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THE MARKED - White Sight: The Inbetween -- Sneak Peek / The Marked: In The Spectral Existence (A Stand-alone Fantasy Fiction Novella) / A Song Of Gold And Blood (2) (3) (4)
A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:23am On Feb 05 |
Copyright: This work belongs to the author and the author alone retains permission to share this work. Please do not share any of this material without receiving written permission from the author. About this work: Welcome (back) to the world of the Marked. This story is a standalone Marked novel which is not part of Marked series which means you do not need to have read any other Marked book to understand this. I would like to state upfront that the main character in this fictional story is a bisexual man which means he is attracted to both men and women. If works of this nature bother you, please do not read this story. Thank you and to those who venture forward, I hope you are entertained đ 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:24am On Feb 05 |
Prologue Agbe stood at the edge of the clearing, adjusting his necktie with trembling hands. It was the navy-blue necktie that his mother gave him for Christmas the year before. He wore it over a pristine white dress shirt, accompanied by a silver-grey suit ironed with the front crease that graced his motherâs clientsâ trousers. The ensemble was his âogaâs undiesâ. That was what his mother called her finest set of lingerie, the ones she wore only for her richest clients. The noon sun hung overhead, beaming its sweltering heat down on him. He glared up at it, wishing with all the force of his eight-year-old will, that he could tamp its heat. He couldnât control the sun, but he would control his sweat glands. He would not sweat, he refused to meet his mother with sweat stains on his ogaâs undies. His real mother that is. Not the LovePeddler whoâd found him abandoned in the Varmintsâ forest, picked him up, taken him back to her brothel and raised him as her own. She was his mother, and he loved her unconditionally, but she wasnât his real mother. His real mother was a member of the ancestry, a Benin Community noble. He gazed in awe at her. She was beautiful. Her beauty was different from his motherâs round face, common honey-brown skin, prettiness. There was something ethereal about his real motherâs beauty, an artifact in the dark skin, that stood out and demanded attention. Her face was oval, sloped down perfectly to the sharp chin which jutted out in that moment as she tilted her head backwards and smiled up at the man standing behind her. He seemed to stand a little taller at the attention. Agbe glowered at him. His real mother smiled then, exposing teeth so white they had to be polished with sap. She leaned back, resting on arms which arched her lean body up. She wore leather. In the Community, leather clothes were the exclusive right of the members of the ancestry. His hands were getting clammy. He lifted them up and stared with a pained expression of betrayal at the dampness in his palms. He stuffed them into his pockets then, wiping their treachery off on the inner lining. âHow do I look?â he asked, without taking his devouring gaze off his real motherâs face. He decided then that she was too graceful to just be a member of the ancestry. She deserved to be in the Enikaro, a royal heir of the family that ruled. âYou look beautiful,â his mother said. He knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice, and to know that she always thought he looked beautiful. But would his real mother think he looked beautiful too? He closed his eyes, and for a minute, he let himself indulge in his favorite daydream. It was the one where he finally revealed himself to his real mother and she burst into tears and threw her arms around him, telling him that abandoning him was the biggest mistake sheâd ever made. She would then vehemently swear to never again let him out of her sight. Then she would, while hugging him so tightly he struggled to breathe, lead him through the Tunnel of the Twins, into the ancestral grounds, were there would be a big party to celebrate his return. He sighed wistfully and reluctantly opened his eyes, sending the dream back to the dregs of his consciousness. Then he turned to face his mother. âDo you think sheâll like me?â Her eyes shone. She cupped his face in her palms and placed a kiss on his forehead. âWhat woman could look at you and not love you?â It was not exactly an answer to his question, but the butterflies in his belly kept him from probing deeper. He turned away from his mother, casting a pining look back at his real mother. His skin was the same shade as hers, his face the same shape. And while her hair was braided back in cornrows, he knew that if she let it out, it would be just as curly as his. She was his real mother, and he loved her. She had to love him back. Buoyed by his motherâs words and his own sense of hopeless optimism, he surged forward, leaping off the tip of his toes, to run into the clearing. He tried to slow down, to walk as gracefully as the child of a member of the ancestry would be expected to, but he was filled with too much nervous excitement to saunter. He ran past the boundary of udara trees with their wispy branches sticking out to block his passage. They swatted their annoyance at him when he carelessly rushed by them. He kept going, hoping to outrun the fizzle of nerves bubbling up in his stomach. He burst into the clearing, now only a few feet away from where his real mother lay. Now that he was so close, he couldnât stop himself. He ran faster. He ran so fast that the pointed edges of the shoes his mother had polished to a gleam the night before, dug into the earth, beneath the carpet of grass, and loosened the clumps of dirt that lay beneath. He kicked that dirt up in his haste, and the granules clung to his shoes, to the new white socks heâd worn just for this occasion, and to the fringes of his grey trousers, staining his ogaâs undies. But, in his haste to get to his real mother and bask in her smiles, Agbe was ignorant of the mess his careless run made of his painstakingly prepared ogaâs undies. All he could think about was his real mother, and how wonderful it would feel when she turned that smile, the one she so generously bestowed on the man standing behind her, on him. He knew that his chest would swell with pride, and love, and he would finally be complete. He would no longer have to feel the shame of being the unmarked son of a LovePeddler. He would no longer be picked on, or bullied, because he lived at a brothel. He would be respected. His previously ignominious life would turn into one of glory, one of nobility. His ogaâs undies would be garments of rich leather, as he would finally be acclaimed in his rightful place as a member of the ancestry. And so he ran with all his might towards his future, hoping desperately to forsake the pain and shame of a past where heâd been abandoned by his real parents and claimed by a LovePeddler. He stopped when he got there. Standing so close, he could examine every member of the small group lounging in the clearing. There was his real mother of course, who stood out in her unique and flawless beauty. There was the man who stood behind her, the one she smiled at. Agbe couldnât help but dislike him. Why did he get his real motherâs smiles? The man wore leather, like his real mother, a sign that he was another member of the ancestry. He carried an odd looking glass cane in his hand, one that he obviously didnât need, because he didnât lean on it. There were other women, Agbe noted them quickly, and then dismissed them just as quickly. The other men too. His attention had already returned to his real mother. The man with the cane noticed him first. Agbe frowned, he wanted his real mother to have seen him first, but then the man gestured towards him, and time seemed to crawl. Every second drew out slowly as his real mother turned her focus towards him. The skin of her neck which had been drawn taut when she dipped her head backwards to look at the man with the cane, slackened. Her chin lowered, inch by painfully slow inch, until finally, she was staring at him. He couldnât breathe. For those moments while his real mother gazed on him for the first time, everything froze. And then he drew breath in and his heart hammered. He shook, a little at first, and then his shivers became uncontrollable. He forced his hands behind his back and held them tight trying desperately to control his bodyâs reactions. And then she smiled, and his breath caught in his throat. His heart filled with warmth. Her smile was even more beautiful than heâd imagined. Suddenly, his shaking stopped, leaving him completely relaxed, at ease, under the querying gaze she turned on him. âCan I help you?â she asked. Her voice was beautiful, it was soft, like his motherâs, but his real motherâs voice was also cultured, and rich with authority. As beautiful as her voice was though, Agbe couldnât help the sudden sadness that fell on him, seeping away the warmth her smile had induced. In his dreams, sheâd always recognized him. How could she not when he looked so much like her? But there was no glimmer of recognition in her eyes. Now, with the initial awe of her smile fading, he could see that the smile she gave him was nothing as deep and personal as the one sheâd given to the man with the cane. She looked at him as if he was a stranger. âIâm your son,â he said, his young voice hard with accusation. Heâd suffused those three words with all the questions heâd wanted to ask her. How could you leave me for dead? Why did you never look for me? Why didnât you love me? But then she stopped smiling and he wished that he could have been more tactful, perhaps spent some time leading up to that revelation, or spoken more entreatingly, done or said anything to make her happy that heâd returned to her. He wanted that smile back, even if it was just the smile of a stranger, he wanted it. She sat up. His heart pounded watching her. He bit nervously into his lip, to keep himself from saying another wrong thing. Her pupils climbed up to the top of her eyeballs, and then crept down, to the bottom. She repeated this a few times, eyeing him slowly, amidst the silent tension that had followed his spontaneous declaration. Then that silence was broken, and her jaw clenched. âHer son?â A feminine voice called out from behind him. âDid he say her son?â Then the snickers started. It began with a solitary guffaw, a lone jarring sound, punctuating the painful silence. That sound was quickly picked up, and then echoed, one titter prompting another, until the entire group was laughing, everyone but his real mother, whose jaw only seemed to clench harder. She was angry, Agbe realized, and he blamed her friends for it. What kind of friends were they to laugh at her? He turned around, frantically casting his glaring disapproval at all of them in his real motherâs defense. And then he saw the direction of their gazes, at their pointing fingers, and realized that they werenât laughing at his real mother, but at him. 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:25am On Feb 05 |
