Adangara: The Legend of The Oris

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PAPA

A Rev. Father recently told me that a tree bears fruit not for itself but for others. I thought about his words and remembered Daddy’s words through the years. That God placed you in a position higher than others doesn’t mean that you are more special than they are. God has put you here to help those below you. Give and don’t expect back. You have all you need and what you don’t have; thank God because he will provide through the intercession of our Mother Mary. 

My Father, Sir. Hon. Justice Moses Abubakar Adavuruku Bello was a father to all. He never complained nor shied away from his responsibilities. That was precisely how Daddy lived his life. He embodied it like the strong Hero he was. 

He smiled through his pain, laughed through the tears and made jokes about situations. Everything was Awesome in the world, thanks to Daddy. I guess that was why I never in a million years thought it was ever possible not to see his face again. 

He was my Adavuruku Abubakar Moses, Jack thunder, BMFG, Bullion Van, Daddy-o, Sugar Daddy, Mufasa, Thunder Knock, CBN, and CMC. 

I remember in 2020 when my editors told me to rewrite my book to soothe a more western audience. Me, being my emotional self, cried and said I was done. My sweet dad said not a word to his hurting daughter. He sent me a Whatsapp message and in it was a video of Stan Less talking about Spider-Man and people telling him it was a terrible idea. A month later, his resilience paid off, and Spider-man was hugely successful. After watching that video, Daddy said, "Okridavu, be resilient when your gut tells you that you are on the right path but be willing to listen and be open to change because sometimes sentiments cloud judgements. Please do not change your book to fit Society. Society should change to fit it. Rewrite it only if you want to.» 

Where I saw myself as incapable, he saw a gift and tons of capabilities. He never gave up on me and ensured I never gave up on myself. 

Sadly, he never got to read the finished product and see the release of this book. 

I was in his room the other day, rummaging through his things, and I saw copies of all the different versions of Adangara. 

Daddy watched Simpsons with us, Law Abiding Citizen, King of Boys and even went to the cinema with us to see Pirates of the Caribbean, Borne Ultimatum, The Dark Knight, the Bond Series, and many others (This is something most Nigerian men of his time viewed as irrelevant and a waste of time).

  Thank you for the riddles, telling us jokes, explaining tales by moonlight, reading to us, attending and committing to PTA meetings and agreements, and making visiting days magical. Thank you for always praying for us and being there for us. Thanks to your open house policy, I had a lot of brothers and sisters, which meant no one could mess with me, and I had much advice to sift through. 

So, cheers to the most extraordinary man I’ve ever known, P-Man.

MAMA

Hey Mama,

Our Lady Lord Bello (née salami). Our stronghold. You are a remarkable human being.

Mum, you are a beautiful woman who raised terrific human beings. You are the sweetest, kindest and most genuine person I know. I love how much you love Daddy and always stand by him. I love how you always encourage Daddy to be charitable and sometimes did the work yourself but never took credit for it. No wonder he always said you were his diligent and tremendous source of encouragement.

I remember Cousin Felix explaining you and Daddy’s love to me. He said that he would rather offend you than offend daddy. Offend Mummy, and she would overlook it. She might not even take notice of it or would simply just shrug it off as you being childish. But offend Daddy and Mummy would come down on you with the weight of the world. You wouldn’t believe that this dove can metamorph into a Lioness. You guys were the cutest. Thanks for being my friend, travel companion, crying partner, and fighter and for being there for Daddy, his friends, his family, me, my siblings, our friends, their friends, and everyone who wandered our way.

I love you to God’s heart and back. We shall overcome every obstacle, The Adavuruku way.

I promise that you have us.

I know we’ll laugh again.

The Moses A. Adavuruku–Bello Clan, I love you guys to the heavens. Thanks for always kicking me back on track whenever I derail and for your support, undying love, and tolerating me. Thanks for letting me use you as characters in my book.

Mr and Mrs Sean Easley, thank you so much for everything. With your love and mentorship, this book is what it is today. You guys are rockstars! Thanks for your patience, for the back and forth and for being generally unique human beings. Love you guys.

