Vengeance of the Gods Pt. 01

Book One (1895-1900)

The Beginnings of the Promise

Look! Sons are an inheritance from Jehovah; the fruitage of the belly is a reward.

Wise King, Solomon (Psalms 127:3)

August 1895

RELIEVED, the young man stood up and quickly repaired his clothes, all the time scanning the bushes around him with narrow-eyed intensity. Stopping to ease himself was an unavoidable distraction on his long journey, for which he had to suppress his misgivings about the possibility of running into wild animals; and his concern over the gradually setting sun.

To save time, he decided to cut through the bushes in the general direction of the road he knew was ahead.

He had taken only a few gingerly steps when he heard the sound. It came from his left, further ahead, and it was very faint; but he had picked it up. Time spent in the bush with his grandfather stalking game had developed in him a very keen sense of hearing, especially when he was in the wild animals' habitat. Like now.

He stopped and listened for a while, but he heard nothing.

As he started to move, he heard the sound again. It was as faint as the first time and he could not discern what animal had made it. Slowly, silently, he started to move in the general direction of the sound. He had gone only a few paces when it came again-slightly louder this time-and he instinctively dropped down on a crouch, his body tense and still.

The sound was human! It was barely discernible but he was sure of its source. A human being had made that sound! He crouched for a while, wondering at its cause. Seasons of hunting made him cautious in this environment. He was still undecided about what to do when the sound came again, borne by a slight breeze, and a little louder still. It made his stomach churn and his eyes narrow in thought. It sounded like a child, and the voice seemed muffled.

Whoever made that sound must be in distress, he thought. But what is the cause of the distress? A wild animal attack? He could not hear the bloodcurdling growls that usually went with such attacks. Caught in a trap? Yes, that must be it! He straightened, ready to dash towards the sound when another thought stopped him short.

Why was the voice muffled? What blocked the mouth of the person making that sound? He could not find any answers to those questions, so he decided to advance very cautiously. His right foot caught on something and he looked down at a fat, dead frog, entangled around a small shrub.

What is it doing there? A premonition of danger washed over him as he stared at the dead frog. This was the third time his feet had caught something on the ground since he set out on this journey, and the second time it had happened since he entered this bush. To him, it was a sure sign that something bad was ahead; and for the first time, it occurred to him that he might be in a life-and-death situation here.

For a moment, he thought of turning and bolting, but he knew he would not do that. Not without finding out what was wrong with the child who had made those muffled sounds. Already, two possibilities were playing in his mind, and he liked none of them. In fact, they scared the evil spirits out of him! Nevertheless, he began to move very slowly towards the sound. His heart was beating very fast, his body bent low as he moved.

Then another sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was a man's voice, very low, and it reaffirmed the fears that had begun to gnaw at his innards. The muffled sound he heard before became more sinister to him because, though the man's voice was very low, it was not muffled.

Slowly, soundlessly, he reached for the cowhide scabbard at the waistband of his khaki shorts and pulled out the hunting knife there-a long and broad, cruel-looking piece. As he stroked the smooth sides in unconscious reflex, a strange feeling of comfort washed over him. A deathbed gift from his grandfather-the greatest hunter and warrior of contemporary history in the Ngana clans and beyond-it was a staff of office, the old man's anointment as his successor. It was a treasured gift he took on long journeys, and he appreciated it the most now as he moved forward slowly. Memories of his great ancestors filled him with courage, and he blessed his grandfather for it.

He crouched behind a big mango tree, close enough to hear the men. However, he could not see them-the bush was too thick from his viewpoint. He guessed that they were within a clearing, but he could not see their entrance point. He thought of skirting around to find it, but quickly discarded the idea. It was too risky.

A plan was already forming in his mind, but he needed to know their number for it to work. Though he could hear them, their voices were too faint for him to work out how many they were. Besides, some of them might not have joined the conversation. In addition, he needed to know whether they were kidnappers or ritual killers. Therefore, it was imperative for him to see them. But how could he see them without being seen?

