500 years ago
The king advances to the throne, seated at an angle that allows him to observe his entire kingdom. This is a different age—an ancient world ruled by Chinedu na Udama.
"My kingdom grows, my beautiful wife," he says, his eyes resting on a woman radiating beauty—her skin rich and black, her almond-brown eyes bright, tall and majestic as she sits beside King Udama. She is Queen Anyanwu na Udama.
"Yes, my king," she replies. "It is beautiful indeed. And at last, I've managed to clear my ancestral name from shame—this time, for good." As the curtains separating the king's chambers from the view of the kingdom are drawn, the people below rise in unison and shout, "Igwe!"
Meanwhile, in the backyard of the royal house, two boys are wrestling, locked in a playful struggle to see who will pin the other to the ground.
Ifeanyi, the elder brother and first son of the king, is a determined young child—frail for his age and gentle at heart. His younger brother, Uzochukwu—Uzo for short—is three years his junior, yet larger and stronger, with a natural genius for battle.
As they spar, Uzo pins Ifeanyi down and smirks, "Looks like I've got you again."
"Oh? Are you sure about that, brother? Your mouth was always your weakness," Ifeanyi snaps back, grabbing a handful of sand and flinging it into Uzo's eyes. With a burst of energy, he grabs Uzo's leg and flips him over, reversing their positions.
But cleverness can only carry Ifeanyi so far. With brute strength, Uzo rises, grips his brother, and hurls him across the yard. Ifeanyi crashes face-first into the ground, anger swirling in his eyes as he glares up at the younger boy now standing over him.
"Good game?" Uzo offers his hand to help him up.
Annoyed, Ifeanyi slaps the hand away, rises, and storms off without a word.
Uzo only laughs. "He's fragile and weak-boned," he says aloud, "but he's the only one who truly challenges me."
His father, who has been watching all along, steps forward. "Yes, my son. He pushes you to be better," he says warmly.
"You speak the truth, Father," Uzo replies, his tone softening.
Then, with a more serious tone, the king asks, "But tell me, my son—do you seek the throne?"
Uzo meets his father's burning gaze, unfazed. He's used to this intensity.
"What? No. How boring would that be?" he scoffs.
"But you possess physical prowess rivaling that of seasoned generals," the king presses.
Uzo chuckles. "And all that strength would go to waste sitting on a throne. I'm not interested. Besides, my brother is the smarter of the two of us. His mind was built for politics and patience. Let him have it."
The king holds his gaze a moment longer, then smiles proudly. "That's the kind of thing I want to hear." He pulls his son into an embrace. "Take care of your brother—no matter what happens," he whispers.
In the palace hallways, Chibuzor—a sly, silver-tongued elder and longtime friend of the king—stands at the entrance of the yam plantations. Just then, Ifeanyi storms past, fury blazing in his stride.
"What has you vexed, young prince?" Chibuzor calls. "Let me guess—beaten badly again, weren't you?"
"You don't think I know that?" Ifeanyi snaps, raising his voice at the priest.
Chibuzor continues, probing with a sly grin. "If this continues, the king might just name Uzo as the next king. It would be a shame, wouldn't it?"
"What are you implying?" Ifeanyi asks, his face suddenly tight with suspicion.
Chibuzor smiles coldly. "I only aim to help the rightful king. Say, for instance, Uzochukwu were to be... poisoned. Painless. Asleep, never waking. A dead man can't be king, don't you think? No competition. No rivalry. Just you, the throne, and me by your side." He walks away, leaving the dark suggestion to linger on Ifeanyi's chest.
"Think about that, young king."
The Next Day
The market square is packed, as it always is on an Eke market day. Town criers are known to share news here, but today the crowd is larger than usual—not for trade, but curiosity.
"Listen, people of Oshimili!" the town crier announces. "The king has ordered every soul to gather at the Nile shores. A grand display awaits!"
Speculation ripples through the crowd.
"I bet it's a wedding," someone says. "Maybe the king's brother is finally marrying that Chisom goddess."
"It cannot be!" retorts Mama Chisom. "If anything, it will be my daughter. No one else has been visited!"
"You and your delusions, Mama Chisom," Nne Amanda snaps. "Your daughter that looks like a man? She's no match for mine."
"Whoever it is," interrupts Nonso, a tall man selling fish and roasting meat, "arguing won't stop us from selling yams and spices. The king won't be bothered either way. Let's focus on our business." With that, the quarrel fizzles out.
Later That Day
By evening, a massive crowd has gathered at the Nile shores. A towering wooden platform—an altar—has been erected. The royal family stands above: the king's brother, the queen, and the two royal sons, all in ceremonial garb.
The priest begins the ritual, chanting praises. Dancers captivate the crowd. Palm wine and fresh fruits are passed around. The rhythm of the drums thumps with the heartbeat of the people, and singers raise their voices in joyful chorus.
Then, the music stops. The king raises his hand.
He rises with majesty, his robe sweeping the ground.
"We are gathered here today to celebrate the coming of a new king," King Chinedu na Udama proclaims. "It is with great honor that I announce the unofficial coronation of the one who will be king in ninety Eke market days."
He pauses, the crowd holding its breath.
"And the name of that king shall be... Ifeanyichukwu na Udama."
Silence.
Ifeanyi steps forward, slowly making his way to the altar.
"Igbo kwenu!" he cries, raising his hand.
"Aaaayyy!" the crowd erupts, cheers breaking the silence. Then, once more, hush falls. All eyes turn to the new prince, awaiting his first decree.
"As my first decree," Ifeanyi begins, "I banish Chibuzor na Uzodimma to Ajofia for life—for attempting to usurp the throne and destroy the royal family."