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The sun was high in the sky, casting a bright glow over the compound. The day was Orie, one of the sacred market days, but Lota had little interest in the lively bustle beyond her residential walls. She lay on her bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling, the cold rejection of her husband stinging her heart. It had been ten moons since her wedding, and yet she was like a stranger in this household. Even the servants whispered behind her back, casting pitying glances when they thought she wasn't looking.
She sighed, her chest heavy with the weight of loneliness, and was about to resign herself to another day of isolation when Nkiru, her loyal servant, burst into the room with a grin that lit up the dim space.
"My lady, Nazam is here!"
At the mention of her brother, Lota shot up from the bed, her heart skipping with excitement. She quickly checked her reflection in the brass mirror, smoothing her wrapper and adjusting the beads in her hair.
"Quick, bring him in!" she said, a genuine smile crossing her face for the first time that day.
Nkiru bowed and ran out, and moments later, a small whirlwind of energy burst into the room, nearly knocking Lota off her feet.
"Little sister!" Nazam shouted, wrapping her in a tight hug.
"Nazam! Behave!" Nkiru scolded, catching up and panting.
"My Lady is married now! Don't you know men and women are supposed to keep their distance? What if someone sees you? Do you want to create a scandal for her?"
Nazam immediately jumped back, looking slightly guilty, but his mischievous grin remained.
"I couldn't help it," he said, still beaming.
"It's been too long, little sister. How are you? Is your husband treating you well?"
Lota bit her lip, trying to hide the pang of sadness that welled up inside her. She forced a smile, hoping Nazam wouldn't notice.
"Of course. They treat me like a princess," she lied smoothly, though the words tasted bitter.
Nazam's smile widened.
"That's a relief. Great Mother and Master have been worried sick about you."
He paused, his grin turning playful.
"But I brought something to cheer you up!"
With a dramatic flourish, Nazam slung his akwa (cloth bundle) from his shoulder and unwrapped it, revealing a collection of brass trinkets and her old working tools. Lota's eyes sparkled as she picked up each item, her heart lifting for the first time in what felt like ages.
"Big brother, you really do take care of me." Lota said, her smile genuine now.
Nazam puffed his chest proudly.
"Of course, little sister. This big brother will always protect and take care of you, no matter what."
Lota laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days.
"Then I'll keep that promise in mind, and thank you for your care in the future."
Despite her happiness at seeing her brother, a shadow lingered in her heart. Since her wedding, her life had become a lonely existence. She'd only seen her husband, Munachimso, the morning after their wedding, and after that, it was as though she had ceased to exist. The wives and concubines of her father-in-law made it their mission to torment her daily, gossiping loudly within earshot about how unworthy she was.
"She's just a pretty decoration."
They'd sneer.
"Married off because she looks good and her father is wealthy. She's nothing but an empty vessel."
They never cared to visit her quarters to check on her well-being. Instead, they came to mock her, to remind her that she was nothing more than an accessory to Munachimso's household. Their whispers filled every corner of her new life, haunting her like a shadow she couldn't escape.
"Little sister! Little sister!" Nazam's voice broke through her dark thoughts, shaking her arm gently. His eyes searched her face, concern evident in his expression.
"Why don't we go inside and work on these?" she suddenly said, trying to change the subject, her voice too bright for the gloom that clung to her.
But Nazam wasn't so easily fooled. His brows furrowed, and he looked around suspiciously.
"Every time I send word that I'm coming to visit, you have some excuse. Where is he? Are your in-laws not treating you well?" he asked bluntly.
Lota's heart raced. She'd forgotten how sharp Nazam was. She glanced nervously at Nkiru, who quickly stepped in to save her.
"Nazam, you may have forgotten,"
Nkiru whispered, glancing around as though the walls had ears,
"But young master is with the Ogba Onwu. He's investigating the strange deaths in the village. That's why he is not home today"
Nazam's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, though his suspicion lingered.
"Come!"
Lota said quickly, her voice high with forced enthusiasm.
"You must tell me how everyone is doing back home. Let me host you properly. Nkiru, bring roasted yam and oil, and fetch some palm wine."
