i, Write

I am so excited to announce that the final front cover...

Fri, 05 Apr 2013 00:00:43 +0100

I am so excited to announce that the final front cover illustration for “BETA: The Killing” is complete. These two are free promotional wallpapers, so download them if you like them.

My Thesis

Thu, 04 Apr 2013 11:12:45 +0100

Below are the Problem Statement and Objectives of my final college paper. I’m putting it here for those who want me to explain my paper. This way I only have to link you to my tumblr. :)

Stated problem is:

The negative image of Ghanaian films perceived by the international community is not only a limiter on the growth and profitability of the industry, but ultimately, the nation as a whole.

Aims & Objectives

· To identify those elements that characterize, and constitute, the Ghanaian Film industry, and its image.

· To categorize these elements into positive and negative elements i.e. recognize which elements promote the Ghanaian film industry in the global market, and which elements limit the industry.

· To discuss how the identified positive elements can be capitalized and improved to create a stronger film industry that performs better in the global market.

The Wakening, Part 1

Thu, 04 Oct 2012 09:18:00 +0100

The Wakening, Part 1:

Here is the full first part of the novel I’ve been working on for 6 months now: The Wakening. There may be some typos; forgive me. Sometimes errors slip past you when the work is some 80 pages long. One part down, two more to go.

addysjukebox: Taylor Swift ft The Civil Wars - Safe and...

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 11:06:08 +0100

addysjukebox:

Taylor Swift ft The Civil Wars - Safe and Sound

There’s something amazingly soothing about this song..I know there’s a video and all but please listen to it with your eyes closed. Its magic! Its almost like the chorus is coming right out to wrap you in its arms…

I never listened to Taylor Swift (blind prejudice) and I regret that now.

Its a single probably going to be on her upcoming album ‘Red’ but is also in ‘The Hunger Games’ album

addysjukebox: Bez ft Praiz -Stupid Song.This is from one of...

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 01:17:49 +0100

addysjukebox:

Bez ft Praiz -Stupid Song.This is from one of Nigeria’s up and coming stars. Its a fun song about the songs we thought were golden when were kids but actually made no sense at all. I just love the whole ‘old school’ happy feel of it and that it reminds us that no matter how old we get, we were once young. This is from his album ‘Super Sun’.

i, Radio: On the Formula of Music

Sun, 05 Aug 2012 16:36:39 +0100

i, Radio: On the Formula of Music:

theradioandi:

Formulaic.

If you’ve ever read an album review, then it’s a term you’ve come across at least once. When I was younger, and just beginning to realize that music was better than cake, better than sports (oh dear God, yes), and better than cute girls (I was delusional then), I came across this…

I know this is not a writing piece per se, but I still wanted...

Sat, 28 Jul 2012 08:37:00 +0100

I know this is not a writing piece per se, but I still wanted to share:

——————————————————————————————

“A lot of people just look and see skin color. I’ve actually had people ask me was I Black or was I White first. A White gentleman came up to me and said ‘I thought you might be White, but then I saw your lips.’ One girl said to me ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you this question, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking you because I thought that you might be offended, but are you Black or are you White?’ And I was just like, ‘Well, I’m always Black.’ When we were done with the meat of the conversation, she laughed and said something about my hair and my butt gave it away. People definitely let you know that they view being Black as being very literal – the amount of pigment you have. ‘Your skin is White, therefore you’re White. Or are you?’

— Sembene McFarland

© 2012 Black Fiya Works

msteeko: akatasia: Note to self: Read this everyday and stop...

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 10:01:53 +0100

msteeko:

akatasia:

Note to self: Read this everyday and stop wasting time.

This stopped me from quitting. Thank you so very much for this!

"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the..."

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 10:01:00 +0100

“Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no whenever you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here. And believe in kissing.”

- Eve Ensler (via sweetspin)

Sacred, Chapter 3

Wed, 11 Jul 2012 22:24:00 +0100

The third chapter of “Sacred: The Stone of Tumi”

——————————

Amina slept on the front porch for the remainder of the night. The forest was too dark for her, and the clearing was too bright. The cawing from inside the house subsided eventually, and fatigue got the better of her fears. When she woke up in the morning, she took one look around, and her heart sank.

The previous night’s affairs had not been a dream.

But with the daylight had come new confidence. Amina ventured into the forest to search for some food. She found an orange tree, plucked some fruit, and returned to the house.

The inside of the house was significantly brighter in the day. Up above, the crows were lined up on the ceiling beams, their heads tucked beneath their wings. The boy was exactly where she had left him last night: on the floor with his hands at his back. He looked up when she closed the door behind her.

“Oh, you’re back?” he said, looking genuinely surprised. “Maybe you do have gonads after all.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” she admitted. She drew close enough to him to place one of her oranges at his feet.

“Trying to buy my forgiveness with an orange?” he said. “You shouldn’t have.”

Perhaps it was how much less intimidating the entire house seemed in the sunlight, but Amina was feeling particularly daring. She sat a respectable distance from the boy and started to peel her orange.

“How am I supposed to eat with both hands behind my back?” the boy asked.

Amina looked up for a moment. Then, looking back down she said, “You may use one hand. And you cannot attack me with it,” she added quickly.

“Oh, gods have mercy, you caught me!” he said. “And here I was so hoping to save myself by pelting you with fruit.”

“Very funny.”

“Yes. I thought so too.”

Amina bit into her orange and watched the boy struggle to peel with one hand.

“Last night, I should have believed you when you said that you were ordinary,” the boy mumbled.

“Oh, now you believe that I’m ordinary?”

“Have you ever gone to sleep for a night and woken up cranky the next morning?” he asked. “Now, imagine going to sleep for one hundred years. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He picked at his orange. “And anyway, you don’t even emit any magical signature.”

Amina had no idea what he meant, but she did not care. He believed her.

“I’m even beginning to think that, maybe, nothing particular was responsible for the seal breaking, “ he continued, thoughtfully. “Magic wears off over time. Maybe the spell on the house simply wasn’t as powerful as its casters thought it was.” His expression was grim for a moment. “The only thing I don’t understand is why my friends haven’t been freed as well.”

Amina paused to look around. The men of stone seemed overwhelmingly saddening all of a sudden. Briefly, she wondered if touching them would free them too. But she kept this musing to herself. One trouble at a time, she thought. “So then,” she finally asked, cautiously, “you’re really a black-blood?”

“Well, you didn’t float up to the ceiling because you have a natural disposition towards flight, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered. “And are you people still calling us black-bloods?”

Amina frowned. “What’s wrong with ‘black-blood’?”

The boy looked at her as though she were stupid. “It’s rude, it’s vulgar, and it’s offensive. The correct term is ‘sacred’. We are sacreds, not ‘black-bloods’ for the sake of the gods! How would you like it if I called you an ignorant ape, eh?”

“I wouldn’t care, because I’m neither of those things,” Amina countered.

“Oh, but my blood is really black?” he snorted, shaking his head.

“I-I wouldn’t know.”

“The problem with you people is that you fear what you do not understand,” the boy sneered. “You’re like ants; panicking at the littlest thing your puny minds cannot comprehend.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

The boy finally got some bits of his peel off and took a bite.

Amina watched him as he chewed. “You really don’t like ordinary people, do you?”

“You’re a huge part of the reason my house got sealed for the last century; so no, not very much.”

“What happened?”

“It’s too long a story. I’m not in the mood,” he said flatly.

Amina considered ordering him to tell her anyway. She decided against it.

“What about you?” the boy asked, as he finished his orange. “I’m sure you don’t even realize this, but: that you’re ordinary and yet still managed to find this house? It’s impossible.”

“Well, it’s not impossible if I’m here, is it?”

“No, you don’t understand,” the boy said, leaning in. “This house does not stay in one location. Every morning it vanishes to a different part of the forest.”

“I doubt that,” Amina said. “When I woke up this morning, the house was in the exact same field as it was last night.”

“Well, obviously the house doesn’t vanish now. It’s been sealed. Or was sealed. Or is half-sealed. I’m not even sure any more.”

Amina shrugged. “So then that’s how I found you.”

“But you do know where you are though, right?”

Amina stared at him.

The boy frowned. “I thought you would have guessed by now. This is the House of Dua.”

Amina stared some more.

The boy lifted a brow. “The sacred house for the Southern State?”

Amina blinked.

“It is the most powerful house in the entire kingdom of Ghali!” the boy said, aghast. “How have you not heard of us?”

Amina thought hard.

“By the gods!” he exclaimed, incredulous. “Each of the five states has a sacred house. It’s the most powerful branch of every military—the last resort, the reason oblivious girls like you can go to sleep at night. The House of Dua, this very house you’re so comfortably sucking on oranges in, is the sacred house of your own state! I thought you said you grew up royalty. You should have been taught this by now,” the boy said, looking disgusted with her.

Amina shifted uncomfortably. “When I said I grew up royalty, I may have exaggerated a bit.”

“More lies, eh?” The boy sighed. “Why am I not surprised? Pass another orange.”

“It wasn’t completely a lie,” Amina said, throwing him one. “I just…may or may not have been estranged from the royal house.”

“Oh? What did you do?” he chuckled. “Tried to get frisky with one too many princes?”

“What? No! What kind of girl do you think I am?”

The boy shrugged. “What then?”

Amina looked away. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” the boy said. “You should never tell your enemies too much about yourself, anyway.”

“We’re not enemies,” Amina said, surprised.

“What? You think a few shared oranges have made us friends?” the boy chortled. “I’m still going to feed you to my birds when this curse on me breaks.”

There were a few caws above them. The crows were awake again.

Amina retreated into a corner of the room, and there, said nothing else for the rest of the morning. She only realized she had fallen asleep, when she woke up at noon to the sharp discomfort of hunger pangs.

The boy had not moved.

“Can you hunt?” she asked him.

“I don’t have any weapons.”

Amina looked up at the crows. “Can they hunt?”

The boy nodded. “Fish. Rabbits. If you want anything larger than a grasscutter though, we can’t help you.”

“Fish is fine.”

The boy only had to throw the birds a look, and they shot out of the windows, cawing all the way. Quickly, Amina counted about twenty crows. She hoped they wouldn’t bring back twenty fish.

When the crows returned, they brought with them three salmon. Amina wondered then why all of them had gone out for the hunt. Still, she took the fish outside and roasted them over a fire. She brought the boy one and ate one herself, saving the last one for her journey.

“I’ll be heading for Gormeh soon,” Amina said, more to herself than the boy. “If I follow the stream I should arrive at Gormeh by nightfall. The darkness should help conceal my identity. I can spend a night there, and then continue down south. I have no doubt that word of my escape has already began to spread.”

“A sound plan indeed,” the boy said, as he chewed his fish. “It’s probably what’s best, all things considered.” He paused. “Wait, did you say ‘escape’? Why did you say you left your village again?”

Amina kissed her teeth. “I didn’t say. There was a—misunderstanding—back home. ”

“What kind?”

“The priest called me a witch.”

“Hm.” The boy said. “You get that kind of thing a lot.”

“I was imprisoned, but some friends helped me escape. There was this one boy,” Amina said, smiling to herself, “who I think has loved me for much longer than I knew. I still cannot believe he came to rescue me.”

“And I suppose this hero boy of yours is waiting for you in Gormeh?” the boy asked.

Amina frowned. “Eh? No, he’s back home in Djawale.”

“What?”

Amina looked up in surprise. The boy was giving her one of his I-can’t-believe-you’re-this-stupid looks again.

“Why?” Amina asked, alarmed.

“You do realize that he’ll be executed for treason, right?”

“Oh no, he’ll be all right,” Amina said. “His family is very powerful.” But doubt laded her words even as she uttered them.

