Who dares reject the proposal of the gods? Or the love offered by the one they’ve chosen as their oracle of fire? Who dares turn away from the benevolent advances made by the chi himself? Only the one who has decided to dance to the sad, punishing music of the spirits. He watched her closely as he leapt to the feverish rhythm that filled his ears, setting his body alight.

“Agaba o! Agaba o!

The one who spits fire, Agaba!

The strongest is here, Agaba!”

Yes! He was Agaba—the great dragon masquerade, the only one who could spit fire at will. Today, he would teach Obianuju a lesson she would never forget: no one plays with the heart of the gods and escapes unscathed. He spun around, opened his mouth to the sky, and a ball of yellow flame shot out. His plan was in motion.

It was mid-afternoon, and the harmattan wind tempered the heat waves radiating from the large yellow sun amidst the drifting white clouds. The market square was already packed with villagers eager to watch the masquerades perform. Men and women, young and old, stood in a circle beneath the giant Ukwa tree at the centre of the market. Nursing mothers hushed their little ones, who stared in ignorant wonder, while others watched in enchanted glee. The young women, with wrappers tied across their chests and nimble feet, clapped and chirped in excitement, dashing away as a masquerade pretended to charge at them with his fearsome cane.

It was the final day of the Agummuo festival, a yearly event held every December, where masquerades from the seven villages of Umuoku competed for supremacy. The festival rotated among the villages, and the king of the hosting village awarded a large cash prize, along with yams and goats. Last year, Agaba had claimed the crown after defeating Wawa from Umuatani, who was revered as the father of all spirits. Now, he was determined to keep his title. But first, there was the matter at hand.

He was baffled that Obianuju knew his status well yet still rejected his proposal—even after he had knelt and begged! What hadn’t he done to win her over? Was it when he single-handedly cultivated her father, Mazi Ikpeazu’s, large farm? That had taken him three long days. Or the time he split his impressive yam harvest in half and brought some to her hut? Or most recently, when he had bought her the inumanje, the most expensive waist bead in Umuoku, made from the hard shells of the rare and costly coral fish?

“Achoro m onye gaa skuul” had been her reply. Indirectly, she was saying the gods were illiterate; she wanted an educated man. Kai! The gods have suffered. It wasn’t that she was the only girl in Umuoku. Plenty of girls, of all shapes and sizes, competed for his love as his fame as the most powerful masquerade spread across the villages. They smiled with all their teeth whenever he passed them by the stream or on his way back from the farm. Many times, he found mouth-watering dishes left at his doorstep with notes attached. Marry me, I have everything you want in a woman—Nneka luv. But it was Obianuju his heart beat for, the one he longed for. And she had rejected him. Today, he would make her pay.

He had already spotted her standing at the front of the crowd, her beauty nearly knocking him unconscious. Oh, those eyes! He had to focus on his plan.

Who was that standing beside her with his arm draped across her shoulders? He’d heard rumours that she was seeing a soldier who had just returned from fighting Boko Haram in the north. He must be educated if she was with him. Jealousy surged in his throat like bitter gall, squeezing his veins with each pounding heartbeat. The music seemed to quicken as he somersaulted and blew another ball of fire from his mouth, to the crowd’s hysterical cheers.

He cast another quick glance at the man holding Obianuju, sizing him up. He didn’t even look like a police constable, let alone a soldier. From the man’s faded t-shirt, Agaba could tell he had bigger, thicker biceps and triceps than this man. His own chest bulged, full of blood and love-starved, while the man’s chest was flat like slippers. Poor sojaman wouldn’t stop him from executing his plan. If he got in the way, Agaba would deal with them both.  

The drumbeats had reached their crescendo. Agaba, moving with deft precision, charged toward his target. As others ran away with shouts and giggles, she stayed where she was, with the sojaman taking a protective stance beside her. Such defiance! No fear at all! He raised his cane and brought it down hard on her arm. Wham! Agaba didn’t hear the crowd’s gasp of surprise, nor did he notice the horror in their eyes. But he did see the panic in the sojaman’s eyes as he tried to shield her from further blows.

He shoved the sojaman aside, sending him crashing to the ground on his backside, before turning back to Obianuju. By now, she was rubbing her bruised arm, sobbing. Agaba raised his cane again, ready to deliver more of the punishment she deserved.

Then pain struck him from behind. It was hot, burning, tearing into his flesh. He collapsed to his knees. Stunned, like someone who had just seen his grandfather’s ghost skipping rope, he turned to see the sojaman with his pistol aimed at him. Weren’t the gods supposed to be invisible? With all their mystical powers and iron-clad arrogance? But here he was, blood slowly soaking through his masquerade attire as life slipped away. He finally fell face-first, Obianuju’s name the last word on his lips. The sight of fleeing heels scattering in all directions would be the last thing he saw before he joined his ancestors.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Chidera Raymond Nwaihie is a sensational writer whose works have appeared on the 9mobile Flash fiction prize(2016) and Fresh voices Christian fiction writers prize(2024) longlists. He is a graduate from Nnamdi Azikiwe University where he studied Parasitology and Entomology.