To Vanessa Mendozzi, Jamie Noble, Reedsy, Solomon Samuel Ukochio, Saaleh Patel, David Haviland, Samiahmed321(Fiverr), mbcollings(Fiverr), Replay, Toyin Ishola, Micky Carlos, Paul Angya Jnr, Rev. Fr. Paul, Rev. Fr. Musa, Rev. Fr. Ezekiel, The Sani-Omonoris, Nabila Ahmed, Dr & Dr (Mrs) Joseph Garr, Dr & Dr (Mrs) Adagu, Arch. & Mrs Muhammed Sule, Amsale Dede, Mirabel, Steffy Milano, Mami, Stépha, Scott Pack, Dare Adefioye, Ayoko Armah, Adai Jaguda, Adai Thursday, Uncle Ataba [Chiroma], Ohida Sunday, Flex, Hassan, Dan Ochu-Baiye, Dan, Derrick, Cochile, Suzy Jattau, and everyone who’s helped, contributed or supported me one way or the other. I am incredibly grateful for your guidance, patience, kindness and encouragement.

To the beautiful people I lost who wanted nothing more than to see Adangara come to light, thank you for believing in me and all your efforts toward making my book a success. I know they are smiling down on me from heaven.

My sweet Grand Mother, Hajiya Nana Sanni Omolori [My Honey-Honey, Sugar-Sugar, Chocolate-Chocolate], I loved how you loved me. I love our talks and being your favourite. I’ll never forget the stories you told me and your advice. I know you are proud of me. I carry you everywhere. Fatima Eve Sule [Bumbum], My Sweet cousin, I love and miss you. Ayuba [Ruwa], Ovurevu [From Adavi LGA] and Rev. Father Anthony Akande [My spiritual counsellor]. Alh Akarakuta [Meh!], Woman Leader Mama Dawuda who was the inspiration for Epahi. You always wished me well and pushed my family’s course. Manasseh [Smiley], thank you for always treating me special and being a great friend. Alh Jaguda Sule [Chairman, Farifari], thank you for believing in your Barrister. Hon. Justice Ajanah, thank you for constantly pushing me to attain greater heights. I will get my PhD someday and dedicate it to you and Daddy. I still remember how excited you were when you read Adangara for the first time and how you boasted about me. We never got to finish our talk.

Gone but never forgotten.

A DANCE OF DREAMS AND DEATH

Two lights will be born

Both will come from one

One who had none

A light drawn to darkness

shall bring a great fall

1. The Heavens Rejoice

Then

One was born in lightning. The other stopped the rain.

A thick canopy of thunderclouds hung over the village, low and pregnant, as it had for the entirety of the monthlong masquerade festival. Such heavy weather might have dampened the spirit of the festivities, but to the citizens of Okene, the rumbling, kingly clouds were a portent of blessing. The Eku Masquerades invited cleansing after all. Maybe this time the ancestral spirits would drive out the darkness with flood.

But the heavens had held back their fruit throughout the year-end celebration, the thunderhead growing darker day after day. It was an excellent and wondrous sign. At least, that was what the adovosi had told them.

At last, the sky’s water broke, sending thick pellets of rain like tiny meteorites to punch into the dusty earth below.

Another howl rippled through the village, loud and long over the rhythms of the festival drums and the now-droning rain, not the howl of the golden wolf or the side-striped jackal. No, this was the call of a woman becoming a mother.

Nana cried out again as another contraction seized her. The multicolored caftans that hung from the ceiling of her hut dampened the sound, and yet to her own ears, it felt as if her caterwaul could be heard as far away as the crystal shores of Eiheal. She was young—still a teenager—but youth did not make a girl immune to the pains of childbearing.

Imamu busied herself nearby, adjusting the colorful wrap around her head while casting a watchful eye over her charge. Tonight Imamu would midwife her friend Nana through her labor, which meant her job was more important to Nana than the pompous village shaman out there running the masquerade himself.

After all, Imamu and Zare were here with her; he was not.

