By: Somto Ihezue
“Ala, mother of our mothers, consume us with your spirit. Amadioha, the echo that is thunder, come, see the bones that bind us. Ikenga, forge us into steel, let us fell mountains. Anyanwu, light out paths with fire and day. Ekwensu, be our shadow. Take us to a place, far, a time, near.”
##
“Can anyone list incidents or acts once considered sacrilege in Southern Nigeria?”
Nkenneya leaned forward on her desk. History was her favorite subject, and it had nothing to do with her father being the subject’s teacher. At least that’s what she wanted her classmates to believe. The words CUSTOMS & TRADITIONS IN SOUTHERN NIGERIA were scribbled on the whiteboard behind her father. The class was above Nkenneya’s grade level, but she had insisted and academically proven beyond reasonable doubt that she deserved to be part of the class.
“Anyone?” Her father drummed his fingers on his desk. He also did that at home. Nkenneya knew it wasn’t impatience. It was curiosity.
A student’s hand shot in the air. “The killing of pythons,” the student started to answer almost immediately. “The osu, the birth of twins, death by a falling breadfruit, claiming ownership of–”
“Sopulu.” Nkenneya’s father stopped the student. “Please elaborate on why twins were once considered taboo.”
“Well, Mr Nnadi, it was believed that twins were an evil that brought with them a curse. Indigenes feared that mothers of twins had bred with demons. Unable to determine which twin was fathered by the demon spirit, they got rid of both.” Sopulu paused, and a hush fell on the class. “Fortunately, in 1885, starting in the Okoyong communities, Mary Slessor abolished the practice.”
The history teacher gave an almost affirming nod.
“Though, contrary to popular teachings, Mary Slessor was not the forerunner in the campaign for the abolition of twin infanticide.” Nkenneya waded into the conversation unannounced. “These accounts have swept under the carpet the commendable efforts of natives who combated the practice long before Slessor set foot on African soil.”
“Natives?” Sopulu sighed. They were clearly all used to Nkenneya’s antics.
“Yes, natives.” Nkenneya faced him squarely. “The exclusion of the role of parents who fought back, and the actions of monarchs like King Eyo Honesty II who vehemently opposed the killings, distorts a substantial portion of history in which natives were critical agents of change.”
“These practices were fueled by culture, and they were law. This makes it difficult to believe that natives, bound by custom, had a hand in ending them.” The boy leaned further in her direction. He was far from backing down.
And neither was Nkenneya. “In the words of Okon Uya, we must reject the continuing domination and subjugation of our people in historical narratives that present us as onlookers in the drama of our vital existence.”
“But–the history books, they clearly said–”
“Refinement and reappraisal are the required operation of any historian worth their salt. Sopulu, are you worth your salt?”
The whole class gasped.
“That’ll be all for today,” Nnadi announced, putting an end to the debate before it brewed into chaos. “I’ll be expecting your finished essays next week Monday.”
Conversations sprang amongst the students as they all filtered out of the class.
“That was intense.” Nkenneya’s father said as she waltzed up to his desk. “Just remember they’re still teenagers.”
“So am I!” Nkenneya threw her hands in the air. “And it’s not my fault they don’t have a historian for a parent,” she said, helping him to pack up his teaching materials.
Nnadi shrugged with a smile, and they both laughed.
Hand in hand, they left the school building and headed for the terrace where Nnadi’s multi-colored Innoson 3000v was parked. Nkenneya had insisted on the colour.
“Could we stop at the farmer’s market? I want to get some herbs.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little absurd that you are a fifty-one-year-old who can’t drive?” Nkenneya crossed her arms.
“Bia, young lady, don’t use that tone with me.” Nnadi tried to hide his amusement. “I’m not one of your little classmates.”
“And then there’s me, the sixteen-year-old who chauffeurs you everywhere. Child services would like a word.”
“Nne, biko, you know I’m not a tech person.”
“This is the twenty-first century. Cars do not count as tech anymore.”
“Says who?”
