E is for Esin

1670 Zaria

Anaca’s cheek was hot like the sand. It wasn’t red though, it was black like the night. Alheri tried not to wince whenever she touched her. She had to fight showing any reactions so Anaca wouldn’t worry. She preferred spending time stroking her hair, counting to one hundred and staring out the window to keep her mind occupied. 

When left idle, her mind wandered. She wondered where their mother had fled to. She wondered why her father had to die.  Counting and stroking was more comfortable than deep contemplation.

Anaca was 3 years younger than her; the age gap seemed more like a chasm. Arguably, she had been the one to raise her which stretched the gap wider. Regardless, the difference in their dispositions made the age gap wider still- Anaca cartwheeled in the fields, long coarse hair tangling in the wind while Alheri walked behind, her hair tucked away into intricate head scarves. 

Anaca coughed. “Here, here take some remedy.” The corners of Anaca’s lips wrinkled, she was resisting. If she had more strength, she would have fought more and refused the costly syrup. She was growing weaker still, it wasn’t just her lack of fight, it was everything.

Her black skin was fading, her white eyes were yellowing, her buoyant hair was limp. It was as if a viper had sucked her light out. Alheri tried to ignore it. She poured the syrup into Anaca’s mouth and it dribbled across her face, she didn’t have enough energy to purse her lips. 

“Yar’uwa? Anaca?”  

Anaca hummed in acknowledgement.

Alheri dropped the clay bottle. It was the brightest thing in the room, green, yellow and bright red. The pigment shone through the clay-red room. It was colourful like the bridge and the temple. 

Every evening under the bridge, Bako Alhaji sat, cross-legged and gave away roasted meats. They were orange and brown, they had exotic flavours no one had tasted before. Every evening a pool of people crowded him, desperate for the leftovers from the palace. Every evening Anaca spoke about how much she wanted to try the roasted foreign meats. 

Alheri had meant to go early to get some for her, it was going to be the best surprise. When Anaca fell sick she was too busy working or going to buy more syrups and herbs to treat her. 

It became mindless, a trance. Up early to weave and dye, up late to haggle for remedies. She didn’t notice the way blood pooled on her finger tips or the way her palms were calloused. She only noticed Anaca, her world revoled on her axis.

“Salaam, sister Alheri?”

Alheri shushed, soothing a flinching Anaca.

“Salaam, Sister Alheri?”

Alheri made her way begrudgingly to the door.

“Salaam brother.”

“I am here from the palace shaman.”

He was tall with broad shoulders and had round muscles that resembled the horse behind him. His face was long and his eyes were little ovals, tucked in behind the curve of his cheeks. She had probably made the fabric he wore. The dyes rippled in a familiar pattern, was it from two summers ago? Or maybe three?

“The palace shaman?”

“Yes sister, we are calling upon your house for the upcoming sacrifice.”

Alheri’s jaw clenched. The last time the palace called on the house, her father was sacrificed to the gods to appease their wrath. Anaca needed someone to care for her. Anaca was too sick to be sacrificed. She would suffer without Alheri. Nobody would take her in. After their mother ran off, rumours swirled. The rumours swirled into an invisible fortress around the house, keeping them isolated from the rest of the township. They would have to escape, the sacrifice was unfair.

“Sister Alheri?”

“Brother?”

“You make fabrics?”

Alheri nodded, slowly, cautious to not spill her thoughts from her mind onto the ground between them. She made the best fabrics in the town. The palace always demanded the best. It made sense.

Anaca coughed. Alheri ran over.

“Yar’uwa?”

Alheri rubbed tender circles on Anaca’s chest. 

“Sister Alheri?”

He didn’t enter, if she called out for a sister then the woman inside may not have been modest. He observed the room through the slit of the door. Outside was multicoloured, vibrant fabrics adorned wooden poles. They looked like flags in the wind. Even the sand was speckled with colourful spots from the dye. Inside was brown and red and dull. The windows didn’t even seem to let in any light, they were there for decoration, not for purpose. The carvings etched around the door spanned the first room. They were clearly artists. Even the walls of the palace grotto weren't as extravagantly decorated.

