“Ebuka run, Ebuka run for your life!”
Confused and frightened, Ebuka turned to see what was wrong, and that was when he saw it – a lion with a face that was half human, half lion, charging towards him with lightning speed.
Ebuka took off in a sprint, his heart racing with fear.
He could hear the lion’s roar getting closer and closer, and he knew he had to keep running if he wanted to survive.
But no matter how fast he ran, the lion seemed to be gaining on him.
Just when Ebuka thought all was lost, he felt a searing pain in his side, and everything went black.
When he came to, he was lying on the forest floor, and the lion was standing over him, its half-human face twisted into a snarl.
Ebuka tried to scramble to his feet, but the lion was too quick.
With one swipe of its paw, Ebuka was knocked to the ground, and the lion’s claws dug deep into his flesh.
Ebuka’s vision began to blur, and he knew he was running out of time.
The lion’s grip tightened, and Ebuka felt himself being lifted off the ground.
He was helpless as the lion carried him away, deeper into the forest. The last thing Ebuka saw on earth was the face of Sochima as he gently close his eyes.
And then, everything went black.
The lion took Ebuka’s body away, disappearing into the darkness of the forest, leaving Chima to wonder what had become of the young boy.
Chima ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart pounding in his chest.
He burst through the palace gates, out of breath and frantic.
The guards at the entrance looked at him with concern, but Chima didn’t stop to explain.
He kept running until he reached the throne room, where the king sat in his throne, surrounded by his advisors and guards.
“Your Majesty!” Chima cried, falling to his knees. “Ebuka, my friend, he’s been taken by a monster! A lion with a half-human face! It chased him and killed him, and then took his body away!”
The king’s expression turned from calm to concerned.
“What are you talking about, Chima?” he asked, his voice firm but gentle.
Chima explained what he had seen, and the king listened intently.
When Chima finished, the king turned to his advisors.
“Summon the royal guards.
We must find out what happened to Ebuka and bring the monster to justice.”
The advisors nodded and quickly left the throne room to carry out the king’s orders.
The king turned back to Chima.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Chima.
We will do everything in our power to find Ebuka and bring him home safely.”
Chima nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.
He knew the king would do everything he could to help, and he was grateful for that.
But deep down, Chima knew that Ebuka was gone, and nothing could bring him back. The thought filled him with a sense of sorrow and loss, and he wondered what the future held for their village.
Sochima walked alone in the forest, her footsteps quiet on the damp earth.
She had transformed back into a human being, but her eyes still blazed with a fierce intensity.
“My name is Sochima, and I will make you all pay for what you did to my mother, Ugochi.
You think you can just take her away from me and get away with it?
You think you can just kill her for your nonsense deity and I’ll just forget about it?”
She paused, her chest heaving with anger.
“You’re wrong. I won’t forget.
I won’t forgive.
And I’ll make sure you all pay for what you did.”
She walked for a while longer, her mind racing with thoughts of revenge and anger.
She shook her head.
“No, I won’t spare any of you. You’ll all pay for what you did.”
And with that, she disappeared into the trees, leaving behind a trail of leaves and a sense of foreboding that settled over the forest like a shroud.
*
*
*
Sochima and her mother, Ugochi, had lived happily in the village of Ozumba for many years.
Ugochi was known for her wisdom and kindness.
But despite their happy life, a dark shadow loomed over the village.
Every year, the people of Ozumba would offer a human sacrifice to their deity, a brutal and ancient tradition that was said to ensure the village’s prosperity and protection.
The villagers believed that the deity demanded this sacrifice, and that it was necessary to appease it.
Sochima and Ugochi had always known about the tradition, but they had never thought that they would be affected by it. They had assumed that the villagers would always choose someone else, someone they didn’t know or love.
But one day, the villagers came for Ugochi.
They said that she had been chosen as the next human sacrifice, and that it was an honor to be selected.
Sochima was devastated.
She couldn’t believe that the villagers she had grown up with, the people she had considered friends, could do such a thing.
She pleaded with them to spare her mother’s life, but they just shook their heads and said that it was the will of the deity.
So, with a heavy heart, Sochima watched as the villagers took her mother away to the palace.
She knew that she would never see Ugochi again, and that her life would never be the same.
Ugochi fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded with the king and his cabinets.
“Please, have mercy on me,” she begged. “I am all my daughter Sochima has left.
If you take me away, she will be all alone in the world.
Who will care for her? Who will protect her?”
The king and his cabinets looked at her with cold, unyielding eyes.
They knew that Ugochi’s husband had passed away, and that she had no one to speak for her.
They knew that she was vulnerable, and that no one would dare to challenge their decision.
“We are sorry, Ugochi,” the king said, his voice devoid of empathy. “But the deity demands a sacrifice, and you have been chosen.
It is an honor to be selected, and you should be proud to give your life for the good of our village.”
Ugochi shook her head, despair written across her face.
“Proud?” she repeated. “You want me to be proud to leave my daughter all alone in the world? You want me to be proud to give up my life for a cruel and senseless tradition?”
The king and his cabinets just shook their heads, unmoved by Ugochi’s words.
They had made their decision, and they would not be swayed.
And with that, they took Ugochi away, leaving Sochima alone and adrift in the world.
Sochima’s eyes were fixed on the scene before her, her heart heavy with grief and anger.
She had secretly followed the villagers to the deity’s altar, hiding behind a tree to witness the unspeakable act.
The chief priest’s hand rose and fell, striking her mother with a deadly blow.
Ugochi’s cry of pain echoed through the forest, and Sochima felt a searing pain in her own soul.
Ugochi’s words, spoken in her final moments, were etched in Sochima’s memory forever:
“I will make sure you all suffer for what you have done to me.
You must pay for this.”
As Ugochi’s life slipped away, Sochima felt a surge of adrenaline and grief.
She turned and ran, fleeing the altar and the villagers, her heart pounding in her chest.
She knew that she would never forget this moment, this painful death.
The forest blurred around her as she ran, her tears streaming down her face.
Sochima didn’t go to their house, she runs to the forest and stay as she is afraid that the elders might also come for her.
Sochima’s days blended together in a haze of fear and survival.
She spent every night wide awake, her senses on high alert, listening for any sign of danger.
The forest was dark and mysterious, full of unknown threats that lurked just beyond her sight.
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Sochima would finally allow herself to relax, her exhaustion momentarily overcome by her hunger.
She would venture out into the forest, searching for fruits and berries to sustain herself for another day.
Her diet was meager, but she had grown accustomed to the simple fare.
She knew which plants were safe to eat, and which ones to avoid.
She had learned to identify the sweetest fruits and the freshest water sources.
But despite her newfound skills, Sochima couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that followed her everywhere.
The thought of her dead mother and her life in the forest made her to weep bitterly as she sing a sorrowful song.
“In the darkness of night,
they took you away
A sacrifice to their gods,
in a cruel,
cruel way
I was left alone,
with a heart full of pain
My mother,
my guiding light,
lost in the shadows of shame
Oh, mother,
my heart is crying
Your absence,
I can’t deny
In the silence,
I hear your voice
Whispering strength, making me choose
Memories of your smile,
now taunt me
Echoes of your laughter,
haunt me
I’m left to wonder,
why they chose you
A innocent soul,
to pay for their truth
Oh, mother,
my heart is crying
Your absence,
I can’t deny
In the silence,
I hear your voice
Whispering strength,
making me choose.
Now I walk alone,
in the shadows of night
With a heart full of sorrow,
and a soul on fire
But I won’t let them win,
I’ll rise above the pain
And make sure your sacrifice,
will not be in vain.
*
*
Sochima’s heart raced as she saw the mighty lion approaching her.
She tried to run, but her legs were frozen with fear.
The lion’s eyes seemed to bore into her soul, and she could feel its hot breath on her skin.
She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst.
But to her surprise, the lion didn’t pounce.
Instead, it began to transform before her eyes.
Its body began to shift and contort, its fur receding and its features changing. Sochima opened her eyes to see a wise old man standing before her.
“Who are you?” Sochima asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I am the guardian of the forest,” the old man replied.
“And you, Sochima, are a child of the forest.
Your mother’s blood runs deep in these woods, and I have been sent to protect you.”
Sochima’s eyes welled up with tears as she realized that she was not alone.
The old man’s eyes gleamed with a knowing light as he spoke to Sochima.
“Your mother sent me to you, child,” he said, his voice low and mysterious.
“She wants you to avenge her death.
She wants you to make those who wronged her pay for their cruelty.”
Sochima’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the old man’s words.
The idea facing the villagers sparked a fire within her.
She felt a surge of determination and purpose.
“What do I need to do?”
she asked the old man, her voice firm and resolute.
The old man nodded, as if he had been expecting her response.
“I will teach you the ways of the forest,” he said.
“I will show you how to harness your anger and grief, how to use them to fuel your strength and courage.
And when the time is right, you will go to the village, and you will confront those who wronged your mother.”
Sochima’s heart raced with anticipation as she nodded her head.
She was ready to begin her journey, ready to avenge her mother’s death and bring justice to those who had wronged her.
The old man’s words had ignited a flame within her, a flame that would burn bright and fierce until she had accomplished her mission.
The old man took her into their chamber where she was transformed.
Sochima’s transformation was complete.
She now stood on four powerful legs, her body a majestic lion’s, but her head still retained its human features.
Her eyes blazed with a fierce inner light, and her voice was a mighty roar.
As she prowled the forest, she came across Ebuka hunting in the forest and he became her first victim.
She remembers that Ebuka’s father, was one of the elders who had sacrificed her mother, and it made her happy.
Sochima’s lioness instincts roared with triumph.
She had finally begun to exact her revenge.
The villagers who had wronged her would now taste the fear and pain they had inflicted on her and her mother.
With a fierce cry, Sochima claimed the forest as her territory.
The transformation had unleashed a powerful force within her, and nothing would stop her from avenging her mother’s death.
The forest trembled at the roar of the half-human, half-lion creature, knowing that Sochima’s wrath would be merciless and unrelenting.
As the guides arrived at the palace room, the king instructed them to go in search of Ebuka.
“I want you to search the forest and find Ebuka the son of Ibekwe.
Bring him back to me, dead or alive.”
The guides nodded and set out into the forest, their torches and spears at the ready.
They combed through the underbrush, calling out Ebuka’s name, but the only response was the echo of their own voices.
As they searched deeper, they began to feel a sense of unease.
The forest seemed to be growing darker, the shadows twisting and turning in ways that made them feel like they were being watched.
They quickened their pace, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Suddenly, a mighty roar shook the forest, making the guides tremble with fear.
They knew that they were not alone in the forest, and that something was stalking them.
They tried to flee, but their feet felt heavy, as if rooted to the spot.
And then, a figure emerged from the shadows.
The half-human, half-lion creature, stood before them, her eyes blazing with fury.
The guides, terrified, scattered in different directions, desperate to escape the wrath of the Lioness.
They hid behind trees, in bushes, and under rocks, holding their breath and praying that she would not find them.
But Sochima was relentless.
She roared through the forest, her voice echoing off the trees, until she spotted one of the guides.
He had thought he was safe, hiding behind a thick trunk, but Sochima’s keen eyes had caught sight of him.
The guide, knowing he was discovered, emerged from his hiding place and started shooting his gun.
But to his horror, the bullets is not penetrating and it’s bouncing off the Lion’s fur, as if it were invulnerable.
Sochima let out a mighty roar, her eyes fixed on the guide, and began to stalk towards him.
The guide, realizing his gun was no match for the creature, turned and ran, but the lion was too fast.
She pounced, her claws outstretched, and the guide’s screams echoed through the forest.
The other guides, hearing their companion’s fate, knew they had to escape the forest at all costs.
They emerged from their hiding places and started running, not stopping until they were at a safe place.
Sochima’s claws sank deep into the guide’s flesh, and with a swift motion, she ended his life.
But she didn’t stop there. With a fierce determination, she reached into his chest and pulled out his heart, holding it aloft like a trophy.
The other guides, still fleeing through the forest, heard the guide’s screams and Sochima’s triumphant roar.
They run as fast as their leg could carry and went back to the palace.
When they finally reached the palace, they found the king waiting for them, his face stern with worry.
“What happened?” he demanded, but the guides could only shake their heads, their eyes wide with fear.
“It was a lion,” one of them stammered. “It killed him, and…and removed his heart.”
The king was consumed by worry and fear.
He had never heard of a lion in their forest, and now, his people were being hurt and killed by one.
He called for his wisest advisors, demanding to know why this was happening and how to stop it.
But none of them knew the truth – that Sochima was seeking vengeance for the wrongs done to her mother.
They thought it was just a wild animal, and suggested solutions like hunting parties and traps.
The king, desperate for a solution, agreed to their plans, but deep down, he knew that something was amiss.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this lion than met the eye.
He decided to called for Ezemmuo, the chief priest, to consult with the gods.
He hoped that the priest’s connection to the divine would shed light on the mysterious attacks and provide a solution to the crisis.
Ezemmuo arrived at the palace, his long white robes flowing behind him, and greeted the king with a bow.
“Your Majesty,” he said,
“I sense that something is amiss.
The gods are restless, and the balance of nature is disturbed.”
The king nodded, his eyes pleading for answers.
“Please, Ezemmuo, ask the gods what is happening.
Why is this lion attacking my people?”
Ezemmuo nodded gravely.
“I shall consult the gods and seek their wisdom. But, Your Majesty, be prepared for the truth.
The gods do not always reveal what we wish to hear.”
With that, Ezemmuo turned to leave the palace, his staff in hand, his eyes fixed on the distant hills where the gods dwelled.
“I shall return with the gods’ answer,” he promised, “and may the truth bring us peace and understanding.”
And with that, he departed, leaving the king to his worries and the palace to its eerie silence, waiting for the chief priest’s return with the gods’ verdict.
*
*
Ezemmuo walked through the forest, his senses alert to the natural world around him.
As he approached his shrine, he felt a sense of peace and tranquility wash over him.
He pushed aside the curtain of leaves and entered the sacred space, expecting to find solitude and quiet contemplation.
Instead, he was met with a sight that made him raise an eyebrow in surprise.
Sochima, the young girl he had known as Ugomma’s only daughter, stood waiting for him, her small frame and innocent face a stark contrast to the solemnity of the shrine.
Ezemmuo’s mind wondered what could have brought her to this sacred place, and what she might want with him.
The chief priest’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze fixed on Sochima with a mixture of curiosity and caution, as he tried to discern the purpose of her unexpected visit.
The air was thick with anticipation, the silence between them heavy with unspoken questions.
“What brings you to my shrine, little one? Say your wish, for the gods are ready to listen to you.”
Sochima’s expression remained enigmatic, her voice steady and calm.
“I heard that you want to help the king consult the gods and find out the problem.”
Ezemmuo’s eyes narrowed slightly, his mind racing with possibilities.
“Yes, as you can see,” he replied, his hand gesturing to the various artifacts and symbols adorning the shrine.
“Or do you have any problem with that?” He asked, his tone cautious, sensing that there was more to Sochima’s visit than met the eye.
Sochima’s eyes flashed with anger, her voice low and menacing.
“Well, if you still value your life, stay away from the villagers for now, I haven’t come for you yet.
You people sacrificed my mother and think you can make away with it? Never.”
Ezemmuo’s face turned red with rage, his eyes blazing with indignation.
“How dare you treat me in my own shrine, you little rat?
You shall never leave to tell the story.”
With a swift motion, he raised his hand and unleashed a blast of energy, aiming to strike Sochima down.
But Sochima was no ordinary child.
As the charm hurtled towards her, she transformed in an instant, her body contorting and growing until she stood before Ezemmuo as a majestic lioness.
Her fur rippled in the dim light of the shrine, her eyes burning with a fierce intensity as she deflected the charm with a swipe of her paw.
The air was electric with tension, the two locked in a silent struggle, their powers clashing in a display of magic and fury.
The battle between Ezemuo and Sochima raged on, the air crackling with energy and the ground shaking beneath their feet.
The sky above grew dark, the clouds churning and twisting in a strange, otherworldly way.
The villagers felt a sense of unease, as if the very fabric of reality was being torn apart.
As the fight reached its climax, Sochima’s power surged forward, her lioness form radiating an aura of fury and vengeance.
Ezemuo, his strength waning, stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror.
With a final, mighty roar, Sochima struck the final blow, her claws tearing through Ezemuo’s body and sending him crashing to the ground.
The villagers, sensing the sudden release of energy, looked up to see the sky clearing, the sun breaking through the clouds.
But in the shrine, a gruesome sight awaited.
Ezemuo’s body lay in pieces, his heart ripped from his chest, a symbol of Sochima’s triumph.
And with that, Sochima vanished, leaving behind a trail of destruction.
The king’s brow furrowed in concern as he paced within the palace walls.
Two days had passed since the king sent Ezemuo to inquire from the gods, and the silence was oppressive.
The king’s mind raced with questions, his thoughts a jumble of worry and frustration.
“Why is Ezemuo taking too much time to come and tell me what the gods said?” he wondered.
“Does it mean that the gods have nothing to deliver?
Why can’t Ezemuo come and tell me what’s the problem, since he knows how urgent it is?”
The king’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on some invisible point as he struggled to make sense of the delay.
His hands clenched into fists, as if grasping for answers that refused to come.
The air was heavy with tension, the king’s unease palpable as he continued to question the silence.
“What could be holding Ezemuo back?
Has he encountered some obstacle on his journey? Or is the gods’ message so dire that he fears to deliver it?”
The king’s thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of uncertainty that threatened to consume him whole.
The king’s face set in a determined expression, his mind made up.
He summoned three of the palace guides, trusted and loyal men who had served him well.
“Go to the shrine,” he instructed them, his voice firm and urgent.
“Find Ezemuo and deliver a message from me.
Tell him that his presence is required immediately.
I need to know what the gods have said, and I need to know now.”
The guides nodded, their faces serious, and set off towards the shrine.
They moved swiftly, their footsteps quiet on the palace floors as they disappeared into the distance, bound for the sacred place where Ezemuo stayed.
The king’s message was clear: time was of the essence, and the king would wait no longer.
The guides approached the shrine with a sense of trepidation, their footsteps slowing as they drew near.
As they entered the sacred space, they were met with a grisly sight:
Ezemuo’s lifeless body, his chest cavity empty.
The guides’ eyes widened in horror as they took in the scene, their minds racing with the implications.
They remembered the guide who had been killed in the forest, his heart similarly removed.
A chill ran down their spines as they realized that the same fate had befallen Ezemuo.
The guides exchanged fearful glances, their thoughts consumed by the terrifying possibility that a monstrous lion was on the loose, striking at the heart of their spiritual leadership.
Without hesitation, they turned and fled the shrine, their footsteps echoing through the silence as they desperately sought to put distance between themselves and the gruesome scene.
The image of Ezemuo’s mutilated body seared into their minds, they ran with all haste, driven by fear and a sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm them.
The guides burst into the palace, their breathing labored and urgent.
They hastened to the throne room, their faces ashen and their eyes wide with fear.
As they neared the king’s throne, they dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in a gesture of submission.
The king’s gaze narrowed, his eyes piercing as he demanded,
“What is the problem? Why do you return with such haste and terror in your eyes?”
But the guides remained silent, their mouths agape as if the words were stuck in their throats.
The king’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin.
“I command you to speak!”
he thundered, his voice echoing through the hall.
“Tell me what you saw, or face my wrath! I will not be kept in the dark any longer.
Speak, I say!”
The guides trembled, their bodies shaking with fear as they struggled to find the courage to reveal the horrific truth they had witnessed.
Just as the guides about to speak, Ugochi burst into the palace, her cries echoing through the throne room.
“Igwe!! (King) my husband is gone oo, Igwe I’m dead oo, my husband oo.
The king quickly rose from his throne and approached her, his arms open in a gesture of comfort.