He turned his gaze on himself then. Agbeâs eyes widened in alarm and his mouth gaped open. He looked a mess! Heâd stained his ogaâs undies. He wanted to slap himself in the head, a big slap right at the center of his forehead to punish his stupidity. Tears filled his eyes. Heâd wanted to look his best, heâd wanted to meet his real mother as the very best version of himself. His shoulders drooped in failure. He told himself that he would not cry, that he would not let the tears that banked in his eyes pour out. But when his real motherâs irate gaze filled with disgust, he couldnât keep the tears from spilling. He swiped the back of his clenched fist quickly over his eyes to hide the trace of his weakness. His real motherâs disgusted gaze turned away from him. âAre you responsible for this?â she asked. Agbe started shaking his head. He didnât know what to say, how to explain that heâd come here dressed better. That he hadnât wanted to embarrass her in front of her friends. He wanted to swear that he would be better, that he could be better, he just needed a second chance. Please! He yelled, but he couldnât breathe the cry out through the lump that had formed in his throat. Another tear dropped. He swiped that away hurriedly, hoping desperately that no one had seen. âGood afternoon ma,â another soft voice spoke behind him. Agbe turned in time to see his mother curtsy in greeting to his real mother. âHe is my son, ma,â his mother said, âplease forgive him, he is a child, he doesnât know what heâs saying.â âMum!â Agbe gasped, stunned out of silence by his motherâs false words. âWhy are you lying?â âShh,â she scolded. She reached out to him and wrapped her fingers around his arm. His mother tried to pull him back, but he fought her hold and wrenched his arm away from her grasp. Agbe lunged forward. âIâm your son!â He yelled at his real mother, unable to stop himself. He felt betrayed. Betrayed by his mother, who was now trying to keep him away from his real mother, and betrayed by his real mother who refused to acknowledge him. âYou had me eight years ago,â he said, rushing to get the words out, âand you left me in the Varmintsâ forest.â The people around them gasped. The ladiesâ eyes widened, and they quickly covered their gaping mouths with their hands. The men looked uncomfortable, they glanced around and then stared at the ground, off to the side, and then finally at each other. Agbe tried to understand why some of the people smiled the way they did. Not kindly, or welcoming, but maliciously, with eyes gleaming with wicked intent. No one was reacting the way heâd expected them to. Then his real mother stood up and he was sure that this entire nightmare was over. She would walk over to him and embrace him and beg him for his forgiveness. Then things would happen as heâd dreamt, heâd be welcomed into his noble birthright, the ancestral grounds. His real mother stomped past him and stopped in front of his mother. It happened in a flash. One second, both women stood there, his mother and his real mother, standing face to face. Then the next moment, his real motherâs hand stretched out and she slapped his mother hard across the face. âWho put you up to this lie?â His real mother yelled. âTell me or I will destroy you!â His mother dropped to her knees in front of his real mother. âHe got it in his head, ma, please, heâs just a child, he made a mistake.â His mother turned to him. Kneeling, she was almost at eye level with him. âKneel down and apologize, Agbe, tell her it was a mistake.â Agbe just stood there, unable to move, struggling to process everything that was happening in front of him. He didnât understand why his real mother wouldnât acknowledge him, or why his mother was asking him to lie. They both knew it was the truth, his real mother had been seen leaving him in the forest. But now his mother wanted him to lie? Sheâd taught him to always tell the truth. Then his real mother slapped his mother again, but Agbe still stood rooted to the same spot, watching, and trying to understand. âAgbe please,â his mother cried, after his real mother slapped her again, and again, time after time, while everyone else sat back and watched. His real motherâs hand struck his motherâs face and his mother did nothing. She didnât fight back, she just knelt there and took it. The only sounds she made were pleas for him to recant. His real motherâs hand reared back again and this time the sound of her palm striking his motherâs cheek, broke through to his shock-induced paralysis, and echoed through his head. He stared around at the people watching. Most were members of the ancestry, and their looks ranged between boredom, disgust, and entertainment. No one spoke up for his mother, no one did or said anything. Agbeâs heart broke. He lurched forward, fueled by years of bottled-up rage and resentment, and butted his head into his real motherâs stomach, knocking her to the ground. âLeave my mother alone!â he yelled, âancestry bitch! She is ten times the woman you will ever be!â âIâm sorry mum,â he wrapped his arms around his mother, âIâm so sorry!â he cried, wondering why heâd ever wanted more, why heâd ever thought he deserved more. She should have been enough, he knew that he should never have gone looking for answers. âAgbe!â His mother yelled. He turned around, and saw the man with the cane standing behind him, his cane lifted up in the air, poised to strike. The man flicked his wrist and the hard glass cane turned into a whip. He was a wielder, Agbe belatedly realized, an elite ancestry warrior. The whip came down hard on his back. The pain of the whip was so unexpected that Agbe wet himself. He buried his head in the crook of his motherâs neck and wrapped his arms tight around her, pushing himself flush against her to hide the pee stains on his trousers. âApologize, you insolent brat,â a deep male voice growled behind him. âPlease!â His mother begged. Her voice trembled. She sniffed, and he knew that she was crying. She hadnât shed a tear when the ancestry bitch slapped her, but she cried for him. She was his real mother, not the coldhearted ancestry bitch whoâd left him in the forest to die, but the LovePeddler whoâd saved him. He couldnât forgive himself for ever thinking otherwise. âPlease sir! Please ma!â His mother continued begging. âHeâs only a child, please, heâs only a child.â His mother reached out, trying to grab the whip from the wielder. âHold her,â the wielder ordered. Hands held his mother down, carelessly pining her to the ground as she continued begging, âheâs only a child!â âThen you should have taught him manners,â the ancestry bitch screeched. Agbe marveled that heâd ever thought her shrill voice was beautiful. âTell your devil spawn to apologize.â âOya, Agberukeke, apologize now, abeg,â his mother whispered into his ear. But he couldnât. He couldnât bring himself to tell the ancestry bitch anything she wanted to hear. Not after sheâd slapped his mother. No, he refused. The whip fell again, drawing a trail of fire on his back. âHarder!â The ancestry bitch ordered. âHarder, until he apologizes.â The whip fell again, and again, by the fifth time he could feel the whip against his back, signs that it had ripped through the silver-grey suit, and pristine white shirt, of his ogaâs undies. His motherâs cries filled his mind, like a blanket over his thoughts. It was all he heard, it drowned out the laughing, teasing, voices of the nobles who watched. She begged them for mercy, begged them to stop, begged him to apologize. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. By the tenth strike of the whip, he was on his knees, crying. His motherâs shirt, wet with his tears and sweat, clung to his face. Still, he refused to give the ancestry bitch the satisfaction of an apology. He wouldnât apologize, he wouldnât recant, and his refusal would tell everyone the truth, that she really had given birth to him. He hoped that the entire world heard and that she was ruined. He hated her so much. He hated her more than he hated the boys who beat him in school. More than he hated the boys who insulted his mother and said they would be her clients one day. He hated the ancestry bitch more than heâd ever hated anyone, ever. âItâs never wise to flay a Marked child,â a bored voice drawled, âyou canât predict how his mark will respond.â âEhn ehn, I can smell him, Uwaâs son isnât Marked.â âOh. Well then, that would explain why she abandoned him.â The dry comment led to a ripple of laughter. 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:25am On Feb 05 |
âStop calling him my son!â The ancestry bitch shrieked. But they kept calling him her son, and in that, Agbe found his revenge. He thrilled in it, even as the whip continued to fall, as he was lost to all feeling save the pain, as he wept, shamelessly. His motherâs shirt wet with his tears. His trousers, and his motherâs skirt, wet with his pee. But at least heâd made them laugh at the ancestry bitch. As the strikes continued to fall, he found himself growing lightheaded. âYouâll kill him,â he heard his mother cry, her futile struggles to pull free of the arms that held her down, rocking his body. âPlease, heâs just a child, youâll kill him.â But they didnât stop. Agbe wondered if his mother was right. All he could feel was the pain, his back burnt as if it had been set on fire, but as the dizziness grew, the pain faded. Was he really dying? âWhip his mother instead,â he heard the ancestry bitch say. âSheâs the one who raised him to lie and disrespect the ancestry. Sheâs the one who should be punished.â His ears had to strain to pick up her voice, but he jolted as soon as he heard the words. âYes!â his mother agreed. âYes ma, itâs my fault, punish me instead. Please, just leave my son alone.â The whip stopped falling on his back. âNo,â Agbe tore himself away from his mother. The sudden movement, stretched at his raw back, and he screamed. âIâm sorry,â he yelled, hating the ancestry bitch, and her ancestry wielder. âIâm sorry.â He gave in. He couldnât let his mother suffer any more for him. âTell them the truth,â the ancestry bitch said. She spoke calmly, assured of her impending victory. He wanted to say that heâd already told the truth, but he knew that his mother would pay for it if he did. Still, he couldnât just concede victory to her. Not after all that the ancestry bitch had done. âI donât even want to be your son!â He yelled. âYou are evil, and I pity any child you claim as your own!â âWhip him!â The whip fell on his back again. It was worse this time, worse than the first time. The whip fell vertically, over the welts that had already formed. âWhip me instead,â his mother begged. âDonât worry, when weâre done with him, youâll get yours,â the ancestry bitch replied. The whip continued to fall and he wanted more than anything for the pain to go away. Agbe cried, and screamed, writhing underneath the blows of the wielderâs whip, but he couldnât bring himself to beg the ancestry bitch to stop. He knew he would have to, that eventually, when she turned her sights on his mother again, he would have to tell her what she wanted to hear, but till then, he couldnât give in, not to save his own skin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he accepted the whipping as his penance, believing that heâd earned it. His mother had chosen him. Sheâd found a baby abandoned in the Varmintsâ Forest, and picked him up, before any shifters or werejackals happened upon him. Sheâd taken him home, raised him, and loved him more than any birth mother ever could. Sheâd given everything for him, and what had he given her in return? Shame. Heâd been ashamed of her. Ashamed that a LovePeddler was his mother, ashamed that his home was a brothel. Never again. He swore it, a blood oath, sealed by the blood the wielder spilled. âStop!â A deep voice ordered. There was power in that booming voice, and confidence. It was as if the owner knew, without a shadow of doubt, that his order would be obeyed. To Agbeâs surprise, it was. The whip stopped falling. His mother sagged in relief. Agbe turned his head slowly, moving carefully to avoid a repeat of the searing pain which had accompanied his last rushed movement. âWhy did you stop?â the ancestry bitch screeched. âHeâs my elder brother,â the wielder replied, âI cannot disobey him.â Agbe watched the manâs approach. He marched forward, an ancestry soldier in leather. In all the eight years that Agbe had been alive, heâd never seen anyone who looked like him. His skin was a dark brown, almost as dark as Agbeâs, and he was tall, so tall Agbe had to crane his head far back to see all of him. His arms and thighs appeared as thick as tree stems to Agbeâs wide eyes. But it wasnât his huge size that made him so unique, it was the silver tattoos that covered his face, neck and hands. The tattoos seemed to crawl over every inch of exposed skin on the manâs body. Agbe had never seen anything like it. The man stopped beside Agbe, widened his legs, and crossed his arms behind his back. Agbe could see the curled whip hanging from the strap in his uniform. It was silver, and translucent, rigid like a glass cane, but coiled into the form of a whip. It was the traditional wielderâs uniform. âWhat is the meaning of this Omon?â the man demanded. The other wielder looked nervous. He swallowed and glanced at the ancestry bitch, before turning his attention to the new wielder. His gaze dropped to the ground like an embarrassed schoolboy whoâd been called to the principalâs office. âHe was rude to Uwa, brother.â âSo you whip him like this?â The new wielder sounded incredulous. âHave you no honor, Omon, no sense of right and wrong? Heâs a child!â The ancestry bitchâs wielder mumbled to himself. âLeave him alone Ehimen, who are you to question my orders?â the ancestry bitchâs voice was cold and curt. She was confident too, assured in her superiority. Agbe knew then that she would win out. The whipping would resume, and he would have to recant to spare his mother a whipping to rival his. âWho are you to question me?â The new wielder growled. âI am soon to be married into the Enikaro, to the God-bornâs son. Do not cross me Ehimen, or I will make you regret the day you were born.â Agbe shuddered at the ancestry bitchâs words. To think before he met her, while he hid behind the trees watching, heâd thought she deserved to be in the Enikaro, now he knew better. She was poison, a bully, but his experiences had taught him that bullies always got what they wanted, and she wanted to marry the God-bornâs son. That the ancestry bitch would be married into the highest echelons of the ruling family, confirmed Agbeâs belief that his world was a cruelly unfair place. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and waited for the next lash to fall. âI donât see a ring on your finger,â the new wielder mocked. Something in his tone released a fizzle of cautious optimism in Agbeâs belly, which he immediately shoved back down. âYouâve been with Omonoba Omoruyi for over a decade, Uwa,â the new wielder continued, âif he wanted to marry you, he would have done so already. You will never be anything more than you are, you coldhearted bitch. If I were you, Iâd be careful how you speak to me. Edo women eager to marry into the Enikaro are a dime a dozen. Most much better candidates than you will ever be. I, on the other hand, am scion to one of the God-bornâs premier wielder hordes. Much harder to replace, wouldnât you say? And unlike you, the God-born and her family actually listen to what I have to say. It would be a shame if I decided to tell the God-born what a terrible influence you are on her son.â Agbe knew that the ancestry bitch wouldnât take that lying down. His heart pounded like a jackhammer while he waited for the ancestry bitch to get the final say. She stared vitriol at the new wielder, her jaw and fists clenched. Her lips pulled apart and Agbe steeled himself for the whipping to continue. âIâm sorry,â she said. Agbeâs mouth dropped open. âI lost my temper,â she was actually trying to sound sweet. If Agbe didnât know any better, he would have believed her performance. âI lost my temper, Ehimen, the boy insulted me, and it triggered some painful memories.â âDonât believe her!â Agbe yelled at the powerful wielder, the one whoâd managed, against all odds, to shut the ancestry bitch up. âSheâs lying! Sheâs like you said, a coldhearted biâŚâ A soft, familiar, palm covered his mouth before he could finish. It was his motherâs hand. He gritted his teeth and shut his mouth. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:26am On Feb 05 |
