Chapter 3:

Just at that time, my brother ride pass on horseback, rush over, save her. Na so sister-in-law escape terrible fate.

Sound of horse hooves for cobblestone loud that night. He jump down, carry her with strong arm, waka before anybody blink. Whole street watch, mouth open, as our family fate change overnight.

Na so hero save beauty.

Women for area clap, ululate, men nod. "Adekunle get liver," old men for beer parlour yarn.

Young general, just dey taste love, and the most famous runs girl for capital—love at first sight.

From that day, their name always together. Some call am craze, others destiny. Children sing their story for street, hope for small magic for their own life.

After small inquiry, my brother send person with big money to buy sister-in-law freedom.

He no waste time—send old steward, with cowries and new wrapper, go Madam Felicia. Brothel buzz like disturbed anthill, by night, deal finish.

From then, one more love story add to city gist.

Even for pepper soup joint, men raise cup, toast the day general fall for runs girl. The story twist, retold, nobody remember real gist.

People dey guess if my brother go hide her for small house or make her lowly wife, but result shock everybody.

Elders expect her to stay for small gate house, out of sight. But my brother carry her enter main hall, bold as brass, dare anybody talk. People almost drop yam in shock.

My brother kneel outside Hall of Chiefs for three days, beg late king for marriage blessing, then marry sister-in-law proper as main wife.

Rain no move am. He fast, pray, no rise till king step out, touch shoulder: "Rise, Adekunle. Love dey move mountain." Town crier announce wedding with talking drum that night.

Royal order give her status, but people still dey talk.

Old women shake head roadside, hiss: "Na juju she use." Men for palace gate gossip every evening, some jealous, some admire. But nobody fit deny her place again.

Three years, rumour no stop. Dem say my brother brave for battle but mumu for love, bewitched by street woman, shame to ancestors.

"Love dey turn lion to goat," elders warn, as if dey teach own son. Palace drummers compose small song, mock my brother’s devotion.

Dem also say this woman don lose chastity, and that jump from building na to trap my brother.

Some say she plan everything, tears be crocodile. No matter how story twist, marriage no stop.

My brother vex, wan carry long staff go beat rumour spreaders, but sister-in-law gently stop am.

She put hand on his, soft but firm. Anger in his eye fade, worry for her show. She brush stray hair from his brow, shake head gently.

Her eyes red, but voice steady and calm.

Even with tears close, words come out smooth, like prayer. "No be today dem start to talk, no be today dem go stop."

"Make dem talk. Na their mouth; e no go remove anything from our body."

Her smile small, but shine for lamplight. She squeeze his hand, keep both of them grounded inside all the gist.

My brother angry.

He stand, pace, staff knock ground. Jaw dey work, word stuck for throat. Whole house quiet, fear his temper.

"Let them insult me, but to drag your name—no fit happen..."

He raise staff, eyes hot, but she pull him back, finger dig sleeve.

"You dey control army, new king already dey fear you. We need to careful for everything."

She talk soft, remind am danger wey full palace. Her word cool am like water for hot head.

Sister-in-law pull my brother sit, stroke my hair: "Yemi, you like sister-in-law?"

Her hand gentle, draw small circles for my scalp. I feel tension melt, even if small.

"I do! Yemi like sister-in-law pass everybody."

I hug her waist, face bury for wrapper. My brother smile, first real smile in days.

I snuggle for her arm, blink at my brother: "Brother, wetin be ‘fear’?"

I look up, frown. The word heavy for tongue, strange. I want understand, but e far.

My brother no answer.

He look away, face lamp flame. Something break inside, I no fit name am. Even sister-in-law quiet, lost for thought.

After that, I hardly see him again.

Always on the move, shadow under eye deep every time he return. Soldiers stop laugh for yard, war drum loud every month.

Either king send am east to fight raiders, or north to chase bandits.

He leave before dawn, sword for side, never promise to come back. Kitchen staff weep, hide tears behind mortar.

Each time, Adeyemi family army lose plenty men.

Mothers cry at gate, wait for sons wey no return. Compound shrink with every burial, laughter grow faint.

