Unonu; Belonging 2

Chapter Two - Where Death Lives.

Uloma woke up lying alone on the cold dirt ground, surrounded by a pregnant, eerie silence that immediately flooded her senses with alarm. Something or somebody was watching her; she could feel it. She could feel their eyes following her movements. Panic coursed through her; the panic rose and bubbled inside of her, shrieking for her attention. Everything in her told her that something wasn't right. She felt fear, but not for herself. Uloma felt disoriented, but only for a fleeting moment. She recognized that smell immediately. It had nagged at her the moment that her consciousness awoke. That poignant smell had sent a wave of panic and dread down her spine, and now that she was regaining her composure, she knew why.

The smell was not the only thing familiar to her; her half-awake senses warned her. Groggy and drowsy, she sat up slowly. ‘No, this cannot be happening,’ Uloma muttered coarsely, as realization took centre stage. She was in the middle of nowhere, lying on the dirt ground, surrounded by tall, thin trees and shadows. It was not fear that rose to her chest; it was a feeling akin to dread, but it wasn’t even that.

She rose to her feet as raindrop after raindrop pelted her exposed skin. Around her, shadows moved, retreating and advancing, but never quite reaching her. She was unsure which was sadder, the rain, the shadows, their smell, or the cloud that never ceased to cry. As she looked up at the grey cloud, a single raindrop fell on her lashes. She blinked it away, and the foreboding grew. It snaked its way up her exposed stomach and arm, causing her to shiver. Even she knew instinctively that her goosebumps were not from the cold.

Uloma’s emotion morphed quickly into anger; this, at least, was an emotion she was familiar with. A groan of irritation walked its way through her parched throat. If only the shadows would be brave enough to approach her so that her anger would find an excuse, an outlet. She looked down at herself, half hoping that she would find herself naked, so that she could start to tell herself that she was imagining things. That she was still dreaming, but she knew better. That smell was all the clue she needed. The smell of despair reeks of something revolting, and the shadows canopying and moving around the trees all around her, keeping a solid distance from her, were another reason she was sure that she was very awake. Uloma’s anger boiled over. It should have taken her a day or two to recover from the transition, but rage propelled her feet.

Why was this happening to her? Hadn’t she done everything right and by the book? This wasn’t playing fair, and somebody needed to pay for it, or at the very least answer to her, and Uloma had the exact person in mind. She walked down the narrow path before her, wondering how any of this was even allowed. Her bare feet pounding the Death Road left tracks in her wake. The tap, tap of rain against her skin and on her clothes was fighting to drown out the angry beat of her steps. Water or tears streamed down Uloma’s face; she wasn’t sure which, and she certainly didn’t care. If it was not evident by her step what state her mind was in, the angry grinding of her teeth against each other and the tenseness in her jaw were a warning. Uloma angrily swiped at her face, as if the wetness there was an irritating distraction, her ragged breathing not missing a beat, worked in step with her racing heartbeat. If anger had a face, it was the young woman walking down Death Road.

“How could you?”

She muttered under her breath, the wind wiped at her, but still, she did not slow down. She was used to the weather by now; it never stops raining in this realm after all. Shadows followed in her wake as she walked. There seemed to be no end to the path she was on. Blanketed by shadowy whistling trees and a ringing silence, the dirt road only seemed to be able to curve as if ending was unheard of in its history. The dirt road did not come to an end for Uloma, because it was a road with no end.

Uloma, without warning, suddenly found herself in a looming palace surrounded by mud-grey structures that told the mind that age had no business with them. It wasn’t that the road ended because she reached her destination; it was more that her destination reached her.

Standing in front of the tallest mud house with its white drawn symbols and patterns, was a young, tall man wearing a greyish attire that clung to his muscular neck for its dear life. Every visible part of the young man was unbelievably muscular. The howling wind and rain seemed like a prop to accentuate his features. But Uloma had eyes only for the bamboo strips woven door behind him. The young man was the only other person around and was surrounded by the only other creatures in sight. Crows hovered around his head, like makeshift crowns, his black piercing eyes stared almost unseeing, and only moved when the crows did. The crows and the young man silently watched Uloma's angry approach with keen interest. When Uloma reached him and showed no sign of stopping, the young man extended his long arms to block her path. He easily towered over Uloma, with a height that would intimidate most men.

“Ulo, I know you are angry.”

His voice was that of a singing bird lulling the ears to sleep, gentle yet firm.

“If you can see that I am angry, then please move.”

Uloma tried to storm past his extended hand.

“Ulo.”

He stated in a quiet warning.

“This isn't the way to do things, na, en? Ulo.”

He reasoned, his birds multiplying as if appearing to accommodate the complexity of his mood.

“You won’t let me pass?”

She shouted at him, reaching out to shove past him. He looked at her like she already knew the answer to this. Uloma had murder in her eyes as her hands beat angrily at the young man’s firm chest. Still, he stayed, blocking her path. The tears Uloma was barely holding back flooded her now. It all felt fruitless. She couldn’t even go past Abali and his birds; what was the use of her effort? She crumbled on the ground, rain melting her rows to her scalp, the persistent, malicious wind whispering in her ears. She had woken up in her form, in her usual princess-style clothes. In her fair skin, as if none of those eight years had happened. Uloma closed her eyes tightly, feeling the pain simmer. Were they so eager to erase everything that had happened? Uloma’s shoulder shook as silent tears racked her body, but rage was hidden in those tears.

