Split Blood: The Ancient Codex - Part One (Book #1 ) - COMPLETE

CHAPTER FOUR - THE SACRIFICE (Part 4)

I closed my eyes as I could feel her torment. However, I was unable to escape her pain for much longer as it seeped through my eyelids and into my mind. I could see the flickering of the rebels’ torches, the screams from the villagers pierced my ears and I felt the life escape each of the victims’ bodies as they were slaughtered like animals.

She laid her hand gently on my shoulder and I slowly opened my eyes to her drawn face. ‘I’m sorry Asabi. It just reminds me that I have no one now apart from Rohan. I don’t think I’ll ever see my parents again at this rate…’ I said sadly as I wiped the tears from my eyes and waved her to continue.

‘I understand, Faith,’ she replied as I begged her to finish her story.

She regarded my upset nature and continued. ‘My parents knew the risk of not adhering to their demands, so they packed some food and belongings into a bag and sent me and Idony away to England. My father’s sister lived over here and we thought she could help us. We never returned home.’ I listened intently, trying to distract myself by continuing to weave the leaves.

Correcting my weaving mistakes, I asked, ‘What happened to your parents?’

With a deep sigh and a look of pain, she replied, ‘I can only guess that they were killed by the rebels. Idony has tried to contact them but she has had no response. She has tried every spell, but nothing works.’

Engrossed in this emotional tale, I proposed optimistically, ‘Maybe they’re still alive?’

She smiled at my hope and shook her head. ‘No one would have survived the rebels. I have come to terms with that now,’ she replied as she moved one of the woven leaves to a completed pile and started on another, whilst I looked on at my unconnected, half-completed leaf.

‘So, you found a safe haven when you got to England?’ I questioned, curious at how they managed to form these villages in the forest.

Looking past me as though transported back into her past, she continued. ‘Getting to France, we had to hide in the cargo hole of a shipping vessel. We remained on board for two days before reaching my aunt’s. Our feet were covered in blisters and cuts and our clothing did not defend us from the cold weather. My aunt lived in a small town, which was a mixture of refugees and ethnic minorities - mainly people from similar backgrounds. She was welcoming at first, providing us with new shoes (too big for our feet) and jumpers which had been handed down from her older children; at ages 7 and 10, we could not complain. Her husband was gone most of the day and we helped maintain the cleanliness of their small townhouse. After a month of getting to know them and trying not to get into fights with the other children, she discovered our talents. Taking us to their ritual meetings, they forced us to use our gifts on people who often paid them for our services. After a while, our daily routine consisted of three hours of sleep, eating the rationed stale bread and water they gave us in the morning, cleaning the house and overgrown garden, going to the meetings with them for hours to heal and make predictions for the customers. And finally, we’d come home to sleep on the floor in the cellar with Idony without an evening meal to speak of. As we got older, we were allowed 30 minutes to ourselves and in that time we often went to the park, mainly to observe the other children with their happy families and to feel a sense of home. We built up a friendship with Bomani and he helped us make the decision to run away.’

Battling back the tears from the memory, she took a large gulp to drink and concluded her tale of woe. ‘We lasted nine years with my aunt before we fled. We tried to get jobs but we had no identification and because we were illegal citizens, we couldn’t risk being sent back to Benin. So, one day, we planned to meet Bomani in the park. He took us to his small camp in the woods where we hatched a plan to build our own. Knowing that my aunt would not let us go so easily, we were not surprised when she searched for, and found us. With a group from the ritual meetings, she tried to scare us into coming back, so we had to separate and we lost them in the escape. A year later, Idony had set up the village of Ignotum, deep into the forest and hidden behind a valley; she sent some of her followers - a mixture of wandering refugees, gypsies and outcasts - to help me finish my own, a smaller camp, further away behind a large cave. However, my aunt was persistent. She came back once again and, after a heated argument, she attacked me, issuing her friends the order to kill me and to take my hands, in an effort to use my healing powers for their next ritual. She thought I was still that weak seven-year-old who had relied on her when we first came to England but we showed her differently. Unfortunately, she did not see Mulogo behind her (who was also on the run, but from hunters from his own country who wanted to continue to use him to wage war on neighbouring villages). With a swipe of his axe, her head fell to the floor - both arms of the man accompanying her joined soon after.’

My mouth gaped at the terrifying journey they had been on, and I held onto her hands. Suddenly, he jumped to her feet and stared at me with fear in her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, shocked at the speed she moved away from me.

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