Shadow Speaker, page 4
Ejii arrived just as the storyteller was saying, “All of you shut up! My goodness, you give me a headache. I can’t stand it!”
Ejii laughed. The storyteller still liked to drink his beer as he told his stories. And he still wore his old black caftan and black turban, too. With his equally dark skin, he looked like a shadow. There were about forty children sitting in the dirt around him. Ejii didn’t see anyone who looked older than ten. Not for the first time she noted that she was probably too old to be coming to the storyteller. A few feet from the group, she leaned against one of the wooden market-space dividers with her arms around her chest.
The children quieted as the storyteller cupped his ear against the tree. He was waiting for the tree to tell him the next story, or so Ejii’s mother said. Up until she was nine, Ejii’d believed that the storyteller was some sort of meta-human who could hear trees talk. But he was just a man with the gift of stories.
He told of the tortoise and his cracked shell, the chaos magician and his chemistry set, the palm tree bandit and her thievery, and the albino girl who could walk into and out of the spirit world. Sometimes he spoke in Arabic, other times in Yoruba, Hausa, or Igbo. He didn’t seem too concerned about who understood or who didn’t, and neither did the children. It was getting late when he finally came to the story Ejii was waiting for. This story was short and always told last. For some reason Ejii felt comforted by the fact that he still told this story at all. She’d thought that he’d stopped after Jaa cut off her father’s head.
“The Legend of Sarauniya Jaa, the Red One, Chieftess of the Sahara,” the storyteller said. “Yes, she is queen and princess. All queens come from somewhere.”
He drank the last of his beer and belched loudly. Several of the children snickered. The storyteller glared at them and they instantly quieted. When he spoke, his coarseness was smoothed away and his true softer nature came forward. He told this story in the Hausa language, Jaa’s native tongue.
“No, she isn’t the daughter of the prophet as her name suggests. No, no. ‘Fatima’ is a name for a tamer woman. Merely the name her parents gave her. Her true name is Sarauniya Jaa, Queen of the Red. She is the dreamer. Simply call her Jaa. She is always accompanied by her two wild and sword-swinging husbands, Buji and Gambo; ask me for their stories and I will give them to you on another day.
“Jaa is a tiny woman, small like a child. But size is deceptive. You do not want to be the enemy of her sword. Her voice is high-pitched and melodious. And sometimes when she speaks, red flowers fall from the sky. Legend has it that when she was a young woman, she was stolen by a group of New Tuareg nomads called the Lwa. They claimed that the reason for the kidnapping was because she was their queen. They were right.
“Soon, the queen in her awakened, and before they knew it, she was laughing loudly and telling men to straighten up their clothes, women to learn to ride camels, and whoever would listen the stories of her past life as a daydreaming medical student. This was just after the Sahara was no longer the Sahara and the world changed. In next to no time, Jaa was ruling the new land with her army of devoted nomads. She feared none of the talking sandstorms, flocks of carnivorous hummingbirds, or the nuclear fallout that drifted from countries away. The subsequent return of the unexplained to the world didn’t bother her.
“I tell you, if it were not for this woman, back then death and blood would have soaked the sands. No empire would have thrived. The same goes with now. But it is not Jaa’s wish to rule. Whenever things grow calm, she and her husbands ride off to Ginen. This time is different; there is business she must attend to. But Jaa always knows when to return, so it’s best to behave well in her absence.”
The storyteller looked up, past the children, right into Ejii’s eyes. After several moments, all the children turned and looked at her, too, wondering what the storyteller was starting at. Ejii wrapped her arms more tightly around her chest, and went home.
As she walked in the cool night, all she could think of was the last part of the storyteller’s story: Jaa was leaving. And I’m already fighting, she thought. She was annoyed with the storyteller for calling her out the way he did. As if Fadio’s stupidity was my fault, she thought. None of this badness is my fault. She rubbed the sides of her head.
