WOMEN OF OYIN

Chapter NIne: Echoes Beneath

The village square was alive with the rustle of traders and the sing-song of mothers calling their children. But Adesewa wandered past it all, her mind far away. Since Iya Abeni’s warning, her heart had been in disarray. She had kept away from Akinwale, at least in body but her spirit drifted to him like smoke finds fire.

That morning, her steps led her to the edge of the village past the yam barns, through the whispering groves, until she reached the ancient iroko tree, the one elders said held the bones of secrets too old to be remembered.

There sat Baba Ilékun, the blind storyteller.

He was older than time, it seemed, his eyes clouded with fog, but his words were sharp like palm wine in a fresh wound.

“You walk like one who carries too much,” he said, before she even greeted him.

Adesewa paused. “I carry only what I must, Baba.”

He laughed. “So did she.”

“Who?”

“Queen Oríkẹ́,” he said, his voice turning low and strange, as though speaking her name invited spirits.

Adesewa frowned. “I thought that was only a tale. My mother never spoke of her.”

“Because shame silences even the proudest tongues. But the Baobab remembers what the palace forgets.”

She sat beside him, intrigued.

And Baba Ilékun spoke not as an old man, but as if the ancestors themselves borrowed his voice.

“She was like you , stubborn, fire-tongued, too brave for her own good. She did not bow when men roared. She roared louder.”

Adesewa’s breath caught.

“They buried her story beneath stone and silence. But we, the old ones, kept it alive. Not all wars are fought with cutlasses. Some are fought with memory.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of worn leather, stitched with faded thread. He handed it to her.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A page from the Queen’s final letter. Written the night before she walked into death. It was meant for the daughters of Oyin—to remember who they are.”

Adesewa traced the delicate strokes, though much of it was blurred with time. Still, one line stood clear:

“If I must burn for their peace, let my fire light the path for those who will rise after me.”

She stared at the words, her heart pounding.

“You, child,” Baba Ilékun said, “will either wake Oyin from its sleep… or be its next sacrifice.”