The boy laughed incredulously. “No amount of money is going to save a person from the price of treason! And you should probably assume that anyone else who helped you run away is sitting at the bottom of a prison pit by now. Crimes of treason are non-negotiable, you silly, silly girl.”

There was silence as Amina felt her blood run cold. “Oh, dear gods,” she whispered. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. “I have to save them!”

The boy returned to his food. “Well, have fun.”

“And you’re coming with me!”

“Eh? Oh, no I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

Amina glared. “Yes. You. Are.”

The boy’s legs flexed and erected him at once. Amina felt a flutter of shock at just how tall he was.

“Oh, look,” he muttered, “I am.”

“You know the way out of this forest, don’t you?” she asked, as she stormed outside the house.

He followed. “Yes, but not the way to your village. It did not exist a hundred years ago.”

“Would your crows know the way?”

“They would.”

Amina nodded, and took a deep breath. She looked into the boy’s morning-sun eyes. “Have you ever broken into a palace before?”

“I’ve broken into a city before.”

Amina brightened. “Oh?”

“I can kill twenty men,” he continued. “At a go. With my bare hands.”

Amina sighed. “Why did you just add that? Now, I’m not sure if you’re overconfident, or just mad.”

“A hundred men, with a sword and some spells,” he insisted. “Seventy men with only a sword. Twenty men, when I am unarmed.”

“Yooo, I hear you,” Amina said, turning around. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Ordinary men are not only weak, they are slow,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “Beating twenty men is no harder for me than fending off twenty crawling toddlers would be for you.” He shrugged. “But if you don’t believe me, then command me to tell the truth. Ask me how many men I can kill with my bare hands.”

Amina stared hard at him for a moment. “You are not exaggerating?” she finally asked, cautiously.

“Twenty men. I swear by the gods and their loincloths,” he said stiffly. “But I do have one condition.”

“Condition?” Amina said, frowning. “You’re under a spell, remember? You don’t seem to be in the best position for that sort of thing.”

“I might decide not to fight to the fullest of my abilities,” the boy said, smiling. “They will capture us. They will kill you. The spell will break. And I will kill them. Very simple.”

“Not if I command you to fight to the fullest of your abilities,” Amina countered. “Then you would haveno choice but to do your best.”

“I can fight the spell.”

“B-but,” Amina stuttered. “You would die. You wouldn’t let yourself be killed.”

“Except, you don’t know that,” he sighed. He threw her an apologetic look. “And honestly, do you really want to take that risk?”

Amina gritted her teeth. “What do you want?”

The boy folded his arms. “Isn’t it obvious? You must break the manipulation spell you have over me.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“It’s simple,” he grunted. “You just command me to be free.”

“Fine,” Amina said. “But you must promise that when I do, you will not hurt me. Or feed me to your crows.”

“I was lying about the crows,” the boy groaned, giving Amina one of his I-can’t-believe-how-stupid-this-girl-is looks. “They’re familiars! I can barely get the fussy creatures to eat deer, let alone a village girl.”

Amina still looked skeptical, but she went on: “Also, I will only free you after my friends are free.

“That sounds fair,” the boy said.

They each waited to see if the other would bring up any more conditions.

“Well,” Amina said. “It’s agreed then.”

“One last thing.” The boy used his free hand to point at his other arm, which was still bound by command to his back.

“I release your arm.”

The boy sighed happily as he stretched both arms above his head. “Oh, that feels good.” He put two fingers to his lips, and let out an ear-splitting whistle. The door flew open behind them, and the crows burst out into the sunlight, streaming through the air and into the forest like a river of shadows.

He cracked his knuckles, and smiled at Amina. “Come now. We have a palace to break into.”

They followed the crows into the forest. The trek back to Djawale was a lot shorter than Amina expected. It just went to show how lost she had been the previous night. Nonetheless, Amina was acutely aware of the exact moment when they crossed over from the forbidden section of the forest into the permitted section. The sounds of forest creatures, of leaves in the breeze, and of a living floor underfoot; the light that poured down through the upper canopy, that kissed the bark and hanging fruit, that glinted off the stream; the feeling of unease that melted away. Amina felt good being back in familiar territory. That is, until they reached the farmlands.

Amina saw her village in the distance, and her heart proceeded to race.

The crows settled in the bushes around. One crow landed on the boy’s shoulder, and tugged at his silver hair.

“This is the place?” the boy asked.

Amina swallowed, and nodded.

“Alright.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.” He took a step forward.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!” Amina dragged him back, incredulous. “Where are you going?”

The boy raised his brow uncertainly, as though mildly suspecting that Amina’s question was intended to trick him. “Eh…I’m going into the village.”

“Without a plan? Are you mad?” Amina cried. “Aren’t we going to, maybe, wait till darkness falls? Perhaps, sneak into the palace over the wall? Or through the back gates? That’s how my friends did it.”

“Oh?” the boy said, sounding unimpressed. “And how did that work out for them?”

Amina stomped her foot. “Don’t mock their efforts. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Here to save them. Look, I don’t…sneak, all right? I storm in and make very persuasive arguments with my fists. It is what I’m trained to do,” he said. “And if you force me to do otherwise, things are only going to get messy.”

Amina did not look convinced.

“Just stay by my side,” he said. “This will not take long.” And immediately, he started towards the village again. Amina had to hurry to keep up.

The staring started from a distance. Even before Amina had stepped into the village proper, the people stood in small pockets in the streets, glaring as she approached. She could hear the whispers rising already. She half-expected some of the men to go grab their cutlasses, but nobody made a move. Amina looked up at her escort’s face, and saw why.

With his daunting height, lean muscles, and cold eyes, the boy was tempered steel. As he approached, the people gave way like a parting sea. Amina stayed close to him, and tried not to grab onto his arm.

For a fleeting moment, she considered stopping by Baa Efeleyeh’s house to see Kusi. But then, she decided that interrupting their procession was probably a bad idea. Especially, the way some of the women were looking at her. One wrong move, Amina thought, and mayhem would likely ensue.

After a long, uncomfortable walk, Amina and the boy finally broke out from the tense crowd. Even as they exited the village streets, Amina could still feel the glares of the people behind her, boring into the back of her skull. The royal palace was far detached from the rest of the village, and its walls loomed in the distance. Trepidation seeped into Amina’s stomach, and suddenly, she worried that she had placed far too much faith in this boy.

But, she thought, he is a sorcerer so we should be fine, no?

“You must be quick,” Amina spluttered, as they walked. “There are thirty guards at the palace: two at the front gate, two at the back, eight archers on the walls, the rest within the walls.”

“I’m sure I said I could take out twenty, but whatever.”

“There is a barracks very close by. You cannot allow the soldiers to signal the barracks. They blow that panic horn, and we shall die today. If we aren’t going to already.”

“Your lack of faith hurts my feelings,” the boy said.

“Eh! Isn’t that the witch?” a guard at the front gate cried.

“They’ve spotted us!” Amina squeaked.

“They’ve spotted you,” the boy laughed.

The guards opened the gate and started to call for assistance. Soon, there were ten guards coming forward to meet Amina and the boy. Four archers had lined the front wall too. Their bows were drawn. Amina listened with apprehension for the panic horn. It did not sound.

“Stop!” a guard yelled. “Stop in the name of the Chief!”

“Remember,” Amina whispered to the boy as they drew even nearer to the guards, “be quick. Be efficient.”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time,” the boy sighed.

“I said stop!” another guard screamed. Now, all the guards were pointing their spears, marching faster.

“Don’t use so much magic that they panic,” Amina whispered, desperately. “But don’t use so little that we get caught. Don’t allow any of them to retreat.”

“By the gods, shut up.”

Now, the guards were so close that Amina could see the patterns engraved into their leather breastplates. Amina stopped walking and allowed the boy to go ahead, saying a quick prayer to her ancestors as he did. Then, just as the first guard charged towards the boy, she added quickly:

“Oh, and don’t kill anybody!”

“Fine, fine, I hear…” The boy stopped, and turned his head. “Wait, what?”

The first guard landed a heavy blow with the end of his spear, right across the boy’s head! The smack echoed across the sandy lot.

Amina screamed as the boy crumpled to the ground. Her hands flew to her mouth, trembling.

The boy groaned, and tried to crawl away. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” he spat angrily. “How am I supposed to beat these many opponents without killing them?”

“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know!” Amina cried. “But some of them helped me run away. How could I let you kill them?”

“Surrender, Amina!” the guard who had hit the boy said. “Surrender or we will use force.”

The boy stretched forth his hand. “Argh!” Another guard thwacked it away with his spear. This time, Amina saw blood: tiny flecks of scarlet across the ground.

“My magic!” the boy cried. “It’s not working!”

Amina’s world spiraled. “What do you mean it’s not working?”

“I mean, it’s not working,” he hissed. “It must be the slavery spell. It has shackled my powers!”

“Slavery spell?” several of the guards repeated, fear arresting their features. “So you are a witch!”

Amina was grabbed and thrown to the ground, next to the boy. She could not believe she was being arrested a second time in two days.

“You told me we would be fine,” she whispered, miserably. The guards formed a circle around Amina and the boy, spears glinting down on their faces.

“Calm down, you baby,” the boy grumbled. To Amina’s surprise, he stood up any way.

“Sit down, boy,” the guard who had hit him said. “Unless you want to lose that head of pretty hair.”

“You should thank your gods she asked me not to kill you,” the boy said calmly. “But thankfully…” He took in a deep breath, and sighed. “I still get to pay you back for that smack.”

Suddenly, a shadow fell upon them. Amina looked up. A cloud of black had blocked out the sun. Amina squinted, and looked more carefully.

It wasn’t a cloud.

The crows descended upon the circle, immersing Amina and the guards in a world of darkness and resounding caws. Somewhere in the commotion, Amina could hear the sounds of muscle pounding muscle, bone smashing bone. After a fleeting moment of utter confusion, the creatures scattered, and Amina opened her eyes.

All ten guards were on the ground, unconscious. There was a broken spear in the boy’s hand. He dropped it. Before Amina could stutter, he commanded, “Get up. This is not over.”

As if on cue, an arrow whizzed past them. Then another. The boy caught the third one, and snapped it in his hand. He dashed towards the wall, his figure a blur of dark skin and silver hair. The archers shot rapidly at him, but his steps were lightning fast.

Amina watched in disbelief as he leapt towards the wall, scaling it in two impossibly nimble steps. He buried his foot into the face of the first archer, knocking him off the wall. The other archers tried to shoot him down, but the close range had made targeting awkward. Swiftly, he disarmed the second archer, and slapped him with his own bow. He flung the weapon into the face of the third archer, and then punched out the fourth archer. Every one of the boy’s opponent’s went flailing off the wall, and to the ground.

The boy waved Amina over. “Hurry up!”

Too stunned for words, she rose up and ran to the open gates. The boy leapt down from the wall, and landed at her side as she stepped into the palace.

“You said there were eight archers, right?” he whispered, relieving a wooden statue of its staff. Amina nodded.

More guards came running from around the numerous huts, brandishing swords. “Wait here,” the boy said. He ran across the compound to meet them.

With his stick, he disarmed one guard with a swift blow to the wrist. He spun around, swinging his weapon from high to low so that it knocked out three guards, and swept two more of their feet. One guard didn’t make it to the ground before being propelled by a hard spinning mid-section kick into two more of his advancing colleagues. There were four more guards standing. One of them swung wildly at the boy with a knife. The boy ducked, dodged, and parried the third swing; relieving the guard of his knife, and breaking a few fingers in the process. He threw the screaming guard over his shoulder. The remaining three guards, probably deciding that their best chance was to attack all at once, charged at the boy with a roar.

That proved to be a bad idea.

The boy took advantage of their lack of coordination, and danced between them, delivering sharp, rapid hits to their shoulder, elbows, and knees. By the time he was done with them, he did not even have to knock them to the ground. They collapsed, groaning in pain.