This last time, Adeyemi family army almost finish, even my brother no return.

The day last horn blow, whole street mourn. Nobody cook; nobody sing. Market women close stall, join us for sorrow.

When news of my brother death come, sister-in-law faint straight.

Her head hit ground with dull sound. I scream, servants rush, world nearly end there.

When she wake, she grab dagger for table, try stab herself.

She move quick, wrapper nearly fall. Blade shine for candle, aim heart. Compound scatter, servants wail and scramble.

I snatch dagger, cry and beg.

Hand shake as I hold blade away. Voice crack, thick with tears. "No do am! Abeg, no leave me alone."

"Sister-in-law, brother left you letter before he die. Abeg, read am."

I drag envelope from pocket, hand tremble. Red stain for paper twist my belly.

As I talk, sister-in-law eyes wide, gaze land envelope for bed.

She reach for am, finger shake. For moment, she look younger than me, scared. Air thick, as if something sacred dey wait.

Envelope stained with blood, messenger risk life bring am back.

Mark deep, almost black, wax seal barely hold. All of us quiet, no breathe.

That guard covered in wound, give me letter before he collapse, never wake again.

Old women say na hero death, clutch envelope till last breath. They pour gin for grave, whisper prayer for soul.

I bring letter to sister-in-law. On blood-stained envelope, my brother’s strong handwriting clear:

[To Morenike, personally.]

Even way he write name, you feel love and urgency. I trace letter, wish they come alive.

Tears start pour from sister-in-law, but before they drop on paper, she turn head away, no want spoil last thing my brother leave.

She bite lip, hold tears. One deep breath, wipe eye, then break seal, careful like opening calabash of secret.

After calm down, she open envelope with shaking hand.

Finger brush cloth inside, search for word. Silence thick, heart beat loud like drum.

Inside no be paper, but strip of white cloth, words written in dark red—blood.

Writing rough but clear, letters slant with pain. Even elders gasp when they see blood as ink—grave sign for our people.

Sister-in-law read every word with all her strength, then squeeze cloth tight in hand.

Lips move silent, read over and over. Grip tight till knuckle white. She press cloth to chest, as if hold my brother’s spirit.

All these years, I never see sister-in-law look so strange. I pull her sleeve, worry: "Sister-in-law, wetin brother talk?"

My own voice small, almost whisper. I dey fear the answer, but need to know.

"Adekunle say he no die for battle, na dem kill am."

Her voice drop, just above whisper. Room go cold. I almost hear my brother ghost for shadow.

Sister-in-law eyes look through window, direct to far golden palace: "He want make I help am get revenge. But me, ordinary woman, how I wan do am..."

Her gaze harden, eyes shine like broken glass for moonlight. For first time, I see storm for her—same storm wey carry her from brothel to palace.

"Who? Who kill brother!"

My heart pound. I step forward, fist tight, ready to fight ghost if need. Voice echo for mud wall.

My body shake. I try grab cloth from sister-in-law, she quickly hide am inside sleeve.

She move fast, wrapper swish, cover evidence. I pout, vex boil over.

As for envelope, she muttered a short prayer, tossing the envelope into the fire bowl, and the smoke twisted up, carrying secrets to the ancestors.

I rush try save am, but sister-in-law hold me tight, so I just watch as envelope turn ash.

She wrap arm around my waist, pin me down gentle but firm. Her eyes warn me, stay quiet.

"Sister-in-law..."

I whimper, tears near again. Hand shake, want rescue anything from fire.

In these three years, I see sister-in-law gentle, dignified, sad, innocent—but never with this kind hate burn for her clear eyes.

Na as if new spirit enter her—one bent on revenge. I shiver, no sure if I dey fear or proud.

The hate for her eye burn like fire, and somehow, e dey catch me too.

I feel my own blood hot, anger crawl my bone. I want scream, do something, but feet glue to ground.

But the words from her mouth no match her face.

Voice sweet, soft as palm oil, but eyes dey talk war. Contradiction send chills for my back.

"The dead don go. The living suppose live well. No need to throw your life away because of revenge."