Something wet and light dropped on his neck and he jumped. By the gods, he was so tense! He smelt it even before he removed it and looked up to see the culprit-the wild pigeon whose feces had dropped on his neck. He smiled tautly at it, relieved, and an idea struck him. He turned and scanned the area quickly for the right tree.

Soon he chose an ukwa tree about thirty paces away from him. It was tall, and the thick leaves would give him cover as he climbed high enough to see into the clearing. He moved swiftly to the tree, not directly, but first to the right, always seeking cover, imbibing lessons from his grandfather.

At its base, he quickly scanned the tree to make sure there were no birds or small animals whose flight or cries of alarm would draw the men's attention. Satisfied that there was none, he began to climb. At about three-quarters of the tree's height, he stopped and looked in the direction he thought the voices were coming from.

At first, he saw nothing. Then his gaze drifted to his left and his breath caught in his throat.

There were five men in a small clearing. They were all bare-bodied, except for one who wore a black khaki shirt; with the equally dark-colored shirts of the others flung around the clearing. Dark clothes-nightclothes, he thought. Sitting opposite the men were two children-a boy and a girl. They sat with their hands tied behind them, backing and leaning on each other. Their legs were bound together, too, and palm fronds ran between their lips, tied behind their heads. They were too far away for him to guess their ages correctly, but the sight of them did something wild to him as the most painful memories of his young life came flooding through his mind.

Nduka... Nduka... his beloved cousin, Nduka...

Blood rushed into his head and he felt dizzy. Everything was hazy before him and he had to grab at the tree trunk for support. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he slowly recovered. He was disoriented for a moment, then the faint sound of laughter drew his eyes to the clearing again. One of the men was handing out large pieces of roasted yam to the others, which they began to dip into a calabash bowl containing palm oil before eating.

He had seen enough, and climbed rapidly down the tree to go and carry out his plan. On his way here, about three hundred paces from where he was now, he had noticed an old farm left to fallow, with many yam stalks. He moved there quickly at a trot; and in no time had selected five slim, straight and strong lengths of the yam stalks, each about two-arm length.

Then squatting on the ground, he began to sharpen the ends of the stalks into spears with his hunting knife. He worked fast, the name, Nduka, running through his mind like a litany...

Shortly, he was crouched behind the nearest tree to the clearing, waiting for the right moment to move in and strike. His head was bent, his body tense as he listened to the voices behind the thick clump of bushes to his left. His heart beat fast as adrenaline rushed through his veins.

He had noted the barely discernible opening to the clearing, and had spread his wooden spears and sturdy, roughhewn rocks behind the clearing, away from the entrance-a task that had taken all his stalking skills to accomplish without making any incriminating sounds.

The success of his plan was predicated on creating the impression that several people were attacking the men at once. Therefore, he would have to throw the spears and stones rapidly, from, at least, slightly different positions.

He was ready to strike; still he waited, hoping for a lull in their conversation, a signal of relaxation of their guard. They had just eaten, and a soft, early-evening breeze stirred the air. It would relax them; perhaps make them drowsy, as it did to wild animals. With some good fortune, they might even doze off and make his task much easier. Therefore, he waited, his body tense, his hand gripped around the wooden spear. Soon, very soon...

Gradually their conversation petered out and there was quiet. After a while, he thought he heard snoring, still he tarried a little while longer, patience born of time spent stalking prey, coming to bear...

The sun had receded and formed a magnificent orange ball in the horizon when he started to move. Slowly, very slowly, so as not to make any sound, he crawled towards the clearing, stopping every few paces to listen and then continue. Thirty paces... twenty paces... ten...

He approached almost directly by the side of the children as they sat in the foreground, a little to his right, backing each other. From where he was, he could discern enough about the men's positions to know that two of them sat to his far right, with two others a little to his left, in the background. In the middle, directly in his line of vision, and behind the children, sat a man with a gun propped against the short tree on which he was leaning.