Amina lifted her eyes just in time to see the last four archers, stationed atop the surrounding huts. They drew their bows.

“Watch out!” she cried.

But the boy had seen them too. Twirling his staff so fast that it blurred, he warded off the arrows. Then, in the time it took them to redraw, he flew to the top of the closest hut and head-butted an archer off the roof. The other three archers shot at him, but he bounced around the surrounding huts, evading the projectiles. One by one, he visited them on their respective perches, and convinced them to abandon their posts with swift kicks and blows. In a matter of moments, the compound was littered with moaning guards and archers.

The boy jumped down, satisfied. “Shocking,” he said to Amina, when she ran to his side. “Your guards are simply awful at their jobs.”

“Oh, we’re sorry. Not everybody can leap tall walls in single bounds like you. How did you even do that? I thought you said your magic was gone.”

He looked bewildered. “Why would I need magic for that?”

Amina started to say something. “Never mind,” she said.

“Where are the prisons?” the boy asked.

Amina led the way to the east wing. “Are you sure you beat thirty guards? I counted twenty-nine.”

“Really?” The boy nibbled thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “I counted thirty.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know, ah. In case you did not notice, I was busy knocking them unconscious.”

They stepped through an arched entrance, and into the dank bubble of misery that was the Djawale prison.

“Kesewaa!” Amina cried, rushing from pit to pit. “Suna! It’s Amina! I’ve come for you!”

The boy helped her check the pits. After the fifth pit, he didn’t bother checking any more pits. “There’s no one here.”

Amina stopped at the last pit, panting. “How is that possible?”

“Are there any other prisons nearby?”

“In Djawale? No. I don’t think so. Maybe in the next village?” Amina sounded discouraged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, who would know?”

“The guards,” she said. “But it will take too long to force it out of them. They are trained to retain information under pain.”

“Who else would know?”

Amina shook her head.

The boy looked exasperated by her helplessness. “What about the chief? Would the chief know?”

Amina looked up, a new light in her eye.

“The chief it is.” He grabbed her hand, and they rushed out of the prison.

The chief’s hut was the largest in the palace. It was situated on the north wing, surrounded by five smaller huts. As Amina walked, she stole glimpses inside the huts. Frightened faces stared back from within the shade. Amina recognized many of the servants. She waved, hoping to ease their fears. Nobody waved back.

They reached the chief’s hut and stepped inside. Amina glanced around the room. She had been here once before. A long time ago. Before her mother was banished. Everything seemed vaguely familiar. Vines hung from the wooden beams. Masks and knives adorned the walls, as did crimson strips of silk. Four stone crocodiles glared from each corner of the room, each with eerie animosity. And there was an enormous woolen mat at the centre. The room had seemed so much more impressive when she was younger. Now, she thought, it only seemed pompous and excessive.

“An empty room,” the boy muttered. “Or is it?”

He walked to the middle of the room, and whipped off the mat. There was a trap door beneath it. He opened it, and grinned down into the pit. “Greetings.”

The chief was squatting in there, with his five wives and the youngest of his heirs. The young queens screamed, and their children began to cry.

“May we borrow your husband?” the boy asked, sweetly. He reached into the pit, and with one hand, yanked the chief out. Then he closed the pit.

Sah-kra Brenu trembled under the boy’s glare. His skin glistened with sweat, and for the moment, he seemed incapable of speech. Amina found it hard to believe this was the same man she had feared for five years.

“I wish you the noon, father,” she whispered.

Sah-kra’s gaze finally shifted to rest on Amina. “Y-you,” he managed to stammer.

“Yes, me,” Amina said. She wanted to add: “The daughter you have not fed for five years. The daughter you have not spared a glance for five years. Did you even know I was alive? Did you care? How dare you. How dare you!”

But Amina did not utter any of these things. Instead, she asked calmly, “Where are my friends?”

“B-banished,” he whispered. “We could not allow them to stay in the village. N-n-not after you the way you charmed them.” He added pleadingly, “The people. They insisted. I swear. It was not my decision.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Amina said, tone steely. She was getting angry. “Where are they now? Where do you take the banished?”

He swallowed. “I…” he mumbled. “I cannot tell you that.”

“Oh, you will tell me that,” Amina said, bending over so that they were eyeball to eyeball. “Or, do you see my friend over here? He is a sorcerer. A good one, at that. Have you ever wondered what it would be like,” she whispered, “to be eaten alive by crows?”

“Crows?” Sah-kra cried.

The boy smiled to himself.

“You wouldn’t,” Sah-kra whispered. “You can’t!”

“Try me,” Amina whispered back.

Sah-kra’s bottom lip quivered, but he said nothing. Amina sighed, and turned to her companion. “Shall we get the crows?”

“It will be my pleasure,” the boy said, turning around.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sah-kra sputtered out. He let out a lengthy sigh, and whispered weakly: “North-east of the N’jwera woodland.”

The boy poked his stomach. “You need to be a little more specific, Fat-gut.”

“I have never been there myself!” Sah-kra said quickly. “All I know is that there is a shrine there called the Tomb of Shadows. It was built for the cursed and the bewitched. That is where the banished are taken.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Amina asked, “Is my mother there?”

“Yes. Yes, she is.”

Amina felt her eyes begin to sting. Suddenly, swallowing had gotten harder. “Why is she there?” she asked. “Mama was banished for treason, no?”

“Treason,” he mumbled, “by sorcery.”

“That makes no sense.” Amina was shaking her head, tears of anger spilling down her face. “That makes no sense! I do not understand.”

“We couldn’t tell other people that a member of the royal house was a black-blood!” Sah-kra said.

“And so you lied to her own children?” Amina snapped. “That our mother betrayed her state?”

Just then, there was a loud noise from the compound—like the groan of a giant, hurting beast. Except it was not a beast.

It was the blast of a horn.

“Ah-ah,” the boy grumbled, stroking his chin. “Maybe I really did beat twenty-nine guards.”

Amina stared daggers at Sah-kra one last time. Then, she shoved him and stood up.

“For so many years, I was certain I was worse off not having you around to father me,” she said, her voice wavering with bridled rage. “And now… and now…” She pursed her lips, and turned away. “Goodbye, Chief Brenu.”

She exited the hut first, and the boy gave the chief a last glance of his own. “I understand,” the boy said, “that she has a little sister in this village?”

“I will not touch her,” the chief said. “I swear.”

The boy smiled. “Good man.” Then he followed after Amina.

The guard blowing the horn was standing smack at the centre of the royal courtyard. When he spotted Amina and the boy returning, he dropped the horn and tried to make a run for it. The boy closed one eye, aimed, and hurled his staff at him. The guard pitched forward, after the weapon had found its way right between his legs. He hit his head against the side of a hut and passed out. “And that is for being a tattler,” the boy said, as they passed him by.

When they reached the mouth of the palace gates, Amina stopped. Kesewaa was standing outside, staring incredulously back at her.

“Amina?” she mouthed.

Amina run to her, and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Kesewaa! I am so relieved. I was afraid they had captured you. That they would take your life.”

Kesewaa hugged back hard. “They never learnt of my involvement. Oh, thank the gods you are all right. I feared you did not survive the forest.”

“I hate to break up this lovely reunion,” the boy interrupted. “But aren’t soldiers on their way here right now?”

Kesewaa looked at the boy quizzically.

“He is a friend I met in the forest,” Amina explained. “I-It’s a long story.” She turned to him with pleading eyes. “Is there no way I can have more time?”

The boy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, fine, I’ll think of something.”

“Thank you!” Amina turned back to Kesewaa. “Where is Kusi?”

Kesewaa nodded to the tiny figure behind her. Amina only just noticed her sister, standing quietly by. Amina rushed to the little girl and pulled her into an embrace. “I have missed you.”

“And I you, Amina,” Kusi whispered, without hugging back. “But why did you return?”

“To save Suna.”

“They took Suna and his friends away,” Kesewaa said. “Their families were not even allowed to defend them. Soldiers took them away at the crack of sunrise.”

Amina nodded. “I know. I am going to find them.”

“Find them?” Kesewaa looked confused. “How?”

Amina nodded in the direction of the palace. “We asked around.”

Kesewaa took a better look at the palace compound, and saw the guards scattered all over the place. Her jaw dropped. “H-how? How did you…?”

“I had some help.”

A crow landed on the boy’s shoulder, and cawed into his ear. “We need to go now,” he translated. “The soldiers are almost here.”

Amina stroked Kusi’s face. Then she leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I am going to find Mama. No matter what, I will bring back our mother.”

Kusi whispered back. “Why?”

Amina leaned back, stunned. Kusi stared stonily back.

“Amina,” she whispered. “You are meant for so much more.”

“We have to go. Come on,” the boy said.

Perplexed by her sister’s words, Amina staggered to her feet, and took the boy’s outstretched hand.

Instead of running, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Just so you know, this might be a bit disorienting.”

Amina forced a smile for Kesewaa. “I will see you again. Soon I hope.” She looked at Kusi one last time, and felt an unfamiliar chill. Her sister offered a limp wave.

“I love you,” Amina mouthed. Then she looked into the boy’s eyes. “What are we doing? Are we…flying?”

“Not exactly.”

“I thought your magic wasn’t working.”

“It isn’t,” the boy said.

Just then, about a hundred armed soldiers came running out from behind the palace, roaring like thirsty beasts.

“Thankfully,” the boy said, looking heavenward. “Toom-toom’s is.”

“Toom-toom?”

Before Amina could utter another word, the crows descended for a final time. In the fraction of a moment, Amina and the boy were heavily veiled in the chaos of beating wings and gleaming eyes. Then, just as suddenly as the creatures had converged, they dispersed. They left behind a few floating feathers, but that was it.

Amina and the boy had disappeared.

The Tao of Pooh

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 00:11:33 +0100

“Rabbit’s clever,” said Pooh thoughtfully. “Yes,” said Piglet, “Rabbit’s clever.” “And he has Brain.”

“Yes,” said Piglet, “Rabbit has Brain.”

There was a long silence.

“I suppose,” said Pooh, “that that’s why he never understands anything.”

yeahwriters: Write a story based on the above photo.

Thu, 05 Jul 2012 08:03:14 +0100

yeahwriters:

Write a story based on the above photo.

Wandering Chaotic Irrelevancies: Day wasted as I’m wasting away, fading into the drizzle as my head...

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 23:45:16 +0100

Wandering Chaotic Irrelevancies: Day wasted as I’m wasting away, fading into the drizzle as my head...:

poeticallyundead:

Day wasted as I’m wasting away, fading into the drizzle as my head spins dizzy fleeting falling nothingness - I crack. Unable to look back as the cacophony of angry diatribes echoes off the corridors of my mind, hemispheres screaming and shrieking in pain and I placate the talking heads that…

Letter to Epoch Inc. (complaints about the New Year)

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 22:31:00 +0100

This is by far, the dumbest thing I ever wrote. I think I wrote it in my first year of college. I just came across it and thought I would share.

BTW: I don’t really hate the New Year. I do think the whole New Years’ Resolution thing is a bit overrated, but this was purely for comedy writing sake.

————————————————————————————————————-

From: Dissatisfied Customer

To: Epoch Inc.

Box 0910

December 30^th

Dear Sir/Madam,

COMPLAINTS ABOUT YOUR PRODUCT NEW YEAR

Let me begin by saying that I am not pleased to write you this letter. Not particularly, no. Mostly because it is a waste of my time (and yours as well, to be fair. I reckon you would much rather be sipping a cosmopolitan or whatever it is you director-sorts sip.) Anyway, I know that this letter being formal and whatnot, I should get straight to the point. But may I not? Go straight to the point, I mean? Because I think it is about time I get some pressing things off my mind.

