Episode Nine — The Storyteller’s Secret
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Episode Nine — The Storyteller’s Secret
The laughter lasted long into the night.
Children ran between tables.
Drums echoed across the village square.
The smell of roasted meat drifted through the air.
For the first time in weeks, Amina almost felt normal.
Almost.
Because she couldn’t stop thinking about the old storyteller.
The man still sat by the fire.
Watching.
Waiting.
As if he knew something everyone else didn’t.
The celebration continued around her.
Zainab was currently standing on a wooden table arguing with Barde.
Again.
“You’re cheating,” Barde complained.
“I haven’t even started yet,” Zainab replied.
“Exactly.”
The villagers roared with laughter.
Mama Jatau nearly dropped a calabash.
Amina shook her head and walked toward the old storyteller.
The man smiled before she even spoke.
“I was wondering how long it would take.”
Amina sat across from him.
The fire crackled between them.
“You called me the Lioness.”
The old man nodded.
“I did.”
“Why?”
The smile faded.
His eyes became distant.
Ancient.
Like he was looking through her and into another time.
“Because that is what the stories call you.”
Amina frowned.
“What stories?”
The old storyteller stared into the flames.
“The ones people stopped telling.”
A chill moved through her.
The village noise suddenly felt far away.
“What do you mean?”
The old man leaned closer.
“My name is Sule.”
“Before I became a storyteller, my grandfather was one.”
“And before him, his grandmother.”
A pause.
“For generations, my family carried stories others were afraid to keep.”
The fire popped.
Sending sparks into the night.
Sule’s voice lowered.
“There was once a kingdom.”
Amina frowned.
“There are many kingdoms.”
“Not like this one.”
He shook his head.
“This kingdom disappeared.”
“Not defeated.”
“Not conquered.”
“Removed.”
Amina immediately thought of Malek.
Of the Twelve Voices.
Of erased histories.
Sule continued.
“The story speaks of a woman.”
“A warrior.”
“A leader.”
“A destroyer.”
The words hung in the air.
“And her symbol was a lion.”
Amina’s heart skipped.
“The rulers of her age feared her.”
“The councils feared her.”
“The powerful feared her.”
“Because she saw something they wanted hidden.”
A pause.
“Truth.”
The fire suddenly felt hotter.
Amina leaned forward.
“What happened to her?”
Sule looked directly into her eyes.
“Nobody knows.”
“The ending was erased.”
Silence.
The same answer appeared again.
Erased.
Hidden.
Removed.
Every path led back to the same mystery.
Meanwhile…
Across the village square.
The situation with Zainab had become significantly worse.
Or better.
Depending on perspective.
Barde stood in a wrestling circle surrounded by cheering villagers.
His pride had not recovered from the palm wine incident.
Apparently he had decided this was his chance.
A terrible decision.
“You cannot embarrass me forever,” Barde declared.
Zainab took a sip from a calabash.
“Why not?”
The crowd exploded.
Barde pointed dramatically.
“Fight me properly.”
Zainab looked genuinely confused.
“Didn’t we already do that?”
More laughter.
Barde’s eye twitched.
Mama Jatau stepped into the center.
“If anyone breaks my tables, I will break their legs.”
Everyone nodded immediately.
Nobody doubted her.
The contest began.
Barde charged.
Again.
The exact same mistake.
Again.
Zainab stepped aside.
Again.
Barde stumbled.
Again.
The villagers started counting.
“One!”
Laughter.
“Two!”
More laughter.
By the third failed charge, even Barde’s friends were hiding their faces.
Finally Zainab grabbed him.
Twisted.
Shifted her weight.
And threw him directly into a stack of hay.
The crowd erupted.
Children jumped.
Drums started playing.
Someone shouted:
“THE HAY KING!”
Barde disappeared into the hay.
Nobody rushed to help.
Because everyone was laughing too hard.
Even Queen Bakwa smiled.
A rare sight.
But her smile disappeared when she noticed someone approaching the village.
Alone.
Walking slowly through the darkness.
Her expression changed instantly.
Amina saw it.
Turned.
And froze.
Ka’ren.
The village quieted.
Conversations died.
Hands moved toward weapons.
The air changed completely.
Ka’ren looked terrible.
His clothes were torn.
His face carried fresh cuts.
One arm was wrapped in blood-stained cloth.
He looked like someone who had survived a battle.
And barely.
Amina stood immediately.
Her hand found her sword.
“What are you doing here?”
Ka’ren stopped several paces away.
His breathing was heavy.
His eyes tired.
Yet strangely determined.
“If I wanted to capture you,” he said quietly, “I would not have come alone.”
Nobody moved.
Nobody relaxed.
Ka’ren looked around.
The villagers.
The children.
The fire.
The peace.
A brief sadness crossed his face.
“They’re coming.”
Amina’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“The Hunters.”
A pause.
“The Circle.”
Another pause.
“Everyone.”
The entire village fell silent.
Queen Bakwa stepped forward.
“What happened?”
Ka’ren laughed bitterly.
“The Circle is afraid.”
Nobody had ever heard those words before.
“The Keepers awakened something.”
Ka’ren’s voice lowered.
“And the Twelve Voices are panicking.”
Amina stared at him.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
Ka’ren looked directly at her.
Then said the words she feared most.
“The Circle lied.”
Silence.
“For centuries they claimed they preserved order.”
“They claimed they protected kingdoms.”
“They claimed they maintained balance.”
⸻
His jaw tightened.
⸻
“They destroyed anyone who challenged them.”
The villagers exchanged nervous looks.
Ka’ren continued.
“They erased kingdoms.”
“They erased rulers.”
“They erased bloodlines.”
“They erased histories.”
Sule the storyteller closed his eyes.
As though hearing an old wound reopen.
“The world you know is incomplete.”
Ka’ren said.
“Most of its history was edited.”
Amina felt cold.
Everything she had learned.
Everything she had believed.
Every lesson.
Every story.
How much of it was true?
How much had been rewritten?
Ka’ren looked at Queen Bakwa.
Then at Amina.
“The Lioness is not their greatest fear.”
A pause.
“The truth is.”
The fire cracked loudly.
Nobody spoke.
Then something happened.
Something small.
Something nobody noticed.
A villager quietly slipped away.
Past the huts.
Past the market.
Past the edge of the settlement.
Into the darkness.
Minutes later a signal fire appeared on a distant hill.
Just once.
Very briefly.
Then it vanished.
No one in the village saw it.
Except one person.
Sule.
The old storyteller’s eyes widened.
He stood slowly.
Listening.
The night had changed.
At first he heard nothing.
Then..
Far away.
Very far away.
Hoofbeats.
One horse.
Then ten.
Then hundreds.
The old man walked to the edge of the village.
Looked toward the horizon.
And felt his stomach drop.
Torchlights.
Hundreds of them.
Moving together.
An army.
Not approaching.
Charging.
Straight toward the village.
Sule whispered:
“They found her.”
And in the darkness beyond the hills…
The Hunters rode.
END OF EPISODE NINE
NEXT EPISODE: THE BATTLE OF MAMA JATAU’S VILLAGE
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