The First Sin

By Astur Sorkatti

When the world starts to fall apart, Ashia the heir apparent, strives to restore order amidst the chaos. Battling a tyrannical king, rebel armies and her own secrets, she works to maintain her claim to the throne.

But all is not as it seems.

Things are hidden. 

People are hiding. 

But the heir is hid

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atijo Media
• Release date: Mar 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781738433216

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First published by Atijo Media 2024

This book is an original publication of Atijo Media.

Copyright © 2024 by Atijo Media

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Atijo Media Ltd., Registered Offices : 71-75 Shelton St, London WC2H 9JQ

Book Cover Illustrated By Brianna Sanford 

Book Cover Typography By DrawnImagination Studios and No Happy Endings Studio

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-7384332-1-6

THE FIRST SIN

BOOK ONE

BY ASTUR SORKATTI

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For girlies who who were told to give up; don't.

Prologue

Riding on the mid afternoon currents, the messenger had been circling the ceremony for some time. None of us had taken notice of it though. We were too immersed in the elaborate dance of my mother, as she guided the newborn baby from the world of the spirits to the mortal realm, to pay it any attention. It wasn’t until it landed on Mama’s shoulder, feathered head cocked and beady eyes staring into the slitted mask she wore, that anyone took notice.

There was immediate silence. Mama stopped dancing, the sounds of the drums and shakers ceased. There was a great inhale from the crowd. We all knew what the owl was. A bad omen. The messenger of death. Instinctively the crowd strained their ears for the sound of the eng’ombe war trumpet, for the sounds of marching feet. Whispers carried on the backs of traders told of an army amassing at the border. People said that the Oba of Nkindi had finally turned his gaze upon Gohir. What else could this owl be but a sign of impending war?

Mama raised her foot and stamped it on the ground twice, continuing her dance, drawing the crowd's attention back to the ceremony. She was a smart woman. Mama was not one to let superstition dictate her actions. When I asked her about the ceremony later, she would tell me that ‘a bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.’

It was just her and the owl, dancing around the new babe. The raffa on her ankles and waist rustled, and the oyster nuts attached to her feet clapped in time with her movements, as she carefully maneuvered her legs in an age old dance.

As she moved she held out her left arm, offering the owl another perch. To the surprise of myself and the crowd it stepped off her shoulder and onto the proffered hand. My father, the Oba of Gohir, leaned forward, enraptured by his wife. A drum took up, soft at first but then growing in intensity. It’s beat slow and deep. I could feel the vibrations through my feet. Mama held the owl in front of her and presented it to the babe.

The babe reached its arms outwards, giggling, trying to touch the owl. A second drum took up. Mama’s dance picked up in pace and fervor. The drums raced to keep up with her. As they reached crescendo they stopped abruptly. Mama dropped to the ground on both knees and held the hand the owl was perched on up to the sky. The owl gave her a longing look, then nodded, as if saying goodbye to an old friend, and spread its wings, flying off.

Around me the crowd held their breath. We all marveled at what we had just witnessed. A bad omen tamed. A mortal defining ayanmo, fate. Mama approached the child’s father and led him to the crib. The father held a necklace of iron, the kind we all wore around our necks. It was a simple bar engraved with symbols of protection, meant to stave off bad spirits and illness. It represented the final severance of the child from the spirit world and of its binding to our realm, the mortal plane. Mama held the child in her arms as the father placed the necklace about the baby boy’s neck. She then turned to the crowd.

‘We shall call him Barack, he who is blessed,’ she told us. ‘For this day, death turned its eyes on him and granted him life.’

There was a moment of complete silence to allow the babe to fully cross realms, and for the crowd to accept that death would leave not just the babe, but all of us be. The owl had not been a bad omen, but a good one. Mama had decreed it so. The crowd suddenly erupted into celebration, people jumping this way and that, hollering and whooping. The drummers beat their cowhide drums as hard as they could, more dancers with raffa on their waists jived and swooped around Mama and the new father. Father and I joined in the celebration. I took my sister's hands in mine and pulled her up from where she had been sitting.

Mama handed the babe to the mother and came to find us, taking off the mask she wore. Beneath the mask her hair clung to her head in five long braids. They hung to her waist, decorated with gold coins and amber. The coins and amber would be gone by tomorrow, they were purely for the ceremony. A woman of Gohir wore no decoration in her hair on the daily, that was for those of us who had yet to come of age. She smiled at us, hair tinkling as she danced over. She was every bit the Iyoba, the Queen mother. In the way she moved, the way she approached members of the tribe, the way she smiled. I was in awe, wondering if I could ever become the woman she was.

She stopped dancing as she reached us and held a hand out to me. I took it and she pulled me close.

‘I have something for you, my Ashia,’ she said sweetly.

