A small body attacked Nathaniel from behind. Nathaniel spun around and seized the squealing child, pitching the boy into the air.

"Chika." Kambili spoke from the distance. As she neared, the boy—Chika—scampered away from Nathaniel and held out his arms to her. Kambili picked him up, carrying him on her hip.

With them side by side, I could spot the similarities in their features. Same wide eyes and rounded chins. They were siblings. Kambili nodded toward the empty water gallons laying on the floor. She spoke to Nathaniel in that language—Igbo, I recalled—and he swiftly collected the plastic bottles.

As he passed me, he said, "You wanted something spectacular to happen, remember? A grand adventure."

"Not like this." I shook my head. "I never asked for this."

I watched Kambili's brother as he bobbed between his sister and Nathaniel, chattering in strange mix of English and Igbo. They seemed to understand him, though. Every few seconds, they'd respond.

There was something about his name. I was sure I heard it before. The memory danced in and out of my mind. The little boy broke from Kambili and Nathaniel and ran toward me, holding his hands up in expectation.

The excerpt. The writer had been afraid for her little brother named Chika. Chills ran down back as I stared at the young child who blinked at me with Kambili's wide eyes.

I bent to hold him, almost in a trance. I barely felt him digging his hands through my hair and tangling the raven locks.

My thoughts were concentrated on the journal. I needed to get it back, but I couldn't, not now.

Kambili slowed down her pace, so that she walked alongside me. She watched me with narrowed eyes, while her brother wrapped his arms around me trustingly. Nathaniel veered left toward the lake, water gallons in hand. Kambili kept walking, and she ushered me deeper into the forest until we reached the camp.

There were around fifty bodies hidden within the thick foliage, and they were young. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. I didn't think anyone there had reached their twenties. These were Kambili's people—Kambili and Nathaniel's. Strapped to their backs were backpacks bursting with food, water canteens, and clothes. They huddled in a subdued mass, sharing blankets and laughter. I didn't understand what they were saying, but I sensed their worry. I ignored the curious looks that swung my way. Kambili was soon absorbed into the bodies, answering questions and settling nerves. Chika squirmed in my arms until I let him down. I watched him toddle over to a small group of kids playing a game with rocks and sticks.

No one was paying attention to me. I spied Anuli and Jioke commanding separate groups. I backed away, taking measured steps until I disappeared into the leaves. When I was fully hidden, I broke out into a run, sprinting throughout the woods until the patchy grassland was in sight.

The last time I'd seen the journal, it was lying amongst the dirt. My eyes scanned the area, dismissing the crumpled leaves and scattered twigs. I would've missed it if I hadn't stumbled on its binding. I picked it up in a flash and secured it into the waistband of my trousers.

"What are you doing with that?"

I spun around. "Kambili, I—" I scrambled to find an excuse. 

She held out her hand. "Give me the journal, Atulu. That's your new name, ehn? In the Igbo language, atulu is an insult. It means sheep, the senseless animal. Anuli and Jioke were wrong to give you that name, but you'd prove them right if you don't listen to me right now. Give me that journal."

I jerked back, just as I did when Jack stole entrance into my room. "You threw it onto the ground and called it useless. You've ceded all rights to it." It was dangerous to confront her, I knew, but I wouldn't stop. I was so close to figuring out the truth. The thrill of finally revealing the journal's secrets coursed within me, masking any fear I had of Kambili or her gun.

"But now you're here to reclaim it, which makes me think that it might have use after all." She moved in a way that brought her gun into the light.

I stared in the face of the glinting silver, unafraid. "You would never shoot the Filia Principia. It would be a death sentence."

She smirked at me before tossing her gun onto the floor. "I don't hide behind guns, Atulu."

Kambili threw herself at me, knocking both of us off our feet. The fall dislodged the journal from my waistband, and its slight weight slid to the ground. We reached for it as one, simultaneously gripping it with one hand. She tried to elbow my hands away, but I wouldn't budge. Diving to the floor again, both of us tried to tug the journal away from the other. In one fluid movement, Kambili twisted her body—making me lose my grip—picked up her gun, and rolled to her feet.

My hand stung. In the fight, I had punctured my thumb on the heart-shaped clasp. Kambili beckoned me forward with the pistol. "Walk in front of me until we reach the camp. I've wasted too much time already."

A whizzing sound buzzed in my ear.

Kambili waved the gun more forcefully. "Stop that," she ordered.

The air whizzed once more.

"It's not me." As I said that, the journal's clasp began to glow, as though beneath its surface was molten azure. Stifling a screech, Kambili dropped the journal onto the ground and reeled back, gun aimed at the journal.

The heart-shaped clasp clicked five times. Each click sent the keyhole rotating a few degrees to the right, so that by the end, the keyhole that had once been vertical now was flat, like the horizon. It was like an invisible key had inserted itself and turned the lock. The whizzing subsided, and finally there was silence.

"What did you do to it?" Kambili twisted her head from the journal to me, waving her gun as she spoke as if she wasn't sure who or what to start shooting at first.

"Nothing," I said, shielding myself from the pistol. "I did nothing."

She gingerly collected the journal, and I came to her side, watching as she lifted the front cover open.

"It was blank," she said. "The pages had been blank. You saw it yesterday, right?" She glanced at me, seeking confirmation.

"I was there. I remember."

"Then, how—"

She broke off, and our eyes met once more.

Twenty-four hours ago, behind the rich burgundy and shimmering gold of the cover were white sheets of paper with no trace of ink. Now, on the first page was a handwritten inscription:

Aku Onyeka Ezike

12 Maachi 3043

*****

TRANSLATIONS:

Aku Onyeka Ezike - Property of Onyeka Ezike