Nkiru nodded and left, but Nazam wasn't convinced. He followed Lota as she led him to her inner chamber, where she quickly began setting up her tools.
"It's been so long since I've seen you, Nazam."
She continued, her hands moving restlessly.
"Let's talk while I work."
She could feel Nazam's eyes on her, full of unspoken questions. She knew her brother too well—he wasn't one to let things go. He could see through her cheerful façade. And yet, despite the tension hanging in the air, Lota was grateful for his presence. In a world where she felt invisible, Nazam was the one person who saw her.
As they worked side by side, Lota's mind wandered back to the cruel words of the concubines, their sharp tongues slicing through her heart like knives.
"I heard the only reason the old chief agreed to this marriage was for the money," one of the concubines had sneered, her voice thick with scorn.
Another had chimed in, her tone gleeful.
"Oh, of course. Her father's wealth keeps him afloat in the King's court. With it, he can elevate his status on becoming the Onowu!"
'Shh the walls have ears! be mindful of your words!'
They had giggled, the sound like sharp needles pricking at Lota's heart. She hadn't been able to stop herself from listening, their words like a slow poison.
"She's nothing but a pawn. Just a pretty little bird in a gilded cage. And she thinks Munachimso will love her?"
The third voice had been the cruellest.
"He barely even looks at her. Everyone knows she's just a decoration in his household. A good-looking prize, that's all."
"Munachimso deserves better."
Another had said just days ago, her voice dripping with malice.
"He'll tire of that fancy decoration soon enough. She's nothing but a doll dressed in fine clothes."
Lota's hands stilled on her tools, the memory stinging anew. She blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. She had to stay strong. For Nazam. For herself.
She glanced at her brother, who was busy inspecting one of the brass trinkets. His brow furrowed in concentration, the sunlight from the window casting a warm glow over his face. Despite the gossip and the isolation, at least she had this—her brother's love and support. For now, that was enough.
But in the quiet moments between their conversation, Lota couldn't help but wonder how long she could endure this life, waiting for a husband who never came and battling whispers that threatened to break her spirit.
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The small room where the Ogba Onwu held their meeting was thick with tension. Seven young men sat in a semi-circle, their faces shadowed by the dim light of the flickering oil lamps. The latest murder had shaken the village to its core. It was the seventh body they had discovered, and each death had been more gruesome than the last.
The first victim, a child, had been decapitated. The second was missing their tongue. The third had their heart removed, the fourth their uterus, the fifth their skin, the sixth their scalp. But it was the seventh body, found just that morning, that sent the greatest wave of fear through the village—the victim's eyes had been plucked clean from their sockets. Men, women, children—none were spared. Different ages, different genders. The pattern made no sense, and that was what terrified them the most.
Voices overlapped, growing more heated as the meeting continued.
"Seven bodies!" One of the men, Chidi, slammed his hand down on the floor. "How many more before we act? Ogba Onwu or not, we cannot sit idly by and depend on the Ekumeku alone to save us. We need to—"
"Izunna, please," another interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "We've been 'needing to act' since the second body was found. What we need are results, not plans."
"You talk too much!" A third voice joined in, and the argument spiralled further out of control. "The gods have forsaken us, can't you see? Why else would these deaths come upon us so quickly, so viciously? This village... it's as if death itself walks among us."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. The atmosphere was charged with fear and frustration. Everyone was speaking at once, offering ideas, accusing the gods, the spirits, or even each other. No one had any answers.
Then a throat cleared—a quiet but firm sound. Immediately, the room fell silent.
Munachimso, the youth leader, sat at the head of the room. His tall, broad frame was adorned in a black and yellow hand-woven cotton cloth draped elegantly over his shoulder. Beads lined his wrists and neck, and his legs were comfortably set in finely crafted footwear. He was an imposing figure, proud and regal, with five small round white circles of Uli art marking his high status across his cheekbones.
He slowly stood, the eyes of his companions trained on him as he scanned the room, his presence commanding respect.
"Enough of this," he began, his voice low but clear, cutting through the tension like a blade. "The murders are growing bolder, yes, but we will not let fear rule us."
He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing.