There were troubles brewing in Kwàmfà, all right. Her father’s wives were young and ambitious and cruel. And since becoming young widows, they had become even more so. Not long after her father’s death, they had gotten themselves educated, studying careers in architecture, real estate, and Kwàmfà law and other advanced studies online. They claimed that they only did it to better preserve their husband’s legacy, but Ejii knew ambition when she saw it. Would her mother be safe with all those women brewing and stewing?
When Ejii got home, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Then she sat up and punched her pillow. It’s all his fault, she thought, thinking bitterly of her father. Why did it seem as if men caused most of the world’s problems? Even the great change. Sometimes, Ejii thought that if it weren’t for men, the unknowable would never have retreated from the Earth in the first place. But, as her mother always said, “Nothing is a coincidence.” Maybe man was meant to do what man did. Was woman?
Before Jaa returned, no matter what her mother said, Ejii had been sure that girls were to simply marry and give birth to and raise sons. When Jaa returned, and more aspects of school were opened to girls and women, suddenly she was expected to hone her shadow speaking skills. She could be a wife and mother, but there were other options that seemed attractive, too. It was up to her to wear her burka or not. She had to learn to ride a camel, to speak up, all these things. It was overwhelming. Too many choices. Ejii sighed.
Two hours later, she still couldn’t sleep. As she was busy tossing and turning, she heard voices from down the hall. It had to be well past three a.m. She stopped moving, listening with every part of her body. Her mother was talking to someone. A woman. With a high voice. She crept out of bed. Slowly, she cracked open her door and peeked down the hall. The kitchen light was on. Now she could hear the voices clearly. Holding her breath, Ejii tiptoed and peeked into the kitchen. Cups of tea in hand, her mother and Jaa sat close, speaking in hushed voices.
Ejii stared at Jaa. She took in Jaa’s heavy red dress and pants. Jaa also wore a light but long veil that reached the floor. She looked at Jaa’s fingernails, which were cut short and neat. Ejii’s own fingernails were jagged and orange with chipped nail polish. Jaa wore green bangles on her wrists and a red bead necklace around her neck. And there was her sword, hanging sheathed at her hip, peeking from underneath her veil.
“I have sources,” Jaa was saying in her singsong voice. “They’re calling it the great merge. That last earthquake destroyed what was left of the boundaries between the worlds I’ve told you about.”
Silence. Jaa took a sip of her tea as she looked intensely at Ejii’s mother.
“This is too big,” her mother said. “What could this Golden Dawn Meeting possibly accomplish?”
“Nothing, Nkolika,” Jaa said, looking disgusted. “It’s the Ginen Chief’s idea. His only goal is to silence my husbands and me, as we are his greatest challenge; most of the openings to Ginen are here in the Sahara, my territory. After what happened with that failed envoy, he hates all things having to do with Earth.”
Ejii’s mouth fell open. She was just learning to believe that there was a place called Ginen and now she was hearing that the people from that place might declare war?
Jaa slammed her fist on the table. “I’ll cleave that man’s head in half.”
Her mother looked Jaa keenly in the eye and leaned forward. “Gandhi once said, ‘I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary; the evil it does is permanent.’”
“He also said, ‘It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence,” Jaa retorted.
“Only if need be,” her mother flatly replied, after a moment. Then she muttered, “Ah, that man wasn’t perfect, either.”
“Nkolika, those people have weapons that no one on Earth would have a chance against,” Jaa said. “My own sword is from there, and you see what it can do.”
“That has more to do with the fact that it’s you wielding it,” Ejii’s mother said.
“Their hatred of Earth is very strong.” Jaa said. “The best plan is to pretend that we come in peace and, as soon as the chance presents itself, lop off that chief’s head.”
“And how will that establish better relations with the people of Ginen?”
Jaa chuckled. “You think I am the only one who wants that tyrant chief dead? Almost every citizen there will rejoice.”
Silence. Her mother sipped her tea and Jaa tugged at her red sari.