“Everybody!” Nkenneya gestured widely. “You’re just lucky I like you.”
“I know.” Nnadi laughed his jaunty laugh as they both got into the car.
At the food market, Nnadi purchased tufts of snakeweed. For as long as Nkenneya could remember, he had always taken them. They helped him sleep, especially when the nightmares grew incessant. He had refused the sleeping medication prescribed by the school’s clinic. Her father was averse to all forms of modern medicine and modernity in general. He cleaned his teeth with charcoal, he ground peppers on a rock slab, and he kept a garden—the only person in their neighborhood who did.
The drive from the farmer’s market to their home in Omagba Crescent was the same as always. Nkenneya told her father about one of his colleagues, how they’d make a cute couple, and Nnadi would tell her he was too smart to take dating advice from a child, and she would remind him he couldn’t turn off his phone’s flashlight. It was their thing, one Nkenneya pretended not to enjoy. At home, like they did every other day, they watched TV, crushed the herbs for Nnadi’s poultices, ate dinner, played Scrabble––Nkenneya always let her father win, and snored into bed.
#
Nkenneya peeled her eyes open. In the darkness of her bedroom, it was unmistakable: the dagger in her face and the hooded figure who held it. They cupped the scream that came pouring from Nkenneya’s mouth, pinning her to the bed.
“Ke Nnadi?” They asked, their Igbo old and dire. “Where is he!”
The room’s lights suddenly flickered on, and in her assailant’s face, Nkenneya found familiar eyes staring back at her. The figure leaped off her, and Nkenneya stumbled out of the bed to her father, whose finger still rested on the light switch. In his other hand was a spear.
The intruder shrieked, shielding their face from the fluorescent light. Nkenneya reached for the security alarm. Nnadi held her back. “Wait.”
“For what!”
“Papa.” The word drifted from the intruder to Nnadi.
Nkenneya gaped around, unsure who they were referring to. “Dad–do you know this person?” She shifted back to hide behind Nnadi. Peeping over his shoulder, she could not understand why they weren’t alerting security or at least stabbing this oddly dressed stranger with the random spear she never knew her father had.
“Child,” Nnadi solemnly regarded the intruder. “What did your mother call you?”
Eyes wildly darting from Nnadi to Nkenneya, their gaze lingering on her for a while, the stranger turned back to Nnadi. “Adanna,” they said, warily removing their hood. “She called me Adanna.”
Nkenneya gasped. Her assailant did not only have her eyes, they had her face. “Dad–what is–what is happening? Who is this strange girl– why–why does she look like–”
“Girl?” Adanna glared at her. “I am Spirit. And I am no stranger. The blood in your veins courses through mine.”
“How–what is this–dad–”
“I do not have time.” Adanna stopped her before she could finish. They turned to Nnadi. “Our clan was attacked by Ogidi raiders, vengeance for what you did in the mountain wars. They burnt our village to the ground and took my mother—our mother.” Adanna looked to Nkenneya, a sadness found their voice. “Papa, you must return home. Come help me save her.”
Silence drowned the room.
“My–my child,” Nnadi found his voice. “If I could go with you this moment, I would, but–”
“But what?”
“I haven’t practiced the dark arts in–in years. The crossing is perilous, and I lack the fortifications.”
“Dark–dark arts?” Nkenneya could not comprehend the things she was hearing.
“I performed the ritual to get here, and I can do it again.”
“No, you cannot,” Nnadi countered with an urgency. “Crossing twice in one night… it will kill you. We’d need weeks–months to prepare.”
Adanna let out a cry, a sharp, shuddering thing that shook their body. Unsure but steady, Nnadi reached for them. They jerked away, apprehension mixing into the grief brimming in their eyes.
“It’s alright, my child.” Nnadi stepped back. “We will save her, I swear it. But not today.”
Nkenneya just watched the both of them. She was utterly lost.
