Copyright:

This work belongs to the author and the author alone retains permission to share this work. Please do not share any of this material without receiving written permission from the author.

About this work:

Welcome (back) to the world of the Marked. This story is a standalone Marked novel which is not part of Marked series which means you do not need to have read any other Marked book to understand this.

I would like to state upfront that the main character in this fictional story is a bisexual man which means he is attracted to both men and women. If works of this nature bother you, please do not read this story.

Thank you and to those who venture forward, I hope you are entertained 😊

Prologue

Agbe stood at the edge of the clearing, adjusting his necktie with trembling hands. It was the navy-blue necktie that his mother gave him for Christmas the year before. He wore it over a pristine white dress shirt, accompanied by a silver-grey suit ironed with the front crease that graced his mother’s clients’ trousers. The ensemble was his ‘oga’s undies’. That was what his mother called her finest set of lingerie, the ones she wore only for her richest clients. The noon sun hung overhead, beaming its sweltering heat down on him. He glared up at it, wishing with all the force of his eight-year-old will, that he could tamp its heat. He couldn’t control the sun, but he would control his sweat glands. He would not sweat, he refused to meet his mother with sweat stains on his oga’s undies.

His real mother that is. Not the LovePeddler who’d found him abandoned in the Varmints’ forest, picked him up, taken him back to her brothel and raised him as her own. She was his mother, and he loved her unconditionally, but she wasn’t his real mother.

His real mother was a member of the ancestry, a Benin Community noble. He gazed in awe at her. She was beautiful. Her beauty was different from his mother’s round face, common honey-brown skin, prettiness. There was something ethereal about his real mother’s beauty, an artifact in the dark skin, that stood out and demanded attention. Her face was oval, sloped down perfectly to the sharp chin which jutted out in that moment as she tilted her head backwards and smiled up at the man standing behind her. He seemed to stand a little taller at the attention. Agbe glowered at him. His real mother smiled then, exposing teeth so white they had to be polished with sap. She leaned back, resting on arms which arched her lean body up. She wore leather. In the Community, leather clothes were the exclusive right of the members of the ancestry.

His hands were getting clammy. He lifted them up and stared with a pained expression of betrayal at the dampness in his palms. He stuffed them into his pockets then, wiping their treachery off on the inner lining. “How do I look?” he asked, without taking his devouring gaze off his real mother’s face. He decided then that she was too graceful to just be a member of the ancestry. She deserved to be in the Enikaro, a royal heir of the family that ruled.

“You look beautiful,” his mother said. He knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice, and to know that she always thought he looked beautiful. But would his real mother think he looked beautiful too?

He closed his eyes, and for a minute, he let himself indulge in his favorite daydream. It was the one where he finally revealed himself to his real mother and she burst into tears and threw her arms around him, telling him that abandoning him was the biggest mistake she’d ever made. She would then vehemently swear to never again let him out of her sight. Then she would, while hugging him so tightly he struggled to breathe, lead him through the Tunnel of the Twins, into the ancestral grounds, were there would be a big party to celebrate his return.

He sighed wistfully and reluctantly opened his eyes, sending the dream back to the dregs of his consciousness. Then he turned to face his mother. “Do you think she’ll like me?”

Her eyes shone. She cupped his face in her palms and placed a kiss on his forehead. “What woman could look at you and not love you?”

It was not exactly an answer to his question, but the butterflies in his belly kept him from probing deeper. He turned away from his mother, casting a pining look back at his real mother. His skin was the same shade as hers, his face the same shape. And while her hair was braided back in cornrows, he knew that if she let it out, it would be just as curly as his. She was his real mother, and he loved her. She had to love him back.

Buoyed by his mother’s words and his own sense of hopeless optimism, he surged forward, leaping off the tip of his toes, to run into the clearing. He tried to slow down, to walk as gracefully as the child of a member of the ancestry would be expected to, but he was filled with too much nervous excitement to saunter.

He ran past the boundary of udara trees with their wispy branches sticking out to block his passage. They swatted their annoyance at him when he carelessly rushed by them. He kept going, hoping to outrun the fizzle of nerves bubbling up in his stomach. He burst into the clearing, now only a few feet away from where his real mother lay. Now that he was so close, he couldn’t stop himself.

He ran faster. He ran so fast that the pointed edges of the shoes his mother had polished to a gleam the night before, dug into the earth, beneath the carpet of grass, and loosened the clumps of dirt that lay beneath. He kicked that dirt up in his haste, and the granules clung to his shoes, to the new white socks he’d worn just for this occasion, and to the fringes of his grey trousers, staining his oga’s undies.

But, in his haste to get to his real mother and bask in her smiles, Agbe was ignorant of the mess his careless run made of his painstakingly prepared oga’s undies. All he could think about was his real mother, and how wonderful it would feel when she turned that smile, the one she so generously bestowed on the man standing behind her, on him. He knew that his chest would swell with pride, and love, and he would finally be complete.

He would no longer have to feel the shame of being the unmarked son of a LovePeddler. He would no longer be picked on, or bullied, because he lived at a brothel. He would be respected. His previously ignominious life would turn into one of glory, one of nobility. His oga’s undies would be garments of rich leather, as he would finally be acclaimed in his rightful place as a member of the ancestry.

And so he ran with all his might towards his future, hoping desperately to forsake the pain and shame of a past where he’d been abandoned by his real parents and claimed by a LovePeddler.

He stopped when he got there. Standing so close, he could examine every member of the small group lounging in the clearing. There was his real mother of course, who stood out in her unique and flawless beauty. There was the man who stood behind her, the one she smiled at. Agbe couldn’t help but dislike him. Why did he get his real mother’s smiles? The man wore leather, like his real mother, a sign that he was another member of the ancestry. He carried an odd looking glass cane in his hand, one that he obviously didn’t need, because he didn’t lean on it. There were other women, Agbe noted them quickly, and then dismissed them just as quickly. The other men too. His attention had already returned to his real mother.

The man with the cane noticed him first. Agbe frowned, he wanted his real mother to have seen him first, but then the man gestured towards him, and time seemed to crawl. Every second drew out slowly as his real mother turned her focus towards him. The skin of her neck which had been drawn taut when she dipped her head backwards to look at the man with the cane, slackened. Her chin lowered, inch by painfully slow inch, until finally, she was staring at him.

He couldn’t breathe. For those moments while his real mother gazed on him for the first time, everything froze. And then he drew breath in and his heart hammered. He shook, a little at first, and then his shivers became uncontrollable. He forced his hands behind his back and held them tight trying desperately to control his body’s reactions.

And then she smiled, and his breath caught in his throat. His heart filled with warmth. Her smile was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. Suddenly, his shaking stopped, leaving him completely relaxed, at ease, under the querying gaze she turned on him.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was beautiful, it was soft, like his mother’s, but his real mother’s voice was also cultured, and rich with authority. As beautiful as her voice was though, Agbe couldn’t help the sudden sadness that fell on him, seeping away the warmth her smile had induced. In his dreams, she’d always recognized him. How could she not when he looked so much like her? But there was no glimmer of recognition in her eyes. Now, with the initial awe of her smile fading, he could see that the smile she gave him was nothing as deep and personal as the one she’d given to the man with the cane. She looked at him as if he was a stranger.

“I’m your son,” he said, his young voice hard with accusation. He’d suffused those three words with all the questions he’d wanted to ask her. How could you leave me for dead? Why did you never look for me? Why didn’t you love me? But then she stopped smiling and he wished that he could have been more tactful, perhaps spent some time leading up to that revelation, or spoken more entreatingly, done or said anything to make her happy that he’d returned to her. He wanted that smile back, even if it was just the smile of a stranger, he wanted it.

She sat up.

His heart pounded watching her. He bit nervously into his lip, to keep himself from saying another wrong thing.

Her pupils climbed up to the top of her eyeballs, and then crept down, to the bottom. She repeated this a few times, eyeing him slowly, amidst the silent tension that had followed his spontaneous declaration. Then that silence was broken, and her jaw clenched.

“Her son?” A feminine voice called out from behind him. “Did he say her son?”

Then the snickers started. It began with a solitary guffaw, a lone jarring sound, punctuating the painful silence. That sound was quickly picked up, and then echoed, one titter prompting another, until the entire group was laughing, everyone but his real mother, whose jaw only seemed to clench harder. She was angry, Agbe realized, and he blamed her friends for it. What kind of friends were they to laugh at her? He turned around, frantically casting his glaring disapproval at all of them in his real mother’s defense. And then he saw the direction of their gazes, at their pointing fingers, and realized that they weren’t laughing at his real mother, but at him.

He turned his gaze on himself then.

Agbe’s eyes widened in alarm and his mouth gaped open. He looked a mess! He’d stained his oga’s undies. He wanted to slap himself in the head, a big slap right at the center of his forehead to punish his stupidity. Tears filled his eyes. He’d wanted to look his best, he’d wanted to meet his real mother as the very best version of himself. His shoulders drooped in failure. He told himself that he would not cry, that he would not let the tears that banked in his eyes pour out. But when his real mother’s irate gaze filled with disgust, he couldn’t keep the tears from spilling. He swiped the back of his clenched fist quickly over his eyes to hide the trace of his weakness.

His real mother’s disgusted gaze turned away from him. “Are you responsible for this?” she asked.

Agbe started shaking his head. He didn’t know what to say, how to explain that he’d come here dressed better. That he hadn’t wanted to embarrass her in front of her friends. He wanted to swear that he would be better, that he could be better, he just needed a second chance. Please! He yelled, but he couldn’t breathe the cry out through the lump that had formed in his throat. Another tear dropped. He swiped that away hurriedly, hoping desperately that no one had seen.

“Good afternoon ma,” another soft voice spoke behind him. Agbe turned in time to see his mother curtsy in greeting to his real mother. “He is my son, ma,” his mother said, “please forgive him, he is a child, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Mum!” Agbe gasped, stunned out of silence by his mother’s false words. “Why are you lying?”

“Shh,” she scolded. She reached out to him and wrapped her fingers around his arm. His mother tried to pull him back, but he fought her hold and wrenched his arm away from her grasp.

Agbe lunged forward. “I’m your son!” He yelled at his real mother, unable to stop himself. He felt betrayed. Betrayed by his mother, who was now trying to keep him away from his real mother, and betrayed by his real mother who refused to acknowledge him. “You had me eight years ago,” he said, rushing to get the words out, “and you left me in the Varmints’ forest.”

The people around them gasped. The ladies’ eyes widened, and they quickly covered their gaping mouths with their hands. The men looked uncomfortable, they glanced around and then stared at the ground, off to the side, and then finally at each other. Agbe tried to understand why some of the people smiled the way they did. Not kindly, or welcoming, but maliciously, with eyes gleaming with wicked intent. No one was reacting the way he’d expected them to.

Then his real mother stood up and he was sure that this entire nightmare was over. She would walk over to him and embrace him and beg him for his forgiveness. Then things would happen as he’d dreamt, he’d be welcomed into his noble birthright, the ancestral grounds.