He would have liked to see them more clearly, but he did not dare raise his head higher than he had already, except to strike. It would happen any moment now. Everything depended on speed and the accuracy of his throws.

His body tensed, ready to spring up and attack, then he heard a faint gasp, and his head shot up. He found himself staring into two pairs of frightened eyes. In the span of an endless moment, he stared at the bewildered children-less than ten paces away from him-then he brought his forefinger to his lips. For a heart-stopping moment, he was unsure if they would heed his conspiratorial warning. Then the moment passed and he saw their eyes become less rounded, less frightened.

He shook and nodded his head alternately in a gesture he hoped would help calm them down, and watched with great relief, as they seemed to relax. He smiled at them, and to his amazed delight, the boy managed a caricature of a smile. What with the palm frond cutting into his mouth!

He smelt it before he heard the hiss and his whole body went stock-still, all his muscles locked tight with anxiety. It was approaching from behind him and the urge to turn around was overwhelming, but he fought it. It was close behind and any sudden movement could make it strike out instinctively in self-defense. Besides, such movement might draw the attention of the men in the clearing. His best option was to stay still and wait, so he stayed still and waited.

The faint slithering sound stopped and his body became even tenser with apprehension. He suspected a poisonous reptile and even now, he could easily imagine its body raised, ready to strike. Then he had an inspired thought. With his body held still, he turned his eyes to his right, where he guessed it was coming from.

He was right-it was a cobra! The sun was weak; but it cast a faint shadow of the reptile on the ground.

He watched the snake's shadow move as it lowered itself to the ground, and a frantic thought flashed through his head. He heard the faint slithering sound again as it approached him from behind and knew that it had to happen in moments!

He moved immediately he saw the snake's head emerge, from the corner of his eye, less than a pace to his right.

In one breathtakingly quick and fluid motion, he grabbed the reptile behind its head and flung it towards the two dozing men to his far right. The snake still air-borne, he picked up a wooden spear and threw it at the man with the gun, aiming for his torso. Without waiting to see it hit target, he quickly rolled to his left and grabbed the next spear.

He heard screams of 'AGWO! AGWO!' as he drew back his hand to throw the second spear, and he knew that the snake had landed on target. The two men to his left jerked up suddenly from their slouched, sleeping positions, and he aimed at the torso of the closer man who stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape.

Once again, without waiting to see the spear hit target, he rolled over to his left. He sprang up with a stone in his right hand and a spear in his left. The second of the two men to his left had scrambled to his feet and was making a mad dash for the gun. The young man looked at his hands and opted for the stone. He had done enough killing.

This time, he watched the big stone hit the back of the man's head as he reached for the up-standing gun. He toppled over and lay still on the ground.

He heard screaming and looked up just in time to see one of the men on the far right side of the clearing run wildly into the bush. He clutched the left side of his neck, screaming that the snake had bitten him. With all that excited activity, and the position of the bite, he would surely fall to his death soon.

A movement to the left caught his eye and he turned to see his mate disappear through the entrance. He ran as if all the evil spirits in all the evil forests were after him. It would have been funny but for the situation at hand.

A horrible gurgling sound drew his attention, and he looked down to see the man with the gun clutching feebly at the spear embedded in his throat as his body fell into spasms, twitching on the ground. Blood gushed out from his throat and dribbled from his mouth. The horrible sounds he made chilled the bones. Fortunately, his agony would soon end.

Further to his left, the other man clutched at the spear buried in his abdomen, making pitiful grunting noises as he struggled to sit up. Great spurts of blood poured out from his wound, covering his hands; and the look of sheer terror on his face was almost comical. The young man picked up another big stone and watched it hit his forehead, knocking him unconscious. It was better for him to die without so much pain.

Quickly, he ran to the terrified children and cut them loose. The girl had fainted during the attack, so he lifted her to his shoulder. Then grabbing the perplexed boy by the hand, they ran out of the clearing. Everything had happened in moments.

