Mariama grabbed her daughter’s arm, digging her nails into Nandi’s flesh. “What are you doing? Sit down! Or so help me –!”
Nandi snatched her arm away and raced to Ogun.
* * *
She followed the god deep into the forest. In the moonlight, scant yards ahead she saw them. Hundreds of Edo and Esan warriors armed with spears and swords creeping to her village under the cover of night. In minutes they would be upon her.
And she knew.
“So, the proposal was a sham!” she whispered fiercely. “The Edo never wanted peace – or me!”
“Oh, Abayomi will marry you,” Ogun rumbled at her side, “after he’s conquered your city, and taken your family hostage.”
“What can I do? Even if I could warn them it is too late!”
A cold rage filled her, rage at her parents for forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want—for denying her the man she loved.
And rage that she’d been denied her right to be a warrior. At this final thought, a great wind swirled about her shaking the trees and bending the grass, so that even the marauders looked up uneasily.
Ogun open his jaws in a loud coughing roar and the wind tore at her clothing – embracing her with power and knowledge.
A sword appeared in her hands and she loped across the grass with preternatural speed to meet the invaders. They were alarmed by her sudden appearance but quickly regained their hubris. She was after all only one. And she was female.
“Who are you,” their leader barked, “the mad woman of the forest?” He was a giant of man with his hair gathered in trademark Edo topknot. Those closest to him chuckled.
She glared at him with flashing eyes. “I am Nandi!”
He looked nonplussed. “Nandi –? Abayomi’s betrothed!” The leader turned to his men. “She has discovered us! Bind and gag her –!”
“I give you one warning!” Nandi hissed. “Leave now, and I will spare your lives!”
At this the warriors roared with laughter. “Take her!” the leader sputtered.
She leapt into the air, grabbing his topknot and severed his head in one swipe, stabbed the warrior to his right in his heart, and sliced the one on his left across the chest in a fatal blow. Nandi bowed like a dancer, arms straight out then whipped the machete to the left and right – dropping warriors.
She was a fury – chopping and stabbing through their ranks – a whirlwind of slaughter.
Behind her Ogun transformed into the towering a giant of a man with midnight black skin, and the teeth and claws of a panther. From the grass more panther warriors rose like deadly blossoms, and joined Nandi’s army – ‘outnumbered but with fangs and talons to compensate for their numbers. And the woman who led them was equal to four men.
In a very short while it was over, and their enemies lay dead the grass, the rest fled back across grasslands.
Ogun faced her now still as a man, with a rope of iron about his neck. “This is your destiny Nandi,” he rumbled, “one given to you by your ancestors. It is written in battle, blood and glory.” The forest god smiled – a terrible and wondrous smile. “Go and claim it now.”
Nandi bowed reverently. “Thank you, how do I repay you?”
“By embracing your destiny.”
Nandi turned to go. “Wait!” Ogun called. He smiled his terrible smile once more. “Take something with you to convince your parents.”
* * *
The Bini wedding party cried out at the sight of her striding back into their midst. Except for Sule who smiled as if his life had just begun.
Nandi’s dress was torn and dirty, she was splattered from head to foot with gore. In one hand she held a sword and in the other, the severed head of an Edo general.
She pointed her sword at Abayomi. “Betrayer! Your army has been defeated!” She threw the severed head at his feet. “By me!”
Mariama clung to her husband, gawking at a woman she no longer knew. “Daughter?”
“You?” Adegoke breathed. “You did this?” Yet he could not disguise the pride intermingled with shock upon his broad face.
She turned her flashing eyes to him. “Yes father, I am Nandi! And I will choose my own path!”
Lost Son
By
Maurice Broaddus
“I will make my arrows drunk with blood, while my sword devours flesh: the blood of the slain and the captives, the heads of the enemy leaders.” Deuteronomy 32;42
“Favor us with a tale, storyteller,” Ghana Menin asked in his way of implying a threat if disobeyed. His lanky frame slumped in his high-backed seat, still unused to the power at his command. The celebration of their latest trade agreement had gone well. Soon, more treasure would be flowing to them, insuring Wagadugu’s place as the pride of the continent. The central fire roared before them. The tall flames danced wildly in the night, holding the ghana’s court of counselors, ministers, interpreters, and treasurers in rapt attention.
The scarlet robed griot approached. Djobo had served as the village’s memory for almost a generation. Even now, he had three young men undergoing the rites of passage to become the village’s next griot, to preserve the “heritage of ears.” Kumbi Saleh had grown fat with her wealth over the years, now serving as capital of the land. Though small of stature, Djobo moved with a lithe grace that bore a near regal air. He nodded first to the ghana’s advisor, Okomfo, then to Ghana Menin himself.
“Is there a particular tale you would like to hear?” Djobo asked.
“Tell us a tale of the first ones. How we used to be,” Ghana Menin said.
“The descendants of the Hamite, the sons of Kush, traveled toward the west and crossed the Nile,” Djobo started, without missing a beat. All his tales began with a recitation of their origins; providing him time to recall the stories. “Some—the Nubians, the Beja, and the Zanj—turned between the east and the west. The rest
