Amara's father could no longer bear the relentless devastation. Each morning, a fresh trail of destruction greeted him—cassava mowed down, yam tendrils crushed, and plantains half-chewed and drooling sap. The culprit was no ordinary pest. The hoof prints revealed its identity: a wild boar. A cunning beast, it struck only at night and had, over time, outsmarted every trap laid in wait. No hunter had seen it, no villager had heard its steps. But its havoc echoed.
Only one recourse remained—a power greater than claw or trap: a leopard. Not just any leopard, but the one borne by Ugochukwu, Mazi Agbu's son. The leopard that moved not of flesh, but of spirit. When Amara's father approached the family with his plea, Ugochukwu did not hesitate. How could he deny the father of the girl who had somehow come to mean more than he yet understood?
Dibia Ozo was summoned once more, this time not to seal, but to release. With precision and solemnity, he prepared for the leopard's first commanded journey.
Amara's father arrived at the Oda Agu Owuru shrine carrying two fresh yellow palm fronds—omu nkwu—cut before sunrise as required. Under the moonlight, Dibia Ozo twisted them into sacred knots, invoking the Ebeagu. He then tapped the oku agburacha, the smooth-bottomed clay bowl that sealed Ugochukwu's spirit-animal, four times with each frond. With a firm but reverent movement, he turned the bowl face up beside the spiritual gateway.
Armed with the consecrated fronds, Amara's father walked to his field, the omu nkwu like antennae of the gods. He circled the land thrice, muttered the prescribed words, and with his back turned to the crops, hurled both fronds backwards into the heart of the field. The beacon had been set.
Just after midnight, the air stirred at Oda Agu Owuru.
With a low growl that echoed without sound, the leopard of Ugochukwu emerged. Drawn by the omu nkwu, it bounded over hills and paths to Amara's father's farmland. The boar was already there, tusks deep in a yam mound. Its senses twitched. Something unnatural approached—no scent, no steps, just a presence.
A fight? Or flight?
The leopard leapt. The boar snorted in defiance, charging. But it was no match. In seconds, the beast was felled, its blood silently drained—taken not in hunger, but in rite. The carcass, untouched otherwise, belonged to the summoner.
The leopard fastened its tail to the boar's and began to drag the lifeless body across the field, toward the massive iroko tree that shadowed all other trees nearby. But just as the leopard reached halfway—
"Ahhh! My hand! My left hand!" Ugochukwu's cry shattered the night.
Mazi Agbu rushed from his room, lantern unlit, guided only by panic. He found his son hunched over, his right hand clutching the other, eyes brimming with pain.
"My hand! It's shattered!" Ugochukwu cried again.
Mazi Agbu didn't ask questions. He sprinted back into his room, lit the lantern, and reached under the bamboo-framed bed. There, wrapped in a raffia mat, was the steel trap—blessed and prepared weeks earlier on Dibia Ozo's instructions.
He snapped the jaw open, the iron teeth gleaming in the lamplight. "Put your hand inside," he said, breath shallow.
Ugochukwu hesitated, then obeyed. The trap snapped shut.
No scream followed.
"Pull it out," said Mazi Agbu, his voice now trembling.
Ugochukwu did. No pain. No scratch. No fracture. The ache had vanished.
Far away, in Amara's father's farm, the leopard limped from a hidden metal trap, its leg now healed in unison with Ugochukwu's arm. With renewed strength, it dragged the boar to the base of the iroko, released the tail-knot, and faded into shadow—homeward bound to Oda Agu Owuru.
In another part of the country, in the sleeping quarters of Government College, Ahia, Akpabio turned restlessly in bed. The Form Two student was a light sleeper, especially during harmattan when every rustle sounded like danger.
A faint sound broke the night's silence. Something was brushing against metal—slowly, deliberately.
He opened his eyes. Darkness. Stillness. Then, movement—a pole? A long, smooth shaft slid between the burglar-proof bars of the dormitory window, reaching inward like a probing arm.
As Akpabio's eyes adjusted, he saw the hook. It dangled just above a locker, where freshly pressed uniforms lay.
"Thief!" he cried out, reaching for his torch. The beam hit the pole. Gasps echoed.
"It's the leopard!" someone shouted.
Akpabio dropped the torch.
In seconds, another torch flicked on. The pole was gone. So was the silhouette that had accompanied it. But the damage had been done—not physical, but psychological.
The boys scrambled out of their beds, the dorm now abuzz with speculation.
The prefect, Chinedu, threw his door open, candle in hand. "What is going on?"
"The leopard, sir," Benneth blurted. "It was here. I saw it, standing—on two feet!"
Akpabio added, "It was using the pole, trying to steal clothes."
More torches danced through the darkness, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, silence. No paw prints. No lingering smell.
But something had changed.
It was the fourth leopard sighting, and the boldest yet. It had moved from the edges of campus to the very heart—School House—where the senior prefects stayed.
"We'll report this to the House Master in the morning," Chinedu said, clearly rattled but hiding it well. "For now, everyone, back to bed."
He blew out the candle and returned to his room, but not to sleep. He couldn't forget what the boys had said. A leopard that used tools? That stood upright?
Pilfering had increased in recent weeks, but no one had connected it to the mysterious feline until now. A leopard that stole? What sort of creature was it really?
Back in his bed, Ugochukwu lay wide-eyed, heart pounding.
The dream had been vivid—a vision of the leopard being trapped mid-mission, his own hand in agony. The real pain, the real cry, the real healing. And now... this. A shadowy theft attempt at the dormitory. He hadn't sent the leopard. He hadn't even thought about it.
Had someone else found a way to manipulate it?
The questions grew louder in his mind. Was it merely instinct that had taken the leopard to School House? Or was something—or someone—else involved?
Ugochukwu turned and faced the wall, the image of the iroko tree glowing in his memory like a moonlit omen.
Tomorrow, he would have to speak to Dibia Ozo again.