“Ugochi, my dear, please calm down and tell me what’s wrong,” he said softly, his voice filled with empathy.
But Ugochi was beyond consolation, her body shaking with sobs, her eyes streaming with tears.
She clutched her chest, as if her heart was breaking, and wailed again,
“My husband is gone, my king! What is happening in our land? I’m dead, I’m dead!”
The king’s face fell, his eyes filled with sorrow and worry.
He glanced at the guides, who looked on helplessly, and then back at Ugochi, his heart heavy with the weight of her grief.
He knew that he had to find out what was happening in his kingdom, and fast, or risk losing more of his people to this senseless violence.
Ugochi’s words tumbled out between sobs, her voice cracking with grief.
“We prepared to go to the farm to harvest our yam… my husband went first… and asked us to come later… We went to the farm soon… only to find him dead… with his heart removed…” Her voice trailed off as she collapsed into a fresh wave of tears, her body shaking uncontrollably.
The guides and attendants looked on, their faces somber and sympathetic, as Ugochi’s cries echoed through the throne room.
The air was heavy with the weight of her sorrow, and the unspoken fear that gripped the kingdom.
Another life lost, another heart torn from its chest… the horror seemed to have no end.
The king’s face turned red with rage, his eyes blazing with fury as he turns and ask the guides.
“Where’s the Ezemuo that I sent you to call?”
The guides saw the anger in him and one of them managed to speak out.
“My lord, we went to the shrine only to found him dead with his heart removed from his body.”
“What?! Ezemuo, is dead?!
And his heart removed, just like the others?!”
He slammed his fist on the armrest, making the guides jump.
The guides trembled, fearing the king’s wrath.
“Y-yes, my lord,”
one of them stammered.
“We found him at the shrine, his body mutilated beyond recognition.
It’s as if the same beast that killed the others has struck again.”
The king’s anger turned to shock, his mind reeling with the implications.
Ezemuo, the trusted chief priest and eyes of the gods, was gone.
The king felt a sense of loss and vulnerability wash over him.
He had sent Ezemuo to the shrine to seek the gods’ guidance, and now… now he was dead, victim of the same horror that had been terrorizing the kingdom.
The king’s thoughts raced with questions and doubts.
Who or what was behind these brutal killings?
And why were they targeting the heart, the symbol of life and vitality?
The king’s determination hardened into a fierce resolve.
He would find the answers, and he would make sure justice was served.
He went close to Ugochi who’s still crying and rolling on the ground.
“Woman, stop crying, I will pay you a visit, and I promise to put to an end of this.” The king said while consoling the young latest widow.
He then turn to the guides.
“Escort her to her house and make sure that nothing happens to her.”
The king’s throne room was quiet once again, the only sound being the soft sobs of Ugochi fading into the distance as she was escorted out.
The king’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, his brow furrowed in deep concern.
He paced back and forth, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for answers.
“Where is this beast coming from?”
he muttered to himself.
“And why is it targeting my people, my advisors, and now even the chief priest?”
He stopped pacing and looked up at the statue of the gods in the corner of the room.
“Why have you forsaken us?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ezemuo was your servant, your messenger.
Why did you not protect him?”
The king’s questions hung in the air, unanswered.
He felt a sense of frustration and helplessness wash over him.
He was the king, the protector of his people, but he was unable to stop this horror that had befallen them.
He slumped back into his throne, his eyes fixed on the floor, his mind racing with thoughts of how to end this senseless slaughter and restore peace to his kingdom.
Few minutes later, he called some of the guides outside.
His voice was firm and resolute as he addressed the guides.
“Go, summon the warriors and hunters to my palace.
We must put an end to this senseless slaughter.
I want that beast brought to justice, and I want it done now.”
The guides nodded and quickly departed, leaving the king to his thoughts.
He sat on his throne, his mind racing with strategies and plans.
He knew it wouldn’t be an easy task, but he was determined to protect his people and his kingdom.
He thought about the warriors and hunters, skilled and brave men who had defended the kingdom against many threats.
He had faith in their abilities, and he knew they would stop at nothing to bring the beast to justice.
The king’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the throne room.
He looked up, expecting to see the warriors and hunters arriving, but instead, it was one of his advisors, looking worried and nervous.
“What is it?” the king asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“My lord,” the advisor began, “we’ve received news from the village.
The beast has struck again.
Another victim, another heart removed.”
The king’s face contorted in anguish as he slumped forward, his head in his hands.
“No, no, no… How many more must suffer?” he lamented, his voice cracking with emotion.
Tears streamed down his face, a sight rarely seen by his subjects.
The advisor bowed his head, sharing the king’s sorrow.
“I’m afraid it gets worse, my lord.
The villagers are in a state of panic.
They’re demanding justice, and some are even calling for your abdication.”
The king’s cry turned to a growl, his eyes flashing with determination.
“I’ll not be swayed by fear and doubt.
I’ll find the beast and put an end to this terror.
I have already summoned the warriors and hunters.
We’ll hunt this monster down, no matter the cost!”
The advisor nodded, knowing the king’s resolve was unshakeable.
“As you command, my lord.
But please, be cautious.
The villagers are on edge, and the beast seems to be always one step ahead.”
The king’s jaw clenched, his mind racing with strategies and plans.
He would not rest until the beast was brought to justice, and his people could live in peace once more.
The tears on his face dried, replaced by a fierce determination to protect his kingdom and his people.
Just then, the guards came back with the warriors and hunters following them.
*
*
The king’s eyes lit up with a sense of hope and determination as he turned to face the warriors and hunters.
“Ah, thank the gods you’ve arrived.
We have a beast to hunt, and I want it done swiftly and decisively.”
The warriors and hunters nodded, their faces set with determination.
Their leader, a grizzled veteran named Chima, stepped forward.
“We’ll get the job done, Your Majesty.
We’ve got the best trackers and hunters in the land. We’ll find this beast and bring it down.”
The king nodded, his eyes scanning the group.
“We’re ready, Your Majesty,” Mich, one of the warrior said.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to stop this beast and bring peace back to our village.”
The king nodded, a sense of hope rising in his chest.
With the warriors and hunters on the job, he was confident that the beast would soon be brought to justice.
“Go, and may the gods be with you.”
They bowed deeply to the king, their faces set with determination.
“We will not fail, Your Majesty,” Chima said.
“We will bring back the heart of the beast and put an end to the terror it has unleashed upon our people.”
With a final nod, they turned and left the throne room, their footsteps echoing through the palace as they made their way to the armory and stables to prepare for the journey ahead.
The king watched them go, his eyes filled with a sense of hope and determination.
He knew that the road ahead would be treacherous, but he had faith in his hunters and the bravery warriors.
As the hunters disappeared from view, the king turned to his advisor.
“See to it that they have everything they need.
I want this beast brought down swiftly and decisively.
Our people are counting on it.”
The advisor bowed and scurried off to see to the preparations, leaving the king to his thoughts.
*
*
The king’s face clouded with concern as he heard the sound of the youths singing and approaching the palace.
He knew that the villagers only sang sorrowful songs when something was gravely wrong.
As the youths entered the palace, their voices grew louder and clearer, filling the throne room with a sense of foreboding.
The king’s heart sank, knowing that their songs were often a lament for the dead or a cry for help in times of great need.
“What is it?” the king asked, his voice firm but laced with concern.
“What sorrow brings you to my palace today?”
The youths continue with their songs demanding to burn down the shrine.
“Oh, gods of old,
we cry to thee
Why have you forsaken us,
can’t you see?
Our village lies in ruin,
our people slain
The beast that terrorizes,
your protection vain
Even Ezemuo,
your faithful priest
Fell to the beast,
his heart ripped from his chest
We demand no more,
your presence we refuse
For you have failed us,
our trust you abuse”
The king stepped forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture, but the youths were having none of it.
Their anger and frustration had reached a boiling point, and they would not be silenced.
“My children, please, let us not act in haste,”
the king pleaded, his voice barely audible over the din.
“We must not destroy the very thing that has protected us for so long.”
But the youths would not be swayed.
They had lost faith in the deity and saw it as a symbol of their suffering.
They began to chant, their voices growing louder and more insistent.
“We must burn it down! We must burn it down!” they shouted, their fists shaking with rage.
The palace was in chaos, the king’s advisors and guards trying to restore order but failing miserably.
The king’s face was etched with worry and concern as he realized that the situation was spiraling out of control.
The youths, fueled by their anger and frustration, marched forward to the shrine, determined to destroy the symbol of their perceived oppression.
They poured flammable liquids on the wooden structure and lit the match, watching as the flames engulfed the shrine.
They cheered and chanted, their voices echoing through the village, as they declared their independence from the deity and its perceived failures.
“We don’t want it anymore!” they shouted, their fists raised in defiance.
“We’ll take our fate into our own hands!”
The villagers watched in horror as the shrine burned to the ground, the flames consuming the very fabric of their tradition and beliefs.
The air was thick with the smell of smoke and rebellion, as the youths danced and celebrated their newfound freedom from the deity’s perceived tyranny.
The youth’s revelry was suddenly interrupted by a chilling turn of events.
Two of their own, still dancing and singing, suddenly clutched their eyes and fell to the ground, blinded by some unseen force.
The crowd gasped in horror as Udemba, the son of Akata, collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Pandemonium broke out as the youths scrambled to flee the shrine, abandoning their defiant stance and fleeing in terror.
The once-bold chants and songs were replaced with screams and wails of despair.
The villagers and some of the elders who had been watching from a distance, rushed to the scene, aghast at the sudden and inexplicable tragedy.
The shrine, once a symbol of rebellion, now lay eerily silent, its ashes still smoldering from the earlier fire.
The blind youths, still writhing in agony, were carried away by their companions, their fate a grim reminder of the unpredictable consequences of their actions.
Udemba’s lifeless body was gently lifted and borne away, his family’s wails echoing through the village.
The king’s face was ashen, his mind reeling with the implications of this sudden and inexplicable disaster.
Had the deity exacted a terrible revenge for their rejection? Or was this some other malevolent force at work?
The villagers scattered in fear, wondering what other calamities might befall them.
*
*
The people of Ozumba village had lost faith in their deity, viewing it as a weak and ineffective god that only brought harm to its own followers.
They saw how the deity’s supposed protection had failed to prevent the beast from attacking and killing their loved ones, including the chief priest, Ezemuo.
The deity’s inability to face the beast and protect its people had led to a crisis of faith, with many questioning its power and relevance.
“Why should we worship a god that can’t even protect us?” they asked.
“What’s the point of offering sacrifices and prayers if our god can’t keep us safe?” others chimed in.
The king, too, was torn, struggling to reconcile his own faith with the harsh realities of their situation.
He knew that something had to change, but he was unsure what the future held for their village and their people.
*
*
Two days has gone, and the warriors and hunters are ready to go to the forest and fight the beast.
They went to the palace for the king’s blessing before embarking on the journey.
The king, sitting on his throne, looked out at the determined faces of the warriors and hunters gathered before him.
He could see the fire in their eyes, the resolve in their stance, and he knew that they were ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead.
“My brave warriors and hunters,” the king began, his voice firm and resolute.
“You embark on a perilous journey today, one that will test your courage and strength.
But I have faith in you, for I know that you are the chosen ones, selected by our ancestors to protect our people and our land.”
The king paused, his eyes scanning the crowd, meeting the gaze of each warrior and hunter.
“Go forth, my sons, and may the gods of our land be with you.
May your spears be sharp, your bows be strong, and your hearts be filled with the spirit of our ancestors.
Bring back victory, and let the beast that has terrorized us be vanquished once and for all!”
The warriors and hunters cheered, their voices echoing through the palace, as they raised their weapons in a salute to the king.
With a final nod, they turned and marched out of the palace, ready to face the unknown dangers of the forest and the beast that lurked within.
They sing a war song as they match to the forest.
Oh, warriors brave and true,
Marching forth to see this through,
Into the forest dark and deep,
(Chorus)
Rise up, rise up, and take your stand,
With spears and bows, in hand to hand,
Fight for our homes, our families too,
Let the beast fall, and our village renew!
(Verse 2)
With every step, with every stride,
We’ll track the monster, side by side,
Through trees that loom, and shadows dark,
We’ll hunt the terror, leave our mark.
(Chorus)
Rise up, rise up, and take your stand,
With spears and bows, in hand to hand,
Fight for our homes, our families too,
Let the beast fall, and our village renew!
Our ancestors’ spirits guide us on,
Their courage and strength, forever strong,
We’ll honor them, with victory won,
And bring peace back, to our village done.
(Outro)
So let us march,
into the night,
With hearts ablaze,
and spirits bright,
For our village,
we’ll fight and win,
And the beast’s reign,
will soon come to an end!
Chima, with a determined look on his face, led the group of warriors and hunters into the forest.
His knowledge of the terrain was unparalleled, honed from years of hunting and exploring the very same woods where his friend Ebuka had met his untimely demise.
The memory of that fateful day still lingered in Chima’s mind, fueling his resolve to track down the beast and avenge his friend’s death.
With Chima at the helm, the group moved with a sense of purpose and determination, driven by their shared desire for justice and their determination to put an end to the beast’s reign of terror.
The group had settled in for a brief rest, their weary bodies grateful for the respite.
But suddenly, a terrifying sight emerged from the underbrush.
Sochima, turned into a lioness with half-human, half-lion features.
Her eyes blazed with a fierce intensity as she swooped in, snatching one of the warriors in her powerful jaws.
Chima’s face contorted in anguish as he watched the lion disappear into the trees, his companion’s desperate cries fading into the distance.
“Go after her!” Chima bellowed, his voice echoing through the forest.
“We can’t let the beast take him!”
The warriors and hunters sprang into action, sprinting after the lion with all their might.
But as they reached the spot where she had vanished, they found nothing.
No trace of the lion, no sign of their captured comrade.
It was as if they had both vanished into thin air.
They searched frantically, scouring the surrounding area, but every path led to a dead end.
Sochima seemed to have mastered the art of disappearance, leaving behind only the haunting memory of her piercing gaze.
Chima’s face fell, his eyes clouding with worry and frustration.
He knew that every moment counted, and yet, they were no closer to rescuing their captured companion.
Chima, with a strategic mind, divided the hunters and warriors into seven groups, each tasked with searching a different sector of the forest.
He then set out alone, traversing the forest, visiting each group to offer guidance and support.
As he walked, the silence of the forest was broken only by the sound of his footsteps and the distant calls of birds.
Chima’s eyes scanned the surroundings, his mind racing with thoughts of the beast’s motivations and the whereabouts of their captured companion.
He reached the first group, led by Obi, and assessed their progress.
“Any sign of the lion or our brother?” Chima asked, his voice low and urgent.
Obi shook his head. “Nothing yet, Chima. But we’ll find them.”
Chima nodded, his expression resolute.
“I know you will. Keep searching.”
He moved on to the next group, led by Obidike, and then the next, his presence a reminder of the gravity of their mission.
With each visit, Chima’s determination grew, his resolve to rescue their companion and defeat the beast burning brighter with every step.
Chima walks out to go to his own direction in search of the lion.
He noticed some noise at his back.
His heart raced as he turned to face the lion-like creature standing behind him.
Its half-human, half-lion features seemed to gleam in the dappled forest light, its eyes fixed intently on Chima.
He raised his gun, firing shot after shot, but the bullets seemed to ricochet off the creature’s skin, leaving no mark.
The creature stood unmoving, its gaze piercing and unblinking.
Chima’s finger tightened on the trigger, but he knew it was futile.
For a long, tense moment, the two locked eyes, Chima’s mind racing with thoughts of his companion, still captive, and the beast’s intentions.
Then, without warning, the lion turned and vanished into the trees, leaving Chima shaken and perplexed.
Chima stood there, his gun still raised, his heart pounding, wondering why the beast had spared his life.
Was it a taunt, a reminder of its power, or something more? The encounter left Chima with more questions than answers.
Chima’s mind raced back to the fateful day when his friend Ebuka was brutally killed by the same beast.
He recalled how he had been present, yet unharmed, a fact that had always puzzled him.
And now, here he was, face to face with the beast once again, and yet, it had spared his life a second time.
A shiver ran down Chima’s spine as he realized that the lion’s actions defied logic.
It was as if the beast had a strange connection with him, a connection that went beyond predator and prey.
Chima’s thoughts swirled with questions: Why had the beast spared him twice?
What did it want from him?.
The memories of Ebuka’s tragic fate still lingered, a painful reminder of the beast’s ferocity.
Yet, Chima couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more to the lion’s actions than met the eye.
A glimmer of hope flickered to life within him, a hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to end the beast’s reign of terror without further bloodshed.
*
*
Three days after the warriors and hunters left the village, a strange and ominous phenomenon occurred.
The gods, whose shrine had been desecrated by the youths, unleashed their wrath upon the village.
A deadly disease swept through the village, striking every firstborn son, leaving a distinct mark on their foreheads – a sign of the gods’ displeasure.
Pandemonium broke out as parents and relatives frantically sought remedies and solutions.
The village elders hastily reconvened to appease the gods.
They offered sacrifices and prayers, begging for forgiveness and mercy.
But the gods seemed unyielding, their wrath unrelenting.
The disease spread rapidly, claiming more victims by the day.
As the village teetered on the brink of collapse, the people of Ozumba realized too late the grave mistake they had made.
Their defiance and hubris had awakened a power they could not control, and the consequences were devastating.
The gods, once revered and respected, had become a force of destruction, leaving the village to face the darkness they had unleashed.
*
*
*
As the night wore on, the warriors and hunters, exhausted from their search for the beast, cleared a circular area in the forest and prepared to camp for the night.
They gathered dry wood and kindling, building a fire that crackled and spat, casting flickering shadows on the surrounding trees.
The men sat or lay down around the fire, their faces illuminated by the warm glow.
Some puffed on their pipes, while others sharpened their spears or bows, their minds still racing with thoughts of the lion and their missing companion.
As the night deepened, the forest grew darker and more menacing, the sounds of nocturnal creatures echoing through the trees.
But the warriors and hunters were undaunted, their eyes fixed on the fire as they tried to rest and recharge for another day of searching.
The fire crackled and popped, casting an eerie light on the forest floor, as the men settled in for a fitful night’s sleep, their dreams no doubt haunted by visions of the beast and the unknown dangers that lurked in the shadows.
Ikenga, one of the brave hunters, stirred from his slumber, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.
He sat up slowly, his joints creaking from the hard ground.
With a quiet grunt, he shifted his position, careful not to disturb the others.
Rising to his feet, Ikenga took a few steps away from the fire, into the darkness of the forest.
He unfastened his loincloth and began to urinate, the sound of his stream hitting the underbrush the only noise breaking the silence.
As he stood there, Ikenga’s gaze scanned the surrounding trees, his senses heightened, ever vigilant for any sign of danger.
The forest was quiet, the only sounds the distant hooting of an owl and the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.
Ikenga finished and retied his loincloth, his eyes still scanning the darkness.
He took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs, and began to walk back to the fire, his footsteps quiet on the forest floor.
As Ikenga approached the fire, a sudden movement emerged from the darkness.
Sochima, in the form of a majestic lion, burst forth from the shadows, her eyes blazing in the firelight.
With a swift and powerful swipe of her paw, she grasped Ikenga, her claws digging deep into his flesh.
Ikenga’s cry for help echoed through the forest.
“Aaah! Help! The beast! Nooo!”
But before the others could react, Sochima vanished into the darkness, Ikenga struggling in her grasp.
The warriors and hunters sprang into action, rushing to where Ikenga had been taken.
But he was gone, leaving behind only a few scattered footprints and a trail of blood leading into the darkness.
The men frantically searched the surrounding area, calling out Ikenga’s name, but there was no response.
The beast had struck again, leaving the group with a sense of dread and foreboding.