The spirit is here, Onazare, or Zare (as Nana had taken to calling her sister-in-law) said in her confident, reassuring tone.

Nana gripped Zare’s hand as the aches of labor pressed through her like gusts of wind through meadow grasses. Her sister squeezed back, tightly, as if by sheer force of will she could pass her own strength to Nana through their gripped palms. So long as solid, dependable Zare was around, Nana could always believe that the whole Earth was held fast in the grip of the gods.

He is with you, Zare said again, giving Nana’s hand a soft squeeze.

That’s . . . comforting, Nana grunted. She didn’t mean to dismiss the thought, but it was hard to accept any real comfort in the midst of this throbbing ache that radiated from her midsection all the way out to her fingers and toes.

It’s true, Zare told her. The eyes of Eiheal are upon you.

How do you know? Nana asked, breathing quickly and intentionally, as Imamu had instructed.

Zare’s eyes seemed to gaze straight through her as she said, I sense his presence.

The pain spiked again, and Nana clenched her teeth and hissed to keep herself from crying out. Girls her age were married and gave birth all the time, she reminded herself. Even girls younger than her. She was already eighteen after all, having married later than many of her friends.

But knowing that rain would come didn’t mean that you were safe from drowning in its floodwaters. Now that Nana was in the thick of childbirth, she couldn’t help but think how good it would be if she really did have some supernatural help right about now.

The Mask of Ekuahete comes, Zare continued, her voice a welcome distraction.

She had an almost-magical way of weaving a story sometimes, a cadence that could make Nana lose herself in scenes she would never have thought possible.

He dances through the village even now, casting fistfuls of millet on our footpaths, she crooned. "He hops and spins and slides with the rhythm of the drums, spreading the seed that will protect our home, protect you and your child."

Nana closed her eyes, picturing the spirit dancing past her hut. She’d never seen the Mask of Ekuahete herself. As a woman, she felt certain she never would. But she could picture her father’s stories from her childhood. She closed her eyes and breathed in the phantom smell of the enormous, scratchy headdress of dried grass; traced a mental finger along the dark, empty eye sockets; and imagined the painted, oversized mouth that begged to be fed. The masks were to be feared by the wicked, but even her own heart thundered as she remembered the stories of her youth.

Why millet? Nana asked through frustrated breaths, anxious to keep her focus on anything other than the pain.

You know why, Zare replied, her voice barely a whisper. Her gaze darted to the door.

The Sisterhood of the Night. They were a danger no one spoke of, but all knew. Even Zare, with all her confidence and poise, dared not call them what they truly were.

Beyond the mud walls of this hut, the Mask of Ekuahete would now be dancing through the village, spreading the grains that would slow the greedy souls that haunted the shadows, unraveling the dark plans that the Sisters of the Night had woven into the fabric of their city over the past year. Tonight the Sisterhood would try their hardest to stop the Mask of Ekuahete from forcing them to flee the village, but they would fail, as they always did. Tomorrow Okene would once again be safe for her new child. Nana only hoped that she could hold out until after the Sisters had been driven out to finish her labor.

A bright flash of red engulfed the hut, followed by a ground-quaking crack and boom. The tingle of lightning carved its way through Nana’s veins as she fought to calm her already-racing heart.

The gods watch us all tonight, Zare said absently, watching the firelight dance in the window.

How much longer? Nana asked, timing her breath with the festival drums. All the other midwives had told her that childbirth would be painful; she’d even gone with Imamu to help with a few births herself. But even so, she hadn’t expected it to hurt quite like this.

I’m not sure, Zare told her as Imamu set a water dish beside her. But the shaman prepared a calming draught for you. It will soothe the pain, make it easier.

Nana barked a bitter laugh. She’d seen the women who gave birth on Ovosi Mowuru’s calming draughts. It was a wonder those mothers could even remember that they’d had a child at all when they finally came out of their stupor.

She held her head high. No. My child will be strong, therefore I must be stronger.

Zare shook her head in mock disappointment, as though she hadn’t expected Nana’s stubbornness.

She should know better by now, Nana thought wryly.

