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Floating blue fields and golden trees. Hard-packed clay and love. That’s what he gave her. Promised his heart and convinced her to surrender her hand. Another warrior. With blade strapped to back and braid coiled around his hips, he had promised her a lifetime of love, and that’s all she had been searching for. And they escaped, ran into the night with lions at their backs and disappeared beneath the trees. They would miss them as one always missed royalty.
Baba had warned her. Told her she’d be on her own if she chose the warrior and had forbidden her when it became obvious that it was exactly what she would do. Mama had sat quietly flinching against her husband’s rage, knowing the child needed to follow love, as it was something she would never feel in this home. Not as long as Ife ruled it. Here she would be revered and referred to, avoided. She had to leave. And she heard her plea. Bowed to the aging king’s will, then disappeared beneath the stars.
* * * * * * * * *
They named her River so she would remember. Carry the souls of her ancestors with her and live as the Maroons and Creek. Embrace the ferocity of the Massai and kings of Dahomey. At birth she had been sprinkled with herbs and lifted toward the moon, paraded beneath the sun amongst chanted blessings. She was revered as a warrior from their past. Hailed and respected draped in kente and admired from afar lest some unknowing soul muddle her aura with his own. She’d learned early to stand alone to sit alone on embroidered pillows while others tiptoed around her afraid of unleashing a wrath unseen since Shango’s tears rocked boats across the Middle Passage.
They named her River. Left her to her own devices sure that she would find her way and they were right. The moment her studies become mundane, River found herself wandering off to speak to the trees. Dainty feet carrying her across cool tile onto clay paths that led to freedom. No one looked for her there. It was where she should be. Surrounded on all sides by those who had survived the razing. Cypress and elm lining the compound reaching branches thick like laborers’ legs to mingle amongst the clouds to stretch their leafy palms toward the heavens and give thanks for their lives.
It was there that she learned who she was. What she was. There that her training fell short. She was and would always be a warrior standing still when others were allowed to run. Lying in wait for the dangers that stalked her people.
They named her River knowing that she would one day run. Escape to a place where no one knew what she was. Who she was. Where her deep brown skin could melt into the crowds. She would run. Pack away her machete and staff and carry with her only the memories of what she had learned. Strands of blue beads replaced with white as she began anew. Looped around her neck leaving her hips bare for the first time since her birth.
They named her River knowing she would run. Clove sprinkled feet so she treads sweetly through eternity. Wooden beads carved and collected in woven bag then tied to locs for safekeeping. They named her River and she ran.
She ran.
Trees gave way to brush, as bare feet stumbled over rock, tearing through wounds that had only just begun to heal. Two days into her journey, and River was already beginning to forget. Ancient teachings hitched onto ragged breaths and seeped from her mind, leaving her vulnerable to the others’ truth.
If only the ocean were closer, she could ride its waves far from this prison and remember what it was to be loved. If only the ocean were closer…if the endless brush would reveal sand… But the others were coming. Near, tracking her scent like wildcats after the drought. She could not turn back. Not now that he was calling. Not now. If only the ocean were closer.
Small hands grasped branches that dug at her flesh and tore at her shroud…she was weakening. River coughed and bit back the cry that threatened to rip from her chest. There was little blood. Crimson droplets sprinkling her lower lip. Ragged breaths snagging her lungs, and she knew it would soon be time. If only the ocean were closer.
If only the ocean were closer, she could dip in its warmth and heal the night’s wounds. Restore the memories she had lost along the way, and soothe the ache in her heart. The others needed her, but only his voice washed over her, now. Only his voice. Something small pricked her cheek, and she knew that it would die, as would she if she did not soon reach the water’s edge.
The teachings would die. Without them, her people would cease to exist; but she had no choice but to follow the voice that beckoned on the wind. Soon. Soon, he said, soon. But the others were near. Closer than they would be, had she not given in to the night. Closer than they should be. Soon. He said, soon. And she believed.
She had forsaken her people, left them to a fate they did not understand…and for what? To die alone in the brush? Feet tangled in weeds, with the others riding her back? For what? For love? Or truth? Had to break free, reach the place where time began. Surely, he would meet her there. He wouldn’t leave her to die, would he? Soon, he said, soon. If only the ocean were closer.
Booted feet thundered in the thicket, trampling her footsteps in their haste. And she stumbled, cried out as rock tore at her flesh inviting the parasites that hovered nearby. Thunder silenced. They had heard. Picked up her scent and the sharpness of blood. It was too late. She would never reach it in time and he would leave without her. Small withering hands grasped at the branches she no longer wished to push through. Praying for a burst of strength that would carry her the rest of the way, River rose to her feet. Thorns and rubble pricked at her soles, and she waited.
Forgot her struggle to escape the reverence of the others and be who and what she was without obligation. It was too late. Thunder resumed. Slower now that there was no longer need to rush. The girl would surrender as she had been warned so many times before. She would surrender, remain with the others as had been foreseen.
There was no rush.
River lay feeding the beasts. Their hum deafened the footsteps and voice urging her to try. Try, try, he chanted somewhere in the distance, flooded her mind with hope and possibility. His voice numbed the pain, and River reached. She forgot the ache in her heart when remembering him, and raised bruised arms toward the image imprinted on her mind. She forgot all that she had seen and heard and reached.
She wanted to enclose the vision in her palms and hold him close. He had promised her love and change, yet nothing had changed. She would be returned to the temple where her absence would be mourned. The others would revere, step aside in fear, and whisper of her escape. She would require guards now. Another cough racked her lungs, and she knew. It was time. Everything had changed. Everything. Pain seeped behind her eyes, as golden sun dropped behind the trees. It was too late. The others would not reach her in time. Thin arms fell heavy amongst scattered leaves.
If only the ocean were closer.
© 2007 Sharia Kharif | 
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