His real mother stomped past him and stopped in front of his mother.

It happened in a flash. One second, both women stood there, his mother and his real mother, standing face to face. Then the next moment, his real mother’s hand stretched out and she slapped his mother hard across the face.

“Who put you up to this lie?” His real mother yelled. “Tell me or I will destroy you!”

His mother dropped to her knees in front of his real mother. “He got it in his head, ma, please, he’s just a child, he made a mistake.” His mother turned to him. Kneeling, she was almost at eye level with him. “Kneel down and apologize, Agbe, tell her it was a mistake.”

Agbe just stood there, unable to move, struggling to process everything that was happening in front of him. He didn’t understand why his real mother wouldn’t acknowledge him, or why his mother was asking him to lie. They both knew it was the truth, his real mother had been seen leaving him in the forest. But now his mother wanted him to lie? She’d taught him to always tell the truth. Then his real mother slapped his mother again, but Agbe still stood rooted to the same spot, watching, and trying to understand.

“Agbe please,” his mother cried, after his real mother slapped her again, and again, time after time, while everyone else sat back and watched. His real mother’s hand struck his mother’s face and his mother did nothing. She didn’t fight back, she just knelt there and took it. The only sounds she made were pleas for him to recant.

His real mother’s hand reared back again and this time the sound of her palm striking his mother’s cheek, broke through to his shock-induced paralysis, and echoed through his head. He stared around at the people watching. Most were members of the ancestry, and their looks ranged between boredom, disgust, and entertainment. No one spoke up for his mother, no one did or said anything. Agbe’s heart broke.

He lurched forward, fueled by years of bottled-up rage and resentment, and butted his head into his real mother’s stomach, knocking her to the ground. “Leave my mother alone!” he yelled, “ancestry bitch! She is ten times the woman you will ever be!”

“I’m sorry mum,” he wrapped his arms around his mother, “I’m so sorry!” he cried, wondering why he’d ever wanted more, why he’d ever thought he deserved more. She should have been enough, he knew that he should never have gone looking for answers.

“Agbe!” His mother yelled.

He turned around, and saw the man with the cane standing behind him, his cane lifted up in the air, poised to strike. The man flicked his wrist and the hard glass cane turned into a whip. He was a wielder, Agbe belatedly realized, an elite ancestry warrior. The whip came down hard on his back.

The pain of the whip was so unexpected that Agbe wet himself. He buried his head in the crook of his mother’s neck and wrapped his arms tight around her, pushing himself flush against her to hide the pee stains on his trousers.

“Apologize, you insolent brat,” a deep male voice growled behind him.

“Please!” His mother begged. Her voice trembled. She sniffed, and he knew that she was crying. She hadn’t shed a tear when the ancestry bitch slapped her, but she cried for him. She was his real mother, not the coldhearted ancestry bitch who’d left him in the forest to die, but the LovePeddler who’d saved him. He couldn’t forgive himself for ever thinking otherwise. “Please sir! Please ma!” His mother continued begging. “He’s only a child, please, he’s only a child.” His mother reached out, trying to grab the whip from the wielder.

“Hold her,” the wielder ordered.

Hands held his mother down, carelessly pining her to the ground as she continued begging, “he’s only a child!”

“Then you should have taught him manners,” the ancestry bitch screeched. Agbe marveled that he’d ever thought her shrill voice was beautiful. “Tell your devil spawn to apologize.”

“Oya, Agberukeke, apologize now, abeg,” his mother whispered into his ear.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the ancestry bitch anything she wanted to hear. Not after she’d slapped his mother. No, he refused. The whip fell again, drawing a trail of fire on his back.

“Harder!” The ancestry bitch ordered. “Harder, until he apologizes.”

The whip fell again, and again, by the fifth time he could feel the whip against his back, signs that it had ripped through the silver-grey suit, and pristine white shirt, of his oga’s undies. His mother’s cries filled his mind, like a blanket over his thoughts. It was all he heard, it drowned out the laughing, teasing, voices of the nobles who watched. She begged them for mercy, begged them to stop, begged him to apologize. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

By the tenth strike of the whip, he was on his knees, crying. His mother’s shirt, wet with his tears and sweat, clung to his face. Still, he refused to give the ancestry bitch the satisfaction of an apology. He wouldn’t apologize, he wouldn’t recant, and his refusal would tell everyone the truth, that she really had given birth to him. He hoped that the entire world heard and that she was ruined. He hated her so much. He hated her more than he hated the boys who beat him in school. More than he hated the boys who insulted his mother and said they would be her clients one day. He hated the ancestry bitch more than he’d ever hated anyone, ever.

“It’s never wise to flay a Marked child,” a bored voice drawled, “you can’t predict how his mark will respond.”

“Ehn ehn, I can smell him, Uwa’s son isn’t Marked.”

“Oh. Well then, that would explain why she abandoned him.” The dry comment led to a ripple of laughter.

“Stop calling him my son!” The ancestry bitch shrieked.

But they kept calling him her son, and in that, Agbe found his revenge. He thrilled in it, even as the whip continued to fall, as he was lost to all feeling save the pain, as he wept, shamelessly. His mother’s shirt wet with his tears. His trousers, and his mother’s skirt, wet with his pee. But at least he’d made them laugh at the ancestry bitch.

As the strikes continued to fall, he found himself growing lightheaded.

“You’ll kill him,” he heard his mother cry, her futile struggles to pull free of the arms that held her down, rocking his body. “Please, he’s just a child, you’ll kill him.”

But they didn’t stop. Agbe wondered if his mother was right. All he could feel was the pain, his back burnt as if it had been set on fire, but as the dizziness grew, the pain faded. Was he really dying?

“Whip his mother instead,” he heard the ancestry bitch say. “She’s the one who raised him to lie and disrespect the ancestry. She’s the one who should be punished.” His ears had to strain to pick up her voice, but he jolted as soon as he heard the words.

“Yes!” his mother agreed. “Yes ma, it’s my fault, punish me instead. Please, just leave my son alone.”

The whip stopped falling on his back.

“No,” Agbe tore himself away from his mother. The sudden movement, stretched at his raw back, and he screamed. “I’m sorry,” he yelled, hating the ancestry bitch, and her ancestry wielder. “I’m sorry.” He gave in. He couldn’t let his mother suffer any more for him.

“Tell them the truth,” the ancestry bitch said. She spoke calmly, assured of her impending victory.

He wanted to say that he’d already told the truth, but he knew that his mother would pay for it if he did. Still, he couldn’t just concede victory to her. Not after all that the ancestry bitch had done. “I don’t even want to be your son!” He yelled. “You are evil, and I pity any child you claim as your own!”

“Whip him!”

The whip fell on his back again. It was worse this time, worse than the first time. The whip fell vertically, over the welts that had already formed.

“Whip me instead,” his mother begged.

“Don’t worry, when we’re done with him, you’ll get yours,” the ancestry bitch replied.

The whip continued to fall and he wanted more than anything for the pain to go away. Agbe cried, and screamed, writhing underneath the blows of the wielder’s whip, but he couldn’t bring himself to beg the ancestry bitch to stop. He knew he would have to, that eventually, when she turned her sights on his mother again, he would have to tell her what she wanted to hear, but till then, he couldn’t give in, not to save his own skin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he accepted the whipping as his penance, believing that he’d earned it.

His mother had chosen him. She’d found a baby abandoned in the Varmints’ Forest, and picked him up, before any shifters or werejackals happened upon him. She’d taken him home, raised him, and loved him more than any birth mother ever could. She’d given everything for him, and what had he given her in return? Shame. He’d been ashamed of her. Ashamed that a LovePeddler was his mother, ashamed that his home was a brothel. Never again. He swore it, a blood oath, sealed by the blood the wielder spilled.

“Stop!” A deep voice ordered. There was power in that booming voice, and confidence. It was as if the owner knew, without a shadow of doubt, that his order would be obeyed.

To Agbe’s surprise, it was. The whip stopped falling.

His mother sagged in relief.

Agbe turned his head slowly, moving carefully to avoid a repeat of the searing pain which had accompanied his last rushed movement.

“Why did you stop?” the ancestry bitch screeched.

“He’s my elder brother,” the wielder replied, “I cannot disobey him.”

Agbe watched the man’s approach. He marched forward, an ancestry soldier in leather. In all the eight years that Agbe had been alive, he’d never seen anyone who looked like him. His skin was a dark brown, almost as dark as Agbe’s, and he was tall, so tall Agbe had to crane his head far back to see all of him. His arms and thighs appeared as thick as tree stems to Agbe’s wide eyes. But it wasn’t his huge size that made him so unique, it was the silver tattoos that covered his face, neck and hands. The tattoos seemed to crawl over every inch of exposed skin on the man’s body. Agbe had never seen anything like it.

The man stopped beside Agbe, widened his legs, and crossed his arms behind his back. Agbe could see the curled whip hanging from the strap in his uniform. It was silver, and translucent, rigid like a glass cane, but coiled into the form of a whip. It was the traditional wielder’s uniform.

“What is the meaning of this Omon?” the man demanded.

The other wielder looked nervous. He swallowed and glanced at the ancestry bitch, before turning his attention to the new wielder. His gaze dropped to the ground like an embarrassed schoolboy who’d been called to the principal’s office. “He was rude to Uwa, brother.”

“So you whip him like this?” The new wielder sounded incredulous. “Have you no honor, Omon, no sense of right and wrong? He’s a child!”

The ancestry bitch’s wielder mumbled to himself.

“Leave him alone Ehimen, who are you to question my orders?” the ancestry bitch’s voice was cold and curt. She was confident too, assured in her superiority. Agbe knew then that she would win out. The whipping would resume, and he would have to recant to spare his mother a whipping to rival his.

“Who are you to question me?” The new wielder growled.

“I am soon to be married into the Enikaro, to the God-born’s son. Do not cross me Ehimen, or I will make you regret the day you were born.” Agbe shuddered at the ancestry bitch’s words. To think before he met her, while he hid behind the trees watching, he’d thought she deserved to be in the Enikaro, now he knew better. She was poison, a bully, but his experiences had taught him that bullies always got what they wanted, and she wanted to marry the God-born’s son. That the ancestry bitch would be married into the highest echelons of the ruling family, confirmed Agbe’s belief that his world was a cruelly unfair place. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and waited for the next lash to fall.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” the new wielder mocked. Something in his tone released a fizzle of cautious optimism in Agbe’s belly, which he immediately shoved back down. “You’ve been with Omonoba Omoruyi for over a decade, Uwa,” the new wielder continued, “if he wanted to marry you, he would have done so already. You will never be anything more than you are, you coldhearted bitch. If I were you, I’d be careful how you speak to me. Edo women eager to marry into the Enikaro are a dime a dozen. Most much better candidates than you will ever be. I, on the other hand, am scion to one of the God-born’s premier wielder hordes. Much harder to replace, wouldn’t you say? And unlike you, the God-born and her family actually listen to what I have to say. It would be a shame if I decided to tell the God-born what a terrible influence you are on her son.”