“I have something to ask of you,” Jaa said after a moment. “Right now is ripe. A new world has just been born and we’re on the brink of war.” She paused. “It’s likely that something may happen to me in the near future. I need to start grooming an apprentice, a successor.” She sipped her tea, looking into Ejii’s mother’s eyes. The two women stared at each other for what felt like a full minute. Then her mother slowly shook her head.
“Yes, Nkolika,” Jaa countered. “It’s known that shadow speakers are born with leadership potential. And she’s your daughter. She’s strong. I want her to come with me.”
Ejii covered her mouth, shocked. A swirl of conflicting emotions flew through her. Fear of Jaa, joy that Jaa had noticed her, anger at Jaa, she didn’t want to go, but she did.
“She’s the one,” Jaa insisted. “I heard about how she took on her brother Fadio. Your daughter is a born warrior, like me. She’s . . .”
“No,” her mother flatly said. “I’m honored, but you have to understand . . . talk to Godwin, her instructor. He’ll explain why I can’t let you take her.”
“I know why,” Jaa said. “But like I said, Ejii is strong. It’s worth the risk.”
“No,” her mother said again, this time more firmly.
Jaa looked hard at Ejii’s mother. “Fine,” she finally said. “For now.”
Ejii frowned. With all that was going on, who knew if Jaa would ever return to Kwàmfà after she left? Does Mama think I’m so pathetic that I couldn’t survive as Jaa’s apprentice? she wondered. I know I could . . . maybe.
“Exactly,” her mother said to Jaa. “Maybe when she’s older. She’ll be stronger.”
When the two women got up, Ejii quickly tiptoed back to her room. She leaned against her door and let out a sigh. When her mother met with Jaa for council meetings, Ejii wasn’t allowed to go along. It was adult business. But for the last four years, her mother had brought Ejii to see Jaa once each year. Jaa herself had requested it.
During these meetings, Ejii always felt as if she would explode from nervousness. Thankfully these meetings were brief. Jaa would sit behind her desk, look Ejii over, and ask her a few insignificant questions. Whenever Ejii replied, she’d had the strong feeling that Jaa wasn’t listening to her words as much as watching how she spoke them. Now Ejii understood why. Ejii wanted to run to her e-pal and record the moment. She wanted to call and tell Sammy and Arif everything. She decided against doing either one. Her mother had said “no,” so that was the end of it.
She picked up her e-pal and began to read through its expansive dictionary encyclopedia at random, hoping to get her mind off of how irritated she felt. She clicked on the radio, which was playing Arabic music, and turned it low. She could feel the shadows pressing in on her again. As she stared at her e-pal, reading definitions and entries, she stopped on a particular entry. She read it over and over, her sense of foreboding increasing every time she read it. As daybreak neared, finally, maybe it was due to a clarity brought on by fatigue or maybe it was that Ejii finally pushed aside her subconscious reluctance—whatever the reason, Ejii could suddenly understand the shadows for the first time. She listened to them. And what they told her dashed sleep from her body for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER 5
Dieuri and the Grand Bois
Ejii chopped red peppers, onions, and tomatoes and dumped them into the large pot. She would have used the blender but a powerful thunderstorm had recently passed by and the electricity was out again. Her mother turned over slabs of beef on a pan and added red and black pepper, salt, green curry, and thyme. Ejii looked up.
“So . . . why is she leaving?” Ejii asked, breaking the pleasant silence.
“It’s complicated,” her mother said without looking up.
“Are you worried?” Ejii asked, gently pressing the bruise above her left eye. There was juice from the peppers still on her fingers and it stung the sore spot. Even two days later, she still ached all over from the bruises, scratches, and sore muscles.
“About what?”
“About her leaving.”
“No,” her mother said flatly. “And you shouldn’t be either.”
Ejii grunted, looking at the sizzling meat.
“Why do you ask?”
Ejii shrugged. “Well . . . remember what happened last time?”
“Won’t happen again.”
“Fadio said . . .”