They knew they had to continue their search, but the darkness seemed to have swallowed Ikenga whole, and the lion’s power seemed almost supernatural.
Onyema’s eyes widened in horror as he realized his twin brother, Ikenga, was gone.
He felt like a part of him had been ripped away.
He collapsed to the ground, overcome with grief, and wailed loudly, his cries echoing through the forest.
“My twin! My brother! Ikenga! Nooooo!”
Onyema’s voice cracked with anguish as he beat the ground with his fists, his body shaking with sobs.
The other warriors and hunters tried to comfort him, but Onyema was inconsolable.
He had lost not only his brother but also his twin, his companion, and his best friend.
The bond between twins was sacred, and Onyema felt like a part of his soul had been torn away.
He remembered the times they had shared, the battles they had fought together, and the laughter they had exchanged.
Onyema’s heart was heavy with sorrow, and he felt like he was drowning in a sea of despair.
As the night wore on, Onyema’s cries gradually subsided, replaced by a numb silence.
His eyes remained fixed on the spot where Ikenga had vanished, hoping against hope that his brother would reappear, alive and unharmed.
But deep down, he knew that the beast’s grip was unforgiving, and Ikenga was gone, lost to the darkness forever.
The remaining warriors and hunters huddled together, their eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the firelight.
No one dared to sleep, their minds racing with thoughts of Ikenga’s fate and the terror that the beast inspired.
They knew they had to be vigilant, for the beast could return at any moment, hungrier for more blood.
The fire crackled and spat, casting eerie shadows on the trees as the men sat in silence, their weapons at the ready.
The darkness seemed to press in on them, making their skin crawl with anticipation.
As the night wore on, the men’s exhaustion gave way to a state of hyper-vigilance, their senses heightened, and their nerves stretched taut.
They knew they had to stay awake, had to stay alert, for to fall asleep would be to invite the lion’s deadly embrace.
And so, they waited, frozen in fear, as the darkness seemed to pulse with a malevolent life of its own, waiting for the moment to strike again.
The king, his face etched with worry and concern, summoned his cabinet to an emergency meeting.
The wise men gathered around the ornate table, their faces grave with the weight of the crisis.
“My dear advisors,” the king began, his voice heavy with emotion,
“our children, our future, are being taken from us by the gods’ wrath.
We must find a way to appease the gods and deliver our children from this deadly disease.”
The room fell silent, as each member of the cabinet knew the gravity of the situation.
The king’s own son, the prince, was among those afflicted.
“We have tried sacrifices and prayers,” said one advisor, “but the gods seem unyielding.”
“Perhaps we need to seek the wisdom of the ancient ones,”
suggested another,
“the priests and priestesses who have studied the ways of the gods.”
“Or maybe,” said a third, “we need to look beyond our borders, to seek the help of neighboring kingdoms or distant lands.”
The king nodded, his eyes scanning the room.
“I want you all to think outside the box, to explore every possibility, every solution.
We cannot afford to lose our children.
We must act, and act now.”
With a sense of urgency, the cabinet members dispersed, each one tasked with finding a solution to the crisis that threatened the very future of their kingdom.
The king remained, his heart heavy with the weight of his responsibility, praying for a miracle that would save his children and his people.
The cabinet reconvened the next day, their faces set with determination.
After a night of deliberation, they had reached a consensus.
“Your Majesty,” announced the lead advisor,
“we have decided to send a delegation of three elders to Nkoroma village, to seek the help of Ezenwanyi, the powerful priestess renowned for her wisdom and spiritual prowess.”
The king nodded, his eyes lighting up with hope.
“I approve. Who are the three elders chosen for this crucial mission?”
The advisor continued,
“We have selected Ogbuefi Akunne, known for his wisdom and diplomatic skills; Igweatuonye, a respected healer and spiritual leader; and Omeni, a skilled linguist and cultural ambassador.
They will depart immediately, bearing gifts and a message of humility, to implore Ezenwanyi’s assistance.”
The king nodded, his face set with resolve.
“May the gods speed their journey and grant them success. Our children’s lives depend on it.”
With a sense of purpose, the three elders set off on their perilous journey to Nkoroma village, carrying the hopes and prayers of the kingdom with them.
As the three elders, Ogbuefi Akunne, Igweatuonye, and Omeni, ventured beyond their village boundary, they felt a sense of trepidation wash over them.
They were entering the neighboring village of Onuogba, with whom their people had a long-standing land dispute.
“Do you think we’ll be safe?” Omeni asked, his voice laced with concern.
“The Onuogba people have been hostile towards us for years. What if they capture us?”
Igweatuonye’s expression turned grave.
“We must be cautious, my friends. We carry the weight of our kingdom’s future on our shoulders. If we’re captured, our mission will fail, and our children will suffer.”
Ogbuefi Akunne, the eldest of the group, placed a reassuring hand on his companions’ shoulders.
“We’ll be fine. We come in peace, bearing gifts and a message of goodwill. The Onuogba people may be hostile, but they respect tradition and protocol.
As they continued on the winding path, the elders couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease.
The Onuogba village was known for its fierce warriors and stubborn leaders.
One misstep could lead to disaster.
Yet, they pressed on, driven by their determination to save their kingdom’s children and resolve the conflict once and for all.
As the three elders entered Onuogba village, they were met with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.
The villagers, both young and old, gazed at them with a piercing intensity, their eyes filled with a blend of suspicion and disdain.
They felt a growing sense of discomfort under the scrutiny, their skin crawling with unease.
They had expected some level of tension, given the longstanding conflict between their villages, but the palpable animosity was unnerving.
Ogbuefi Akunne, the lead elder, held his head high, trying to project an air of confidence and peaceful intentions.
Igweatuonye and Omeni flanked him, their eyes scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of welcome or understanding.
The villagers’ stares seemed to bore into their souls, making them feel like unwelcome strangers in a hostile land.
Their discomfort deepened, their smiles and greetings met with cold silence.
It was clear that the Onuogba people were not ready to forgive or forget the past conflicts, and the elders’ mission was off to a precarious start.
As the three elders attempted to make their way through the village, a group of Onuogba youths suddenly gave chase, their footsteps pounding the earth in pursuit.
The elders, taken by surprise, quickened their pace, their hearts racing with fear.
“Run! Run!” Ogbuefi Akunne urged his companions, his voice laced with urgency.
Igweatuonye and Omeni needed no prompting, their legs pumping furiously as they sprinted through the village.
The youths were gaining on them, their taunts and jeers echoing through the air.
The elders’ breath came in ragged gasps, their legs aching from the sudden exertion.
They knew they couldn’t outrun the youths for much longer.
Just as they thought all was lost, they saw a figure emerge from the crowd, waving his hands in a authoritative gesture.
“Stop! Stop this nonsense at once!” the figure thundered, his voice commanding respect.
The youths hesitated, then slowed to a stop, their chests heaving with excitement.
The elders, grateful for the intervention, slowed to a halt, their eyes fixed on the figure who had saved them.
It was Ogbuefi Okoro, the respected elder of Onuogba village, known for his wisdom and fairness.
As they caught their breath, the three elders exchanged grateful glances with Ogbuefi Okoro, wondering why he had intervened on their behalf.
They knew that the Onuogba and their village had a long history of conflict, and it was unusual for an Onuogba elder to show them kindness.
“Thank you, Ogbuefi Okoro,” Ogbuefi Akunne said, his voice sincere.
“We are in your debt. May our ancestors reward your kindness.”
Ogbuefi Okoro nodded, his face stern but his eyes hinting at a deeper understanding.
“You are on a mission of peace, I presume? To seek the help of Ezenwanyi, the powerful priestess of Nkoroma village?”
The elders nodded in unison, surprised that he knew their purpose.
“Then you must continue your journey,” Ogbuefi Okoro said, his voice firm.
“The road to Nkoroma village is long and treacherous, but may the gods protect you.
May your mission bear fruit and bring peace to our troubled lands.”
With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the elders to ponder the mystery of his kindness.
They continued their journey, their hearts filled with hope and gratitude, as they ventured deeper into the unknown.
*
*
*
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, the hunters and warriors resumed their quest, determined to track down and slay the beast that had terrorized their village.
They moved swiftly and silently, their footsteps quiet on the forest floor as they followed the trail of destruction left by the creature.
Onyema, still grieving the loss of his twin brother Ikenga, led the charge, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
His comrades, equally resolute, flanked him, their weapons at the ready.
As they pressed deeper into the forest, the signs of the beast’s presence grew stronger.
Trees were uprooted, and massive claw marks scarred the trunks.
The air was heavy with the stench of death and decay.
With a fierce cry, they charged forward, their weapons raised, ready to confront the monster that had brought terror to their village.
As they continued their search, Obi saw Uche his five years child crying alone in the forest,
He rushed towards his son, Chima grabbed his arm, holding him back.
“Wait, Obi! Think about it. How could Uche possibly be here? This forest is treacherous, and our village is far away. It’s not possible for a five-year-old to wander here alone.”
Obi hesitated, confusion and concern etched on his face.
He looked at Uche again, and that’s when he noticed something strange.
Uche’s eyes seemed… different, almost as if they were glowing in the dark.
“Chima, what’s going on?” Obi asked, his voice laced with unease. “What’s happening to my son?”
Chima’s grip on his arm tightened.
“I don’t know, but I think we’re walking into a trap.
This beast we’re hunting, it’s not just any animal. It’s got powers beyond our understanding.”
As they spoke, Uche’s crying grew louder, and the forest seemed to grow darker, as if the very shadows themselves were closing in on them.
Obi’s heart raced with fear, and he knew they had to get out of there, fast.
They turns to go, but Obi couldn’t afford to leave his son alone in the forest, he rushed to grab Uche, Chima and the others shouted warnings, but it was too late.
The moment Obi’s hands made contact with his son’s body, a blinding light enveloped them, and they both vanished into thin air.
The forest was silent for a moment, as if holding its breath in shock.
Chima and the others stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.
They looked at each other, their faces etched with worry and confusion.
One moment, Obi and Uche were there; the next, they were gone.
Onyema finally broke the silence, his voice laced with determination.
“We must find them! We can’t let Obi disappear without a trace!”
The group nodded in agreement, knowing they had to act fast.
They began searching the forest, calling out Obi’s names, but only the echoes replied.
The forest seemed to have swallowed him.
Akata’s face was stern and commanding as he turned to the warriors and hunters.
“We must leave now and return to the village! We can’t afford to lose any more men.
This forest is cursed, and we’re no match for its evil.”
But Chima stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.
“We can’t turn back now, Akata.
We have to track down the beast and save our land.
We’ve come too far to give up.”
Akata’s expression turned angry.
“You’re being foolish, Chima.
We’ve already lost Obi, Ikenga and many others.
How many more lives will you sacrifice for this quest?”
Chima’s voice remained resolute.
“I’ll sacrifice mine own life if it means saving our village.
We can’t let the beast continue to terrorize us.
We must be brave and see this through.”
The other warriors and hunters nodded in agreement with Chima, their faces set with determination.
Akata’s expression turned from anger to concern, realizing he was outnumbered.
“Fine,” he said finally.
“But if we don’t find the beast by nightfall, we’re leaving.
I won’t have us all trapped in this forest when darkness falls.”
Chima nodded, a small smile on his face.
“Agreed. Let’s move out. We have a beast to hunt.”
The group arrived at a clearing, weary from their journey, and decided to rest for a short while.
Chima, however, didn’t settle in with the others. Instead, he walked a short distance away, seeking solitude to gather his thoughts.
As he sat down on a rock, he let out a deep sigh, his mind racing with the events of the past.
The disappearance of Obi and Ikenga weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was responsible for their fate.
Chima gazed out into the forest, his eyes lost in the dense foliage.
He thought about the beast they were hunting and wondered what lay ahead, and whether they would emerge victorious or fall victim to the forest’s dark magic.
Chima’s eyes widened in shock as he turned to his right side and saw Sochima standing in the forest, her beautiful smile and sparkling eyes captivating him.
His heart raced with excitement, and he instinctively rose to his feet, eager to embrace her.
But before he could take a step, Sochima’s body began to transform.
Her limbs stretched, her face elongated, and her skin turned a golden hue.
Chima’s eyes froze in horror as she transformed into a half-human, half-lion creature.
Chima’s fear took over, and he quickly hid behind a nearby tree, his heart racing with terror.
He peeked around the trunk, watching as the half-human, half-lion creature walked away, its movements graceful yet menacing.
As he observed, the creature’s form seemed to shift and ripple, like the forest itself was alive and in motion.
Chima’s mind struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.
Sochima, the woman he loved, was now a beast, a creature of the forest’s dark magic.
He remained hidden, frozen in fear, as the creature disappeared into the underbrush.
Chima burst into the clearing, his face ashen and his eyes wide with fear.
The warriors and hunters looked up at him, concerned by his sudden arrival.
“Chima, what’s wrong?” one of them asked, but Chima just shook his head, unable to speak.
He collapsed onto a rock, his breathing rapid and shallow.
The others exchanged worried glances, sensing that something was amiss, but Chima refused to divulge what he had seen.
“Let’s just get moving,” he muttered finally, his voice barely audible.
“We need to find the beast and get out of this forest.”
The others nodded, though they seemed uncertain.
They knew Chima had seen something, but his silence only added to the mystery and tension that had been building since they entered the forest.
As they prepared to leave, Akata approached Chima, his eyes searching for answers.
“Chima, my friend, what did you see out there?” he asked softly.
Chima just shook his head again, his eyes avoiding Akata’s gaze.
“Let’s just go,” he repeated, his voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, Chima’s mind wandered, his thoughts consumed by the image of Sochima as the half-human, half-lion creature.
He couldn’t shake off the feeling of fear and unease, and his usual focus and determination began to waver.
The others noticed his distraction and exchanged concerned glances.
“Chima, are you okay?” Onyema asked, but Chima just nodded, not meeting his gaze.
Suddenly, Akata spoke up, his voice firm but gentle.
“Friends, I think we’ve gone far enough.
We’ve lost many men already, and Chima’s not himself.
Let’s head back to the village and regroup.
We can come back stronger and more prepared.”
The others nodded in agreement, relieved to have a reason to escape the beast’s ominous atmosphere.
Chima, however, felt a pang of guilt and frustration.
As they turned to leave, Chima’s eyes scanned the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sochima, but she was nowhere to be seen.
He follows his comrades back to the village, his heart heavy with doubt and worry.
As the warriors and hunters emerged from the forest, the villagers spotted them and erupted into a chorus of shouts and cheers.
The news of their return spread like wildfire, and soon a large crowd gathered, eager to welcome them back.
The villagers, led by the elderly and respected members of the community, rushed forward to escort the warriors and hunters to the palace.
The atmosphere was electric, with people chattering excitedly and asking questions about their journey.
Chima and his comrades were greeted with warm smiles and nods of respect as they walked through the crowd.
The villagers were eager to hear tales of their adventure and learn about the mysterious lion and its secrets.
As they approached the palace, the village elder, a wise and kind-hearted man named Ozurumba, stepped forward to greet them.
“Welcome back, brave warriors and hunters!” he exclaimed, his voice booming across the courtyard.
“We have been waiting anxiously for your return.
Come, share your stories with us, and let us celebrate your bravery and determination!”
The crowd cheered and clapped, and Chima and his comrades were ushered into the palace, ready to share their tale and receive the village’s warm welcome.
Little did they know, however, that their journey was far from over, and the lion’s secrets were only beginning to unravel.
Chima stood before the villagers, his eyes cast downward, his voice heavy with sorrow.
“My friends, we have returned, but our journey was not without great cost.
We lost brave Ikenga, Obili, and many others who fought alongside us.
Their memories will forever be etched in our hearts.”
The villagers nodded solemnly, their faces somber with grief.
Chima continued,
“We faced the beast, but it was more powerful than we anticipated.
Despite our valiant efforts, we were unable to defeat it.
We had to retreat, leaving behind our fallen comrades.”
The crowd murmured, shock and disappointment evident on their faces.
Ozurumba, the village elder, stepped forward, his expression grave.
“Chima, my son, we are proud of your bravery and the sacrifices you and your comrades made.
But we must not give up.
We will regroup, gather our strength, and plan a new approach to defeat this beast and save our village.”
The villagers filed out of the palace, their faces etched with disappointment and fear.
They had been hoping for a triumphant return, with the beast defeated and their village finally safe.
Instead, they were left with the bitter taste of defeat and the looming threat of the beast’s wrath.
As they dispersed into the village, worried whispers spread like wildfire.
“What will happen next?” “Will the beast attack us again?” “How will we protect ourselves?”
Fear and uncertainty gripped the villagers, and they began to wonder if they would ever be able to live in peace again.
Some gathered in small groups, discussing possible solutions, while others retreated to their homes, seeking comfort and security within their own walls.
Chima’s failure to defeat the beast had left a sense of vulnerability, and the villagers were left to ponder their uncertain future.
Chima walked through the village, his heart heavy with thoughts of Sochima and the beast.
He couldn’t shake off the image of her transformation, and the realization hit him like a thunderbolt: Sochima, his lover, was now the beast terrorizing their village.
As he approached his home, he felt a sense of dread wash over him.
He understood now why the lion had spared his life twice – it was Sochima, trying so hard not to hurt him.
Chima’s mind raced with the implications.
He felt a mix of emotions: love, fear, and guilt.
He loved Sochima, but she was now a monster, and he was torn between his loyalty to the village and his devotion to her.
He entered his home, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings, but everything seemed different now.
He felt like a stranger in his own life, unsure of what the future held or how to reconcile his conflicting emotions.
As night fell, Chima slipped out of the village, his heart pounding with determination.
He had to know why Sochima, the woman he loved, had transformed into a beast and was now terrorizing their own people.
He couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more to this curse than met the eye.
With a deep breath, he ventured into the dark forest, the same place where he had last seen Sochima in her beastly form.
The trees loomed above him, their branches creaking ominously in the wind.
Chima’s senses were on high alert as he navigated the familiar path, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the beast.
As he walked deeper into the forest, the silence grew thicker, and Chima’s thoughts turned to Sochima.
What had driven her to this point? Was she still the woman he loved, trapped inside the beast, or had it consumed her completely?
Chima ventured deeper into the forest, his senses on high alert, expecting to see the beastly form of Sochima.
But instead, a sudden, piercing pain shot through his leg, and he collapsed to the ground.
As he looked down, he saw a mighty snake, its body as thick as a tree trunk, wrapped around his leg, its fangs buried deep in his flesh.
Chima tried to shake off the snake, but it held tight, its grip like a vice.
He tried to call out for help, but his voice was hoarse and barely audible.
The snake’s venom was coursing through his veins, clouding his mind and weakening his body.
As the darkness closed in, Chima saw the snake’s eyes gleaming in the dim light, and he knew he was in the grip of a powerful and ancient force.
The snake’s gaze seemed to hold a wisdom and knowledge that Chima couldn’t comprehend.
Chima’s vision blurred, and his body felt heavy, as if the forest floor was pulling him down.
The snake’s venom coursed through his veins, spreading its deadly embrace.
He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn’t respond, paralyzed by the toxin.
His mind raced, thoughts disjointed and fragmented.
Sochima… the beast… the forest… all swirled together in a maddening dance.
He tried to call out, but his voice was barely a whisper, lost in the darkness.
As the poison tightened its grip, Chima’s thoughts grew cloudy, and his vision began to fade.
The forest grew quieter, the trees looming like sentinels, watching him succumb to the venom.
His final thought was of Sochima, and the love they shared, before the darkness consumed him whole.
Sochima, still in her beastly form, stumbled upon Chima’s lifeless body, lying motionless on the forest floor.
She let out a heart-wrenching roar, and her eyes overflowed with tears, as she realized her love was slipping away.
With a gentleness that belied her fearsome appearance, she scooped up Chima’s limp form, cradling him in her massive arms.
