When Brothers Fight Pt. 2

The festivities concluded, and Anyi and his father returned to their room in silence, ruminating over their discussion with the woman they could not risk turning back to see. Anyi was the first to sleep, the last image he saw being of his father lying with a heaving chest, blade clutched by its worn hilt as though expecting something vile to jump in through the circular windows at any moment. This was no way to live—like chickens guessing which day the cooking pot would call.
When he did sleep, it was deep, black, and dreamless. By the cock’s crow at dawn, he felt as though he had barely blinked. Nnanyi was already wake, his back against the polished clay wall, his blade still in hand as he gently rubbed a grinding stone over it.
‘Ibolachi?’ Anyi greeted.
His father responded, ‘dalu,’ then reached into his pouch to produce a pair of chewsticks.
‘The palm wine still hangs on your breath.’
Anyi collected a chewstick and began to bite at it, a pang of shame washing over him for not remembering to bring one for himself.
‘So, what are we doing today?’ He spat specks of the bitter stick into a wooden cup and continued brushing hard against his white teeth.
‘First, we shall eat. Then, we shall journey to the famous stone library of Onicha. It is nothing like the mystery stone library of the legendary Ogbi Ukwu, but it tells enough of a story that must never die. My father took me there once, as did his father before him. Now, it is my turn to take you.’
Anyi spat again. His eyes were wide open now, filled with both wonder and anticipation. So much had been said about the wise Ape Men in poems, songs, plays, and proverbs that laced nearly every conversation. To him, it was a real honour to witness their work in stone. He could think of no grounds holier, more sacred. At the thought alone, he felt the spirit of the ancestors stirring through his chi.
‘I am very excited. Will I be allowed to touch it?’
Nnanyi laughed.
‘No, it is too sacred for touch from anyone who isn’t the guardian. But you may look at it, and you may read it. It is believed that by reading the stones, you have touched them where it matters most.’
Anyi nodded, racking his brain to recall what Onyi had tried, and mostly failed, to teach him about the Akala writing technique. Oh, if only she were here with them. He hated to imagine making it all the way to such a place and leaving with only the memory of the stones’ shapes.
‘But Nnanyi, I can’t read the Akala script. Most of us can’t these days. Only Onyi can, and you know how she is.’
‘Not to worry. The guardians are all experts at reading it. In fact, it is a requirement that one memorise the entire library before they can earn the title of amaosu.’
‘Okay then, that works for me.’ Anyi spat out the last of his chewstick for the morning and pushed himself out of bed.
Outside, lights already flickered to life, and the swoosh of broomsticks drifted across the compound. Anyi strained to catch the sound of water being drawn from the well into a bucket, certain that soon enough he would hear a splash from the bathhouse as it was emptied. A knock sounded at the door, and a porter dropped off towels, chewsticks, and black soap.
‘Nna’m, they gave us more chewsticks.’
The pair smiled and reached for the towels and chewsticks.
‘I will go first,’ Nnanyi said as he undid his pelt wrapper. Anyi watched him leave, then his eyes moved to his father’s blade. He found himself searching for his own knife, and the touch of its hilt brought him some comfort. Surely the pig-men would not just march in and slaughter a royal’s guest. But if the stories of their savagery held any truth, one could never be too careful. He thought about small Ozi and his mother back home. He also thought about Onyi, her father, and the entire kingdom. Lastly, he thought about the girl from yesterday and the way she had made his body feel. To distract himself from the pulsing that images of her swaying waist provoked, he tightened his grip on the knife until his knuckles hurt and he feared he might cut himself.
Thankfully, before his mind could wander too far, the door creaked on its hinges and swung open to reveal his father’s broad frame.