Agbe knew that the ancestry bitch wouldn’t take that lying down. His heart pounded like a jackhammer while he waited for the ancestry bitch to get the final say. She stared vitriol at the new wielder, her jaw and fists clenched. Her lips pulled apart and Agbe steeled himself for the whipping to continue.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Agbe’s mouth dropped open. “I lost my temper,” she was actually trying to sound sweet. If Agbe didn’t know any better, he would have believed her performance. “I lost my temper, Ehimen, the boy insulted me, and it triggered some painful memories.”

“Don’t believe her!” Agbe yelled at the powerful wielder, the one who’d managed, against all odds, to shut the ancestry bitch up. “She’s lying! She’s like you said, a coldhearted bi…” A soft, familiar, palm covered his mouth before he could finish. It was his mother’s hand. He gritted his teeth and shut his mouth.

The new wielder stared down at him, and for the second time that afternoon, Agbe’s breath caught in his throat, and he found himself foolishly searching for an ancestry member’s approval. Unlike the ancestry bitch, this one didn’t disappoint him. The new wielder winked at him. He didn’t smile, but that wink meant more than a smile ever could. Agbe’s chest puffed. The gesture pulled at his back, but while the wielder looked at him, he refused to cry out in pain. He bit down on his tongue instead.

Ehimen. The new wielder’s name was Ehimen. He would remember it.

Ehimen’s gaze lifted. “Go back home, Omon,” he ordered the other wielder, “and make sure you tell mother what you did here today. All of it.”

“Yes brother,” the other wielder scurried away, chastened. Agbe didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

Ehimen looked over the rest of the group. “You all disgust me,” he said. No one spoke back to him, they all looked away, shamefaced. “Release her.” The hands holding Agbe’s mother down, quickly fell away. She wrapped her arms gingerly around his neck, and whispered endearments into his ear, trying to console him, but Agbe’s attention had fixed on Ehimen. Ehimen’s presence seemed to dwarf everything else, even the biting pain from the whip.

Agbe didn’t know anything about Ehimen, but he swore that he would learn more about the wielder who’d saved him from the ancestry bitch.

Ehimen bent towards Agbe. “Can you climb onto my back?” he asked him. Tears pooled in Agbe’s eyes. He couldn’t believe that Ehimen hadn’t just walked away.

“I peed on myself,” he confessed in a whisper, embarrassed, but too grateful to Ehimen to risk annoying him by staining his fine leather uniform with pee-stained clothes.

“I can tell. I want you to climb on anyway. Is that okay with you?”

Agbe blinked and the tears of relief fell. “Yes sir,” he said. “Thank you.”

Ehimen smiled at him. It was a smile that didn’t last very long, but Agbe vowed to hold it in his memory forever. Ehimen was his hero.

Ehimen turned around and bent to a squat, and Agbe climbed onto his back, winding his arms and legs tightly around Ehimen.

“You have to let me breathe, young Oba,” Ehimen chuckled.

“Sorry sir.” Agbe loosened his hold on Ehimen’s neck, pondering on the nickname he’d chosen for him. Young Oba, young king. He didn’t understand why Ehimen had called him that.

“Just call me Ehimen,” he said to Agbe, as he took a step forward, walking away from the ancestry bitch and the clearing where all of Agbe’s dreams about a future with his birth mother had been shattered.

“Okay Ehimen.”

His mother stood slowly, as if unsure. Agbe shared her confusion, because he also didn’t know why Ehimen was helping them. But Agbe knew that he would always be grateful to him for it.

They walked away. His mother glanced around as they left the clearing, her shoulders tense and her back ramrod straight, as if she expected them to be stopped. Agbe wasn’t worried though, he knew that no one would bother them, not when they were with Ehimen.

She exhaled when they finally left the clearing, away from eyeshot of the ancestry bitch and her horrible friends.

“Thank you, sir,” his mother curtsied to Ehimen, “thank you so much.”

Ehimen turned to face his mother, and Agbe watched as they looked at each other for the first time. “Please don’t call me sir,” Ehimen said, “Ehimen is fine.” His mother smiled and looked away. Agbe knew that look on her face, it was the look she had when he watched her flirting with her clients. But this time it was real, not an act she put on for her clients’ benefit. Agbe’s heart swelled with joy. He smiled so wide that every tooth, and gaping hole, in his mouth showed.

“Okay,” his mother said, “thank you, Ehimen.”

Ehimen kept looking at her for much longer than was necessary, but as far as Agbe was concerned, it was the perfect length of time. Then Ehimen cleared his throat and looked away. “I wasn’t bragging before, I really do have the God-born’s ear, I will make sure Uwa pays for what she did to the both of you.”

His mother grabbed onto Ehimen’s arm. “Don’t,” she begged.

“Mum, she should pay!” Agbe yelled.

“Shh, shh, Agbe, shh.” She turned to Ehimen and shook her head. “I don’t want any trouble with a member of the ancestry.”

Ehimen didn’t say anything. They walked in silence for a long time, with his mother still unconsciously clinging to Ehimen’s arm.

“Where am I taking you?” He asked.

Agbe wanted to tell him to drop them off there, they could walk back home. He didn’t want Ehimen to know what his mother’s profession was, not because he was ashamed, but because he didn’t want the little sparks he’d seen flying between them to burn out. But his mother was honest to a fault, normally, when she wasn’t lying to appease an ancestry bitch. “We live at Madam Celia’s.”

Ehimen nodded automatically. He kept walking and then he stopped, and turned to face her. “The brothel?”

His mother pulled her hand away from Ehimen’s arm and wrapped her arms around herself. She nodded. “I work there Ehimen.”

“Oh,” Ehimen said, “I see.” Then he continued walking.

Chapter One

“I hear the God-born is gearing for war against InCoSeM,” Chika carelessly remarked. She was fixated on the pedicure she’d finagled Larry into agreeing to. She applied a generous dollop of blue nail polish on his little toenail, oblivious to his growing unease. Larry lifted his head, took one look at the toenail and flopped back onto the bed, slapping his palm over his eyes. Chika smacked him on his feet to get him to stop moving.

“As long as they’re not fighting it in this house, what do I care?” Prisca hissed.

Chika chuckled. “You’re not serious oh, Pri, it will affect us now. Either InCoSeM wins or the ancestry does. If InCoSeM wins, the Community as we know it will cease to exist.”

“And so? Because the Community as it is now has done so much for me?” She hissed again. Prisca was a champion at really drawing out the sound, she could suck air through her teeth like no one else, even adding a rhythm to the hiss whenever she felt the occasion demanded. “Abeg let’s talk about the things that actually matter, joh.”

Agbe’s apathetic gaze, passed cursorily over them. He didn’t like talking politics, because politics talk inevitably meandered to gossip about the Benin Community nobility, the ancestry, and he loathed the ancestry. Well, not all of the ancestry, not Ehimen, but everyone else. He couldn’t help it, even now, years after the dreaded first confrontation with the ancestry bitch, he still froze up whenever the ancestry was brought up in conversation around him. There were times when he woke up sweating, chased from sleep by the nightmare of a wielder whipping him to death in front of his mother. He turned his attention away from them, to the mirror, and the mascara he’d been applying.

His left eye was all done, but his right eyelashes could still use some work. He focused on those, noting the strands of hair in his eyebrow that had outgrown the line he tried to maintain. He’d have to pluck those off. Agbe carefully applied the mascara. He leaned back and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Next time he’d go darker with the lipstick, lighter colors had to be done just right not to clash against his dark skin.

He’d had his hair plaited into cornrows yesterday. He hadn’t wanted that, but Madam Celia had insisted, and in this house, everyone did what Madam Celia insisted on, if they wanted to remain in the house, that is. Now he looked like the ancestry bitch. He hated it, how much he resembled her, but with his hair braided like the ancestry bitch’s the resemblance was eerie.

“You should add some blush, Agbe,” Prisca said. She picked herself up from his mother’s bed and sauntered over to him. Even when she wasn’t doing it consciously, she had a way of moving that turned everyone’s attention to her wide hips. When she reached him, she rifled through his mother’s makeup and pulled out glitter-grey eyeshadow. “Will Madam Celia sponsor your education in the erotic arts?” she asked as she applied it.

Agbe brought out the blush he’d spent two months’ salary on. It was the perfect shade for his skin. “She will, if I get patrons interested in me in the showing tonight.” He dabbed the brush on the blush palette then applied it lightly to his cheeks.

“As if there’s any doubt with a face like that. I’d kill for those lashes and those plump lips.” Chika remarked.

“I’d kill for your ass,” Agbe responded. He blew a kiss to her then turned his attention back to the mirror. He stared at himself critically. He knew he was good-looking. Handsome when he was trying to attract women, but he could also be pretty when he was catering to men who preferred that look, as he planned to tonight. “The problem isn’t if I can raise interest, but if I can talk my mother into allowing me to appear in the showing.”

“You’re such a mama’s boy,” Larry teased.

“You’re sixteen, go get emancipated,” Chika chimed in.

“Don’t listen to them,” Prisca bumped his shoulder with her hips, “they’re just jealous. I wish I had a mother like yours.”

He winked at Prisca through the mirror. He loved his mother, and he wanted to be just like her, but she wouldn’t let him. She didn’t want him following in her footsteps and becoming a LovePeddler. But he liked it, he couldn’t imagine a better way to make a living. The moment he’d turned twelve, he’d lost his virginity. Twice. First with Prisca, they’d been each other’s firsts, then with Larry. He loved everything about sex, all the forms that it took, all the ways that pleasure could be achieved. He’d tried as much as he could with the people in the room, and he’d loved it all. It felt as if it was his calling. It wasn’t as if he was Marked, with powers that he could trade on. His only powers were his looks and his love of all things sexual.

“I’m counting on you guys to help me convince her, especially you Pri, mum loves you.”

She smiled at him, “of course she does, and of course I will.”

Agbe was desperate to secure Madam Celia’s funding. He’d been at the brothel the longest, he should have been the first to file for his escort’s license, but he couldn’t without funding. So, Prisca had beaten him to it, Prisca who’d only come to the brothel when she was ten, after her father had tried selling her to Madam Celia to settle his debts. This was the Community, so you couldn’t actually sell children, but her father was too drunk to listen. Rather than see her father arrested, Prisca had begged to stay and work for Madam Celia to settle his debts. Then she’d liked it so much she’d decided to stay permanently. Larry’d shown up two years later, trying to steal from the clients leaving Madam Celia’s. The police found him. Because he was younger than the legal age to prosecute, he got the option of working off his debts to Madam Celia or being sent to the Youth Reform Camp run by his class of marked, the Sages. He’d chosen the former. Chika was the newest. She’d come only a year ago, already bearing her escort’s license which gave her the legal right to learn the trade. Now, Agbe was about to go into his final year in secondary school, staring down the barrel of a forced University education, if he could not file a license to learn a trade instead.

“You, of all people, must be worried about InCoSeM ruling the Community, Agbe,” Chika said, returning to the topic she’d started, despite Prisca’s groaning.