"Soma, Zimife—you'll come with me. Izu, Gesiye, Jidenna—inform the Ekumeku. Gather some able-bodied Youths, I want you to split them into eleven groups. Seven Groups each will go to the spots where the bodies were found. The rest will be stationed at the four corners of the village. We need to ensure every area is covered."
The men nodded silently, their trust in Munachimso evident as they awaited further instructions.
"Everyone," Munachimso continued, his tone grave but steady, "keep your eyes open. These are troubled times. War is upon us, and death stalks our village in ways we've never seen before. We must protect the village and everyone in it. But we must also protect each other. Be careful, and stay alert."
The men nodded again in unison, a silent agreement passing through them. They hit the backs of their hands together—a signal that the meeting was over—and began to disperse to carry out their tasks.
But Munachimso lingered, his eyes following his childhood friends, Soma and Zimife. Once the others had left, he spoke quietly, his voice no longer for the ears of the rest of the Ogba Onwu.
"Something about these murders feels... wrong." He looked at his friends, searching their faces for agreement.
Soma stepped closer, his voice a hushed whisper. "Isn't this the work of Oyinyo?" (Shadow) He glanced around as if afraid the very walls might hear him, his eyes wide with fear.
Zimife immediately placed a finger to his lips, his expression tense. "Tufia! Don't speak such cursed words, Soma. May the gods forbid it!"
Soma's eyes narrowed. "You know about it too, then?" He looked at Zimife, who shifted uncomfortably before nodding.
Munachimso frowned, confused. "What are you two talking about?"
Soma leaned in even closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "I overheard my grandparents talking about it. A long time ago, in the days of King Ogugua, the land suffered greatly. There was famine, rivers ran dry, livestock died, and war ravaged the people. The king was desperate, so he went to the Dibia who told him to take a pilgrimage through Agogugu Forest alone. It is said that there, he met a strange sage whose wife had just passed."
Munachimso listened carefully, his brow furrowing as Soma continued.
"They say King Ogugua struck a deal with the sage. Soon after, the land flourished again—crops grew, rivers were cleansed, and the war was won. But after the king returned, strange things began to happen. People started dying mysteriously, just like now—missing body parts. First it was nine, then the King's daughter herself began experiencing strange things. She would scream in the night, strange markings would appear on her body, and after the ninth person died... she disappeared into a fog, never to be seen again."
Zimife nodded solemnly, his face pale. "It's said that every hundred years, the same thing happens—nine people die, each missing a body part. And then... a woman disappears."
Munachimso stood in silence, absorbing the story. His jaw clenched.
"We're not living in legends, Soma," he said firmly. "These are real people, real lives. Let's not get caught up in superstitions."
"But what if it's not just a story?" Soma whispered, his voice shaking. "What if Oyinyo has come back?"
Munachimso didn't respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
"Enough of this nonsense. We're going to the traditional healer. She'll have answers."
Soma and Zimife exchanged glances, but they followed closely behind him. They soon arrived at the healer's hut, where a frail woman greeted them at the entrance, bowing respectfully.
"Ogba Onwu, I greet you," she said, her voice raspy with age.
"Dispense with the formalities," Munachimso muttered, waving his hand. "Show us the bodies."
The healer led them into a large hut with wide, open windows. Inside, the stench of death hit them like a wall. Four bamboo beds lined the room, each one holding a body wrapped in colorful but faded cloths.
"Cover your noses," she advised, handing each of them a small piece of cloth. They followed her instructions, breathing through the fabric as they moved from one body to another.
"This one," the healer said, gesturing to the first bed, "was found three moons ago. Her uterus was missing. The removal was... clean."
She moved to the next body. "This one—six moons ago—eyes removed, very precisely as if done by a master. The same with the others... each part taken without causing excess pain. Whoever did this is skilled. I also found when I opened their bodies that they had ingested Ike osisi"
Munachimso's face darkened as they examined each body. A cold chill settled over him as the healer's words echoed in his mind.
"Carefully removed... no pain..."
