CHAPTER 11

The pale moonlight contrasted the color of the dark forest. It was wintry, but not at its best as to wake the hair on the skin. What should have been a quiet lovely rest, a journey to the wonderland—sheltered with the clusters of stars and grace of the full moon—turned out to be perturbed by the buzzing of insects, whose hymn destroyed everything pleasant about quietude.

Ada slapped her exposed laps, and let her nails run through the spot until the sweet sensational feeling started to burn. Her smooth skin had now turned into a gritty of swollen and pulsing lumps that won’t stop itching. How many times? She wonders. It was so difficult to keep track of the buzz. She could hardly sleep from the irritating chorus of the mosquitoes, singing a noise to her unruffled soul. A song she would never, in an awoken state listen to. If only the bug could let her rest and bother some other animals. Soon it would be dawn and her journey would continue, but this blood sucking demons would not just stop beating its wings. Even for just five—

Ada waved the whinnying, audible sound reflexively—a fruitless attempt to scare the insect away. Words can’t describe the anger that fully woke her. She remained still and kept an attentive ear. Her eyes wandered in her skull, praying to find the annoying insect and hoping to crush its brain. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the mosquitoes read the rage in the unspoken words, and maintained the distance for the time being.

Darkness still envelope the place, a comforting sign at least, she still has more time to rest.

She shut her eyes—an attempt to go back to sleep—but the smell of smoke from the small fire she had made, piqued her curiosity and her eyes flung back open, when they rested upon the burning woods. The flames were weak and dim, almost covered with cinder, but the sight of the consuming logs, sent a new stream of anger into her stomach. She needs no glass jar to tell her that the last of the wood, just smoldering away, testifies the birth of dawn.

Ada sat up reluctantly from the grass bed. She yawned heavily without covering her mouth, and scratched the itching spot on her arms again. What a waste of a lovely night. The grass bed was nowhere near her soft bamboo bed. The shelter of stars or those of the trees were nothing compared to the roof of the king’s palace—which was free from the blood sucking insect. It was easy to miss home. Chinwe and the other maids would be sweeping the compound at this moment. The chief-of-maids would be parading the whole place, looking for those lazy maids who wouldn’t leave the comfort of their mattress.

Ada smiled as the memory of that faithful day—when she had fallen for the morning temptation—dawn on her. She had been dreaming of Ikedi that night, how they were married and blessed with three kids. The dream had been so real that she hadn’t heard the first cock crow. Well, she was unable to see the happily ever after, as the surreal fantasy ended, when the chief of maids had woken her with a calabash of cold water.

What a terrible but lovely memory?

Ada sighs and sat up properly. Every memory, flashing in her minds eyes was anew, as if it were only yesterday. If only she could take back the hands of time, bend the wheel and structure it to soothe her will. If only it was possible to undo the past mistakes and set right the present, none of this would have happened. She would have been born into the family of any freeborn noble or even the family, of a free peasant. Her life; would have been emancipated from the tides of customs and belief. The knowledge of the great Ofor would have been a story she heard from the village raconteur. She wouldn’t have been running for dear life because the entire village wants her head on a platter.

But then you wouldn’t have met Ikedi. A voice said in her head.

He’s the reason I’m in this mess. Ada replied angrily. If she hadn’t told him about the Ofor, perhaps these bumps on her skin, caused by the hungry proboscis of the mosquitoes, would not have sank into her blood pipe.

Ada yawned again and scratched this time, the bump under her neck. She was weak and tired of life. The rumble of her stomach reminded her that she was hungry as well. The only edible thing she’d had was the Agidi the Prince gave her three days ago. The prince!! Uh…It was coming out more naturally and easily. She was getting use to calling him by his title. Unlike those childhood days.

They never cared about title or formalities. He never cared if she was a slave and he a noble. She would call him Chika, not minding who was around and listening.

Ada stood up and stretched. Everything about her was so messed up. Three day ago, a woman she barely knows or spoke with, had announced to her that she, Ada, was about a hundred years old. And the fact that she was carved out from the womb of a dead woman, still scared her to the bone. How can one discern a naked truth from an abrupt lie?

I will make it to Dota, find the Ofor…the gods willing. I will return it to the people of Alaocha and disappear to the next village, where nobody would molest me. I will settle down and start life over. Away from this encumbrance of the royal family.

Ada dusted her body and traced her path in the dark morning. There were dews on the leaf and grasses, which bit her skin almost immediately with the teeth of goosebumps. The itching from the mosquitoes had long become the least of her problems.

The forest was giving up its darkness now, and Ada was glad when she finally broke into an open space. She paused for a while to scan the new environment, which was covered with cover crops and shrubs. It was like a cycle, fenced with tall trees and grasses. The floor underneath her bare feet was cold and muddy, almost as if the place used to be a swamp in raining season. Apart from the shape, all the colors on the leaf appeared the same. It was hard to make a distinction as the sun was still some distance away.

Ada plucked a small weed that was standing next to her and placed it in between her teeth, chewing and sucking it slowly. As if that was a sign, her stomach grumbled with discontentment at the grassy taste, but Ada tried to ignore. At least, the presence of the weed in her mouth would compensate the hunger, until she finds any wild fruit. She chooses to continue in her path, when something ahead made her froze.

If you say fear don’t stink, try staring death at the face.