“Why’s that?” Agbe asked distractedly. His focus was on studying his face. He was certain he looked perfect; he’d want to do him if he wasn’t himself. But how to get his mum to agree. If she had her way, he’d have no license to file, and he’d have to go to university, and study something like Engineering or Medicine, which just thinking about it made him cringe. It wasn’t like he could study anything mark-related. Bleep, he really hated being Unmarked.

“Don’t you know?” Larry asked, which predictably got Agbe rolling his eyes, because obviously, if he’d known, he wouldn’t have asked. Larry continued, “in all the Communities where InCoSeM rule, they separate out the Marked, from the Unmarked born in the Community.”

Agbe’s heart lurched. His mouth grew dry, and he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to cry. It was as if the sturdy ground he’d spent his entire life assured of was crumbling beneath him. His mother was Marked. So were all his friends. Everyone he knew was Marked. If he was separated from them, he’d be all alone. “You can’t be serious. I mean, they can’t do that to me!” He turned to Chika now, completely absorbed by the conversation he’d tried so hard to ignore before.

Chika lifted her gaze from the nail painting and turned to him. When she faced him, her tongue was still sticking out the corner of her mouth, as it did whenever she was concentrating hard on something. “Don’t worry Agbe, InCoSeM won’t win, they can’t beat the ancestry.”

“Yes Agbe,” Prisca concurred, “we have the Enikaro, remember, no army can take them on.”

Larry nodded so vigorously that his feet moved, but Chika’s focus was on comforting Agbe, so she didn’t notice the jerking toenail her paintbrush rested against.

“Don’t worry,” Prisca added, rubbing her palm comfortingly over his shoulder, “you’ll go to the showing tonight, outshine all of us, get Madam Celia’s support and then your escort’s license. And if there’s a war, the ancestry will kick some serious InCoSeM butt.”

“I know!” Chika screamed, her face lighting up, “we’ll all go to the temple tomorrow and make offerings to Duraya for the ancestry to win. That should secure it.”

Prisca and Larry both nodded. “Yes, we’ll do that,” Prisca said and Larry added, “you’ll like that won’t you Agbe?”

He didn’t know how to respond. His heart was sinking, and whatever it was in his chest that usually held it up appeared to have vanished. Agbe was not really the religious type. He knew Duraya existed, but he didn’t think she cared a damn about him, so obviously praying wasn’t going to help him. “You know guys,” he said, sagging into the chair, “after meeting the ancestry bitch, I really thought that my days of rooting for the ancestry were well behind me. Now, all I can do is sit back and hope they don’t screw me over. Again.”

Larry sat up, “yeah, I know how you feel Agbe.” He stared at the wall behind Prisca with the corners of his mouth tipped down, and the center of his eyebrows lifted.

Agbe glowered at him. He knew his anger was illogical, but really, he was the one who was unmarked, the one who InCoSeM was threatening to rip away from everyone and everything he loved! Why did Larry always have to try to make everything about him? “How could you possibly know how I feel? You’re Marked!” Agbe snapped. Larry was a remembered memory – remem – recall, a freaking reincarnate! What did he know about being unmarked?

“I’m a remem. InCoSeM doesn’t just let remems live their life. They turn them into bookkeepers or historians or some other boring shit like that. I’ll have no say, I’ll have to go to University, I’ll have to go wherever they send me, and record whatever they want. My life won’t be mine.”

Agbe’s anger evaporated, he looked away guiltily. Now he felt like an asshole for reacting the way he had. “Sorry, man, that blows.”

Larry shrugged. “Guess the girls are the lucky ones, not that that’s any surprise. They get the boobs, the ass, and they get to keep their normal lives if InCoSeM wins.” Both boys laughed.

“Yup,” Prisca slapped her full breasts, making them wobble, and shook her round ass in Agbe’s face. He smacked it away. “If you want to be a girl so bad, Larry, pray to Duraya so that he sends you back as female in your next life.”

“Oh, I’m already doing that.”

They all laughed, all of them except Chika, who looked much too serious. “What’s wrong Chika?” Agbe asked.

“She’s probably just angry because Larry won’t stay still.” Prisca teased, wrinkling her nose at Larry when he stuck out his tongue at her.

Chika smacked Larry on the foot to keep him still, but her frown only deepened. She turned to Prisca. “I read that InCoSeM forces augurs into bonded chains, makes the chains reinforce every month, and has someone in the chain report all the augurs’ thoughts and memories back to them.”

Prisca’s smile fell away. “But…but…” she spluttered, “that’s criminal!”

Agbe had gotten lost after Chika mentioned bonded chains. He’d spent his life knowing that he was normal, which in a Community filled with people who weren’t, meant that his normal was abnormal. He wasn’t Marked, he had no powers, and he stayed away from things that reminded him of that fact. He didn’t know any more about the Marked than he was forced to learn in school, which only left him with the basics. Like that bonded chains were something augurs could form to widen their visions. Also, that augurs in bonded chains had access to each other’s thoughts and memories. From personal experience, specifically his first party with Chika and Prisca, he knew the benefits of that perk of a bonded chain. There was nothing like fucking two women who were in perfect sync. Augurs having the ability to enter into each other’s minds, was why augur whores made the most money. Agbe had spent an entire year praying, fasting, and giving offerings to Duraya so that he could be an augur. It hadn’t worked.

Honestly, he would have taken any mark. Witches were the second highest paid marked whores. Memoir and healing witches specifically. His mother was a healing witch, so was Gedoni. Gedoni was a LovePeddler over at Lady T’s, who Agbe loathed. He’d charged Agbe a whole year’s pay for one night together, and the bastard hadn’t even gone into his mark while they bleeped. Not like Aha, may her soul rest in peace. Now Aha had been a gem. She’d been another healing witch LovePeddler at Lady T’s. Agbe hadn’t realized why people paid as much as they did for sex with healing witches until they’d fooled around. He came out of the experience feeling as if she’d reached deep into him and momentarily healed the broken pieces of his soul.

There were other marks, so many more, more witches, and other Warlocks. Communes, who got power from negative emotions. Communes scared Agbe a bit, their magic seemed dark to him, like they got their power from fucking people up, still, he would have liked to be a commune instead of being nothing. If he couldn’t be an augur, or a witch, his next choice would have been a Sage, an abacus perhaps, with their multiple advanced-supercomputer-like brains, or a recall, a remem like Larry or an omem who remembered everything, and that really did mean everything. Agbe would have even settled for the animals, the Varmints. Werejackals and shifters. They bothered him, but not as much as communes. Sadly, Duraya had ignored him. Given that the last time Duraya had answered his prayer the answer to those prayers had turned out to be the ancestry bitch, Agbe wasn’t so sure that Duraya ignoring him was the worst thing that could happen.

Still, he yearned for a Mark. His lack of one was a deep wound he’d learned to cover up, but it always came right back to the surface at moments like this, when he was reminded of his lack.

“Earth to Agbe!”

He jumped. “What?” his eyes darted around, “did I miss something?”

“Only your mother,” Larry teased.

“My what?” He gaped at Larry. Then he heard her, his mother, chuckling behind him, and he turned around.

She was dressed fancy, in a dazzling yellow lace dress, with mild makeup on her face and accessorized with expensive jewelry. Nowadays, she only brought out her oga’s undies when she was going near ancestral grounds. His gaze caught on the fingers she’d placed artily over her mouth and he gasped. There was a bijou ring on her middle finger, a bijou, more expensive than gold and diamonds. Wow, Ehimen had really gone all out.

“I’m guessing you said yes,” Agbe drawled, fighting to hide his smile.

Her eyes widened and then narrowed on him. She put her hands on her hips. “You knew?”

He nodded.

“How?”

Agbe turned to the mirror, rose his shoulders, and puffed out his chest. “I’m the man of the house, so, of course, Ehimen had to ask for my permission first. It’s how these things are done mum.”

Prisca burst into laughter and the others joined. Agbe’s mother slapped him on the back of his head for that joke, but Agbe didn’t feel it, not just because her hand was tiny, but because he was happy. He was beyond happy, he was ecstatic, euphoric, he wanted to scream to the ether for joy, because something truly great had finally happened in his life. Ehimen was going to be his dad.

“Congratulations mum!” He jumped up and threw his arms around her, so elated he ended up lifting her up until she thumped on his back for him to put her down. He just chuckled and went to hug Prisca, while Larry and Chika came closer to hug his mother.

“Let me see,” Prisca took his mother’s hand and then squealed like a pig. “It’s a bijou! A real, honest to goodness, bijou, I’ve never seen one before. That’s one hell of a man you’ve got, aunty, congratulations.”

Chika and Larry pretty much echoed Prisca’s sentiments.

Agbe watched as his mother’s ring finger was passed around between his closest friends. His gaze met his mother’s, and he saw his joy mirrored in her eyes.

“Okay, ah, see these children oh, ehn, abeg, that’s enough before you people rip my finger off. That’s enough. Thank you so much.” One after the other, she placed a kiss on their cheek. “Thank you very much. Agbe and I need to speak in private though, so, do you guys mind?”

“No, aunty, not at all.” Larry turned to Agbe and winked. He smiled back.

“Don’t forget the offering tomorrow, Agbe,” Chika called out as they herded through the door.

Agbe wanted to remind them that he’d see them that evening, during the showing, but they were out the door before he had the chance.

This is another beautiful piece from Obehid

doctorexcel:
This is another beautiful piece from Obehid

Thank you doctorexcel Hopefully the story doesn't disappoint

Chapter Two

Ehimen smiled. He couldn’t help it, she’d said yes, the love of his life had agreed to become his wife. His heart beat a nice, steady, rhythm in his chest, and every part of him was warm and alive. Isoken was going to be his wife.

He had to shake his head to force his thoughts away from daydreams of his future bride and the family they were about to have, him, her, and Agbe. Their son. It already had such a nice ring to it. But he was a soldier, scion to the Ehizokhae family’s leading horde, he could not allow himself to wander about ancestral grounds looking like a lovesick pup. He had to stay smart, attentive, an example to his younger siblings.

He pulled his attention back to his brothers, just in time to hear Odion croon, “it must be nice to grow up as one of them.”

“An in-between.” Omon pined wistfully, a matching expression of yearning in his voice.

Ehimen sighed. These two were always in each other’s heads, sharing feelings, mirroring emotions, and they weren’t even augurs, just womb twins from the same litter. Their twin bond gave them a fighting edge though, one even sharper than the usual littermate connection. It was the only reason Ehimen hadn’t trained it out of them.

Ehimen lifted his gaze to the subject of his brothers’ fascination, three descendants of the Enikaro. These ones were just children, between the ages of ten and fourteen. Despite their young ages, they were dressed just as sharply as every descendant of the Enikaro, in burgundy velvet clothes, with golden chains and studs outlining their garments, and white bijou coral beads around their necks and wrists. Their exclusive velvet clothes were specifically designed to proclaim their pedigree. They were royals, sole bearers of the right to rule over the Community.

Ehimen and his brothers moved off to the side once the children drew near, and bowed, staying out of their way. Two of them walked by without sparing them a second’s glance, one stopped.

“Ehimen,” the young girl called out.

Ehimen took a step forward and bowed deeper to the child. “Omonoba,” he greeted.

“Lift your head,” she ordered.

He stood straight and tried hard not to appear as if he was looking down on her.

She crossed her hands behind her back and tipped her head upwards. “My family has recently been assigned a new wielder horde, Iyowa Chinyere’s. I believe they are new to the ancestry. Do you know of them?”

Ehimen nodded. “Yes, Omonoba, Iyowa Chinyere is a contemporary of my mother’s. Mother only has great things to say about the horde’s prowess.”

Slight furrows formed on the little girl’s forehead. Then she nodded, her distracted gaze staring at nothing. After a few seconds, she seemed to recollect herself. “Thank you, I feel much better knowing that you recommend them.” A sly smile played along the girl’s mouth, “but I must confess, I would prefer your horde. The fact that the God-born snatched your mother up when she was still just a childless fertile, is surely proof that the God-born is the greatest augur who lives.”

Ehimen smiled and bowed, “you flatter us, Omonoba.”

“Nonsense. That you are the best horde in the ancestry is a well-known fact. I despise flattery and false words.”

“Of course, forgive me Omonoba.” If Ehimen didn’t enjoy being dressed down by a child, he didn’t show it.

She nodded in quick acceptance of his apology. She seemed prepared to turn and leave, then she stopped and said, “my regards to your sister, I hope she feels better soon.”

Ehimen stared down at her, befuddled. None of his sisters had been sick the last time he’d seen them. “My sister?”

“Mischief. She was not in school today and I heard it was because she was sick, a bad case of building malaria.”

Building malaria, was it? Ehimen rolled his eyes, Mischief was up to her tricks again. She’d told their mother she’d been given the day off school to learn about what it meant to be a fertile in preparation for the wielder meeting that evening, the meeting they’d been headed to before the descendant of the Enikaro stopped them. They’d all believed Mischief, in hindsight, they should have known better.

“I will send along your well wishes, thank you, Omonoba.”

“She should really get it looked at before the building malaria has a chance to grow into full-fledged malaria.”

The ancestry’s infirmary was always stocked full of healing witches, so it was very rare that a building illness grew into a full-fledged one, but even in those cases the healing witches took care of it. Full-fledged illnesses just took longer to recover from.

“I will be sure to let her know.”

“Please do, our class is rather dull without her.” The little girl nodded and then she turned and walked away. Ehimen bowed his head and waited till she’d gotten a few feet away, before turning back to meet his brothers’ stares.

“Building malaria?” Omon sounded incredulous. Then he flung his arm around Odion’s shoulder, threw his head back, and laughed.

Odion didn’t seem to appreciate his brother’s humor. He shrugged Omon’s arm off, fuming. “That little rascal! I gave her twenty comnai!”

Twenty community naira? Ehimen frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Omon kept laughing. “Yes Odion, tell brother Ehimen why you would go and do a foolish thing like that.”

Odion glared at Omon. “She looked so sad and the money was the only thing that could comfort her! You should have seen her, brother, she was in her bed, crying about how she really wanted to go to school and how much being a fertile sucked because it meant she got denied the learning experience that other kids got and…”

“Denied the learning experience!” Omon hooted, then he laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes.

Ehimen coughed to cover up his own stray guffaws. Odion was such a pushover. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No, I’ll talk to her myself, if that’s okay brother?”

Odion was no match for Mischief. He’d go and confront her all puffed up and affronted and the girl would find a way to twist it to her advantage. From the mulish look on Odion’s face though, Ehimen knew his younger brother would only argue the point so he just nodded.

“Thank you.” He eyed Omon, and then turned away from him.

“Don’t be like that!” Omon, still laughing, threw his arm around Odion. “We’re twins remember, from the same womb. You know I love you. It doesn’t matter to me that our twelve-year-old sister is smarter than you are.”

Odion swung at Omon, Omon darted out of his reach and ran away while Odion chased him. Ehimen just watched the both of them. Twenty-six years old and acting as if they were five. He was just about to call out a warning to them when they jumped smackdab into an Ovie’s path. They moved hurriedly to the side and bowed their greeting, bending at the waist till their hand touched the ground. Ehimen did the same as the Ovie and her guards walked by him. He righted himself then and went after his brothers.

By the time he caught up to them, they’d already sobered.

“Are you sure?” Omon appeared confused. He directed the question at the empty space in front of him.

Odion also stared at the same emptiness. “But we were to go to the wielder meeting.”

There was just one thing that could make two sane people talk to air. Well, two things, but seeing as his brothers weren’t elemental witches, it had to be an imp. Only communes who’d gained the sight could see imps. As an augur, Ehimen was blind to them. So, he simply stood off to the side and waited for his brothers’ conversation with the imp to end.

“That was an imp messenger sent by Ovie Omoruyi,” Omon said, his earlier confusion still present on his face, “our horde’s order has been changed. We’re to report to one of the InCoSeM reps.”

Ehimen frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Should we go to the wielder meeting anyway?” Odion asked.

“And ignore a direct order from an Ovie?” Ehimen was tempted to ask if Odion even had a brain in that head of his. Ehimen jerked his gaze back to Omon. “Did the imp say where the rest of our horde is?”

“At the entrance to the Tunnel of the Twins.”

“Then let’s go join them.”

Ehimen was still contemplating the revised order by the time they reached their destination. It wasn’t that abrupt changes in their orders was a novelty, but the biannual wielder meeting was something that the clan of rulers usually didn’t mess with. It was the only time that every wielder in the Benin Community assembled under the same roof.

“Go ahead Odion, Omon and I will join you in a second.”

Odion’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded and did as he was ordered.

Ehimen waited till Odion was a good distance away before he started speaking. “I’ve been meaning to bring this up since I found out about it a few hours back.”

Omon was clearly intrigued.

“Remember the little boy you whipped eight years ago?” Ehimen went straight to the meat of it, no need to beat around the bush.

Omon looked to the ground and shuffled his feet. “Yes, brother,” he said. Ehimen knew it had been a bad time for him. His foolish brother had been in love with that coldhearted, bloodsucking, bitch, Uwa. He’d been eighteen at the time, still a child really, but that didn’t excuse what he’d done to Agbe.

“You know I’m going to marry his mother?”

Omon nodded without looking up.

“Well, I’ve been planning on formally adopting Agbe for a while now, but before I could start the process, I knew I had to find out who his birth father is.”

Omon remained silent. He just kept his head bowed and continued shuffling his feet.

Ehimen sighed. “I found him. I know you’re ashamed of what you did to Agbe, and I wouldn’t bring this up if I didn’t have to, but given who his father is, I had to warn you.”

Omon’s head lifted. He stared at Ehimen like a man steeling himself for his execution.

Chapter Three

Agbe was starting to grow wary of the searching look his mother gave him. He played at rearranging his cosmetics, but it was useless, his eyes kept straying to the mirror, and catching her scrutinous gaze reflected through the glass.

Sighing, Agbe turned around and faced her. He crossed his hands over his chest, leaned back against the desk, quirked an eyebrow, then waited.

The corners of her lips twitched. She eyed him. Agbe could almost feel her gaze like a cooling touch as it travelled over his body. From his made-up face, to his half open silk shirt, down his very tightly fitted pants. “You look like someone’s mistaken idea of a wet dream,” she teased, “do you plan on waiting for a license or are you going to start working tonight?”

Agbe glared at the ground. “Madam Celia will fund my license if I attract a patron’s notice at the showing tonight.” He asked, “can I go?” and then held his breath.

When several seconds passed without a reply, Agbe released the breath he’d been holding, and lifted his head. She was sitting on the edge of her four-poster bed, watching him. She patted the space on the bed next to her and he dragged his feet to get there. She seemed amused by his antics, but she didn’t speak until he was sitting down.

“Are you happy for me, Bebe?” her voice was soft, slightly teasing, and perfectly designed to draw him in. Calling him by her special nickname was the final touch that had him bending towards her, and placing his head in the crook of her neck. It was one of his favorite places to be. She ran her fingers over his scalp, between the tightly plaited cornrows.

“You know I’m happy for you, the both of you.”

“Are you? Really, Bebe?”

Agbe frowned. “Of course, mama, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know what happens when two people get married?” She sounded way too cautious for Agbe’s liking.

“I live in a brothel mum, I think I have an idea.”

Agbe was expecting the smack, so he just chuckled when it came, and borrowed deeper into her neck. She laughed. “Oh, behave yourself. You know that’s ticklish.” Agbe placed a kiss on her neck and then pulled back, till his head was just barely resting on her shoulder.

“I’m serious Bebe, you do understand that Ehimen and I getting married means we’re going to be living together, on ancestral grounds.”

Agbe froze. He hadn’t considered that. It made sense of course, Ehimen was an ancestry wielder, a noble, his life was on ancestral grounds. While he was still trying to process that tidbit, his mother dropped another bomb on him.

“And we were both hoping that we could convince you to willingly live with us, without having to threaten legal actions. Ehimen wants to adopt you, Bebe, he wants you to be his son.”

‘He wants you to be his son.’ The words shook Agbe so deeply he couldn’t think of anything else. Ehimen, freaking Ehimen, wanted Agbe as his son. Sure, Agbe had always dreamt of Ehimen as his father, he’d fantasized getting to call him ‘dad’. Ehimen had pretty much taken up that role the moment he’d walked into their lives. Ehimen and his mother had had a tumultuous relationship over the years, but nothing that happened between them had ever gotten between the relationship that Ehimen built with him. Still, it came as a shock to Agbe that Ehimen could want him, really want him, as his son. Him. Tears leaked from his eyes. He knew his mother could feel them soaking up her dress, but she said nothing, it was as if she could sense that he needed space to process this, and she just gave it to him.

Agbe sniffled.

It would mean living on ancestral grounds. Living close to the ancestry bitch and the ancestry wielder. He shuddered, he couldn’t help it, he thought of that ancestry wielder, the one who’d whipped him, and he shuddered. What if he came face to face with either of them? He didn’t care. The tears fell more freely now that he accepted the truth. If it meant that he could live as a family with his mother and the father of his heart, he didn’t care, he’d waited sixteen years to have a dad, he wasn’t about to wimp out now because he might run into the ancestry bitch.

“Yes, mama, I’ll live with you on ancestral grounds. I want Ehimen to be my dad.”

He felt his mother sag beneath him and realized that she’d been holding her breath. He couldn’t help wondering why she’d even worried in the first place.

“I want you to listen to me Bebe, and don’t get defensive, just listen.”

Agbe braced himself. He knew whatever his mum had to say, if she was starting it like that, he was guaranteed to not like it.

“When we move to ancestral grounds, a whole new world will open up for you. You’ll have more opportunities than I could have given you…”

“Mum, you know I have all the opportunities I need.”

She shushed him and then went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You don’t have to be a LovePeddler Agbe…”

Agbe jumped up. “Mum! I don’t have to be a LovePeddler now, I want to be one. That won’t change because you move me to ancestral grounds. If that’s what you and Ehimen are thinking, then you’re in for a rude awakening!” He shot up from the bed and started stomping around the room, angrily muttering to himself.

