Episode 1 - The Child With Grey Eyes
The drums of Zazzau had not beaten for twelve years.
Not the drums of joy. The war drums beat. The funeral drums beat. But the drums of a royal birth — those had been silent since the day the Emir's first daughter, Aisha, was born.
Emir Muhammadu of Zazzau had three wives. The first wife, Hajiya Kubra, had given him three daughters. The second wife, Hajiya Halima, had given him four daughters. For twelve years, the council of elders came to him every Friday after Jumu'a prayer.
"Rankashidade," they would say, their voices heavy. "A stool without a son will fall. Who will hold the sword when you are gone?"
The Emir would nod, his face tight. He loved his daughters, but he was a King. And a King needs a son.
Then, his youngest wife, Laraba — the one he loved the most because she was quiet and her smile was like dawn — took in. Her belly grew.
The whole palace began to pray. Not for a safe delivery. They prayed for a son.
The palace mallams prayed day and night. The midwives brought herbs from seven hills. The oracle at the edge of the forest was given a white ram. Everyone waited.
It was on a night when the moon turned red.
Old people say when the moon turns red, the spirits walk.
Laraba's labor started at Maghrib. Her screams filled the women's quarters. Hajiya Kubra stood by the door, her arms folded. Hajiya Halima sat outside, counting her prayer beads but her eyes were not praying.
Inside, only two people were with Laraba: Binta, the old midwife whose hands had delivered half of Zazzau, and one young maid.
"Push, my daughter, push!" Binta whispered, her old hands steady. "The child is coming."
Laraba pushed. She sweated. She cried the name of Allah. The air in the room was thick with incense.
And then, a cry. A loud, strong cry. Not a weak cry.
A child was born.
Binta lifted the child, cut the cord, and cleaned the blood. She smiled. Then she looked at the face. Her smile froze.
The child's eyes were open.
Grey. Not black like every child of Zazzau. Grey like the ash after fire. Grey like the morning mist over the forbidden forest.
Binta's hands shook.
Laraba, exhausted, stretched her hands. "My son? Is it a son? Give me my son..."
Binta could not speak. She wrapped the child and placed her in Laraba's arms.
Laraba looked down. She saw a beautiful baby girl. Perfect nose, perfect lips. And those eyes. Those terrifying, beautiful grey eyes staring back at her.
It was a girl.
A girl with grey eyes.
Outside, the palace was silent. The maid ran out.
"Hajiya has delivered!" she shouted.
The first wife, Hajiya Kubra, stood up quickly. "A son?"
The maid hesitated. Her voice dropped. "A... a girl."
Silence fell like a stone.
Hajiya Halima laughed. A small, sharp laugh. "Again? Another girl?"
But the maid added, her voice trembling, "And... her eyes. Her eyes are grey."
The words spread through the palace faster than fire in dry grass.
GREY EYES. GREY EYES. THE CURSED CHILD.
In the ancient law of Zazzau, written on the leather scrolls in the Emir's chamber, it was said: "A child born with eyes of ash on a red moon is a bridge to the spirit world. Such child must not sit near the throne, lest she open the door for evil."
The Emir was sitting in his private chamber when his chief guard came. The guard knelt.
"Your Highness. Hajiya Laraba has delivered a girl. With grey eyes."
Emir Muhammadu did not move for a long time. His hands, which held his tasbih, tightened until the beads broke and scattered on the floor.
"A girl again," he whispered. Not anger. Disappointment. Deep, heavy disappointment.
"And the eyes?" he asked.
"Grey, Your Highness. Like the forest spirits."
The Emir closed his eyes. He remembered the words of his father, the late Emir: "If you ever get a cursed child, send it far. Do not let the curse enter Gidan Sarauta."
He called the council.
Within an hour, the council of seven elders gathered. The chief Imam was called. The oracle from the forest was called.
The oracle, a blind old man with white hair that touched the ground, was brought into the palace. He did not need to see the child. He sniffed the air.
"The red moon has marked her," he said. "She is not cursed. She is chosen. But the choice is heavy. If she stays in the palace, blood will flow. If she leaves, the kingdom will one day need her to survive."
The council murmured.
"Blood will flow if she stays!" Hajiya Kubra's brother, who was an elder, shouted. "She must go!"
The Imam was silent. He looked at the Emir with pity.
The Emir made his decision. It was not a cruel decision in his heart. It was a King's decision.
He stood. "Laraba and the child will leave the palace before Fajr. They will be given a small hut at the edge of Dajin Aljanu — the Forest of Spirits — and food every month. They are not to enter the palace walls again until I call them. This is my command."
No one argued.
In the women's quarters, Laraba heard the news. She did not cry. She had expected it. She held her grey-eyed daughter tighter.
Binta the midwife came to her, crying. "My daughter, forgive them. They fear what they don't understand."
Laraba looked at her baby. The baby looked back with those grey eyes, calm, not crying anymore.
"What will you name her?" Binta asked.
Laraba touched the baby's forehead.
"Zainabu," she whispered. "Because she is beautiful, even if they call her a curse."
Before Fajr, before the sun showed its face, Laraba left Gidan Sarauta. She carried her child on her back, a small bundle of clothes on her head. No drum beat. No one said goodbye. The big palace gate closed behind her with a dull thud.
She walked. Past the markets. Past the houses. Past the last houses of Zazzau. Until she reached the edge.
At the edge of the forbidden forest, there was a small mud hut, with a thatched roof that leaked. That was her new palace.
She entered. She placed Zainabu on a mat. The child did not cry. She looked up at the trees of the forest, which were tall and dark, and she smiled. A small, strange smile.
From inside the forest, something smiled back. The wind moved, though there was no wind.
Twenty years later, that smile would shake the throne of Zazzau.