And so Adanna remained with them, counting the days and helping Nnadi fortify. Like Nnadi had once been, Adanna was vast in the arts. They knew the words to the unspoken utterances and the anchors that tethered them to mortal holds. Usually, the fortifications would require nights spent in sacred forests and gory animal sacrifices. But not in this place, not in this realm. They had to make do. For many nights, at midnight, Adanna would engrave an utterance onto her father’s skin. Nkenneya had not been prepared for the anguish and torment a simple marking could extoll. On many occasions, she tried to put an end to the fortifications.
“It is all right. I am all right.” Nnadi would stop here. “This is nothing compared to what your mother put me through the first time I crossed.” And he would laugh his jaunty laugh, which grew weaker each day.
Through it all, Nkenneya tried to keep her distance from Adanna. Interdimensional travel, a twin from another realm, her father being some kind of witch, was all too much for her. It explained his herbal inclinations and lack of modernity. Nkenneya only came around when Adanna fell ill. They couldn’t take them to any medical center; there’d be no record of Adanna in the system, which would raise eyebrows. Adanna tested positive for a handful of ailments, some due to their immune system being ill-equipped for a different era, others they had brought along from their time. Nnadi patched them back to health. He had been the only herbalist in their clan before he fled, and he never strayed from the path. He’d also tried to instill in Nkenneya the ways of the herbs and seeds, just like his father had done, and like his grandfather had. Nkenneya was not the most willing or attentive student.
Nnadi told her everything. How they came from a time when twins were an abomination. How he and their mother had already lost two sets of twins to the barbaric tradition. After her third set of twins, their mother insisted that Nnadi take one of the infants and escape into a twin dimension. He had accomplished the crossing by channeling the bones of his ancestors. On arrival, with the priceless gems he crossed with, he bought back the ancestral grounds that belonged to his ancestors in this realm. For without his ancestors’ bones, he knew he could never cross back again. And on those grounds was built the very house where they stood. It was why Adanna had appeared right in the house when they crossed.
“Your ancestor’s bones?” Nkenneya queried.
“Yes. They were necessary for the ritual that ferried us here. And would be necessary if we are to return.”
“So you’re a historian, a herbalist, and a…witch?”
“And a warrior.” Nnadi smiled. “You could also be a witch.”
“I certainly hope not!”
Nnadi laughed. He also told her how the people of this realm had initially thought he was unwell and tried to take her from him when he arrived.
“I wasn’t going to part with a hair on your head,” he said, moving the braids that had fallen over her face. “Thankfully, the Igbo language had persisted here, and by trading the precious gems I crossed with, I cared for us. Studying West African history had been convenient, seeing as I came from history.” A grin crossed his face. He looked over to Adanna’s room, the grin fading. They hardly came out. Even the fortification rites with Nnadi were done behind doors. “You two don’t talk much.”
“Have you met them?” Nkenneya rolled her eyes
“I never had a sibling. I like to think it would have been nice.
“Well, neither did I until a few months ago.”
Nnadi nodded solemnly. “I must say, you are taking all this quite well, considering…”
“I am not.” Nkenneya countered.
They let the statement sit between them for a while.
“Your mother had a brother.” Nnadi reopened the conversation. “Agbaeze. He, more than any other, wanted to see you and your sibling dead.”
“Oh…”
“Sometimes family can turn against us,” Nnadi heaved. “But sometimes, they can be our fiercest ally.”
“You make it sound like we’re going to war,” Nkenneya scoffed.
“More or less.” Nnadi did not share her amusement.
Nkenneya turned to stare at the door to Adanna’s room, her eyes lingering for a while.
“Perhaps you could bring them dinner?”
“Dad, I–I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You would not know until you tried.”
#
Nkenneya knocked once, holding her breath. She knocked again and again. With no answer forthcoming, she opened and stepped through the door with caution she didn’t know her body possessed. The room was darker than usual.
“May I turn on the lights?”
Again, no response came, so she switched them on. Seeing her own eyes staring back at her was a fright Nkenneya wasn’t sure she could ever get used to.
“I brought dinner. Dad guessed this is your favorite.” Nkenneya set the tray of porridge ukwa on the bed. “Mostly because it’s also mine.”