From one of her braids she unclasped a golden coin and placed it in my open palm. The coin was about the size of my thumbnail. It looked to be ancient from its dented edges and faded writing, smoothened over by the many hands which had touched it since its creation. I gazed at the coin with wide eyes, delighted by it. As I turned it over in my hand I thought of all the places it must have been and the things it had seen. I wondered if I would ever get to see Kemilẹ as it had.

‘It was passed from my Jajja to my Mother,’ she said. ‘And now I will give it to you.’

‘Thank you, Mama,’ I breathed. ‘It is beautiful.’

‘Come, let me put it in your hair,’ she cooed.

With deft fingers she attached it to one of my locks, one close to the front of my hair so I could see it sparkle as sunlight bounced off it out of the corner of my eyes. She gave me a smile. It seemed to make the coin shine all the brighter. She turned to Eshe and plucked her off the ground, settling my sister on her hip. My Father kissed her on the cheek.

‘You are truly something special,’ Papa said to her. He turned to my sister and I. ‘You are all special.’

Apart from when the child was named, slaughtering the cow was what everyone looked forward to. My Father being the Oba, the King, got the first slice. Being the man he was though, he chose to ensure that my sister and I got some, and then Mama, before taking his portion.

We spent the time laughing and dancing with my family. The Enogie of the nearby territory Asantu, my Uncle’s family, had even joined this particular day. My brooding cousin, Gyasi, was the only one not partaking in the fun. He stood with his arms crossed in front of him, too cool to dance, yet hoping a pretty girl would come over and say hi.

‘Come on, Gyasi! Come dance with me!’ I took his hands in mine as I leapt up from my seat and headed for the dance floor.

‘Eh, eh, no! I’m not doing that.’ He tried to shake my hands off him.

‘Why not? Everyone’s out there,’ I said, taking his hands in mine again the moment he managed to shake them off.

‘I don’t want to look silly,’ he grumbled, shaking off my grip once more and placing them behind his back so I couldn’t catch them again.

‘Fine,’ I replied, giggling.

‘Besides, what would my betrothed think?’ He asked.

I gave him a look that said ‘really?’ He wasn’t even excited about the affair. He’d done nothing but complain since the betrothal. His Father, and my own, had grown tired of hearing about it. It was just another excuse not to join in the fun.

I shrugged, if Gyasi didn’t want to have a good time, who was I to force him to? I made my way into the crowd of revelers. The rest of us continued on until we were too full and tired to celebrate any longer. Eshe fell asleep soon after the cow was finished and lay in Papa’s lap, fast asleep. I kept on dancing until my feet were sore. The entire time I tried to drag my cousin onto the dance floor but Gyasi was having none of it.

As we walked home from the celebration Papa carried Eshe in his arms. I walked next to Mama, holding hands with her. Behind us walked the Morani. They kept guard of us, as they had done the entirety of the naming ceremony, bronze short swords slung across their backs.

The night’s breeze was cool as we walked along the path back to the palace. Ahead of us loomed the entrance and walls to the palace grounds. The great white tower that made up the entrance stood so tall you could see the entire kingdom from the top of it. Morani walked the green clover shaped parapets, keeping guard.

As we neared the gaping entrance of the tower, a shadowy figure detached itself from a nearby tree and approached us. There was the sound of blades being pulled from their sheaths. The Morani stepped in front of us, shielding us from the stranger. The shadow stopped a few meters away and stood its ground.

‘Oba,’ the figure spoke. ‘She is calling.’

My father acknowledged the shadow with a nod and put his arm on one of the Morani.

‘It is ok,’ he told the Morani. ‘This is a friend.’

All at once the Morani lowered their weapons and stepped back, bowing to my Father as they did so. He turned to Mama and gently handed Eshe to her, trying not to wake her. Father smiled at us then turned and walked towards the figure.

Mama continued on towards the palace and I followed. ‘Who was that, Mama?’ I asked.

‘A guardian, my child,’ she replied.

‘A guardian?’

‘You shall learn of them soon, Ashia,’ she told me, ‘in a few days' time when you turn sixteen.’

Beside me Mama pounded the maize as I stoked the fire. She raised the pestle high and lowered it in one swift motion, grinding the maize in slow deliberate rhythm. Preparations for my birthday celebration had already begun and Mama was diligently working on it, making sure it would be a grand time. Eshe and I were in charge of preparing that morning’s breakfast.

Eshe looked over at me and stuck her tongue out. She was mixing the mealie bread with her hands. I giggled and stuck mine out at her. She frowned, clearly displeased I used her own move against her, and took some of the dough in her fingers, flicking it at me. I raised my hands in defense, dough splattering on my arm.

‘You little,’ I said as I stood up.

Eshe grinned and hopped up, taking off, her hands covered in yellow mealie dough. I grabbed the bowl she had been using and chased after her, running laps around the kitchen as she giggled. She stopped at a table, standing on the opposite side from me. I lunged to the left, she took off to the right.