“Calm, calm Anaca.” Alheri whispered the chant, as if she was summoning tranquillity. She wasn’t sure who it was for, Anaca or herself. 

“Sister Alheri, please.”

She dragged herself back to the doorway. The man still looked the same- wide shoulders and muscles like his horse. She didn’t look the same, her eyes were duller, her shoulders more drooped.

“The palace requests you make fabrics for the next divination ceremony.”

“Not for the sacrifice?”

“The sacrifice is part of the next divination.”

Alheri nodded slowly.

Her face was yellow-brown, like the women from far off lands and her eyes were big and rounded like pebbles. His eyes traced her jaw and the curve of her lips, her beauty surpassed all other’s. He had seen every concubine of the palace, from far and wide, yet none of them compared. 

“Brother?”

“Yes Sister Alheri?”

“The palace just wants fabrics?”

“They need them by the next full moon.”

“That is two days brother.”

“Yes.”

Her brow furrowed. She needed to get more syrups and herbs for Anaca. Refusing the palace was the highest treason.

“Is something wrong Sister Alheri?”

“I need to get remedies for my sister, I do not have time to make garments for the palace.”

“Find time, Sister. And the gods shall repay you abundantly.”

She counted to one hundred as he walked away. 

His hair was shoots of sugarcane, winding down his back. The fabric on his body rippled as he hopped onto his horse.

His horse was majestic with swollen muscles. Her horse was emaciated and waiting to be sold. 

“Who was it?” Anaca’s laboured breaths sent shivers down Alheri’s spine.    

“The palace.”

Alheri pressed her thumb onto her finger tips, one by one, moving the blood under her skin. She couldn’t look at her sister, Anaca adored the palace. She blindly adored them.

“The palace?”

Alheri grunted. When had the place grown so messy? With Anaca bed bound, it should have been half as messy.

“Sister, why?”

“They want fabrics for the full moon divination.”

“That is less than two days”

 Alheri nodded.

“I must help. We must start now.”

“No. Rest.”

“Alheri, this is all I have ever wanted, to serve the palace like my father did.”

Anaca didn’t see Alheri flinching. The sun was too low in the sky, shadows were hiding things at this time. 

“Anaca.”

“You cannot stop me, I must serve my palace.”

Anaca rose from the bed, moving gingerly. Her mouth tasted tart, the concoction of remedies tasted bitter and unforgiving. Her body was slender. Hips and cheeks that were once swollen were now hollow, carved out by illness. 

“Let us weave.”

The orange-yellow light of the fire was a liar. In it, Anaca’s black skin seemed to glow again, her eyes seemingly shone white like the stars. It was marvellous, really. 

Alheri grinned, wide and unapologetic. Its warmth was seductive and reminiscent of a time before Anaca’s sickness.

The first time she woke up to her sister’s blood, she told herself it was menses. Yet the blood stained lips said otherwise. She even had suspicions that her sister was sarkin aljan, a blood drinker of the night. But as the blood stained lips were paired with coughs and splutters, she realised Anaca was experiencing far more sinister than blood drinking. She was experiencing run ins with death. 

“Finished.”

“Shall we rest before we journey to the shaman?”

“Alheri, I love you.”

“Get a robe, we can rest when we get back.”

“Alheri, I love you.”

Alheri nodded. “Let’s go Yar’uwa.”

The one thing Alheri thanked her father for was the coins he left behind, hidden in a clay pot. It offered reprieve. Momentarily, Alheri could breathe. No need to worry about the next job or then next meal because there was something real, something tangible to help them. Not the flimsy ‘blessings’ their mother spoke over them before fleeing.

These coins had helped them to keep the horse. It was a luxury the township could not dream of, a magnificent foreign beast that took them from place to place. They were not as easy as camels and needed more water and food; they were faster and stronger.

The speed forced the wind through Anaca’s hair, making it tangle like it once did. The trees were few and far between. They were dark clouds hovering in Alheri’s peripheral vision. 

Her stomach turned as they approached the only other lit building in the town. 

The temple. 

The holy ground. 

“Wait here, I am going to find the man from earlier.”

“Ok sister.” As weak as Anaca’s voice was, her excitement was potent. It seeped through her entire face, she beamed a proud smile. Alheri’s stomach turned.

