LEVERAGE

CHAPTER ONE

FALLEN LINES APART

The compound fell into uneasy silence after Lotanna’s scream. Dust hung in the air as if even the ground was listening. Chief Obiri stood frozen, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, as though the world had shifted slightly and he was trying to locate its original position. The women gradually dispersed, some still crying softly, others muttering curses under their breath. Lotanna remained at the center for a moment longer, breathing heavily, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned pale. Then she turned sharply and walked into the inner hut without another word.

Chief Obiri did not follow. He simply stood there, watching the space she had just left behind, as though expecting it to speak back to him. It did not. Somewhere outside the compound, a child laughed briefly, unaware of the fracture that had just been sealed inside the household. That sound made everything feel worse.

Meanwhile, at the Obi Eze, the atmosphere had already changed. George Wellington stood near the outer corridor, watching the horizon. The white emissaries had already left the inner chamber, leaving behind only dust, silence, and the lingering smell of tobacco. One of the guards passed behind him and glanced at him cautiously, unsure whether this man was guest or threat.

George did not acknowledge him. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere between calculation and discomfort. He had seen enough to understand the structure of power here, but understanding did not make it easier to accept. Behind him, the Igwe was still inside, speaking with elders whose voices occasionally rose and fell like waves of restrained anger. George adjusted his coat again and exhaled slowly. He was not sure why he had come this far into this world, but something inside him resisted the idea of turning back.

Inside the inner chamber, the Igwe leaned back on his throne while a servant refilled his cup. The cowries had already been redistributed. Arguments from earlier had been settled not by resolution but by exhaustion. Elder 1 still looked unsettled, his eyes constantly shifting toward the door where George had exited earlier. Elder 2 sat rigid, his jaw tight.

Chief Obiri had already left the meeting, but his absence still felt present, like a shadow that had not decided where to fall. The Igwe noticed this and clicked his tongue softly. He disliked unresolved tension, not because it threatened him, but because it delayed control. “People think emotion is wisdom,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “But emotion is just delay dressed as meaning.” One of the elders nodded half-heartedly, unsure if agreement was safer than silence. The Igwe rose slowly. The leopard skin behind him shifted slightly as air moved through the

chamber.

“We proceed as planned,” he said. No one asked what plan.

Outside the palace gates, Chief Obiri walked alone. The path back to his compound felt longer than usual, not because the distance had changed, but because his thoughts had multiplied. Every step felt like a decision he had already made too late. He replayed the Igwe’s words repeatedly in his mind—“She has been bought,” “She is alive,” “Produce another child.” Each sentence landed differently now, like stones thrown into water that refused to settle. By the time he reached his compound gate, the sky had already begun to dim. He paused before entering. For a brief moment, he considered turning back. Instead, he entered.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavier than he remembered. Lotanna was no longer outside. The other women had gone. Only silence remained. He moved slowly toward the inner hut and stopped at the doorway. Lotanna sat on the floor, her back against the wall, her eyes empty but awake. She did not look at him. “You knew,” she said quietly. Chief Obiri shook his head. “I did not know it would go like this.” Her laugh was short, bitter. “But you knew it would go.” He had no answer for that. She finally looked at him. Her eyes were not just angry—they were tired in a way anger cannot fully express.

“Where is my daughter?” she asked.

Chief Obiri hesitated. That hesitation answered everything. Lotanna closed her eyes briefly.

“You gave her away,” she said. “Not to peace. Not to safety. To politics.

” Chief Obiri stepped forward slightly. “I am trying to protect this family.

” Lotanna shook her head slowly. “No. You are trying to survive men who do not see you as human.”

The silence that followed was different from earlier silences. This one had weight.

