Chapter 10

Ife, Northwest Africa

The room had no windows. There was only one lantern that burned. On the floor, she sat chained to the wall by her right wrist and right leg. She muttered repeatedly. She tried to get the walls to rattle. She tried to get the shackles to break. She tried to see a vision. She listened for her great-grandmother’s voice but to no avail ... her powers were not working.

The door opened. She looked left and saw the woman’s long toned legs. Her skin was dark as the night sky. She wore traditional Yoruba garments. The woman stared at Yande in amazement, “Finally. I have been waiting for this moment ever since your mother left Ife seventeen years ago.”

Yande glared at the woman.

She chuckled no need to try and use your amazing gifts on me, child. In this room, the walls are made with dark crystals to protect us from your magic. You will not be able to do anything as long as I keep you in this room, eh.”

Yande shook her head. Nneka walked closer. She grabbed a chair and sat in front of her, “You are fascinating. You look exactly like your mother. Yet you have pale skin like your father and his eyes. And ... you have the powers that should have been given to my daughter. Your mother had no right to take my blessing.”

When Nneka became pregnant. She ensured the other women stayed celibate. The high priestess would come to the village and bless a pregnant witch’s child with amazing gifts.

Nneka made sure that no one else was having sex so she could be the only option when the ceremony took place. That night, as the women stood in a circle dressed in white linens and their faces were marked with designs in white paint, she waited for the high priestess to call out her name.

The woman stood in the center of the circle. She prayed in Yoruba as loud drumming ensued. She made an undulating sound. Her eyes turned white. Her body jerked. Then it was quiet. She smiled as the Gods and her ancestors gave her the name of the woman who was pregnant with the child destined to carry the powers of the most powerful witch.

Nneka’s heart raced. She waited for her name. The woman spoke, “Aminata Mbengue,” she walked over to Aminata and cut her hand with a blade. Blood dripped from Aminata’s hand. The woman cut her hand and touched it to Aminata’s.

Nneka stood watching with her jaw on the floor. Rage burned inside her. As everyone congratulated Aminata, Nneka fought to keep her composure. She walked over to where Aminata stood with Adefolake, “I suppose you and the pale face did more than share a kiss.” She walked off angrily.

Adefolake looked at Aminata, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay here tonight. We must leave.”

“Did you see something?”

Adefolake sighed, “I don’t have to use my gift to see that Nneka wants you dead.”

Aminata sighed, “You’re right.”

“Do you speak, child?” she asked mockingly.

“Sim eu falo,” she replied in Portuguese.

Nneka grabbed her face, “You expect me to believe your mother did not teach you to speak Yoruba?”

Yande jerked her head away, “Bẹẹni, Mo sọrọ. mo si le ja,” she replied in Yoruba, “Yes, I speak, and I can also fight.”

Nneka grinned, “I’m sure you are a skilled fighter. Your mother was one of the best. She was never better than me. That is why I was the leader. I am not going to fight you. I want to make your pale-faced father pay pounds of gold and silver for your safe return. And once I collect all my riches, I will drain your blood and eat your heart to see if whatever gifts you have can be transferred to me.”

Yande scoffed, “You know that’s not how it works.”

She shrugged, “Then I will just have fun draining the life from you and hearing your mother scream when she sees your lifeless body.” She smiled.

The door opened. Kwento entered, “How is the girl?”

Nneka turned to see her lover, “She is fine.”

Yande looked at the man. The man caressed her with his eyes. “Our daughter would be the same age.”

“You have a daughter?” Yande asked.

“She died during childbirth,” he responded.

“That is none of her concern. How is Max?”

“He is good. He went for a walk.”

“Good. Have the servants prepare this girl a meal, nothing too special. And bring her some water.”

He nodded and left the room. Nneka turned to Yande.

Yande attempted to plead with her, “You lost your child. I am sorry. But don’t you think holding a grudge against my mother for something that happened nearly two decades ago is petty?”

She scoffed, “It is because of what your mother did ... my daughter ... my daughter. My daughter should have had those gifts. Maybe she wouldn’t have been born with the curse.”

Yande grimaced, “What kind of curse?”

Nneka stood, “I’ll have the servants bring your food.” She left abruptly.

The water flowed over the rocks as he stood naked. He leaned over, gathered water in his hands, and wet his jet-black hair. He was barely fifteen years old. A handsome young man. As he enjoyed the coolness of the water, he heard a sound. The rustling of leaves. He looked around. After searching for several seconds, he was satisfied that it had to be some animal.

He walked toward the bank and stepped out of the water where his clothes were. He had a heavy cloth that he used to dry himself before getting dressed. Just as he was done, he heard a voice very clear, as if someone was standing next to him speaking.

“Maximus Ali, son of Dominic Ali and Nneka Oyagbola.”

He gulped and reached for his sword, “Who is there?” he asked apprehensively.

“I am your ancestor.”