The Wound from 11 Years Past (2)

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In a dark cell in the underground level of the Bureau of Interrogations, Emeravwe lay on a tattered straw mat. Her legs were drawn up and head tucked, facing the wall. When the guards and Eunuchs apprehended her and Mudiaga in the Department of Records of Xxene’s House of Nobles, they were brought to the Compound of the Ministry of Justice and met the Chief Eunuch of the Bureau of Interrogations. He charged them with trespassing, the unauthorized viewing of confidential records, violation of palace rules forbidding intimacy between Maidens and officers, and meeting after the curfew hour. They were then separated and locked in solitary cells to await judgement.

Emeravwe did not know how long she had been in the black, windowless chamber, but already she had grown used to the foul stench of human waste that assaulted her when she was first pushed in. The piercing hollowness of her stomach and dryness of her mouth, too, told her it had been more than a day. She had had neither food nor water, and none of the officials or officers of the Bureau of Interrogations returned to check on her.

It was just as well. She did not want to eat or drink.

When the guards led her to this dark dungeon, she saw from the light of their torch that the left wall, with its tattered mat, was cleanest. She had settled there and proceeded to cry till she was numb and the tears dried of their own volition. She was not sure why she cried, why the records in the Department of Records of Xxene’s House of Nobles had rattled her.

It has nothing to do with me, she thought.

There was no proof that the Emeravwe mentioned in the records of the Imodu Oghenegba clan was her. It was impossible.

The Imodu Oghenegba, she remembered from the Four Classics of Xxene, was the principal clan, alongside the ruling Onomavwe clan, which laid the foundations for uniting the Four Tribes and establishing the kingdom. There had even been contention regarding which of the two clans should rule the nation, the Oghenegba eventually yielding to the Onomavwe. Instead, the clan produced generation after generation of prime ministers and scholars, established a progressive school of thought that others followed, and supported the nation with its wealth and diplomacy.

Emeravwe could not imagine being part of such a clan. She, who had once been the lowest and most scorned of Maidens. She, who, hitherto, had still been struggling to find and understand who she was.

No, she decided, it was not her. But her heart twisted, and an all-too-familiar lump rose to lodge painfully in her throat. Who was she, then? What was the meaning of the visions she had seen? She remembered the words in the records: Due to an altercation at his residence, Onóturode Oghenegba’s wife and children were unable to make it to the execution grounds. His wife and son were executed at their home…

Emeravwe buried her face in her arms, curling herself tighter as the image of the woman with a hole through her back and lifeless body in her arms danced in her mind. The tears began to well again, though she thought she could cry no more.

If she was Emeravwe Imodu Oghenegba, then her family really was dead; both her paternal and maternal clans completely eradicated. All along, she had truly been alone. What would happen now if her identity was revealed?

I will be executed, she thought dreadfully.

She shivered at the thought. But as she wandered in the dark notion, a feeling of relief began to wash over her, for perhaps she would not have to live worrying about that. The singular charge of viewing confidential records without authorization could be enough for her to be suspected of espionage and executed. If she would be killed either way, then she preferred for it to be sooner rather than later to spare herself heartache. Her only regret was that she had dragged Mudiaga into this.

She wondered if she would be able to see Aslan before she died. She wanted to see him. To be held in his arms as she mourned her wretchedness. The dim light of hope she secretly nurtured since she was a child had died. That hope let her believe that though her roots were shrouded in darkness, she could still stand tall and bloom among others.

But those roots had long since rotted, and she had been doomed to wither.

She wept silently in the corner of her cell. When the heavy door finally swung open, she had come to terms with her fate. Perhaps, even, it was long overdue.

The officer who unlocked the door shined his torch into the cell, then commanded in a muffled but harsh voice, “Come out!”

Pushing to a sitting position on the mat, Emeravwe blinked to adjust her eyes to the orange glow. The dark-faced officer clad in the red uniform of officers of the Ministry of Justice stood back in the hallway, one hand holding the torch aloft, the other raised to cover his nose and mouth.

“Are your ears blocked?” He barked, “I said come out so I can get out of here! I will not allow you to kill me with this stench!”

Emeravwe struggled to her feet. She braced the wall with her hand when the movement made her head swim. Her stomach stuck to her back, and the sharp pain and hollow warmth reminded her of its emptiness. She grimaced as she trudged to the door. She was on her way to death, yet she was hungry. Human nature is too cruel, she thought. She did not know whether to laugh or cry.

In the hall, the officer ushered her in front of him, and they walked down the long corridor with cells on either side, the only light the one he held. They ascended a flight of stairs and emerged into another corridor lined with cells. There were torches on the walls here, so the darkness was not as penetrating. The officer placed the torch he held in an empty sconce, then led Emeravwe through a series of other hallways. They ascended another flight of steps and the halls became wider, containing offices and windows through which light permeated.

It seemed they were leaving the Bureau of Interrogations. Emeravwe wondered if there would be no questioning. Were they skipping to the execution? Her stomach clenched, nausea washing over her. Her feet were suddenly lead which dragged. She thought she had resigned herself…

She looked behind her. Where was Mudiaga? There was nothing she could do to express her remorse or beg forgiveness for what she had done to him, but she at least wanted to see him at the last, to tell him sorry.

They reached the entrance of the Bureau of Interrogations, and Emeravwe shielded her eyes from the numbing intensity of the sun as they passed between the tall oak doors. When she opened her eyes again to scan the premises, her vision blurred but revealed three silhouettes at the bottom of the bureau’s steps.

“Go on!” the officer ordered.