Abali and his birds sat down next to her doubled-over form. Groaning slightly, he clapped the dirt off his hands, as if reducing himself to the ground was physically painful for him. She knew all she had to do was look up at him, and he would envelop her in his arms; his bare buff chest was always a comfort, and in this realm, he was one of the only beings that gave off the semblance of warmth and light. But she did not want to be comforted; she wanted to wallow, to mourn. She could not stand the thought of them vanishing like they meant nothing. Her tears came in torrid, competing for a place against the insistent, lazy rain on her face.

“Why, Abali?”

She said between tears, her face red from the force of her pain and frustration.

“I did everything, Abali, I followed tradition.”

Uloma hiccupped, beating at her chest, like the congestion there was only pain trying to get out. Beside her, Abali watched her quietly; his expression had not changed, and he stared at her as if trying to understand her emotions. Emotions weren’t common in their world, but Uloma was full of them. Her feelings weren't simple either; she felt too many things all at once. Rage and grief, he understood, those were the only emotions that colored this place. But Uloma had something else he could not read or understand, and he was trying to make sense of it. She could tell that he was, but it didn’t matter to her, not at that moment. All she could feel as she avoided looking at him was a profound betrayal that made her want to throw herself on the ground.

“Abali, I did everything right. I went by the books. Does that not mean anything at all? Shouldn’t it count for something?”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes were drowning. It broke his heart to look at her, so he looked away.

“They mean that much to you.”

He said in a quiet tone. It was a loaded statement.

“They are my family.”

She shot at him.

“No, Uloma.”

He shot back at her, his usually quiet countenance shifting for a second.

“How can you smell so much of grief and regret like a common wandering spirit? I shudder to think of how long you could have been stuck wandering around on the path of the lost if one of my creatures had not alerted me to your presence. All for beings you have known for a moment?”

“They are my family, and I will be lost on the path a hundred times over for them.”

The tears in her eyes were drying up and making way for a different emotion.

“What did you all expect? That I would forget immediately that that part of my life exists?”

“Existed.”

Abali corrected. He was physically holding back his annoyance now. Uloma looked at him and shook her head. She felt like she was drowning, like she was weightless, and yet heavy enough to sink; she did not want to deal with this right now.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

She asked, irritation coating her voice. Abali shook his head back at her, disappointment fueling his action; she knew his patience was running out. This seemed to infuriate Uloma even more. How dare he try to act like she was the one in the wrong here?

“Go to hell then.”

Uloma snapped, rolling her eyes in anger. She knew immediately, as she said it, that she shouldn’t have, but it was too late. Uloma shut her eyes once more and looked away from him. His birds watched her cocking their heads, and what they saw, Abali saw.

“Look around you, Uloma, this is hell, the humans think of our realm as a place of punishment - the land of lost souls. Or did your hiatus in the human realm make you forget? You are not Uchechi or whatever those beings called you. Uloma, and this is your home, where you belong. Hell is your home. It is where your actual family is; where your real mother is. Where I am!”

He breathed out and shook his head, letting his shoulder slump. He was watching her as he spoke.

“Forget it, I rushed over to help as always.”

He finished. Abali waited for a heartbeat, but Uloma did not respond; she did not think she could trust herself to. She knew she was rightfully angry, that he was dismissing her feelings, but she also knew she was hurting him.

“But if that means nothing. Go inside then and confront your mother.”

He said in a defeated tone. Uloma felt even more rotten, almost as if it were clockwork. Yes, she was still angry, but Abali was her one ally. And she knew that their realm saw the word ‘hell’ as a derogatory description, like the humans who use it to say, ‘a world of suffering,’ ‘a place that was not good.’ It was a different realm, Uloma would concede, but it was not a bad place. She felt sorry for having said it, but it only made her want to return even more. In this realm, the very darkness behind you had literal ears. It was only a matter of time before everyone was making snarky comments about her 'hell' comment.

“I am sorry, Ulo, you have had a big day, and here I am scolding you.”

They sat there together in silence, neither saying a word. Uloma would have gone on crying, but what would that have solved? She wanted to yell, to scream, to give her pain an outlet, but her mother, whom it should be directed at, was too busy running realms. She felt Abali sitting still beside her, but it did not bring her any comfort; stillness was his signature, and when her exhaustion started to overpower her, she knew it was him, too. His way of helping, she was sure. Her energy drained out of her; she wanted to ask him to cut it out, to stop acting like her savior, but instead, her head drooped, too heavy for her neck alone to shoulder. Abali draped his strong arms around her, and she melted into him from habit. His arms felt like home.

“Come on.”

He said to her as he lifted Uloma to her feet. Leave it to Abali to make the peace, she thought weakly, as she allowed him to pull her into oblivion. They materialized in her room. He would say he did not understand her emotions, but she knew that he read her like a book. He was not just the son of Night, but he was the very idea of spaces covered in darkness, of stillness. As he helped her into bed, she drifted into sleep, too tired to fight him. Too exhausted to want to continue. She knew somewhere at the back of her mind that he was more than capable of putting spirits to sleep, and spirits do not even sleep.

“I am glad you are back, Ulo.”

She heard him whisper as he smoothed back her wet hair. Uloma felt his absence, just as complete darkness came for her. Tomorrow she will fight, her sleep-possessed mind assured itself. Tomorrow, she will find a way to return to her father, Obuzor, and her Oge.