Yaa’s breath hitched as they pulled up in front of the restaurant where she was meeting Kofi. Adric unlocked the doors. Her stomach plummeted as reality crashed down on her, forcing the warmth out of her. They were both quiet for a while as they stared ahead.
Adric cleared his throat. ‘Sorry I didn’t get you anything for your birthday, by the way. I forgot on account of the whole us not speaking for six years because you shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces to date a tiny-eared prince.’
His voice was straight, but he turned and gave her a small smile as Yaa laughed. She laughed until her eyes filled up with tears, she laughed until her cheeks ached and she shook her head and groaned, wiping her eyes and smearing her make-up happily, messily.
‘Oh, man. You’re the love of my life.’
Adric didn’t say anything. He looked into the bustling, glamorous restaurant and then back out into the road. The air in the car felt heavy, but comfortable. The energy between them hadn’t aged. It was as fresh, as vital, as fertile as it had always been and Yaa knew then she didn’t want to leave it.
Eventually Adric’s voice – now gruffer – broke the silence. ‘This was going to be my last ride for the night.’
Yaa looked out into the restaurant. Apparently, they’d been sitting quietly for a while, because she spotted Kofi walk into the foyer. Kofi, who embodied everything that kept her from herself, who had been as imprisoned by expectations and pressure as she was. It was time for them both to be freed. Yaa looked at Adric.
‘Then where are we going?’
Adric turned to her. If he was surprised, his face didn’t betray it. ‘Wherever you want to go.’
Yaa leant in and kissed him. He kissed her back. It was deep, the kind of kiss that reached all the way to the heart and twisted it, the kind that you both find and lose yourself in. She pulled away, swept her thumb across his jaw, and whispered, ‘I’m driving this time.’
He passed her the keys.
Siya
Siya Cisse held her breath. Any sudden movement would mean death; not just for her, but for her people. She was their shield, and so had to remain strong. Her arm hooked tighter around the thick branch, fastening her to the trunk as she angled her bow and arrow so it pointed downwards. Her aim was incisive. She felt the presence of her men and women around her, waiting in the shadows of the leafy canopies for her signal, clad all in black so that they melted into the inky night. Siya’s hair was wrapped tight under a deep purple scarf that swathed across her face so that only her nose and darkly lined eyes were exposed. She turned to the tree next to her to see Maadi. It was his job to anticipate her every move, and sure enough, when she turned to look over at him his eyes were already waiting for her, bright in the dark. She nodded at him. He yanked his scarf below his mouth before angling his own bow and arrow.
‘Fly!’
His voice boomed through the forest just as Siya’s arrow swooped down and pierced a man in the back, felling him. Her bow was the Mother, and at her command were all her children, arrows laced with an elixir that subdued its victims. These arrows fell from the trees like lethal fruit, bringing a new season that would rain righteous death, justice from the skies. Below Siya men cried and cursed as they struggled to aim their weapons upwards, chaotically trying to fight what they could not see.
‘Who is your commander? Let him come down and fight like a real man!’ one brave and stupid waning soul cried, as he struggled to stand. He held up his spear, the one he had intended to use to fight his way into the citadel of Wagadou and kill her people. Siya could see from his attire that he must have been their leader.
Maadi laughed. ‘Are you sure you want that?’
Their combat unit ran their drills high up in the mountains, and so they were called The Eagles. They trained at night as well as in the daytime, which meant that their eyes were accustomed to the dark, or more accurately, the dark bowed and weakened for them.
Siya saw the guerrilla chief thump his chest three times, looking up and searching the trees for his opponent. Clearly, he was stronger than his counterparts, who were groaning on the forest floor.
‘Show yourself!’ he bellowed. ‘Are you a panther or a sparrow?’ He spat on the ground – the height of disrespect, a direct insult to the ancestors of Wagadou. He dropped his spear and withdrew his dagger. He was demanding one on one, blade to blade combat. He spread his arms wide and hissed like a python; the rallying call of his people.
‘Come fight the serpent! Fight Bida!’