“Agberukeke, get your butt back over here.”

He stopped walking, turned, and glared at her.

“Right now, Bebe.”

He stomped back over to the bed and dumped himself gracelessly beside her. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head away from her.

“As I was saying, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Agbe, you never wanted to be a LovePeddler, you hate what I do.”

He turned back around, and the anger melted away. “No, I don’t, I don’t mama, I never have.” How could he hate her profession when it was hers? He adored everything that had to do with her.

She smiled and placed her palm against his cheek. “You hated it Bebe. Until the day you met your birth mother…”

“I would appreciate it if you call her by her correct name, the ancestry bitch, please.”

She did a horrible job of suppressing her smile then she gave him a warning look. “Until you met your birth mother. Then you completely flipped. It’s like you compelled yourself into loving it. Like you were somehow trying to make up for the fact that you’d hated it before.”

“That’s not true!” Agbe replied, affronted.

Her smile turned sad, and Agbe could see the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. “You didn’t fight back, Bebe.”

“What?”

“When they whipped you, you didn’t fight back, you didn’t even try to escape. You just stayed there and took it. It was as if you felt like you deserved it.”

Agbe pulled away from her touch. He stared down at the thumbs he twiddled in his lap. “Maybe I did. I never thought of how it would make you feel, having to dress me up and take me to that woman. The way she humiliated you.” He turned around, grabbed her hands and held them in his. “I’ll never forgive myself for it, mum.”

“Oh Bebe,” she pulled him into her arms and rested her chin on his head, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a child, of course you wanted to meet your birth mother. Of course, you were excited at the idea of being a noble. Of course, you were ashamed of your mother being a LovePeddler, sometimes I’m ashamed of it too. Why do you think it took so long for Ehimen and I to finally get on the same page? It’s only natural. You need to stop punishing yourself.”

Agbe didn’t know what to do, how to react. Had he truly been punishing himself for what happened all those years ago? Maybe he’d accepted the whipping as his penance for his folly, but none of the other stuff. He didn’t agree with his mother about being ashamed of her profession. Yes, he had been before that day, but after, he’d forced himself to look past the hateful words that he’d heard spewed about whores. Once he got beyond that, he could really see whoring for what it was. A service, a client paid for companionship and the LovePeddler gave it. Like Aha, the healing witch LovePeddler he’d slept with. The sex had healed him. She’d used her mark to fix something in him. Sure the feeling hadn’t lasted for long after, but it had been a wonderful gift while it lasted. And even when it wasn’t a gift, when it didn’t heal, it was still a hell of a lot of fun. Why shouldn’t a client pay for an expert to practice their craft on them? It wasn’t easy learning as much about sex as he had, and he didn’t even have his license yet. By the time he learned the finer points of his trade, he believed his sexual service would be just as worthy of respect and payment as the augurs who got paid to portend the future.

“I’ll make you a deal mum. If I promise to truly consider other career paths, and hold off on getting my escort’s license till I’m eighteen, will you promise to support me if I decide that whoring is my calling?”

She smiled without reservation. “If you promise to forgive yourself and consider other options, I will accept and support whatever profession you settle on.”

Agbe smiled back. “I’ll try on the first, I promise on the second.”

They both stared at each other, smiling close-lipped and fighting back huge grins. Then at the same time they both broke down, shouted, “I love you!” and hugged each other.

They broke apart at the knock on the door. It opened and one of the new whores poked her head through the door. “You wanted to know when the Ovie got here, aunty, he’s here.” Then she drew her head back out and closed the door behind her.

Agbe was confused. “You haven’t had a client in three years mum, but you’re entertaining an Ovie today, after you just got engaged? Isn’t that one of Ehimen’s sticking points?” All the times they’d broken up, it was over his mum seeing her clients.

She clucked her tongue at him. “Don’t be silly. I asked to be notified when the Ovie came for you, not me.”

Agbe’s confusion ratcheted up several degrees. “Huh?”

“Getting your biological father’s permission before he can adopt you is another one of Ehimen’s sticking points.”

Agbe could feel his mind churning but there were no thoughts in them. “I don’t understand.”

“Ehimen found your biological father, Bebe, but your biological father, doesn’t know that you exist, your birth mother never told him. Which means that Ehimen can’t adopt you without his permission. Legally, as well as ethically.”

“What does that have to do with the Ovie in the brothel?”

“The Ovie in the brothel is your biological father, Bebe.”

For long moments after that, all Agbe heard was white noise. Then he shook his head, “no, I don’t want to meet him. If the ancestry bitch whipped me for daring to accuse her of being my mother, he’ll freaking kill me. He’s an Ovie, not just in the Enikaro, but in the clan of rulers, ordering executions is what they do for sport. No thanks. I’ll talk to Ehimen, we can just pretend my biological father is dead. It’s not like the ancestry bitch is going to say otherwise.”

She shook her head. “You’re not thinking clearly Bebe, your father being an Ovie means that you are a descendant of the Enikaro. It’s illegal to keep you from them. Ehimen is in the ancestry, sworn to the Enikaro, he’ll have to tell them.”

“The ancestry bitch didn’t tell them!” Agbe started to panic. Why were they doing this to him? Didn’t they understand that he didn’t need another dad, he already had one, Ehimen. Everything was finally working out for him. His mother was getting married to his father and they were going to live happily ever after. No Ovie invited. Period.

“Your birth mother is not exactly an ethical compass, now is she?”

Agbe sprang up from the bed and started pacing. “Her name is the ancestry bitch, mum, the ancestry bitch, not my birth mother, ancestry bitch. I need you to work with me on this ma, please.”

She giggled.

“My life is falling apart and you’re laughing?” Agbe was incredulous.

“Oh, stop it, why are you being so dramatic?” She rolled her eyes. “All I’m asking you to do tonight is come and see him. Not talk to him, just see him. He reserved a sitting room and I had to bribe the girls to keep the adjoining viewing room empty. We’ll go, watch him, and then we’ll decide how we want to approach this. All three of us, me, you and Ehimen.”

‘Me, you, and Ehimen.’ Agbe stopped pacing. Those words couldn’t have been any more perfect. It was no longer just him and his mum, it was him, his mum, and Ehimen. They were a family now, whatever happened, they would face it together. Agbe calmed, remembering how Ehimen had swaggered into his nightmare, eight years ago, and turned it into a dream. Whatever threat this Ovie placed, Ehimen, his dad, would neutralize him, just as he’d done the ancestry bitch.

“I don’t have to talk to him?” Agbe confirmed.

“He won’t even know we’re there.” She promised.

“Fine.” Agbe turned and regarded himself in the mirror. “Just give me a second to fix my make up.”

She burst out laughing.

Chapter Four

Agbe felt like a spy, staring through the one-way peep-wall. The room they lounged in was just adjacent to the one the three men met in. The men wouldn’t be able to see them, since from that side of the room, the wall appeared to be just a solid, beige wall. From this room however, the wall appeared to be as transparent as glass. Verdant magic was responsible for this. The verdant witch who’d designed the material that made up the wall, had gotten a year’s worth of free visits to the brothel in payment. Agbe thought they got the short end of that deal.

The mark. It was the first thing he’d seen when he’d glanced at the Ovie. The Ovie wore a shirt similar to Agbe’s, an irony which his mother had gleefully pointed out. The Ovie’s shirt was white though, while his was blue, so not exactly the same, thank you very much. The Ovie’s shirt fell open to his navel, exposing a shaved chest with his mark on it, the emblem that proclaimed him as supernatural. It really was a small thing. Agbe had seen countless like it, a thin oval in the center with a line of dots on both sides. He had even gone as far as drawing it onto his skin many times as a kid, hoping it’d keep the bullies away. They’d just made him hurt more for daring to pretend to be like them.

“Did it have to be him?” Agbe asked, not needing to worry about being overhead. They could hear what the men said, but the men couldn’t hear them. “Of all the Ovies in the Enikaro, why did it have to be him?”

In hindsight, it was obvious. He should have put it together sooner. He hated that he’d looked up the ancestry bitch before their meeting. He’d seen her pictures, and in most of those pictures she’d been with this man, the Ovie. As far as the gossip went, he was the only man she’d ever seriously been involved with. Ovie Omoruyi. His biological father. The God-born’s son. Agbe pondered on how horrible his luck kept turning out to be. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, they just had to go and prove him wrong. The God-born was the overall ruler of the Community for crying out loud, head of the clan of rulers, she’d have him killed to hide his connection to her family. No one in the Enikaro wanted to have an unmarked descendant shaming their line.

“We could just tell Ehimen that we got the Ovie’s permission for the adoption, he’ll believe us.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt his mother’s disapproving gaze fixed on him, he didn’t even have to look to see it. But he did. He turned around and stared at her, pleading with his eyes for compassion, for mercy, he wanted to live. Why couldn’t she understand that? He’d just gotten a complete family, he wanted to get to live with them. Didn’t she understand how powerful the Enikaro was? The Enikaro could crush him, and no one would question it. He’d never had any reason to mix with them before, and he never wanted one. “Please, mama, please.”

The disapproval turned into pity. He didn’t mind pity, pity from his mother, in this moment, was good, it meant she might reconsider. “Do you really think we could live with Ehimen after telling such a big lie?” She shook her head. “Ehimen will know how best to handle this. Don’t worry, Bebe.”

Agbe’s shoulders slumped. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that Ehimen could save them from the God-born’s son. Ehimen was larger than life to Agbe, but even Ehimen wasn’t that powerful.

The Ovie stood, and Agbe found himself standing with him. From the pieces of the conversation he’d overhead, he knew that the men the Ovie was meeting with were InCoSeM reps. Agbe had enough presence of mind to realize that this meeting was odd, given that the Enikaro and InCoSeM were meant to be gearing for war against each other. His concerns about the Ovie and what the Ovie would do when he found out about Agbe, were much more pressing than backroom politics, so he didn’t pay much attention to the odd meeting.

But then Ovie Omoruyi was shaking hands with the InCoSeM rep who seemed to be in charge, a tall white skinned man named Paul, and his assistant who was black skinned, but not African, his accent showed him to be British. They said their goodbyes and Ovie Omoruyi walked out of the room.

Agbe slumped back into the spot on the couch beside his mother, dejected.

“Has he left?” The white man, Paul, asked.

Agbe wanted to leave, he didn’t want to listen to these InCoSeM reps, but his thoughts were in turmoil and so he found himself watching them, like a movie, anything to distract himself from thinking about his parentage.

The black man nodded. “Omoruyi has left the area, we can speak freely.” If he could hear Ovie Omoruyi’s footsteps, then Agbe knew the black man had to be some type of werejackal, they were the only ones whose marks gave them enhanced hearing.

His mother stood and stretched. “Come, Bebe, let’s go. We’ll talk to Ehimen tomorrow. Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”

He stood up and joined his mother.

“Good,” Paul said as Agbe and his mum made towards the door, “then we can proceed with our plans for the ancestry wielders.”

