Chapter 2

Groans of disappointment rippled through the crowd, a few hissing at Obiageri, their eyes filled with venom. She ignored them, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. A deep sense of anger boiled within her, tingling in her fingertips and weighing heavily on her mind. She wanted to scream in frustration—why deny her the apprenticeship for such flimsy reasons? It was like a personal vendetta.

The air grew thick with the croaking of frogs and the incessant chirping of grasshoppers. The sky held a grey blanket of low clouds. Her late father’s compound stood proudly among the trees, a stone’s throw from the village square. The huts were arranged in a crescent shape, adorned with familiar Uli symbols and stick figures of revered animals at the entrances.

When Obiageri tore open the bamboo gate, her mother emerged, wrapped in a blue cloth around her waist and chest, with chalk markings adorning her limbs and face.

She held a calabash filled with water. “Chimo! Don’t you think it’s a bit late, even for you?” her mother grasped Obiageri’s arm. “Onye, who made you cry?”

Obiageri’s voice trembled as tears streaked down her face. “I tried to convince that old hag I’m ready to be her disciple, but she rejected me! Why does she hate me so much?” She kicked a stone at her feet, her blood boiling.

Her mother took a deep breath, smoothing Obiageri’s hair as she spoke softly. “My daughter, Nnedi always been bitter. She doesn’t like change and refuses to listen, inugo.”

“I can handle the truth,” Obiageri quipped, then she leans slightly forward, her voice steady but soft. “What really happened between you, the storyteller, and Papa in the past?”

Her mother cupped Obiageri’s cheeks, wiping away a few tears, gazing intently into her eyes. “Mba, bringing up the past won’t change anything, nwanne. What did she say?”

“She called me stubborn, spoiled, and a bad omen! Which I’m not, right, Mama?”

“Right, little one. You’re the sweetest daughter I know. Did she say anything else?”

“Yes, she talked the false god, the Great Evil Spirit, Ekwen—”

“—Mechonu! Don’t say that name here, child, unless you want to bring bad luck to the whole village.” Her mother interjected, eyes wide, her fingers quivering. They shimmered with unshed tears, darting around as if checking for something lurking in the shadows.

“I thought the false god was gone,” Obiageri squeaked softly, tilting her head slightly in confusion. Why was her mother scared when there was nothing to be afraid of? Maybe she was just overreacting.

“He was, or so we thought…” her mother replied, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the nearby trees. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her breath quickened. “I see the greens turning grey, and the fruits tasting sour. It feels like a shadow grows—hidden, but ever-present.”

Obiageri gasped loudly. “Ehnnn, do you fear he might come for us in the village?”

“It’s possible, chere.” Her mother tightened her grip on the calabash as if it could shield them from harm. Her expression darkened, and she stroked her chin, lost in thought. “The false god had always wanted to wipe out the Dibias’ bloodline. That’s why he curses our women with infertility. Our ancestors stopped him before, and we’ll have to fight him off again.”

Obiageri flinched, her shoulders squared. “What would we do if that happens?” She wondered if she could prove herself if it came to that.

“It’s unlikely, my dear. The false god’s weak and lacks the power to create chaos. He feeds off, but we can’t let him win.” Her mother’s attempt to dispel the angst was gentle, her smile warm as she held Obiageri close. “Come inside, dear. I’ve got some soup on the fire I want you to try.”

Obiageri sniffed, seeking comfort. “Mama, you know what would really make me feel better?” she asked, her voice quivering.

Her mother, already familiar with this routine, shook her head and chuckled softly. “You’re trying your tricks again, eh? I’m not telling you another story,” she giggled, beginning to turn away.

Obiageri hugged her playfully. “Mbanu! Mama, how can you say no to your only child? Don’t you want to make me feel better?”

Her mother laughed heartily, recognizing her daughter’s persistent nature. “You’re as clever as Mbe, the tortoise,” she chuckled with a smile. “Alright, go sit down on your father’s stool. I’ll tell you a story.”

Her mother cleared her throat and poured the water from the calabash, she murmured prayers to the rain god, Amadhioha. They entered their hut, made of mud bricks, where tiny lizards scurried about. The roof, woven from dried raffia leaves, arched above them. While the floor, made of dried clay, kept the heat at bay. Circular windows streamed moonlight into the room, casting soft shadows.

“In the yawning abyss before time, Chukwu, the divine sculptor, toiled within a chamber veiled in secrecy. Driven by a yearning deeper than the void itself, he crafted a masterpiece, its form shrouded in secrecy. His inquisitive wife, Kamosu, weaver of dreams and secrets, often spun vibrant webs, each thread imbued with the whispers of existence.

One fateful moment, while Chukwu ventured beyond the veil, Kamosu’s mind was drawn by the allure of the hidden. She tiptoed toward the chamber, her fingers trembling on the forbidden door. With a whisper and a creak, the door yielded, unleashing a blinding brilliance, followed by a thunderous roar that echoed through the non-existent cosmos. It wasn’t just a mere ‘WAA!’ but a chorus of creation, a cosmic drumbeat that birthed galaxies and ignited stars. This cataclysmic birth shattered Kamosu’s being, scattering her across the vast universe like stardust flung by a celestial hand.

