Morning crept in with a heaviness that clung to my chest like damp cloth. I had barely slept, Idris' words gnawing at me long after he left. His voice still echoed—accusations sharp enough to pierce bone, his eyes brimming with disappointment. I told myself I didn't care, that I had cast him off as king,
as brother, as anything. But my body betrayed me; the tremble in my fingers,
the restless beat of my heart, the shadows that refused to leave my mind.
By the time the summons came for us to gather, my stomach was a hollow knot.
The others shuffled into the clearing with muted curiosity, but Hamza's presence silenced any thought of chatter. She was sterner than usual, her face carved in stone, her eyes piercing through each of us as if she were measuring how much life we had left in our veins.
Then he came. The Madawaki emerged from his quarters like a storm in human
form. The murmurs died instantly. His presence carried a weight that pressed
the very air to stillness. He paced before us, silent long enough to make my skin itch. Then he stopped, his arms folded behind him.
"The first test begins today."
Every back straightened. My throat went dry.
"You will leave the camp," he continued, "and you will return only if you bring with you the Dajin Kura."
A pause stretched. For a breathless moment, no one moved, until Musa broke
the silence with a snort.
"A bird?" He let out a nervous chuckle. "That's all? My genealogy are hunters. How hard can it be to catch a small bird?"
The camp burst into laughter, the sound rippling through the recruits like relief released too soon. Even I felt a flicker of ease, my tense shoulders loosening. A bird—what madness was this? After days of brutal drills, I expected blood, broken bones, sparring until we collapsed. A bird felt like
mockery.
Nala leaned toward me, smirking. "Maybe tomorrow they'll ask us to milk goats."
Danladi puffed his chest, grinning. "I'll be back before sundown. I've caught dozens in my village."
The laughter swelled again. The Madawaki waited, silent, letting our foolishness wash over him. Then he spoke, his voice a sharp blade that sliced the calm in two.
"You laugh," he said, "because you do not know what you face."
The mirth drained from the air. His eyes swept across us, hard and merciless.
"This is no ordinary bird. The Dajin Kura is cunning, swifter than your arrows, clever enough to mimic the sounds of predators and prey alike. Its feathers carry the forest's shadows; you will not see it until it wishes to be seen. It dwells deep in the thickets where the snakes coil thick as rope, where wild boars hunt men as prey, where the night itself waits to swallow the careless."
A murmur ran through the recruits, quick and fearful.
Someone hissed,"Snakes? Wild boars?" Another whispered " spirits that haunted the forest, tricksters who lured men astray?"
The laughter from moments ago felt like the memory of another life. My mouth dried, and even Musa's smirk faltered. He looked around, his earlier bravado dissolving into something fragile.
The Madawaki did not blink. "Return with the bird, or do not return at all."
My heart stuttered.
~~~
We drew together into a huddle once the Madawaki dismissed us. The air between us buzzed with unease, like a hive rattled too hard.
Musa forced a grin. "So what? It's just a bird. We'll catch it and be back before Hamza even misses us." His voice carried more hope than belief.
Danladi cracked his knuckles, pretending strength. "A test of hunters, not warriors. I was born ready."
Nala scoffed, folding her arms. "Keep talking, Danladi. Maybe the bird will hear you and fly into your hands out of pity."
The group chuckled weakly, the laughter trembling, uncertain.
I said nothing. My thoughts still reeled from Idris. His words had followed me into my sleep, twisted themselves into my waking hours. He had looked at me as if I were nothing but a reckless child, a curse to my people. Now here I stood, about to chase a phantom bird into a forest that devoured men.
Nala's hand brushed mine. When I looked at her, her gaze held the steadiness mine lacked.
"You're too quiet," she whispered.
"I'm thinking," I muttered.
"Don't think yourself into despair," she said softly, so only I could hear.
"We'll find it. Together. I swore to protect you, remember?"
Her words cracked something in me. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard
against the sting in my eyes. I wanted to believe her, wanted to draw strength
from her certainty. But Idris' voice lingered—Here they break men. You won't survive.
I whispered back, "Promise me, Nala. Promise we come back alive."
Her fingers squeezed mine. "I promise."
We let go before anyone noticed, but the weight of that promise settled in my chest like a fragile flame.
~Kurmin Mutuwa Forest.
The Madawaki's voice thundered again. "Begin."
A hush fell over us. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, like startled prey, the recruits scattered toward the tree line, each driven by desperation.
I stood still, breathing in the crisp air, the forest looming ahead like a living beast. My heart raced, but not just from fear of what lay inside. I felt the chains of guilt heavy around me—my father's death, the war, Idris' words. I had come here to prove myself, to carve meaning out of the wreckage I had left
behind.
The bird was only a symbol. The true hunt was for redemption.
Beside me, Nala touched my arm lightly. "Let's go."
I nodded, drawing in a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The forest waited, wide-mouthed and unkind, but I stepped forward anyway.
For the first time, I did not step only as a princess of Uzazzu. I stepped as Amira—the girl chained by guilt, and the woman desperate to break free.
And I knew this: if the Dajin Kura was cunning, then I would learn cunning.
If it was swift, I would force my body to be swifter. If it was cruel, I had already known cruelty too well.
The test had begun.
And I would not falter.