BLURB:

Almost a decade has passed since Ewadunni was gifted to Makinde, the fiercest and most feared warrior in all known lands. Resentful of her fate and fearful of her husband, Ewadunni was relieved when Makinde returns from war and immediately renounces everyday life for exile. A wife in nothing but the name, Ewadunni is now renowned as a healer. Older and ready to take advantage of the peaceful times, Ewadunni seeks a formal separation from the husband she despises. When the council of elders coerce Ewadunni into bringing Makinde back from exile if she truly wants a divorce, she is forced to venture into the mysterious forest where she encounters a man who is the opposite of the terrifying warrior she thought she knew.

Makinde was born to a clan of warriors and raised to be a war machine serving the needs of rulers as a mercenary. After losing himself to demands of the battlefield, Makinde is forever haunted by spectres and the betrayal of his closest friend, but the years away from society haven't brought the ease and reconnection that Makinde seeks. When the woman who was forced on him appears asking for a divorce, Makinde is all too ready to give it. He never wanted a wife in the first place, no matter how alluring or magnificent Ewadunni might be. Dissolving their hoax of a marriage, however, turns out to be complicated as Makinde finds that he's not quite ready to let his wife go.

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Chapter One

The forest at dusk cocooned two women in a gentle embrace. During the season before rainfall, a heaviness often hung in the air, but under the canopy of trees, coolness persisted.

There’d been a time when two women venturing into the woods unaccompanied spelt certain death. The flora surrounding them didn’t appear thick—the trees were thin, and vines pooled to the ground—yet, if someone stood a few feet ahead, they wouldn’t see anyone. Mercenaries, raiders, and all manner of bloodthirsty men roamed behind the camouflage. Greens, browns, and yellows provided sanctuary for violence to hide and later reveal itself with the element of surprise.

Ewadunni shuddered. She often marvelled at the forest’s duplicity. Despite the reassurances of many years of peace and the stronghold that was Kuta, she was no stranger to the wickedness of man.

She inhaled deeply to ground herself and traced her fingers along the maroon bark of the orange-milk tree. Her forehead pressed on the tree’s surface, she hummed low in her throat as her eyelids fluttered closed. Humans were nothing like the trees and tender green shrubs marking verdant spaces.

Nuzzling closer to the trunk, she quietened her thoughts and listened, then stepped back.

“This one says no,” she announced, shaking her head.

Balanced on a rock behind her, Jomiloju observed her closely.

“Who asks permission before plucking a leaf?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Students under the supervision of Iya Ogele.”

Both of them were healers, trained in dealing with reproductive health and childcare. Ewa was senior to Jomiloju—however, they’d grown close from the moment Jomiloju married into the clan. They trained and practiced following the methods of the matriarch Ogele. While Ewa had learned directly from Ogele, the elder lacked the patience to train Jomiloju and had left her in Ewa’s care.

Before she’d found her calling in healthcare, Jomiloju had been a raffia-weaver. Once, she’d apprenticed with the potters, and after that, had earned business as a long-distance trader of fabrics. It was how she met Togun, her husband.

Ewa easily remembered the day her friend’s pregnancy was announced. Ogele had known beforehand—she could tell even with Jomiloju’s flat stomach. Two months later, a formal announcement was made, and the women of the household gathered to shower blessings on Jomiloju. She was pampered and well taken care of because a pregnant woman couldn’t lack in a household that produced warriors.

“Hm.” Jomiloju sounded subdued with the mention of the old woman’s name. She looked at the purple sky. “At this rate, we shall spend the night in the forest.”

“Wouldn’t that be an adventure, Jide?” Ewa drew close then squatted low to kiss the child in Jomiloju’s arms. She stroked Jide’s cheek as she started singing softly. “Ojiji will protect us.”

“Ha! You always ridicule us for mentioning Ojiji.”

“Hush, you.”

Just then, Jide released his mother’s nipple to flash a winning grin at Ewa, and her heart clenched gently in response. She began singing.

“Anything my child desires, I will buy.”

“You are going to spoil this boy,” Jomiloju said, shifting the child at her breast.

“He deserves it.”

“He certainly does.” Switching her tone to become even more playful, she rubbed her son’s belly. “Is that right, my love?”

