‘‘We dance round in a ring and suppose
But the secret sits in the middle and knows.’’

— Robert Frost, ‘Secret Sits.’

★ ★ ★ ★

The people of Umuigbo woke up to behold another tragic incident: the murder of Okonta, the finest hunter in the land. This was the seventh time such incidents had happened since the enthronement of Eze Mgbidi as the king of Umuigbo land. And these incidents happened under serial mysterious circumstances: suffocating the victims while they were asleep and, then, cutting off their man hoods!

Okwuabudike was one of the men who went to the king’s palace to report the incident to him. He was known for his taciturnity and for saying only a few, reasonable words. Some people avoided him because they believed that ‘he was a slow poison.’

But Okwuabudike knew that he meant well for other people. People didn’t just understand him. He was a wise man who thought a lot — an epitome of ‘look before you leap.’

But there was only one man who understood Okwuabudike a bit: Eze Mgbidi, the king. The king admired the young man’s wisdom, but abhorred his spirit of discernment. Time would tell whether this admiration would be eclipsed by the desperation to hatch an eerie foreboding.

As the young men were on their way to inform the king of the latest development, Okwuabudike’s mind hovered around in search of any possible clues, for the murder of those slain men. Why are the widows of those men all pregnant? He wondered. And they all got pregnant a year after the death of their husbands. Will Okonta’s wife be pregnant, too? Whoever is responsible for these murders must have had interest in those widows, and killed their husbands to have his way. Ala, the Earth goddess, save us!

‘‘Another murder?’’ The king’s voice hit the roof, shattered it and skyrocketed to the sky and reached the ears of Amadioha, the god of thunder. ‘‘Who’s behind all these?’’ He made to climb down from the leopard-motif, wooden throne and nearly stumbled: one of his legs was amputated, an indelible mark of a snakebite injury he sustained many years ago.

One of his guards was quick to hold him.

‘‘Go and search for whomever is responsible for these atrocities!’’ he thundered! ‘‘I don’t care whether he’s a spirit or not. Just get him and I will roast him and his offsprings alive!’’

★

As the men pushed themselves through the thicket that led to Okonta’s house, Okwuabudike thought: Why is the king always not in support of the people’s suggestion to consult the oracle to know who’s behind all these? Why?

It had rained heavily the previous night, that fateful night, and the rains had made the ground soggy and impressionable. Just in front of Okonta’s house, the men found the trail of the murderer.

‘‘Footprints in a parallel line?’’ one of the men wondered aloud.

‘‘This is strange,’’ another remarked. ‘‘Very strange. What kind of footprints are these? Are they the footprints of a ghost?’’

‘‘Do ghosts have footprints, ’’ another mocked.

‘‘Look,’’ Okwuabudike said, pointing at the small, circular marks opposite each footprint. ‘‘These are the marks of a crutch. These footprints belong to a one-legged person.’’

The other men nod in agreement.

‘‘How can a one-legged person kill full-grown men?’’ Okwuabudike wondered aloud. ‘‘Whoever is responsible for these is using charms. But what baffles me is that there is no other one-legged person in the entire Umuigbo land except the king.’’

Okwuabudike’s colleagues were frozen in shock! They all stood, gaping at him in utter bewilderment and perplexity!

WHEN A KINGDOM IS RULED BY THE WICKED, THE SUBJECTS SUFFER IN PERPETUITY.

More on >>> www.illufik.com