She held him close, as if trying to will life back into his still body.
Sochima’s tears fell like rain upon Chima’s face, washing away the dirt and grime of the forest floor.
She rocked him back and forth, her mournful cries echoing through the trees, a haunting lament that seemed to shake the very foundations of the forest.
As she carried Chima away, the forest creatures watched in silence, sensing the depth of her sorrow.
Even the trees seemed to lean in, their branches tangling together in a canopy of sympathy, as Sochima bore her beloved away from the darkness, towards a glimmer of hope.
Sochima’s mind wandered back to the joyful times she shared with Chima and her mother.
She remembered the warm smile on Chima’s face as he presented them with a freshly cut grasscutter, its sweet aroma filling the air.
Her mother’s laughter and praise for Chima’s hunting skills echoed in her memory.
She recalled the way Chima’s eyes sparkled when he told stories of his adventures, and how her mother’s face glowed with pride and love.
Sochima’s heart ached, longing for those carefree days, when love and happiness filled their little family.
As she carried Chima’s lifeless body, Sochima’s thoughts raced with memories of their time together.
She remembered the way Chima taught her how to hunt and track, and how her mother’s wisdom and kindness guided them both.
Tears streaming down her face, Sochima wished to turn back time, to relive those moments, to have Chima by her side once more, and to feel the warmth of her mother’s embrace.
The pain of her losses threatened to consume her, but she pressed on, driven by the hope of saving Chima and restoring their love.
The village was abuzz with worry and fear as the news of Chima’s disappearance spread like wildfire.
People gathered in huddles, whispering and speculating about what could have happened to him.
Some thought it was the beast’s doing, while others believed it was the forest’s revenge for their neglect of the old ways.
The villagers’ faces were etched with concern and dread, their eyes darting nervously towards the forest’s edge.
They knew Chima was a skilled hunter and warrior, but even he was not immune to the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
The village elder, Ozurumba, called an emergency meeting to discuss Chima’s disappearance and the growing threat of the forest.
The villagers gathered around, their voices hushed and anxious, as they tried to come up with a plan to rescue Chima and appease the forest’s wrath.
But as they deliberated, a sense of hopelessness settled over them.
They knew they were up against forces beyond their control, and that Chima’s fate was uncertain.
The village was gripped by fear, and the darkness of the forest seemed to closing in around them.
The three elders, Ogbuefi Akunne, Igweatuonye, and Omeni, arrived at Nkoroma village,
They were greeted by the warm smiles of the villagers.
They asked some of the villagers about the road that led to Ezenwanyi’s shrine, and an old man named Okoro stepped forward.
“Ah, you seek the road to Ezenwanyi’s shrine?” Okoro asked, his eyes twinkling with knowledge.
“It is not an easy journey, but I can guide you.
The road is treacherous, with steep hills and raging rivers.
But if you follow my instructions, you will reach the shrine safely.”
The elders listened intently as Okoro described the journey, pointing out landmarks and warning them of potential dangers.
They thanked him profusely and set off.
Their hearts filled with determination and their spirits lifted by the villagers’ warm hospitality.
As they journeyed on, they encountered many challenges, but they persevered, using their combined wisdom and experience to overcome each obstacle.
Finally, after many hours of walking, they arrived at the shrine.
As the they approached the entrance of the shrine, they felt a sudden jolt of anticipation.
They had traveled so far and overcome so many obstacles to reach this sacred place.
But just as they were about to step inside, a voice boomed down from above, echoing off the walls of the shrine.
“Stop! Do not enter this sacred place!” the voice commanded.
The elders froze, looking around in confusion.
There was no one in sight, but the voice seemed to come from all around them, echoing off the trees and the ground itself.
“Who are you?” Omeni called out, his voice shaking slightly.
“Why do you forbid us from entering the shrine?”
There was a pause, and then the voice spoke again.
“You have been chosen to receive a message from Ezenwanyi, but you must not enter the shrine.
Your hearts are not pure enough to behold her glory.”
The elders looked at each other in dismay.
They had come so far, and now they were being denied access to the very place they had sought to reach.
“What must we do to purify our hearts?”
Igweatuonye asked, his voice filled with determination.
The voice spoke again,
“You must make a sacrifice to make you worthy of entering the shrine.”
Ogbuefi Akunne’s face fell as he heard the voice’s response.
He looked at his fellow elders, Igweatuonye and Omeni, and saw the fear and uncertainty in their eyes.
He knew that he had to make a decision, but it was a heavy burden to bear.
“What do you mean, voice?”
Ogbuefi Akunne asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“What kind of sacrifice are you talking about?”
“The sacrifice of one of your own lives,”
the voice replied, its tone unyielding.
“One of you must give up your life so that the others may enter the shrine and receive the blessings of Ezenwanyi.”
The elders looked at each other in horror.
They had never imagined that their quest for solution and help would come at such a terrible cost.
“Which one of us must make this sacrifice?”
Igweatuonye asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The choice is yours,” the voice replied.
“But know that the fate of your village depends on your decision.
If you do not make the sacrifice, you will never enter the shrine, and your village will suffer the consequences.”
The elders looked at each other, unsure of what to do.
They knew that they had to make a decision, but it was a choice that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
Omeni’s eyes filled with determination as he spoke,
“I will sacrifice myself. Show me how to do it.”
But before the voice could respond, Ogbuefi Akunne grabbed Omeni’s arm, his grip firm.
“No, my friend,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and resolve.
“It is my turn to die.
I am the eldest, and it is my duty to make this sacrifice.
You must stay and continue the journey with Igweatuonye.”
Omeni tried to pull away, but Ogbuefi Akunne held fast.
“No, I will not let you do this,” he said, his voice firm.
“I am the one who must go.”
The two elders locked eyes, their faces filled with a deep sense of sorrow and understanding.
Igweatuonye watched in silence, his heart heavy with the weight of their decision.
The voice remained silent, waiting for their final decision, as the three elders stood there, frozen in a moment of ultimate sacrifice and loyalty.
Ogbuefi Akunne took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the shrine.
“Which way?” he asked, his voice firm and resolute.
“Enter into the shrine, Ogbuefi Akunne,” the voice replied.
“Your fellow elders, Omeni and Igweatuonye, will wait here. Only you can enter.”
Ogbuefi Akunne nodded, his face set in determination.
He took a step forward, then another, his movements slow and deliberate.
As he reached the entrance of the shrine, he paused, looking back at his fellow elders.
Omeni and Igweatuonye watched in silence, their faces filled with a mix of sadness and admiration for their friend’s courage.
They knew that Ogbuefi Akunne was walking into the unknown, and that his sacrifice would be remembered for generations to come.
With a final nod, Ogbuefi Akunne stepped into the shrine, the darkness swallowing him whole.
As soon as Ogbuefi Akunne disappeared into the shrine, a thick white smoke billowed out, enveloping the entrance.
Igweatuonye and Omeni watched in horror, knowing that their friend was gone.
They fell to the ground, weeping and wailing in grief.
The voice spoke again, its tone unyielding.
“Ogbuefi Akunne has made the ultimate sacrifice.
His spirit has been received by Ezenwanyi. You, Omeni and Igweatuonye, are free to go now.
The two elders slowly got to their feet, their faces streaked with tears.
They looked at each other, then back at the shrine, now shrouded in silence.
They knew that their friend was gone, and that their lives would never be the same.
The white smoke lingering in the air like a haunting reminder of their friend’s sacrifice.
They entered the shrine, and a voice welcomed them.
“Welcome to nduime shrine, noble men of Ozumba village.”
They turned their back but couldn’t find anyone in the shrine, the place was like an old shrine that has been abandoned for centuries.
Suddenly, Ezenwanyi appears to the shrine.
They was about to run when they heard a voice urging them to stop.
“Do not be afraid, for the gods are with you.
You seek for peace and peace you shall have.
They summoned courage and came back.
“Please Ezenwanyi, help us, our village are in a big trouble”. Omeni speak with fear in his face.
“there’s a beast hurting us, and also killed our Ezemuo.
Act of anger, the youths burn down the shrine, and now the gods have taken their revenge on us.”
Ezenwanyi’s expression turned from warm to stern as she listened to the elders’ tale.
Her eyes blazed with a fierce light as they recounted the desecration of their deity and the tragic consequences that followed.
“How could they commit such a heinous act?”
she exclaimed, her voice thundering through the shrine.
“The youths of Ozumba have brought a curse upon themselves and their families.
But I shall help you, for the sake of the innocent lives that are being lost.”
Ezenwanyi raised her hands, and a brilliant light enveloped the elders.
When the light faded, a small, delicate calabash lay in her hands.
“This is the Calabash of Life,” she explained.
“It holds the power to heal and protect.
Take it to your village and use it to cleanse the land of the curse.
But first, you must perform a ritual to appease the spirits and restore balance to the land.”
Igweatuonye and Omeni listened intently as Ezenwanyi instructed them on the ritual, their hearts filled with hope and gratitude.
“At Eke day, the elders of Ozumba village will take the calabash and walks around the whole village, and then take it to the shrine to appease the gods.
No one is expected to come out that day, not even a visitor is allowed in your village that day, they must cover their faces while on the mission, for anyone who sees the calabash with his or her eyes while it’s on a mission dies instantly.”
They where happy that at least, they will find peace again in their village.
“May the blessings of the ancestors be upon you, and May your village prosper and may the memories of Ogbuefi Akunne’s sacrifice never be forgotten.” Ezenwanyi spoke as she ordered them to go back to their village.
With a sense of purpose and hope, the two elders, Igweatuonye and Omeni, began their journey back to Ozumba.
They walked in silence, their hearts filled with a mix of emotions – grief for their fallen friend, gratitude for Ezenwanyi’s guidance, and determination to rebuild their village.
As they walked, the dense forest gradually gave way to the familiar landscape of their village.
They quickened their pace, eager to share the news of their successful quest and to begin the ritual that would lift the curse.
Finally, they beheld the thatched roofs of Ozumba’s homes, a sight that filled their hearts with joy and longing.
They knew that their journey was almost over, and that soon they would be reunited with their people, free from the curse that had haunted them for so long.
As Igweatuonye and Omeni entered the village, the air was filled with cheers and shouts of joy.
The villagers, who had been waiting anxiously for their return, rushed to welcome them, eager to hear news of their quest.
The two elders were surrounded by a sea of smiling faces, as the villagers patted them on the back and congratulated them on their success.
With the Calabash of Life held high, the villagers escorted Igweatuonye and Omeni to the palace, where the king awaited their return.
The palace gates swung open, and the two elders were led into the throne room, where the king sat in anticipation.
The king’s face lit up with a warm smile as he saw the two elders with a Calabash, and he rose from his throne to greet the elders.
“Omeni and Igweatuonye, you have returned with the blessing of Ezenwanyi,”
he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “Our village is forever in your debt.”
The villagers cheered and chanted the names of the two elders, hailing them as heroes.
Omeni and Igweatuonye bowed their heads in humility, knowing that their journey had been for the greater good of their people.
They greeted the king and explained how Ogbuefi Akunne sacrificed himself for the betterment of the villagers.
They also explained the instructions given to them by Ezenwanyi that the elders of the village will take the calabash and walks around the village and no one is expected to come out that day.
Except the elders, and no one is allowed to see the calabash with his or her eyes that day.
The king’s face turned solemn as Omeni recounted the tale of Ogbuefi Akunne’s sacrifice.
He nodded gravely, his eyes filled with a deep respect for the fallen elder.
“I see,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Ogbuefi Akunne’s bravery and selflessness will never be forgotten.
His spirit will live on in our hearts, and his sacrifice will be honored for generations to come.”
The king then turned his attention to the instructions given by Ezenwanyi.
He nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“I understand,” he said.
“The elders of our village will carry the Calabash of Life and walk around the village, following the instructions given to us by Ezenwanyi.
And on that day, no one will venture out of their homes, lest they risk being struck down by the calabash’s power.”
He paused, looking around the room at the assembled villagers.
“As we prepare for the ritual,” he declared.
“Let us honor Ogbuefi Akunne’s memory and lift the curse that has plagued our village for so long.
May Ezenwanyi’s blessing be upon us all.”
With that, the king began to make arrangements for the ritual, assigning tasks to the various villagers and ensuring that everyone understood their role in the ceremony.
The villagers dispersed, each one eager to play their part in the ritual that would restore their village to its former glory.
“Eke day” dawned, and the elders prepared for the crucial ritual.
They carefully lifted the Calabash of Life, its delicate exterior radiating an otherworldly glow.
With solemn faces, they began their procession through the deserted village streets.
As instructed by Ezenwanyi, the villagers remained indoors, aware of the calabash’s unforgiving power.
The elders walked alone, their faces covered with cloths to prevent accidental eye contact with the calabash’s deadly gaze.
Father Nelson, a missionary Catholic priest, arrived in Ozumba village on Eke day, As he walked through the village, he unexpectedly came into contact with the Calabash of Life on the road.
To the astonishment of the elders, he was not harmed by the Almighty and powerful Calabash which they so much believes on.
Ezenwanyi had decreed that anyone who came into contact with the Calabash would not live to tell the story.
Yet, this stranger stood before them, unscathed and calm.
The elders were amazed and curious, wondering how he had managed to defy the Calabash’s power.
As Father Nelson walked passed the elders, Obiajulu, one of them, unveiled his face and gazed at the stranger in astonishment.
He was so captivated by the miraculous event that he forgot to cover his face again.
His eyes involuntarily locked onto the Calabash of Life, and he froze.
The elders gasped in horror as Obiajulu’s body began to crumble, his skin turning to ashes before their very eyes.
His once robust frame disintegrated into a pile of dust, leaving behind only his wrapper and other adornments.
They were shocked and terrified, realizing too late that Obiajulu had made a grave mistake.
They remembered Ezenwanyi’s warning:
anyone who looked directly at the Calabash of Life without covering their face would face instant destruction.
The elders, still shaken by the sudden demise of Obiajulu, carefully carried the Calabash of Life around the village, making sure to keep their faces covered.
They moved in unison, their footsteps solemn and deliberate, as they made their way to the shrine where the calabash was kept.
As they approached the shrine, they could feel the weight of their responsibility and the gravity of the situation.
They knew that they had to be careful and respectful, lest they suffer the same fate as Obiajulu.
With reverence, they placed the calabash in its designated place within the shrine, making sure that it was secure and protected.
They then began to perform a ritual of purification and protection, seeking to appease the gods and prevent any further calamities.
As the ritual came to an end, the elders emerged from the shrine, their faces still covered.
The news of Obiajulu’s demise spread out to the villages and some of the villagers gathered in hushed tones, their faces filled with worry and confusion.
“Why did Obiajulu die, while the stranger walked free?”
they asked each other.
“What kind of justice is this, that punishes one of our own, while sparing a stranger who doesn’t even worship our deity?”
They shook their heads, unable to comprehend the seeming injustice.
“Obiajulu was a faithful worshiper of the gods, and yet, he paid the ultimate price.
Meanwhile, the stranger, who doesn’t even know our ways, walks away unscathed.
It doesn’t make sense!”
Their questions and doubts hung in the air, like a thick fog, obscuring their understanding and fueling their fear.
They began to wonder if their beliefs and traditions were flawed, if their deity was truly just and fair.
As they struggled to find answers, the villagers’ faith in the calabash and their way of life began to waver.
A sudden and mysterious turn of events! After just a day, some of the first sons of the villagers, who were previously afflicted by the gods, began to recover.
Their health was restored, and they rose from their beds, strong and vital once more.
The villagers’ questions and doubts persisted, fueled by the seeming injustice of Obiajulu’s fate.
“Why did the Calabash of Life spare the stranger, who doesn’t even worship our deity, while taking the life of our own Obiajulu, a faithful worshiper?” they kept asking themselves.
Their minds struggled to reconcile the contradiction.
“Is the calabash truly a just and fair?, or does it favor outsiders over it’s own people?”
They saw the events as a sign of the gods’ inconsistency, punishing their own worshipers while sparing those who didn’t even believe in them.
The villagers’ trust in the calabash and their traditional beliefs was shaken, replaced by confusion, anger, and a sense of betrayal.
They felt that the gods had failed them again, and that the stranger’s presence had somehow disrupted the natural order of things.
Father Nelson settled at the neighboring village of Onuogba, where a close parish welcomed him.
The parish, led by Father James, provided a warm and supportive community for Father Nelson, and he was grateful for the opportunity to continue his ministry in the region.
Though Ozumba village remained close to his heart, he was content to call Onuogba parish his new home.
As time passed, the villagers of Ozumba began to feel a sense of relief and complacency.
With no further sightings or encounters with the mysterious beast, they assumed that it had moved on or was no longer a threat.
Additionally, the memory of Chima, the missing hunter, began to fade from their minds, and they no longer worried about his disappearance.
The villagers returned to their daily routines, feeling less concerned and more at ease, thinking that the danger had passed and life could return to normal.
They forgot how Chima had risked his life to help the them to defeat the beast.
As the villagers became preoccupied with their farm work and other pursuits, his memory slowly faded into obscurity.
No one spoke of his bravery or his disappearance, and it was as if he had never existed.
The villagers’ brief moment of happiness and complacency was shattered when the three maidens, who had ventured out to the farm, were brutally killed by the same beast.
The lion, still lurking in the shadows, had struck again, leaving the villagers in a state of shock and horror.
The maidens’ bodies were found with their hearts removed, a grim reminder of the beast’s ferocity and unrelenting terror.
The village was plunged into darkness and despair once more, as the people struggled to come to terms with the senseless slaughter of their innocent daughters.
Grief and fear gripped the community, and the memory of Chima’s disappearance and the beast’s previous attack came flooding back, a stark reminder of the danger that still lurked in the shadows.
The villagers, with heavy hearts and determined steps, marched to the palace, their sorrowful song echoing through the streets.
The melody was a plea, a cry for help, as they demanded justice and protection from the king.
“Oh, king, hear our cry,
The beast has struck again,
our children lie dead
We beg of you,
do something,
we can’t bear the pain,
Protect us from this monster,
let us live again”
Their voices rose and fell, a haunting harmony that conveyed their grief and desperation.
The king, watching from his throne, felt the weight of their suffering and knew he had to act.
The villagers’ song was a call to action, a reminder that he was responsible for their safety and well-being.
The king’s heart was heavy with sorrow, but he knew he had to find a solution, or risk losing the trust and loyalty of his people.
He came out of the throne room and watched the villagers as they sing in agony.
He raised his hands to quiet the crowd.
“My dear people, please, calm down.
I understand your pain and fear.
I promise you, I will not rest until this beast is brought to justice.
I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety and security.
Have faith in me, your king, and trust that we will overcome this darkness together.”
The villagers, though still worried, nodded in acceptance, their faces slightly hopeful.
They had heard the king’s words before, but they wanted to believe that this time, something meaningful would be done.
They began to disperse, still murmuring among themselves, but with a glimmer of hope that the king’s promise would bring an end to their suffering.
The king, with a deep breath, called upon his trusted cabinet members to gather in the throne room.
Their faces showed a mix of curiosity and concern as they took their seats.
“Gentlemen,” the king began, his voice filled with reverence,
“we have tried every mortal means to defeat the beast, but it seems we need divine intervention.
I have called you here today to discuss how to invite Ezenwanyi, the powerful messenger of the gods, to our village.
We need his guidance and assistance to overcome this monstrous threat.”
The cabinet members nodded solemnly, aware of Ezenwanyi’s legendary status as a bridge between the mortal world and the realm of the gods.
They began to discuss the proper protocol for extending an invitation to such a revered figure.
“We should send a delegation of our most esteemed elders, bearing gifts of gold, ivory, and sacred herbs, as the gift to the gods before they will demand for another human sacrifice, we all know how Ogbuefi Akunne lost his life, in the previous one” suggested one advisor.