Just then a servant ran in 'Young Master, Another body was found' His blood ran cold
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The night stretched on as Lota lay under the woven sheets, her body feeling heavy with exhaustion after the long day. Nazam had gone home hours ago, and her loyal servant, Nkiru, had tucked her into bed, extinguishing the oil lamp before leaving for the servant quarters. All was quiet, the usual hum of the night offering its comfort. But tonight, something was different.
Lota stirred, shifting uncomfortably. She felt unusually warm despite the cool night air. Blinking her eyes open, she squinted into the darkness of her room, her instincts prickling. It was then, just at the edge of her vision, that she thought she saw something move—a figure lurking in the shadows by the far corner of the room.
She sat up quickly, heart racing, scanning the space with her eyes, now more adjusted to the dark. Nothing. The room was still. Just her imagination, she told herself, letting out a sigh. Trying to shake off the strange feeling, she reached for the water jug beside her bed, her throat parched. But when she lifted it, the jug was disappointingly light—empty.
"Nkiru must have forgotten again," she muttered to herself, setting the jug back down.
Just as her hand left the jug, a cold sensation wrapped around her wrist as if something invisible had touched her. Her breath caught in her throat, and a whisper-soft but chilling—brushed her ears.
"It's time."
Lota's entire body stiffened. The room, once warm, suddenly became unbearably cold. Her breath formed visible puffs in the air, and she shivered uncontrollably. Wrapping her body tightly in a wrapper, she began to shake as the temperature plummeted. She felt her heartbeat hammering in her chest, her mouth trying to form words but the freezing air made it impossible. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the chill, until—
From the shadows, a figure slowly emerged, a dark silhouette creeping toward her.
Lota screamed—piercing, desperate—before everything around her went black.
When she finally opened her eyes, Moonlight streamed through the windows. Disoriented, Lota blinked several times, her head throbbing as she adjusted to the brightness. Leaning over her, Nkiru's tear-streaked face came into view, filled with worry.
"My lady!" Nkiru gasped. "Are you okay?"
Lota groaned, her body aching, especially around her waist. "What... what happened?" she asked weakly, half-convinced the events of the night had been nothing more than a nightmare.
"You've been asleep the whole day, my lady," Nkiru said, voice trembling as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "It's evening now... and I... I found you like this."
"Evening?" Lota's voice cracked as she struggled to sit up, every muscle in her body protesting the movement. "Nkiru, why are you crying? What's wrong?"
Nkiru bit her lip, wiping at her tears but unable to hold them back. She glanced at Lota with a mix of fear and hesitation, as if unsure whether to continue. "My lady... please, come with me."
Confused, Lota let Nkiru help her out of bed. She felt weak, her legs shaky beneath her. Nkiru guided her toward the large brass mirror that stood in the corner of the room. The servant's hands were trembling as she undid the wrapper around Lota's waist and gently turned her back to the mirror.
Lota gasped.
On her lower back, stark against her skin, was an infinity symbol—an angry-looking black spiral pattern, intricate and ancient. It pulsed faintly, the black lines seeming almost alive as they glowed softly.
"Nkiru..." Lota's voice wavered. "What... what is this? What happened?"
Tears spilled from Nkiru's eyes again as she recounted the events. "My lady, last night... I heard you scream, so I rushed to your room. When I got here, I found you lying on the floor... and this mark—this... thing—was on you."
Lota felt her heart pounding in her chest, her breath becoming shallow as panic set in. Her hand flew to her chest as she tried to steady herself.
"This... this can't be real," she whispered, but the mark was undeniable, glaring at her from the mirror's reflection.
She turned sharply to Nkiru, grabbing her by the arm. "You must not tell anyone about this. Do you understand?"
"Of course, my lady! I swear, I won't breathe a word," Nkiru replied, her voice thick with emotion, nodding furiously.
Lota exhaled in relief, though her insides were a storm of fear. She gave Nkiru a weak smile, trying to regain some composure.
"Good. Now... help me get dressed." She forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "My husband will be returning home today. I should be ready to greet him."
Nkiru nodded and busied herself with finding Lota's clothes, though her hands trembled as she worked. The mark, the chilling events of the night—it was all too much, but she kept her word, remaining silent as she helped Lota prepare for the day. However, the heaviness in the air was palpable. She could see the fear hiding behind Lota's composed facade, and it made her heart ache.
