The Witch, the Warrior and the Wedding

Author's Note: So this epilogue concludes the first installment of the Wazobia series which I've been working on for quite a while. I'd like to say a massive thank you to all of you who have read and engaged on this series and an even more massive thank you to those of you that followed right from the very first part _"The White Witch and the Stable Boy"_, _"The Governor's Son"_ all the way to the final part _"The Witch, the Warrior and the Wedding"_ Thank you all very much!!! 🫰 EPILOGUE It was still dark when Bisi jumped onto the bed. She stood over Titi, who was still rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Mother said we’re getting your dress today.” Titi slowly rose, her golden strands tousled. Bisi reached for her hand and pulled her off the bed. Titi barely struggled to steady herself on feet that were not yet fully awake. Slowly, with a yawn and a stretch, her mind returned to her, and she could now properly see Bisi standing before her, her eyes glowing in the pre-dawn darkness. One would think Bisi herself was the bride, with how shaky she was with excitement. Titi’s dress was ready. That was what Bisi had come to announce. Seamstress Símí had promised it would be ready by this day. Titi herself had forgotten. Bisi never did. “Aren’t you excited?” Bisi asked, skipping around her. Titi rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am...” she yawned. “Of course I am...” Her expression settled solemnly. “What’s wrong?” Bisi asked. “Oh, I know...” She bent and aimed her gaze into Titi’s eyes. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” She poked Titi’s side. Titi smiled. “Well... yes. It’s just... I miss him. I know he has duties to the kingdom, but... I want him near me always.” “Titi!” Bisi laughed. “It’s only natural for you to miss the man you love. I’m sure he misses you even more. He’s only been gone a month, and the letters he’s sent you could build a house.” Titi’s face went red. “Besides, this battle isn’t nearly as perilous. They’re merely patrolling the Ọ̀dàn Forest for remnants of the Northern forces. They’ll root them out in no time. He will return to you soon enough.” Dawn arrived with soft fingers of light, brightening Titi’s face, her eyes aglow, golden. “I know.” Ìyá Bísí had duties to attend to at the House of Orunmila, so the girls went off without her. She would join them later. With Bisi leading the way, they ran through the potsherd-paved streets of Walli Ille. They slithered between buildings of mud and buildings of stone, their walls decorated with geometric patterns painted in red ochre, indigo, white clay and charcoal. The taller Karnakian remnants stood tall and white, capped with gleaming golden domes. The early morning breeze rushed through their nostrils as they ran. Carvers’ Corner was already alive with rings of hammers and the hiss of molten metal quenched in cold water. They waved at the bronze Jogunomi of Kurunmi and darted all the way to Àjà Bridge, taking a right that led them through the narrow streets of Ọjà-Kanálé Square, where road and canal flowed side by side. They squeezed past carriages and horses and donkeys and people, all carrying baskets and pots and calabashes of produce while canoes flowed beside them. The sky above them was dominated by flying beasts coming to and from the great central Ọ̀kànsìn Port, depositing goods from the ends of Walia and beyond. Their enormous wings swept overhead, dousing the streets in enormous shadows as they passed. They took a moment to catch their breaths, each girl panting like a woman in labour. They noticed the stares. The murmuring. The occasional anonymous shout of husband snatcher and witch. Walia still had a lot to learn. Her father had proven her case. He had shown them the history, the records from days past, long before the migration, a time when Walia was far less superstitious, where people like her—people who were not like others, whose features strayed from the normal—were blessings from the gods. A time before history was lost. Before perceptions were twisted. Her father had presented the case before the gods and before men. But... Walia seemed to have deaf ears. The fingers still pointed. The names were still called. But now... Titi was far less bothered. There was something else they noticed. Shadows followed her wherever her steps touched. She did not see them, but their presence registered. Wale had told her he had enlisted a group of the royal forces for her protection. They would report to him if anyone harassed her, and he would deal with them himself. He never told her how he managed to get the royal guards to do his bidding, but his white steel blades were the answer she needed. She couldn’t imagine how much discomfort came with looking at Prince Adéyẹmí’s face. But he did it. For her. She smiled. They took off again. They ran like little girls without a bother in the world, the royal shadows at their heels. Finally, they made their way to Ọjà Àgbà, where they slipped through the narrow pathways past baskets of yams and cassava, heaps of peppers and onions, smoked fish, fresh meat, palm oil, woven baskets, beads, carved ornaments, dyed cloth and piles of grain until they could hear the clacking of looms. Símí had already opened shop and was weaving away expertly on a wooden loom. Bisi jumped when she glimpsed the piece of Titi’s dress hanging by the door. “Ẹ káàárọ̀,” Titi said, struggling not to leap like a frog. “Ẹ káàárọ̀,” Símí answered, her smile revealing the gap in her teeth. Bisi impatiently pulled the cloths from the line. The Àṣọ Òkè was glittering. Gold and crimson, twisting and turning as one. Elegant. An attire for a bride. Bisi put the cloth against Titi, measuring it against her proportions. Símí the seamstress had worked her magic once more. It was a perfect fit. They could not wait to show the dress to Ìyá Bísí, who had paid for it. They bundled the cloths into a woven bag and left. Both girls were all smiles and giggles. Titi stopped by her mother’s place on her way back. She glanced at the house. Her house. Sadness. She handed the basket to Bisi, took a deep breath and walked towards the house. Every step a memory. Every step a wound. She reached the doorstep. A step and then another, and she was right by the door. She looked down at her pale hands. She sighed. Her fingers curled into a ball and she knocked. Once. Twice. Thrice. She heard a stir by the window, but no response came. Again she knocked. No response. And again. And again. Until finally she heard Ronke shout, “Go away!” Titi did not bother knocking anymore. She went away. Another time. She was resolved to reconcile with her family, against Wale’s wishes and against Bisi’s counsel. Bisi did not bother asking questions. They only walked on. Titi reached for the basket, but Bisi offered to carry it. They stopped by the House of Orunmila. By the door of the main hall, they stood beside the terracotta statues. Through the slit in the large door, they spied Ìyá Bísí and a few scholars. At the head of the table sat the Àlàáfìn. They retreated to the smaller hall, where they waited. Less than an hour later, Ìyá Bísí entered. Once she noticed the basket, she smiled and asked Titi to wear the dress. Bisi and her mother were teary-eyed when Titi the bride graced their eyes. Titi gave her eyes to the floor and played with her fingers. Ìyá Bísí nodded, noting how it was well worth the price she had paid for it. She told them how difficult it had been to convince the governor’s wife to leave Titi’s dress to her. They had nearly quarrelled over the rights. Lady Funmilayo wanted to provide a dress that would suit her “fair maiden.” Titi smiled. Her birth mother might not want her, but here she was, with two new mothers quarrelling over who got the right to make her dress. Her golden eyes moistened. Seun met them on their way home. He came before Ìyá Bísí and prostrated comically, the hoe on his shoulder falling onto the sand. “Ẹ káàsán, Ìyá,” he greeted. There was sand on his chin when he rose. Titi laughed. Bisi blushed. “Seun. How do you fare?” Ìyá Bísí said, distrust flashing in her eyes. “I am well,” he answered, bending to pick up his hoe. He intermittently stole glances at Bisi while Ìyá Bísí asked about his farm. He told her of his yams, cassava, maize and beans, and how well they were doing. Ìyá Bísí seemed genuinely impressed, telling him how glad she was that he was finally doing something reasonable with his life rather than stealing from people’s yards. He said he had Bisi to thank, as she had made him a better man. Bisi blushed. Seun waved at them, slung his hoe over his shoulder and walked away. “I’m so proud of him,” Bisi said. “He should make haste and make me his wife.” Ìyá Bísí pretended not to hear. Once they made it to their doorstep, she finally turned to Bisi. “If he proves himself responsible, I will let him have you.” Bisi hugged her mother from behind. “I love you!” That night, Bisi lay next to Titi, both girls restless in thought. Bisi mentioned how she couldn’t wait for Seun to marry her so Titi wouldn’t display her love for Wale in her presence. The girls laughed. Titi spoke of Wale and how his return could not come any sooner. The remnants of Bala’s forces would soon be destroyed, and he would be back. Then they would wed. Even if she didn’t have her mother’s blessing. The winds outside began to stir violently, and the heavens poured onto the earth. While the girls lay in bed, a knock came upon the door. At that hour? Both girls rose quickly. Bisi lit a candle, and they reached for the door. Ìyá Bísí came out with a candle of her own. The girls stood behind Ìyá Bísí as she slid open the door. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. A hooded figure stood before them, drenched. The rain rang against his breastplate, and he had a sword sheathed by his side. “Who are you?” Ìyá Bísí asked sternly. “What do you seek?” Then again, lightning flashed. Titi saw his brown-dyed beard. She shoved past Bisi and Ìyá Bísí and brought the candle close to his face. He was not smiling. It was the first time Titi had seen him look so... Distraught. “Lekan!” she screamed, her voice muffled by the rain. “Come inside,” Ìyá Bísí urged. Lekan stood still. He lifted his head and glanced straight at Titi. “My Lady,” he called. His voice was light. Sad. He grimaced in pain and clutched a wounded arm. “Are you hurt?” Titi’s heart began to pace back and forth between her ribcage. “My Lady,” he called again. “I am here on orders from Tunji. The Northern Prince... he played us for fools, my Lady. We followed them to the sea. There was another army.” He swallowed. “By the sea.” His voice trembled. “Ships.” Titi stared at him. “The Milk Men.” His voice began to break, the rain concealing his tears. “And... and...” He slumped onto the floor. Titi stood still, her heart banging in her chest. “And...” Lekan continued. “There was... there was a Lion.” A tear streamed down Titi’s cheek. The End To find out what happened... Await my next installment in the Wazobia series "Wazobia: The Princess and the Lion in the North" Thank you!!!

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