Without a word, Adanna wolfed the food down. Nkenneya just stood there, unsure what to do with her hands. When Adanna was done, Nkenneya hastily packed up the tray and made to leave. Her hand on the knob, she stopped.
“I was wondering if you might tell me about her... our mother.”
Adanna looked up at her. Their stare were arrows. “You have her eyes.”
“You mean we have her eyes,” Nkenneya smiled, her shoulders dropping. She came to sit next to them, and Adanna smiled back.
“He never told you about her, did he?”
“It was probably too difficult for him.”
They sat that way for a while, not a word between them.
“Once, a leopard came for our goats, picking them off one by one.” Adanna cracked open the quiet. “On an Eke night, our mother went into the forest, and when dawn called, she emerged, the leopard’s skin draped over her shoulders.”
“Oh…” Nkenneya had not expected that.
“I was blessed to have her as my teacher.” Adanna closed their eyes, like they were trying to remember more of their mother. “You are also blessed to have been raised by our father. His soul is a rare and tender thing.”
“I’m sure our mother has her tender spots too.”
Adanna’s eyes opened and narrowed. “Our mother is the only warrior woman in our village. She does not have the luxury of tenderness. She is fierce and true. That is enough.”
Nkenneya shifted where she sat.
“This world is a strange place.” Adanna looked away, out the window. Nkenneya remembered hearing them asking their father about the streetlights and how many fireflies kept them aglow. Of course Nnadi had no idea how they worked either. Sixteen years in modern society and the workings of machines and almost everything else still eluded him. Their mother had seen in dreams and visions many things about this world, and she had told them to Adanna in stories. Of people trapped in glass. Of steel horses. Of blackened roads of tar. A world where the houses were not made of mud and raffia. A world where they touched the sky. In this world, spirits did not roam amongst men. In this world, twins lived.
“I never thought much of those dreams. I just assumed she missed our father a lot. To think it was all true.”
“Well, there are still houses of mud and raffia,” Nkenneya chuckled. When she turned to Adanna and realized she was the only one amused, she immediately ceased her chuckling.
“I think our mother would have liked it here,” Adanna continued. “She is a soldier, but for peace, she’d give anything.”
“It was not always peaceful.” They both turned to find Nnadi in the doorway. “When I first arrived, it was chaos. Terrorists ravaged the country, and people fled their homes, huddling up in camps. There was hunger and sickness, and living was an expensive commodity. Death festered in every corner.” He came to sit in their midst. “Things changed for the better in time.”
“Mama told everyone you went into the desert and never returned.”
“That was the plan,” Nnadi said. Their eyes met, and Adanna peeled theirs away. “You know, whenever I thought of you, I pictured you as a baby in your mother’s wrapper, but here you are...”
A tear made down Nnadi’s cheek. Into his hand, Adanna squeezed theirs. They were looking at each other now. Nkenneya rested her head on her father’s shoulder, and there, the three of them stayed.
Weeks bled by, and Nnadi was ready. Not just for the crossing ritual, but also to face the Ogidi warriors and prevail. They were a vengeful and formidable lot. Back in his time, during the mountain wars, Nnadi had rained fire and lightning on them. This was why they had taken his wife.
Nnadi tried to persuade Nkenneya to stay behind. The crossing, the Ogidi warriors, their archaic realm, was all too dangerous. He and Adanna had experienced both realms and were accustomed to the dangers, but Nkenneya was not. But there was no stopping her. Something Nnadi said she got from her mother. Nkenneya had purchased goat skins and cowrie beads, appropriate attires for the era they were headed to. Her Igbo was as fluent as either one of theirs. She was not a warrior or a witch, but Olaedo was her mother too. And she was going to help save her. So, together, hand in hand, the three of them recrafted the crossing ritual.
“Ala, mother of our mothers, consume us with your spirit. Amadioha, the echo that is thunder, come, see the bones that bind us. Ikenga, forge us into steel, let us fell mountains. Anyanwu, light out paths with fire and day. Ekwensu, be our shadow. Take us to a place, far, a time, near.”
