Chapter 4
The Seven Gates of Hell came into existence after the end of the world. Azul wrote, her eyes stinging from the strain.
The first and the last were taken by the first and seventh Titans. The third was taken by the third, and the second by the second. The fourth by the fourth, the sixth by the sixth, and the fifth by the fifth.
Ink-stained parchment, like spilling blood.
And so, should the Unknown return, the gates will open, and the world will finally be united as one, under one, above one.
"Azul."
Azul's head lifted towards the direction of the voice, eyes blurring and watering as a plate slid across the table towards her.
She looked up to see Borji. He was dressed more formally today, clothes covering over half his chest for once, his hair tied back and beaded.
He was dressed to see his grandmother with her, as though saying he would stand by her in this fight.
"Did you manage?"
Azul looked at the manuscript, moving to write the very last line.
The death of which whom shall bring.
The more she read it, the more it looked like a name, but she couldn't be sure.
"I'm done," she finally said.
Borji stepped closer, his eyes scanning the pages spread across the low table. There were dozens of them—each one covered in dense, black script. The characters were perfect, identical to his own hand. She'd worked through two nights without sleep.
"You actually did it." There was something in his voice that might have been respect.
Azul set down her brush with trembling hands. Her right wrist screamed with such pain that she wrapped her free hand around it just to stabilise the joint. "You sound surprised."
"I am." Borji picked up one of the sheets, examining it in the morning light filtering through the shrine's open walls. "Your ability to persist out of spite is inspiring."
"I don't have the luxury of mistakes." Azul eyed the plate he'd brought. Nkiru had already been fed; the girl was sleeping on a mat in the corner, having insisted on accompanying her that night.
Borji set the page down. "The Dowager will receive petitioners in two hours. We have time to prepare you."
Azul glanced down at herself. Her robes were rumpled and stained with various concentrations of ink. Her hair had been forced back in a rough bun, and the thought of combing through her locs with just Nkiru’s help unearthed a sinking feeling of dread.
"Wake Nkiru," she ordered, and he nodded.
"One more thing. When you see my grandmother, do not show strength."
She pursed her lips. "I am not weak."
"I fear you will have to be, for one day. If the Dowager decides you've done poorly, you will simply be punished again. You're at a disadvantage for harming her grandson, so she will be inclined to be harsh in her judgement of you."
Azul said nothing. What could she say? The reality that her assault meant nothing to these people was one she would have to get used to. If she were angry every time she faced injustice in this world, she would anger herself to death.
"I understand."
Two hours later, Azul stood before the gates of the Dowager's residence. Nkiru had done what she could—braided Azul's hair, wiped the ink from her fingers, and smoothed her robes. But nothing could hide the dark circles beneath Azul’s eyes or the hollow look of someone who'd been starved for days.
Borji had left her, naturally. As much as a strange friend he had become, it was best if she faced her battles alone first. If they mistook her for having a strong relationship with him, their attacks would only be more vicious.
"May Anyanwu grant you a thousand days under the sun," the wives greeted as the Dowager was led in from the back door. She was an old woman with shrewd eyes; three tribal marks graced both cheeks, marks that had followed her since childhood all the way to this throne.
She sat heavily, her maids helping her hold on to her eagle-feather fan.
"You may all sit," she finally said, and the women took their seats in order of status, with the Ugoeze sitting at the Dowager's right and the Iyom to the left, one step lower.
"Congratulations, Mama. I heard the Igwe has recognised Ukhel as one of the Tribe's chi in your honour. You raised him to be a great man." The Ugoeze was the first to speak; her face was all smiles, and her words brought great happiness to the Dowager, who laughed heartily.
"That boy! He has been doing as he wished since he was young. I only mentioned it was hard to worship Ukhel publicly since he is not a Tribal chi, and see what he did? How naughty." She spoke as if scolding, but her lips had yet to drop.
"Mama, to congratulate you, I have asked the Akwaugo to write the scriptures of Ukhel for you. I know it is a struggle to read them all the way at the Ancestral Shrine."
"The Akwaugo?" The Dowager's face fell. "I heard she is graceful beyond measure with a disposition befitting a princess; that is why my son insisted he adopt the girl. Well, it is better than marrying her."
Snickers erupted in small batches around the room.
The Ugoeze's smile remained, but it did not reach her eyes.
