The compound slept, but my heart would not, the only sound was the soft rasp
of leather against dirt as I tightened the straps of my sandals. My breath fogged faintly in the cool pre-dawn air, and the lantern by my knee threw a small, golden circle across the ground.
The compound was silent except for the distant hoot of a night bird. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, as though Uzazzu itself was watching me.
I glanced once at the hut across the yard. My grandmother's hut. In the moonlight, its shadow stretched toward me like a quiet reprimand. The memory of that day — her hand across my face, the sting, the tears I refused to shed — flashed hot in my mind.
I swallowed the bitterness and pulled the final knot on my sandal.
"You really mean to do it," a voice said softly behind me.
I turned to see Nala standing in the doorway, her wrapper hastily tied, her hair still loose from sleep. Her eyes were wide and dark, like she'd been awake all night waiting for this moment.
"I told you not to wake," I said, my voice quiet but firm.
"I couldn't sleep," she snapped, stepping into the lantern's glow. "No one has been sleeping well in this house since that day. You sit alone like a shadow, the servants whisper, the kingship has been stripped away from you and you think leaving will fix everything?"
I rose to my feet slowly, dusting my hands on my tunic "This isn't about fixing anything."
"Then what is it?" she demanded. "Is this your idea of punishment? To disappear into the night so the city can talk even more?"
Her words were sharp, but beneath them I heard fear. I took a slow breath.
"I am joining the Masu Jirkin Karfe."
Nala froze as if I'd slapped her. "You… you can't."
"I can."
"They are not meant for princesses," she hissed. "Do you even know what they
do in that camp? They break men. They will break you."
"Then let them try."
She stepped forward until we were face to face. "If you go, then I go with you."
"No."
"Yes," she said stubbornly. "If you must risk your neck, then I will guard it. I will feed you when you forget. I will—"
I cut her off with a look. Slowly, I reached for my satchel and slung it across my shoulder. "You will stay."
Nala's chin lifted, defiant. "You are not my queen."
"No," I agreed softly, "but I am your Gimbiya. And I am ordering you to stay. This path is mine to walk. Alone."
Her lips trembled, and for a moment I saw the girl she used to be — the girl who had followed me everywhere since we were children. She turned her face away so I wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
"Have you told grandmother?"
My whole body stiffened at that thought. Even if I had not told her what transpired in the throne room, we both knew I was now left alone. The spirit of my baba is who I look unto for guidance.
I softened. "If I do not come back whole, then you may scold me for leaving you behind."
"Amira…" Her voice cracked.
I placed my hand briefly on her shoulder. "I must go."
Nala stepped back, her arms folded tight against her chest. "Go, then. But don't expect me to sit quietly and wait for bad news."
I nodded once, grateful for her fire even when it was turned against me, and turned toward the gate.
The streets were almost empty as I walked through the compound, but the air felt heavy, charged. By the time I reached the outskirts where the Masu Jirkin Karfe camp stood, the horizon was a pale line of silver — dawn creeping closer.
Torches burned bright at the gate, their flames dancing against the night.
The scent of smoke and dust mixed in the air.
They were waiting.
A small group of recruits stood in a rough line, each one tense and watchful. I slowed, letting my eyes sweep over them.
A familiar face came to view, tall and lean, his arms crossed over his chest. There was something about the quiet way he stood that commanded respect— like a man who had seen battle and lived to tell of it. That warrior boy, I remember he was called Danladi.
Beside him was a girl I had never seen before — beautiful, sharp-eyed, with a braid hanging down her back. She looked me over once, she was as curious as I was about her, her lips curled in a faint smirk.
I think she knows that I am that Gimbiya
Further down stood a wiry boy with a shaved head and fists clenched so tight they trembled, and next to him, a scarred man with an expression as grim as stone.
The air between us felt thick with a knowing that we would not return back to Gao the same way we had left. Some of us may not live to withness another sunrise again. And yet … A fire rose up from within me, one that could only be quenched once I crossed these gates.
And then—
"Amira!"
I turned.
Nala was running toward me, breathless, her wrapper now tied properly, her hair pulled back. She stopped just short of the torchlight, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.
We stared at each other.
She said nothing — only met my gaze with an expression I couldn't read.
I didn't tell her to leave this time. I simply turned back to face the camp gate.
The Madawaki stepped out from the shadows then, tall and proud in ceremonial
hide and a simple red sash across his chest. His presence was enough to silence even the night insects.
"Follow me," he said, his voice deep and unyielding.
And together — with strangers and shadows — I stepped into the world of the Masu Jirkin Karfe.