SOLOMON'S BRIDGE {Part I}

CODEX *1*

1891: The High Priestess

High Priestess Unwannah watches two big black birds, warily, as they fly over the beaten path from her hidden position by the cave's wide entrance. They turn about to swoop back over the healing caves, before returning to fly low over the roughly hewn walkway, again. To a natural eye, they will seem normal, but just a second more, and she sees them disappear in mid-flight. That wizard. That wizard is a dangerous man. It repeats in her mind, this thought, as she hurries to go back inside the depths of the connecting caves, spread out like burrows into the cool earth, like tunnels running through a stone mountain, intersecting, climbing, even descending. She hurries in her old raggedy bones, out of breath, feeling frightened by unfolding events, powerless to stop it, yet she must do... something. When reaching the repository, she stands perfectly still, as if, confused. Her mind wanders. Plantain trees sagging with the weight of ripe plantains, their wide leaves rustling in the strong winds. The winds come from the sea. A low chant follows her view from the plantain trees, to a white sand beach by rolling ocean waves. The chant is a low hum. She has been hearing it in her brain all day. It is Solomon! A blink later, her mind returns by a sheer force of will power. It is the soy bean milk Mayen prepared for her to drink. It is something that this young shield maiden always does, every other morning. But... How long has she been quite immobile? How long? There is no time, no time! She turns into another long tunnel, her hands trembling, her dry lips moving soundlessly, trying to remember what it is that she must do. What must she do? Something! She had put it in a song. She hums the tune of her song to break the spell, in the melody of Solomon's hum. Fires of ancient dry woods! Eat up the rebel roots! Till only one is left! The one to destroy, that will loose hold on her soul. A soul for all, and all for a soul, mercy prevails! Sobs wrack her chest as tears flow from fading eyes. Idara. They will come from all the realms to cast her soul into bondage, into chaos, into the depths of darkness, into the unbroken chains. How to tell her? How to even explain? She finally enters a hidden space full of scented, small purple shrubs growing all over the ground. The sight of them as she hums her tune helps her to remember what she must do. Back in the outer caves, where the healing waters sit in warm blue pools, shield maidens noisily troop in, boisterous from the war. They drove the enemy into a helpless retreat and then a plea to surrender. If they notice a light smoke wafting through the air, they are too busy with their large kegs of palm wine to care. A fine perfume is everywhere! In the night, the people will shout their praises to their king, to their ancestors, to the bonfire of the oracle! The fine perfume enhances their festive mood, it comes from that secret enclave the high priestess Unwannah went to, where she has set the shrubs ablaze. They all burn to their roots, there is nothing left, save one she holds with frail hands, letting it soak up her tears as she returns to the cave entrance, to deliver it to the messengers of the king, who arrive, just in time. Hours after she sits on her bed in her quarters, weeping still, for Idara. The young woman in question is less than thirty minutes away, she is very busy, as a shield leader should be after a hard won victory. The year is 1891 and it's a hot afternoon in the month of March. Over a hundred Nsidung warriors watch her move across the open courtyard, tending to the wounded, with a mixture of animosity, reluctant admiration and pride. She deserves to be appointed Tribe Custodian. In the battle with Ugep cannibals today, she defended Akampa boundary with skill and precision. She is a warrior to the bone, with a figure that is too seductive to be wasted on the virgin stones of a High Priestess of Canaan.

"Some say, she has the gift."
"It matters not."
"She stirs many loins, even bloody from battle. I'm glad the title of High Priestess evades her."
"I say, it matters not. Her father is Ibibio. They have no business in Efik lands. They have no business here, in Canaan!"
The harsh whispers continue as she bravely works the courtyard, and she hears all their bitter grudges; she knows that her Ibibio origins is the problem.