“And we must perform the traditional rituals of purification and welcome, to show our respect and humility,” added another.
The king nodded thoughtfully, considering the weight of their words.
“Let us proceed with the utmost care and reverence.
We must ensure that our invitation is worthy of Ezenwanyi’s consideration, and that we are prepared to receive his wisdom and guidance.”
As the king and his cabinet continued their discussion, a sudden burst of light illuminated the throne room, and Ezenwanyi materialized before them.
Her towering figure, adorned in shimmering robes and carrying a staff that crackled with divine energy, commanded the space.
The king and his advisors froze, their eyes wide with awe and fear.
Ezenwanyi’s piercing gaze swept the room, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity.
Her presence was like a storm, filling the air with an electric charge that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.
The king, trying to compose himself, stuttered a greeting,
“E-Ezenwanyi, messenger of the gods… we were just discussing how to invite you… we didn’t expect… “
Ezenwanyi’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the king’s words,
“I have come, for the gods have heard your pleas.
Your village is plagued by a beast, a creature born of darkness and chaos.
I shall help you defeat it, but first, you must prove your worthiness to the gods.”
The cabinet members trembled, their faces pale, as Ezenwanyi’s words hung in the air like a challenge.
The king, trying to muster his courage, nodded solemnly,
“We are willing to do whatever it takes, Ezenwanyi.
Please, guide us.”
“The gods demanded for a four human sacrifice, which will represent the four market days that we have.
The gods accepted the sacrifice of Ogbuefi Akunne and still needs Three human sacrifice to complete it.”
The king and his cabinet members gasped in horror as Ezenwanyi revealed the gods’ demand.
“Four human sacrifices?” the king repeated, his voice trembling.
“But why must we pay such a terrible price?”
Ezenwanyi’s expression remained stern,
” The four market days are the fabric of your village’s life, and the gods demand a sacrifice for each one.
Ogbuefi Akunne has already been taken, and three more must follow.”
The cabinet members looked at each other in despair, knowing that choosing three more villagers to sacrifice would be a devastating task.
The king’s face contorted in anguish,
“Who will we choose?
How can we condemn three more innocent lives to death?”
Ezenwanyi vanished into a thin air just the same way she came without letting the king finish his words.
The king, still grappling with the weight of the decision, nodded to one of the palace guides,
“Go, summon the towncrier.
We must gather the villagers and inform them of the gods’ demand.
Perhaps, together, we can find a way to appease the gods and save our people.”
The palace guide bowed and hastened out of the throne room, his footsteps echoing through the halls as he made his way to the towncrier’s quarters.
Meanwhile, the king and his cabinet members remained in solemn silence, their minds racing with the impossible choice before them.
As the guide returned with the towncrier, the king steeled himself for the difficult task ahead.
“Ukpaka, I called you here to go round the village, tell them that I have a massage for them tomorrow at the village square.
I need everybody’s present, both old and small.” The king massage him.
The towncrier, a tall, imposing figure with a powerful voice, nodded solemnly and began his rounds.
With a deep breath, he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed out the message, echoing through the village streets:
“Oyez, oyez, oyez!
By the king’s decree,
all villagers are summoned to the village square tomorrow!
Every man, woman, and child must attend.
The fate of our village hangs in the balance,
and the king has a grave announcement to make!
Be there at dawn, lest you miss the news that will shape our destiny!”
The towncrier’s voice carried far and wide, reaching every corner of the village.
People peeked out of their huts, curiosity and concern etched on their faces.
Some whispered to each other, speculating about the reason for the summons, while others quickly gathered their families, preparing for the gathering the next day.
As the towncrier continued his rounds, the village buzzed with anticipation and worry, everyone wondering what the king’s announcement would bring.
The next day, the village square was packed with anxious villagers, all gathered around the central platform where the king and his cabinet would address them.
The air was thick with tension and worry, as whispers and murmurs spread like wildfire.
Some villagers fidgeted with their traditional attire, while others clutched their children tightly, their eyes fixed on the platform.
The elderly sat on the periphery, their faces lined with concern, while the younger ones stood at the back, their eyes wide with curiosity.
As the sun reached its peak, the king and his cabinet emerged from the palace, their somber faces a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of the villagers’ clothing.
The king’s advisor, Eze, carried a large, ornate drum, its beats signaling the start of the gathering.
The king ascended the platform, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before him.
He raised his hands, and the villagers fell silent, awaiting the announcement that would determine their fate.
The king’s voice, heavy with sorrow, began to speak,
“My dear people, the gods have spoken, and we must listen…”
The king’s eyes clouded with a mix of sadness and desperation as he continued,
“Ezenwanyi, the revered messenger from Nkoroma village, came to my palace yesterday with a grave message.
She said that the gods demand three human sacrifices in exchange for their help in defeating the beast that has terrorized our village.”
The villagers gasped in horror, their faces pale with fear.
Some covered their mouths in shock, while others whispered prayers to the gods.
The king’s voice cracked with emotion,
“I know this is a terrible task, but we are running out of options.
The beast has taken so many of our people already, and we cannot bear to lose any more.
But who can we choose to sacrifice? Our children, our parents, our friends?”
The villagers began to murmur among themselves, some suggesting names, others refusing to even consider the idea.
The king continues his speech.
“I have decided to summon you all to know if there’s anyone that’s willing to sacrifice his or her life for the sake of his/her people.
Anyone who volunteered himself shall never be forgotten in the history of Ozumba kingdom.”
The king’s plea was met with a deafening silence.
The villagers looked at each other, their eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.
Some shook their heads, others looked away, and none stepped forward to volunteer for the sacrifice.
The king’s face fell, his eyes clouding with disappointment and desperation.
He had hoped that someone, anyone, would come forward to save their village, but it seemed that no one was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
Eze, the king’s advisor, stepped forward, his face grave.
“We must think of the greater good, Your Majesty.
If one person sacrifices themselves, we can save the rest of the village.”
The king nodded, but his eyes remained filled with sorrow.
“I know, Eze. But who can we ask to make such a sacrifice?”
The silence that followed was oppressive, weighing heavy on the hearts of all present.
“My dear subjects,” the king said, his voice heavy with sorrow,
“I fear we have reached a critical juncture.
The gods demand a terrible price for our salvation, and I must take responsibility for the difficult decisions that lie ahead.
I, along with my trusted cabinet, shall personally select those who will be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice.
May the gods guide us in our choice.”
With a raised hand, he signaled the dismissal of the gathering.
“Let us depart, my friends. May the ancestors watch over us in these trying times.”
His words were laced with a sense of resignation and burden, his tone somber and grave.
The weight of his responsibility hung heavy in the air as he turned to leave, his cabinet following closely behind.
The villagers parted, allowing them passage, their eyes filled with a mix of fear, respect, and sorrow.
Just as the villagers were dispersing in groups, a terrifying figure emerged from the shadows.
A creature with the upper body of a human and the lower body of a lion, sprang into action, its eyes blazing with ferocity.
The villagers, already on edge, panicked as Sochima attacked, its claws swiping at them with deadly precision.
Chaos erupted as the villagers scrambled to escape, but fate was not on Obidike and his wife’s side.
The lion pounced, its claws ensnaring them with ease.
The couple’s screams echoed through the village square as the lion’s grip tightened, its hot breath on their necks.
With a swift and brutal motion, Sochima struck, its claws piercing the couple’s chests and ripping out their hearts.
The villagers who had managed to escape slowed, their faces frozen in horror as they witnessed the gruesome scene unfold.
Obidike and his wife’s lifeless bodies slumped to the ground, their hearts lying beside them, their eyes frozen in a permanent stare.
Sochima, its task complete, let out a deafening roar, as if to announce its triumph to the entire village.
The remaining villagers fled in terror, knowing they had just witnessed a horrific omen.
As the villagers scrambled to find safety, the streets emptied, and the town square was left deserted.
Doors slammed shut, and windows were barricaded, as if to keep the beast’s evil intentions outside.
Inside their homes, families huddled together, whispering prayers and hoping for a miracle.
Some tried to calm their children, who were crying and trembling with fear.
Others peered through windows, watching for any sign of the beast’s approach.
*
*
*
In one of the homes, a young couple, Akua and Kwame, clutched each other tightly, their hearts racing with fear.
They had witnessed the beast’s action earlier that day.
Their children, two boys and a girl, were wide-eyed with terror, clinging to their parents as if they would never let go.
The family’s fate, and that of the entire village, hung in the balance, as the beast’s wrath was about to unleash a terror beyond their wildest nightmares..
*
*
And also, Ubaka, a devoted husband and loyal member of the King’s cabinet, refused to leave his beloved wife, Nneoma, behind.
Just three weeks into their marriage, he couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning her, even in the face of the beast’s terror.
Together, they barricaded themselves inside their home, locking doors and windows, hoping to keep the danger outside.
Nneoma, with a mix of fear and determination, clung to Ubaka, her eyes pleading with him to keep her safe.
Ubaka, trying to reassure her, held her close, his mind racing with thoughts of protection and escape.
He knew the beast’s powers were formidable, but he was determined to defend his new life with Nneoma.
As the night wore on, the couple heard the beast’s roars and the sounds of destruction outside.
They huddled together, praying for the dawn to come, hoping that the beast’s wrath would pass them by.
Their anxiety grew, wondering if their locked door would be enough to keep the monster at bay…
Two days of eerie silence had passed, and Sochima, the beast, grew curious about the villagers’ disappearance.
She noticed that they doesn’t come outside anymore, She decided to pay them a visit, one by one, in their homes.
With a wicked transformation, she morphed into a half-human, half-lion creature, her eyes blazing with an unsettling intensity.
Father Nelson, prepared himself for a mission to the village of Ozumba.
He donned his simple yet dignified attire, grabbed his worn leather Bible, and set out on the journey.
His heart was filled with compassion and a desire to share the Word of God with the villagers, hoping to bring them comfort, guidance, and solace in these trying times.
As he walked, the scenic countryside unfolded before him, a stark contrast to the darkness and fear that had gripped the village.
Father Nelson’s thoughts were focused on the task ahead, praying for the right words to bring hope and strength to the people of Ozumba.
*
*The king sent his guides to summon his cabinet for a meeting.
The guides, dressed in the king’s livery set off to deliver the King’s massage.
One of the guides arrived at Ubaka’s house, his footsteps echoing through the deserted street.
He knocked on the door, and after a moment of silence, Ubaka’s voice came from the other side, laced with fear and uncertainty.
“Who is it?” Ubaka asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“The king’s guide,” the man replied.
“I’ve come to summon you to the palace.
The king requests your presence at an urgent meeting.”
Ubaka’s voice faltered,
“Tell the king… I’m not coming.
I can’t leave my wife alone… it’s not safe.”
The guide nodded understandingly, though he knew the king’s summons were not to be taken lightly.
“Very well, I’ll convey your message.
But please, Ubaka, reconsider.
The king’s council needs your wisdom now more than ever.”
With that, the guide turned and departed, leaving Ubaka and Nneoma to their anxious vigil, wondering what the future held for their village and their lives…
At the palace, the king’s cabinet members gathered in the grand hall of the palace, their faces etched with concern and worry.
The king, seated at the head of the table, noticed Ubaka’s empty chair and frowned.
“Where is Ubaka?” he asked, his voice firm but laced with a hint of disappointment.
The guide who had been sent to summon Ubaka spoke up,
“Your Majesty, he refused to come.
He said it wasn’t safe to leave his wife alone.”
The cabinet members exchanged uneasy glances, understanding Ubaka’s fear but also aware of the gravity of the situation.
“This is unacceptable,”
the king said, his brow furrowed.
“We need all hands on deck to address this crisis.
Send another guide, and this time, make it clear that his presence is not a request, but a royal command.”
The cabinet members nodded in agreement, knowing that the king’s word was law.
But they also knew that Ubaka’s absence was a significant blow, as his counsel was invaluable in these treacherous times…
The guide, determined to fulfill the king’s command, arrived at Ubaka’s house and found him still refusing to leave his wife’s side.
Without hesitation, the guide swooped in, scooped up Ubaka, and slung him over his shoulder like a rebellious child.
As they approached the palace, the other cabinet members couldn’t help but burst into uncontrollable laughter at the sight.
Ubaka’s dignity was left at the door, his legs flailing in the air like a puppet on a string.
The guide, deadpan and serious, marched into the grand hall, Ubaka still draped over his shoulder, and deposited him into his chair with a gentle thud.
The king, trying to maintain his composure, cleared his throat and began the meeting, but the tension was broken.
Snickers and chuckles continued to erupt from the cabinets, and even Ubaka wasn’t happy, he felt so embarrassed for a palace guide to disrespect him in that manner.
The gravity of the situation was momentarily lifted, and for a brief moment, the palace was filled with the much-needed sound of laughter…
The king’s stern voice cut through the laughter, his expression stern and commanding.
“Enough!” he thundered, his gaze sweeping the room.
“We are not here to indulge in frivolity, but to address the grave threat that has beset our people.
The attacks on our villages, the terror that has gripped our citizens… these are not matters to be taken lightly.”
The cabinet members’ smiles faltered, and they nodded in solemn agreement, their faces somber once more.
Ubaka, still looking a bit sheepish, straightened in his chair, his eyes fixed on the king.
The king’s voice continued, firm and resolute.
“We must focus on finding a solution, a way to protect our people and restore peace to our land.
I will not have our efforts hindered by frivolous behavior.
Let us proceed with the seriousness and gravity this situation demands.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the soft rustling of papers and the weighty breathing of the cabinet members, their minds refocused on the critical task at hand…
As they deliberately speak on how to select who will be feet for the sacrifice.
Chief Mbakwe suggested that they will select three maidens for the sacrifice.
He reminded them that men are always useful if the need arise but girls are not that important.
“We have to Select three maidens for the sacrifice, “Men are always useful, but girls… well, they are not that important.”
The other cabinet members nodded in agreement, their faces somber but resigned.
It was a harsh reality, but one they had accepted.
The village was dwindling, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
But as they began to discuss who to choose, the room fell silent once more.
Who would they select?
The daughters of the villagers?
the sisters of the warriors?
the innocent girls who had done nothing to deserve such a fate?
Ubaka spoke up, his voice laced with anguish.
“How can we do this? How can we condemn our own daughters to such a terrible fate?”
The king’s expression was grim.
“We have no choice, Ubaka.
The beast must be appeased, or it will destroy us all.”
But the question remained: who would they choose?
The cabinet members looked at each other, their eyes avoiding the gaze of the others.
They knew that whoever they selected, it would be a death sentence.
And so, they put it off, delaying the inevitable.
But deep down, they knew that eventually, they would have to make the impossible decision.
“I propose we select Adanna the daughter of late Udenta, Nneoma the sister of Chima the missing hunter, and Chiamaka the orphan for the sacrifice,” one of the cabinet members said, his voice firm but laced with a hint of hesitation.
But before anyone could respond, Ndukwe slammed his fist on the table, his face red with anger knowing that Chiamaka is his niece.
“I can’t agree to this!” he exclaimed.
“You’re asking us to condemn someone else’s daughter to death while your own daughter, Amara, goes free?”
The room fell silent, the tension palpable.
The cabinet member’s outburst had struck a nerve, and the others knew he spoke the truth.
How could they justify sacrificing other men’s daughters while their own children were spared?
Just then, Ezenwanyi, appeared at the palace, her presence commanding attention.
Her eyes blazed with an otherworldly intensity as she addressed the king and his cabinet.
“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice low and urgent.
“I bring a message from the gods.
You have delayed the sacrifice for too long.
Today, you must make the choice.
Either you present the sacrifice or face the consequences.”
The king’s face paled, his eyes darting to his cabinet members.
“What consequences?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ezenwanyi’s gaze seemed to bore into the king’s soul.
“If you do not make the sacrifice today, the beast will unleash its full fury upon your people.
Your village will be destroyed, and every last one of you will perish.”
The room fell silent, the weight of Ezenwanyi’s words crushing the air from their lungs.
The cabinet members exchanged fearful glances, knowing they had run out of options.
The king’s voice trembled as he spoke, “We… we will make the sacrifice.
Please, tell us what we must do.
We’re confused on how to choose those that will be used for the sacrifice.”
“Send your guides out to the road,” Ezenwanyi commanded the king.
“The first three people they encounter will be the ones chosen for the sacrifice.”
The king’s face twisted in anguish, but he knew he had no choice.
He nodded solemnly and summoned his guides.
“Go out to the road,” he instructed them.
“Bring back the first three people you see.
It is the will of the gods.”
The guides departed swiftly, their footsteps echoing through the palace halls.
They knew not who they would find, but they were bound by duty to carry out the king’s orders.
Nneoma, Ubaka’s wife couldn’t stay at home alone, as the fear of the beast coming to attack her couldn’t get out of her mind.
She went out to meet her husband at the palace, so that they could come back together.
As Nneoma walked towards the palace, her heart beating with anticipation, she unknowingly sealed her fate.
The guides, sent by the king, spotted her first, their eyes locking onto her as they approached.
“Come with us,” they said, their voices firm but laced with sorrow.
“The king has chosen you for a great honor.”
Nneoma Ubaka’s wife’s confusion turned to fear as she realized what was happening.
She tried to protest, but the guides were insistent, leading her away from her intended destination.
As they continued on their mission, the guides soon came across two more figures – Mmesoma and Oluchi, twin sisters who had ventured out to fetch water for their family’s meal.
The guides’ eyes met, and they nodded in unison, their hearts heavy with the weight of their task.
“Come with us,” they repeated, their voices echoing through the air.
“The king has chosen you for a great honor.”
The twin sisters exchanged fearful glances, sensing the gravity of the situation.
They knew not what lay ahead, but they knew they had no choice.
With hesitant steps, they followed the guides, joining Nneoma on the fateful journey to the palace…
The guides led the three captives – Nneoma Ubaka’s wife, Mmesoma, and Oluchi – into the palace courtyard, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
The king and his cabinet members awaited them, their faces somber and resolute.
As the captives were brought before them, Ubaka’s eyes scanned the group, and his heart sank.
Among them stood his wife, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.
A cry of anguish burst from his lips as he rushed towards her, but the guides held him back.
“No, Ubaka!” the king commanded, his voice firm but sorrowful.
“You know the will of the gods.
We cannot alter the fate that has been chosen.”
Ubaka’s face contorted in agony as he struggled against the guides’ grip.
“Please, Your Majesty!” he begged, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Spare my wife! Take me instead!”
The king’s expression softened, but his resolve remained unwavering.
“I am sorry, Ubaka.
The choice is no more ours to make.”
As the scene unfolded, Mmesoma and Oluchi exchanged fearful glances, sensing the weight of their own fate.
They knew they were mere pawns in a larger game, and their lives hung in the balance…
Ezenwanyi led the somber procession to the ancient shrine, nestled deep in the heart of the forest.
The three captives – Nneoma Ubaka’s wife, Mmesoma, and Oluchi – walked with hesitant steps, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty.
The king, Ubaka, and the elders followed closely behind, their eyes cast downward in reverence.
The air was heavy with the weight of tradition and the scent of burning incense.
As they reached the shrine, Ezenwanyi raised her hands to the heavens and invoked the gods.
“We have brought the chosen ones,”
she declared.
“Reveal to us the reason for the beast’s wrath, that we may appease its hunger and restore peace to our land.”
The elders nodded in unison, their faces grave with concern.
The captives, meanwhile, exchanged fearful glances, sensing the gravity of their situation.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Ezenwanyi drew a sacred dagger from its sheath.
The blade glinted in the flickering torchlight, casting an ominous glow over the proceedings.
Her hand rose and fell, the dagger plunging into the heart of each captive with deadly precision.
The sound of screams and gasps filled the air, echoing off the shrine’s walls as the three women met their fate.