The first time I heard of your product New Year, I was fascinated. A product delivered every 365 days (and 366 when the mail held up), that promised its buyers clean starts, and fresh promises, and new hope, and all that rot. I admit you lot bought me around the first time. But I’ve learned a bit of sense; I won’t be keeping silent now! Let me get on with the product’s flaws then, shall I?

Firstly, I don’t know where you blokes get off calling your product “New”. The New Years seem pretty much the same as the old ones, if you ask me. The sun is neither any larger nor any brighter during this “New Year”. The birds stay pretty much the same as well. I see none of the goodwill or prosperity that I was led to believe to expect in your brochures. Am I the only one with this problem, or do you simply enjoy conning everyone with false advertising (I inquire this only with the utmost due respect of course)?

Secondly, your product seems to come with an awful lot of undesirable additions; partying, old songs, rioting, and a bit too much of that ghastly eggnog mess. Whilst other companies are charging extra for accessories, you’re giving out the bloody stuff (remember the ad phrase ‘batteries not included’? Those were special days…)

But the biggest and probably most maddening feature of the New Year product is the RESOLUTION FUNCTION. I understand this function allows users to make positive life-changing goals for the upcoming year. Of course, this is all well and good. Except; have you ever tried this function personally? Last year I input a resolution to stop biting my nails and to feed the neighbourhood cats more often. Two months and two weeks into the New Year, I got a bit of pudding on my right thumb. So I licked it off. It was just a lick, just a tiny lick. But…well…long and short of it, my nails now look like a poster ad for stage three leprosy. Also, I’ve developed this deep loathing for mewing all of a sudden –I don’t know what it is! I can’t be in a three yard radius of any cats or else I start to hive. That can’t be natural now, can it? No, I dare you! I dare you to tell me that’s natural!

Sorry…I lost a bit of my cool there. Perhaps I should conclude now.

Just so you know, I’m not requesting that the New Year project be scrapped (I sincerely wish it would, but you can’t have everything now, can you?) I’m not even writing to suggest ways to improve the blasted thing. All I want… is for you lot to calm-the-hell-down. Please stop shoving your product down our throats, because evidently it’s not as great as you make it out to be. I genuinely believe every single one of your clients knows deep down in their hearts and souls that the whole New Year hullaballoo is a load of rubbish really. Why do they keep using it then, you ask? Maybe they decide to give you another chance half way through the year? Maybe they forget? It eludes me. All I know is that paying customers deserve what they’re paying for. So deliver what you’re promising, or chuck up our money dammit.

Thank you ever so much for your time and patience and I hope my letter will be taken into consideration.

Yours Faithfully,

D.C. Satisfied

Dissatisfied Customer

PS: Enclosed in this envelope is a well-outlined court order. That’s right old chaps, you’re being sued. Happy New Year!!

Book Ron Weasley

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 08:26:05 +0100

Book Ron Weasley

Sacred, Chapter 2

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 20:27:00 +0100

The second chapter of my new project “Sacred: The Stone of Tumi”

————

The royal palace was exactly how Amina remembered it: several individual huts, bonded by the same clay compound, and bounded by the great walls. There were still the wall paintings of gods and warriors, and the sculpted idols that gleamed beneath the glow of numerous standing lamps. It occurred to Amina however, that her return to this place could have been under better circumstances.

She could hardly keep up as her captors dragged her across the compound. Even as they did, she could still hear the cries of the crowd resounding behind—the cries for banishment. Her captors took her to the east wing: a small dingy corner hidden away from the beauty of the rest of the palace. The floor was ridden with numerous pits that smelled of sweaty armpits and aging urine. Amina thought of all the impenitent miscreants and heretics that had spent their last nights waiting in these pits. Waiting to be beheaded.

“Please.” She struggled helplessly in her captors’ hands. “Please! Don’t! I beg of you!”

They tossed her into the nearest pit.

Amina screamed as she hurtled to the dense sand below. The crash knocked the wind out of her, so that she could not cry out. She only choked on the overwhelming pain as it wracked her body in massive waves. Her eyelids fluttered wildly. And then she passed out.

When Amina came to, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Then, for a good long while, she fought back the tears that threatened to spill forth. The pit was even darker than she remembered. The pain had subsided, but her left knee and right wrist were burning fiercely. She tried to shift her arm from beneath her breast, but then thought better of it when her entire body protested with stabs of sharp pain.

So Amina remained still. Time dissolved into a meld of indistinguishable moments, and she became unsure of how long she had been down there. After what felt like an eternity of darkness and misery, Kesewaa’s voice suddenly came from above her:

“Amina! Amina, are you alright?”

Amina’s eyes prickled with tears of relief. “Oh Kesewaa, thank the gods! You have to get me out here, please!”

Kesewaa sounded teary herself. “Amina, we’re trying, Baa-Efeleyeh and I. We’re really trying.”

“I’m not a witch, Kesewaa,” Amina cried. “I don’t know what the priest was talking about! I swear by the gods, Kesewaa! I swear by my mother!”

“I know you’re not, Amina. But he’s the royal priest. The people believe him. The servants believe him. The royal house believes him. I had to beg and bribe and beg the guards just to see you.”

Amina tried to twist her head up. It was too dark to see Kesewaa. “T-talk to my father,” Amina begged feebly. She had not called Chief Sah-kra Brenu her father in years. There was a stretch of awkward silence.

“Amina,” Kesewaa finally said. “It’s the chief who dismissed our plea.”

Amina felt her breath catch in her throat. “Oh,” she managed to whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

“Where is Kusi? How is she?”

“Kusi is with Baa Efeleyeh,” Kesewaa answered. “She seems…fine. You know Kusi.”

Amina did. “Tell her I said this is all just a misunderstanding.” She swallowed hard. “And that I’ll be home soon, alright?”

“Actually, she had a message for you too.”

Amina waited, her breathing heavier from all the talking.

“She said to tell you,” Kesewaa said, “‘don’t be afraid.’”

Amina started to cry. She cried loudly and painfully for a long time, so that she did not even notice when the guards came to take Kesewaa away. She wept until she slept.

The next time Amina opened her eyes, someone was hovering above her.

“Amina? Amina, are you awake?” the person was hissing, his gentle shakes drawing her back into consciousness.

“Suna,” Amina mumbled sleepily. “Is…is this a dream?”

“This is no dream,” Suna said, the joy in his voice audible. “I have come for you.”

Now, Amina was fully awake. “Eh? How did you get here?”

Amina felt him wrap his strong arms around her. “Kesewaa managed to convince the guards at the back gate to forget to lock it, and to take a convenient stroll around the palace. Hold on to me. We have to get out of here.” He called out to someone above them: “Pull us up.”

They were hoisted out of the darkness and into the moonlight. It took a moment for Amina to comprehend what was happening. There were two young men who Amina recognized as Suna’s hunting friends. They were holding onto a long rope, which was tied securely around Suna’s waist. And at their feet were two guards who seemed to have been knocked out. Amina got the picture.

“They’ll behead you for this,” Amina whispered.

Suna smiled. “I think you underestimate how powerful my family is. And anyway, I’ll just say you bewitched me. If they really believe you’re a witch then they’ll have to consider the possibility.”

Amina was speechless. But Suna did not bother waiting for her to speak. He pulled her into a tight embrace, and held her there for as long as they could spare.

“I also think you underestimate,” he whispered, “how long I have loved you. I don’t know about what the priest said. But I do know you’re a good person. You always have been. Promise me that you always will.”

Amina still could not utter a single word.

Cries of “intruder” came from the north wall, and one of Suna’s friends said: “The diversion is in play. She has to move, Suna.”

Suna released Amina, saying, “Go to the back gate. Kesewaa will be waiting. There will be no guards to hinder you; they’ll all be at the front gate, confronting a few more friends of mine. We’ll stay here in case any other guards try to give chase.” He kissed her forehead. “Go!”

Amina run. Her ankle protested furiously, but still she run. Someone—most likely Suna and his friends—had doused many of the lamp stands, and the palace grounds were now littered with shadowy corners and inky aisle ways. Contrary to what Suna had said, there were still a few guards around. Some of them were now making their way to the north gate. Amina hid in the shadows of the huts, darting behind and between idols and pottery. The last guard Amina met ran right past her, whilst she was in the shade of a granary, pressed against its black, wall painting.

As Suna had promised, Kesewaa was waiting for her at the back gate.

“Oh, Kesewaa thank you!” Amina wept, throwing herself into her best friend’s arms. “How ever did you convince the guards to help?”

“There are more people who love you here at the palace than you think,” Kesewaa said. “And anyway, they can always say you hexed them.”

Amina laughed a sad, little laugh, and Kesewaa’s smile was weak. She handed Amina something wrapped in cloth. “It’s food,” she explained. “You have to leave the village.”

“I know.”

“You can’t ever come back.”

Amina swallowed.

“Amina!”

“But what about Kusi?” Amina asked.

“We’ll take care of Kusi, of course,” Kesewaa said. “But if you come back and try to take Kusi with you, they might not let you off with banishment. They might kill you, Amina!”

Amina’s eyes fell.

Kesewaa embraced her anyway. “Head into the forest,” she whispered. “But keep to the stream. If you keep to the stream, you should make it to Gormeh without straying into it.”

Amina pulled out of the hug, confused. “Without straying into what?”

“The forbidden forest.”

Amina felt her stomach turn. She had forgotten about that unholy territory. For a brief moment, she wondered if running away from the village wasn’t akin to being banished anyway.

But as though she had read her mind, Kesewaa said, “Amina, we do not know where the priests take the banished. But wherever it is, it cannot be a better option than running away yourself.”

Amina pursed her lips, and nodded.

They hugged one last time, and Amina took off. “I will miss you, Amina!” Kesewaa called after her.

Amina hardly heard the parting words. Using a roundabout route so that she avoided the commotion at the front gate, she run as fast as her aching ankle would allow her. As clouds concealed the night sky, a blanket of shadows crept across the land, submerging everything in tones and tints of black.

Yet, Amina could not afford to use stealth; she ran right in the open. The village was deathly still, and the pitter-patter of her bare feet on the sand was unwelcome. But, Amina did not stop. She tried not to look at Baa Efeleyeh’s hut, or her own hut as she passed them by. She kept her sights on the towering trees in the distance, and she did not stop running.

By the time she reached the edge of the farmlands, she was slowing down. Her chest was tight and she was seeing spots. She could barely breathe regularly. The pain in her ankle had traveled up her knees and hips. She wanted to collapse to the ground. She wanted to sleep for a hundred, thousand years.

But she looked back and she could see them: bright orange torches burning in the distance, increasing in number like waking fireflies. The villagers were rising from their slumber home by home, and Amina had no doubt they were bringing out their clubs, hoes, and machetes. A bell rang out from the village, echoing across the land with haunting intensity. Find her, the bell seemed to ring. Make her pay. Amina knew that the people of Djawale had a very simple justice policy for escaped prisoners—death.

She turned around and continued to run. She jumped over tuber beds and burst through plots of corn; slipping intermittently, never down permanently. She felt her feet crossover from loose loam to cool, crunchy grass as she neared the woodland. The darkness and the trees embraced her.

Her new cover gave her new strength. She bound across fallen logs and slid down gritty slopes. She tried to listen for the sound of running water. Soon, she could hear the stream, and she sprinted towards it.

I’ll make it, she thought. I’m free!

“There she is! After her!”

Cheers accompanied the voice behind her. Panicked, Amina tried to quicken her strides. She was certain her lungs were going to pop.

“Stop her! Stop her!”

Something whistled past Amina’s ear, bumping into a nearby trunk. Amina wondered what it was, until another one ricocheted off her right shoulder, almost causing her to lose her balance and go crashing down. Two more flew by on her left. A particularly large one shot past her right.