‘The water is warm. You are lucky I am in a good mood this morning. I almost finished it until I remembered you.’ Nnanyi chuckled. Anyi rarely saw him like this. Clearly, he too was excited about the trip to the stone library. Anyi wondered what it was that made his father so happy. Nnanyi had seen the stones before, and as far as Anyi could tell, he could not read Akala. Perhaps it was the very act of taking his son, just as his father had once taken him. Maybe when Anyi had his own son, he would understand such things. He slipped into the towel, grabbed the shapeless black soap, and headed to the bathhouse. It was a small hut like the others he had seen, its bamboo door marked with the carving of a familiar Nsibidi symbol. Inside, it still smelled of his father’s wash, and water leaked through a gully that streamed outside into a gutter. He washed quickly, as if someone were waiting impatiently for their turn. Then he dashed back to their hut.
On his way, a strange bell tolled in his ears. Surely it was metal against metal, but it was no ogene from the town criers he was used to. This was much larger and seemed to ring from the sky rather than the ground. It also seemed to coincide with the breaking of dawn, as the morning light finally wrestled away the last of the darkness. Following the tolling, words Anyi did not understand poured into the compound in a harmonious tone that verged on singing. Without thinking, he counted the market days since they had left home to remind himself what day it was—eke, afo, orie, nkwo—then the three days between, regarded as izuike, the rest days.
Today was the last rest day, popular for sun veneration. Anyi’s father had told him about Ra, a Kemetic god revered in the far north, where some of the earlier Ape Men had settled to build the structures that would later become the ruins of an age gone by. The strange harmonic murmurings ended with one word Anyi did recognize: Ahmen! His guess was that the Xrist shrine in the neighbouring compound was conducting some kind of ceremony.
Anyi found his father ready to go when he stepped in, so he rushed to prepare as well, donning his pelt cover cloth, a woven sleeveless top, and an assortment of jewellery—armbands, marble, wooden and bronze bracelets, bone-pendant necklaces, and a light animal-skin cape that reached his knees. When he was done dressing, he grabbed his dagger and his long knife.
‘Are we going to wait for you to paint your face too?’ Nnanyi teased.
‘I’m ready.’ Anyi fastened the leather strap of his sandal behind his ankle. The pair walked out to find a slightly busier palace ground filled with cooks, porters, guards, and the odd dog or chicken. Everyone, including the dogs, moved with the sluggishness of a non-market day. Their faces looked relaxed, and they greeted one another warmly. Anyi greeted the elders first, as custom demanded, but his father only bowed without mouthing the words. They walked past the palace food store, which housed all kinds of tubers—cassavas, potatoes, yams, and more. Fresh vegetables were stacked in bags the size of pillows, and tomatoes shone in their plum red. At least six pots were already on the fire, with other cooking spots prepared with firewood and cauldron-bellied pots.
‘How many mouths does the Obi have to feed?’
‘Who knows? Maybe fifty, maybe a hundred. It is not any easy position to hold. Have you ever heard the story of Obi Isike?’
‘The name is familiar, but I am not sure I recall.’
‘He was a bad Obi the people wanted to remove.’
Anyi turned to his father. ‘But how do you remove an Obi? He will have to die, and even in death his nwa-diokpala will take over.’
‘You are right. Even in death his firstborn son will take over. But you see, at heart, the Ogbi are pragmatists. Obi Isike’s wickedness was sensed early, while he was still only a prince. And so the people waited, hoping that time and the weight of the crown would beat him into shape. They were wrong.’
‘Just because the snake sheds its skin in time doesn’t mean it loses its fangs,’ Anyi offered.
‘Exactly!’ his father continued. ‘His shedding of princehood did nothing to change his character, and so in his reign, hunger and suffering covered the land, while his own family alone enjoyed the fruits of the community.’
Anyi shook his head at the story as it rolled off his father’s tongue. A man—obi, eze, diokpala or even oru—was no man at all if he lived below the dictates of his responsibilities. As the saying goes, manhood is a thing that is practised, not a title to be earned with age.
‘Eventually, the people had had enough. But as you know, it is forbidden to kill a royal.’
‘So what did they do?’ Anyi asked.
The pair now stood at the exit, only a stone’s throw from where the church bell had tolled. Men, women, and children strolled in, while robed pig-men muttered to themselves and welcomed the herd that gathered.