“You put too much weight on Fadio’s words.”
But Ejii understood that her mother knew better, that her mother was aware of her father’s young wives. And though Ejii’s mother, who was short but strong, could throw each of them with one arm tied behind her back, what could she do if the women rallied the entire town against her?
“How do you know things will be . . . all right when Jaa leaves?” Ejii asked.
“There are few people like your father.”
Ejii wanted to say, “His wives may be some of those few.” Instead, she asked something that was probably more upsetting. “Do you . . . miss him?”
“Sometimes,” her mother replied quietly. Her hands quivered slightly as she sprinkled a bit of salt on the beef, but her face remained calm. “When we were your age, just after the great change, he was so sweet and kind and he made me laugh.” Her face grew dark. “But when Jaa cut him down . . . he was rotten.”
For a while they quietly prepared dinner.
“Did she have to cut him down?” Ejii finally asked.
“He was my soulmate, Ejii. No one could love him as much as I did . . .” She paused. “And no one could know him as well as I knew him. That’s why I know that he couldn’t be changed. He would have grown meaner. And as for Jaa, well, Jaa is Jaa.”
Ejii mulled over her mother’s words. Mama still considers him her soulmate? She thought. She dug her nails into her hands. The man barely had a soul.
“So who is Jaa? I know her history and all, but who is she, Mama?”
“Ejii, ask what it is you truly want to ask,” her mother said.
“Well . . . has Mazi Godwin told you about the urge to travel that shadow speakers eventually have when they’re of age? The Drive?” Ejii paused, digging her fingers into her thighs. “I might be feeling that. It’s not so strong yet . . . but I’m old enough to . . .”
“You overheard us last night, didn’t you?” her mother asked.
Ejii looked at the floor. “Yes, but . . .”
“You want to go with her?” her mother asked.
Ejii hesitated, frozen. “Yes,” Ejii said. But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure. “Here, look. It’s what the shadows wanted me to read, I think.” She held her e-pal up to her mother and said, “Akwukwo, tell mama what I stored in memory.”
Her e-pal spoke in a low mysterious lady voice. “In Australia, the Indigenous Tribes have an old custom called walkabout. This is when a young man leaves his daily life and walks alone across desert and bush country on a spiritual quest. The distance covered on walkabout may exceed a thousand miles.”
Her mother watched Ejii with piercing eyes. This look always made Ejii uncomfortable. Her mother had always had a way of seeing into people. It was a talent that made her such a great root woman. Aside from treating the sick, her mother also gave all kinds of advice for a small fee.
Ejii often snuck into the living room when her mother was doing this, and she noticed that her mother always got an intense look on her face just after her client told her about his or her problem. The look of gazing into the individual’s soul, Ejii liked to think. The same look her mother had on her face now. From her father’s famous eyes, to her mother’s ability to see what others could not, Ejii often wondered if her being born a shadow speaker was such a coincidence.
“And this is what you want to do?” her mother asked.
“The shadows told me I should,” Ejii said.
“Told you? I thought you couldn’t understand them, Ejii.”
“This time I did.”
“Does it feel like you have to go or you’ll go crazy?”
“Well, no,” Ejii said. “Not that strongly.”
“Then it’s not the Drive.”
“If I’ll travel eventually, why can’t I do it before the urge gets as strong as . . . as Kambili’s?” Her mother flinched. Bringing up Kambili was a low blow.
Everyone in Kwàmfà knew of the shadow speaker named Kambili and all but a few feared her. At twenty-seven years old, Kambili was Kwàmfà’s oldest female shadow speaker. She’d felt the Drive ten years ago, during the height of Ejii’s father’s reign. But because of his strict rules, being a young woman, Kambili wasn’t allowed to leave her home unaccompanied, let alone leave Kwàmfà. Instead, Kambili was quickly married off to her betrothed, a man who’d been her best friend since they were very young. If Kambili had not been a shadow speaker experiencing the Drive, she’d have been happy.