When Chukwu returned, his eyes met the vast emptiness where his wife once stood. Grief choked his divine voice, heavy as a storm cloud. His tears, each a shimmering pearl, became Oshimmiri, the source of life, nourishing the cosmos with their gentle light.

But amidst the wreckage, a miracle blossomed. Kamosu, woven from the fabric of existence itself, rematerialized. No longer merely a goddess, she became the embodiment of the universe, her essence intertwined with creation. From the scattered fragments of her being, Uwa, the earth and humanity was born, inheriting both the spark of curiosity and the echo of the creator’s love.”

Obiageri tried to hide her disappointment. Her mother had shared this story so many times that she could recite it by heart. Why did she keep repeating it? She smiled and pretended to be interested, not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings.

Her mother laughed, clearly enjoying her daughter’s reaction. “Every time I think of that story, I can’t help but picture your father’s smile. He was always there for me. He protected me, even when I couldn’t have children before we adopted you. He never turned his back on me. Ihu nanya m! That’s the kind of love I hope you find with a man from this village.”

Obiageri sucked her teeth, already knowing where this conversation was headed. Her mother had been parading her around for a suitable partner, but Obiageri had no interest in marriage. She wanted adventure, not a man’s affection. “Mama, do you really think marriage is what I want? I don’t think I’m ready to be someone’s nwunye. No man here can give me the love Papa gave you,” Obiageri explained softly, with a smirk. She always spoke calmly to her mother, not wanting to upset her. Obiageri knew  her mother adhered strictly to the village’s traditions and being unmarried at her age was considered unconventional. Obiageri had always resisted such expectations.

Obiageli laughed off her daughter’s words with a knowing smile. “I’m sure a man will come along, with both wit and looks, who’ll win my daughter’s heart. I just need to be patient.”

“Tufiakwa! I’m not letting anyone take anything from me, especially not a man!” Obiageri exclaimed, spitting on the ground as if the very idea was an abomination.

“I just wish you'd let someone in. It’s not just about love, mmm? It’s about sharing a life. It’s a gift from the gods,” her mother declared, much to Obiageri’s dismay.

Desperate to change the subject, Obiageri seized on a distraction. She caught a whiff of burnt soup and quickly brought it to her mother’s attention. “Mama, isn’t that the Oha soup you were making for the town crier’s visit?”

Her mother’s eyes widened, and she hurried out of the room. “Ewooo! We’ll finish this conversation when I get back, my dear daughter!” she called out as she dashed off to salvage the meal.

Obiageri and her mother were nothing alike, despite their shared similarities. They both had raven-black hair, curly and cascading like a waterfall, and they shared a love for Okpa, a savory pudding made from nut flour and palm oil. Even their names were similar: Obiageli, meaning “one who brings wealth,” and Obiageri, meaning “one who brings joy.”

Obiageri watched her mother leave with a triumphant smile, savoring her small victory. As her mother’s footsteps faded, Obiageri listened to the soothing patter of rain on the ground outside.

She had always loved the rain—the way it washed over her skin and brought a profound sense of calm, as if the earth itself was cleansing her soul. She longed to dance in the rain. To watch as the gentle drizzle clung to her, soothing her weariness and carrying her fears away.

Then she heard a sharp crash cut through the splatter. The unmistakable sound of a calabash breaking, followed by an agonized scream, jolted her. It was her mother’s voice. Obiageri’s heart skipped a beat.

Rushing toward the commotion, Obiageri grabbed her bow and arrows—her trusted tools for hunting. What could it be? Who brought trouble to her home? She held the bow close, seeking a moment of familiarity. Thoughts ran through her mind, so she quickened her feet.

As she neared the open room where her mother cooked, she could feel the sudden cold in the air. Goosebumps prickled her skin. What if it was something she couldn’t handle? NO! She summoned strength from within. She would have to make do.  

Obiageri stood at the threshold of the cooking area, her heart flinching as she heard an unusual hum. Hesitating for a moment, she took a deep breath before rushing inside, only to feel her breath catch in her throat.

A bright purple light shimmered, almost blinding her. A sparkling rift gaped open in the air, its edges crackling with energy, like the sound of thunder echoing in a storm.

A strange hum filled the room, and from the dark center of the rift emerged gaunt figures—hollow-eyed and ashen-skinned. Their movements were unnaturally slow, their gazes fixed on her mother. A cold dread gripped Obiageri's bones.

She called out to her mother, who stood frozen in shock, as if her worst nightmares had materialized. Obiageri rushed to her side, holding her close amidst the shattered calabash. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she gripped the worn bowstring. Her hands trembled, the rough wood feeling strange against her sweaty palms.

Rain droplets mingled with her sweat as an undead creature with a hulking figure charged toward them, its arms and claws bared. Obiageri’s body reacted instinctively. She drew her bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. The arrow arced through the air with deadly precision, burying itself in the monster’s heavy skull. Green, sickly goo erupted in a splash as the creature crumpled to the ground, its body twitching before falling still.

Her mother’s scream shattered the silence, raw and desperate. Chest falling and rising, she squirmed behind her daughter. Adrenaline surged through Obiageri, sharpening her senses. With her mother in tow, she dragged her toward the front yard, struggling to escape the horror behind them. They were on the narrow pathway from the cooking area to the forecourt, passing by the huts that flanked them.