Ewohna Alternate Ending

The two guards looked astounded as the Ejele’s body shrunk into a skeletal form, and into dust all together. Their eyes fell on Ewohna. He motioned to his sisters, “run!” he said. “Don’t look back.”
Ojongtambia and Eposi immediately made for the bushes, leaving behind their gear. Ewohna had warned that it would slow them down. He had said it was already too late. “Run straight, keep below the trees till you cross the Kaja stream. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. Not even me.” It was then that the girls understood that Ewohna meant to sacrifice himself for them.
He must have realized that even if he escaped, he would be unable to live with himself. Despite what the Ejele had said, he still blamed himself for the death of his family members.
It was time to do one heroic thing—to save what was left of his family. One thing was sure. The Antoh name would be lost with him. He didn’t care. The Anoh family name however, would live on in spirit. It will fester and grow in the hearts of his last sisters. The dead daughters of the Anoh would find peace in knowing their sisters lived on.
Ewohna launched at the two guards. A fist sent him to the ground. A kick was buried in his belly. Another guard swung his machete to deal the final blow. Ewohna dodged the impact point. He parried another strike. He kicked one guard. Then, almost as immediately slashed off the fingers of the man’s left hand. The guard fell on his knees, his other hand supporting the stump where his fingers once were. With his piercing cry in the air, Ewohna slit his throat and he fell on the dust.
The remaining guard was sweating now. His forehead was furrowed with rage and his muscles popped. He swung at Ewohna. He dodged but too slowly. The blade met his chest and left a gory gash there. Blood skipped into the guard’s face, as Ewohna cried.
Ewohna fell to the ground.
He gathered a handful of dust and rubbed it carelessly against is bleeding chest. He cried. He tried to stand up. But the guard smashed him on his back. The guard raised his blade, it caught a blinding lustre from the rising sun, and he aimed another swing at the crawling Ewohna who quickly turned around with a parry. Their blades clashed. Ewohna kicked him in the groin.
He fell back. Regaining his balance, he picked the machete of his fallen comrade. He plunged forward. Ewohna jumped to his feet and the guard’s blades met the ground.
Ewohna left a gash on the guard’s arm. He turned furiously and slashed at Ewohna’s chest—again. Another slash poured blood from his chest. The boy felt his strength leaving him, his life leaving him.
Memory haunted him. He had failed. Images seared his mind like hot iron—images of his papa, his mama, Agda, Banda, Suru, Arrey and Egbe. Images of their deaths. He dropped to the ground. His heart failing him. Telling him there was nothing left to live for. Telling him, to die.
He crept on his elbows to the hut. Toward a calabash. He grabbed it, as if to drink. The guard loomed over. He held his blades aloft.
At that moment, Ewohna remembered what papa used to say about the content of the calabash, “Don’t expose it to the sun. It is fire oil and will burn you.” He smiled at the
guard.
“You do not see that you die, traitor?” the guard said.
Ewohna opened the calabash and emptied its liquid content on the guard and himself.
“Ha! You want to bathe before you die?” he guard laughed.
“No, I am ready to die. Are you?”
The sun stood over the horizon. Then there was a spark on the guard’s blades and he went up in flames. The fire spread quickly and it too engulfed Ewohna, who welcomed it with a smile.
“It is over,” he smiled.