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Adjoa seemed to glow as the noonday sun reflected off of the flecks of glittering gold on her ebony skin. She wiped the single tear, which rolled down her cheeks, with the back of her hand as she swallowed her sobs.
For the first time in eleven years, she knelt at the feet of her father, which were wrapped in strips of white, cotton cloth.
For the first time in eleven years, she held her father’s hands, which were now ice-cold.
For the first time in eleven years, she stared into her father’s eyes, but his eyes were now dull and devoid of life.
Kwame Opare – the great Asantehene of the mighty nation of Asanteman – had war-danced out of this earthly plane and was now attending court with other ancestral kings.
As his daughter – and as an Okomfo of great skill – Adjoa had been given the honor of washing her father in the proper medicines and wrapping him in the traditional white cloth to ensure a smooth journey to Soro – the domain of Spirit.
Someone knelt beside her. The person smelled pleasantly of coconut and honey with a hint of cinnamon. Adjoa turned her head toward the person and stared into a face much like hers. “Kwadjo?”
“The Nananom be praised, I thought it was you!” the man replied, embracing her. “Yes, it is I – Kwadjo – son of Asantehene Kwame Opare! You have grown into a beautiful woman, dear sister!”
“You only say that because we’re twins,” Adjoa chuckled. “If I am beautiful, then you – by default – must be also.”
Kwadjo leaped to his feet and turned slowly. His crimson and gold kente cloth lapa, accessorized with a gold necklace and headband, accentuated Kwadjo’s flawless, burnt sienna skin.
“Well...aren’t I?”
“Yes, brother,” Adjoa giggled. “You will make a fine husband for one – or more – of the mighty sisters of Asanteman.”
“No, Adjoa,” Kwadjo said, shaking his smooth, bald head. “Eleven years in Fez has turned my tastes toward...fairer things.”
“Fairer?” Adjoa said confused. “Please, explain.”
“There will be plenty time for that,” Kwadjo said, dismissing Adjoa’s inquiry with a wave of his hand. “Tell me about you, how have your priesthood studies progressed?”
“I was fully initiated as an Okomfo two years after we left the palace,” Adjoa replied. Recently, I was enstooled as a Chief Priest.
“Chief Priest? Congratulations!” Kwadjo said. “Nana Yaa really pushed you. That old woman can be brutal.”
“Our grandmother is actually kind to a fault,” Adjoa replied. “She did push me, though.”
“Well, as for me,” Kwadjo said. “I was recently promoted to Master Sorcerer, Third Grade.”
“Congratulations!” Adjoa said. “Third Grade...I assume that is really good.”
“Ah, I forget how uninformed the Asante are,” Kwadjo said smugly. “Master Sorcerer, Third Grade is the fifth highest rank in the Sorcerer’s Guild of Fez!”
“Good, then.” Adjoa replied.
Kwadjo placed a hand on Adjoa’s shoulder. He inhaled deeply and shook his head. “You know, at first, I was taken aback when grandmother chose you for the Afa priesthood and not me.” Kwadjo slid his hand from Adjoa’s shoulder and turned his palms toward each other. A bolt of electricity zigzagged back and forth between his hands.
“Now, however, I realize how stifling the priesthood can be. True expression of Yao lies in the Arcane – not the Divine.”
Adjoa frowned. “Nonsense! How can you...”
A firm hand on her shoulder haled Adjoa in mid-sentence.
“Children...children; enough chat. We have work to do!”
Adjoa and her brother turned to face a petite, elderly woman with tightly braided white hair.
“Greetings, Nana Adjoa...Kwadjo,” the woman said jovially. “I am Senior Obirempon, Akosua Boateng.”
Adjoa knelt before the Senior Obirempon. Kwadjo nodded his head, but did not kneel. Akosua raised Adjoa gently. She then, shot a glance at Kwadjo and shook her head. Kwadjo shrugged apathetically.
“You have come to announce the candidate for Asantehene, no doubt.” Adjoa said.
“Yes...and no,” Akosua replied. “Come with me.”
The little woman took each twin by a wrist and walked them briskly toward the drummers, who were beating a war rhythm in honor of Asantehene Opare. Akosua stood before the drummers and raised both hands above her head. The drumming immediately ceased.
“Agoh!” Akosua shouted.
“Ameh!” The dense crowd of citizens replied in unison as they gave the Senior Obirempon their full attention.
Akosua gestured toward a pair of ivory stools, which flanked the Sika’dja – the sacred golden stool of Asanteman which gave the Asantehene the combined power of all the souls of the mighty Asante, past and present. Adjoa sat on the stool to the right of the Sika’dja. Kwadjo sat on the left.
“Mighty Asante,” the Senior Obirempon began. “Today, we celebrate the transition of our brother...our king...Asantehene Kwame Opare!”
The Asante cheered passionately – their powerful voices in harmony with the bell like jingling of their gold necklaces, bracelets, anklets and belts.