Ewa stretched to her full height. The sun had continued its descent while they chatted. She had to find another tree willing to depart with the leaves she needed. If they set off in half an hour, they would return home before nightfall.

“We’ll be done shortly.” Jomiloju looked up with a guilty smile as she burped her baby.

Ewa glanced at her relative. Jomiloju appeared content as she navigated Jide through the stages of feeding.

“Take your time,” she said with a small smile.

An old, familiar ache twisted awake in the pit of her stomach. As far as she was concerned, motherhood was one of the most tranquil and beautiful aspects of life. How she wished the expression on Jomiloju’s face was transplanted onto hers. If only they could trade places.

Then she reminded herself wishes were useless. Ensuring women and children thrived was her true calling. It was why they were out in the forest, chanting to plants for permission before plucking leaves, seeds, and fruits for medication.

She tugged at her medicine bag. She’d picked the herbs needed to prepare a concoction to ensure Wonu of the Ojise clan gave birth easily. All that remained were the leaves of the orange-milk tree to prepare a remedy to stop bleeding. Returning at dawn was a possibility, but she liked to be prepared. Wonu was due to enter labour any day from now, and Ewa had been with her earlier in the day.

“Before long,” Jomiloju declared. “Before long, you’ll be carrying your own child.”

In the ensuing silence, the sounds of the forest erupted as birds called to their mates. Ewa swallowed her discomfort and didn’t solidify Jomiloju’s prayer with an affirmation. Instead, she turned to the trees. Behind her, Jomiloju gasped.

“Forgive me, sister.” She rushed to Ewa’s side, fidgeting with the edge her wrap and with Jide still placed over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to…”

“There’s no need to apologise.” She swallowed to keep her voice from shaking. “Our elders say that the visitor doesn’t take the host along as she leaves. Each person faces her destiny alone.”

Jomiloju protested with hurried words as she sought to make amends.

“I have truly upset you now. Your destiny is bright. You’re beautiful and talented. You are so kind, and you love so deeply.”

Ewa’s smile failed to reach her eyes. She quickly drew Jomiloju into a hug. “I’m not upset, aburo, but we must be home before night falls.”

“Right.” Jomiloju nodded. “The ámùsè nla tree.”

“We will have to resume searching for it tomorrow.”

Ewa helped Jomiloju secure Jide on her back. Jomiloju then shrugged her own cloth bag filled with herbs over her right shoulder as they began the trek to Kuta town.

There were more plants than humans in the region known as Kuta. Clans lived cheek to cheek in forest clearings, and houses were connected by narrow paths. The forest that shielded villains also protected Kuta and its warriors, in this stronghold forged by mercenaries over a hundred years ago. It boasted ferocious clans of which theirs counted. Kuta stood strong while nearby towns and villages fell to the war. It was a home to men of valour who fiercely defended their homestead.

It was also home to one of the greatest warriors the region had seen yet.

Presently, Ewa led the way home. With a stick in one hand, she pushed aside the detritus, making sure to sidestep the fiery red ants marching in formation to a location known only to them. She let herself wonder how simple life would have been for her if she were an ant. She would only concern herself with eating and surviving, until a careless human squashed the life out of her. She forced out an exhale. She’d told Jomiloju she wasn’t upset, yet her heart was heavy with longing.

War had knocked her life over like a potful of water tumbling off a maiden’s head. The period of insecurity had stolen her choice to dream and to want. When she’d been Jomiloju’s age, it had been enough to breathe in another morning, but now she was older, Ewa badly wanted what her sister by marriage had. It was an ulcer in her side.

At nights on her way to the hut she shared with Ogele from the bathing stalls, she encountered happy couples to her left and right. War was over, and the warriors were home to eat and play with their wives and children. That was something Ewa could never have.

The path veered to the left at a cluster of bamboo trees. Behind the tilting stalks was a darkened cove, shrubs covering a hole barely wide enough for one to squeeze through. It was unremarkable and easily missed, but Ewa paused as she always did when in this part of the forest. She glared at the path before kissing her teeth and pushing forward. Jomiloju hurried beside her.

“Sister Dunni.” Jomiloju cleared her throat before continuing. “I mean no offence…but have you considered going up there?”

