The walk back home felt heavy, each step weighed down by the tension between Mairo and me. Our faces were still flushed with anger, and the air crackled with unspoken words.

As we approached my compound, I caught sight of Amadi leaning casually against the wall, a ripe mango in hand, the juice dripping down his fingers. He looked up, a smirk creeping across his face as he noticed our stony silence. Mairo stormed past him and into the hut without a word, leaving Rimi to nod politely at Amadi before following her inside.

Amadi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "By the gods, what happened? You two look like you just fought a wild boar and lost."

I shot him a glare that could wither grass. "Women," I muttered, my tone flat, hoping he would take the hint.

Amadi's laugh was rich with amusement as he took another bite of his mango, juice running down his chin. "Ah, Orji. The great warrior, rattled by two young maidens? Perhaps you need lessons in handling—"

The glare I shot him could have curdled palm wine. "Why are you here, Amadi?"

He cleared his throat, suddenly finding great interest in wiping the mango juice from his hands with a leaf. His usual swagger dimmed. "Well... the Igwe has requested your presence."

"The Igwe?" My stomach dropped. "What for?"

Amadi shifted uncomfortably, no longer leaning so casually against my hut. "It seems our friend the Onowu has been busy. He went to the Igwe with... accusations.

"What accusations?"

"He claims you threatened his life." Amadi's voice grew serious. "Over those strangers you're harboring. Says they're not even from Obiako." He paused, watching my reaction carefully. "Claims they're not even from the Nri Kingdom itself."

I pressed my fingers against my temples, feeling a headache building. The Onowu's pettiness knew no bounds. "Of course he did."

"You know how the Onowu can twist words like a snake coiling around its prey." Amadi tossed the mango seed into the bushes. "The Igwe wants to hear your side before sunset." A hint of amusement creeping back into his voice. "You know how these things go. If you don't defend your honor, someone else will take it upon themselves to do it for you. It doesn't matter if the truth is on your side. You might want to work on your charm before you head over."

"Before sunset?" I looked at the lengthening shadows. "That's barely enough time to—"

"I'd hurry if I were you," Amadi interrupted, his usual playfulness gone. "The Onowu was... very convincing. I suggest...if you want to keep your head attached to your shoulders, you'd better find a way to charm the Igwe. I hear he has little patience for hot tempers.

I cast one last look at the hut where Mairo and Rimi had disappeared. All these women had ever brought me was trouble. Before they came into my life, I lived in the shadows, unnoticed and unbothered. Now, in just one week, I'd had to confront the Onowu and even get summoned by the Igwe. I exhaled deeply, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Gods of my ancestors..."

"Indeed." Amadi offered, his eyes roaming over my mango basket.

"Come on then," I said, already starting down the path. "Since you're here, you can walk with me and tell me exactly what the Onowu said."

"And miss the chance to see you squirm before the Igwe?" Amadi fell into step beside me, his attempt at humor falling flat. "Wouldn't miss it for all the mangoes in Obiako."

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The Igwe's palace stood majestically atop the highest hill in Obiako, its mud walls rising two stories high and gleaming with the red ochre that marked it as royal property. The peaked thatched roof, layered with dried palm fronds and raffia, stretched toward the sky like reaching fingers. Carved wooden pillars, telling stories of our ancestors through intricate relief patterns, lined the approach.

We passed through three separate courts, each guarded by warriors bearing decorated shields and gleaming spears. Their bodies bore the distinctive scarification marks of the royal guard – three parallel lines across their chests. At each doorway, we had to wait for the guard captain to strike the wooden gong before we could proceed.

In the outer courtyard, women in white chalk body paint performed the ritual cleansing, waving smoking herbs around us before we could enter the inner sanctum. I removed the beads around my neck at the threshold, as custom demanded.

The Igwe's great hall was dim despite the high windows cut into the walls, with smoke from an eternal fire that burned at the centre of the gathering. Ornate raffia mats covered the pressed earth floor, and the walls bore elaborate uli designs in white, red, and black, depicting the great deeds of past rulers.

The Igwe himself sat upon the lion throne – a masterwork of iroko wood carved by seven master craftsmen over seven market weeks. His robust frame was draped in royal lion skin wrapper of deep crimson, overlaid with beads and teeth of various predators. The beaded crown on his head cascaded down both sides of his face, each strand clicking softly with his slightest movement. His broad face bore the ritual scarification marks of royal lineage – two deep lines running from temples to jaw. Gold and ivory bracelets adorned his wrists, and his feet rested on a leopard skin.

The ozo titled men, respected elders of the community, sat in their semi-circles, each wearing their red caps and holding their carved staffs of authority. Their positions arranged precisely according to rank and ancestry. The Onowu sat in his place of honor beside the Igwe, his face bearing that insufferable smirk beneath his elegant cap.

I approached the prescribed distance, knelt, and pressed my forehead to the ground three times. "The great Igwe of Obiako! The Lion who walks as a man! May your days be long and your wisdom flow like the great river."

The Igwe grunted in response.

"You sent for me, my king."

The Igwe's deep voice filled the chamber like rolling thunder. "Yes. What's this I hear about you threatening my Onowu? Such a sacrilegious offense is worth beheading."

I remained in my position of respect but raised my head to speak. "My king, I fear there has been a grave misunderstanding. While it's true that the Onowu and I had an altercation, I never threatened his life...without cause."

A murmur rippled through the assembly.

