CHAPTER 14

Mbakwe searched the bag hanging on his shoulder—which was made from a goat hide—and pulled out his waterskin. He uncorked it with his mouth and tilted his head to gulp the content. His hoarse throat burned with taste as not a single liquid dropped from the waterskin. This was the third time he had done that, and each attempt smolders his esophagus. His salivary gland was in draught as well, every bid to swallow was like with forcing a heavy stone through the eye of a metal ring.

It’s been two days since his companions abandoned him. Two days, alone in this forest, in a quest that would change not only his life but the fate of the world. He could imagine the crown resting on his head, gold rings around his five fingers. With the Ofor in his right hand, he would be immortal. Beautiful maidens would be at his side and great chiefs as his subject. He could see himself on a battle chariot, as he leads battalions into war, to expand the territory of Alaocha. Anything that tries to stand on his way would become a story told to children at bed time.

Mbakwe returned the waterskin into his bag. All he needed to do was to make it to the home of Levi. If Ikedi had returned the Ofor to the ancient beast, then he would find a way to steal it. But if peradventure he ran into Ikedi…only the gods know what would happen to that brat that thinks he can fool his elders.

The sun was at its peak, showering the earth with beautiful yellow glow. Outside this forest would be an oven, but the trees provided enough shadow that sheltered the scorching heat. Save for his footfalls on the petals of dead leaves, the forest was uncomfortably quiet. The birds, insects and other crippling sounds maintained their distance this far north. Every living creature avoided this part of the world. It was said that the cries of Ekwensu could make a living things run mad.

Mbakwe was convinced. If the village storytellers were right, then the trees in this area would be dead as well, or perhaps running mad. If a tree can run mad. Sometimes he wonders how much of those stories are true. Where were those men when it happened? How accurate were their tales? Or are they just made up, to scare children who wouldn’t obey their parents? Howbeit, the silence of animals in this area seemed to testify the truth in the stories of the village raconteurs, but he wouldn’t forfeit his destiny because of some fairy tales.

His throat protested again when he tried to swallow and his stomach rumbled, as if telling him not to forget that he hadn’t eaten for the past two days. He had long run out of food, but he wasn’t worried. He can feast on wild fruits. His father had showed him many wild fruits on their hunting seasons. He just needs to pay close attention to finding something with enough juice in it. Something good enough, to compliment the lack of water. There are many wild fruits here. He wouldn’t settle for something that would add to his pants for water.

Mbakwe pulled his sword to clear the dense brush on his path. He traced his steps carefully so as to avoid getting injured by one of the thorns of the forest wall.

Sweeping the path with his sword, he paused and listened when he thought he had a sound. But for the noise in his chest, nothing seemed amiss. Everything still had that graveyard air lurking away and clothing the skin with a chilly air.

Mbakwe returned to his work again. This time more swiftly. After what seemed like forever, he paused and examined his handiwork. Satisfied, he collected his goatskin where he had dropped it, and continued his journey.

The environment changed when he broke out into a traveling path. He could tell from the broadness, that the path was used for a long journey. The sand on his bare foot was hot and dusty. It had not been used for maybe a decade.

Mbakwe let his eyes wander as he stared ahead. The path snaked into the distance and disappeared somewhere, but what really made him uncomfortable was the lack of shelter. If he traveled this path, destiny or no destiny, he would die before he gets to the home of Levi. He would continue his journey away from the road, at least his chances of survival were high, and he needed to find that fruit to quench his hunger.

The thundering sound came again, but this time, it didn’t stop. It was more vigorous than the first.

Mbakwe turned and behind him were two mighty zebras, storming towards his direction.

“Chim o! (My god)!” Mbakwe exclaimed and jumped out of the way to avoid being trampled upon.

The zebras stormed pass, leaving heavy dust on their trail. Mbakwe coughed himself to his feet, an agony to his thirsty throat.

“Okwa imeruro ahu (hope you are not injured)?” Came a concerned voice.

Mbakwe lifted his head; it took a great deal of effort to see through the dust that swerved in the hot air. A man was running towards his direction, unarmed. The leopard vest he wore suggested that he certainly was wealthy and not a cannibal or a bandit.

“Mba (No)” Mbakwe said, trying with all he had to keep his voice neural. The man was stupid to ask him such question. What if those animals had trampled on him?

“I sincerely apologize. I didn’t know anyone would be traveling this road.”

“It’s okay.” Mbakwe mumbled and dusted his body.

“My name is Nnamdi, son of Amadi, of the house of Nnadi, from the land of Dota.” The man introduced.

Mbakwe let his eyes weigh the slim figure. He had bright morning eyes and His hair was shaved to the skin. Clean shaves like this was considered an abomination in Alaocha.

“Mbakwe, from the land of Osisi Oma” Was all he said. He wouldn’t reveal his true identity to this stranger who nearly killed him.

“Mbakwe, I apologies again, you know these animals could be sturdy sometimes. Osisi Oma is far from here, what brought you to the land of Dota?”

Dota? Mbakwe awed. If he was in Dota that means his journey was promising. It was a sign that he is on the right path.

“I came to complete my training,” Mbakwe lied.

“I can see the warrior spirit. You must be tired from your journey. Do you mind hopping into my cart, let me give you a lift?”

Oh, just what I wanted. Maybe I will kill you afterwards and steal your cart.

“Okay,” Mbakwe agreed and followed him. What Nnamdi called a cart turned out to be a chariot. Gold streams lined the door frame, and the tires were made from thick woods. Perfect.

“Nice ride,”

“Yeah, my father gave it to me when I was 15.” Nnamdi climbed into the chariot and gestured Mbakwe to do the same. Mbakwe smiled as the sweet fragrance of the chariot hit him. Who said the gods don’t provide?