They ran through the bush for a while before bursting out onto the road. Shortly after, the girl started to groan and then struggle on his shoulder. He put her down and she crumbled to the ground, whimpering in fear. She had a look of terror on her face as she scrambled away from him. He stood watching silently as the boy held and comforted her. After a while, he managed to reassure her and they set out again at a run. The young man noted with a grim smile that the girl stayed beside the boy, away from him.

They ran for quite a while and were panting heavily by the time they slowed down to walk at a brisk pace. He had to think fast about where they would go. Darkness was falling and getting to Obosi was out of the question. As they got to a deserted Eke-Uz'agu market, he took a left turn and headed towards Umuoji. They would go to his sister's home and spend the night-it was the nearest place they could go from there.

Throughout their journey, they did not exchange any words and the children asked no questions. Despite the terrible violence they had witnessed, they knew, instinctively, that they were safe with him. As they neared the village, he turned to look at them and they smiled at him-the boy broadly, and the girl rather tentatively. He smiled back at them, moved by the trust he saw in their eyes in the late evening's dying rays of light. He knew then that the risk he took to rescue them was well worth it.

At his elder sister's marital home, the spontaneous expressions of joy that greeted the news of his feat in rescuing the children went on late into the night.

It was already dark as they entered his brother-in-law's compound and found him discussing with some men at his obi. The men stared at them for a while, before recognition dawned on his sister's husband; and he got up to hug him. Though they were together two days ago at his mother's Ilochi ceremonies, he was startled to see him at his home at this time.

"Nw'ony'ocha!" Ok'afo exclaimed, calling him a pet name that referred to his association with white people.

"Nnukwu-ogom," he replied, calling him 'my big in-law', in deference to his greater age.

"Nnoo, nnoonu", Ok'afo continued, welcoming them warmly.

"Who're the children with you?" His warm welcome could barely mask his curiosity and slight anxiety as he regarded the children. Ok'afo, a very jovial man of average height and build, was said to have won his elder sister's heart with his irresistible jokes, and he was very fond of him. However, he could only gaze at his anxious face, illuminated by lamplight, as he asked again about his companions.

"Let them come in first and sit down before you start asking those questions, Ok'afo", interjected an old man seated inside the obi, looking up from the snuff he was about to put into his nostril. "Some questions are better answered sitting down."

"Yes... yes, come in and sit down first," Ok'afo enthused as he ushered them into the obi and they all sat down.

"Welcome, my son. Welcome, my children," greeted the old man with the snuff, and the other two men joined him in welcoming them.

"Thank you, Nn'anyi. Thank you, our fathers, for welcoming us," the young man answered. The two children sat mute, staring at everyone with wide, bemused eyes.

The men offered garden eggs and palm wine to them, but they all declined.

"Where's my sister? Is she at home?" Oziel'onye was the first daughter of his father's second wife.

"Yes, she's at home. I'll send for her shortly, but won't you tell us where you're coming from and about the children with you?" Ok'afo could hardly contain his curiosity.

"I'll tell you, my great in-law, I'll tell you," he assured with a heavy sigh. "But it's a long story and I think that everybody should hear it, including as many members of your kindred as you can get here." His expression had all of them staring intently at him.

"Ehee, I said so!" exclaimed the old man with the snuff. "Some questions are better answered sitting down. Quickly, Ok'afo and Nwan'eli, go and call our people, please".

"Yes, Ogbuefi", answered Ok'afo, getting up to go. He called out to his wives to come and greet their visitors, then he hurriedly left with Nwan'eli and some other fellow he had invited to accompany them.

Oziel'onye exclaimed in surprise when she came out of her mkpuke part of the compound and saw her little brother. She hurried over and gave him a big hug, then gazed curiously at the two children beside him, but said nothing. Soon, other members of the family, including her co-wife and their children, surrounded them. They chattered excitedly, all the while glancing curiously at the children with him.