#
Appearing on the gravestones of their ancestors, they found armed warriors camped around the resting grounds. Nnadi pushed his children behind him, shielding them with his body.
“What took you so long?” A warrior, the lead, moved into an attack stance, unsheathing his blade. “We’ve been waiting here for weeks.” His glare stayed on Adanna.
“Adanna, what—what is this?!” Nnadi held them.
Freeing themself from his grip, Adanna joined the warriors. “They have my mother.” Adanna had said ‘my mother’ like she didn’t share the same mother with Nkenneya. They looked away, avoiding the dismay in their father’s eyes, avoiding the terror in Nkenneya’s. “The clan found out about everything, and I was offered a bargain, the two of you… for the two of us.”
Adanna had lied about the Ogidi warriors. It wasn’t them who had taken Olaedo. It was the clan. When a plague had come upon the village, the dibias had discovered Olaedo’s secret, that she had birthed twins, and Nnadi had fled with one of the children. And the dibias proclaimed that the treacherous deceit had brought the plague upon them.
Flames lit up in Nnadi’s hands as lightning built in his eyes.
“Careful now,” The lead warrior warned, inching forward. “We have archers in the trees, and we outman you ten to one.”
He was wrong. Nnadi had battled worse odds. His decimation of the Ogidi warriors was proof of that. Only this time, Nkenneya was crouched behind him. Like a leaf in harmattan, she trembled. Hands up in surrender, the flames in Nnadi’s hands died out. The warriors rammed him to the ground, binding him and Nkenneya in chains.
“These shackles are spelled to null your powers.” The lead warrior spat at him.
They were led into the village as the town criers spread word of their accursed presence. Contrary to Adanna’s account, the village wasn’t burned down. People poured from the huts, and when they saw the faces of the twins, they cursed, spitting and hauling stones at them. Nkenneya noticed they looked rather sickly, sores festering around their mouth. The children scampering around had bellies like drums. In the air, the stench of diarrhea hung.
Worn and battered, Nnadi and his children were brought to their knees before Igwe Ugbaeze, the tribe’s chief, their mother’s brother.
With his staff, Ugbaeze struck Nnadi across the face.
“After all these years, finally, I get to watch you burn.” The chief turned to the crowd. “Now we will finally rid our village of the abomination that has poisoned our lands with plague!” The crowd broke into an excited uproar, their torches, and weapons in the air.
“Uncle.” Adanna prostrated. “I have held my end of the bargain. Release my mother, and we will leave the village for good.”
“You will be reunited with her,” Ugbaeze said, his voice pulsating with disdain. “In chains.”
When the first guard touched them, Adanna grabbed his arm. Twisting it, they slammed their fist into his jaw. The second didn’t stand a chance. Adanna’s forehead found his nose and shattered it. Pulling Nnadi’s spear from the sheath on their back, they whirled it until it aligned with their outstretched arm.
“Kill them! Kill them all!” Ugbaeze raged.
“Three days!” Nkenneya fell before him. “Give me three days, and I promise to end the plague.”
From the chief to the outraged people, to Adanna whom the guards had dragged to the ground, Nkenneya realized promises would not be enough. She remembered her father’s teachings, the belief that one of the twins was a... “I am the demon spawn.” Carrying through the crowd, her voice was a piercing, spine-tingling thing. Chaos erupted. The crowd made for her, rattled, teeth bared. “Burn me, and in my death, this disease will fester!” Her words stopped them in their tracks. Nkenneya theatrically paced towards them as they scampered from her path. “Burn me, and from your corpses, I will rise.”
“A threat?” Ugbaeze wasn’t as fazed as everyone else.
“No. A vow.”
They stared each other down, and three days, Ugbaeze gave her.
#
“Liar!” Nkenneya pushed Adanna as the guards threw them into the holding pits. ”We trusted you!”
“Stop it.” Nnadi separated them.