The new wielder stared down at him, and for the second time that afternoon, Agbeâs breath caught in his throat, and he found himself foolishly searching for an ancestry memberâs approval. Unlike the ancestry bitch, this one didnât disappoint him. The new wielder winked at him. He didnât smile, but that wink meant more than a smile ever could. Agbeâs chest puffed. The gesture pulled at his back, but while the wielder looked at him, he refused to cry out in pain. He bit down on his tongue instead. Ehimen. The new wielderâs name was Ehimen. He would remember it. Ehimenâs gaze lifted. âGo back home, Omon,â he ordered the other wielder, âand make sure you tell mother what you did here today. All of it.â âYes brother,â the other wielder scurried away, chastened. Agbe didnât even try to hide his smirk. Ehimen looked over the rest of the group. âYou all disgust me,â he said. No one spoke back to him, they all looked away, shamefaced. âRelease her.â The hands holding Agbeâs mother down, quickly fell away. She wrapped her arms gingerly around his neck, and whispered endearments into his ear, trying to console him, but Agbeâs attention had fixed on Ehimen. Ehimenâs presence seemed to dwarf everything else, even the biting pain from the whip. Agbe didnât know anything about Ehimen, but he swore that he would learn more about the wielder whoâd saved him from the ancestry bitch. Ehimen bent towards Agbe. âCan you climb onto my back?â he asked him. Tears pooled in Agbeâs eyes. He couldnât believe that Ehimen hadnât just walked away. âI peed on myself,â he confessed in a whisper, embarrassed, but too grateful to Ehimen to risk annoying him by staining his fine leather uniform with pee-stained clothes. âI can tell. I want you to climb on anyway. Is that okay with you?â Agbe blinked and the tears of relief fell. âYes sir,â he said. âThank you.â Ehimen smiled at him. It was a smile that didnât last very long, but Agbe vowed to hold it in his memory forever. Ehimen was his hero. Ehimen turned around and bent to a squat, and Agbe climbed onto his back, winding his arms and legs tightly around Ehimen. âYou have to let me breathe, young Oba,â Ehimen chuckled. âSorry sir.â Agbe loosened his hold on Ehimenâs neck, pondering on the nickname heâd chosen for him. Young Oba, young king. He didnât understand why Ehimen had called him that. âJust call me Ehimen,â he said to Agbe, as he took a step forward, walking away from the ancestry bitch and the clearing where all of Agbeâs dreams about a future with his birth mother had been shattered. âOkay Ehimen.â His mother stood slowly, as if unsure. Agbe shared her confusion, because he also didnât know why Ehimen was helping them. But Agbe knew that he would always be grateful to him for it. They walked away. His mother glanced around as they left the clearing, her shoulders tense and her back ramrod straight, as if she expected them to be stopped. Agbe wasnât worried though, he knew that no one would bother them, not when they were with Ehimen. She exhaled when they finally left the clearing, away from eyeshot of the ancestry bitch and her horrible friends. âThank you, sir,â his mother curtsied to Ehimen, âthank you so much.â Ehimen turned to face his mother, and Agbe watched as they looked at each other for the first time. âPlease donât call me sir,â Ehimen said, âEhimen is fine.â His mother smiled and looked away. Agbe knew that look on her face, it was the look she had when he watched her flirting with her clients. But this time it was real, not an act she put on for her clientsâ benefit. Agbeâs heart swelled with joy. He smiled so wide that every tooth, and gaping hole, in his mouth showed. âOkay,â his mother said, âthank you, Ehimen.â Ehimen kept looking at her for much longer than was necessary, but as far as Agbe was concerned, it was the perfect length of time. Then Ehimen cleared his throat and looked away. âI wasnât bragging before, I really do have the God-bornâs ear, I will make sure Uwa pays for what she did to the both of you.â His mother grabbed onto Ehimenâs arm. âDonât,â she begged. âMum, she should pay!â Agbe yelled. âShh, shh, Agbe, shh.â She turned to Ehimen and shook her head. âI donât want any trouble with a member of the ancestry.â Ehimen didnât say anything. They walked in silence for a long time, with his mother still unconsciously clinging to Ehimenâs arm. âWhere am I taking you?â He asked. Agbe wanted to tell him to drop them off there, they could walk back home. He didnât want Ehimen to know what his motherâs profession was, not because he was ashamed, but because he didnât want the little sparks heâd seen flying between them to burn out. But his mother was honest to a fault, normally, when she wasnât lying to appease an ancestry bitch. âWe live at Madam Celiaâs.â Ehimen nodded automatically. He kept walking and then he stopped, and turned to face her. âThe brothel?â His mother pulled her hand away from Ehimenâs arm and wrapped her arms around herself. She nodded. âI work there Ehimen.â âOh,â Ehimen said, âI see.â Then he continued walking. 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:26am On Feb 05 |
Chapter One âI hear the God-born is gearing for war against InCoSeM,â Chika carelessly remarked. She was fixated on the pedicure sheâd finagled Larry into agreeing to. She applied a generous dollop of blue nail polish on his little toenail, oblivious to his growing unease. Larry lifted his head, took one look at the toenail and flopped back onto the bed, slapping his palm over his eyes. Chika smacked him on his feet to get him to stop moving. âAs long as theyâre not fighting it in this house, what do I care?â Prisca hissed. Chika chuckled. âYouâre not serious oh, Pri, it will affect us now. Either InCoSeM wins or the ancestry does. If InCoSeM wins, the Community as we know it will cease to exist.â âAnd so? Because the Community as it is now has done so much for me?â She hissed again. Prisca was a champion at really drawing out the sound, she could suck air through her teeth like no one else, even adding a rhythm to the hiss whenever she felt the occasion demanded. âAbeg letâs talk about the things that actually matter, joh.â Agbeâs apathetic gaze, passed cursorily over them. He didnât like talking politics, because politics talk inevitably meandered to gossip about the Benin Community nobility, the ancestry, and he loathed the ancestry. Well, not all of the ancestry, not Ehimen, but everyone else. He couldnât help it, even now, years after the dreaded first confrontation with the ancestry bitch, he still froze up whenever the ancestry was brought up in conversation around him. There were times when he woke up sweating, chased from sleep by the nightmare of a wielder whipping him to death in front of his mother. He turned his attention away from them, to the mirror, and the mascara heâd been applying. His left eye was all done, but his right eyelashes could still use some work. He focused on those, noting the strands of hair in his eyebrow that had outgrown the line he tried to maintain. Heâd have to pluck those off. Agbe carefully applied the mascara. He leaned back and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Next time heâd go darker with the lipstick, lighter colors had to be done just right not to clash against his dark skin. Heâd had his hair plaited into cornrows yesterday. He hadnât wanted that, but Madam Celia had insisted, and in this house, everyone did what Madam Celia insisted on, if they wanted to remain in the house, that is. Now he looked like the ancestry bitch. He hated it, how much he resembled her, but with his hair braided like the ancestry bitchâs the resemblance was eerie. âYou should add some blush, Agbe,â Prisca said. She picked herself up from his motherâs bed and sauntered over to him. Even when she wasnât doing it consciously, she had a way of moving that turned everyoneâs attention to her wide hips. When she reached him, she rifled through his motherâs makeup and pulled out glitter-grey eyeshadow. âWill Madam Celia sponsor your education in the erotic arts?â she asked as she applied it. Agbe brought out the blush heâd spent two monthsâ salary on. It was the perfect shade for his skin. âShe will, if I get patrons interested in me in the showing tonight.â He dabbed the brush on the blush palette then applied it lightly to his cheeks. âAs if thereâs any doubt with a face like that. Iâd kill for those lashes and those plump lips.â Chika remarked. âIâd kill for your ass,â Agbe responded. He blew a kiss to her then turned his attention back to the mirror. He stared at himself critically. He knew he was good-looking. Handsome when he was trying to attract women, but he could also be pretty when he was catering to men who preferred that look, as he planned to tonight. âThe problem isnât if I can raise interest, but if I can talk my mother into allowing me to appear in the showing.â âYouâre such a mamaâs boy,â Larry teased. âYouâre sixteen, go get emancipated,â Chika chimed in. âDonât listen to them,â Prisca bumped his shoulder with her hips, âtheyâre just jealous. I wish I had a mother like yours.â He winked at Prisca through the mirror. He loved his mother, and he wanted to be just like her, but she wouldnât let him. She didnât want him following in her footsteps and becoming a LovePeddler. But he liked it, he couldnât imagine a better way to make a living. The moment heâd turned twelve, heâd lost his virginity. Twice. First with Prisca, theyâd been each otherâs firsts, then with Larry. He loved everything about sex, all the forms that it took, all the ways that pleasure could be achieved. Heâd tried as much as he could with the people in the room, and heâd loved it all. It felt as if it was his calling. It wasnât as if he was Marked, with powers that he could trade on. His only powers were his looks and his love of all things sexual. âIâm counting on you guys to help me convince her, especially you Pri, mum loves you.â She smiled at him, âof course she does, and of course I will.â Agbe was desperate to secure Madam Celiaâs funding. Heâd been at the brothel the longest, he should have been the first to file for his escortâs license, but he couldnât without funding. So, Prisca had beaten him to it, Prisca whoâd only come to the brothel when she was ten, after her father had tried selling her to Madam Celia to settle his debts. This was the Community, so you couldnât actually sell children, but her father was too drunk to listen. Rather than see her father arrested, Prisca had begged to stay and work for Madam Celia to settle his debts. Then sheâd liked it so much sheâd decided to stay permanently. Larryâd shown up two years later, trying to steal from the clients leaving Madam Celiaâs. The police found him. Because he was younger than the legal age to prosecute, he got the option of working off his debts to Madam Celia or being sent to the Youth Reform Camp run by his class of marked, the Sages. Heâd chosen the former. Chika was the newest. Sheâd come only a year ago, already bearing her escortâs license which gave her the legal right to learn the trade. Now, Agbe was about to go into his final year in secondary school, staring down the barrel of a forced University education, if he could not file a license to learn a trade instead. âYou, of all people, must be worried about InCoSeM ruling the Community, Agbe,â Chika said, returning to the topic sheâd started, despite Priscaâs groaning. âWhyâs that?