You are about to break my hand as it is. She clucked her tongue and adjusted her grip on Nana’s palm. Sister, your belly is too big. This child will be huge, and bearing it without some assistance . . . It will be more painful than you realize.

I am not as fragile as you think me, Nana replied, the words biting harder than she intended. It was hard not to be rude while a child was forcing its way into the world using her body as a door.

Yes, Zare said, but I fear my hand is not as durable as your spirit.

It wasn’t only her pride that kept her from taking Mowuru’s concoction though. Nana didn’t know if she could ever forgive Ovosi Mowuru for the indignity that he had thrust upon her father. No. Mowuru did not deserve the satisfaction.

A brown, shaven head popped through the green flap of the ajeun, a look of concern painted across its face.

Is everyone whole in here? Dagiri asked. "That last bolt hit the tree behind the ajeun, and I worried . . ."

Nana glared at her husband. Why are you troubling yourself with the women while there is a festival on? she joked.

If I can’t worry for my wife on a night like tonight, when can I worry? He grinned. And besides, I thought you might need the water you left boiling on the furnace outside.

He set the bowl down next to Imamu then looked to Zare.

Did she take the draught already?

Your wife is too proud, Zare replied, waving a dismissive hand. Said she doesn’t want the baby to come until the masquerade is over. I guess she thinks she can cross her legs and hold it in until morning.

Dagiri gave Nana a soft, empathetic look. You must drink the tincture, he said, straightening his shoulders. "The ovosi is worried for you since he cannot be here. Your belly is much too big, oyi si am, my love."

Nana scoffed. Everyone keeps commenting on my weight today. If this new shaman is so worried about me, maybe he should come here himself and use his ‘special powers’ to take this baby out of me.

Careful, Zare warned with a chuckle. He just might.

Imamu snorted a laugh, and Nana shot her a stink eye. Imamu had been the wife of Jaguda, Dagiri’s best friend, since childhood, but Nana was still trying to figure the woman out for herself.

Dagiri sighed. "The draught is his power to get you through this night. The adovosi wishes he could be here, but the masquerade requires his attention, and so he has done what he could to take care of you. To take care of us."

She could feel his concern as surely as she felt the damp of rain in the air and the lingering buzz of lightning in her arms.

Please, Nana.

The new shaman thought he knew so much. And maybe he did. She could not argue with the miracles he’d displayed when he arrived just over a year ago. She remembered his dark eyes and bleached skin, that oblong face, chiseled cheekbones, and smug smile as he disgraced her father by claiming him to be a charlatan. How Mowuru conjured winds and lightning as only one gifted with power from the gods could. Then he’d used his new influence to convince the people of Okene to run her father out of town.

To think that now he had prepared a tincture to ease her suffering almost made her laugh through her clenched teeth.

Another contraction blew through her body, followed by thunder outside the hut. Nana gripped the mat and shut her eyes so tightly that bursts of color crackled behind her eyelids.

Imamu and Zare gripped her arms on either side, holding her still.

Onazare, Dagiri said seriously, "go back to your abara."

Zare furrowed her brow at being asked to leave. Nana mirrored the expression. Out of everyone in the world, her sister-in-law was the one person she wanted most to be with her tonight.

Dagiri’s expression softened. For a short while is all, he clarified. Let me spend this moment with my wife, and then you can return.

Nodding, Zare placed a hand on Nana’s shoulder, and Nana gripped her wrist in return.

I will be back, Zare told her. And don’t worry, Imamu will be here.

Dagiri exchanged a tepid glance with the midwife.

Come back soon, sister, Nana replied. I will need to see if I can break any more of those fingers.

Zare grinned and left through the sheet over the door.

Dagiri knelt beside Nana and took her fingers in his calloused hand.

She gazed up into his brown eyes, watching as they glistened in the light from the burning tree outside. If it weren’t for the pain of their collaboration nine months ago coming back to visit, she might have actually lost herself in those eyes. Still, she smiled back at him. This was her husband—the one who’d courted her and won her father’s approval these past few years, who’d chosen to give his life to her while they were both still teenagers, and who loved her despite her father’s disgrace. Nana loved him as well, regardless of how much the effects of their love hurt in this moment.

