A good number of Wagadou’s official army defected to Siya’s secret battalion, including Maadi, a young, exemplary soldier who her father had taken a particular shine to as a mentee. It was Maadi who rallied and bolstered the sceptical to Siya’s team. He was a trusted soldier, clean in heart and strong in might, known throughout the land for his unswerving integrity and dedication. At thirty-two, he had been tipped to be the youngest officer to take over Khina’s command before his untimely death. Dyabe Cisse, knowing Maadi’s sharp skill and influence, had planned for Maadi to be his deputy, attempting to cajole him with ill-gotten land, palaces and protection. Dyabe knew that, with Maadi’s allegiance, came the loyalty of the bulk of the army; that his trust was the trust of a nation.
Yet, upon the official announcement of Dyabe Cisse’s appointment, Maadi went to Siya. His eyes were dark, glinting, full of rage and hurt. She was where he knew she would be; a spot in the forest near a lake where he, her father and Siya used to rest when they went on recreational treks. Silently, his gaze locking on to hers, Maadi drove his spear into the soft soil and bent his knee before her.
‘I will do whatever you want me to do, Siya Cisse. You are my chief warrior. I recognise two Cisse commanders. The first is your father, who was like a father to me after I lost mine at a young age. The second is you. I know of no one better equipped. My allegiance is not to the throne but to Wagadou. You are her only hope. From now, I will be both in front of you, clearing a path, and behind you, watching your back.’
Despite the tightness in his jaw and the angry tension that made his body rigid, Maadi spoke with a measured and tender voice that was steady. She liked the steadiness. He was the only steady thing she had aside from her pursuit for vengeance and justice.
Siya reached out to touch Maadi’s cheek. He rose.
For the first time since her father died, Siya allowed a tear to run down her face uninterrupted. She didn’t force the tears back, with the self-admonition that it was a weakness she had no time for. Siya found that she did not actually feel weak. Maadi saw all that she was, both a heartbroken daughter and a fearless fighter, and, in his eyes, she saw a space for her strength and softness to meld into each other, her strength buttressing her softness, her softness giving wisdom and direction to her strength. With the two parts of herself not warring each other, she felt some stability. She felt safe to grieve as well as fight.
She cleared her throat and looked him in the eye. ‘What I need you to do most is be by my side. Can you do that?’
Maadi inclined his head. ‘For as long as my heart beats.’ He paused. ‘I vow to forever protect my home.’
Siya nodded. ‘For Wagadou.’
With Maadi as her deputy and closest advisor, Siya’s army grew rapidly. She recruited and trained women too and soon her rebel unit directly rivalled Wagadou’s official army in might and surpassed it in expertise. Siya planted spies in Dyabe’s forces, and, in the mountains surrounding their land, The Eagles reclaimed and renovated the ancient fortresses etched into the caves, making it their base; a home away from home that became a mini citadel on the border of the city limits. The Eagles’ refusal to bend to Bida had shamed Dyabe into recanting his motion to negotiate with the enemy. Aware of how appearing weaker than an armed force with a faceless leader would look, Dyabe chose inaction. He sat back in the belief that Bida’s Snake Men would soon squash The Eagles. So far, this plan had not come to fruition. Siya triumphed over Bida at every turn, getting stronger, smarter and quicker.
If the constant warring took its toll on Siya, it didn’t show. Only Maadi knew that, after each battle, Siya spent longer and longer washing the fight off of her.
‘Commander, they are ready for your address.’ Maadi’s voice came through her door along with a quick knock.
Siya turned the wooden knob that halted the water and inhaled the mingled scent of black soap and herbal oils deeply as the dirt, grime and fear washed down the drain.
Siya knew she was beautiful. Her skin was sable silk and her body was both flexuous and fierce. She possessed the power to halt a man’s heartbeat with a swift kick or soft kiss to the neck, dependent on her mood. Before her father died, she’d had a stream of suitors who considered themselves potential husbands for her. She never considered them at all. Her father raised her to know her power, and so she recognised that every man who sought her wanted to use her solely to bolster their ego. She was known as the Lioness of Wagadou, and they spoke openly of wanting to tame her. They saw her strength as a challenge; did they have what it took to break her down? Besides finding them tedious, Siya knew they would weaken her and slow her down. This feeling intensified after her father’s death. Her beauty and the attention it brought, along with becoming a rebellion leader, saw Siya making herself as plain as possible; wearing all black with no jewellery so that her mission was clear. She wanted there to be no misunderstanding: she was a warrior. Her purpose was to fight.