Chapter 22

Obiageri thought the tree was silly for insulting the will of the gods.

Sure, Chinua looked like a breeze might topple him—lean, with pale hair, red-tinted alabaster skin, and sad grey eyes. But the gods had chosen him. That was enough for her. She couldn’t stand by and allow him to be ridiculed—she was the only one permitted to do that, seeing as she had saved his life a couple of times.

She lunged forward, her voice cutting through the tree’s mocking laughter. “You don’t need to see it to believe it. Trust him, as the gods do,” she declared. 

“Ha! The gods, you say.” Onye Ohoo jested, turned away, his roots tearing into the earth, sending up a spray of dirt. “Have they claimed you, boy? What powers have they bestowed?” 

Chinua flung his arms into the air. “Claimed me? What for?” he questioned, his brow raised.

Obiageri’s lips pressed together, and her jaw tightened. “No, they haven’t. They just torment us with nightmares.” Her fingers played with the beads on her waist as her gaze fell. 

“Ah, the gods are cruel that way,” The tree chuckled, stroking his sparse chin, turning away. “Then there’s nothing more I can do for you.” 

“Chere! Is that it?” Obiageri shot back, jogging to catch up with the pacing tree, the wind whistling behind her. “All you wise ones are the same—hoarding your knowledge.”

Chinua walked right behind them, trying his best to keep up, dodging stray branches that lashed out when he got too close, so he kept his distance.

“You know nothing of Dibias, nor the mystical codes of divination.” The tree launched into a song-like voice, and the ground beneath him shook with every step he took. “I can’t help the ignorant, can I?”

“What are Dibias?” Chinua snorted from behind.

Obiageri stopped in her tracks and turned slowly. She closed the distance between them, leaning in close, her voice low. “Demigods. They hold the secrets of the visible and invisible worlds, channeling the will of their arushi.”

“Wrong,” the tree interjected sharply, the winds flinging about as he lunged toward them. “You have to start at the beginning.”

The tree cracked a twig from his skin and drew a circle in the dirt with lines radiating outward. At its center, he wrote a word: Chukwu. “Chukwu is an all-powerful being. The source of light, life, knowledge, and creation. Chukwu made the laws that govern this world and the next. They are neither good nor bad. They simply are.”

Chinua nodded slowly, his mind still trying to wrap around the idea. “It’s like… gravity, right? It’s just a force, but it shapes everything.”

“No idea what that is!” the tree replied dryly, erasing the dirt, clearing the ground for a fresh slate. Leaning in, he continued, “Good and bad come from invisible beings who manipulate these laws to their ends—that’s the arushi.” 

This was starting to feel familiar. It was like being back in the village, listening to the storyteller explain something new to toddlers who didn’t understand a moonlight story. At least this time, Chinua paid attention. His eyes crinkled, and his forehead creased. He scratched his head and murmured every new bit of information he absorbed.

“Wait… so Chukwu didn’t mean to create the arushi? And these gods can make humans into… demigods?” Chinua retorted, raising his arm. “That sounds… a little crazy.”

 “Even a broken clock is right once a day,” the tree quipped, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Dibias are the bridge between mortals and the divine.”

Obiageri knew the goddess had wanted her to come here to meet this eccentric tree. There had to be a clear reason for it; she just had to find out. “How do we defeat the Great Evil Spirit?” Obiageri prodded bluntly, the words huffing from her lips.

“The false god is protected by ajo-mmuos—dark spirits he can send after you at any time,” Onye Ohoo answered, his tone low and serious. “Without a mystical weapon, you have no chance.”

“What kind of weapons?” Chinua asked eagerly, trying to ignore the dust that clung to his skin. “And how do we get them?”

“Alo is from Chukwu… made when the world began,” Onye Ohoo muttered, pacing anxiously, as if he feared staying still. “Ofo is tied to the gods and our ancestors… wielded by those with the strength to command it.” He looked up at Chinua, scratching his moss-covered stubble. “If you’re lucky, maybe it’ll help you against the bad spirits.”

Was this the answer? Could this weapon level the playing field? They had no magic, no powers—just willpower and help from the goddess that hunted dreams.

“We need those weapons,” Obiageri insisted, her fists tightened by her sides. “Will you help us, elder?”

Onye Ohoo leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “You think you can just take these powers without cost?”

Obiageri’s jaw tightened, but she met his gaze. “We’re not afraid of the cost. We’ve already lost everything.” She knew she would go to any lengths to get the Crowns of Flesh. With it, she could wish her mother back, and everything would return to normal. If they had a weapon strong enough to fight a god, nothing should stop her from claiming it.

“You don’t understand, mmadu,” the tree countered, bending down to meet their eyes. “People have suffered for this. Their humanity has been chipped away.”

A shiver ran down Obiageri’s spine. She quite liked her humanity, but she was willing to sacrifice anything for the one she had lost. Even if that cost was parts of her soul, she knew her mother would have done the same for her. “We will proceed, inugo?” Obiageri shot back, her eyes narrowed. Her palms were so tightly clasped that her fingernails almost drew blood.

Onye Ohoo lowered his head and sighed. The tree mumbled a few words, stroked his chin, and paced restlessly, whispering to the moths that fluttered around him. When the dust the tree stirred up settled, he sank to the ground, signing so loudly that the wind almost pushed Obiageri back. He then clasped his limbs together, tightening them before digging into his mouth, which was dripping with sap. When he removed his hands, seven shimmering seeds sparkled in the evening sky.

He stretched his limbs and placed them into Obiageri’s outstretched palms. “These are alo seeds… these are seeds used during the great Waa of creation.” He stammered.

Obiageri’s eyes widened at the beauty of the shimmering seeds. Almond-shaped, like her eyes, they made her palms tingle. She wrapped them carefully with leaves and placed them in a bag. She would have asked how the seeds could be turned into a bow, but she feared spoiling the progress she’d made with the tree.