Another terrible crash shook the ajeun, so loud and close that she felt as if the whole court of the Ori were banging their staves around on the Earth in approval.

"I don’t want anything to happen to you, anayami si, Dagiri told her, calling her by her favorite pet name—the one my heart longs for. His gaze locked with hers as Imamu waited near the wall. Ovosi Mowuru promised that you will be taken care of if you will only drink the draught. It will protect you."

I don’t want to be protected from our child’s birth, she told him, her tone sharp as a fish knife. I want to remember it. I am strong enough.

But you do not have to be. He paused then licked his lips. Do you trust me, my love?

Of course I do. What kind of ignorant question—

Then do it for me. He lifted the bottle from the nearby basket and placed it between her hands. Drink, and tomorrow we will celebrate the birth of our beloved child together, safe and blessed.

She considered his words for a long moment, breathing in time with the festival rounds as the contractions threatened once again. She did trust him. Completely. It would be okay—she could convince herself of this so long as he was with her.

And so, she did as he asked.

"Thank you, anayami si, he said. Tomorrow will be a day full of celebration. You will see."

He kissed her, long and hard, and for a moment Nana forgot everything—the pain, the storm, her father, and the arrogant shaman.

•••

Mowuru’s concoction worked more quickly than she expected.

As the draught dulled her senses and carried her away into the starry sky of dreams, she witnessed many things. She felt the egg fly from Ekuahete’s hand and smash against the wet earth. She heard the footsteps of those fleeing the city amidst the shadows. And she saw the ancient Oris seated on their gemstone thrones in the crystal fortress, their attention fixed on her as she labored.

But the one vision that would haunt Nana’s dreams for many years to come was that of the angry red lightning that burst forth from her own belly that night, and the tender infant boy that followed, his tiny, fragile fists clutching a single leaf

•••

Those begotten of the gods

are born supernatural;

they are the mirrors of the gods.

Nature and her elements will

have no supremacy over them.

And they are entrusted

with authority, power, and

dominion.

For they are the chosen.

2. A Curse and a Dream

Now

Young Obege cast his arms out as he fell through the starry night sky, stretching wide his chest to feel the wind rush past his face. Leaves swirled around him, razor-sharp and slicing at his bare skin as the moonlit clouds flew by. He didn’t mind the pain. These tiny green dream-blades were the closest he would ever get to feeling the slice of a cutlass, and knowing that, he almost enjoyed it.

No, he told himself, he would not let his worries in the real world overtake his dreams too. He wanted to hold on to this feeling, this exhilaration, as long as possible.

But it was already too late. As if broken by his errant thoughts of the world beyond the dream, whatever spell of flight that had sustained him ended, and Obege landed on his knees in the dirt.

A swirl of soft sand and tiny scrub leaves billowed out from under him. He cursed himself for letting these distractions disturb his mind. The dream was his only refuge from the disappointment that assailed him every day in the outside world. The fact that even here he could not control his destiny struck him as especially tragic.

Obege stood and straightened his shoulders as this new part of the dream manifested around him. Ghostly, human-shaped figures sprouted from the earth like trees—macadamia, ficus, eucalyptus—each pulling their roots up out of the ground to walk once they reached full height. Leaves fluttered behind the figures as they made their way past him, carrying the day’s wash, taking the hands of smaller child-trees to skirt past him, or even sitting against another tree to take in the stars above.

Obege breathed in the scent of gum and earth . . . and smiled.

As always, the tree-men and tree-women paid no attention to the intruder in their midst. Obege mostly ignored them as well. Those who were shaped like trees didn’t matter in the context of the dream. He would never know who they were or why they walked the streets. Like the extra nameless characters in moonlight tales, they were the decoration and dressing that concealed the truth—that somewhere in this dream he might find one person who wore a face. One person in true danger.

One that he might save.

Strange that this process was starting to feel normal, Obege mused as he strolled under the star-cloud sky. None of the other seventeen-year-olds in Okene spoke of dreams like those he’d been having over the past year.

