The Governor's Son - Part I - by Ibn Abdullah 🦁

*ADEWALE* “Wait for me!” Horse Boy called. The night was dark. The moon shone brilliantly above. Milk Girl was ahead. She rushed over the back of Wale's Mountain. “I win!” Milk Girl shouted, inching towards the summit. “Because I let you.” “So he says.” Then— The moon bled, bathing the night in a devilish red glow. Horse Boy looked up. “Milk Girl?” He screamed. “Milk Girl!” Silence. There was no one on the mountain. He was alone with the night, watched by a red moon. The ground beneath him softened. Then he sank. He opened his eyes. His hand brandished a wooden sword. “Fight!” A dark figure stood before him, screaming. “I said fight!” The shadow held a weapon and struck. Wale, the boy, raised his wooden sword. _Clack!_ The sound of wood meeting wood. The frightened boy cried. “Fight!” Again, the shadow struck. _Clack!_ Again. “Fight, Adewale! You must be strong! My son! Fight! I want you to be strong, my son!” His father struck him again. He stumbled and fell. The earth swallowed him and spat him out. The moon was red again. So too was the earth beneath him. Adewale was armored now, his breastplate bathed in the moon's crimson glow. The wooden sword was now steel. Something snapped beneath his foot. Wale looked down. Bones. The bones of a fleshless corpse. He was standing in a sea of rotting bodies. A feast for vultures. He stumbled and fell upon a decaying corpse. Flies scattered from the impact. They buzzed around him. A few landed upon Wale's face. His breathing grew heavy. From the horizon, he spotted banners raised high. Hundreds of figures stood beneath them. Then the army charged. Wale brandished his sword and readied himself to face the approaching horde. The earth shivered beneath the rhythm of feet and hooves. Sweat trickled down his neck. His breath grew heavier. “No!” He finally screamed. “Go away!” The army marched on. “Go away!” The army marched on. “Go away!” The army marched on! A sliver of red light lined the edge of his blade. The moon frowned upon the scene. In and out, Wale drew heavy breaths. In and out. He could barely breathe. In and out! “GO AWAYYYYYY!” A great exhalation. His eyes flew open. Wale was back in his room. A gentle early-morning breeze drifted through his window. Outside, the sun had already begun its ascent. Wale's palms were moist.A lone cowrie shell swayed from his hair His sheets were drenched in sweat. He let out a sigh and jumped from his bed. The letter he had received the night before lay beside him, crumpled from his twists and turns. From head to navel, his body was slick with sweat. He took one of his shirts from the pile on the floor and wiped his naked body. Then he pulled on a pair of trousers and walked out. The Akinṣọlá compound had already come to life. Servants scattered about, tending to their chores. The air rang with the rhythm of pounding, mortar meeting pestle in a delicate dance. Tendrils of smoke swirled into the sky from ignited firewood. Some servants were placing large pots over young flames. Others were already stirring their viscous contents, while more pots and flames awaited their turn. Wale tiptoed past the trays of peppers set out to dry. “Ẹ káàrọ̀.” Each servant greeted him as he passed. “Ẹ káàrọ̀.” He smiled each time. Wale did not bother knocking when he barged into his mother's room. Funmilayo sat upon a mat while a servant massaged her hair. The girl was startled by his sudden entry. “Mother” said Wale as he walked closer. He dropped to his knees, then prostrated himself fully upon the floor. “Ẹ káàrọ̀.” “My son. Ẹ káàrọ̀.” He did not have to. His mother had told him so many times. Yet every morning, Wale prostrated before his mother. “Give us a moment, Bisola.” The servant girl rose, oil dripping from her fingers. Wale was on his feet. He dusted his bare stomach and took a seat on the mat. “Mother. Has Father left yet?” “Your father left in the early hours of the morning.” “I see. I wanted to see him off. But... I barely slept last night.” “Why so? What is the matter?” “I was restless, Mother. I barely had any sleep.” He rested his head upon his mother's lap. “I had a nightmare.” “Nightmares are manifestations of our innermost fears, my son. You are afraid. You are returning to battle after a long time. It is only natural.” She caressed his forehead. “One would think I would stop being afraid by now.” “Fear is what keeps us alive.” “I guess you're right.” They fell silent, letting the moment linger. All the while, his mother caressed his head. Then she spoke. “You don't have to answer the letter you know. You are not obliged to join the battle" He turned and lay upon his left side. A smile lit up his face. “I cannot turn back now, not when I know how much my kingdom needs me.” “If that is what you wish to do, who am I to stop you? I will continue to pray for your protection.” “Thank... you.” His eyes closed. Sleep overtook him.

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