"Look at the chaos she has caused, and she has not even been here a month!
Who knows if she stays any longer, she won't only try to kill the Okpalaeze but the Igwe himself!
" The Dowager's voice rose with each word until she burst into a fit of coughs, causing everyone to look and act concerned for her health.
"Mama, do not let the girl vex you. Perhaps the matter is not so easily judged. She has tried her best to copy the scriptures to please you after all." The Ugoeze tried to explain, her hand caressing the old woman's.
The Dowager sighed. "You are far too kind. It is good to be a magnanimous woman, but to be a good Ugoeze, you must also have a strong fist."
"I understand, Mama," the Ugoeze said quickly, hiding the ridicule in her gaze. It was well known that the Dowager was never an Ugoeze; she was simply a common wife. What did she know about leadership? She was only putting on airs because her son had won the succession war.
"Where is the girl?" The Dowager asked, searching the space. There was a brief moment of silence as everyone looked around; the Dowager's expression got uglier with each second.
"Dowager, the First Prince is here," a lady came in to announce, and the Dowager's expression immediately lit up.
"Is Borji here? Quickly send him in! He hasn't visited me since last month; I need to know what a scoundrel like him has been doing."
Borji entered with unnerving confidence; he knew exactly how charming he could be when necessary.
"Grandmother," he said, bowing with just enough respect to be proper and just enough suave to make her smile. "You're looking radiant this morning. Have you found the immortal pill of legend? Why didn't you share?"
The Dowager's laugh was genuine this time, the harsh edge from moments before dissolving like morning mist. "You rascal! Still speaking nonsense with that glib tongue of yours."
"It's not nonsense if it's true." Borji settled himself on a cushion near her feet; the first grandson would always have a special place in his grandmother's heart. "Though I apologise for my absence. The palace has been rather eventful lately."
"Eventful." The Dowager's expression sharpened slightly, though her fondness remained. "Is that what we're calling the chaos in my household?"
"Chaos can be cleansing, Grandmother. Like a storm that clears the air."
Several wives shifted uncomfortably; the Ugoeze's smile tightened by a fraction.
"You always did have strange philosophies." The Dowager tapped his head lightly with her fan. "Tell me, what mischief have you been causing? Are you still spending all your time at the training grounds, or have you finally decided to take an interest in court matters?"
"A bit of both," Borji said easily. "Though I've also been playing scholar lately. I heard someone was copying Ukhel's scripture for you so I decided to study my theology so I wouldn't be lacking today."
The Iyom's face flickered with something dark.
"Ah, yes, the scripture." The Dowager's mood shifted again, the warmth receding. "The girl. Where is she? I asked already and no one seems to know."
"Oh, the Akwaugo?" Borji asked. "I passed her on the way in. She's been waiting outside, as is proper."
The Dowager's eyes narrowed. "She's been outside this entire time?"
"Yes, Grandmother. I'm surprised no one mentioned it." Borji feigned confusion.
The Iyom's face was openly unhappy. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands clenching in her lap. She'd clearly expected Azul to be absent, to give them further cause for complaint.
"Summon her," the Dowager commanded. "Immediately."
A servant scurried out.
The Dowager turned her sharp gaze on the Ugoeze. "You did not think to inform me the girl had already arrived?"
"I... I was not aware, Mama." The Ugoeze's voice remained smooth, but there was a crack in her perfect veneer. "Perhaps the guards failed to notify us properly."
Borji hid his scoff behind a cough.
The servant returned moments later, and behind her came Azul.
The Dowager's chambers were a shock to Azul, who was used to the natural lighting of the shrine. Despite being decorated with dark and warm ornaments, the room seemed stately and cold. The smell of medical herbs made her scrunch her nose.
The Dowager sat on a raised platform, her hair bound tightly in cloth. Her eyes were clear as ice, lacking any signs of delirium, like Azul was hoping.
"Akwaugo," the Dowager said, her voice dry as cracking leather. "Present your work."
Azul bowed quickly, kneeling. "May the Dowager see a thousand suns." She gestured to the servant who carried the bundled manuscript. The girl scurried forwards, placing it before the Dowager with shaking hands.
The old woman's gnarled fingers traced the first page. Then the second. Her expression remained unreadable.
Silence stretched like a pulled thread, ready to snap.
"The strokes are even," the Dowager said finally. "The characters are well-formed. You have some skill."