The air in the great hall felt charged as the Igwe's eyes bore into me, searching for truth. "Is there a reason for this, young one?" he asked, his voice steady and commanding.

I felt my heart race, and the weight of his gaze bore down on me. I had to think quickly, my mind racing to find the right words. What could I say that would both justify my actions and earn the Igwe's respect?

Or at the very least, ensure I wasn't banished from yet another village.

Taking a deep breath, I replied, "Igwe, I understand the gravity of my words and actions, but I was driven by a moment of frustration. I have always been taught that honor is paramount in our culture, and when the onowu tried to take my woman, I felt I had no choice but to defend it."

More murmurs rippled through the halls as I continued "It was not my intention to challenge your authority or disrupt the peace of our community."

I hoped my explanation would resonate with him, as I searched his expression for any sign of understanding.

"Lies," the onowu interjected, but the king silenced him with a dismissive wave.

"Your woman?"

"Yes, Igwe."

"Weren't there more than one?" the Igwe asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"Yes, Igwe. My woman and her sister."

The onowu was visibly fuming, his carefully concocted schemes unraveling before his eyes. He bit his lip, and I could see the crimson bead of blood form.

"But these women are strangers, I'm told, who are not of Nri blood."

"My king, if I may speak freely?"

The Igwe gestured his permission with a slight wave of his hand.

"The strangers are two young women who sought refuge after their village was raided by slave traders. They carry the customs of our people, speak our tongue. The Onowu..." I chose my words carefully, aware of the delicate politics at play, "...in his wisdom and dedication to protecting our community, expressed concern. In my passion to protect those who sought shelter under my roof, as our customs demand, my words may have been too harsh."

The Onowu leaned forward. "If she is your woman, why did you bring them to face justice for stealing your corn?" the onowu said, his tone dripping with malice, clearly trying to regain the upper hand.

"I may have acted out of anger," I continued, meeting the Igwe's gaze with sincerity, "but consider this a lovers' quarrel. Emotions can sometimes cloud our judgment, leading us to make hasty decisions."

I paused, allowing my words to resonate. "We all know that love can provoke passionate reactions. Instead of viewing this as a grave offense, perhaps it can be seen as a testament to the strength of my feelings. I believe it is in our nature to protect those we cherish, and I stand here willing to accept responsibility for my rashness."

Then, I added, "However, I also believe that true justice is about understanding the context of our actions. If we can approach this situation with compassion and wisdom, we might find a path forward that reconciles our differences rather than deepening them. I ask for your mercy and the chance to make amends."

Another murmur rippled through the assembled cabinet.

"You are a strange one," The Igwe raised his hand for silence. "These strangers – you vouch for them with your life?"

"I do, my king. They have already begun to contribute to our community. One is skilled in healing herbs, the other in—"

"Healing herbs?" The Igwe's interest visibly peaked.

"She's learning quickly." I smiled.

The Igwe turned slightly toward the Onowu. "You didn't mention this detail in your accusation, old friend."

The Onowu's smug expression flickered slightly.

The Igwe stroked his beaded chin piece thoughtfully. "A healer, you say? Our last skilled herb woman passed to the ancestors two harvests ago."

"Yes, my Igwe. She has knowledge passed down through her grandmother's line. Already she has helped three children with fever and prepared medicine for Ngwu the hunter's leg wound."

I silently thanked the gods that no one in this assembly knew I had learned to concoct healing herbs, just as my grandmother had taught me.

One of the elder cabinet members leaned forward, his ivory bracelets clinking. "The hunter who was gored by the buffalo? I heard he walked to market yesterday."

Another murmur rippled through the assembly, this one with a different tone. The Onowu's face had turned the color of old soup.

"And the other girl?" the Igwe inquired.

"A gifted weaver, my king. Her patterns are unlike any—"

"Patterns that are not our ways!" the Onowu interrupted, his voice sharp. "Foreign designs that could anger the ancestors!"

The Igwe raised his hand again. "The ancestors gifted us with talents so we might share them, did they not? Was it not foreign knowledge that taught us to forge the trinkets I see hanging at your waist, Onowu?"

The assembled cabinet members tried to hide their smiles as the Onowu shifted uncomfortably.

The Igwe's gaze returned to me. "These girls. They understand they must respect our ways? Learn our customs?"

"They are, my king."

The Igwe nodded slowly, the beads of his crown catching the late afternoon light filtering through the high windows. "Then perhaps the Onowu's... concerns... were born of an abundance of caution rather than actual threat." He turned to the Onowu. "Would you not agree, old friend?"

The Onowu's face was now a mask of careful neutrality. "Of course, Igwe. I only seek to protect our traditions."

"As do we all." The Igwe's tone made it clear the matter was settled. "You may go," he said to me. "But remember – you vouch for these girls with your life. Their actions are now your actions."

I pressed my forehead to the ground once more. "Thank you for your wisdom, great one. May your reign bring prosperity for a thousand harvests."

Rising, I backed away the prescribed seven steps before turning. As I passed through the entrance where Amadi stood guard, he leaned slightly toward me.

"You sly devil," he whispered, barely moving his lips.

I kept my face carefully neutral as I retrieved my beads from the women, but allowed myself a small smile once I was past the outer courtyard. The Onowu had overplayed his hand, and in doing so, had inadvertently secured my guests' position in the village. Sometimes the ancestors worked in mysterious ways indeed.

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