The villagers were throwing stones.

The stream was close. Amina could hear it gushing. It sounded angry, as though it too were displeased with her.

She reached the bank, and looked at the water roaring violently below. She had never seen the old stream like this. She tried to muster the courage to jump in. But fear kept her feet glued to the ground.

Oh my ancestors, she thought. I’m going to die.

She remembered Kusi’s words: ‘Don’t be afraid.’

It was at that exact moment that a stone struck her head. Pain; relief; darkness…they overwhelmed her senses in rapid succession as she keeled over and toppled down the bank.

The last thing she remembered thinking was: This is the worst birthday of my life.

Then she hit the water.

000

“Mama.”

The woman looked up to see her daughter coming out of the hut, and into the moonlight. There was a frown on her little face.

“My love,” the woman said, as she gathered and rested the little girl on her lap. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep, Mama,” the girl sighed. She nestled her head onto her mother’s shoulder. “Tell me a story.”

The woman’s laugh was as sweet as a brook’s. “It’s late, Amina.”

“Please,” the girl pleaded.

“Oh, all right,” the woman sighed. The girl smiled happily.

“This is the story,” the woman began, “of how magic came into the world…”

Amina’s eyes flashed open.

The moon was staring down at her, irregularly framed by the silhouettes of tall, converging trees. Creatures of the night called to each other, their cries resonant in the otherwise still forest. Water trickled from Amina’s hair into her left ear and she shuddered. She was wet.

Amina was careful sitting up until she realized she wasn’t hurting any longer. “Eh?” she whispered, rotating her wrists and ankles before standing up. She put some weight on each foot. No pain.

How long was I out? she wondered.

Shivering, she looked around and tried to regain her bearings. Djawale was a village of the Southern State, and the Mountain state was far northeast of their woods—this she knew. Meaning that all the water in these woods flows further south, she thought, remembering Kesewaa’s instructions to stay with the stream.

Amina looked frantically around for the stream. There was no stream. Only tall trees and rich foliage surrounded her. And darkness. There was considerably more darkness here than in the woods she knew. Here, the only lights were few and far between: lone beams that cut through the air like blades of silver.

There was only one explanation for where she was. And she didn’t like it.

Suddenly, Amina felt an odd inclination to look to her left. There was an antelope—a buck—on slightly higher ground a few yards away. Amina held her breath. The creature was clay red, with pitch-black antlers that would have been inconspicuous if not for the way they gleamed in the weak light. It held her gaze for a long, unsettling moment. Then just as quickly as it had come, Amina blinked, and it was gone.

Amina resumed breathing. She was seeing things, she decided.

She trod the forest floor, hoping to find the stream around somewhere. But the more she explored her surroundings, the more disoriented she got. She noticed that the forest had grown completely silent. Even the leaves she stepped on hardly made a whisper. Forcing herself to remain calm, Amina walked the eternal silence till she reached the edge of a clearing.

In the clearing, the moonlight fell as one pillar, illuminating a field of white flowers that swayed in the wind. At the centre of the field, there was a wooden house. It was big. Old. Vines dominated the outer walls, and despite the moonlight, darkness still seemed to cling to its frame.

Cautiously, Amina stepped out into the light, and trudged towards the wooden house. She glanced around as she walked. The wind was cold. The moon was big.

Too big, she thought.

The clearing was so bright, so open.

So vulnerable, she thought.

As she reached the front steps to the house, she looked up at the roof. There was a crow up there—a stone crow. It was taking off, its wings spread apart, its feet just lifting off the edge. And Amina could see it: the tiniest breadth of space between the crow’s claws and the end of the roof. But Amina knew that was impossible. Because then it would mean that the bird was floating there.

The steps creaked when she climbed them. She opened the door, and stepped inside.

It was draughty inside the house. Dark too. The windows were sheltered from the moon, by the shade of the roof outside. Thus, there were a few streams of light crisscrossing down from the patchy ceiling, but that was it. Amina waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then she saw them. They were scattered all over the open floor: stone men of so many postures and physiques, each of them remarkably life-like.

As Amina walked past them, one by one, her heart thrashed against her chest. She could not help staring at them. There were tall men, and short men, and men in between. There were men with beards, and men with scars, and men with no hair on their heads. There were men in loincloths, and men in armor. There was one man with the skin of a wolf around his head. But with all their disparities, there was one thing they all shared in common.

They all looked despaired.

Amina reached the centre of the enormous floor, and looked up. Now that she could see better, she could make out the second floor above her, split through the middle by an enormous divide. Behind the railings, there were more stone men. All of them life-like. All of them despaired. Amina felt a scream lodge in her throat.

She needed to sit down.

She stumbled towards what she thought was a chair at the end of the room, and then fought back a frightened sob when she saw it was another stone figure.

This figure was not a man’s though. It was a boy’s. He had a mound of bushy hair, and he was wearing a loincloth and a scarf. He was on his knees, seated atop his own calves. But his head was lifted up, and Amina noticed something. His was the only face without despair. His was the only face etched with defiance.

There was a black scrawl on the wall behind him. Amina squinted her eyes to see the symbols. The symbols were not of local origin, but then the children of the palace had been expected to learn the languages of the neighboring states. Amina recognized the syllabary of the Mountain State. More specifically: the language of the Heveh tribe.

To that sacred who will free this House

Until the day he shall, of his own accord, set them free

Unto him Her children I declare slaves

Bound by blood, and bound by magic

Till Death sleeps the world

Sealed by…

Amina frowned at the last line of the scrawl. She was unsure what the final words translated into.

She looked down at the stone boy again, and wondered what the scrawl meant.

Tentatively, she reached out to the stone boy, her fingers trembling above his forehead. She could not get over how real it looked.

The wind stilled.

Amina hesitated. And then she touched him.

Silence.

A screech pierced the air! Amina screamed, falling to her knees and clutching at her ears. Louder than loud, shriller than shrill, it was unlike anything Amina had ever heard. Unlike anything Amina had ever dreamed possible.

Then, suddenly, the screech was gone.

Amina crawled away from the stone boy, the unearthly sound still resounding in the farthest corners of her mind. She felt movement behind her and turned.

It was the stone boy. He was crumbling to dust.

Or at least, that was what Amina thought was happening, until she realized that the dust was giving way to dark skin and silver hair. Amina screamed as the boy rose to his feet, a tall, lanky creature with lean, toned limbs. The dust flowed off his muscles, pouring down in waves, and disappearing into nothingness as it hit the floor.

Amina could not stop screaming. She scrambled to her feet and tried to run. But just as she reached the door, it blasted open to a powerful sea of cawing, flapping blackness.

Crows.

The sea of black snatched Amina off her feet, driving her shrieking into the air. It slammed her against the ceiling, fluttering violently all around her as she screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Finally, Amina could scream no more. By then, the crows had left her alone, and were perched on the numerous wooden beams holding up the ceiling. They stared at her with red, beady eyes. Still, Amina remained suspended in the air, held roughly against the ceiling by some cold, invisible force.

The boy ambled down the room, till he was directly beneath her. Amina could see his eyes from here. They were the color of the sun on a cold, harmattan morning.

He grinned up at her. “Well, well,” he said. “And who might you be?”

Amina tried to speak, but her lips refused to obey.

“No, I suppose if I were you I wouldn’t tell me either,” he said, stroking his chin. “You’ve obviously got some skills though, if you could break a spell from the House of Water.”

House of Water! Amina thought. It was the full translation she’d been trying to figure out. The last line of the scrawl was: ‘Sealed by the House of Water.’ Whatever that meant, she thought.

“P-please let me down,” she said, her voice cracking.

The boy ignored her. “Unless of course, you are from the House of Water. In which case, I ought to leave you here for a hundred years too—see how you like it.”

“Please, no!” Amina cried, and then proceeded to rattle: “I’m not whoever you think I am. My name is Amina of Chereboah. I am of royal descent from the village of Djawale, barely a morn’s walk from this very forest. I have not the slightest idea what this ‘House of Water’ is, I swear by all that is good and just in our kingdom. I am only a girl. Believe me. Only a girl!” Amina stopped to pant for breath.

The boy stared oddly up at her for the longest time. Then, he burst out into laughter.

Amina had broken out into a cold sweat by now, and her mouth felt dry. “I-I swear,” she added again, meekly.

“You expect me to believe,” the boy laughed, “that an ordinary girl broke a spirit level seal.”

Amina did not know what to say. “Yes?” she whispered.

The boy chuckled and coughed. “Ah, you certainly know how to tell a good joke, I’ll give you that.” He turned around, and as he walked away he chortled, “And such convincing acting too. By the gods, I’ve missed being animate.”

Amina watched as the boy went around the house. One by one, he inspected the other stone men; tapping on some of them, muttering at others. Even from her place on the ceiling, Amina could tell he was unhappy. After his assessment, he came back, this time to glare at her.

“Free the others.”

“Eh?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but somehow the broken seal only released me. So release the others and maybe I won’t feed you to the crows.”

A crow cawed at Amina.

“I didn’t release you! I didn’t do anything to you!” Amina cried, half desperate, half furious. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe because as soon as you touched me, I suddenly found that I could walk and talk again after about a hundred years of being a house ornament? Which, did you know, is surprisingly quite tiring? Not sure how long I can keep you floating up there. In fact,” he looked thoughtful, “I think I can feel my magic slipping…”

Amina grasped his insinuation, and gasped. “No. No, no, no, please.”

“Slipping…”

Amina was near tears. “Don’t! Please! Don’t! Ple— aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!”

She dropped from the ceiling, screaming all the way. Just before she crashed into the floor, she was jerked to an abrupt stop, and then flung back up by the invisible force. She slammed into the ceiling again. Harder this time. So hard that for a moment, she choked on her own saliva whilst gasping for breath.

“Ah-ah, you are an excellent actress, aren’t you?” the boy said. “Do stop it, though. It was entertaining at first. Significantly less now.”

But Amina was shrieking hysterically, clawing at a nearby beam for anchorage. She was sure she was going to throw up. If she did, she hoped the contents of her stomach found their way into the boy’s face. The crows were making a fuss again, cawing and fluttering all about her. Amina wanted to catch one and wring its neck.

“Do you feel like telling the truth now?” the boy asked.

“You’re a horrible person!” Amina spat.

“And you’re a liar.”

“I hate you!”

“It breaks my heart,” said the boy.

“Let me down now!” Amina ordered. “Let…me…down!”

Suddenly, the force let go of Amina, and she went flailing down. She fell into what felt like a cushion of air, before rolling down to the floor. Breathing erratically, she looked up and, to her surprise, saw a look of confusion on the boy’s face.

It was then that Amina remembered the scrawl on the wall, and an idea popped into her head.

“Sit down,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“I command you to sit down!” Amina cried, and to her delight, the boy obeyed at once by plopping onto the floor. He looked absolutely bewildered.

“Put your hands behind your back!” Amina added, for good measure.

The boy gritted as his arms twisted behind him. “How are you doing this?”

Amina was so relieved that she let out a breathy laugh. “The scrawl,” she said, quivering all over. “The scrawl was right.”

“A manipulation spell? Really?” The boy’s chuckle was dark. “Well, at least I know two things about you now. You’re a liar and a cheat.”

The crows were still making a fuss above them.

“Tell them to be quiet,” Amina commanded.

A vein rose in the boy’s neck as he fought her instruction. But eventually, he lifted his head to hiss softly at the creatures above. At once, they all stilled.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Amina said, once it was quiet again. “It’s the scrawl on the wall. I-I think there’s some kind of curse on you. Oh my ancestors, I feel stupid just saying that,” she sighed. “But it is the truth. The scrawl says something about making you a slave onto whoever frees you.”