“So much for fiercest ally!” Nnadi was not spared from Nkenneya’s rage.
“This isn’t the time nor the—”
“Nnadi?” The voice floated out from the dark corners of the pit. In a hurricane, in a hail storm, Nnadi would pick out that voice. From the shadows, Olaedo stepped out, chains rattling behind her.
“Mama.” Adanna ran to her. “What have they done to you?” They cupped their mother’s bruised face.
“It is all right, I am all right,” Olaedo said as her eyes went to Nnadi. “The years have been kind to you.” She walked to him as he walked to her. Like they always did, her hands went to his beard. Uncertain, she drew them back.
Nnadi took them, bringing them to his face. “A day did not go by that I did not think of you,” he said, his tears sipping into her hands.
“I saw you in my dreams.” Olaedo dried his eyes.
“And you in mine.”
And nearly two decades later, their lips, their tears, and their hearts found each other once again.
“My child, let me look at you.” Olaedo came to Nkenneya, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You have a warrior’s eyes.”
“They said they’re yours.”
Hearing Nkenneya, the music that was her voice, it broke Olaedo. “I never meant to leave you.” Eyes fogged with tears, she took Nkenneya in a tight embrace.
From Adanna’s stories, Nkenneya had imagined their mother would be hard as granite, and perhaps her hair would reek of battle smoke. Olaedo’s skin was the softness of fleece, her hair, the musk of goats. In her arms, Nkenneya could not describe the feeling in her chest. The one thing she knew was that she was home. And they stayed, Nnadi, Olaedo, Nkenneya, and Adanna, in a cold dungeon pit, and they were whole.
“Ugbaeze is never letting us go, not with you admitting to being a demon.” Nnadi reminded them of their situation.
“They were going to kill...” Nkenneya looked over at her sibling who was still overridden with guilt.
“That is by the way,” Nnadi continued. “As you could tell, this supposed plague seems to be—”
“Gburugburu irigiri oria,” Nkenneya answered. She had been paying attention to all his herbal lectures.
“Exactly!” Nnadi nodded, pride finding his voice. “And this is what happens when a clan ostracizes their only herbalist.”
“So what do we do?” Adanna folded their arms.
All we need to do is have the entire village dewormed and–”
“Child,” Olaedo cut in. “Ridding the village of this plague won’t stop my brother from murdering us.”
“No, but it could probably buy us an opening.”
#
In three days, Nkenneya was brought before Ugbaeze, and she made her demands. First, all livestock wandering the village were to be penned. Drinking water was to be boiled, and defecating in the farms was to be abolished. As the village’s herbalist, this used to be Nnadi’s duty. But with his departure, everything had descended into chaos.
“Why do we listen to this witch!” The men revolted when she insisted their precious palm wine be used in washing hands.
“My demon father demands it,” she replied in a mysterious tone, hoping it was convincing enough.
The village did as instructed, and Nkenneya proceeded to make an organic deworming tonic, just like Nnadi had taught her. Flanked on all sides by Ugbaeze’s men, she boiled pawpaw leaves in large pots. To the boiling mixture, she added garlic, black pepper, honey, and ground pumpkin seeds. Last, she added snakeweed, lots and lots of it.
“Drink.” Ugbaeze scooped a calabash of the mixture and shoved it into Nkenneya’s hand.
“What?”
“You are a fool to think we’d trust you with our lives.” He flashed his blade. “Drink.”
Nkenneya was without a choice. She gulped down. Ugbaeze watched her, a kite to prey. When the mixture didn’t kill her, he gave the tonic to the villagers.
“We will discuss the possibility of your release when my people are cured.” Ugbaeze waved Nkenneya away as she was led back to the holding pits.
#
“He made me drink it.” Nkenneya could barely keep her eyes open as she resisted the sedating effects of the snakeweed. Before she could crash to the floor, Adanna caught her. “By nightfall–the village will all sleep–Papa carry me– ” Incoherent, she passed out.