Far away from the compound, within the forested route leading toward the colonial outpost,

George Wellington finally stopped walking. The sun was lowering, casting long shadows through the trees. He removed his hat and wiped his forehead. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe without structure. The land around him was quiet, but not empty. He could feel presence in everything—the rustling leaves, the distant calls of birds, the invisible pressure of history layered into soil. He thought about Iheanacho. A fourteen-year-old girl in the middle of decisions she did not make. He thought about Chief Obiri. A man trapped between pride and fear. And he thought about the Igwe. A man who had learned to convert morality into currency. George exhaled slowly.

“What am I doing here?” he muttered to himself. No answer came. Only wind.

Back in the palace, the Igwe stepped out into the courtyard. The elders had already dispersed. The guards stood in formation, still and alert. He walked slowly toward the edge of the compound and looked outward. The village stretched beyond, layered with life and hidden tension. He noticed movement in the distance—farmers returning, women carrying firewood, children running without understanding the structures shaping their world. He smiled faintly. “They always adapt,” he said softly. “Even to things that break them.” Behind him, a guard approached carefully. “Igwe, the man George Wellington—” The Igwe raised a hand. “Leave him,” he said.

“Men like that either become useful or disappear.” The guard bowed and stepped back. The Igwe remained there for a while, watching the horizon as if it belonged to him simply because he looked at it longer than others dared.

Night fell gradually. In Chief Obiri’s compound, no one slept. Lotanna remained seated in the same position, unmoving. Chief Obiri sat outside under a weak lantern, staring at the ground. Inside the Obi Eze, George continued his journey toward something uncertain. And in the wider world, unseen forces moved steadily forward, indifferent to grief, negotiation, or regret. The land did not pause for anyone. It only continued.

Chief Obiri stood still at the edge of the compound, his gaze fixed on the faint outline of the village beyond. The night air had begun to settle more heavily now, carrying with it the distant sounds of insects and the occasional rustle of movement in the bushes. Everything felt normal on the surface, yet nothing within him aligned with normal anymore. His thoughts moved in slow circles, returning repeatedly to the same point, as though his mind refused to accept any other direction.

Inside the hut, Lotanna remained seated, but her posture had changed slightly. She was no longer slumped completely against the wall. Her back was straighter now, not from strength, but from something closer to emotional exhaustion. There was a kind of stillness in her face that suggested she had reached the edge of feeling. When

emotions run too deep for too long, they sometimes collapse into silence. That silence now filled her completely. She blinked slowly, staring at nothing in particular, yet seeing everything at once—the conversations, the decisions, the betrayal that had not arrived suddenly, but had been building quietly for a long time.

Chief Obiri finally turned away from the outer fence and walked slowly back toward the center of the compound. His footsteps were careful, almost hesitant, as though the ground itself might respond differently to him now. When he reached the lantern again, he paused and looked at it. The flame inside flickered unevenly, bending with each small movement of air. He reached out and adjusted the glass slightly, though it was not truly broken. It was more an excuse to touch something stable.

He exhaled deeply. “Everything changes too fast,” he said quietly to himself

, but even as he spoke, he knew that was not entirely true. It had not changed fast. It had accumulated slowly, decision by decision, silence by silence, until suddenly it became too large to ignore.

From inside the hut, Lotanna finally spoke. Her voice was low, almost flat, but it cut through the quiet clearly.

“You are still standing there.”

Chief Obiri turned slightly toward the doorway but did not step closer. “Yes,” he answered.

A long pause followed.

Then Lotanna asked, “Do you think standing there changes anything?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Another silence.

Lotanna let out a slow breath, as though releasing something she had been holding for too long. “Then stop standing there,” she said.

Her words were not angry anymore. They were tired. Final in their own way.

Chief Obiri lowered his head slightly. For a moment, he considered arguing, explaining, defending himself again. But there was nothing left in him that believed words would help. So instead, he walked toward the hut slowly and sat down near the entrance, not inside, not outside—somewhere in between.

The lantern light stretched across the ground between them, connecting the space without fully closing it. Neither of them spoke again. The night continued deepening around them, and the compound remained still, holding its