“So you admit you freed me?” the boy cut in.

“What? No! I never said th—”

“So it was unintentional? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I-I don’t know,” Amina stammered.

“You don’t know?”

“I…”

“So then, at least, tell me what Sacred House you’re from,” the boy pushed.

“I told you! I’m from the royal house of Djawale!”

“Oh come on now!” he cried. “Saying you released the seal unintentionally—perhaps I could buy that. And I’m not even saying that I do. But trying to make me believe that you’re not even sacred? Especially when you’ve got me bending to the very words of your mouth? You must think I’m weak in the head!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered. “I say, I pity this generation if you’re anything to go by. At least back then, we had the gonads to tell the truth.”

“Will you shut up!” she snapped, and let out a rasp of frustration. “I didn’t free you, ah-bah! You were made of stone a moment ago, and now you sit before me, with your queer eyes and bizarre hair. You think I know how that happened? I think maybe I am mad. Yes, that’s it. I am mad and this is all some manner of delusion. Or…or maybe I died when I fell into the stream, and this is my punishment for abandoning my sister in Djawale. That makes more sense. Because nothing else makes sense. Nothing at all.” She hung her head, her lip forming a grim little line.

There was a stretch of silence.

“Or,” Amina said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe I know what you are, and I am simply refusing to believe it.”

“Oh?” said the boy, smiling wryly. “And what am I?”

Amina hesitated for the longest time. Then, lips trembling, she uttered the word, “Black-blood.”

The boy’s smile wavered. “Well, that’s not very nice. Even a hundred years could not erase the prejudice, I see.”

Amina stared into the boy’s eyes, which reminded her less of the morning sun now, than of a carnivorous cat’s.

She stood up. “I have to go.”

The boy laughed. “You’re leaving me here like this?”

I’m sorry, Amina wanted to say. But she didn’t. She only made her way to the door.

“You can run,” the boy said, calmly. “But sooner or later, whatever magic you have holding me down is going to break apart. And do you want to guess the first thing I’ll do when I’m free?”

Amina stopped at the door, and looked back.

The boy grinned. “I’ll hunt you down.”

Amina rushed out and slammed the door. But behind her, the crows had started to fuss again. And their caws and flapping wings echoed in the hollow house.

myaudienceofone: Audio Of The Day Jay Elec Girlfriend “Love...

Thu, 21 Jun 2012 08:38:07 +0100

myaudienceofone:

Audio Of The Day

Jay Elec

Girlfriend

“Love heals all past wounds. You assist me
You with me?
The butterflies came to get me
Cupid cocked back the four pound

Squeezed one of the shot. Hit me

North of the kidney

And now I’m head over…”

Sacred, Chapter 1

Tue, 19 Jun 2012 19:35:00 +0100

The prologue and first chapter of my new project “Sacred: The Stone of Tumi”

——————-

Prologue

Someone was going to die tonight. You could feel it in the frigid wind. Two of the people on Mount Heveh knew who it was going to be. The third person had a bad feeling. Yet, no one spoke a word. The hooded figures trudged numbly through the ice, around and between the jutting rocks of their treacherous path. In the valley below, there was a cluster of tiny villages. The men were too high up to see them.

They reached a crevice in the mountainside, and the man in front gestured to the other two to follow him inside. Half-crouching and in a single file, they made their way through the narrow tunnel. It was pitch black.

“We are almost there,” the leader assured the others.

And sure enough, they soon broke out into the light. They were in a circular enclosure. It was bordered by the mountain wall, but it had no ceiling. The stones were gilded in sunshine and flowers grew out of every crack in the ground. The air was balmy. The silence was deafening.

“If you are wondering how the weather outside and inside the mountain can be so different, I don’t know either,” the leader said, taking off his hood. He joked, “Maybe it is magic, eh?”

Neither of the other two laughed. Instead, they took off their hoods too. One of them was a short, stocky man with a bushy goatee and wry little smile. The other was a tall, bony woman with so little hair on her head that she was often mistaken for a boy. Each spared a fleeting glance to their surroundings, and then both settled their dark gazes on the scrawny young villager who had led them here.

The villager, who had long realized that agreeing to bring these foreigners here was a bad idea, said, “Well, this has been a joy but I’m going to go on ahead and descend the mountain now. The wife—she’s a real nag you see? Have to be home before the evening’s yams boil or she’ll be flapping her lips all night.” He chuckled weakly.

“Don’t you want your fee?” the bony woman asked.

“Oh, no, no, no.” The villager waved the offer off, smiling a little too earnestly when he said, “There’s no need for money at all. It is not as though this is the tallest mountain in the kingdom.”

“Actually, some say it is,” the stocky man said.

“They’re liars,” the villager snapped, and then quickly recomposed himself. “Consider this a show of my hospitality.”

The stocky man grinned. “How kind of you.”

“Yes. Well,” the villager said, and the rest of his words were lost in a mumble. He turned around to re-enter the crevice.

“Oh,” the bony woman said, “Could we trouble you for one last thing before you leave?”

The villager turned back. “Eh, alright. What do you want?”

“Your life.”

A dagger shot out from beneath the stocky man’s sleeve, burying itself deep into the villager’s chest. The young man crumpled to the ground, eyes frozen in astonishment. Blood slowly pooled beneath his body.

“Shame,” the stocky man sighed, coming up to the body and reclaiming his weapon. “I think I liked him.”

“Really?” the bony woman asked.

“No.”

They shed their hooded cloaks to the ground. Underneath, both of them were wearing black robes. The robes were embroidered with golden threads in the likeness of flowering vines. Body scars and tattooed symbols peeked from beneath their over-sized sleeves and gaping collars, and around their necks and wrists were numerous charms and talismans.

They stretched their hands towards the blood and waved rhythmically at it. The blood obeyed. It rippled out slowly from beneath its owner, oozing into the middle of the compound till it had collected into a sizeable pool.

“That should be enough,” the bony woman said. “Will you, or should I?”

“Oh please,” her partner graciously said.

So she knelt by the pool and dipped her finger in. With the blood, she drew a string of symbols to encircle the pool. Then she stepped back and clapped her hands.

“Release!” she commanded.

At once, a network of fissures cracked through the ground, creating a grid of plates. The outer ring of plates started to shift, revolving faster and faster around the robed pair till it was a blur. Then it slowed to a stop. The centre plate, where most of the blood was collected, collapsed into itself with a loud crumbling noise. There was a moment of silence. Then dust poured out of the newly formed hole.

The stocky man sighed. “Well, that was tedious.”

“Patience,” his partner said.

Out of the dust, a yellow crystal rose into the air, glinting fiercely in the sunlight. It stopped above their heads and bobbed there gently. They stared dumbfounded at the stone for a long moment.

Finally, the stocky man muttered, “I have to admit: I didn’t think we would find it.

“The Stone of Tumi,” the bony woman whispered. “Master was right.” She reached out and plucked it from the air. As soon as the stone was in her grasp, its glimmer faded.

Her partner grinned. “And here I thought I was only going to get a pot of gold out of this job.”

“You will have more gold than you’ll know what to do with when Master uses this to conquer the kingdom.” She dropped the stone in a pouch.

They started towards the crevice. “Hold on,” the stocky man said suddenly. “If the Stone of Tumi is real, then doesn’t that mean so is the Guardian?”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them.

Finally, the bony woman said, “The Guardian is a myth,”

“Oh, the Stone of Tumi is real, but the Guardian isn’t?” he countered angrily.

“If the Guardian was real, Master would have told us.”

“You better be right,” the man muttered. “Because if the stories are true, no amount of gold is worth unleashing that.”

So they took the stone down and away from Mount Heveh. And far away in the forests of Djawale, something awakened.

Amina woke up to the screams.

She sat up to see Kusi writhing on the mat next to her, shrieking loudly enough to turn the ancestors in their graves. Quickly, she moved to cradle the tiny girl, trying desperately to calm her down before she woke the whole of Djawale. But Kusi would not be comforted. Her noises were like a wounded animal’s and she clung to Amina’s bare skin, hurting Amina with her nails.

Still, Amina held Kusi tightly, till the little girl was sobbing quietly between her breasts. She wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead and rocked her tenderly, wondering what manner of sick spirit found pleasure in torturing a child so.

She whispered the story of how Ananse came to own all tales. It was Kusi’s favorite fable. “So Ananse tricked the Sky God into giving him all the world’s tales,” Amina finished. “And that is how the crafty spider god came to own all tales.”

Kusi did not respond to Amina’s conclusion. She had finally gone back to sleep. By then, the first light of dawn had streaked the skies. Amina sighed with relief and set Kusi back down on her mat. Somewhere in the village, a cockerel greeted the sun as Amina lay back to close her eyes.

It was well into the morning when Amina woke up again. Kusi was sitting in the corner of the room, her eyes fixated on something outside the door. There was a bowl of hot corn porridge at Amina’s side. Kusi always made her breakfast after a bad night.

Without looking at Amina, she said, “Happy Birthday.”

“Is it?” Amina said. She had forgotten. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Kusi added. ‘For the nightmares’, Amina knew she wanted to add.

“Am I really going to have to shrug off your apology ever morning?” Amina said and sat up. She took her bowl of mash and drank deeply, relishing the heat that coursed through her body.

“I remembered this time,” Kusi said.

Amina took another drink. “Remember what?”

“My dream.”

Amina lowered the bowl to look at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“What,” Amina stuttered, “what was the dream about?”

“Fire,” she answered. “Everything was burning.”

“The village?”

“Everything,” Kusi said, her tone distant. “The forests, the mountains, the fields, the sky, everything was burning.” She looked at Amina. “You were burning.”

Amina stared back at her sister; at her tiny frame and narrow face; at her dark thin lips that never turned in pleasure or joy—only ever pain. Amina stared at her tightly wound, kinky braids that should’ve suited a child of twelve years, and then into the cold, limpid black eyes that made that same girlish hair seem oddly out of place. From her mouth, the elements of the dream were only more unsettling.

“It was only a dream,” Amina finally said.

“You’re right,” Kusi said, looking out the door again. “Only a dream.”

Amina ate the rest of her breakfast in silence. Kesewaa arrived just as Amina swallowed her last mouthful.

“Agoo,” Kesewaa called as she entered the hut. “May I come in?”

Amina snorted at her best friend. “You’re already in.”

“Eh, the tenant is a friend of mine,” Kesewaa joked. She looked at Kusi. “I wish you the morn. How are you?”

Kusi lifted a hand in greeting back.

Amina smiled at the formal exchange between the two. Kesewaa always had been a tad self-conscious around the solemn little girl.

“So” Kesewaa said, turning back to Amina, “happy birthday!”

Amina shrugged. “I forgot.”

“And happy Purge Festival!”

“Oh, that was this week?”

Kesewaa’s shoulders fell. “On what plane do you even live?”

Amina apologized for her lack of enthusiasm with a smile. “We’ll have fun tonight. I promise.”

Kesewaa lit up again. “Then get up, get up! I want to get our farming out of the way!”

Amina laughed. “I have not even had a bath yet.”

Kesewaa waved off her worry. “We can bathe in the stream.”

Amina cast a worried glace Kusi’s way.

“Go,” Kusi said. “I’m old enough to go to Baa Efeleyeh’s place by myself.”

“She’s even old enough to stay here alone, if you ask me,” Kesewaa said. “Twelve is too old for a babysitter anyway.”

“I send her there more for Baa Efeleyeh’s sake to be honest,” Amina sighed. “Now that all her children have left for the cities, I can’t imagine she enjoys being in that hut by herself. After all that she’s done for me and Kusi, it’s the least we can do.”

Kusi nodded. “I even smile for her.”

Amina smiled to herself. She had been witness to Kusi’s smile a few times. It was…interesting.