‘The people seized the Obi on the night of his wedding, dragged him to the forest, and tied him to a tree.’
Anyi’s eyes widened in shock and his step froze. ‘Really? They did that?’
‘Yes, they did,’ Nnanyi carried on. ‘They couldn’t kill him, but they could bind him to a tree and let the earth take him.’
‘But why on his wedding night?’
Nnanyi looked at Anyi as if he couldn’t believe the question.
‘Why do you think?’
‘Ohhh, so he wouldn’t be able to have an heir!’
Nnanyi rubbed his son’s head. ‘You see, your brain is still working. You just have to try to apply it.’
The guards from the previous day were now at the outpost gate that led to the stone library, both the pig-man and the native. As before, Nnanyi refused to speak to the pig-man, not even glancing in his direction, as if doing so would validate his authority and seed power to him, even if only in droplets.
‘I wish to take my son to your great Stone Library. Is that allowed? Or must I first seek permission from the Obi… or this pig-man?’
The native guard looked to his Anglon counterpart with eyes that sought approval.
‘What is the meaning of this? Am I a guest or a prisoner in this palace? Is the Obi the ruler, or a pig-man’s puppet? My father took me to behold these rocks of history, as did his father before him. It is sacred ground, owned by all Ogbis, even if it is in custody of Onicha. You have no right to deny me. No one can.’
Anyi could see the tension rising in the pig-man’s face, the twitch in his arm betraying it. Perhaps he was quick with his fingers, but at this range it was near impossible to grab a rifle, take aim, and fire. A wrestler like Nnanyi would have speared him to the ground and disarmed him long before he could pull the trigger.
‘You are a marked man,’ the native guard warned, carefully choosing words that the pig-man guard, with his limited grasp of their language, could not decode. ‘You need to move carefully.’
‘There is work going on at the Stone Library,’ the pig-man spat, his afa-tongue broken with Anglon-speak as he struggled to find the matching words.
‘I am not talking to you. I do not recognize your authority over these lands, let alone those stones. And I suggest you watch your tongue, or I will cut it out and show it to you.’
A heavy silence followed. Anyi scanned the area for pig-men in uniform but found none. It seemed this one was alone.
‘You are making things difficult,’ the native guard whispered. ‘Son, tell your father to—’
Nnanyi did not wait to hear the rest. Without warning, he seized the pig-man guard by the collar. The man tried to reach for his rifle, but the force of the pull rocked him off his feet. Nnanyi’s face was now so close to the guard’s that their noses touched as they peered into each other’s eyes—vast brown locked against vast blue. The native guard reached for his rifle, but Anyi leapt in front of him, blocking the shot. From the heaving of Nnanyi’s body, it was clear that rage boiled inside him—hot, molten, erupting, and pushing his body in ways he could not fully control.
‘You will point that thing at me, your brother, to save him? A stranger? Your captor? Your conqueror?’ Nnanyi shoved the pig-man away, spat his disgust on the floor, and marched in through the gate.
‘Follow me, son. If they want to get us, let them shoot us from behind. That is what cowards are known to do.’
Anyi followed his father, his small heart rattling in his chest as his ears strained for a sound—anything at all: the click of loading barrels or the pull of a trigger. Everything in his body wanted to look back, just as it wanted to run when he faced the masquerade and the panther. He searched for the courage he had found then, and once again wore it over his fear. He did not look back, nor did he turn sideways or slow his steps. Against the fear that screamed within him, he continued until he was sure the worst was behind them. They walked on through quiet streets and empty shrines, some littered with broken figurines, if they had any at all. Anyi knew his father had many thoughts on these things, but the man’s anger had not yet cooled enough to free his tongue. At last, they reached a long dirt road that stretched ahead and led to towering rocks whose tips scraped the sky. By the roadside, a stone was marked.
‘Something is wrong,’ Nnanyi muttered.
‘What?’
‘The guide should be here.’

Amadioha’s Codex: Artefact #5648