The VERDICT OF THE GODS HAS 22 CHARACTERS

The drums had not stopped for three days. In Uromi village, when the gods were angry, the earth itself seemed to hold its breath. The sky was red at noon. The river ran low. And in the center of the square, beneath the ancient silk - cotton tree, the elders sat in a circle. Osaze Iyamu stood at the back, his arms folded, jaw tight. He was 24, but his eyes looked older. "Efosa has spoken," Iyamu Nosa said, his voice heavy. "The Ohen says the gods have given their verdict." "On Omozuwa?" Osaze asked. "on all of us," his father replied. From inside the shrine came the sound of cowries rattling. Efosa's voice rose and fell in ancient Edo, calling on Olokun, on the ancestors, on the very soil of Edo land. When he emerged, his face was covered in white chalk. In his hand, he held a single kola nut, broken in two. "The gods have seen," Efosa said. "The thief has brought death. Omozuwa must pay, or the land will not heal." Whispers spread. Omozuwa, who could barely speak in public, fell to his knees. But Osaze saw something the others didn't. A flash of gold at Aigbe's wrist. The same gold that was used to decorate the missing bronze. The gods had given a verdict. But what if the gods were wrong? The wind moved through the silk - cotton tree and made the leaves sound like whispering ancestors. Osaze could not take his eyes of Aigbe's wrist. The gold bracelet caught the sun for just a second. It was thin, twisted, with the same Benin pattern that was carved into the missing bronze. The bronze that had sat on the Ikhianokpado altar since Eghosa's grandfather was a boy. "Omozuwa," Efosa said again, his voice now low like distant thunder. "Step forward." Omozuwa Egharevba shuffled to the center. He was forty, a farmer with hands cracked from yam and cassava. His wife, Osayomore, clutched their two children behind her, weeping silently. Omozuwa did not speak. He never spoke much. That was why everyone believed he could have done it in secret. "Three nights ago," Efosa continued, "the gods showed me in a dream. A man with dirty feet and a guilty heart entered the shrine. He took what does not belong to him. The next morning, the son of chief Aigbe was found by the river. His chest was cold." A murmur ran through the crowd. Aigbe's son, Osalumese. 19 years old. Loud, proud and known for drinking Ogogoro with boys from the next village. "The gods are not blind," Efosa said. "They demand justice. Omozuwa must leave this land before the next new moon. If he stays, the drought will continue. The women will not conceive. The yams will rot in the ground." Banishment. In Edo land, banishment was worse then prison. To be cut off from your ancestors' soil was to be cut off from life. "Is there no other way?" Osayomore cried out. "My husband cannot even read. How will he survive in Benin city?" "Silence!" Iyamu Nosa barked, but his voice shook. As an elder, he had to uphold the verdict, even if his heart was heavy. Osaze stepped forward before he could stop himself. "With respect, Ohen," he said. Every head turned. Young people did not question Efosa in public. Not during a verdict. "Speak, son of Iyamu," Efosa said, though his eyes were not kind. "The gods speak truth," Osaze said carefully. "But men interpret. How do we know the dream was about Omozuwa? Did the gods give a name, or did we give them one?" Aigbe stood up fast, his coral bead clicking. "You insult the Ohen?" You insult the ancestors? Your father raised you better, Iyamu." "Iyamu," his father said quietly. A warning. Osaze felt his chest burn. He looked at Omozuwa. The man's eyes were on the ground. Resigned. "Let me ask one thing," Osaze said. Where was the bronze last seen? Who cleaned the shrine that day?" Efosa's face did not change. "The gods do not answer to boys." "Then let the gods answer directly." Osaze said. "Let me enter Ikhianokpado tonight. Alone. If I am lying, let the ancestors strike me down." Gasps. That had not been done in 30 years. Not since the civil war. Eghosa, his grandmother, pushed through the crowd with her walking stick. She was 80, her skin looks like dried leather, but her back was straight. White chalk lined her face. "The boy speaks with the mouth of his grandfather," she said. "Let him go. If the gods kill him, then we will know the verdict was true. But if the gods spare him, then we will know we have more questions to ask." The elders looked at each other. Tradition was tradition. But so was courage. Efosa stared at Osaze for a long time. Then he nodded once. "Tonight," he said. "At midnight. When the moon is dark. Enter the shrine. But know this, Osaze Iyamu. If you lie to the gods, they will not just take you. They will take your lineage." Osaze nodded. His mouth was dry. As the crowd began to disperse, he walked past Aigbe. Close enough to smell the man's perfume and ogogoro. And he saw it again - that flash of gold. That night, Osaze did not sleep. He sat with Eghosa by the fire. "Why are you doing this?" She asked him. "Because verdicts without truth are just gossip with drums," he said. She smiled, toothless. "You sound like your grandfather. He also fought the gods once." "What happened to him?" Eghosa looked into the fire. "The gods listened." At 11:50pm, Osaze stood before the Ikhianokpado. The shrine was small, mud walls, roof of thatch. Inside were clay pots, statues of ancestors, and the empty space where the bronze used to sit. The air smelled of palm oil and old prayers. He pushed the door open. The darkness inside was complete. And somewhere, deep in the shrine, something moved. END OF CHAPTER ONE