Her words float for air, wise like village priest. But as she talk, hand clench tight, knuckle white for wrapper.

Just like that, hate disappear, gentle weak look replace am—like say all I see just now na my imagination.

She smile, brush my cheek as if nothing. But behind her eye, storm still dey.

I want ask again who kill my brother, but sister-in-law change topic.

She press finger for my lip, shake head gentle. Gaze soft, warn me not to push.

"Yemi, where the person wey bring letter?"

Voice get new urgency. She stand, wrapper trail floor, ready for next thing.

"He dey guest room. Doctor say he too tired, maybe till night before he wake."

I point corridor, voice shake. Leg weak, but I follow her.

"Carry me go see am."

She grab my hand, squeeze with strength wey shock me. Steps fast, sure.

"Mm."

I nod, swallow hard. I fear, but know better than to argue.

I no know wetin sister-in-law want, but after years she care for me, I just follow her go guest room where deputy general dey rest.

Room dark, thick with healing herbs and dry blood. One candle flicker for bedside, shadow long for wall.

Inside, deputy general still unconscious, bandage everywhere, wounds scary.

He breathe short, ragged. Face pale, lips crack. Doctor bag for door, open, forgotten.

"He don suffer well—na real pity."

Her voice soft, almost pity. She brush hair from face, eyes narrow.

Sister-in-law arrange wrapper, sit by bed, sigh soft.

She cross leg, wrapper spread neat. For moment, I think she go pray for am.

Just as I think she wan check wound, the candle flame trembled as she drew the dagger, the air thick with the smell of blood and camwood. Without any delay, she stab am for chest.

Her hand move quick—too quick for me to stop. Blade go deep, blood spurt for finger. My breath hang.

Blood rush. Deputy general, wey dey pretend sleep, open eye, but only watch as sister-in-law twist dagger for heart.

He gasp, eye wide, mouth open and close like dying fish. Sister-in-law lean close, whisper something only he hear.

He die with eye open.

Last breath rattle, candle flame flicker. I stagger back, heart pound.

Distance too near; blood splash all over sister-in-law face.

Blood streak cheek, stain white wrapper. She no flinch, just wipe face with back of hand.

She just wipe am off with wrapper, smile bright: "People wey know too much, no dey last for this world."

Her smile cold, almost beautiful. She stand, dagger red, I feel hair for neck rise.

"Sister-in-law..."

I want run, but feet no move. Voice like ghost, faint.

I step forward, but her eyes stop me.

She fix me with stare sharp as broken glass. I freeze, swallow hard.

She bring out brocade handkerchief, clean dagger, put am away, then look at me.

Her move neat, controlled. She tuck dagger for wrapper, straighten shoulder, face me.

Her eyes smile, but words full of sadness: "Yemi, I don fail Adekunle."

Voice crack, small. Tear run cheek, mix with blood. She turn away, gather herself.

That time, I no understand wetin she mean.

I stand there, confusion and fear dey fight. I want comfort her, but she don lost inside her own world.

But when sister-in-law dress up to meet king, I understand everything.

Wrapper perfect, eye empty. She wear mask of woman with nothing to lose. I shiver, understanding come too late.

So, na so e end. Nobody fit do anything about am.

World don move, leave us behind. I watch, powerless, as she waka enter new life, head high.

I look empty, cold mourning hall, no believe how once-glorious General’s compound don fall so low.

Silence press my ear, heavy like curse. Wall wey used to ring with laugh now only echo loss.

Amid crying and shouting, I no fit hold myself, throw myself on my brother coffin, cry my eyes out.

I scream his name, beat wood till hand pain. Tears soak white cloth on coffin. Nobody stop me—they understand.

I no know how long I cry—just that, for one moment, world go silent.

Even birds stop sing. Air itself mourn, cold and empty.

When I finish wipe tears, I tell old steward, "Go call elders and remove that witch Morenike from family register."

Word bitter for tongue, but I spit am anyway. The steward nodded, eyes red, and shuffled away. That day, the Adeyemi family closed its doors—and the legend of Morenike began.

But in the shadows of the palace, whispers started—Morenike’s story never truly ends where pain begins.