As they dressed in silence, neither of them noticed the shadow outside the window—a figure who had been standing there for some time, listening intently to every word they spoke.
Watching.
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Munachi leaned back on the wooden bench, smiling lazily as Ume wiped the sweat from her forehead, breathless from excitement.
"Young Master," she breathed softly, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver down his spine, and despite himself, he grinned.
"Ume, how many times must I tell you?" he sighed playfully. "Call me Muna. Just Muna."
Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip shyly. "Sorry, Muna," she corrected, though the habit was hard to break. She was still used to his title, even though she had known him long before he had earned it. She quickly stood, heading into the kitchen and returning with a calabash bowl filled with steaming abacha. The aroma of the spicy dish filled the air, making Muna's stomach growl. She set it in front of him on a small stool and handed him a bowl of water to wash his hands.
"I made it extra spicy," she teased. "Just the way you like it."
Muna couldn't resist her grin. "You spoil me too much, Ume."
As he reached for the food, he caught her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. She let out a small gasp but then giggled, settling against him. It felt like second nature, the way her body fit so comfortably with his.
"Young Master," she whispered, but he clicked his tongue, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Muna," she corrected herself quickly, her smile growing as his arms wrapped around her.
"Better," he murmured, brushing his hands on her smooth face. His fingers traced her cheek, his touch lingering longer than necessary. How could a man not fall in love with such a woman?
"You should let me sit elsewhere," Ume teased lightly, shifting on his lap. "You can't eat properly with me here."
Muna chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling with affection as they met hers. "This is exactly how I want to eat," he said softly, the warmth in his voice making her heart skip a beat. "Right here, with you."
Ume's cheeks burned, but she couldn't hide the happiness that danced in her eyes. She loved him, and she knew he loved her too, though he rarely said it. She could see it in the way he looked at her, the way his entire demeanor softened when they were alone.
But then, as he dipped his hands into the water, ready to enjoy his meal, a young servant boy burst into the courtyard, panting heavily. His wide eyes darted toward Muna, and he fell to his knees, his head bowed low.
"Young Master! —your father—demands your presence at home immediately!" the boy stammered, his voice trembling with urgency.
Muna froze, his hand suspended above the food. A shadow passed over his face, the peaceful moment between him and Ume shattered in an instant. He clenched his jaw, already thinking what this was about. His father—The chief, whose ambition had trapped him in a loveless marriage, whose relentless pursuit of power had suffocated him—needed him again.
Ume shifted in his lap, sensing the change in him. "Muna, what's wrong?" she asked gently, her hand resting on his chest.
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze distant as he processed the servant's message. Finally, with a deep sigh, he nodded to the boy. "Tell him I'll be there shortly."
The servant scrambled to his feet, bowing before rushing off, leaving them alone again.
Muna exhaled, his expression hardening as his thoughts turned to his father. He had never wanted the life that had been chosen for him. His new wife, though kind and beautiful in her own way, was a political pawn—a piece in the game his father played to elevate himself to Onowu, the king's right hand. It wasn't that she had done anything wrong; it was that she wasn't Ume.
Ume watched him carefully, concern knitting her brows. "You don't have to go if you don't want to," she whispered, her voice small but sincere.
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I have no choice, Ume. It's my duty now, whether I like it or not."
Her hand cupped his cheek, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words between them. She knew how much this life burdened him. She knew how deeply he hated the path he was being forced down, and how much it tore him apart to be with someone other than her.
"I wish things were different," Ume said quietly, her fingers brushing the side of his face.
"So do I," Muna replied, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed his forehead to hers, savoring the closeness, the peace she brought him. "If it were up to me, I would be here with you... always."
Ume's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she smiled anyway, her hand slipping from his face as she stood up. "Go, Muna," she said softly. "Do what you must."
He rose to his feet, his heart heavy. He took one last look at her, memorising every detail of her face before turning to leave. As he walked away, he could feel her eyes on him, and the burden of obstacles they would face in the future was beginning to dawn on them.
Ume watched him go, her heart aching with a longing that words couldn't express. She loved him, and he loved her. But the world they lived in had other plans for them.