‘Come here, Eshe,’ I called to her, ‘I just want you to taste the dough you are making.’

‘I already know what it tastes like,’ she replied.

‘I think you could taste it better if the bowl were on your head.’

She ran away from the table and hid behind Mama, putting her dough covered hands on Mama’s shoulders.

‘Eshe!’ Mama said. ‘Don’t put that mealie on me!’

‘Sorry, Mama,’ Eshe said bashfully, immediately removing her hands from Mama’s shoulders and placing them behind her back.

Mama grinned.

‘Or I will put it on you!’

Mama wiped the dough from her shoulders with a hand and tried to place it on Eshe’s nose. Eshe burst into laughter, and then all three of us were chasing each other around the kitchen. Mama would chase after Eshe, and then turn to me and run in my direction. We ran laps around the kitchen until we were breathless. Eshe had tears streaming from her eyes, she was laughing so hard.

It took us a moment to realize one of the Morani was standing on the threshold of the kitchen. He’d waited until we had finished before making a small cough to let us know he was there. Mama immediately straightened herself, wiping her hands on her clothing. The Morani put his hands together and bowed his head, recognizing the Iyoba. Mama waved him in.

‘What is it?’ Mama asked.

‘The Oba has asked for Ashia.’

Mama paused.

‘Have you been commanded?’ She asked the Morani.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

Mama took in his response and mulled it over. She seemed reluctant to tell me to go with the Morani. I wondered if it had something to do with the guardian Father had left with the night before. We hadn’t seen Father since then and admittedly it was a little strange. Usually he would have come to check on us as we made breakfast.

‘Clean yourself and then go to your Father,’ Mama finally said, turning to me. ‘And here.’

She rummaged through a clay pot in the corner pulling out some dried meat and nuts, handing them to me in a leather pouch.

‘Take this with you.’

I took the pouch, securing it around my waist, unsure why Mama was giving me the snacks.

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The Morani led me out of the palace and into the nearby forest, following a trail known only to him. There was no footpath, it was just acacia trees and tall grass. I wondered where I was being taken. I had thought my Father was somewhere in the palace, not somewhere beyond the compound.

In silence we made our way. The Morani weren’t one for conversation. It was rumored they had their tongues cut out when they enlisted, but I knew that not to be true having been raised around them. They were taught to be militaristically stoic, to show no emotion and listen to orders without question. They were particularly attentive to the words of my Father. When he gave them commands they were carried out swiftly and without hesitation, no matter the request.

The sun beat down on us as we walked, transitioning from soft morning sunlight to the harsh glare of afternoon. The longer we walked and the further we got from the palace, the more the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I imagined I looked like a little hyena with my neck hair on end like that.

After several hours of walking I was ready to ask the Morani where I was being taken, or if he was taking me to my Father at all. Until I saw a giant wall of red colored rocks appear in the distance. They stood tall and lonely, the only outcropping in an otherwise flat landscape. It was clear that they were what we were headed for. As we neared I could hear the sound of water crashing from a tall height. Then we were standing at the base of a beautiful secluded waterfall.

The Morani stopped at the edge of the crystalline pool beneath the falls. I stopped beside him. Above us a palm-nut vulture played in the wind, swooping and gliding on unseen currents.

‘Is my Father here?’ I asked the guard.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

I looked around. It was just us and the falls. No one else appeared to be here. My suspicion was mounting.

‘I don’t see him…’

The Morani pointed to the falls.

‘He is beyond,’ the guard told me.

‘Beyond the falls?’

The Morani nodded.

‘How do I get there? Do I swim? ’

‘You go around.’

He lifted his chin and pointed his lips to the right of the waterfall, indicating the path was somewhere over there.

‘You’re not going to take me?’

The Morani shook his head.

‘I can go no further,’ he said solemnly. ‘You must go alone. It is commanded.’

‘But I am not sure where I am going.’

‘You will find the way or we are all lost.’

With that cryptic message, the Morani turned and left in the direction we had come from, leaving me alone to contemplate his final sentence. I watched him disappear into the distance, never once turning around to check on me.

Or we are all lost. His words replayed in my head, making less and less sense.

‘What is he talking about…?’ I said to myself.

I followed the edge of the water to the rock wall the Morani had indicated to. It looked to be a regular cliff made up of rocks with bits of grass poking out of jagged lips. I ran my hand along the stone. Despite its rough appearance it was quite smooth beneath my hand. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary though. I took a step back thinking if I looked at it from further away something would be revealed to me. What had the Morani been trying to show me?

I sighed and sat down beside the water, taking my shoes off and placing my feet in the pool. My belly rumbled. I looked down at it and gave it a rub. I wished I'd been allowed to eat