â Agbe asked distractedly. His focus was on studying his face. He was certain he looked perfect; heâd want to do him if he wasnât himself. But how to get his mum to agree. If she had her way, heâd have no license to file, and heâd have to go to university, and study something like Engineering or Medicine, which just thinking about it made him cringe. It wasnât like he could study anything mark-related. Bleep, he really hated being Unmarked. âDonât you know?â Larry asked, which predictably got Agbe rolling his eyes, because obviously, if heâd known, he wouldnât have asked. Larry continued, âin all the Communities where InCoSeM rule, they separate out the Marked, from the Unmarked born in the Community.â Agbeâs heart lurched. His mouth grew dry, and he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to cry. It was as if the sturdy ground heâd spent his entire life assured of was crumbling beneath him. His mother was Marked. So were all his friends. Everyone he knew was Marked. If he was separated from them, heâd be all alone. âYou canât be serious. I mean, they canât do that to me!â He turned to Chika now, completely absorbed by the conversation heâd tried so hard to ignore before. Chika lifted her gaze from the nail painting and turned to him. When she faced him, her tongue was still sticking out the corner of her mouth, as it did whenever she was concentrating hard on something. âDonât worry Agbe, InCoSeM wonât win, they canât beat the ancestry.â âYes Agbe,â Prisca concurred, âwe have the Enikaro, remember, no army can take them on.â Larry nodded so vigorously that his feet moved, but Chikaâs focus was on comforting Agbe, so she didnât notice the jerking toenail her paintbrush rested against. âDonât worry,â Prisca added, rubbing her palm comfortingly over his shoulder, âyouâll go to the showing tonight, outshine all of us, get Madam Celiaâs support and then your escortâs license. And if thereâs a war, the ancestry will kick some serious InCoSeM butt.â âI know!â Chika screamed, her face lighting up, âweâll all go to the temple tomorrow and make offerings to Duraya for the ancestry to win. That should secure it.â Prisca and Larry both nodded. âYes, weâll do that,â Prisca said and Larry added, âyouâll like that wonât you Agbe?â He didnât know how to respond. His heart was sinking, and whatever it was in his chest that usually held it up appeared to have vanished. Agbe was not really the religious type. He knew Duraya existed, but he didnât think she cared a damn about him, so obviously praying wasnât going to help him. âYou know guys,â he said, sagging into the chair, âafter meeting the ancestry bitch, I really thought that my days of rooting for the ancestry were well behind me. Now, all I can do is sit back and hope they donât screw me over. Again.â 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 2:28am On Feb 05 |
Larry sat up, âyeah, I know how you feel Agbe.â He stared at the wall behind Prisca with the corners of his mouth tipped down, and the center of his eyebrows lifted. Agbe glowered at him. He knew his anger was illogical, but really, he was the one who was unmarked, the one who InCoSeM was threatening to rip away from everyone and everything he loved! Why did Larry always have to try to make everything about him? âHow could you possibly know how I feel? Youâre Marked!â Agbe snapped. Larry was a remembered memory â remem â recall, a freaking reincarnate! What did he know about being unmarked? âIâm a remem. InCoSeM doesnât just let remems live their life. They turn them into bookkeepers or historians or some other boring shit like that. Iâll have no say, Iâll have to go to University, Iâll have to go wherever they send me, and record whatever they want. My life wonât be mine.â Agbeâs anger evaporated, he looked away guiltily. Now he felt like an asshole for reacting the way he had. âSorry, man, that blows.â Larry shrugged. âGuess the girls are the lucky ones, not that thatâs any surprise. They get the boobs, the ass, and they get to keep their normal lives if InCoSeM wins.â Both boys laughed. âYup,â Prisca slapped her full breasts, making them wobble, and shook her round ass in Agbeâs face. He smacked it away. âIf you want to be a girl so bad, Larry, pray to Duraya so that he sends you back as female in your next life.â âOh, Iâm already doing that.â They all laughed, all of them except Chika, who looked much too serious. âWhatâs wrong Chika?â Agbe asked. âSheâs probably just angry because Larry wonât stay still.â Prisca teased, wrinkling her nose at Larry when he stuck out his tongue at her. Chika smacked Larry on the foot to keep him still, but her frown only deepened. She turned to Prisca. âI read that InCoSeM forces augurs into bonded chains, makes the chains reinforce every month, and has someone in the chain report all the augursâ thoughts and memories back to them.â Priscaâs smile fell away. âButâŚbutâŚâ she spluttered, âthatâs criminal!â Agbe had gotten lost after Chika mentioned bonded chains. Heâd spent his life knowing that he was normal, which in a Community filled with people who werenât, meant that his normal was abnormal. He wasnât Marked, he had no powers, and he stayed away from things that reminded him of that fact. He didnât know any more about the Marked than he was forced to learn in school, which only left him with the basics. Like that bonded chains were something augurs could form to widen their visions. Also, that augurs in bonded chains had access to each otherâs thoughts and memories. From personal experience, specifically his first party with Chika and Prisca, he knew the benefits of that perk of a bonded chain. There was nothing like fucking two women who were in perfect sync. Augurs having the ability to enter into each otherâs minds, was why augur whores made the most money. Agbe had spent an entire year praying, fasting, and giving offerings to Duraya so that he could be an augur. It hadnât worked. Honestly, he would have taken any mark. Witches were the second highest paid marked whores. Memoir and healing witches specifically. His mother was a healing witch, so was Gedoni. Gedoni was a LovePeddler over at Lady Tâs, who Agbe loathed. Heâd charged Agbe a whole yearâs pay for one night together, and the bastard hadnât even gone into his mark while they bleeped. Not like Aha, may her soul rest in peace. Now Aha had been a gem. Sheâd been another healing witch LovePeddler at Lady Tâs. Agbe hadnât realized why people paid as much as they did for sex with healing witches until theyâd fooled around. He came out of the experience feeling as if sheâd reached deep into him and momentarily healed the broken pieces of his soul. There were other marks, so many more, more witches, and other Warlocks. Communes, who got power from negative emotions. Communes scared Agbe a bit, their magic seemed dark to him, like they got their power from fucking people up, still, he would have liked to be a commune instead of being nothing. If he couldnât be an augur, or a witch, his next choice would have been a Sage, an abacus perhaps, with their multiple advanced-supercomputer-like brains, or a recall, a remem like Larry or an omem who remembered everything, and that really did mean everything. Agbe would have even settled for the animals, the Varmints. Werejackals and shifters. They bothered him, but not as much as communes. Sadly, Duraya had ignored him. Given that the last time Duraya had answered his prayer the answer to those prayers had turned out to be the ancestry bitch, Agbe wasnât so sure that Duraya ignoring him was the worst thing that could happen. Still, he yearned for a Mark. His lack of one was a deep wound heâd learned to cover up, but it always came right back to the surface at moments like this, when he was reminded of his lack. âEarth to Agbe!â He jumped. âWhat?â his eyes darted around, âdid I miss something?â âOnly your mother,â Larry teased. âMy what?â He gaped at Larry. Then he heard her, his mother, chuckling behind him, and he turned around. She was dressed fancy, in a dazzling yellow lace dress, with mild makeup on her face and accessorized with expensive jewelry. Nowadays, she only brought out her ogaâs undies when she was going near ancestral grounds. His gaze caught on the fingers sheâd placed artily over her mouth and he gasped. There was a bijou ring on her middle finger, a bijou, more expensive than gold and diamonds. Wow, Ehimen had really gone all out. âIâm guessing you said yes,â Agbe drawled, fighting to hide his smile. Her eyes widened and then narrowed on him. She put her hands on her hips. âYou knew?â He nodded. âHow?â Agbe turned to the mirror, rose his shoulders, and puffed out his chest. âIâm the man of the house, so, of course, Ehimen had to ask for my permission first. Itâs how these things are done mum.â Prisca burst into laughter and the others joined. Agbeâs mother slapped him on the back of his head for that joke, but Agbe didnât feel it, not just because her hand was tiny, but because he was happy. He was beyond happy, he was ecstatic, euphoric, he wanted to scream to the ether for joy, because something truly great had finally happened in his life. Ehimen was going to be his dad. âCongratulations mum!â He jumped up and threw his arms around her, so elated he ended up lifting her up until she thumped on his back for him to put her down. He just chuckled and went to hug Prisca, while Larry and Chika came closer to hug his mother. âLet me see,â Prisca took his motherâs hand and then squealed like a pig. âItâs a bijou! A real, honest to goodness, bijou, Iâve never seen one before. Thatâs one hell of a man youâve got, aunty, congratulations.â Chika and Larry pretty much echoed Priscaâs sentiments. Agbe watched as his motherâs ring finger was passed around between his closest friends. His gaze met his motherâs, and he saw his joy mirrored in her eyes. âOkay, ah, see these children oh, ehn, abeg, thatâs enough before you people rip my finger off. Thatâs enough. Thank you so much.â One after the other, she placed a kiss on their cheek. âThank you very much. Agbe and I need to speak in private though, so, do you guys mind?â âNo, aunty, not at all.â Larry turned to Agbe and winked. He smiled back. âDonât forget the offering tomorrow, Agbe,â Chika called out as they herded through the door. Agbe wanted to remind them that heâd see them that evening, during the showing, but they were out the door before he had the chance. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by doctorexcel: 10:40pm On Feb 05 |
This is another beautiful piece from Obehid 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:56am On Feb 08 |
doctorexcel: Thank you doctorexcel Hopefully the story doesn't disappoint 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:56am On Feb 08 |
Chapter Two Ehimen smiled. He couldnât help it, sheâd said yes, the love of his life had agreed to become his wife. His heart beat a nice, steady, rhythm in his chest, and every part of him was warm and alive. Isoken was going to be his wife. He had to shake his head to force his thoughts away from daydreams of his future bride and the family they were about to have, him, her, and Agbe. Their son. It already had such a nice ring to it. But he was a soldier, scion to the Ehizokhae familyâs leading horde, he could not allow himself to wander about ancestral grounds looking like a lovesick pup. He had to stay smart, attentive, an example to his younger siblings. He pulled his attention back to his brothers, just in time to hear Odion croon, âit must be nice to grow up as one of them.â âAn in-between.â Omon pined wistfully, a matching expression of yearning in his voice. Ehimen sighed. These two were always in each otherâs heads, sharing feelings, mirroring emotions, and they werenât even augurs, just womb twins from the same litter. Their twin bond gave them a fighting edge though, one even sharper than the usual littermate connection. It was the only reason Ehimen hadnât trained it out of them. Ehimen lifted his gaze to the subject of his brothersâ fascination, three descendants of the Enikaro. These ones were just children, between the ages of ten and fourteen. Despite their young ages, they were dressed just as sharply as every descendant of the Enikaro, in burgundy velvet clothes, with golden chains and studs outlining their garments, and white bijou coral beads around their necks and wrists. Their exclusive velvet clothes were specifically designed to proclaim their pedigree. They were royals, sole bearers of the right to rule over the Community. Ehimen and his brothers moved off to the side once the children drew near, and bowed, staying out of their way. Two of them walked by without sparing them a secondâs glance, one stopped. âEhimen,â the young girl called out. Ehimen took a step forward and bowed deeper to the child. âOmonoba,â he greeted. âLift your head,â she ordered. He stood straight and tried hard not to appear as if he was looking down on her. She crossed her hands behind her back and tipped her head upwards. âMy family has recently been assigned a new wielder horde, Iyowa Chinyereâs. I believe they are new to the ancestry. Do you know of them?