough, cold wood bite into my palms. "You carry yourself like someone who's been marked by their own battles. Deep wounds... ones that don't easily fade. I was lucky to escape mine, though not unscathed. The girl I'm trying to save—she and her sister, they helped me find a way back."

"People like us never truly heal," Ehime murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Our eyes locked in the dim torchlight, the flickering flame reflecting a silent understanding—unspoken but sharp as a blade. "Not true," I said quietly. "There's redemption for every soul under the sky."

Ehime regarded me for a long, thoughtful moment, the torchlight flickering in her dark eyes. Finally, she turned toward the stairs, her expression unreadable. "Dawn is near," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Ibezim will want his answers. Prepare yourself."

She tossed me a small, raffia-wrapped satchel. "Make sure Rimi gets this, and do it quickly," she said, a faint smile curling on her lips. "I'll tell Nkili you cut her with sleeping herbs."

She saw through my little ruse, sharper than she let on. My respect for her rose a notch after that.

As she turned to leave, she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me, already unbound and standing outside the cell. A grin spread across her face. "Until we meet again."

And then she was gone, her footsteps fading into the shadows, leaving me with a single, daunting task: to escape this dungeon and vanish into the night, as seamlessly as she had played her part.

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