“To add to this momentous occasion, we present you with not one, but two candidates for kingship!”
The crowd cheered louder.
“While two candidates are rare, rarer still are the fact that both candidates are siblings – twins at that – and are the children of our beloved former Asantehene!” Akosua said.
The old woman placed a hand under the arm of each twin and helped them to their feet. “As the Nananom – our venerable ancestors – have decreed, the twins will prove their merit in a contest of will and skill. The winner shall be appointed our next Asantehene of Asanteman!”
Adjoa exchanged a quick glance with Kwadjo as the Asante cheered them on.
“A contest?” She whispered.
Kwadjo replied with a broad smile. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
****
Eda forest was abuzz with activity. Children chased each other around groups of women who were selling well-crafted gold jewelry and kente cloth sewn in bright colors and intricate patterns. Drummers and wrestlers entertained the teeming throng of citizens who had come to witness the contest between the twins. Adjoa and Kwadjo walked to the center of the gathering, led by Senior Obirempon Akosua. The drumming, chatter and wrestling came to a sudden halt.
“Mighty Asante,” Akosua began. “Turn your gaze toward the flora to the north.”
Adjoa followed the Senior Obirempon’s finger, which pointed at a pair of massive trees in the distance.
“Follow me,” Akosua commanded. “But I warn you – keep your children close.”
The crowd marched behind Akosua. Adjoa felt more and more nervous with each brisk step.
Kwadjo – on the other hand – seemed to take everything in stride, tossing ginger candy to the children and flirting with the young women – who all competed for his attention.
Akosua raised her fists skyward and everyone stopped in their tracks. Fearful gasps and inquisitive whispers echoed throughout the forest. Adjoa was sickened by what she saw – the twin trees were massive monstrosities, each standing ninety feet tall and forty feet in circumference. Their branches looked like the gnarled legs of a spider and etched into their coarse, black trunks were immense faces with fiendish, human-like expressions.
“Witness the Bagya Dua – the grotesque and wicked Blood Trees,” Akosua said. “Our beloved Asantehene was riding through this forest, giving chase to a gazelle he had been hunting for three days.”
Adjoa listened intently. She knew her father had been strangely exsanguinated after falling from his horse, but she had not been given any details.
“The Asantehene would often hunt alone – he found peace in the solitude,” Akosua continued. “
“But he was tired and did not realize that he had stumbled into the abode of the Bagya Dua until it was too late. One of the creatures snatched the Asantehene out of his saddle; the other creature captured his steed. The wicked visages of the trees then drained every drop of the Asantehene’s blood and the blood of his poor horse. The trees then hurled the carcasses of their prey to this very spot where we stand. A search party found them here.”
“I say we kill the damnable things!” Kwadjo spat.
“You have the right idea, son,” Akosua said. “However, we aren’t going to kill them; you and your sister are.”
“Come again?” Adjoa inquired.
“This is the contest,” the Senior Obirempon replied. “You both must destroy one of those monsters each. If one of you fails, the other will be named Asantehene. If you both succeed, or you both fail, the winner will be decided by a fight to the death.”
“Come again?” Adjoa repeated.
“Such is the decree of the ancestors!” Akosua replied.
Well-trained in the ways of the ancestors, Adjoa knew Akosua’s words rang true. The Asante were warriors and the king of the Asante had to be a warrior without peer.
“Either contest is fine with me,” Kwadjo said smugly.
Adjoa rolled her eyes.
“Let the contest begin!” Akosua shouted.
A thunderous applause rose from the crowd.
“Adjoa, as the elder twin, you decide who goes first,” Akosua said.
Adjoa gestured toward her brother with a thrust of her fingertips, which made the sleeve of her blue kente dress sound off with a crisp pop. “Since he is so eager, let my brother go first.”
“It is an elder who insults a youth that a youth insults,” Kwadjo said, quoting a proverb from the venerable ancestors.
“Do not lay hands on a load you cannot lift,” Adjoa shot back.
Kwadjo pounded his left palm with his right fist as he glared menacingly at Adjoa. “Do not conduct a feud with an animal in a halfhearted manner; if you find a snail, hit it with a cutlass!”
Adjoa dismissed Kwadjo with a wave of her hand. “A man with crossbows in his eyes cannot kill even a one-legged duck!”
The crowd burst into laughter.
Kwadjo lunged toward his sister, but Akosua leapt between the twins, halting Kwadjo’s advance with a stiff palm to his chest.
“Enough!” Akosua ordered. “Direct your yao toward the destruction of that accursed tree!”
Kwadjo nodded and approached the Bagya Dua, stopping several yards from the creature in order to avoid its deadly grasp. He stood with his feet slightly wider than the width of his narrow shoulders; he raised his hands until they were in line with his sternum and then he turned his palms outward, toward the Blood Tree.
The young sorcerer began to speak in an arcane tongue unfamiliar to Adjoa’s ears. A moment later, a swirling, blue and gold ball of light appeared out of the ether in front of Kwadjo’s palms.