Nneoma Ubaka’s wife was the first to fall, her eyes locking onto her husband’s as she slumped to the ground.
Ubaka’s face contorted in agony, tears streaming down his face as he watched his beloved wife die before his eyes.
Mmesoma and Oluchi followed soon after, their bodies crumpling to the earth as their lives were extinguished.
The twins who went to fetch water for their mother couldn’t make it back alive.
Their eyes met in a final, desperate glance, their faces frozen in terror.
The shrine fell silent, the only sound the soft sobbing of Ubaka and the heavy breathing of the elders.
Ezenwanyi stood tall, her face a mask of determination, as she completed the gruesome ritual.
The air was heavy with the scent of blood and death, the weight of the sacrifice hanging over the assembly like a dark cloud.
The king’s face was ashen, his eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies before him.
As the last of the three women’s lives faded away, Ezenwanyi turned to the king and the elders.
“The sacrifice is complete,”
she declared, her voice cold and detached.
“The gods will now reveal the reason for the beast’s wrath.”
Ubaka’s body shook with sobs as he stumbled out of the shrine, his eyes fixed on the lifeless form of his wife.
He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving a gaping void that could never be filled.
The king and the elders followed him, their faces somber and sorrowful.
They knew that Ubaka’s pain was a burden he would carry for the rest of his days, a constant reminder of the terrible price they had paid to appease the beast.
As they emerged from the shrine, the bright sunlight seemed to mock Ubaka’s grief, its warmth and light a cruel contrast to the darkness and coldness he felt within.
He stumbled, his legs giving way beneath him, and fell to the ground, his body wracked with anguish.
The king and the elders surrounded him, their voices soft and comforting, but Ubaka was beyond consolation.
He wept for his wife, for the life they had shared, and for the future they would never know.
Ezenwanyi, the priestess, stood apart, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her face a mask of serenity.
She knew that the sacrifice had been necessary, but in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the man who had lost so much.
Rev. Fr. Nelson, a man of the cloth, arrived in the village of Ozumba with a message of hope and redemption.
He stood atop a small hill, surveying the village below, and began to preach with fervor and conviction.
“Repent, and turn to the God who saves life!”
he cried, his voice carrying across the thatched roofs and the dusty streets.
“Leave behind the idols and false gods that have led you astray, and seek the mercy and grace of the one true God!”
As he spoke, a parishioner, a young woman named Amaka who came with him stood beside him.
they walked through the village, spreading the message of salvation.
But as they strolled down the main road, they noticed a strange silence.
The streets were empty, and an eerie stillness hung in the air.
“Where is everyone?” Amaka asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I don’t know,” Rev. Fr. Nelson replied, his eyes scanning the horizon.
“But we must continue to spread the word of God.
Perhaps they are all gathered in the town square or the shrine.”
As they walked further, the silence grew thicker, and the air seemed to vibrate with an ominous energy.
Rev. Fr. Nelson’s words seemed to fall on deaf ears, and the village appeared to be holding its breath, waiting for something to unfold…
Ubaka trudged down the road, his heart still heavy with grief, when he noticed a strange man standing on the side of the road.
The man, dressed in unfamiliar attire, was speaking with passion and conviction about a foreign God.
Ubaka barely gave him a glance as he walked past, his mind preoccupied with the events of the day.
As he continued on his way, the silence was suddenly broken by a rustling in the forest.
Ubaka’s heart skipped a beat as a terrifying creature emerged from the trees.
The beast had the body of a lion, but its head was half human, with piercing eyes that seemed to bore into Ubaka’s soul.
The creature approached Ubaka with an unnerving calmness, its eyes fixed on him.
Without warning, it thrust a chest at Ubaka, who instinctively took it, his mind racing with fear and confusion.
In a flash, Ubaka turned and ran back down the road, the chest clutched in his hands.
His thoughts were consumed by a desperate hope – if the beast was going to kill him, perhaps it would also kill the strange man and the girl, sparing him the agony of being the only one to suffer.
With a sense of morbid resignation, Ubaka hastened towards the stranger, the chest held out like an offering to the unknown.
His eyes fixed on the man, he prepared himself for the worst, unsure of what the beast’s intentions were, but certain that his own fate was sealed.
Ezenwanyi’s instincts screamed warning as she stood at the shrine, her senses honed to the subtlest vibrations of the universe.
She felt the threads of fate converging, danger lurking in the shadows.
Without hesitation, she set off towards the source of the disturbance, her feet carrying her swiftly and silently through the road.
As she approached the scene, she slowed her pace, her eyes scanning the unfolding drama.
Ubaka, the man who had lost so much, stood frozen, a chest clutched in his hands.
The beast, a monstrous creature with a lion’s body and a human head, loomed over him, its eyes blazing with an otherworldly intensity.
Two other figures stood nearby, a man and a woman.
Ezenwanyi recognized the stranger, Fr. Nelson, who had brought a foreign God to their shores.
Fr. Nelson, his eyes fixed on the beast, raised his hands to the heavens and began to pray.
His voice was calm and authoritative, yet filled with a deep conviction.
“Lord Jesus, we call upon your name,” he started, his words echoing through the tense silence.
“Command this beast to leave us, and return to the depths of the forest from whence it came.”
As he spoke, Fr. Nelson’s hands moved in a gentle, yet firm motion, as if beckoning the beast to depart.
The creature, its eyes still fixed on Ubaka, seemed to hesitate, its gaze wavering for a moment.
“Go, unclean spirit!”
Fr. Nelson commanded, his voice rising in intensity.
“Do not harm these children of God.
Return to the wilderness where you came from!”
The beast let out a low growl, its body tensing as if preparing to pounce.
But then, in a sudden movement, it turned and fled back into the forest, its roar echoing through the trees as it disappeared from sight.
The group stood in stunned silence, their faces etched with wonder and gratitude.
Ubaka’s chest heaved with relief, the tension draining from his body.
Amaka’s eyes shone with tears, her hands clasped in prayer.
Fr. Nelson’s eyes, still closed in prayer, slowly opened, a gentle smile spreading across his face.
Ezenwanyi’s eyes narrowed as she watched Fr. Nelson’s prayer banish the beast back into the forest.
She turned and swiftly headed towards the palace, her mind racing with thoughts of the past.
Memories of her last encounter with Fr. Nelson at Nkoroma village flooded her mind.
She recalled how he had come to their shores, preaching of a foreign God and denouncing the ancient ways of their people.
She remembered how he had convinced many of the villagers to turn their backs on the gods and goddesses who had protected and guided them for generations.
Ezenwanyi’s heart burned with a mix of anger and concern.
She knew that Fr. Nelson’s influence was spreading, and that his teachings threatened the very fabric of their culture and traditions.
She thought of the elders, who had always been the guardians of their heritage, and wondered if they too would fall prey to the stranger’s words.
As she walked, her thoughts grew more resolute.
She knew that she had to act, to protect Ozumba people and their way of life.
Ezenwanyi arrived at the palace, her heart racing with urgency.
She requested an audience with the king, and after a brief wait, she was ushered into his presence.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing low.
“I come with a matter of grave concern.
A stranger has entered our land, preaching about a foreign God and trying to convince our people to abandon our ancient ways.”
The king’s expression turned thoughtful. “Go on.”
“This stranger claims his God is the only true one, and our gods are false,”
Ezenwanyi continued.
“He speaks of a single God, but our people know the truth – that our gods are many and powerful.
If we don’t stop him, something terrible might happen to our land.
“I fear he may bring darkness and destruction upon us.
Ezenwanyi said as she leaves the palace immediately.
The king’s face was red with anger as he summoned his guides.
“Go and search for the exact location of where the stranger is,” he commanded.
“Drag him away from our land and warn him never to return.
We will not tolerate his foreign God here.”
The guides nodded and swiftly departed, their footsteps echoing through the palace.
They arrived at the place where Fr. Nelson was preaching and seized him, pulling him and Amaka away.
“Leave now, stranger, and do not come back,”
one of the guides growled, their hands gripping Fr. Nelson’s arms tightly.
Fr. Nelson’s eyes flashed with defiance, but he knew better than to resist.
He allowed himself to be dragged away, his eyes fixed on the king’s guides with a fierce determination.
As they reached the border of the kingdom, the guides released them with a warning:
“Do not return, stranger.
The king’s patience is worn thin.”
Fr. Nelson nodded, his eyes burning with a fire that seemed to say,
“This is not the end.”
And with that, he disappeared into the unknown, leaving the guides to wonder if they had seen the last of him.
Sochima’s mind raced with questions as she walkes around the forest.
” Who was this man, who had stopped her from exacting revenge on Ubaka?
What kind of power did he possess that made her obey his commands without hesitation?”
She had never been one to back down from a fight, and yet, she found herself retreating without even a struggle.
She couldn’t shake off the feeling of embarrassment and humiliation.
How had she let someone else control her actions like that?
She, Sochima, the fierce warrior, had been reduced to a mere obedient servant by a single command from this stranger.
Her thoughts were consumed by Fr. Nelson’s enigmatic presence.
She couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets he held, and whether she would ever encounter him again.
Sochima’s eyes gleamed with a fierce determination as she recalled her mother’s spirit’s words.
She had summoned the courage to call upon the spirit of the forest seven times, and it had brought Chima back to life.
Now, she was determined to use that same power to exact her revenge on the stranger who had foiled her plans.
She began to chant, her voice rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm.
“Spirit of the forest,
hear my call!
Spirit of the forest,
grant me my desire!
Spirit of the forest,
bring me the power to destroy my enemies!”
As she spoke, the air around her seemed to charged with an electric energy.
The trees leaned in, their branches tangling together in a menacing embrace.
The wind picked up, whispering secrets in her ear.
Sochima’s eyes blazed with a fierce light as she called out the final time.
“Spirit of the forest,
grant me my revenge!”
The forest seemed to shudder in response, as if the very spirits themselves were stirring from their slumber.
Sochima felt a surge of power course through her veins, and she knew that she was ready to face the stranger once again.
This time, she would not be defeated.
Her face broke into a malevolent grin as she reveled in her newfound power.
She felt an eerie sense of satisfaction, knowing that she could now exact her revenge on the villagers who had wronged her.
But amidst her dark glee, a softer emotion flickered to life.
She was relieved that Chima, her beloved, was safe in the village of Onuogba, far from the impending carnage.
She had ensured his protection, and that knowledge brought her a twisted sense of comfort.
With a sinister chuckle, Sochima began to weave a spell of destruction, her words dripping with malice.
The forest seemed to tremble in anticipation, as if it too hungered for the chaos that was to come.
The villagers, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows, went about their daily lives, unaware of the horrors that Sochima had in store for them.
As Sochima about to destroy the villagers, something interrupted her action, she heard a voice telling her that someone is at the shrine trying to destroy her plan.
With annoyance she disappeared and reappear at the entrance of the shrine.
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed into the distance, her mind fixed on the shrine where Ezenwanyi stood.
“That meddling priestess thought she could stop Sochima’s revenge?”
Foolishness! Sochima’s power was growing by the minute, and she would not be denied.
With a swift motion, Sochima summoned a dark energy to surround her, its tendrils crackling with malevolent force.
She began to walk towards the shrine, her footsteps deliberate and menacing, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination.
As she moved, the forest seemed to darken around her, as if the very trees themselves were bending to her will.
The wind picked up, whispering an ominous chant, and the earth trembled beneath her feet.
Sochima’s power was building, and nothing would stand in her way.
” Ezenwanyi, you will soon learn the true meaning of fear.” She said.
Sochima and Ezenwanyi faced off, their eyes locked in a fierce stare.
The air was electric with tension as they began to circle each other, their powers crackling with energy.
Sochima raised her hands, and a bolt of dark energy shot towards Ezenwanyi.
But the priestess was quick, summoning a shield of light to deflect the attack.
The force of the blow sent Ezenwanyi stumbling back, but she recovered swiftly, her eyes blazing with determination.
Ezenwanyi retaliated with a wave of her own, unleashing a torrent of water that threatened to engulf Sochima.
But Sochima was no stranger to combat, and she summoned a wall of flame to block the attack.
The fire roared and hissed, consuming the water and sending steam billowing into the air.
The two women continued to exchange blows, their powers locked in a struggle that shook the very foundations of the forest.
Trees creaked and groaned, their branches swaying wildly as the battle raged on.
The earth trembled beneath their feet, and the skies grew dark with the intensity of their magic.
Sochima and Ezenwanyi were evenly matched, their powers fueled by their fierce determination.
The outcome of the battle was far from certain, as the two women clashed in a spectacular display of magic and might.
Ezenwanyi’s eyes shone with a fierce light as she declared,
“Darkness and light are not the same, and I am the light! I will destroy you, little girl!”
Sochima sneered, her voice dripping with malevolence.
“You may have the power of light, Ezenwanyi, but I possess the power of revenge, and no one can stand against its fury!”
With a burst of energy, the two women clashed, their powers unleashing a maelstrom of light and darkness.
The forest around them was torn asunder, trees splintering and crashing to the ground as the battle raged on.
But as the fight reached its crescendo, Sochima suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving Ezenwanyi standing alone, her powers still crackling with energy.
The priestess looked around, confusion etched on her face, wondering how her foe had escaped.
The outcome of the battle was unclear, as neither Sochima nor Ezenwanyi had emerged victorious.
It was as if the darkness and light had cancelled each other out, leaving only an eerie silence in their wake.
Father James grasped Father Nelson’s arm, his eyes filled with concern.
“Please, Father, I implore you, do not return to Ozumba.
That village is a den of darkness, and their king is notorious for his cruelty.
He will stop at nothing to maintain his power, even if it means sacrificing an innocent man like yourself.”
Father Nelson’s expression remained resolute.
“My dear brother, I understand your fears, but I cannot abandon my mission to spread the word of God.
The Lord has called me to preach to all nations, and I will not be deterred by the dangers that lie ahead.”
Father James sighed, his face etched with worry.
“But, Father Nelson, you do not know the ways of these people.
They are not like us, and their beliefs are shrouded in darkness and superstition.
You will be walking into the lion’s den, and I fear for your safety.”
Father Nelson placed a gentle hand on Father James’ shoulder.
“My friend, I appreciate your concern, but I have faith in the Lord to protect me.
I will not be swayed by fear, for I know that He who is with me is greater than any evil that may come against me.”
With a determined look, Father Nelson began to make preparations for his return to Ozumba, leaving Father James to wonder if he would ever see his fellow priest again.
The parishioners gathered around Father Nelson, their faces filled with worry and concern.
“Father, please, we beg of you, do not return to Ozumba,”
one of them said, her voice trembling.
“We have heard stories of their brutal practices, and we fear for your safety.
They may see you as a threat to their beliefs and use you as a sacrifice to their gods.”
Another parishioner, an elderly man, spoke up.
“Father, we know your dedication to spreading the word of God is unwavering, but we cannot bear the thought of losing you to those savages.
They are not like us, and their ways are shrouded in darkness and superstition.”
The crowd of parishioners nodded in agreement, their eyes pleading with Father Nelson to reconsider his decision.
“Please, Father, think of your safety, think of us, your flock, who need your guidance and leadership.
Do not risk your life for the sake of preaching to those who may not want to hear it.”
Father Nelson looked at the sea of worried faces, his heart heavy with the weight of their concerns.
He knew the risks, but his conviction remained unshaken.
“My dear friends,” he said, his voice calm and resolute.
“I appreciate your love and concern, but I cannot abandon my mission. I will pray for protection and guidance, and trust in the Lord to watch over me.”
The parishioners nodded, though their faces still reflected their deep unease.
As Fr. Nelson set off towards Ozumba village, his footsteps steady and determined.
Behind him, Father James and a group of parishioners waved goodbye, their faces etched with a mix of concern and admiration.
As Father Nelson disappeared into the distance, the group stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the path he had taken. They knew the dangers that lay ahead, but they also knew that Father Nelson’s faith and conviction were unshakeable.
Father James broke the silence, his voice low and solemn.
“May the Lord be with him, and may He return him to us safely.”
The parishioners nodded in agreement, their lips moving in silent prayer.
They knew that Fr. Nelson was walking into the unknown, but they also knew that his mission was driven by a higher purpose.
As they turned to return to the parish, they couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead for Father Nelson.
Would he succeed in spreading the word of God, or would the darkness of Ozumba village consume him?
Only time will tell.
Chima’s eyes cast a gloomy shadow, a reflection of the isolation he felt in Onuogba village.
Despite his efforts to fit in, the villagers’ fear and suspicion lingered, a constant reminder of his origins in Ozumba village.
The whispers and pointed fingers followed him wherever he went, a painful reminder that he didn’t belong.
But amidst the cold shoulders and wary glances, one person stood out – Chinyere, the old woman who had taken him in during his darkest hour.
Her kindness and compassion knew no bounds, and Chima found solace in her warm embrace.
Chinyere, a devout born-again Christian, saw beyond Chima’s troubled past and recognized the good in his heart.
She took it upon herself to guide him towards her God, sharing stories of love, forgiveness, and redemption.
Chima listened intently, finding comfort in the words of hope and encouragement.
As they sat together in her humble hut, Chinyere’s eyes shining with warmth, Chima felt a sense of belonging he had never known before.
For the first time, he felt like he was home, like he had found a place where he could be himself without fear of judgment.
Chinyere’s influence was gradual but profound, and Chima began to see the world through different eyes.
He started to understand the power of love and forgiveness.
Hid heart swelled with a newfound sense of purpose as he walked towards the parish, his feet carrying him towards a fresh start.
He had finally found a sense of belonging, a sense of peace, and he knew that he wanted to dedicate his life to the God that Chinyere had introduced him to.
As he entered the parish, Father James looked up from his desk, a warm smile spreading across his face.
“My son, what brings you here today?”
Chima took a deep breath, his voice firm and resolute.
“Father, I want to be baptized.
I want to follow the God that Chinyere has taught me about.
I want to leave my past behind and start anew.”
Father James’ eyes lit up with joy, and he embraced Chima warmly.
“Welcome, my son, welcome! We will prepare you for baptism immediately.
This is a new beginning for you, a chance to start fresh and walk with the Lord.”
And so, Chima began his journey towards baptism, his heart filled with hope and his spirit renewed. He knew that he still had a long way to go, but he was ready to face the future with faith and courage.
As he walked out of the parish, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face, a symbol of the new light that had entered his life.
Sochima’s voice echoed through the forest, her anger and frustration palpable as she called out to her mother’s spirit.
“Mother, appear to me! I
need your guidance and power!”
The air seemed to shimmer and a figure materialized before her.
Sochima’s mother, her face stern and wise, gazed at her daughter with a knowing look.
Sochima’s words tumbled out in a rush.
“Mother, why can’t I defeat Ezenwanyi? I’m trying to avenge your death, just as you asked me to.
Why haven’t you given me the power to do so?”
Her mother’s expression turned sorrowful, and she reached out a ethereal hand to stroke Sochima’s cheek.
“My daughter, I have given you the power of revenge, but you have also been given the gift of free will.”
She gazed at her daughter with a deep understanding, knowing that Sochima’s thirst for revenge and power couldn’t be quenched by words alone.
With a gentle nod, she raised her hands, and a strange, pulsating energy began to swirl around her.
“Sochima, my child, I will grant you the power you seek, but remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Use it wisely.”
As she spoke, the energy enveloped Sochima, and she felt an intense surge course through her veins.
Her body began to glow with an otherworldly light, and her senses expanded, as if she could feel the very fabric of the universe.
When the light faded, Sochima looked at her hands in awe, seeing that they now shimmered with an iridescent glow.
She felt an unshakeable confidence and strength, knowing that she now possessed a power that couldn’t be defeated by anyone.
Her mother’s spirit smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes as she disappeared.
Sochima felt invincible, ready to face Ezenwanyi and anyone else who dared to stand in her way.