They both froze in their steps, stared wide eyed at each other, and then turned back around to stare at the men in the other room.

Paul continued speaking. “The ancestry wielders are too powerful. They have to go first. It’ll be done like the elemental massacre. The wielders have their meeting this evening, we’ll blow the place up. Then we’ll level the ancestral grounds. By tomorrow morning, the Enikaro will be no more.”

His mum gasped and then grabbed onto his arm so tight there were sure to be imprints of her finger on his skin for days after. Agbe didn’t feel it though, his thoughts were on Ehimen.

“Is he there, mum?” Agbe took his attention away from the men as Paul said in the background, “it can’t be, we would have heard them.”

Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked and they fell. “Yes,” she cried, “oh, Bebe, he told me him and his horde were going to the wielder meeting this evening. Every wielder in the Community is going to be there.” She reached for her purse, and then pulled her hand back. “My God, he won’t even have his phone with him, they aren’t allowed during wielder meetings.” While she spoke, Paul said in the background, “he says they’re there. Check.” But neither Agbe nor his mother were paying much attention to the InCoSeM reps.

“We have to warn him, we have to warn them all.” Agbe said.

His mother nodded. Right as they headed back for the door, an explosion sounded behind them. Agbe whirled, his eyes widened at the human-shaped hole in the wall, and then he pushed his mother forward. “Run, mama, run!” But it was already too late. The werejackal had slammed into the magic wall, breaking a huge chunk of it off. It exposed a patch large enough to see into their hidey hole. They started running to the door, but a puff of black smoke blocked their path. That door was the only exit from the room. The other exit was through the adjoining room, but the werejackal blocked that route.

The black smoke disappeared, and the white man, Paul, was standing in front of them, his eyes completely red with a thin maroon ring in the middle around where his iris should be. He was a commune, Agbe belatedly realized. They had nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

“Please, sir,” his mother begged, placing her hands together as if in prayer, “we didn’t hear anything, abeg,” she curtsied, tears trailing down her face, “please, just let us go, we didn’t hear anything.”

“Please,” Agbe found himself begging too, “please,” he turned from the commune to the werejackal and back. They were trapped. There was no escape. The werejackal’s eyes were normal, he wasn’t shifting or anything, he was clearly not in his mark, but the commune’s still red eyes showed that he was in his. He looked like death, and for the first time in Agbe’s life, he felt real fear. “Please, we didn’t hear anything,” he begged, “we just entered the room by accident and turned around to leave when we saw it was occupied. Please.”

The commune sneered at them. “You’re lying.”

Agbe glanced between the commune and werejackal and gauged their best chance of survival was against the werejackal who was at least still in human form. He grabbed his mother’s arm and charged at the werejackal. Hoping to catch him by surprise and run around him, through the hole he’d made in the wall, and out the door of the adjoining room.

“Agbe!” His mother yelled, just as the sound of a gunshot rung out. His mother’s wrist was slipping out of his arm. He turned in time to see her fall to the floor, blood pooling in her dress above her chest. The commune held a gun in his hand, and it was pointed at him. His mother had jumped in front of the bullet meant for him.

He dropped to his knees beside her. “Heal mama, you have to heal!” But her eyes were already closing shut. “Help me!” He screamed. “Heal yourself mama, you can’t leave me! Help!!!” Agbe screamed for help at the top of his voice. He’d never felt more useless in his entire life. His mother clutched at his hand. Then her head fell to the side and Agbe knew that she was gone.

The werejackal came towards him.

The commune lowered his gun to Agbe’s head, his finger on the trigger.

But all Agbe could think about what his mother lying dead in his arms.

“No!” He screamed. A red haze colored his vision. It was as if he was bleeding into his eyes. He felt all the pain that his mother had felt at her death, all the fear, and the redness of his gaze deepened. The red kept getting deeper and deeper until it blinded him. “No!” He kept screaming. “Mama!” And then there was nothing. His gaze was completely blacked out. The death pains and fears he’d felt from his mother boiled up in him, as if he’d somehow latched onto the emotions, absorbed them, and cooked them up inside himself. They burst out of him and then they were gone, leaving him with nothing but an aching hollowness in his chest. His gaze cleared. It all happened so quickly that Agbe would have believed he imagined the whole thing, if not for the fear he saw in the commune’s eyes when his vision returned to normal.

“What are you?” The white man asked shakily, his widened eyes now clear of the commune red. The man gulped, and Agbe couldn’t help but notice how the white man trembled, making the gun in his hand shake. Then the red returned to the man’s eyes, black smoke covered him, and he was gone.

Agbe turned around. He jolted when he saw the corpse lying next to him. It was the werejackal. A white and red residue streamed out of the man’s eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Only commune magic could leave a corpse looking like that. Agbe couldn’t explain the feeling, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d killed the man.

His eyes burned. He screamed. It felt as if someone had taking a hot poker to his eyeballs and was drawing circles in them. He panted heavily when at last the pain ended. But that pain was only replaced by another, when he turned his gaze down to the body in his arms. His mother was still dead.

He wept, heartbroken. He just knelt by her body, holding it, rocking it. “Please come back, mama,” he begged, “please mama. I need you.” The tears continued to fall. “Please,” tears flowed into his mouth and mixed with saliva, “please, you can’t leave me.” He bent his head down to hers. “Please, come back mama, please. What am I supposed to do now?” He looked up at the ceiling. “Please!” He prayed to Duraya, to whatever god was out there, he offered everything he had including his own life, anything to get his mother back. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. We were supposed to be a family. Me, you, and Ehimen.” He pulled her closer towards him and held her tighter. “Don’t you want that mama? Don’t you want to be a family?” But she didn’t come back, no matter how much he begged.

Prisca was the first to find them. “Agbe! Oh My God! Somebody come! Somebody!” she knelt down on the other side of his mother’s body.

“What happened? Who did this, Agbe?”

Agbe ignored her. “We were supposed to be a family. Me, you and Ehimen.” He saw the ring that Ehimen had given her, the bijou. Ehimen. The ancestry wielders. Agbe reached for his mother’s finger and gently pulled the ring off. He wrapped it into the folds of his palm and felt as if he had a piece of his mother with him. “I have to save him.”

“Who?”

“My dad, I have to save my dad.”

“You’re raving Agbe!” Prisca looked crazed. Her lips quivered and she stared at him with watery, wide eyes.

“Stay with mum.” He kissed his mum on her forehead and then put her down. “I’ll be back!” he yelled at Prisca. “Just stay with my mum. I have to save him.” Then he took off. He ran as fast as he could, out of the room, out of the building, down the streets, he ran towards the ancestral grounds to save Ehimen.

He was just about to pass Lady T’s brothel when he heard a loud bang. People came rushing into the street screaming. They pointed back, back in the direction of his brothel, back to his home. He turned around and ran back home, but by the time he got there it was too late. Madam Celia’s, the brothel he’d called home for the last sixteen years, was nothing but a pile of ash. There was only one thing that could burn through a building full of people that quickly. Commune fire, a crimson inferno. And standing on the other side of the ashes was the InCoSeM rep, the commune, Paul. Agbe only had a moment to glance at him before he was swallowed up by black smoke and was gone.

Agbe stared at the ashes. His mother. Prisca. Chika. Larry. Madam Celia. All gone. His entire world, all the family that he had in the world. Then the edges of the bijou ring dug into his hand reminding him that he still had one family left, and he still had to save him.

Agbe ran.

I've been a secret admirer of your works for some time now. Man, you're damn good! Thus far, I've noticed your style is parallel to none on Nairaland. The way you weave your plots and your delivery/imagery is flawless. To top it all off, you've created your own unique Universe, which obviously is not a child's play. Anytime I read your works, I can't help feeling this lady has got all it takes to be the next Sarah J Maas and George R. R. Martin.

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Salahdin:
I've been a secret admirer of your works for some time now. Man, you're damn good! Thus far, I've noticed your style is parallel to none on Nairaland. The way you weave your plots and your delivery/imagery is flawless. To top it all off, you've created your own unique Universe, which obviously is not a child's play. Anytime I read your works, I can't help feeling this lady has got all it takes to be the next Sarah J Maas and George R. R. Martin.

It's a sad thing, however, that such talent like yours has to be born in a country like Nigeria.

I know this isn't much of a thing. But I hope it goes a long way to keep you motivated to strive harder!

You will get there pretty soon!

Thank you so much, this really means a lot to me!

Lordfave98:
Following steadfastly...... Thanks for this beautiful work of art

Thank you

Chapter Five

Ehimen sat with his horde at Peace Crossing Forest, awaiting the evening meal, which two of the middle litters prepared. Ehimen always felt a bit uneasy whenever he was this close to Redemption. A few weeks ago, every elemental witch in the Community had gathered at Redemption to speak with the elements in egalitarian solidarity. It was meant to be a show of unity, a sign that the Enikaro stood with the common people. But then all the elementals had been slaughtered. Ehimen had been at the site after, he’d seen the chaos of bodies, each one riddled with bullet holes. InCoSeM was rumored to have been behind that, but it hadn’t been InCoSeM reps pulling the triggers, it was their own people who’d done that, envious, disgruntled, Benin commoners.

Still the rumors abounded that InCoSeM reps had riled the commoners up, armed them and nudged them towards the elementals. Rumors like that made this new assignment all the more curious. Ehimen wouldn’t have believed it, if he hadn’t heard the command from Ovie Omoruyi himself. They were to accompany the InCoSeM reps out of the Community, to guard them and ensure they reached their destination safely. It sounded as if the Enikaro and InCoSeM had come to some sort of peace treaty, but what it was, no one had seen fit to tell him.

Ehimen’s gaze lifted to the trees. He tried to spot the imp, knowing fully well he couldn’t. Imps were creatures of another world, the spirit of dead humans straddling the line between the spectral existence and this one…or something like that. Ehimen didn’t know that much about other existences and all of that stuff, that was Enikaro business, and dull besides. Fighting, military strategy, wielding, those were the things he knew. He tore his eyes from the trees resigned to the fact that he would never be able to see the imp even if he knew it was there.

“Iye, the evbaire is ready,” the youngest of the fifth litter said.

There was a collective groan of relief. Ehimen’s gaze passed cursorily over his horde, his family. They were thirty three in total, thirty two children and their mother, their Iye. He was the oldest, the scion of the horde, which put him as second in charge. Whenever they sat for meals, Ehimen sat on the opposite side facing his mother. The second litter sat closest to her. Second litters protected the horde matron, while first litters led. He kept looking over his younger siblings, catching glances, smiling, nodding back. Silver-limned skins shone back at him. Seventy-five percent of them now had their full body markings, the silver wielder brand growing to cover all patches of skin. Only the last three litters were still growing their brands.

“Children,” Iye’s voice was soft, but it rung through to the last litter, and stopped them mid play. She beckoned with her fingers and the youngest of the horde ran to sit at her feet. “Let us thank Duraya for this meal.” She shut her eyes and bowed her head and the rest of them did the same. It was the fourth litter’s turn to say the grace. Omon led it and they echoed his, “Isee” at the end.