Kwadjo thrust his hands forward and the ball of light torpedoed toward the Bagya Dua that consumed Asantehene Opare’s horse. The ball of light flew into the open maw of the tree’s “face”. A moment later, the trunk of the tree corkscrewed violently. Its branches braided themselves together and then wrapped themselves around its warped trunk. The citizens watched the spectacle in stunned silence. Suddenly, the tree flew into the air, its blood-red roots pulling a large chunk of earth with it. The tree landed – with a loud thud – an acre away.
The crowd erupted in cheers and rousing applause. Kwadjo smiled broadly and blew kisses at the women as he strutted back toward the Senior Obirempon and Adjoa.
“Your turn, dear sister,” Kwadjo crooned.
“Adjoa looked down at the indigo, leather pouch dangling at the middle of her chest. She removed it and then poured its contents – a dull, yellow powder – into her left palm. Adjoa etched ancient sigils into the powder with her fingertips and then chanted a prayer over her palm. She formed a tight fist around the powder, took a deep breath and then exploded forward into a full sprint toward the remaining Blood Tree. The branches of the tree lashed out, attempting to seize her in their terrible grasp. Adjoa leapt, ducked and somersaulted, lithely avoiding the branches.
The crowd cheered her on. Adjoa reached the trunk of the Bagya Dua. She opened her fist and then blew the powder onto the tree.
Adjoa spun on her heels and took off – again dodging the vicious branches of the monstrosity. Returning to Akosua’s side, Adjoa nodded as the crowd cheered. The cheering diminished to silence as several minutes passed with nothing happening.
“So, how long will it be before your Bagya Dua is destroyed?” Akosua asked.
Adjoa lowered her gaze. “Twenty-eight days,” she whispered.
The Senior Obirempon slipped the tip of her index finger into her ear and wiggled it around as if she was trying to remove an obstruction. “I’m sorry...I must have misheard you. How long did you say?”
“Twenty-eight days,” Adjoa shouted.
The forest shook with the crowd’s laughter. Adjoa noticed that even the Blood Tree’s expression had changed from a vicious snarl into an amused grin.
Akosua raised her fist and everyone fell silent. “Are you making mockery of this contest and of the memory of your father?”
“No, I am not,” Adjoa replied. “Spirit does not submit to man’s time.”
“Alright then, we will return in twenty-eight days,” Akosua said. “If the tree still stands during that time, Kwadjo will be enstooled as Asantehene...and you will be executed!”
“Fair enough,” Adjoa replied.
“And I promise you, sister, running will do you no good,” Kwadjo said. “For I will hunt you down myself!”
“People chase only those who flee,” Adjoa replied.
Kwadjo smiled broadly. “Then in twenty-eight days, you will die by the executioner’s sword...or by mine!”
****
Twenty-eight days later, the citizens of Asanteman followed Adjoa, Kwadjo and Akosua back to Eda forest. Upon reaching the site of the competition, they were greeted by a young Bagya Dua growing out of the remains of the Blood Tree that Kwadjo had seemingly destroyed.
“It would appear that you didn’t quite accomplish your task, Kwadjo, Akosua said.
“Wait,” Kwadjo cried, pointing toward Adjoa’s tree. “Let’s not forget why we came here today, which is to determine the efficacy of Adjoa’s Divine expression of Yao. As you all can attest, her Blood Tree still stands.”
Adjoa smiled slyly. “Please, follow me...if you aren’t afraid.”
She turned from the crowd and briskly walked toward her Bagya Dua. The crowd reluctantly followed. To everyone’s amazement, Adjoa walked right up to the tree without a single branch reaching out to grab her.
“Look at the creature’s face,” Adjoa said. “What do you see?”
“Its expression can only be described as...agony,” Akosua gasped.
Adjoa kicked the trunk of the Blood Tree. The creature collapsed upon itself, shattering into small, dry chunks of wood. “Agony, indeed!”
The crowd gathered around Adjoa and cheered – “Afa yeh ebio tumfo so sene bayi!” – “The wisdom of Afa is more potent than magic!”
Akosua grabbed Adjoa’s wrist and raised the young woman’s hand above their heads. “So, have we found our king?”
“Ain! Ain! Ain!” The crowd cheered in affirmation.
“Then it is agreed,” Akosua said.
Adjoa sat upon the Sika’dja. “Thank you, mighty Asante! I promise to serve you well!”
“May I suggest your first act as Asantehene?” Akosua asked as she placed the golden crown upon Adjoa’s head.
“Certainly,” Adjoa replied. Her smile widened as she watched her twin brother scurry away into the shadows of the forest.
“Please kill that damned Bagya Dua your brother failed to destroy!”
Adjoa rose from the stool. “It would be an honor!”
With that, Adjoa poured the yellow powder from her pouch into the palm of her left hand. She then etched the divine sigils into the powder and began to pray...