Ezenwanyi strode through the palace gates, his long strides carrying him towards the throne room with a sense of purpose.
The guards nodded in respect as she passed, familiar with the priestess frequent visits to the king.
As she entered the throne room, the king looked up from his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly in inquiry.
“Ezenwanyi, what brings you here today?”
Ezenwanyi bowed his head, his hands clasped together in a gesture of reverence.
“The gods have spoken, Your Majesty.
I come to share their message with you.”
The king’s expression turned serious, his interest piqued.
“Very well, priestess.
I am ready to hear their words.”
Ezenwanyi took a deep breath, his eyes closed as if collecting his thoughts.
The king leaned forward, his eyes fixed intently on the priestess, awaiting the revelation that would soon be shared.
“The gods has revealed to me that their is a woman called Ugochi that you people used for a sacrifice to the gods.
You remember her only child Sochima?
She runs away after witnessing her mother’s death, to the forest.
From there, her mother combined with the spirit of the forest, has joined hand to gave her a super powers making her to turn into a beast, half human half lion.
To avenge her mother’s death.”
The king’s face turned pale, his eyes widening in shock as Ezenwanyi’s words struck a chord.
He remembered the sacrifice, the screams of Ugochi still echoing in his mind.
He had tried to forget, to justify it as a necessary evil, but the guilt had always lingered.
“Sochima…” he whispered, the name bringing back memories of the young girl who had witnessed her mother’s brutal sacrifice.
He had thought she had been lost to the forest, consumed by its dangers.
But now, Ezenwanyi’s words painted a different picture.
Sochima, fueled by her mother’s spirit and the power of the forest, had become a force to be reckoned with.
A half-human, half-lion beast, driven by a singular purpose: revenge.
Ezenwanyi continues her speech.
“Sochima is the beast that’s responsible for the killing of your people.”
Ezenwanyi’s words dropped like a bombshell, shaking the king to his core.
“Sochima, the beast… she’s the one killing our villagers?”
he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and horror.
The king’s eyes widened as the truth sank in.
The attacks, the brutal slayings, the unexplained terror that had gripped his kingdom – it all made sense now.
Sochima, once a innocent child, had become a force of destruction, driven by a hunger for revenge.
The king’s face contorted in anguish, his mind reeling with the weight of his responsibility.
He had allowed the sacrifice of Ugochi to happen, and now his kingdom was paying the price.
“What can we do, Ezenwanyi?”
he asked, his voice cracking with desperation.
“How can we stop her?”
Ezenwanyi’s expression was grim, his eyes filled with a deep sorrow.
“Your Majesty.
We will wait for the gods instructions.
Let me still consult the gods on what to do.”
Ezenwanyi said and leaves to immediately.
The king summoned his cabinets for an emergency meeting.
“My trusted advisors, I have grave news to share with you.
Ezenwanyi has revealed to me that Sochima, the daughter of late Ugeze and Ugomma, is responsible for the senseless killings in our village.
She has been empowered by her mother’s spirit and the forest’s spirit, granting her the ability to transform into a beast.
Her aim is to avenge her mother’s death, and she will continue to slaughter our people until we find a solution.”
The cabinet members looked at each other in shock, their faces pale with disbelief.
“Sochima?” they whispered, their voices barely audible.
“But we thought she was dead,” one of them said, his eyes wide with confusion.
“We heard she ran into the forest and killed herself after her mother was used as a sacrifice,” another member added, his voice trembling.
The King nodded solemnly.
“It seems we were misinformed.
Ezenwanyi has confirmed that Sochima is indeed alive and seeking revenge for her mother’s death.
Her transformation into a half-human, half-lion creature has made her a formidable force, and she will stop at nothing until she has avenged her mother’s sacrifice.”
The cabinet members looked at each other nervously, unsure of what to say or do next.
They knew they had to come up with a plan to stop Sochima, but they were unsure of how to defeat a creature with such powerful magic and a thirst for revenge.
One of the cabinet members, a wise old man with a long white beard, spoke up.
“Your Majesty, what did Ezenwanyi say was the solution to this problem?
How can we stop Sochima and end this bloodshed?”
The King’s expression turned grave.
“Ezenwanyi said that she will have to consult the gods first before giving us an answer.
She needs to seek their guidance and wisdom to find a solution to this curse.”
The cabinet members nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.
They knew that Ezenwanyi was a powerful spiritual leader, and if she needed to consult the gods, then the situation was indeed dire.
“When will she have an answer for us?”
another cabinet member asked, his voice laced with urgency.
The King shook his head.
“I don’t know.
Ezenwanyi said she will need time to perform the necessary rituals and seek the gods’ counsel.
We must wait for her answer, but in the meantime, we must prepare ourselves for the worst.”
The King dismissed the meeting, his voice firm but laced with a hint of worry.
“We will reconvene once Ezenwanyi has received guidance from the gods.
Until then, let us all be vigilant and prepared for the worst.”
One by one, the cabinet members rose from their seats, their faces etched with concern and fear.
They bowed to the King and filed out of the throne room, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
As they left, they couldn’t help but glance at each other with worried expressions.
They knew that the fate of their kingdom hung in the balance.
The King remained seated on his throne, his eyes fixed on the empty space before him, his mind racing with thoughts of Sochima and the destruction she had unleashed.
He knew that he had to find a solution, and fast, or risk losing everything he had worked so hard to buid.
Before long, the news of Sochima’s identity spread like wildfire through the villages.
Women gathered in huddles, whispering to each other as they went about their daily chores.
They spoke in hushed tones, but their voices carried a sense of urgency and outrage.
“It’s the elders’ fault,” one woman said, shaking her head.
“If they hadn’t used Ugomma as a sacrifice, Sochima wouldn’t be seeking revenge.”
The other women nodded in agreement, their faces etched with anger and fear.
“They should have known better than to mess with the spirits,”
another woman added.
As the gossip spread, the villagers began to turn on the elders.
They accused them of bringing a curse upon the land and demanded that they find a way to lift it.
And in the midst of it all, Sochima continued her rampage, fueled by her desire for revenge and her mother’s spirit, which drove her to seek justice for the wrongs done to her family.
Father Nelson arrived in Ozumba village, eager to spread the word of his foreign God.
He stood in the center of the village, his Bible clutched in hand, and began to preach.
But the villagers, still reeling from the recent events, paid him little mind.
They walked by him, waving a dismissive hand or shaking their heads in rejection.
“We can’t abandon the gods of our forefathers,”
one villager said, his voice firm.
“We have honored them for generations, and they have protected us before.
Why would we switch to a foreign God now?
Instead of being hopeful and have faith that they will protect us again.”
The others nodded in agreement, their faces set in determination.
Father Nelson tried to reason with them, explaining the teachings of his God and the promise of salvation, but they were unmoved.
“You may have brought your God to our shores,”
another villager said,
“but we will not abandon our own.
We will stick to the traditions of our ancestors, and we will survive this crisis on our own terms.”
Father Nelson’s face fell, his eyes filled with disappointment.
He had expected resistance, but he had hoped to find at least a few willing listeners.
But the villagers were resolute, and he realized that winning them over would be a harder task than he had anticipated.
Just as Father Nelson was about to give up, a young man named Ubaka approached him.
“I want to learn more about your foreign God,”
he said, his eyes curious.
“And I also want to know, what power did you use to chase away the beast that attacked me the other time?”
Father Nelson’s face lit up with surprise and gratitude.
“Ah, you want to know about God’s power?
Well, it’s not my power, but God’s.
He protected us from the beast, just as He protects all those who trust in Him.”
Ubaka’s eyes widened with wonder.
“Really? I want to know more about this God. Teach me, Father.”
Father Nelson smiled, seeing an opportunity to share his faith.
” It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you everything.
Come, let’s sit under that tree over there, and I’ll share with you the Good News of Jesus Christ.”
And so, Father Nelson began to teach Ubaka about his foreign God, sharing stories of love, redemption, and salvation.
Ubaka listened intently, his heart hungry for answers, and for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope that there might be a way out of the darkness that had consumed his village.
Onyema burst into the palace, his face flushed with excitement and concern.
“Your Majesty, the stranger is back!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling.
The King’s expression turned stern, his eyes narrowing.
“The stranger I ordered to be chased away and warned never to return?”
he asked, his voice low and menacing.
Onyema nodded vigorously.
“The same one, Your Majesty.
He has disregarded your warning and returned to our village.”
The King’s face darkened, his anger palpable.
“Nobody defies my orders and gets away with it,”
he growled, his voice echoing through the palace.
Onyema took a step back, sensing the King’s fury.
He knew that the stranger’s actions had ignited a fire within the King, and he wondered what consequences this bold disobedience would bring.
The King’s voice was firm and authoritative as he summoned three of his trusted guides.
“Go and bring the stranger to me,” he commanded, his eyes blazing with intensity.
“He has dared to defy my orders, and now he will face my wrath.”
The guides nodded in unison, their faces expressionless.
They knew better than to question the King’s commands, and they quickly set out to carry out his bidding.
They made their way through the village, their footsteps purposeful and determined.
They knew exactly where to find the stranger, and soon they arrived at the spot where Father Nelson was still sharing his message with Ubaka.
Without hesitation, the guides seized Father Nelson, their grip firm and unyielding.
“You have been summoned by the King,” one of them growled, their voice cold and detached.
Father Nelson’s eyes widened in surprise, but he did not struggle.
He knew that resistance would be futile, and he was determined to face the King with courage and dignity.
The guides dragged Father Nelson before the King, their grip still firm on his arms.
The King’s eyes blazed with anger, his voice stern and commanding.
“So, you are the stranger who dared to disobey my orders,”
he growled, his gaze piercing.
“Why did you return to Ozumba village, despite my warning to never come back?”
Father Nelson stood tall, his eyes locked on the King’s.
“I came back because my God compels me to share His message of love and redemption with all people, regardless of their background or beliefs,”
he replied, his voice calm and steady.
The King snorted in derision.
“Your foreign God?
What use is He to us?
We have our own gods, our own traditions.
We don’t need your strange beliefs here.”
Father Nelson’s expression remained serene.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, my God is not just a foreign God, but the one true God who loves and cares for all people.
And I will continue to share His message, no matter the cost.”
The King’s face darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface.
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, his voice dripping with menace.
He turns to his guides.
“Take him and lock him in the palace prison!”
he commanded, his eyes blazing with anger.
The guides moved swiftly, their hands grasping Father Nelson’s arms as they dragged him away.
The King’s words hung in the air, a stern decree that brooked no argument.
“He must learn in a hard way,”
the King added, his voice dripping with disdain.
Father Nelson struggled against his captors, his eyes pleading for mercy.
“Please, Your Majesty, have mercy! I mean no harm, I only want to share the love of God with your people!”
But the King was unmoved, his expression unyielding.
“Let your God save you there,”
he sneered, his voice cold and unforgiving.
The guides tossed Father Nelson into the dark, damp cell, the heavy door creaking shut behind him.
The sound of iron bars clanging into place echoed through the prison, a stark reminder of his captivity.
Father Nelson’s pleas for release fell on deaf ears, the King’s heart hardened against the stranger’s words.
He was left alone, his only comfort the faint glow of a torch flickering in the corridor outside, a small reminder of the world beyond his prison walls.
Chima who’s name is now changed to Bro Philip later become a born again Christian.
He later parked out from Chinyere’s hurt and settled at the church, where he is humbly serving Fr. James and the parish community.
He assisted with daily Mass, cleaned the church, and helped with various tasks, always eager to please.
Fr. James noticed Bro Philip’s dedication and kindness, and began to mentor him in the ways of God.
He taught him how to pray, how to read the Bible, and how to serve others selflessly.
As Bro Philip grew in his faith, he became a source of inspiration to the parishioners.
They saw the transformation in his life and were drawn to his humility and compassion.
One day, a young girl named Mary fell gravely ill, and her parents sought Fr. James’ prayers.
Bro Philip joined Fr. James in praying over the girl, and as they laid hands on her, God’s healing power flowed through her body.
Mary was restored to full health, and the parish erupted in praise and thanksgiving.
Though Bro Philip didn’t seek to draw attention to himself, his role in the miracle was evident.
Fr. James smiled, knowing that Bro Philip’s faith and humility had made him a vessel for God’s grace.
And so, Bro Philip continued to serve Fr. James and the parish, content in his role as a servant of the Lord.
He remained grateful to Chinyere, the old woman who had introduced him to God, and trusted that God would use him mightily, even in his humble service.
Days grows into weeks and Fr. Nelson is still held captive at the palace prison.
He is always seeing praying to his God for intervention.
“Dear God, I came to Ozumba with a heart full of love and a message of truth.
I preached your Word, but the villagers refused to listen.
They rejected your message and threw me into this prison.
“But, Lord, I do not despair.
I know that your ways are not our ways, and your timing is not our timing.
I pray that you will use my imprisonment for your glory and the salvation of Ozumba.
“Open the eyes of the king and his people, that they may see your truth and believe in you.
Let my suffering be a seed that bears fruit for your kingdom.”
Fr. Nelson’s prayers were a testament to his unwavering faith and his deep trust in God, even in the face of rejection and persecution.
He remained steadfast, believing that God would use his imprisonment for the greater good of Ozumba.
Ubaka had been secretly visiting Fr. Nelson in the palace prison, bringing him food and words of encouragement.
But today, as he approached the palace gates, the guides barred his way.
“Go away, Ubaka!”
they growled.
“The king has forbidden anyone from seeing the prisoner.
If you don’t leave now, you’ll face the king’s wrath!”
Ubaka hesitated, his heart racing with fear.
He had been warned before, but he couldn’t abandon Fr. Nelson, who is the reason why he still breaths today.
He tried to reason with the guides, but they were unyielding.
Just as Ubaka was about to leave, he heard a faint voice calling out from the prison window.
“Ubaka, my brother, don’t worry about me.
Go and pray for the king and his people.
They need God’s mercy more than I do.”
Ubaka’s eyes welled up with tears as he nodded and turned away, knowing that Fr. Nelson’s words were not just for him, but for the entire kingdom of Ozumba.
He made sign of the cross as he was thought by the stranger, asking God to soften the hearts of the king and his people, and to bring them to know the true God.
Ezenwanyi arrived at the palace, her presence commanding attention.
She approached the guides and spoke with authority,
“I must see the king.
Go inside and call him out.
The gods have spoken, and I bring a message from them.”
The guides, familiar with Ezenwanyi’s influence and the king’s reliance on her divine guidance, hastened to obey.
They bowed and disappeared into the palace, leaving Ezenwanyi waiting outside with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes fixed on the palace entrance as she awaited the king’s response.
Soon the guide returned to Ezenwanyi,
“The king requests your presence inside the palace, Priestess.”
Ezenwanyi’s expression remained steadfast,
“Tell the king that the gods do not permit me to enter the palace room today.
Their message must be delivered here, in the open courtyard.”
The guide hesitated, knowing the king’s dislike for disobedience, but Ezenwanyi’s resolve was unshakeable.
He returned to the king.
“Ezenwanyi refuses to enter the palace, Your Majesty.
She says the gods forbid it.”
The king’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing in displeasure, but Ezenwanyi’s words carried weight.
He knew better than to defy the gods’ messenger.
He emerged from the palace, his regal presence commanding attention.
He approached Ezenwanyi, who stood tall and unwavering in the center of the courtyard.
The sunlight cast a golden glow on the scene, illuminating the intricately carved stone walls and the vibrant tapestries that adorned them.
Ezenwanyi’s voice rang out clear and strong, echoing off the walls as she spoke.
She stood before the king, her feet planted firmly on the polished stone floor, her eyes fixed intently on his face.
The king’s patience wore thin, and he broke the silence, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.
“Ezenwanyi, please, speak to me! What is it that the gods have said?”
Ezenwanyi’s gaze never wavered, her eyes still fixed intently on the king’s face.
“Sochima cannot be killed, as the gods have decreed,”
she declared, her voice firm and authoritative.
“But her anger can be quenched… through her lover.”
The king’s eyes widened, his face etched with a mix of surprise.
Ezenwanyi continues her speech.
“With Chima the son of late Ichie Iberibe is the only one who can quench the power of revenge in Sochima’s spirit.”
The king’s eyes widened in shock, his face pale with disbelief.
“Chima? But… but that’s impossible! Chima the great hunter was killed by the very beast we’re talking about – Sochima herself!”
The king’s voice trailed off, his mind reeling with the implications.
Ezenwanyi’s voice continued, unwavering and calm.
“Chima is not dead, Your Majesty.
Sochima herself has protected him.
He had gone to the forest to seek her out, but a snake bit him, and he was near death.
When Sochima appeared to him, healed his wound, and sent him away from Ozumba village, commanding him to stay hidden until the time is right.”
Ezenwanyi’s words hung in the air, a revelation that seemed to change everything.
The sun beat down, casting long shadows across the stone floor, as the weight of the priestess’s words settled upon the scene.
The king’s face lit up with gratitude as he approached Ezenwanyi, his voice filled with sincerity.
“Ezenwanyi Your wisdom and connection to the gods are a blessing to our village.
I thank you for your guidance and for always helping us navigate the will of the gods.”
He bowed his head in respect, his hands clasped together in a gesture of appreciation.
“Your counsel has saved us from disaster time and time again.
We are forever in your debt, Priestess.
May the gods continue to bless and guide you.”
Ezenwanyi’s expression remained serene, her eyes shining with a quiet confidence.
She nodded graciously, accepting the king’s praise, her presence exuding an aura of wisdom and authority.
“One more thing your Majesty, you must find Chima.
He is the key to appeasing Sochima’s spirit and ending the destruction that has plagued your village.
With him, we can quench the power of revenge that drives her and restore peace to Ozumba.”
The priestess’s words were laced with a sense of urgency, her voice firm and resolute as she turns and leave the palace immediately.
Deep in the forest, Sochima’s lion-like eyes gleamed in the darkness, her human intellect burning with a fierce determination.
She began to prepare for her next move, her mind fixed on eliminating the one who dared to stand in her way – Ezenwanyi, the priestess who had revealed her plans to the king.
Sochima’s powerful muscles rippled beneath her tawny skin as she stretched, her claws extending and retracting with a deadly precision.
She let out a low, rumbling growl, the sound echoing through the trees as she began to stalk her prey, her senses honed in on the priestess who threatened to undo her vengeance.
The wind rustled through the leaves, whispering secrets to the forest creatures, as Sochima’s half-human, half-lion form disappeared into the shadows, ready to strike.
Ezenwanyi stood before the shrine, her eyes fixed on the unexpected sight.
Black smoke billowed from the ancient structure, curling into the air like a dark, foreboding cloud.
She had never seen this before.
It seemed to be warning her of something.
The priestess’s surprise turned to concern as she approached the shrine.
She reached out a hand, hesitantly, and felt the acrid taste of the smoke.
It was bitter and harsh, like a stormy night.
Ezenwanyi’s heart raced with a sense of foreboding as she realized that this unexpected sign might be a warning from the gods.
The black smoke swirled thicker, and Ezenwanyi’s heart sank as a low, ominous voice echoed from the shrine.
“The time has come.
The time for the annual sacrifice has arrived.”
Ezenwanyi’s eyes snapped open, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.
She knew what this meant.
Every year, the village offered a human sacrifice to the gods, a tradition passed down through generations.
She remembers that it’s the same annual sacrifice that puts them in this great danger.
The thought sent a wave of dread through her, but she knew she had to fulfill her duties as priestess.
“The gods demand a worthy offering,”
the voice continued, its tone unyielding.
“Choose wisely, Ezenwanyi.
The fate of our village depends on it.”
Ezenwanyi steeled herself, knowing that she had to make a difficult decision.
She thought of the villagers, each with their own stories and struggles.
Who would she choose to meet the gods’ demand?
