Way of The Wand

They let the moon light their way, even as it gave everything in their path a blue haze.

On the way, Jira and Chidi exchanged stories, traded banter, and didn’t stop talking until they arrived where Chidi was taking her.

Jira gasped, recognizing the high white walls of the king’s palace.

She ought to have realized it sooner. The paved road through a field of flowers that they’d been walking on for almost an hour ought to have been a dead giveaway.

What other place in Benin bore such ornamental beauty?

This side of the city was restricted most times during the year, which explained her unfamiliarity with the road leading up to the palace.

She looked up at the entrance, and to her surprise, saw that the black gates were wide open. The only thing preventing indiscriminate entry were the two wizard guards clad in leather uniforms blocking the entrance.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

Chidi reached into the pocket of his hood and showed Jira two tickets. “The king is hosting one of his rare art exhibitions tonight. And given how much you used to talk about attending one of those—”

Jira didn’t let him finish. She flung herself into his arms and held him tight.

“My Gods,” she said after she withdrew from him, taking one of the tickets in his hand. “How in the world did you get tickets? They must have cost a fortune.”

Chidi nodded shyly like a kid who’d just received a plate of jollof and dodo. “A small fortune.”

They showed their tickets to the guards at the gate and were allowed entry.

Jira gasped as they entered the courtyard.

Statues and carvings made from stone, wood, and clay sat on display on erected platforms.

Bronze heads of dead kings and queens sat on small tables dispersed around the courtyard.

Paintings hung from the side of the main palace itself, showing the portraits of those who had ruled Edoh at one time or the other.

Bronze plaques with intricate carvings displaying scenes from Edoh mythology: the creation, the battles of the gods, the afterlife, were cradled against the base of the palace, underneath the paintings.

People who had arrived earlier pooled around the artworks, gawking with a mixture of wonder and admiration.

The entire arena was alive with murmuring as several amateurs whose work didn’t make it into the king’s collection tried to sell off their wares.

Jira grabbed Chidi and dragged him after her. “We need to get closer.”

She stopped in front of a statue of Oya, a statue so black it might as well have been made from coal.

Oya’s hair twisted in locks down her back, her hands gestured towards the sky as if about to summon the forces of nature against her enemies.

Jira and Chidi moved away from her to gaze at Sango next, looking fierce in his battle stance, axe in one hand, mouth opened like he was about to breathe out his raging fire.

“There are absolutely beautiful,” Jira commented.

Jira moved on, checking out every piece on display and fawning over each. She lost herself in the paintings as she gazed into the face of Moremi, one of Edoh’s famed queens of old, resplendent in her gele and iro.

“Miss!” One of the amateur artists called to Jira.

Jira turned to see who was calling for her attention.

The artist had a slate with a canvass on it in his hands, while calabashes filled with paint floated behind him.

Jira’s eyes narrowed. A wizard. Most amateur painters were witches who had trouble selling off their work because it was made with “lesser magic”.

The wizard artist offered to make a painting of Jira, but she turned him down.

Chidi offered to pay for it, but she refused and looked around for a witch artist instead.

“Come on,” she said to Chidi when she spotted an old man sitting on a stool by Oduduwa’s statue.

“Can you paint us please?” Jira said to the old man.

The old man squinted. “Of course.”

He took the slate and rested it on his laps, then spread his canvass over it. Next, he took out his wand and held it over a calabash of paint.

When he brought the wand over to his canvass, the liquid paint followed and spread out over the canvass, shaping into Jira’s and Chidi’s faces.

The old man pointed to the painting he just made and said, “Dry.” He then handed the painting over to Jira, and just as she was about to pay him, he recognized her.

“You are that little girl’s teacher,” he beamed. “The one on the burning broomstick.”

Jira paused, surprised that even the old man had attended the tournament.

“I can’t take this,” the old man complained, refusing to accept the money.

“Why?”

“Think of it as a present.”

Jira couldn’t do that. The man looked like he needed the money more than her. “I insist.” She tried to thrust the money into his hands.

“No, I insist,” the old man returned.

They went back and forth till Chidi stepped in.

“How about a compromise. She’ll pay half, that way, you both get what you want.”

The man agreed and took half the number of gold gamnis he would have collected from another customer.

As Jira walked away with the small painting in hand, she told Chidi about the bartender.

“You’re turning into a star,” Chidi joked.

“I don’t want to be.” Her voice was grave and serious. “I’m not in this for the fame or because I want free stuff. I just want to help my pupils prove that witchcraft is wizardry’s equal.”

Chidi turned and held her by her shoulders. “I know. But in the process, you’re inspiring a lot of people. You’re changing people’s perceptions of witchcraft; you’re changing lives. Naturally, some will want to express their gratitude to you however they can.”

Jira spotted a trader selling ayoayos, a boardgame she used to play when she was little.

Chidi followed her eyes and pinpointed the object of her attention.

“You want one of those? I’ll get it for you.”

Jira grabbed him by the hand before he moved away. “Chidi,” she looked into his eyes. “You’ve already done enough just bringing me here tonight.”

Jira was aware of Chidi’s humble background. His parents, unlike hers, did not come from wealth. To have him keep spending on her like this was simply unfair, especially since he was still a student with no income of his own, while she was a teacher.

She dropped her gaze to her feet, avoiding his eyes as her next words came out. “I know it couldn’t have been easy saving up to buy tickets for this exhibition, so please, if anyone has to pay for anything else while we’re here, let it be me.”

Chidi was thrown aback by her straightforwardness. Nevertheless, he recognized the wisdom in her words and didn’t object.

Jira purchased the ayoayo, along with several other souvenirs.

They didn’t leave the palace until the sun started to come up, at which point Chidi had to leave.

“I’d like to walk you home—”

“But you have to go before Airad notices your absence.”

He nodded. “But, I’m down if you are to do this again. Moongirl, two nights from now.”

“That’s the night of the second task,” Jira pointed out.

“Yeah, is that a problem. If you’re worried, I keep telling you, you’re going to win it.”

“No,” Jira smiled through her teeth. “I’ll be there.”

She rummaged through the bag of keepsakes she had amassed and fished out the painting.

“Here, take it.”

Chidi did that thing where his eyebrows went in opposite directions. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” She slapped the painting into his chest.

“Thank you.” Chidi collected it and made to leave, but Jira caught his arm and turned him to face her.

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, smearing his dark skin with her red lip-paint. “Goodnight Chidi.”

Chidi gave a wide grin. “You bet.”