Kesewaa’s impatience seemed at its limit now. “Well? Are we going?”

Amina sighed and gave in. She stood up to get dressed. “Tell Baa Efeleyeh that I said her yams are growing nicely,” she told Kusi, as she dressed in her usual two-piece cloth: one strip to bind her breasts and another to guard her hips. “Tell her I said we’ll bring some onions when we come for you.”

“Tell her to have our pay ready,” Kesewaa chipped in.

“Do not tell her that,” Amina said, throwing Kesewaa a dirty look. She gathered her cutlass and hoe. “See you in the evening,” she told Kusi. And with that, she and Kesewaa set off for the farmlands.

When they were a good distance away from the hut, Amina turned to Kesewaa and said, “Alright, so why were you so anxious to get me away from the house? I doubt it’s because you’re looking forward to weeding yam beds.”

“You will never guess the word around the palace!” Kesewaa gushed.

“New draperies for the royal courtyard?”

“Eh? No.”

“A younger wife for the chief then?”

Kesewaa kissed her teeth in exasperation and Amina laughed. “Are you teasing me? Why would I be excited about those things?”

“Eh, please I’m sorry o. You were saying?”

“I’m here ready to give you good news and you’re mocking me? Trees will dance before I ever tell you now. Hmph!” Kesewaa pretended to stomp away but Amina held onto her hand, apologizing whilst laughing hysterically.

“Oh, tell me, tell me,” Amina cried, when Kesewaa frowned at her.

“Stop laughing.”

Amina pursed her lips. The corners of her mouth were dangerously upturned though.

Kesewaa took what she could get. “I heard,” she said, “that a certain someone will be approaching the chief to request permission to marry one of his daughters.”

“Oh?” Amina said. “And how is this any different from my earlier guesses?”

“The daughter he is requesting is you.”

Amina dropped her tools, along with her mouth. “Eh?”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

“Who? Who is requesting me?”

“Suna.”

Amina stopped. She liked Suna. They were friends. Of sorts.

“How do you know?” Amina asked.

“Ah! Am I not the chief’s wine bearer?” Kesewaa tapped her ear proudly. “We hear things o.”

“But,” Amina said, “Can he do that? Marry into royalty when he himself is not?”

Kesewaa paused, looking embarrassed. “Mm, I’m not trying to insult you, Amina, but since your mother was banished from the village…”

Amina nodded. She was no longer considered royalty by the house. It was not as though she’d been under any delusions. She just didn’t want to get her hopes up for nothing. “Th-this is a good thing,” she whispered.

Kesewaa squealed, jumping up and down. “I’m so glad you think so! I was afraid you wouldn’t be as excited as me!”

“I thought I was the one getting married,” Amina joked, picking her tools back up.

“Suna’s family is wealthy and respected,” Kesewaa said. “The esteem of the Mbaase-naa house will rub off on you. After five years of disgrace, you and Kusi will finally regain your honor. Not to mention that Suna himself is kind and oh so handsome.” She sighed dreamily. “Those clear, powerful eyes; those full lips; those nicely toned muscles; oh the gods, give me strength.”

Amina was laughing by now. “Eh! Find him and propose to him now!”

“If only women could do the proposing too,” Kesewaa said, frowning. “It is a cold, unjust world, I tell you.”

“I can’t imagine ever proposing marriage to a boy’s family,” Amina said, shuddering. “You would be the laughing stock of the village.”

“I’d be laughed at a thousand times over for a chance at those muscles,” Kesewaa mused

“There are many other eligible men left for you, Kesewaa,” Amina said. And their conversation lingered on boys the entire way to the farm.

The farmlands were on the western fringe of Djawale: large plots of yam and cocoyam and plantain, tomatoes and okra and garden eggs. Busy farmers threw the girls disapproving looks as they walked past their lots. Nobody came to farm this late in the morning.

Baa Efeleyeh’s farm was the farthest from the village. Amina and Kesewaa did some light weeding, and then gathered some onions as promised. They made a fire and roasted some cocoyams for lunch. Then, they took a stroll through the woods, making sure not to wander into the darker, greener sectors that made up the forbidden forest. After a bath in the stream, they returned to the village. By then, it was late afternoon.

People were already setting up for the evening’s festivities. Every hut was decorated with wall paintings of clan emblems, or sacred totems, or family gods. There were numerous lamp stands mounted in the streets, and the air was heavy with the smells of frying meats and plantains. As soon as the Purging Ritual had been performed to mark the start of the festival, the feasting would begin.

“Agoo,” Amina called when they reached Baa Efeleyeh’s hut.

“Come in, my daughters,” Baa called from inside.

They entered to find Baa Efeleyeh seated on a stool at the corner of the room. A very compliant Kusi was sitting at her feet, having her hair re-braided.

“We wish you the day, my mother,” Amina greeted, always wary to use the fitting honorific. “How is your health?”

“As the gods would have it,” Baa responded, somewhat off-handedly. “Look, I am redoing your sister’s hair. She should look nice for the festival, no?”

Amina looked down at her handiwork. Baa Efeleyeh had transformed Kusi’s stick thin braids into fat, puffy braids—the kind more popularly worn by toddlers. Kusi’s face was utterly expressionless, but Amina could see the mortification in her eyes: help me.

Amina forced a smile. “She looks beautiful.”

“I should redo your hair too, Amina,” Baa said, clucking her tongue. “A fine girl like you should not wear her hair the same way for more than a year.”

Amina unconsciously touched her hair. Unlike Kesewaa who changed her hair style every month, Amina’s hair had stayed the same for the better part of the last five years: braids along the scalp with two coiled buns at the sides of her head. “I will change it soon, my mother,” Amina promised.

“We brought your onions,” Kesewaa said.

Baa nodded in the direction of the left corner. “Put them there.” As Kesewaa did so, Baa added, “I was going to fry some yams. Do you want some?”

“Oh, thank you very much, but we didn’t eat too long ago,” Amina said, and Kesewaa added, “I have to be returning to the palace anyway. My shift begins soon.”

“I hear you,” Baa said, just finishing Kusi’s new braids. She beamed down at Kusi. “Now don’t you look precious? Well, you can’t see it yourself but ask your sister. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, my mother,” Kusi said and stood up.

Amina took Kusi’s hand and said, “Well, we’ll be on our way now.”

“Wait, wait. I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten I owe you,” said Baa, unfurling the rolls of cloth at her waist. Inside the furls were several cowries. Amina and Kesewaa stepped up to receive five each.

“Thank you,” both girls said.

“And you,” Baa said, pointing at Amina. “Stay for a moment. I have to give you something else.”

Kesewaa nudged Amina. “I’ll see you at the festival.”

“I’m waiting for you outside,” Kusi said.

Amina nodded at both of them.

When Amina and Baa Efeleyeh were alone, Baa said, “The head of the Mbaase-naa house came by here this morning. He intends to marry you to his son, Suna.”

Amina felt her heart skip a beat. So Kesewaa was right, she thought.

“Before your mother was banished, I promised her I would take care of you. I have tried my hardest to do that,” Baa said.

“And you have done far exceedingly beyond what we could ever ask for, my mother,” Amina said, bowing deeply. “And for that, Kusi and I are eternally grateful.”

Baa nodded slowly. “But now, my role as your protector is coming to an end. Soon, it will be the responsibility of Suna and his family to keep you safe.”

Amina watched the old woman trudge to the opposite corner of the room, where Kesewaa had placed her onions. She knelt down and started to dust something off the floor. Soon, her work revealed a wooden seal. She pulled out the seal and reached into a hole. When she returned, she placed a wadded handkerchief into Amina’s hand.

“Open it,” Baa said.

Amina opened up the handkerchief. Inside, there was a necklace made of woven jute and a crystal in the shape of a sunburst. When Baa held it up to the light, it glittered wildly.

“Your mother said to give this to you when you were of age,” Baa said.

Amina felt her heart tighten as the necklace was put around her neck. She felt her eyes tear. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You have matured into a woman worthy of admiration.” Baa kissed her on the cheek. “Your mother would be proud.”

Kusi was waiting patiently for Amina when she finally came outside. Amina waited for her to ask about the necklace, but if her sister had noticed then she did not let on.

“Do you want to go home first? Or should we go straight to the palace for the Purging ritual?” Amina asked.

“What would we be going home for?” Kusi asked.

“Purging ritual it is.”

It was almost dark by now. Most lamp stands had been lighted, and they cast orange glows on the streets. Children had donned painted masks. They were running around in groups, pestering the grown-ups for scary stories and fried treats.

A crowd was already gathering at the gates of the palace. Hawkers were selling cloth, jewelry and food. Amina bought a fried dumpling to share with Kusi, and they observed the lively scene as they ate. One palace attendant was telling a group of children the story of how the Purging Festival came to be:

“…And after seven years of the Great War, the lords of the five states of Ghali finally realized that the true causes of the war were the state sorcerers. Across our great kingdom, every witch and every wizard, every medium and every seer, every man, woman, or child whose blood ran black with the abomination of magic, was driven out of the villages and cities. It was called the Purge. And now every year, we celebrate that great purge by performing the Purging ritual that was used to identify these harbingers of evil—these black-bloods. Do any of you know how many years it has been since the first Purge?”

The children muttered uncertainly amongst themselves. Kusi finally spoke up, “A hundred years.”

Every head in that circle turned in our direction.

“That’s why this Purging Festival is so important,” Kusi continued, sounding bored. “It marks a century after the first abolishing of witchcraft from the five states of Ghali.”

The palace attendant looked impressed. “Excellent answer, my child. What is your name?”

“Kusi,” Kusi said. “Kusi of the House of Chereboah.”

The other children watched jealously as the attendant brought Kusi some fried beef wrapped in a cocoyam leaf.

This man must be new, Amina thought. Chereboah was their mother’s family name. Had the attendant recognized the name, it was unlikely he would have been that congratulatory.

“Your sister is very well-versed in our history,” a voice said behind Amina.

Amina recognized the voice at once. Her heart did little skips as she turned around to face Suna. “Our mother used to tell us all the stories. I wish you the night,” she greeted shyly.

“And I, you,” Suna said, closing the distance between them. The boy might as well have stepped right out of the hand paintings in the royal palace, with his height, lean muscles, and hair that fell to his shoulders in neatly kempt twists. Amina had to lift her eyes to meet his. He looked down at Kusi.

“How are you little one?” he asked.

Kusi stared back.

“Sorry,” Amina whispered, embarrassed. “Sometimes she does that.”

He smiled. “That’s alright.”

They stood together awkwardly for a while, watching a team of entertainers juggle knives.

“They’re good,” Suna eventually remarked.

“They are,” Amina agreed.

More awkward standing together.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard already,” Suna said, looking uncomfortable. “But…”

“I heard,” Amina interrupted quickly. It occurred to her that Kusi still did not know about the marriage proposal. She did not want her sister to find out this way.

“And…” Suna mumbled. “What do you think?”

Amina smiled, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m glad.”

Suna lit up. “Really?”

Amina met his eyes again. “Really.”

“Good.” Suna grinned and returned his eyes to the jugglers. “I am too.”

They watched the jugglers till they changed their act and started to turn somersaults.

“My brothers are waiting for me so I have to go,” Suna said. Amina nodded up at him. “I’ll see you around then?” Amina nodded again. They hugged stiffly and Suna left.

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Kusi asked, “You’re going to marry him, aren’t you?”

Amina was taken aback. Then, on second thought, she decided that she wasn’t so surprised. This was Kusi after all. “Yes. Is that alright?”

Kusi said nothing for a moment. “Do you think,” she finally said, “that his family will take me in too?”

“What? Of course they’ll take you in. You’re my sister. Why would you ask that?”