The weight of responsibility settled heavy on her shoulders as she began to ponder the unthinkable that the gods is now greedy.
Without another word, Ezenwanyi vanished from the shrine, leaving behind the ominous black smoke and the weight of the gods’ demand.
She reappeared in the palace, her presence sudden and unexpected.
The guards at the entrance were taken aback, but they knew better than to question the priestess’s mysterious ways.
Ezenwanyi strode through the halls, her long strides eating up the distance.
She passed by startled servants and courtiers, her eyes fixed on the throne room ahead.
The king’s chambers were always guarded, but Ezenwanyi’s presence was met with a nod of respect, and the doors swung open to admit her.
The palace was a flurry of activity, preparations for the upcoming harvest festival in full swing.
But Ezenwanyi’s urgent mission brooked no delay.
She moved with a sense of purpose, her heart heavy with the burden of the shrine’s message.
The king’s throne room loomed ahead, its ornate doors gleaming in the light of the setting sun.
Ezenwanyi’s footsteps echoed through the hall, a solitary drumbeat announcing her arrival.
The king looked up from his throne, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Ezenwanyi, why have you come?
Your presence is unexpected.”
Ezenwanyi’s eyes locked onto the king’s, her gaze unwavering.
“The gods have spoken, Your Majesty.
The time for the annual sacrifice has arrived.”
The king’s expression turned grave, his voice low and serious.
“What do the gods say?”
Ezenwanyi’s voice was steady, but her words sent a shiver through the throne room.
“A human sacrifice, Your Majesty.
The gods demand a worthy offering, and I have been chosen to select the one who will be given to them.”
The king’s face darkened, his eyes clouding with worry.
He knew the tradition, the weight of the gods’ demand.
He also knew that Ezenwanyi would not have come if there was any other way.
The king’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing for a solution.
“What about the stranger who is currently in our palace prison?
He is an outsider, a foreigner.
Would he not be a suitable offering to the gods?”
Ezenwanyi’s expression remained resolute, her voice firm.
“No, Your Majesty.
The gods are clear:
they will not accept a stranger as a sacrifice.
The offering must be one of your own, a member of your community, born and raised within the walls.”
The king’s face fell, his suggestion rejected.
He knew Ezenwanyi would not compromise on this.
The priestess’s words were always laced with an underlying authority, a connection to the divine that could not be ignored.
He sighed, his mind still searching for a solution, but Ezenwanyi’s words had made it clear:
the sacrifice must be one of their own.
Ezenwanyi vanished from the palace, leaving the king to his thoughts.
She reappeared at the shrine, her presence a whisper of smoke and shadow.
The black smoke still swirled around her, a constant reminder of the gods’ demand.
As she entered the shrine, Ezenwanyi’s eyes gleamed with a deep concern.
She thought of the villagers, their faces etched with the lines of hardship and struggle.
They had suffered so much already, and now the gods were demanding another sacrifice.
The weight of her responsibility as priestess bore down on her like a physical force.
“Why must they demand more?”
she whispered to the gods, her voice a gentle plea.
“Have they not taken enough? The people are weary, their hearts heavy with grief.
Can you not see?”
The shrine remained silent, the only response the soft hiss of the black smoke.
Ezenwanyi knew the gods would not relent, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of desperation creeping in.
She was trapped between her duty to the gods and her love for the people.
The king’s guides crept towards the palace prison, their footsteps quiet on the stone floor.
They had been tasked by the king to observe the stranger, and reporting back to the him.
As they approached the cell, they heard a strange sound – the stranger was laughing.
The guides exchanged a nervous glance.
Who was he laughing with?
They peeked into the cell, and what they saw made their blood run cold.
Father Nelson was talking and laughing with… no one.
There was no one else in the cell, yet the guides could have sworn they saw a shadowy figure, a presence that seemed to be engaging with the stranger.
The guides didn’t wait to investigate further.
They turned and ran, their hearts racing with fear.
They burst into the king’s throne room, out of breath and panicked.
“Your Majesty!”
one of them cried.
“The stranger… he’s talking to… to… something! We don’t know what it is, but it’s not human!”
The king’s expression turned grave, his eyes narrowing with concern.
“What do you mean?”
he demanded.
“What did you see?”
The guides exchanged a terrified glance.
“We don’t know, Your Majesty.
But we know it’s not natural.
We fear for our lives, and for the safety of the kingdom.”
The king rushed to the palace prison, his heart pounding in his chest.
He had to see this for himself, to understand what was happening.
As he entered the cell, he saw Father Nelson sitting on the floor, his eyes closed, a serene smile on his face.
But what caught the king’s attention was the strange, eerie atmosphere in the cell.
It felt like someone else was present, someone who couldn’t be seen.
And then, he heard it – Father Nelson’s voice, speaking in a low, reverent tone.
“Yes, Master,”
the stranger was saying.
“I understand. I will do as you say.”
The king’s eyes widened in shock.
Who was this stranger talking to?
He looked around the cell, but there was no one else there.
It was as if the priest was conversing with an invisible presence.
“Who are you talking to?”
the king demanded, his voice firm but laced with a hint of fear.
Father Nelson opened his eyes, and they locked onto the king’s.
“Ah, Your Majesty,”
he said, his voice calm and peaceful.
“I am speaking with my Master.
He guides me, and I follow his will.”
The king’s mind raced with questions.
Who was this Master? What kind of power did he have over this man?
And what did it mean for the kingdom?
“Where is this Master of yours?”
the king demanded, his voice firm but with a hint of skepticism.
Father Nelson’s smile grew wider.
“His name is Master Jesus, Your Majesty.
He is the God of all nations, and His power surpasses that of your gods.”
The king’s eyes narrowed, his face darkening with anger.
“How dare you!”
he growled.
“You come into our land, and you insult our gods?”
Father Nelson’s expression remained serene.
“I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty.
But the truth is, only those who worship Master Jesus can see Him.
He is a God of love and mercy, and His power is beyond anything you can imagine.”
The king’s anger boiled over.
“I will not be lectured by a stranger worshiping a foreign God!”
he thundered.
“Our gods are ancient and powerful, and we will not be swayed by your words!”
Father Nelson’s eyes gleamed with a gentle light.
“I am not here to sway you, Your Majesty.
I am here to share the truth.
And the truth is, Master Jesus is the one true God, and He will not be ignored.”
The king’s face turned red with rage, and his anger overflowed, and with a fierce gesture, he slammed the prison door shut, leaving Father Nelson in darkness.
“You will pay for insulting our gods!”
he bellowed, his voice echoing through the corridors.
The king stormed out of the prison, his entourage scurrying behind him.
The guards remained, their faces stern and unyielding, as they stood watch over the cell.
Father Nelson, meanwhile, remained seated on the floor, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile still on his face as he starts to pray his holy rosary.
His spirit remains unshaken by the king’s outburst.
As the hours passed, the prison door remained shut, and Father Nelson was left alone in the darkness, his fate uncertain.
His heart still filled with the love and light of his Master Jesus.
And in the darkness, he continued to pray, his spirit shining like a beacon, waiting for the dawn of a new day.
At St Thomas parish Onuogba, Fr. James is not with himself as he is always worried about Fr. Nelson.
He has heard many stories about Onuogba village and he always avoid going there.
“One day, while sleeping, Fr. James had a dream of Fr. Nelson in distress, surrounded by darkness.
He saw him crying out for help, but his voice was muffled and faint.
The vision vanished as suddenly as it appeared, leaving Fr. James shaken and filled with a sense of urgency.
He wakes up and went straight to the chapel to pray.
“Bro Philip came to join Fr. James in prayer.
The church was quiet, except for the soft murmur of Fr. James’ prayers, which Bro Philip could hear from the back pew.
He walked up to the altar, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor, and knelt down beside Fr. James.
Together, they prayed in silence, their voices whispering in unison as they sought guidance and protection for their missing friend.”
*
*
*
It was during the evening prayer service, just as the congregation was dispersing, Bro Philip approached Fr. James with a solemn expression.
“Father, can I have a word with you?”
he asked, his voice low and serious.
Fr. James nodded, and they stepped aside into the sacristy.
“Father, I’ve made up my mind to go back to Ozumba village tomorrow,’ Bro Philip announced, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Fr. James’ face fell, his mind racing with thoughts of Fr. Nelson’s disappearance and the dangers that still lurked in that village.
Bro Philip’s announcement was met with a furrowed brow and a concerned expression from Fr. James.
“Bro Philip, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
he asked, his voice laced with worry.
“Fr. Nelson is still missing, and now you want to go back to Ozumba village?
What if something happens to you too?”
Bro Philip’s face was resolute, but Fr. James could see the hint of a doubt in his eyes.
“I have to go back, Father,”
he said firmly.
‘I have to face my past and make amends.
Besides, I’m not the same person I used to be.
I’m a born again Christian now, and I have faith in God’s protection.'”
“Okay then, go and prepare yourself, for next tomorrow we shall venture to Ozumba village together.”
Bro Philip’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded resolutely.
“Yes, Father,’
he said, his voice firm.
“I’m ready to face whatever challenges come our way.”
Fr. James placed a hand on Bro Philip’s shoulder, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination.
“Go and prepare yourself, my son,” he said.
“We’ll leave for Ozumba village at dawn Nex tomorrow.
We’ll face this together, and with God’s guidance, we’ll find Fr. Nelson and bring him home safely.’
*
*
*
As the first light of dawn crept into the palace, the guides stirred from their slumber, stretching their tired limbs.
They had been tasked with keeping watch over Fr. Nelson, the strange priest who had been imprisoned.
The guides rubbed the sleep from their eyes and made their way to the prison cell, expecting to find find the door locked.
But as they approached the cell, they were met with a sight that left them bewildered…”
“Their eyes fixed on the widely opened door.
They had expected to find it locked, or at least closed, but instead it swung freely on its hinges, as if inviting escape.
But Fr. Nelson remained seated, his eyes closed, his hands clasped together in prayer.
He showed no sign of attempting to flee, no hint of desire to escape.
The guides exchanged confused glances, wondering why the stranger would pass up such an obvious opportunity for freedom.
“How did the door come to be open?” one of them wondered aloud.
“And why did he not escape?”
another guide added, his brow furrowed in confusion.
They approached Fr. Nelson cautiously, eyeing the strange object in his hand.
It was a delicate, beaded chain, and his fingers moved deftly over the small orbs as he whispered to himself.
The guides had never seen anything like it before, but they knew that the stranger was communing with his God.
They watched in silence, unsure what to make of the scene before them.
They quickly turned away from the prison cell, their footsteps echoing down the dark corridor as they hastened to inform the king of the strange occurrence.
They moved with a sense of urgency, their minds racing with questions and concerns.
As they emerged from the prison wing, they quickened their pace, crossing the courtyard and entering the main palace.
They strode down the long hallways, their sandals slapping against the stone floor, until they reached the king’s chambers.
With a deep bow, they pushed open the doors and awakened the king from his slumber, their voices trembling with excitement as they relayed the news:
“Your Majesty, the prison door is open, and the stranger remains, praying to his foreign God, without attempt to escape!'”
The king’s face contorted in a mix of worry and surprise as the guides delivered the news.
His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Who opened the prison door?”
he muttered to himself, his voice laced with skepticism.
“Why didn’t the stranger escape?”
He paced back and forth in his chambers, his mind racing with questions.
“Who is this God that the young man keeps invoking?
What kind of power does He hold that he would refuse to escape?”
The king’s curiosity got the better of him, and he swiftly made his way to the prison, determined to confront Fr. Nelson and uncover the truth behind this strange occurrence.
He stormed into the prison cell, his presence commanding attention.
Fr. Nelson looked up from his prayers, his eyes calm and serene.
“Who opened the prison door?”
the king demanded, his voice firm but curious.
Fr. Nelson’s gaze never wavered, his voice steady and soft.
“My God opened the door, Your Majesty,’
he replied, his words laced with conviction.
“He is the one who sets the captive free.”
The king’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing with skepticism.
“What kind of God are you serving, young man?
he asked, his tone a mix of fascination and suspicion.
“‘And why did you not escape, if your God has opened the prison door for you?
Did you not see it as a chance to regain your freedom?'”
Fr. Nelson’s smile was gentle, his eyes shining with an inner light.
“Your Majesty,”
he began, his voice low and measured,
“my God did not open the door for me to escape, but to show His power and mercy.
I remain here because my work is not yet done.
I have been sent to bring light and hope to this place, and I will not leave until that task is complete.”
The king’s expression was incredulous, his mind struggling to comprehend the priest’s words.
“You mean to say that your God wants you to stay in this prison?”
he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.
Fr. Nelson nodded, his faith unwavering.
“Not in this prison Your Majesty.
But in this village, if I escape from this prison now, I won’t be able to accomplish my mission here.
For in this place, I have found my calling.'”
After the king has listened to the strange man talking about his one God, he wasn’t convinced at all that one God is more powerful than their gods that’s many.
He remembers the Igbo adage that says,
“#TWO_OR_MORE_IS_BETTER_THAN_ONE #FOR_IF_ONE_FALL_THE_OTHERS_WILL_LIFT_HIM_UP.
“I will write a message on a piece of paper and seal it in a box,”
the king announced, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.
“If your God is truly more powerful than our own gods, He will reveal the message to me.
If He fails, you will remain in this prison forever.
But if He succeeds, I will grant you freedom and allow you to preach your God to our people.” The king says.
Fr. Nelson’s face lit up with a gentle smile.
“I accept your challenge, Your Majesty,”
he said.
“But there’s more to the challenge than just revealing a message,”
the king said, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“At the New Yam Festival, I will also bring a dead hyena and place it beside the sealed box.
If your God is truly more powerful than our own gods, He will not only reveal the message but also bring the hyena back to life.
And if He does, we will accept Him as our supreme God, and you will be granted freedom and a place of honor in our kingdom.”
Fr. Nelson’s eyes widened in understanding, and he nodded solemnly.
“I accept your challenge, Your Majesty.
For I know that my God is the God of life and resurrection, and He will not be defeated.”
The king left the palace prison and ordered the guides to lock the door again.
Fr. Nelson’s heart raced with a mix of worry and faith.
He knew that the power of the blessed sacrament could bring even the dead back to life, but he had not brought it with him to the Ozumba village.
He had only his simple chaplet and Bible, a symbol of his devotion to God.
Yet, he held onto hope, trusting that God’s power was not limited to the sacrament alone.
He clasped his chaplet tightly, praying fervently that God would still perform a miracle, even without the sacrament.
“Lord, I trust in you,”
he whispered.
“You are the God of miracles, and I know you will not abandon me now.”
*
*
*
Ezenwanyi is seeing at the shrine where she’s begging the gods to accept her for the annual sacrifice of the year instead.
She reminded the gods of how the people of Ozumba has suffered from the beast.
“Oh, great gods of Ozumba, I, Ezenwanyi, Priestess of Nkoroma, beg of you, accept my life as the annual sacrifice.
I have witnessed the suffering of your people, the terror of the beast that has plagued them for so long.
I cannot bear to see them suffer any longer.
Take my life, and spare theirs.
I am a stranger, but my heart is with your people.
I have come to help them, to guide them, and now, to give my life for them.
Please, great gods, accept my plea.”
The shrine releases a white smoke, the air was filled with an otherworldly silence.
The smoke rises slowly, its wispy tendrils curling upwards like a gentle embrace.
Ezenwanyi’s eyes lock onto the smoke, her gaze intense with a mix of fear, resignation, and determination.
She knows that this is the sign she has been waiting for – the gods have accepted her plea.
The white smoke is a beacon of fate, a signal that her journey to the land of the dead is about to begin.
As the white smoke billowed from the shrine, Ezenwanyi’s eyes welled up with tears.
She knew that her fate was sealed.
With a heavy heart, she whispered to herself,
“The journey to the land of the dead awaits me…
Farewell, mortal world.”
Yet, even in the face of death, her love for the people of Ozumba shone brighter.
She steeled herself, determination etched on her face,
“I will embark on this journey, not for myself, but for the people I have come to love.
May my sacrifice bring them peace and freedom from the beast’s terror.”
With a quiet resolve, She vanished from the shrine, leaving behind a trail of white smoke and the weight of her fate.
She made her way to the palace, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
Her determination and courage propelled her forward, as she knew that she had to inform the king and his people of the gods’ acceptance of her plea.
The palace gates swung open, and she entered, her presence commanding attention.
The king and his cabinets are at meeting discussing on how to reach out to Chima.
She approached the throne, her eyes locked onto the king’s, and bowed her head in respect.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,”
she said, her voice clear and strong.
“I bring news from the shrine.
I have come to inform you that there is no need to search for Chima.”
The king’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Ezenwanyi continued, her words dripping with conviction.
“The gods have revealed to me that Chima will return tomorrow, of his own accord.
You must trust in the divine plan, Your Majesty.
The gods have spoken, and their will shall be done.”
The king’s cabinets exchanged skeptical glances, but Ezenwanyi’s unwavering confidence left them speechless.
The king’s face lit up with a wide smile, and his cabinets breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“Ah, thank the gods!”
the king exclaimed, his voice booming through the palace halls.
“We were worried about the perilous journey to Onuogba, our sworn enemies.
The thought of sending our men into the lion’s den was a heavy burden indeed.”
His cabinets nodded in agreement, their faces etched with concern.
“But now, with the gods’ intervention, we can avoid a potentially disastrous conflict.
Chima’s safe return is a blessing from above!”
The king’s eyes shone with gratitude as he turned to Ezenwanyi.
“Thank you, dear Priestess.
Your connection to the divine has saved us from a terrible fate.”
“And for the annual sacrifice of the year, i have offered my life as the annual sacrifice, and they have accepted my plea.
I do this willingly, with a heart full of love for the people of Ozumba.
I have witnessed their struggles, their pain, and their fear.
And I cannot stand idly by, knowing that my blood can bring them peace and prosperity.
I am ready to give my life, that the people of Ozumba may live.”
Ezenwanyi’s words were spoken with a quiet strength, a sense of purpose, and a deep devotion to the people she had come to care for.
Her voice was steady, her eyes shining with a fierce determination.
The king’s face fell, and his cabinets gasped in shock.
“No, Ezenwanyi, no!”
the king exclaimed, his voice filled with dismay.
“We cannot let you, a respected and beloved priestess, sacrifice yourself for our people.
You have done so much for us already, and we cannot bear the thought of losing you.”
His cabinets nodded in agreement, their faces etched with concern and gratitude.
“There must be another way, Ezenwanyi.
We cannot accept your sacrifice.
You are too precious to us, and your wisdom and guidance are crucial to our survival.”
The king’s eyes pleaded with her to reconsider, but Ezenwanyi’s resolve remained unwavering.
“I have made my plea, Your Majesty, and the gods have accepted.
It is done.
I know that this may come as a shock to you, Your Majesty, and your cabinets,
But I have made a promise to the gods, and I cannot go back on my word.
I have seen the suffering of the Ozumba people, and I cannot bear to see them suffer any longer.
If my blood is what is required to bring peace and prosperity back to the land, then so be it.
I am willing to give my life for the people I have come to love and care for.
The gods have accepted my plea, and I will not go back on my promise.”
Ezenwanyi’s words were laced with determination and conviction, leaving no room for argument or negotiation.
Her resolve was clear, and her heart was set on following through with her sacrifice.
*
*
*
The villagers of Ozumba emerged from their homes, cautiously optimistic, thinking that the worst was behind them.
They had heard nothing from Sochima, the lion girl, for a while, and they dared to hope that she had finally left their village alone.
As they went about their daily routines, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over them.
Children played outside, laughing and chasing each other, while their parents tended to their crops and animals.
The village square, once a hub of fear and anxiety, was now filled with the sounds of merchants selling their wares and villagers gossiping about their daily lives.
But, unbeknownst to them, Sochima was merely biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again…
THE END