She had not been to the palace since her father’s sacrifice. Not much changed. The rooms felt hollow and lifeless, the trapped souls of their ancestors shrieked in the winds that ran through the building. Now she was older and taller, it was harder to navigate. The walls were made of mud, like every other building, but the walls were higher and rooms were wider. The walls were red and white, it perpetually smelled like blood and fruit. The crunching of bones and carcasses was intermittent, the thrum of the locusts was constant. The fuzzy, tear soaked memories were just enough for her to find the remedy room.

Every cure to every disease was there. It was a magical room of alchemy and potions. The clay bottles and glasses lined the walls, the floor was cow skin, frayed from the scurrying in and out. 

Alheri ran her fingers across the wooden shelves.

“Ow.”

A splinter popped her finger tip, her blood poured out from under the skin. She grabbed the bottle and left the room, surely they couldn’t tell her blood from the blood of all the other sacrifices.

Retracing her steps proved harder than she anticipated. Between the blood loss, sleep deprivation and hunger, Alheri was losing strength.

“Hey.”

Alheri watched the bottle crash to the floor. His palms dug into her sides, holding her up. It was the messenger with the broad shoulders. “Sister Alheri, what are you doing?”

“I was looking for you.”

“In the remedy room?”

“My sister is still outside, she has the garments.”

“Let’s go.”

His hand dug firmly into hers, it didn’t feel welcoming. It was sturdy and warm. It helped her stay upright. 

“Messenger.”

“Here they are.”

The shaman was a peculiar man. His eyes were running away from his body, they bulged from the sockets, swollen like soaked cassava. His body was misshapen clay, a protruding belly and nobly joints that stuck out at strange angles. His eyes were crimson from the blood they poured into them, his lips ash grey and his face painted chalk white. 

“Which one of you stole from the sacred heart of the palace.”

“Stole? No, we came with the garments we made for the divination.”

Anaca’s smile filled her face. 

“Liar.”

The man smashed a clay saucer and Anaca jumped. Alheri’s eyes were kept on the messenger. He led her to slaughter? He told the shaman and brought her here to be disgraced. 

“You. Petulant woman. You stole from me.”

“No, she would never steal, we made the garments together.”

“Liar.”

He threw his headpiece across the room and it landed by Alheri’s feet.

“Speak woman. You stole from me.”

“Alheri, what is he talking about?”

“My sister is sick.”

“Alheri?”

“I couldn’t get her another remedy because I was making your garment for divination.”

“So you stole from the palace?”

“I need more remedy for her, she is sick and I just thought.”

“Alheri how could you? I would have been fine. The palace is most important.” Anaca’s eyes drooped. Each breath was more laboured than the previous. Blood oozed down the corner of her mouth.

“You will be cursed for what you have done to the palace.”

“My life is already a curse.”

“What did you say, woman?”

“Even the mountains can hear us wail in pain but the gods turn a blind eye, the gods indulge in our sacrifices.” 

Saliva pooled in her mouth, tears pooled in her eyes. Alheri heard her individual breaths rushing through her lungs, burning her from the inside out.

“If we are all dead, who will make sacrifices?  If we are all dead, who will make divinations?  If we are all dead, who will worship them? What worth is there in merciless gods with no people to serve them?”

 The spear didn’t make much noise as it pierced Anaca. It was swift from the hand of the messenger to Anaca.

“Your sister is no longer suffering. You can repay the palace with your life as a concubine.” The shaman walked away as he spoke. Not once did he look at Anaca. The way her tangled hair flopped, limp. The way her night-black skin and star-white eyes began to dull. He was nonchalant and flippant. 

Alheri screamed.

The most twisted, disturbing sound left her lungs.

“May you and every member of your bloodline suffer eternally. May the gods die painful, merciless deaths, worse than Anaca. May the palace burn down and be riddled with thieves.”

Alheri dropped to her knees. As she tried to scurry across the floor to Anaca, the messenger pulled her back from her waist. Anaca’s cheek was cold like the sand at night. She couldn’t stroke her or soothe her as the life seeped out of her. 

“You have to go. I will bring her body for you later if you behave.” 

The messenger smiled.

Alheri spat in his face.

THE END