â Ehimen nodded. âYes, Omonoba, Iyowa Chinyere is a contemporary of my motherâs. Mother only has great things to say about the hordeâs prowess.â Slight furrows formed on the little girlâs forehead. Then she nodded, her distracted gaze staring at nothing. After a few seconds, she seemed to recollect herself. âThank you, I feel much better knowing that you recommend them.â A sly smile played along the girlâs mouth, âbut I must confess, I would prefer your horde. The fact that the God-born snatched your mother up when she was still just a childless fertile, is surely proof that the God-born is the greatest augur who lives.â Ehimen smiled and bowed, âyou flatter us, Omonoba.â âNonsense. That you are the best horde in the ancestry is a well-known fact. I despise flattery and false words.â âOf course, forgive me Omonoba.â If Ehimen didnât enjoy being dressed down by a child, he didnât show it. She nodded in quick acceptance of his apology. She seemed prepared to turn and leave, then she stopped and said, âmy regards to your sister, I hope she feels better soon.â Ehimen stared down at her, befuddled. None of his sisters had been sick the last time heâd seen them. âMy sister?â âMischief. She was not in school today and I heard it was because she was sick, a bad case of building malaria.â Building malaria, was it? Ehimen rolled his eyes, Mischief was up to her tricks again. Sheâd told their mother sheâd been given the day off school to learn about what it meant to be a fertile in preparation for the wielder meeting that evening, the meeting theyâd been headed to before the descendant of the Enikaro stopped them. Theyâd all believed Mischief, in hindsight, they should have known better. âI will send along your well wishes, thank you, Omonoba.â âShe should really get it looked at before the building malaria has a chance to grow into full-fledged malaria.â The ancestryâs infirmary was always stocked full of healing witches, so it was very rare that a building illness grew into a full-fledged one, but even in those cases the healing witches took care of it. Full-fledged illnesses just took longer to recover from. âI will be sure to let her know.â âPlease do, our class is rather dull without her.â The little girl nodded and then she turned and walked away. Ehimen bowed his head and waited till sheâd gotten a few feet away, before turning back to meet his brothersâ stares. âBuilding malaria?â Omon sounded incredulous. Then he flung his arm around Odionâs shoulder, threw his head back, and laughed. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:42am On Feb 13 |
Odion didnât seem to appreciate his brotherâs humor. He shrugged Omonâs arm off, fuming. âThat little rascal! I gave her twenty comnai!â Twenty community naira? Ehimen frowned. âWhy would you do that?â Omon kept laughing. âYes Odion, tell brother Ehimen why you would go and do a foolish thing like that.â Odion glared at Omon. âShe looked so sad and the money was the only thing that could comfort her! You should have seen her, brother, she was in her bed, crying about how she really wanted to go to school and how much being a fertile sucked because it meant she got denied the learning experience that other kids got andâŚâ âDenied the learning experience!â Omon hooted, then he laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes. Ehimen coughed to cover up his own stray guffaws. Odion was such a pushover. âIâll talk to her.â âNo, Iâll talk to her myself, if thatâs okay brother?â Odion was no match for Mischief. Heâd go and confront her all puffed up and affronted and the girl would find a way to twist it to her advantage. From the mulish look on Odionâs face though, Ehimen knew his younger brother would only argue the point so he just nodded. âThank you.â He eyed Omon, and then turned away from him. âDonât be like that!â Omon, still laughing, threw his arm around Odion. âWeâre twins remember, from the same womb. You know I love you. It doesnât matter to me that our twelve-year-old sister is smarter than you are.â Odion swung at Omon, Omon darted out of his reach and ran away while Odion chased him. Ehimen just watched the both of them. Twenty-six years old and acting as if they were five. He was just about to call out a warning to them when they jumped smackdab into an Ovieâs path. They moved hurriedly to the side and bowed their greeting, bending at the waist till their hand touched the ground. Ehimen did the same as the Ovie and her guards walked by him. He righted himself then and went after his brothers. By the time he caught up to them, theyâd already sobered. âAre you sure?â Omon appeared confused. He directed the question at the empty space in front of him. Odion also stared at the same emptiness. âBut we were to go to the wielder meeting.â There was just one thing that could make two sane people talk to air. Well, two things, but seeing as his brothers werenât elemental witches, it had to be an imp. Only communes whoâd gained the sight could see imps. As an augur, Ehimen was blind to them. So, he simply stood off to the side and waited for his brothersâ conversation with the imp to end. âThat was an imp messenger sent by Ovie Omoruyi,â Omon said, his earlier confusion still present on his face, âour hordeâs order has been changed. Weâre to report to one of the InCoSeM reps.â Ehimen frowned. âThat doesnât make any sense.â âShould we go to the wielder meeting anyway?â Odion asked. âAnd ignore a direct order from an Ovie?â Ehimen was tempted to ask if Odion even had a brain in that head of his. Ehimen jerked his gaze back to Omon. âDid the imp say where the rest of our horde is?â âAt the entrance to the Tunnel of the Twins.â âThen letâs go join them.â Ehimen was still contemplating the revised order by the time they reached their destination. It wasnât that abrupt changes in their orders was a novelty, but the biannual wielder meeting was something that the clan of rulers usually didnât mess with. It was the only time that every wielder in the Benin Community assembled under the same roof. âGo ahead Odion, Omon and I will join you in a second.â Odionâs eyebrows rose, but he nodded and did as he was ordered. Ehimen waited till Odion was a good distance away before he started speaking. âIâve been meaning to bring this up since I found out about it a few hours back.â Omon was clearly intrigued. âRemember the little boy you whipped eight years ago?â Ehimen went straight to the meat of it, no need to beat around the bush. Omon looked to the ground and shuffled his feet. âYes, brother,â he said. Ehimen knew it had been a bad time for him. His foolish brother had been in love with that coldhearted, bloodsucking, bitch, Uwa. Heâd been eighteen at the time, still a child really, but that didnât excuse what heâd done to Agbe. âYou know Iâm going to marry his mother?â Omon nodded without looking up. âWell, Iâve been planning on formally adopting Agbe for a while now, but before I could start the process, I knew I had to find out who his birth father is.â Omon remained silent. He just kept his head bowed and continued shuffling his feet. Ehimen sighed. âI found him. I know youâre ashamed of what you did to Agbe, and I wouldnât bring this up if I didnât have to, but given who his father is, I had to warn you.â Omonâs head lifted. He stared at Ehimen like a man steeling himself for his execution. 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:42am On Feb 13 |
Chapter Three Agbe was starting to grow wary of the searching look his mother gave him. He played at rearranging his cosmetics, but it was useless, his eyes kept straying to the mirror, and catching her scrutinous gaze reflected through the glass. Sighing, Agbe turned around and faced her. He crossed his hands over his chest, leaned back against the desk, quirked an eyebrow, then waited. The corners of her lips twitched. She eyed him. Agbe could almost feel her gaze like a cooling touch as it travelled over his body. From his made-up face, to his half open silk shirt, down his very tightly fitted pants. âYou look like someoneâs mistaken idea of a wet dream,â she teased, âdo you plan on waiting for a license or are you going to start working tonight?â Agbe glared at the ground. âMadam Celia will fund my license if I attract a patronâs notice at the showing tonight.â He asked, âcan I go?â and then held his breath. When several seconds passed without a reply, Agbe released the breath heâd been holding, and lifted his head. She was sitting on the edge of her four-poster bed, watching him. She patted the space on the bed next to her and he dragged his feet to get there. She seemed amused by his antics, but she didnât speak until he was sitting down. âAre you happy for me, Bebe?â her voice was soft, slightly teasing, and perfectly designed to draw him in. Calling him by her special nickname was the final touch that had him bending towards her, and placing his head in the crook of her neck. It was one of his favorite places to be. She ran her fingers over his scalp, between the tightly plaited cornrows. âYou know Iâm happy for you, the both of you.â âAre you? Really, Bebe?â Agbe frowned. âOf course, mama, why wouldnât I be?â âYou know what happens when two people get married?â She sounded way too cautious for Agbeâs liking. âI live in a brothel mum, I think I have an idea.â Agbe was expecting the smack, so he just chuckled when it came, and borrowed deeper into her neck. She laughed. âOh, behave yourself. You know thatâs ticklish.â Agbe placed a kiss on her neck and then pulled back, till his head was just barely resting on her shoulder. âIâm serious Bebe, you do understand that Ehimen and I getting married means weâre going to be living together, on ancestral grounds.â Agbe froze. He hadnât considered that. It made sense of course, Ehimen was an ancestry wielder, a noble, his life was on ancestral grounds. While he was still trying to process that tidbit, his mother dropped another bomb on him. âAnd we were both hoping that we could convince you to willingly live with us, without having to threaten legal actions. Ehimen wants to adopt you, Bebe, he wants you to be his son.â âHe wants you to be his son.â The words shook Agbe so deeply he couldnât think of anything else. Ehimen, freaking Ehimen, wanted Agbe as his son. Sure, Agbe had always dreamt of Ehimen as his father, heâd fantasized getting to call him âdadâ. Ehimen had pretty much taken up that role the moment heâd walked into their lives. Ehimen and his mother had had a tumultuous relationship over the years, but nothing that happened between them had ever gotten between the relationship that Ehimen built with him. Still, it came as a shock to Agbe that Ehimen could want him, really want him, as his son. Him. Tears leaked from his eyes. He knew his mother could feel them soaking up her dress, but she said nothing, it was as if she could sense that he needed space to process this, and she just gave it to him. Agbe sniffled. It would mean living on ancestral grounds. Living close to the ancestry bitch and the ancestry wielder. He shuddered, he couldnât help it, he thought of that ancestry wielder, the one whoâd whipped him, and he shuddered. What if he came face to face with either of them? He didnât care. The tears fell more freely now that he accepted the truth. If it meant that he could live as a family with his mother and the father of his heart, he didnât care, heâd waited sixteen years to have a dad, he wasnât about to wimp out now because he might run into the ancestry bitch. âYes, mama, Iâll live with you on ancestral grounds. I want Ehimen to be my dad.â He felt his mother sag beneath him and realized that sheâd been holding her breath. He couldnât help wondering why sheâd even worried in the first place. âI want you to listen to me Bebe, and donât get defensive, just listen.â Agbe braced himself. He knew whatever his mum had to say, if she was starting it like that, he was guaranteed to not like it. âWhen we move to ancestral grounds, a whole new world will open up for you. Youâll have more opportunities than I could have given youâŚâ âMum, you know I have all the opportunities I need.â She shushed him and then went on as if he hadnât spoken. âYou donât have to be a LovePeddler AgbeâŚâ Agbe jumped up. âMum! I donât have to be a LovePeddler now, I want to be one. That wonât change because you move me to ancestral grounds. If thatâs what you and Ehimen are thinking, then youâre in for a rude awakening!â He shot up from the bed and started stomping around the room, angrily muttering to himself. âAgberukeke, get your butt back over here.â He stopped walking, turned, and glared at her. âRight now, Bebe.â He stomped back over to the bed and dumped himself gracelessly beside her. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head away from her. âAs I was saying, you donât have to do anything you donât want to do. Agbe, you never wanted to be a LovePeddler, you hate what I do.â He turned back around, and the anger melted away. âNo, I donât, I donât mama, I never have.â How could he hate her profession when it was hers? He adored everything that had to do with her. She smiled and placed her palm against his cheek. âYou hated it Bebe. Until the day you met your birth motherâŚâ âI would appreciate it if you call her by her correct name, the ancestry bitch, please.â She did a horrible job of suppressing her smile then she gave him a warning look. âUntil you met your birth mother. Then you completely flipped. Itâs like you compelled yourself into loving it. Like you were somehow trying to make up for the fact that youâd hated it before.â âThatâs not true!â Agbe replied, affronted. Her smile turned sad, and Agbe could see the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. âYou didnât fight back, Bebe.â âWhat?â 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:43am On Feb 13 |
