CHAPTER EIGHT
It had been a stressful night. As in Leonard’s camp, no one in Arochukwu slept after news of the white man’s death spread. The night seemed to have turned to day, bustling with villagers discussing the incident and preparing for war.
The shrine was quiet, for Azuka was locked behind the doors of the inner room where only he ventured to commune with the gods. Pouring libation on the floor, he performed a series of rituals, and a tendril of smoke rose from the ground and grew to form a fog.
“Sorry to have awakened you, Obioma,” Azuka said. “But, as you are no doubt aware, our son killed one of the strange visitors and I want to know what this incident portends.” Azuka sighed, listening. “How do you mean? ... The visitors have taken up arms and are set for war? So soon?”
Azu