Kusi shrugged. “Not everybody likes me. The other children will not play with me. Some of the men are afraid of me. Many more of the women,” She looked up at Amina. “But I can’t help the way I am. I’ve tried.”

Amina gathered her sister into a tight embrace, upset. But she knew that her sister’s concerns were valid. “If they won’t have you,” she whispered to Kusi, “then they can’t have me. You’re my family.” She paused. “I love you.”

Kusi did not respond, but she did hug Amina back: a rare occurrence.

“Come then,” Amina said, smiling down at Kusi. “The ritual is about to start.”

The crowd had formed a large half-ring at the mouth of the palace gates. Warm lights poured down from the torches aligning the towering, clay walls. Someone bellowed a tune, and like a spark of fire, it spread through the crowd till it had turned into a roaring chant. Amina and Kusi forced their way to the front of the crowd just as the drums began sound.

With a thunderous sound of twisting metal, the palace gates swung open, kicking up a great blow of dust. Men with horns marched out in single files, and blasted the air with their instruments. “Your chief is coming o! Your chief is coming!” an announcer called, sauntering out of the gates in colorful cloth. “Sah-kra Brenu, the third of his lineage! He who slays his enemies, and has mercy on his people. He who brings us favor from the gods, and relays wisdom from our ancestors. Tread gently, my lord. Tread gently.”

The crowd went wild with admiration, as the members of the royal house came out of the gates waving. First, there were the servants—Amina spotted Kesewaa amongst them. Then, there were the council elders. Then came the chief’s children. Amina could not help but think that a few years ago, she would have been within that procession, marching alongside her half-siblings. She wondered if any of her half-brothers and sisters would recognize her; if they even remembered her…if they even cared. The chief’s children passed, and out came the queens. Then the queen mother. The Chief’s linguist walked out. Then Sah-kra Brenu himself.

The noise was deafening when the chief was carried out on his palanquin. He waved affectedly at everyone as he was set down and allowed to step off. Two small boys carried a magnificently crafted stool out and placed it behind the chief. When he took his seat, the boys came around to sit in front of him. Amina knew the boys were supposed to be the chief’s guards against spiritual attacks. How two children were meant to accomplish that, Amina did not know. More stools were brought out for the other members of the royal family.

As soon as everyone was seated, the royal priest came running out of the palace. He was covered in limestone, and his neck, wrists and ankles were adorned with strings of tiny bones. He held a calabash Amina knew was filled with palm wine. The drumming stopped, and a hush fell over the crowd as the priest poured some spirit into the dust and prayed:

“Earth mother Asa, bless this ground we farm on; drink.” He poured again. “Sky god Kronkrong Tumi, bless this air we, our children, and livestock breathe; drink.” He poured again. “Sea goddess Maame, bless the water that pours down, that replenishes our streams and feeds our crops; drink.” He poured one last time, and the drumming started again. The crowd clapped in rhythm as he danced wildly across the compound, pouring from his calabash again and again till it was empty. He danced for a while longer, and then suddenly, everything stopped and there was absolute silence.

One of the horn bearers stepped forward and blew hard. The sound echoed into the skies.

The announcer cried out: “Let the Purging Ritual begin!”

A servant stepped forward from amongst the royals, and brought the priest another calabash. The priest reached into the calabash and withdrew a tight fist. The congregation was so quiet that Amina could almost hear her own heart beating.

The priest screeched, and the drumming resumed. He blew into his fist and a stream of white shot out of it, dispersing into a dense cloud. His figure was barely visible as he danced within the white cloud, twisting and contorting violently as though deranged. And as soon as the cloud started to thin, he blew into his fist again. The drumming intensified, and so did his dance.

“This is stupid. We should go,” Kusi muttered.

Amina shushed her, mortified. She hoped no one had heard the remark.

Just then, someone in the crowd screamed. Amina looked to see the priest on the ground, twitching and jerking uncontrollably. Disconcertion struck the gathering immediately. There was considerably more screaming when the priest started rambling incoherently. As the white cloud dissipated, it became apparent that the priest’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head. The sound of low muttering escalated into a loud rumble.

The announcer tried to calm everybody down.

Amina could feel her heart in her throat. “Why won’t anyone help him?” she cried, her protest lost in the bubble of confusion.

Kusi repeated, “We should go.”

Amina overhead one elderly man saying to another, “He senses evil! There’s a black-blood amongst us!”

Now Amina wanted to get out of there. She looked down at Kusi, to see if her little sister was by any chance, as thoroughly terrified as she was. Her sister was already looking up at her.

“Are you afraid?” Kusi mouthed, because it was too noisy to be heard.

Amina nodded.

“Then let’s go,” Kusi said. She started to pull Amina into the crowd when someone cried, “That’s her! That’s the witch!”

For a moment, Amina had no idea what was going on. Befuddled, she turned around to see whom the voice belonged to. Her eyes soon settled on the priest.

He was back on his feet. He was pointing in her direction.

Kusi, Amina thought in that fraction of an instance, Oh, my ancestors, Kusi.

Not everybody likes me, Kusi’s voice echoed in her thoughts. The other children will not play with me. She looked into Kusi’s clear, unperturbed eyes. Some of the men are afraid of me.

“Kusi, run!” Amina cried.

But Kusi did not run. Instead, she said to Amina—and for some reason Amina could hear her perfectly fine over the awful din: “I would tell you the same thing, sister.”

Hands grabbed Amina from behind, and she was dragged roughly out of the crowd and into the circle. At first, Amina thought they were separating her from Kusi so that they could take her. But nobody went after Kusi. Instead, Amina alone was shoved into the dust. And when her head met firmly with the dust, it was Amina alone who tasted the salty-metal flavor of blood in her mouth.

“Your evil cannot prevail in this village, black-blood!” the priest cried, and the villagers cheered and stomped.

The rising dust made it hard for Amina to breathe. What is happening, she thought.

“Today, we purge our people!” the priest screamed. “We shall remain pure!” The cheers were louder. The stomps were harder.

Then it dawned on Amina what was going on, and her vision reeled. They did not think Kusi was the black-blood. They thought Amina was.

They were calling her a witch.

fwriction : review: "Bridges," by Walter Bjorkman

Sun, 15 Apr 2012 17:30:17 +0100

fwriction : review: "Bridges," by Walter Bjorkman:

fwrictionreview:

Sometimes I want to scratch the skin of a thousand tears off my body and awake in swaddling clothes in your arms. My weeping holds no legacy, no shrift for the poor or helpless, they are only shed for me. We awoke to beastly sounds above Death Valley…

The Boy in the Black Hood (From "The House in the Woods" [novel in progress])

Sat, 14 Apr 2012 12:48:23 +0100

In the end, let’s face it, I have always been and will always be a manga fan. I love the characters, I love the outlandish concepts and I love the violence. I love their sense of humour and I love their ideas of romance. I genuinely believe that some of the ideals and values anime companies such as Shonen Jump propagate are actually exactly what Africa needs; a sense of honor, responsibility and loyalty.

I am currently developing a similar style for Africa. A kind of Afro-manga if you will. Obviously though, I am not an artist. What I am, is a writer. So indulge me if you will. Below is a short section of a novel I’m working on titled “The House in the Woods,” which is basically about a team of socially rejected magicians who go around capturing (or assassinating) evil wizards. Hope you enjoy it.

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In the Southern State of Ghali, there was a tiny village by the name of Djawale. Djawale was not a particularly impressive village, nor was it particularly distinct. Its buildings were clay, and its rooftops were thatched. It had a market place where traders squabbled over prices, and a royal palace for overfeeding chiefs. Its people wore woven cloth. The wealthy added leather sandals. There was nothing that set the village of Djawale apart, and yet, as fate would have it, it was the point of origin for events so cataclysmic, they would remold the course of history.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

In the streets of this village, a hooded figure made his way around, his steps as silent as a cat’s. It should have been a strange sight to behold—this boy cloaked in black, weaving between villagers at high noon. But the boy had been doing this job for years; he had learned the art of obscurity at six.

Around and between the clay buildings he went, till he was on his street of destination. Down that lane, a crowd had formed. The hooded figure paused by the gathering, just long enough to see what all the fuss was about. At the centre of the circle, two girls danced, their movements fluid and precise as they begged for alms. The boy watched them for a moment, entranced. Then, remembering he had business to attend to, he moved on.

Ten paces from the crowd, he turned right and slipped into Al-Baba’s, the only double storied inn in the village. The keeper was at his post, chewing a handful of cola nuts. “Hey,” the keeper barely said to the boy, before being swiftly downed with a sleeping spell. The boy turned to the narrow stairs, and started to climb.

Al-Baba’s was a fine inn. The clay of the walls was well evened, and silk and vines hung from the high ceilings. It catered well to the assortment of people who lived there—flamboyant merchants and wealthy adventurers from other states. The majority of Al-Baba’s guests though were, to be honest, criminals: robbers, swindlers and child traffickers whose purses bulged from illicit businesses. And tempted as the boy was to pay unexpected visits to all these miscreants, there was only one name on his list that afternoon.

“Here Chuqu, Chuqu, Chuqu, Chuqu…” the boy cooed as he strolled down the corridor. “Here Chuqu.” He stopped at one room, hesitated, then spun around to the opposite room decidedly. “Ah, there you are.” He pulled aside the curtain to the room.

Inside the room, sitting crossed legged at its centre, a large, bald man appeared to be sleeping. He wore a sheeny crimson robe, poorly tailored for a creature of his size. Tattoos of strange words and symbols adorned his bulging muscles. And had one listened carefully, they would have heard the faint vibration in the air: the sound of radiating magic.

Without opening his eyes, the sorcerer, Chuqu Wasilleh uttered, “You have come to kill me.”

The boy sighed with relief and relaxed against the door. “Gods be thanked that you figured that out. I was worried this was going to be awkward, having to reveal the purpose of my visit and what not. I was dreading it all morning.”

Chuqu chuckled incredulously. “Has the House of Dua sunk so low? That now it has nothing but errand boys to do the work of grown men?”

“No, we have elders,” said the boy, his tone rather sincere. “But in my House, you are not big enough a threat to merit their time.”

Chuqu’s eyes flashed open, his orbs glowing purple with rage. But it was as though the boy had not noticed Chuqu’s reaction. In fact, rather, he was ignoring it. “I’m not saying you’re not a big enough nuisance,” the boy continued thoughtfully, and altogether casually. “You are Chuqu, the flesh eater after all. We hear infants are your favorite snack. Obviously, we can’t have people with your sort of dietary preferences roaming around the Southern State. But I’m just saying—you’re barely a water-class sorcerer. I myself grumbled a bit when I got picked to deal with you, I admit. Lost a silly wager, you see…”

Chuqu attacked with a roar, exploding with blinding hot flames. The room was set ablaze in an instant, and everything flammable disintegrated into nothingness. The sleeping mats, the wall hangings the flowery vines, everything. Everything, except the walls, silver pots, and the calm, collected boy in the black hood.

Stretching out his hand, the boy commanded, “Cease.” The crackling flames jumped from the walls, swirling fluidly around his wrist and collecting into his palm. Then they died.

Chuqu’s eyes widened with fear.

“Sorry,” the boy said, pulling a small blade out of the sheath at his hip, “but I have to be back at the House by sundown.” And in one swift movement, he dashed to Chuqu’s side and slit his throat. The sorcerer slumped to the ground, gurgling.

The boy bowed politely and sheathed his weapon. “It was nice meeting you.”

He stepped out of the charred room. In the corridor, several guests had exited their rooms to investigate the tremor that had ripped through the building. However, upon seeing the hooded figure exit Chuqu’s room, many guessed the dark sorcerer’s fate and returned to minding their own business. Avenging colleagues was not a popular concept amongst criminals in the Southern State.

Thus, as quietly as the hooded boy had entered Al-Baba’s Inn, he left.