Not that he knew any of his peers well enough to be certain. His curse had made sure of that.

As he walked the paths of his dream city, more seedling figures bloomed. Bougainvillea, mimosas, and even bright-red flamboyant trees—they blossomed and flowered and then autumned one by one, their dressings turning gold and brown before falling away like chaff as he passed, leaving their branches barren. The farther Obege walked from them, the slower they moved and the faster their leaves abandoned them until all that was left were vaguely human-shaped wooden skeletons. It might have seemed morbid if it weren’t so strangely beautiful, he thought as the colorful leaves of spring and autumn swirled together.

Then he heard it. The locust trill of death coming from the west. That was where he would find his quarry tonight.

Obege ran, leaping over the carts and baskets in his way like a fox on its way to dinner. The green figures sprouted before him and died behind as he raced towards the sound.

He froze when he saw the grove of néré bean trees behind a farm on the edge of the city. These were not the people-trees he’d passed on the way. They were old-growth, longstanding and fruitful.

Obege knew this place and the man who lived there.

Jaguda. Father had purchased a stool from him only last week.

But it wasn’t Jaguda that Obege saw in the field behind the farm. It was Imamu, his wife. The wiry woman with the round, speckled cheeks and loud eyes stood ready to climb one of the largest néré bean trees in the city.

Obege frowned. His mother had always warned him to steer well clear of this woman Imamu. Some bad blood had passed between them years ago, and their relationship had never been the same. And yet, hers was the only face in this dream, which meant she was the one marked for the locusts.

He took stock of the scene before him, soaking in every detail. The sky in the dream was always the same star-cloud, so he couldn’t determine the time of day from looking for the position of the sun, but the fact that Imamu was out among the néré bean trees told him it was probably late morning.

The stars darkened as the buzzing noise in the distance grew louder. He drew in a deep breath. The threat was coming, and fast.

He spied the glowing red cloud forming on the western horizon. It roiled like an ocean storm, tall and proud, but this was no common storm cloud. It hummed with life. Movement.

The locusts were here.

Tendrils of red coiled forward from the storm, carving a jagged path toward Jaguda’s home. Obege tried to call out to the woman, but no sound came out. The tree-people that were still moving gathered behind him, watching the field intently, waiting for something.

Why wouldn’t they do anything, he wondered. Didn’t they know this woman was in danger? Couldn’t they hear the locusts too?

He attempted to vault the fence to reach Imamu—to warn her despite his mother’s command never to speak to the woman—but the wooden slat of the fence broke beneath him and sent him crashing into the dirt.

One of the sapling trees bent to help him up, but Obege shoved the faceless man away. They couldn’t help him. They were impotent here, little more than figments playing out their role in this terrible story.

The glowing insect cloud wove closer, darkening as they zigzagged through the sky, the cloud growing so large that it blotted out the stars.

Obege pushed to his feet and took off again, but the woman at the tree seemed even farther away than before. He ran as fast as he could. If there was one thing Obege could do well, it was run. That and his archery were all his father would allow.

But despite his speed, he could not close the distance between them in time. The hungry swarm descended, engulfing the woman in a sea of red.

•••

Obege sat bolt upright on his mat, gasping for air, but he did his best to quiet himself as quickly as possible. His parents slept on the other side of the partition in their hut, and his mother was often a light sleeper.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes, and the night chilled his sweaty, bare back as he gulped the cool air.

He’d have to do something about what he’d seen. He promised himself that he would, after what happened the last time, when he’d ignored the dream and the face he’d seen had turned up dead the next day. But any action would have to wait. In the meantime, he needed to collect himself and calm his racing heart now that he’d come out of the visions.

No. Not visions. Dreams. His father was very clear on that point.

He glanced over at the fabric that separated his small section of the ajeun from the larger portion where his parents slept. His father’s hunting regalia for the upcoming festival hung from the partition, mocking him, reminding him all the time of all the things he couldn’t do. The things he would never be allowed to do.