Ehimen lifted his head and smiled at his mother. She was watching him, he knew, he’d felt her pull in his mind. She was in her late forties now, forty-six, but still looking decades younger as he repeatedly assured her. They all had the same shade of skin, dark mud brown. Iye left her hair cut short, she was the only female in the horde over the age of twelve, with short hair. The rest of them had braids, straightened hair, weaves, and other attachments Ehimen got a headache just thinking about. Iye was full-figured, which was rare for a wielder matron of a fighting horde. She smiled again and turned her gaze back to the triplets seated at her feet, the last litter, all nine years old. Their brands hadn’t even started forming yet.

Mischief served their mother first, then she brought him his plate. He smirked at her. “Wait.” She stopped and then stared at him, her eyes widened for a minute, then she held her hands behind her back and affected a look of pure innocence.

“Yes, brother?”

He could out her for the building malaria lie she’d told her school, he really should, but he found he wasn’t particularly eager to get his little sister into trouble. If Iye hadn’t found out yet, why should he be the one to tell her? So, he picked up his fork instead and smiled when he heard her expel the breath she’d been holding.

His plate was filled with bronze in different texture of evbaire, wielder’s food. He pointed with the prongs of his fork towards the bronze agidi. “What is this?”

She wrinkled her cute, tiny, nose, and pulled her thin eyebrows together. Her eyelashes moved up and down a few times when she blinked. “Pain commune?”

“Are you asking me?”

She pouted and then shook her head. “No brother, it’s pain commune.” Iye had finally allowed her to pierce her ears, so for the last few months she’d been wearing the most abominable earrings. This time she had skulls dangling from her ears. Ehimen stifled the urge to roll his eyes. She should have said the power. Wielders classified evbaire by the power the meal gave them and not the mark it came from. But he let it slide, for now.

“And the akamu?” He moved his fork to the bronze akamu on his stainless-steel plate.

“Healing witch.”

He nodded. “Good job,” he praised, and she beamed. Her face changed when she smiled. Her gaze was always alert, and her mischievous cat eyes slanted to the side. But when she smiled, her normally sly look turned angelic.

“Thank you, brother!”

He wasn’t done, so he didn’t smile. “But next time make sure you know the powers and not just the marks.”

The smile faded from her face. Mischief hated been scolded, she was only twelve, yet she acted as if she didn’t need correction. She wouldn’t mouth off to him, she knew better, but she scolded right back when it came from one of the younger members of their horde. She went back to pouting and glaring at him. He almost chuckled. Almost. Instead, he gave her a level look. She dropped her gaze, chastened. “Yes, brother.”

He let the silence draw out, keeping his steady gaze on her, until it made her so uncomfortable, she started to fidget. It didn’t help that everyone else had grown quiet too, further exacerbating her unease. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and lifted her gaze, staring uncertainly at him. She begged with her eyes for release but Ehimen took his time. He could feel her unease grow. He let the silence wind her up some more before finally releasing her. “You can go.”

She bobbed a curtsy and darted out of his sight.

The conversations picked up after that. Theirs was a Warlock horde, so everyone in their horde had a warlock mark. There were a number of communes, a number of witches and a handful of male augurs, like himself. Mischief was the only other female augur besides their mother, and she was a fertile, capable of having wielder litters. She was the only one in the horde who would go on to have a horde of her own. Ehimen struggled with imagining Mischief as a horde matron. Iyowa Mischief, he chuckled to himself.

He was halfway through his agidi when he felt his mother in his head. She reached into the augur bond they shared and helped herself to his thoughts. He didn’t mind though, he actually found it comforting, knowing that his mother could feel him so fully.

“Missy, Ehimen is running low on hearing. Mix some powder into water for him to drink,” Iye ordered. Ehimen frowned, he hadn’t even realized that his enhanced hearing was running low. Had it been that long since he’d had evbaire with hearing powers? He didn’t think he burned that one out so quickly.

Mischief froze in her seat. She gnawed on her bottom lip and glanced around.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, yes Iye!” Mischief put her plate down and jumped up. She walked to the bags of evbaire powders and stopped there. She knelt beside one of the sacks, rifled through it and then went to another. Ehimen wondered how long it would take before she admitted that she didn’t know which powder gave hearing.

Apparently longer than Iye’s patience. “Which powder are you looking for?” Iye asked.

Mischief buried her head in a sack and mumbled.

“Missy…” mother warned, her threats were always most effective when left empty.

Everyone was watching Mischief now. Most of them wanted to laugh, not the second litter though, the second litter was by far too serious. They’d learned all the evbaire by the time they were five, so they didn’t understand imperfection. It had taken Ehimen till he was seven. Iye had been stricter with the older litters, the younger litters were his to train and he thought learning how to fight was more important than evbaire, so he’d let them slack. He’d forgotten that Mischief was a fertile, she would need to know far more than he ever had. Fertiles had to be the best fighters, best cooks, best weavers, they essentially had to be the best at everything. It was why mother picked on Mischief so much. One day she would be alone in the world, she would have to rely on only herself to find her scion. Mother had been ten when she’d gotten pregnant with him. Eleven when she’d come to get him. At eleven he couldn’t have survived what his mother had to.

Mischief pulled out of the sack and knelt back, sitting on her heels. There were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry Iye, I don’t know.”

Hi Obehi,

Really great story and even more engaging storytelling.

If you're ever ready to submit to a publisher and require a proofreader prior, do contact me on xokola8@gmail.com

P.S: do you mean "unsung" in the title?

Thanks for the update

xokol8:
Hi Obehi,

Really great story and even more engaging storytelling.

If you're ever ready to submit to a publisher and require a proofreader prior, do contact me on xokola8@gmail.com

P.S: do you mean "unsung" in the title?

Lol, actually yes, I did mean to have it as unsung in the title, I made a typo and by the time I caught it I couldn't really change it haha. Thanks for the proofreading offer, I will definitely take you up on that!

Sorry for that last short update everyone. I actually posted 2 parts (the whole chapter) but the bots flagged the second part of the post which is why it's not showing up. I've mailed the mods about it, so as soon as we're able to get the second part of that chapter back up, I'll post the rest of the update. Thanks for the patience

obehiD:
Sorry for that last short update everyone. I actually posted 2 parts (the whole chapter) but the bots flagged the second part of the post which is why it's not showing up. I've mailed the mods about it, so as soon as we're able to get the second part of that chapter back up, I'll post the rest of the update. Thanks for the patience

Patiently waiting

Iye frowned. “It’s worry commune. Do you know how to mix it?”

Mischief nodded her head quickly, as surprised by the reprieve as he was. “Yes, Iye.”

“Then mix it and give it to your brother.”

“Yes, Iye.”

Everyone stared at Iye. She looked at them all and then her eyebrows lifted. “What is it?”

“Oh nothing,” they all mumbled and went back to their food. ‘Are you feeling well?’ Ehimen pulled on their augur bond and sent the thought to his mother.

She gave him a sardonic look. ‘I’m not that strict, am I?’

‘With Mischief, yes.’

‘She’s twelve and she’s nowhere near ready to be a matron. It’s only a matter of time before her periods start, then she’ll start branding, and her scion can come anytime after. If I’m hard on her that’s why.’

Ehimen’s lips twitched. ‘I know mother.’

‘Do you?’

He frowned at her. They were having this conversation telepathically and no one else appeared aware of it. ‘What does that mean?’

‘You’re too easy on her. She’s a fertile, my love, you don’t do her any favors.’ After having her say, she pulled out of the bond and turned back to her babies. The last two litters hadn’t started branding yet, so they didn’t need to eat evbaire, but mother fed the last litter a little of hers. She tore small bites of agidi off and put it into their mouths. In a few years, once their brands came out, they’d be wolfing the stuff down, like the eighth litter. They’d turned sixteen three months ago and branded then. Now they ate evbaire like they were starving. It would take at least a year before the hunger waned. Each of them had gotten three agidi, all with different powers, and five times the akamu that he had.

“Thank you,” Ehimen took the steel cup that Mischief handed to him. He chugged the stuff down and then dusted off the rest of his food. When he was done, he leaned back against a tree stem and placed his empty plate and cup beside him. One of the younger litters would clean up, he knew, so he turned his attention back to scanning the trees and trying to guess which one the imp was in. Odion had said the imp was in a tree, but all the trees looked empty.

Their orders were to wait here for the InCoSeM reps to finish packing up their stuff and then join them. They would leave the Community together that evening.

Ehimen’s nostrils flared. He smelled smoke. There was a dark grit to this smoke, not regular fire, but a crimson inferno. Curious, he pulled on the evbaire he’d just drank and enhanced his hearing. He heard screams, people were talking, a building was on fire. He kept listening and then froze when he heard where it was.

His mouth grew dry.

No.

He lurched to his feet.

No.

“Ehimen!” Iye called out, “what are you doing?”

“My family,” he was already moving towards the sacks. He stopped in front of the sack containing speed and scooped up a handful of the powder, then he threw it into his mouth. “I have to go.”

“Ehimen!” His mother was standing in front of him when he turned around. “You’re not going anywhere like this.”

He ignored her. As soon as the evbaire entered his body he felt his synapses twitching. He used the evbaire and ran.

“Ehimen!” His mother yelled after him. “Come back here!”

He fired the evbaire, blazing the speed he’d just fed on. It took him less than a second to get there. But it was already too late. Madam Celia’s was no more. There was a heap of ashes where the building had once stood. A crowd was forming around the pile of ashes. They made way for him. He felt their stares, saw them bowing out of the corner of his eyes, but he ignored them and marched forward. Until he was standing in front of the ashes.

“Survivors?” He grabbed onto the man that stood beside him and shook him. The man’s eyes widened.

“No, sir, no, no survivors. It was a flash burn, crimson inferno. It only took a second.”

Ehimen kept shaking him. “Where are the survivors?”

The man shook his head. “Please sir, no be me burn am, no survivors. I just met it like this.”

“Survivors!” Ehimen yelled at him. He knew there had to be survivors. There couldn’t not be survivors. His wife and his son were in this building. They couldn’t be gone, just like that. He turned back to the pile of ashes. His wife. His son. Why would anyone want to blow up a brothel? Why would anyone take his family from him? Ehimen was crying, he didn’t realize it till he felt the wet streaks on his face. He felt suffocated, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. There were people around him, hands brushed on him, people spoke, but he heard nothing. Something pulled on his arms. “Who did this?” he roared, once he got his breath back, “who did this?”

“No be me, abeg, release me, sir, abeg.”

The pull on his arms continued. He realized he was still grabbing onto the bystander. He let him go and the man ran away from him. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. Ehimen dropped to his knees. Isoken, beautiful, vivacious, Isoken, gone. He scooped up the ashes in his hands and wept. Agbe. His son. How could anyone do this to them? Ehimen drew the ashes close to his chest, trying to hold them, to have a piece of them with him. With each shudder of grief that tore through him, the dust seeped from the gaps between his fingers until his hand was as empty and hollow as he felt inside.