âWhen they whipped you, you didnât fight back, you didnât even try to escape. You just stayed there and took it. It was as if you felt like you deserved it.â Agbe pulled away from her touch. He stared down at the thumbs he twiddled in his lap. âMaybe I did. I never thought of how it would make you feel, having to dress me up and take me to that woman. The way she humiliated you.â He turned around, grabbed her hands and held them in his. âIâll never forgive myself for it, mum.â âOh Bebe,â she pulled him into her arms and rested her chin on his head, âyou didnât do anything wrong. You were just a child, of course you wanted to meet your birth mother. Of course, you were excited at the idea of being a noble. Of course, you were ashamed of your mother being a LovePeddler, sometimes Iâm ashamed of it too. Why do you think it took so long for Ehimen and I to finally get on the same page? Itâs only natural. You need to stop punishing yourself.â Agbe didnât know what to do, how to react. Had he truly been punishing himself for what happened all those years ago? Maybe heâd accepted the whipping as his penance for his folly, but none of the other stuff. He didnât agree with his mother about being ashamed of her profession. Yes, he had been before that day, but after, heâd forced himself to look past the hateful words that heâd heard spewed about whores. Once he got beyond that, he could really see whoring for what it was. A service, a client paid for companionship and the LovePeddler gave it. Like Aha, the healing witch LovePeddler heâd slept with. The sex had healed him. Sheâd used her mark to fix something in him. Sure the feeling hadnât lasted for long after, but it had been a wonderful gift while it lasted. And even when it wasnât a gift, when it didnât heal, it was still a hell of a lot of fun. Why shouldnât a client pay for an expert to practice their craft on them? It wasnât easy learning as much about sex as he had, and he didnât even have his license yet. By the time he learned the finer points of his trade, he believed his sexual service would be just as worthy of respect and payment as the augurs who got paid to portend the future. âIâll make you a deal mum. If I promise to truly consider other career paths, and hold off on getting my escortâs license till Iâm eighteen, will you promise to support me if I decide that whoring is my calling?â She smiled without reservation. âIf you promise to forgive yourself and consider other options, I will accept and support whatever profession you settle on.â Agbe smiled back. âIâll try on the first, I promise on the second.â They both stared at each other, smiling close-lipped and fighting back huge grins. Then at the same time they both broke down, shouted, âI love you!â and hugged each other. They broke apart at the knock on the door. It opened and one of the new whores poked her head through the door. âYou wanted to know when the Ovie got here, aunty, heâs here.â Then she drew her head back out and closed the door behind her. Agbe was confused. âYou havenât had a client in three years mum, but youâre entertaining an Ovie today, after you just got engaged? Isnât that one of Ehimenâs sticking points?â All the times theyâd broken up, it was over his mum seeing her clients. She clucked her tongue at him. âDonât be silly. I asked to be notified when the Ovie came for you, not me.â Agbeâs confusion ratcheted up several degrees. âHuh?â âGetting your biological fatherâs permission before he can adopt you is another one of Ehimenâs sticking points.â Agbe could feel his mind churning but there were no thoughts in them. âI donât understand.â âEhimen found your biological father, Bebe, but your biological father, doesnât know that you exist, your birth mother never told him. Which means that Ehimen canât adopt you without his permission. Legally, as well as ethically.â âWhat does that have to do with the Ovie in the brothel?â âThe Ovie in the brothel is your biological father, Bebe.â For long moments after that, all Agbe heard was white noise. Then he shook his head, âno, I donât want to meet him. If the ancestry bitch whipped me for daring to accuse her of being my mother, heâll freaking kill me. Heâs an Ovie, not just in the Enikaro, but in the clan of rulers, ordering executions is what they do for sport. No thanks. Iâll talk to Ehimen, we can just pretend my biological father is dead. Itâs not like the ancestry bitch is going to say otherwise.â She shook her head. âYouâre not thinking clearly Bebe, your father being an Ovie means that you are a descendant of the Enikaro. Itâs illegal to keep you from them. Ehimen is in the ancestry, sworn to the Enikaro, heâll have to tell them.â âThe ancestry bitch didnât tell them!â Agbe started to panic. Why were they doing this to him? Didnât they understand that he didnât need another dad, he already had one, Ehimen. Everything was finally working out for him. His mother was getting married to his father and they were going to live happily ever after. No Ovie invited. Period. âYour birth mother is not exactly an ethical compass, now is she?â Agbe sprang up from the bed and started pacing. âHer name is the ancestry bitch, mum, the ancestry bitch, not my birth mother, ancestry bitch. I need you to work with me on this ma, please.â She giggled. âMy life is falling apart and youâre laughing?â Agbe was incredulous. âOh, stop it, why are you being so dramatic?â She rolled her eyes. âAll Iâm asking you to do tonight is come and see him. Not talk to him, just see him. He reserved a sitting room and I had to bribe the girls to keep the adjoining viewing room empty. Weâll go, watch him, and then weâll decide how we want to approach this. All three of us, me, you and Ehimen.â âMe, you, and Ehimen.â Agbe stopped pacing. Those words couldnât have been any more perfect. It was no longer just him and his mum, it was him, his mum, and Ehimen. They were a family now, whatever happened, they would face it together. Agbe calmed, remembering how Ehimen had swaggered into his nightmare, eight years ago, and turned it into a dream. Whatever threat this Ovie placed, Ehimen, his dad, would neutralize him, just as heâd done the ancestry bitch. âI donât have to talk to him?â Agbe confirmed. âHe wonât even know weâre there.â She promised. âFine.â Agbe turned and regarded himself in the mirror. âJust give me a second to fix my make up.â She burst out laughing. 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:44am On Feb 13 |
Chapter Four Agbe felt like a spy, staring through the one-way peep-wall. The room they lounged in was just adjacent to the one the three men met in. The men wouldnât be able to see them, since from that side of the room, the wall appeared to be just a solid, beige wall. From this room however, the wall appeared to be as transparent as glass. Verdant magic was responsible for this. The verdant witch whoâd designed the material that made up the wall, had gotten a yearâs worth of free visits to the brothel in payment. Agbe thought they got the short end of that deal. The mark. It was the first thing heâd seen when heâd glanced at the Ovie. The Ovie wore a shirt similar to Agbeâs, an irony which his mother had gleefully pointed out. The Ovieâs shirt was white though, while his was blue, so not exactly the same, thank you very much. The Ovieâs shirt fell open to his navel, exposing a shaved chest with his mark on it, the emblem that proclaimed him as supernatural. It really was a small thing. Agbe had seen countless like it, a thin oval in the center with a line of dots on both sides. He had even gone as far as drawing it onto his skin many times as a kid, hoping itâd keep the bullies away. Theyâd just made him hurt more for daring to pretend to be like them. âDid it have to be him?â Agbe asked, not needing to worry about being overhead. They could hear what the men said, but the men couldnât hear them. âOf all the Ovies in the Enikaro, why did it have to be him?â In hindsight, it was obvious. He should have put it together sooner. He hated that heâd looked up the ancestry bitch before their meeting. Heâd seen her pictures, and in most of those pictures sheâd been with this man, the Ovie. As far as the gossip went, he was the only man sheâd ever seriously been involved with. Ovie Omoruyi. His biological father. The God-bornâs son. Agbe pondered on how horrible his luck kept turning out to be. Just when he thought things couldnât get any worse, they just had to go and prove him wrong. The God-born was the overall ruler of the Community for crying out loud, head of the clan of rulers, sheâd have him killed to hide his connection to her family. No one in the Enikaro wanted to have an unmarked descendant shaming their line. âWe could just tell Ehimen that we got the Ovieâs permission for the adoption, heâll believe us.â As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt his motherâs disapproving gaze fixed on him, he didnât even have to look to see it. But he did. He turned around and stared at her, pleading with his eyes for compassion, for mercy, he wanted to live. Why couldnât she understand that? Heâd just gotten a complete family, he wanted to get to live with them. Didnât she understand how powerful the Enikaro was? The Enikaro could crush him, and no one would question it. Heâd never had any reason to mix with them before, and he never wanted one. âPlease, mama, please.â The disapproval turned into pity. He didnât mind pity, pity from his mother, in this moment, was good, it meant she might reconsider. âDo you really think we could live with Ehimen after telling such a big lie?â She shook her head. âEhimen will know how best to handle this. Donât worry, Bebe.â Agbeâs shoulders slumped. He wasnât delusional enough to think that Ehimen could save them from the God-bornâs son. Ehimen was larger than life to Agbe, but even Ehimen wasnât that powerful. The Ovie stood, and Agbe found himself standing with him. From the pieces of the conversation heâd overhead, he knew that the men the Ovie was meeting with were InCoSeM reps. Agbe had enough presence of mind to realize that this meeting was odd, given that the Enikaro and InCoSeM were meant to be gearing for war against each other. His concerns about the Ovie and what the Ovie would do when he found out about Agbe, were much more pressing than backroom politics, so he didnât pay much attention to the odd meeting. But then Ovie Omoruyi was shaking hands with the InCoSeM rep who seemed to be in charge, a tall white skinned man named Paul, and his assistant who was black skinned, but not African, his accent showed him to be British. They said their goodbyes and Ovie Omoruyi walked out of the room. Agbe slumped back into the spot on the couch beside his mother, dejected. âHas he left?â The white man, Paul, asked. Agbe wanted to leave, he didnât want to listen to these InCoSeM reps, but his thoughts were in turmoil and so he found himself watching them, like a movie, anything to distract himself from thinking about his parentage. The black man nodded. âOmoruyi has left the area, we can speak freely.â If he could hear Ovie Omoruyiâs footsteps, then Agbe knew the black man had to be some type of werejackal, they were the only ones whose marks gave them enhanced hearing. His mother stood and stretched. âCome, Bebe, letâs go. Weâll talk to Ehimen tomorrow. Donât worry, everything will be okay.â He stood up and joined his mother. âGood,â Paul said as Agbe and his mum made towards the door, âthen we can proceed with our plans for the ancestry wielders.â They both froze in their steps, stared wide eyed at each other, and then turned back around to stare at the men in the other room. Paul continued speaking. âThe ancestry wielders are too powerful. They have to go first. Itâll be done like the elemental massacre. The wielders have their meeting this evening, weâll blow the place up. Then weâll level the ancestral grounds. By tomorrow morning, the Enikaro will be no more.â His mum gasped and then grabbed onto his arm so tight there were sure to be imprints of her finger on his skin for days after. Agbe didnât feel it though, his thoughts were on Ehimen. âIs he there, mum?â Agbe took his attention away from the men as Paul said in the background, âit canât be, we would have heard them.â Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked and they fell. âYes,â she cried, âoh, Bebe, he told me him and his horde were going to the wielder meeting this evening. Every wielder in the Community is going to be there.â She reached for her purse, and then pulled her hand back. âMy God, he wonât even have his phone with him, they arenât allowed during wielder meetings.â While she spoke, Paul said in the background, âhe says theyâre there. Check.â But neither Agbe nor his mother were paying much attention to the InCoSeM reps. âWe have to warn him, we have to warn them all.â Agbe said. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 1:44am On Feb 13 |
His mother nodded. Right as they headed back for the door, an explosion sounded behind them. Agbe whirled, his eyes widened at the human-shaped hole in the wall, and then he pushed his mother forward. âRun, mama, run!â But it was already too late. The werejackal had slammed into the magic wall, breaking a huge chunk of it off. It exposed a patch large enough to see into their hidey hole. They started running to the door, but a puff of black smoke blocked their path. That door was the only exit from the room. The other exit was through the adjoining room, but the werejackal blocked that route. The black smoke disappeared, and the white man, Paul, was standing in front of them, his eyes completely red with a thin maroon ring in the middle around where his iris should be. He was a commune, Agbe belatedly realized. They had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. âPlease, sir,â his mother begged, placing her hands together as if in prayer, âwe didnât hear anything, abeg,â she curtsied, tears trailing down her face, âplease, just let us go, we didnât hear anything.â âPlease,â Agbe found himself begging too, âplease,â he turned from the commune to the werejackal and back. They were trapped. There was no escape. The werejackalâs eyes were normal, he wasnât shifting or anything, he was clearly not in his mark, but the communeâs still red eyes showed that he was in his. He looked like death, and for the first time in Agbeâs life, he felt real fear. âPlease, we didnât hear anything,â he begged, âwe just entered the room by accident and turned around to leave when we saw it was occupied. Please.â The commune sneered at them. âYouâre lying.â Agbe glanced between the commune and werejackal and gauged their best chance of survival was against the werejackal who was at least still in human form. He grabbed his motherâs arm and charged at the werejackal. Hoping to catch him by surprise and run around him, through the hole heâd made in the wall, and out the door of the adjoining room. âAgbe!â His mother yelled, just as the sound of a gunshot rung out. His motherâs wrist was slipping out of his arm. He turned in time to see her fall to the floor, blood pooling in her dress above her chest. The commune held a gun in his hand, and it was pointed at him. His mother had jumped in front of the bullet meant for him. He dropped to his knees beside her. âHeal mama, you have to heal!â But her eyes were already closing shut. âHelp me!â He screamed. âHeal yourself mama, you canât leave me! Help!!!â Agbe screamed for help at the top of his voice. Heâd never felt more useless in his entire life. His mother clutched at his hand. Then her head fell to the side and Agbe knew that she was gone. The werejackal came towards him. The commune lowered his gun to Agbeâs head, his finger on the trigger. But all Agbe could think about what his mother lying dead in his arms. âNo!â He screamed. A red haze colored his vision. It was as if he was bleeding into his eyes. He felt all the pain that his mother had felt at her death, all the fear, and the redness of his gaze deepened. The red kept getting deeper and deeper until it blinded him. âNo!â He kept screaming. âMama!â And then there was nothing. His gaze was completely blacked out. The death pains and fears heâd felt from his mother boiled up in him, as if heâd somehow latched onto the emotions, absorbed them, and cooked them up inside himself. They burst out of him and then they were gone, leaving him with nothing but an aching hollowness in his chest. His gaze cleared. It all happened so quickly that Agbe would have believed he imagined the whole thing, if not for the fear he saw in the communeâs eyes when his vision returned to normal. âWhat are you?â The white man asked shakily, his widened eyes now clear of the commune red. The man gulped, and Agbe couldnât help but notice how the white man trembled, making the gun in his hand shake. Then the red returned to the manâs eyes, black smoke covered him, and he was gone. Agbe turned around. He jolted when he saw the corpse lying next to him. It was the werejackal. A white and red residue streamed out of the manâs eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Only commune magic could leave a corpse looking like that. Agbe couldnât explain the feeling, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that heâd killed the man. His eyes burned. He screamed. It felt as if someone had taking a hot poker to his eyeballs and was drawing circles in them. He panted heavily when at last the pain ended. But that pain was only replaced by another, when he turned his gaze down to the body in his arms. His mother was still dead. He wept, heartbroken. He just knelt by her body, holding it, rocking it. âPlease come back, mama,â he begged, âplease mama. I need you.â The tears continued to fall. âPlease,â tears flowed into his mouth and mixed with saliva, âplease, you canât leave me.â He bent his head down to hers. âPlease, come back mama, please. What am I supposed to do now?â He looked up at the ceiling. âPlease!â He prayed to Duraya, to whatever god was out there, he offered everything he had including his own life, anything to get his mother back. âIt wasnât supposed to be this way. We were supposed to be a family. Me, you, and Ehimen.â He pulled her closer towards him and held her tighter. âDonât you want that mama? Donât you want to be a family?â But she didnât come back, no matter how much he begged. Prisca was the first to find them. âAgbe! Oh My God! Somebody come! Somebody!â she knelt down on the other side of his motherâs body. âWhat happened? Who did this, Agbe?â Agbe ignored her. âWe were supposed to be a family. Me, you and Ehimen.â He saw the ring that Ehimen had given her, the bijou. Ehimen. The ancestry wielders. Agbe reached for his motherâs finger and gently pulled the ring off. He wrapped it into the folds of his palm and felt as if he had a piece of his mother with him. âI have to save him.â âWho?â âMy dad, I have to save my dad.â âYouâre raving Agbe!â Prisca looked crazed. Her lips quivered and she stared at him with watery, wide eyes. âStay with mum.â He kissed his mum on her forehead and then put her down. âIâll be back!â he yelled at Prisca. âJust stay with my mum. I have to save him.â Then he took off. He ran as fast as he could, out of the room, out of the building, down the streets, he ran towards the ancestral grounds to save Ehimen. He was just about to pass Lady Tâs brothel when he heard a loud bang. People came rushing into the street screaming. They pointed back, back in the direction of his brothel, back to his home. He turned around and ran back home, but by the time he got there it was too late. Madam Celiaâs, the brothel heâd called home for the last sixteen years, was nothing but a pile of ash. There was only one thing that could burn through a building full of people that quickly. Commune fire, a crimson inferno. And standing on the other side of the ashes was the InCoSeM rep, the commune, Paul. Agbe only had a moment to glance at him before he was swallowed up by black smoke and was gone. Agbe stared at the ashes. His mother. Prisca. Chika. Larry. Madam Celia. All gone. His entire world, all the family that he had in the world. Then the edges of the bijou ring dug into his hand reminding him that he still had one family left, and he still had to save him. Agbe ran. 3 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by Salahdin(m): 7:47pm On Feb 17 |
I've been a secret admirer of your works for some time now. Man, you're damn good! Thus far, I've noticed your style is parallel to none on Nairaland. The way you weave your plots and your delivery/imagery is flawless. To top it all off, you've created your own unique Universe, which obviously is not a child's play. Anytime I read your works, I can't help feeling this lady has got all it takes to be the next Sarah J Maas and George R. R. Martin. It's a sad thing, however, that such talent like yours has to be born in a country like Nigeria. I know this isn't much of a thing. But I hope it goes a long way to keep you motivated to strive harder! You will get there pretty soon! |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by Lordfave98: 1:33am On Feb 18 |
Following steadfastly...... Thanks for this beautiful work of art 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 4:04pm On Feb 26 |
Salahdin: Thank you so much, this really means a lot to me! 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 4:05pm On Feb 26 |
Lordfave98: Thank you |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 4:36pm On Feb 26 |
Chapter Five Ehimen sat with his horde at Peace Crossing Forest, awaiting the evening meal, which two of the middle litters prepared. Ehimen always felt a bit uneasy whenever he was this close to Redemption. A few weeks ago, every elemental witch in the Community had gathered at Redemption to speak with the elements in egalitarian solidarity. It was meant to be a show of unity, a sign that the Enikaro stood with the common people. But then all the elementals had been slaughtered. Ehimen had been at the site after, heâd seen the chaos of bodies, each one riddled with bullet holes. InCoSeM was rumored to have been behind that, but it hadnât been InCoSeM reps pulling the triggers, it was their own people whoâd done that, envious, disgruntled, Benin commoners. Still the rumors abounded that InCoSeM reps had riled the commoners up, armed them and nudged them towards the elementals. Rumors like that made this new assignment all the more curious. Ehimen wouldnât have believed it, if he hadnât heard the command from Ovie Omoruyi himself. They were to accompany the InCoSeM reps out of the Community, to guard them and ensure they reached their destination safely. It sounded as if the Enikaro and InCoSeM had come to some sort of peace treaty, but what it was, no one had seen fit to tell him. Ehimenâs gaze lifted to the trees. He tried to spot the imp, knowing fully well he couldnât. Imps were creatures of another world, the spirit of dead humans straddling the line between the spectral existence and this oneâŚor something like that. Ehimen didnât know that much about other existences and all of that stuff, that was Enikaro business, and dull besides. Fighting, military strategy, wielding, those were the things he knew. He tore his eyes from the trees resigned to the fact that he would never be able to see the imp even if he knew it was there. âIye, the evbaire is ready,â the youngest of the fifth litter said. There was a collective groan of relief. Ehimenâs gaze passed cursorily over his horde, his family. They were thirty three in total, thirty two children and their mother, their Iye. He was the oldest, the scion of the horde, which put him as second in charge. Whenever they sat for meals, Ehimen sat on the opposite side facing his mother. The second litter sat closest to her. Second litters protected the horde matron, while first litters led. He kept looking over his younger siblings, catching glances, smiling, nodding back. Silver-limned skins shone back at him. Seventy-five percent of them now had their full body markings, the silver wielder brand growing to cover all patches of skin. Only the last three litters were still growing their brands. âChildren,â Iyeâs voice was soft, but it rung through to the last litter, and stopped them mid play. She beckoned with her fingers and the youngest of the horde ran to sit at her feet. âLet us thank Duraya for this meal.â She shut her eyes and bowed her head and the rest of them did the same. It was the fourth litterâs turn to say the grace. Omon led it and they echoed his, âIseeâ at the end. Ehimen lifted his head and smiled at his mother. She was watching him, he knew, heâd felt her pull in his mind. She was in her late forties now, forty-six, but still looking decades younger as he repeatedly assured her. They all had the same shade of skin, dark mud brown. Iye left her hair cut short, she was the only female in the horde over the age of twelve, with short hair. The rest of them had braids, straightened hair, weaves, and other attachments Ehimen got a headache just thinking about. Iye was full-figured, which was rare for a wielder matron of a fighting horde. She smiled again and turned her gaze back to the triplets seated at her feet, the last litter, all nine years old. Their brands hadnât even started forming yet. Mischief served their mother first, then she brought him his plate. He smirked at her. âWait.â She stopped and then stared at him, her eyes widened for a minute, then she held her hands behind her back and affected a look of pure innocence. âYes, brother?â He could out her for the building malaria lie sheâd told her school, he really should, but he found he wasnât particularly eager to get his little sister into trouble. If Iye hadnât found out yet, why should he be the one to tell her? So, he picked up his fork instead and smiled when he heard her expel the breath sheâd been holding. His plate was filled with bronze in different texture of evbaire, wielderâs food. He pointed with the prongs of his fork towards the bronze agidi. âWhat is this?â She wrinkled her cute, tiny, nose, and pulled her thin eyebrows together. Her eyelashes moved up and down a few times when she blinked. âPain commune?â âAre you asking me?â She pouted and then shook her head. âNo brother, itâs pain commune.â Iye had finally allowed her to pierce her ears, so for the last few months sheâd been wearing the most abominable earrings. This time she had skulls dangling from her ears. Ehimen stifled the urge to roll his eyes. She should have said the power. Wielders classified evbaire by the power the meal gave them and not the mark it came from. But he let it slide, for now. âAnd the akamu?â He moved his fork to the bronze akamu on his stainless-steel plate. âHealing witch.â He nodded. âGood job,â he praised, and she beamed. Her face changed when she smiled. Her gaze was always alert, and her mischievous cat eyes slanted to the side. But when she smiled, her normally sly look turned angelic. âThank you, brother!â He wasnât done, so he didnât smile. âBut next time make sure you know the powers and not just the marks.â The smile faded from her face. Mischief hated been scolded, she was only twelve, yet she acted as if she didnât need correction. She wouldnât mouth off to him, she knew better, but she scolded right back when it came from one of the younger members of their horde. She went back to pouting and glaring at him. He almost chuckled. Almost. Instead, he gave her a level look. She dropped her gaze, chastened. âYes, brother.â He let the silence draw out, keeping his steady gaze on her, until it made her so uncomfortable, she started to fidget. It didnât help that everyone else had grown quiet too, further exacerbating her unease. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and lifted her gaze, staring uncertainly at him. She begged with her eyes for release but Ehimen took his time. He could feel her unease grow. He let the silence wind her up some more before finally releasing her. âYou can go.â She bobbed a curtsy and darted out of his sight. The conversations picked up after that. Theirs was a Warlock horde, so everyone in their horde had a warlock mark. There were a number of communes, a number of witches and a handful of male augurs, like himself. Mischief was the only other female augur besides their mother, and she was a fertile, capable of having wielder litters. She was the only one in the horde who would go on to have a horde of her own. Ehimen struggled with imagining Mischief as a horde matron. Iyowa Mischief, he chuckled to himself. He was halfway through his agidi when he felt his mother in his head. She reached into the augur bond they shared and helped herself to his thoughts. He didnât mind though, he actually found it comforting, knowing that his mother could feel him so fully. âMissy, Ehimen is running low on hearing. Mix some powder into water for him to drink,â Iye ordered. Ehimen frowned, he hadnât even realized that his enhanced hearing was running low. Had it been that long since heâd had evbaire with hearing powers? He didnât think he burned that one out so quickly. Mischief froze in her seat. She gnawed on her bottom lip and glanced around. âDidnât you hear me?â âOh, yes Iye!â Mischief put her plate down and jumped up. She walked to the bags of evbaire powders and stopped there. She knelt beside one of the sacks, rifled through it and then went to another. Ehimen wondered how long it would take before she admitted that she didnât know which powder gave hearing. Apparently longer than Iyeâs patience. âWhich powder are you looking for?â Iye asked. Mischief buried her head in a sack and mumbled. âMissyâŚâ mother warned, her threats were always most effective when left empty. Everyone was watching Mischief now. Most of them wanted to laugh, not the second litter though, the second litter was by far too serious. Theyâd learned all the evbaire by the time they were five, so they didnât understand imperfection. It had taken Ehimen till he was seven. Iye had been stricter with the older litters, the younger litters were his to train and he thought learning how to fight was more important than evbaire, so heâd let them slack. Heâd forgotten that Mischief was a fertile, she would need to know far more than he ever had. Fertiles had to be the best fighters, best cooks, best weavers, they essentially had to be the best at everything. It was why mother picked on Mischief so much. One day she would be alone in the world, she would have to rely on only herself to find her scion. Mother had been ten when sheâd gotten pregnant with him. Eleven when sheâd come to get him. At eleven he couldnât have survived what his mother had to. Mischief pulled out of the sack and knelt back, sitting on her heels. There were tears in her eyes. âIâm sorry Iye, I donât know.â 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by xokol8: 12:12am On Feb 27 |
Hi Obehi, Really great story and even more engaging storytelling. If you're ever ready to submit to a publisher and require a proofreader prior, do contact me on xokola8@gmail.com P.S: do you mean "unsung" in the title? |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by Lordfave98: 1:08am On Feb 27 |
Thanks for the update 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 5:07pm On Mar 01 |
xokol8: Lol, actually yes, I did mean to have it as unsung in the title, I made a typo and by the time I caught it I couldn't really change it haha. Thanks for the proofreading offer, I will definitely take you up on that! 1 Like |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD(f): 5:09pm On Mar 01 |
Sorry for that last short update everyone. I actually posted 2 parts (the whole chapter) but the bots flagged the second part of the post which is why it's not showing up. I've mailed the mods about it, so as soon as we're able to get the second part of that chapter back up, I'll post the rest of the update. Thanks for the patience 1 Like 1 Share |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by Lordfave98: 8:31am On Mar 06 |
obehiD: Patiently waiting |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD3: 2:13am On Mar 07 |
Iye frowned. âItâs worry commune. Do you know how to mix it?â Mischief nodded her head quickly, as surprised by the reprieve as he was. âYes, Iye.â âThen mix it and give it to your brother.â âYes, Iye.â Everyone stared at Iye. She looked at them all and then her eyebrows lifted. âWhat is it?â âOh nothing,â they all mumbled and went back to their food. âAre you feeling well?â Ehimen pulled on their augur bond and sent the thought to his mother. She gave him a sardonic look. âIâm not that strict, am I?â âWith Mischief, yes.â âSheâs twelve and sheâs nowhere near ready to be a matron. Itâs only a matter of time before her periods start, then sheâll start branding, and her scion can come anytime after. If Iâm hard on her thatâs why.â Ehimenâs lips twitched. âI know mother.â âDo you?â He frowned at her. They were having this conversation telepathically and no one else appeared aware of it. âWhat does that mean?â 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by StLukesLAG: 2:16am On Mar 07 |
âYouâre too easy on her. Sheâs a fertile, my love, you donât do her any favors.â After having her say, she pulled out of the bond and turned back to her babies. The last two litters hadnât started branding yet, so they didnât need to eat evbaire, but mother fed the last litter a little of hers. She tore small bites of agidi off and put it into their mouths. In a few years, once their brands came out, theyâd be wolfing the stuff down, like the eighth litter. Theyâd turned sixteen three months ago and branded then. Now they ate evbaire like they were starving. It would take at least a year before the hunger waned. Each of them had gotten three agidi, all with different powers, and five times the akamu that he had. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by StLukesLAG: 2:16am On Mar 07 |
âThank you,â Ehimen took the steel cup that Mischief handed to him. He chugged the stuff down and then dusted off the rest of his food. When he was done, he leaned back against a tree stem and placed his empty plate and cup beside him. One of the younger litters would clean up, he knew, so he turned his attention back to scanning the trees and trying to guess which one the imp was in. Odion had said the imp was in a tree, but all the trees looked empty. 2 Likes |
Re: A Song Unsong (A Marked Standalone Story) by obehiD3: 2:18am On Mar 07 |
Their orders were to wait here for the InCoSeM reps to finish packing up their stuff and then join them. They would leave the Community together that evening. Ehimenâs nostrils flared. He smelled smoke. There was a dark grit to this smoke, not regular fire, but a crimson inferno. Curious, he pulled on the evbaire heâd just drank and enhanced his hearing. He heard screams, people were talking, a building was on fire. He kept listening and then froze when he heard where it was. His mouth grew dry. No. He lurched to his feet. No. âEhimen!â Iye called out, âwhat are you doing?â âMy family,â he was already moving towards the sacks. He stopped in front of the sack containing speed and scooped up a handful of the powder, then he threw it into his mouth. âI have to go.â âEhimen!â His mother was standing in front of him when he turned around. âYouâre not going anywhere like this.â He ignored her. As soon as the evbaire entered his body he felt his synapses twitching. He used the evbaire and ran. âEhimen!â His mother yelled after him. âCome back here!â He fired the evbaire, blazing the speed heâd just fed on. It took him less than a second to get there. But it was already too late. Madam Celiaâs was no more. There was a heap of ashes where the building had once stood. A crowd was forming around the pile of ashes. They made way for him. He felt their stares, saw them bowing out of the corner of his eyes, but he ignored them and marched forward. Until he was standing in front of the ashes. âSurvivors?â He grabbed onto the man that stood beside him and shook him. The manâs eyes widened. âNo, sir, no, no survivors. It was a flash burn, crimson inferno. It only took a second.â Ehimen kept shaking him. âWhere are the survivors?â The man shook his head. âPlease sir, no be me burn am, no survivors. I just met it like this.â âSurvivors!â Ehimen yelled at him. He knew there had to be survivors. There couldnât not be survivors. His wife and his son were in this building. They couldnât be gone, just like that. He turned back to the pile of ashes. His wife. His son. Why would anyone want to blow up a brothel? Why would anyone take his family from him? Ehimen was crying, he didnât realize it till he felt the wet streaks on his face. He felt suffocated, he couldnât breathe, couldnât think. There were people around him, hands brushed on him, people spoke, but he heard nothing. Something pulled on his arms. âWho did this?â he roared, once he got his breath back, âwho did this?â âNo be me, abeg, release me, sir, abeg.â The pull on his arms continued. He realized he was still grabbing onto the bystander. He let him go and the man ran away from him. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. Ehimen dropped to his knees. Isoken, beautiful, vivacious, Isoken, gone. He scooped up the ashes in his hands and wept. Agbe. His son. How could anyone do this to them? Ehimen drew the ashes close to his chest, trying to hold them, to have a piece of them with him. With each shudder of grief that tore through him, the dust seeped from the gaps between his fingers until his hand was as empty and hollow as he felt inside. 2 Likes |
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