“Never.”

Ewa swung her stick down with more force than she intended. She whispered a quiet apology to the earth and started counting her inhales. Every day, she convinced herself she’d accepted her destiny and was content with the small joys that came with it. The pleasures of ferrying other women safely as they crossed death’s doors while bringing life, of getting lost in the forest and of listening to Ogele’s stories. There were other things that once brought her joy like dancing. However, she had outgrown dances in the square. The last time she’d ventured out at night, the younger girls had gyrated their waists and moved their feet in new moves that had eluded her. They’d sniggered behind their hands at her observance.

“Mother, shouldn’t you be at home at this time?” a saucy girl had asked.

And so Ewa stopped going. She stayed indoors dreaming of age group gatherings where she could be unfettered. Women her age were busy juggling their professions, their elders, their husbands, and their children. Ewa only had Ogele and her profession, both easily managed because Ogele was an unnameable force even in her advanced age.

She was at peace with her life. Yet, anytime she passed by this dark corner of the forest set apart from the main road, white hot anger flared under her skin. She hardly got angry.

“I think you should at least attempt to,” Jomiloju said earnestly. “So many years have passed.”

Jomiloju’s weakness was in how she didn’t know how to control her tongue. Ogele often warned, “Your mouth is unstoppable yet you don’t know nine times nine.”

“Aburo, don’t force me to recall the unfortunate circumstances that brought me here.”

Ewa flinched at the harshness of her words. She regretted saying them as Jomiloju sputtered an apology.

“I…I’m sorry. I truly meant no harm.”

Ewa conjured up mundane memories of her training and focused on them to let go of her anger. She linked arms with Jomiloju. “When we all came to this world, it was with tears, am I wrong? Eventually, the crying stops, and we learn to laugh.”

The entrance to town from this side of the forest took them over the moat with cautious steps over the swaying bridge. A tall post engraved with carvings depicting men hunting and at war marked the entrance to the compound Ewa called home in her adulthood. With several homes containing the twenty-eight women, men, and children of the clan, there was always activity. Children played, co-wives argued, hens clucked, and grains were grounded in the kitchen.

Lit torches were already burning around the compound. Everywhere smelt like dinner, and it wasn’t long before her stomach grumbled in longing. Leaving Jomiloju to find her husband, she hurried to the nondescript bungalow set in a far back corner. Ogele’s home was a whitewashed building with a wild garden growing to the left and behind its rectangular form.

Ogele had taught her how some plants needed to remain wild while others were content when grown by human hands. The majority of the plants in their garden were the vegetables and fruits the family consumed. Past the garden was a secret path leading into the forest Ogele frequented. Ewa had ventured on it two or three times with the older woman. A wrong turn on Ogele’s hidden path, and one could plunge directly into the valley bordering Kuta on the north.

In front of the house, the small clay pots Ewa had set to brew on low-burning charcoals before heading out now stood in ash. She hung her medicine bag on one of the wooden hooks by the entrance and went to check on them.

“I’m back,” she called.

Usually, Ogele sat in her favourite chair enjoying the last of the evening air at this time. As the front yard was empty, Ewa assumed the elder was inside.

When she didn’t hear a reply, she ducked in to check. Ogele’s chambers were built for one person, and she easily saw into the bedroom they shared from the front door. Her eyes adjusted to the interior darkness. It was empty. She shrugged. Ogele was probably out causing a scandal somewhere.

Out in the night once more, she lit a torch and set it a few paces out front. Next, she warmed up some coal and burnt wild basil on it, to ward off the mosquitoes, and spread a mat on the earth below the extended rafters of the thatched roof. Then she carried out Ogele’s beloved low back chair for whenever the elder decided to show up.

Finally, she set to work under the light of the torch, sorting out her freshly picked herbal gifts. Among the three leaves she needed for Wonu’s upcoming delivery, she had managed to coax a shrub to grant her malaria-curing leaves. She would dry those ones first—it was always good to have anti-malaria concoctions around.

“Good evening, egbon.”

Ewa lifted her head as one of the many children that blessed their compound called out in greeting. She flashed her teeth at the young girl, one of those born after the war that had ripped her from the place she knew as home.

“Tope, iya mi, my love, good evening.”

