chapter 2

The third yearly sacrifice since the death of Ibekwe's grandparents created a sense of feeling in Ibekwe that made him to attempt to erase every memory of his grandparents he had left in him. It was one of those rare times of the year when Umuoku parents flocked around the shrine of Igweka-ala, carrying their precious gifts in their hands and kneeling in front of a clay statue close to the shrine before kissing the statue with their gentle lips to honour Igweka-ala, the most prominent god of their village and the rest villages.

Ibekwe hated the part of the sacrifice where the worshippers of Igweka-ala showered praises at the entrance of the shrine to cleanse themselves from their own sins. He felt it was like worshipping the carver of the statue and not Igweka-ala. So when his parents arrived at the shrine of Igweka-ala, he did not follow his parents to bow down and kiss the shrine, he just stood by their side.

The chief priest of Umuoku came out when he sighted Ibekwe's parents kissing the shrine. He had a moustache that covered both sides of his jaw and up to his chin. Trimmed at the edges, the moustache was dark at both jaw and unusually white at the chin. He also had a distinct livid mark that ran from his nose to the upper part of his lip.

“Both of you should come inside,” the chief priest said to Ibekwe's parents and looked at Ibekwe. “You! Stay outside.”

Ibekwe watched as the chief priest fidgeted inside the shrine, looking at him with narrow eyes that seemed to yell at him for not bowing down to the statue of Igweka-ala with all his might and affection.

Ever since the death of Peter Stonefield, Ibekwe had always been curious to find out what the contents of the black pot contained. Once, a year ago, he had brought the matter up in front of his parents but they warned him never to talk about it. Even with the warnings, he was still not satisfied. His mind was not at peace knowing that one of the most wonderful person he had met in his life was killed because of a simple pot.

Ibekwe waited for sometime and glanced at the human skulls that hung on another statue near the statue that his parents had kissed. He turned around when he heard the sound of clattering goats in the backyard of the shrine. Curiously, he strode towards the backyard and met some goats digesting grasses noisily.

“Stupid ruminants!” He yelled.

His attention shifted when he noticed the black pot hanging on a mango tree. Normally, the black pot was usually kept inside the shrine and not outside. Agilely, he creeped towards the tree and tried to look inside the pot to discover its contents but it was too high - too high for him to see. After much useless stretching of his limbs to catch a glimpse at the black pot, he decided to climb the tree to clear his curiosity once and for all. As he climbed the tree slowly, placing one foot over another and moving upwards at every push, he finally got to where the black pot hung. Sharply, he opened the pot and looked inside the pot. Strange images that he had never seen filled his eyes. Images depicting different humans that he had never met. He stretched his hands wider and gazed at the pot inquisitively then he stopped. Allowing the image he had just seen to draw him closer to a vast treasure of truth he could not interpret but yet see, he kept on staring. He kept on staring until a parading ant which was gathering food for the rainy season stung him. He yelled loudly and fell down, crashing the black pot along with him. 

The chief priest stopped halfway in his sacrifice when he heard the sound of the broken pot. He quickly ran to the backyard of the shrine where the black pot hung on a tree then he stopped. Splitted like crushed pieces of stones was the sacred black pot. He swayed his eyes and saw Ibekwe running away. He did not chase him because he knew that it was a waste of time. He shaked his head. He knew what had to be done. He went back to the shrine where Nwaka and Ezinne sat, holding their sacrificial cocks. The cocks were two.

“Ibekwe!” The chief priest muttered as he entered the shrine.

“Is there a message for us from the gods?” Nwaka asked.

“There is trouble. Big trouble.”

“What Is too big for the gods to solve?” 

Ezinne had been silent for a long time, watching the live cock she held on her hands swirl from left to right as he waited for his own fate to be decided by her.

“We have to summon the elders quickly. I see calamity roaming around on its way like a helpless man. It is knocking on the door and waiting for the inhabitants of Umuoku to answer. The gods have been insulted by someone. I must see the elders for the cleansing of our land before the evil spreads further,” the chief priest said.

Nwaka watched as the chief priest left the shrine. He dropped the live cock he held on his hands inside an empty calabash and instructed Ezinne to do the same. Holding Ezinne's hands, he saw a daunted palm frond bereft of humour. It covered some parts of the wooden window shutters, preventing some rays of light that ran across diagonally from coming inside.

“We will come tomorrow,” Nwaka assured Ezinne.

He followed her from behind, remembering the palm frond that Ofu had told him about. The palm frond that Echi had received early in the morning, depicting the creation of a new war in Umuolu which saw the destruction of its people.

Ibekwe held his breath as he felt his pulse steadily increasing. He bit his lips as the image of what he had seen in the black pot hit his memory. Slowly, he crept under his bed and brought out a wooden crucifix that was given to him some years back by Peter Stonefield. As if guided by a strange spirit, he broke the crucifix into pieces and threw it away. 

Beneath his troubled soul, he heard the quiet creak of a door opening. At the entrance of the door were two old people resembling his grandparents, clothed in white apparel. They were staring at him with wide eyes. Calmly, the two old people drew closer and touched him on the shoulders. He let their soft hands caress his warm body for a while until he saw a castle basking in the sun.