Soon, their guards had passed out as well. Adanna reached over the bars and grabbed their keys. Freed from the pits, they ran through the quiet village, past the giant Udala tree. Nkenneya was slung over Nnadi’s shoulder. When they got to the graves, they found them dug, the headstones smashed, the bones gone.
“Your bones are ashes now.” Ugbaeze emerged from the bushes, his men with him. They had not taken the tonic. “This is where you die.”
They charged at them, and Olaedo and Adanna charged back. With the chains’ nulling effect yet to wear off and Nkenneya on his shoulder, Nnadi couldn’t help. He did not need to. Adanna moved through the guards like a river, and Olaedo was the bed on which they ran. The battle was over before it began, and all the men were down, save one. Ugbaeze weaved past them, slamming into Nnadi. They both tumbled to the ground, Nkenneya with them. Snatching her unconscious body, he propped her up, his blade to her throat.
“Surrender, or this one dies!” His steel drew blood.
“Ugbaeze, brother, please–” Olaedo started.
“You are no blood of mine!”
It ended in a heartbeat. The spear pierced the night and lodged in Ugbaeze’s skull. The blade fell from his hand as he collapsed backward. In the darkest of nights, Nnadi’s aim was still unerring. Again, before she could meet the ground, Adanna caught Nkenneya.
“What do we do now?” Adanna asked. Without the bones of their ancestors, the crossing could not be performed. “When the village awakes, we will be slaughtered.”
“Unless...” A thought came to Nnadi. “Adanna, I am your father... I am all the ancestor you need.”
“But–the ritual–it could kill you. We don’t know if you’re strong enough to be an anchor.”
“I have to be,” he said. “I will be.”
“All right.” They stretched their hand to him. “Let us go.”
“Adanna.” It was Olaedo. Adanna had never heard her speak in that voice. It was tender. “I cannot come.”
“What?”
“The crossing ferries those who share my bloodline,” Nnadi answered. “Your mother does not.”
Adanna’s eyes, wild and wide, darted from their mother to their father and back again. “We–we are not leaving you here!”
“We are not.” Nnadi calmed them. “I will stay.”
“Then–then, so will I.”
“Adanna–”
“No–no–no–you can’t–you cannot make me leave–you can’t–please,” Adanna cried. “Please.”
“Adanna.” Olaedo held them. “Listen to me. This realm will never be safe for you and your sister. You know this.”
Adanna nodded, tears wading down their face. “Where will you go?”
“We will find a lost place.” Olaedo looked at Nnadi. She turned back to Adanna and kissed their forehead. “You are more than the warrior I ever was. Look after your sister for me.” She bent, kissing Nkenneya as well.
“I cannot guarantee I’d be able to stop her from coming to find you,” Adanna laughed between tears.
“I know.” Nnadi kissed them both. “I know.”
But Nnadi knew something else. With the bones gone here, they’d likely be gone in the other realm as well. Without them or an ancestor to anchor to, the twins could never cross again. And so Adanna went into tomorrow. Nkenneya, asleep in their arms, did not get to say goodbye.
© Copyright 2024 Somto Ihezue
About the Author
Somto Ihezue is a Nigerian–Igbo writer, acquiring editor, and filmmaker.
He is a recipient of the Mandela Institute’s African Youth Network Movement Fiction Prize, the Horror Writers Association Grant, and the EbonyLife Academy Alumni Film Grant. His work was shortlisted for the British Fantasy Award (Sydney J. Bounds) for Best New Writer, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Afritondo Short Story Prize, the British Science Fiction Award, the Utopia Awards, and the Nommo Awards.
His works have appeared and are forthcoming in Tor: Africa Risen Anthology, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Fireside Magazine, Podcastle, Escape Pod, Strange Horizons, POETRY Magazine, Cossmass Infinities, Flash Fiction Online, NIGHTMARE, Flame Tree Press, OnSpec Magazine, Omenana, Africa In Dialogue, Mothersound: The Sauútiverse Anthology, The Year’s Best Anthology of African Speculative Fiction and others.