Tope approached carrying a tray bearing dish bowls, each covered with raffia woven spheres. She placed it on the mat before Ewa.

“We made amala and dried okra soup,” Tope explained as she placed the tray down. “Baba returned from hunting. There is a lot of meat.”

“Thank you, sweetness.” Ewa shifted, reaching for the hidden pocket at her waist, and pulled out a string of cowries. She pushed the money into Tope’s hand.

“I shouldn’t,” Tope said.

“You will upset me if you don’t accept.” She folded the shells in the girl’s right hand. They went through this dance all the time. “Buy something for yourself.”

“Thank you!” Tope squealed at the gift. She threw her arms around Ewa’s shoulders.

“I have warned you to stop spoiling the children of our clan.” Ogele’s scratchy voice came from the darkness outside the warm spread of the torch.

Both girl and woman shrieked at the elder’s entrance. Ogele walked slowly like a monarch, the long edge of her brilliant white wrapper hanging on her left arm. A woven silk shawl was wrapped around her waist, and she wore the same material knotted over her head in a head wrap. The fabric’s dark green colour made the white of her clothes stand out more.

“Welcome back, Mother.” Tope knelt down in greeting.

Ogele approached and pulled the girl up into a hug.

“You can’t leave me out of this affection,” Ogele teased as Tope leapt on her. “Do you love Ewa more than me?”

“I love you best, Iya Ogele,” Tope said, her voice muffled in the folds of Ogele’s dress.

“Ah!” Ewa shouted, gripping at her forehead with both hands. “So you lied to me when you told me I was your favourite person?”

“No way,” Tope objected.

They tittered at the good-natured banter. Ogele had become Ewa’s mother and entire family when she’d been transported unwittingly to Kuta. Her journey here had dripped with absolute fear, but now, she covered those dark days up with the positivity Ogele shared with her. It was the price she had to pay, but it wasn’t too bad. Ogele never lacked in affection despite growing up in the midst of war-mongering brothers.

As Ogele playfully extracted herself from Tope’s grip, she slipped more money to the girl before sending her off. Once Tope had disappeared, Ogele demanded, “What is for dinner? I am starving.”

In the light, the contrast of the dark scarifications on Ogele’s face and arms against her mahogany skin was mesmerising. Ogele carried tattoos all over her body. Ewa had admired them so much, she’d tried to get designs imprinted on her skin, as well. The pain had proven unbearable, but it was taboo to scream or walk away in the tattooist’s compound. That was how her skin had captured a snake on her right side, its tongue extended in a hiss close to her belly button.

 Ewa grabbed a hollowed-out calabash and fetched water collected in one of the many large pots lining the outer wall. This, they used to wash their hands. She placed the larger bowl in front of the elder and then went to get smaller cups of the spring water they drank. Before they dug in, each offered a ball of food to the earth. They ate together in silence, with Ogele seated on the chair and Ewa curled on the mat at her feet. When they were finished with their meal, Ewa cleared and rinsed the used dishes. As the night fell deeper, they withdrew into the room.

“You have done well, my dear,” Ogele said.

“I pray that Wonu’s delivery is smooth.” Ewa slipped out of her dusty wrappers and cleaned herself with a damp cotton towel. Then she wrapped a light cloth around her waist.

Iya Ogele lay supine on the bed they shared. One lamp burning in the sconce protruding from the wall provided a dim glow, with a row of lamps waiting to be lit. Iya Ogele never slept in darkness, and her lamps burned till sunrise unfailingly.

“It will be,” Iya Ogele affirmed. “Meanwhile, I suspect that girl Arinsoye of the Aperin family is with child.”

Ewa frowned as she worked at putting a face to the name. She might have seen Arinsoye dancing at the night market four months ago—the girl was as slender as a pole.

“I never heard that she’d taken a husband or lover,” Ewa said.

“You’ll see,” Iya Ogele replied, smugly. “You should see. I’ve taught you all I know.”

Ewa relied on reading the pulse to confirm pregnancies. Ogele eyed her keenly as she began touching fire to the unlit lamps. With each passing moment, the room grew brighter and warmer.

“Something troubles you,” Ogele remarked.

Ewa sighed. She remained silent until she was done then went to lay on the bed. