It all began the morning the messenger came.
~~~
The room was dim, the small brass lamp casting a single circle of light against the mud-plastered wall. My food sat untouched in the corner, the millet cake gone dry and hard. I had been wearing black cloth for days now, though no mourning rites had been declared. Something in me already knew that joy had left this house.
I sat cross-legged on the carved wooden bed, its goat-hide frame creaking faintly beneath me. The air smelled of lamp oil and
the faint dust of harmattan.
The door burst open.
"Amira!"
Nala rushed inside, her breath coming fast, her wrapper clutched in one hand to keep from tripping. Her face shone with sweat,
her eyes wide.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart leaping to my throat.
"Two horsemen!" she gasped, pressing her back to the door. "They came in from the northern road. They are at the palace now. The council is gathering."
My heart began to race. "Did you follow them?"
"Yes." Nala nodded quickly. "The whole palace is awake. Even the Waziri came out with his staff. Amira, they are speaking to the
council now."
I rose halfway, then froze. My father had not yet lifted the order of my confinement. To leave now would be an act of defiance —
a defilement of the house. My breath came hard.
"I cannot go," I said bitterly, my nails digging into my palms.
"Then let me go," Nala said quickly, already stepping toward the door. "I will listen for you. I will bring back every word."
"Go," I whispered.
And she went, her feet flying down the corridor like a startled bird.
Nala
The palace compound was alive with noise — servants whispering behind their hands, guards shifting their spears and murmuring to one another, a restless tension hanging over the night air. The smell of dung
fires and trampled dust mixed with perfumes coming from the women's quarters.
My legs ached from running but I dared not stop. My wrapper clung to my damp skin, and every step I took seemed to echo too loudly in my own ears. I was afraid someone might hear my hurried breathing and stop
me, but the compound was too alive, too distracted.
When I reached the council hall, I slowed, pressing my back against the outer wall. The torches on either side of the door spat and
crackled, throwing long shadows across the courtyard. I could hear voices inside — deep, solemn, rolling over each other like distant thunder.
The heavy wooden doors stood closed, but I found a small crack near the frame, just wide enough for one eye. My fingers trembled
as I pressed my face to it.
Inside, the council sat in a half-circle, the
firelight gilding their robes, turning their turbans to glowing crowns. The Makama
rose first, his white beard gleaming like silver in the torchlight. His staff struck the ground softly as he spoke.
"Speak, messenger," he said, his voice quiet but carrying.
One of the dust-stained riders stepped forward, kneeling on one knee. His horsehair cap was askew, his face streaked with sweat
and dust. His voice, though hoarse from the road, was loud enough to carry through the hall and out to me.
"My lords," he said, bowing his head. "I bring news from the battlefield. Victory is ours. Kano lies broken before us."
A gasp swept through the chamber — soft, shocked, reverent. I bit my lip to keep from crying out in delight. My whole chest felt
light, my heart ready to leap out.
"Victory!" one elder murmured, and another lifted his hands to the sky, whispering a prayer of thanks.
"The warriors are two days away," the messenger continued. "They bring spoils, wounded, and the dead."
A ripple passed through the room — some nodded gravely, others murmured to each other. I pressed my ear closer to the door,
every muscle straining to catch every word.
The Makama leaned forward, his face grim. "And the battle?"
The messenger's eyes darkened, his shoulders drooping. "Fierce, my lord," he said. "Fierce and long. Many fell. But Uzazzu
stands triumphant."
I let out a trembling breath, my relief flooding me like cool water after a long drought. Idris would return. He must return.
But then —
The Waziri's staff struck the ground once, sharply.
The room fell silent. He rose slowly, his face carved from stone, and when he spoke his voice rang out like a bell:
"An farin cikin gari an kwashe shi!"
The joy of the city has been stripped away.
The words sent a cold shiver down my spine. I could not understand them fully, but the tone chilled me. Around the circle, heads
bowed. Some of the elders covered their faces.
"What does he mean?" a voice whispered from somewhere in the room.
But the Waziri said nothing more. His staff struck the ground again, and the messengers bent their heads lower.
I could not stay. Panic rose in my throat like bile. Something terrible had happened — something beyond my hearing — and I had no wish to be caught spying.
I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the stones of the courtyard. My breath came hard and ragged as I fled, running past
startled servants, past the guards at the gate, until the palace wall was behind me.
Back in Amira's Chamber
I found Amira sitting just as I left her. My breath was still ragged from running, but I was smiling.
"Victory!" I gasped, falling to my knees. "They have won! Idris will return in two days!"
She stared at me for a long moment, as though she could not quite believe it. Slowly, her lips curved into the faintest smile.
Yet… something in me was dissatisfied.
I had expected her to leap, to laugh — but instead, she only gave a small, controlled smile. My Gimbiya was good at hiding her
heart, but I had learned to see past her mask. Still, she was my Gimbiya. I had no right to question her.
So I sat on the floor beside her, letting my own joy fill the room, hoping it would warm her too.
~~~
But what Nala did not know — what no one knew — was that I had followed her in secret that day. I had crept along the shadowed
wall, my feet silent, my heart hammering.
And I had heard what she had not stayed long enough to hear.
The last words of the messenger, spoken after the that all had fallen silent:
"The King of Uzazzu, Askia Ishaq II, is dead."
The words had struck me like a spear through the chest.