He wished that his ada—his father—could understand what was happening to him. For that matter, he would be happy if only his father would simply listen for once and not get angry when Obege told him of his dreams.

Obege stuffed down the familiar irritation that rose in his throat. His father wasn’t a bad man, he reminded himself. His mother always said that his father merely wanted to protect him, despite how harsh he could be. She’d said that something had happened when Obege was a child–something that had shaken the man so deeply that the dust of those events could never be brushed away.

That protective instinct meant that Obege would never be free to share his whole truth with his father. Dreams, predictions . . . better to remain quiet and strong in the hopes that one day his ada would give up his pointless mission to protect Obege from all harm and he could finally act as free as he felt in the dream.

Rather than wake them, Obege pulled a linen wrap around his waist and headed outside.

The night was full of life. Friendlier insects than those he’d seen in the dream trilled all around, singing songs of dinner and rest and industry. An owl floated overhead, keen on its hunt.

His family’s abara—the compound on which they lived—was smaller than most. His mother and father had, for whatever reason, only borne one son, which meant they had little need for multiple huts to make up their compound.

The stars over Okene always seemed farther away when he was awake than they did in the dream. Those in his dreamworld bore a certain . . . heaviness to them. As he walked the village with his gaze trained on the endless expanse above, he could almost picture those stars as an infinity of crystalline statues, shining bright with the power of long-forgotten Ori across heavens of Eiheal. Generation after generation of gods, lending their light to all creation.

He stopped beside the stream on the edge of the community and gazed up at the dim sky. Did the gods know what was happening to his mind? Would Adavuruku, the Ohiku Ori, great father of this generation of gods, listen to his plight? Or would the king of Eiheal shut his ears to this talk of dreams as well, like Obege’s own father had?

He chastised himself for such a thought. A son was to adopt the character of his father, and by all accounts, his ada was a righteous man. His father would never sully his thoughts of the Adavuruku.

The sky is resplendent with glory, a voice behind him said.

As is the earth, Obege replied, for we are its children. He turned to face his uncle. You are up late.

As are you, his uncle replied with a grin. He leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his arms over his chest, stuffing his fingers in his armpits. Couldn’t sleep?

Obege clenched his jaw. His uncle could always see right through to the truth of him.

Sleep is a restless enemy, Obege said, but one I always overcome in the end.

I’m sure. his uncle eyed Obege carefully, but there is more. What troubles you, nephew? Strong foes are best fought together.

"Ma da hi, Obege answered. Nothing is wrong with me. It is merely a beautiful night, and I wanted to take a walk."

His uncle scoffed. I know you better than that, boy.

Obege picked at the bark on the tree next to him. One would think you know me too well. Maybe I should bite my tongue more often.

But then who would I turn to for such engaging conversation? his uncle replied. His tone deepened. Please, share your foe with me.

Obege gazed back up at the starry sky, remembering how vivid those stars had been in the dream. He’d told his uncle of the dream before, but not for a long time. Not since his father had told him to keep quiet about anything abnormal. Obege doubted his uncle would even remember their talk, for it had been back before he’d realized there might be some truth to these visions.

Still, this was his Uncle Ajana. The man had always been there for him, always ready to listen and eager to lend a hand. If anyone would understand Obege’s concerns, it would be him.

I have been dreaming again, Uncle, he said at last.

His uncle didn’t respond. He waited, listened.

So Obege told him everything.

3. One Ovosi Too Many

Then

Nana’s head ached as if someone had smashed it with a rock. Not just a pebble either—something sharp and dense enough to do some real damage.

She stretched on her mat as she woke, feeling the pain from her headache radiate down her neck and chest, through her arms and legs, to settle at last deep in the empty pit of her stomach.

Her stomach . . .

She ran curious fingers along the loose skin around her midsection as the reality of what had happened washed through her. Her belly was deflated, like a ball left out in the sun for too long. Her labor was over. Today was a new day, a new year, a new life for her to hold in her hands.

She opened her mouth to call for her sister-in-law, but her dry throat croaked. She rolled her tongue to wet her mouth, but it all tasted like sand.

Nana blinked away the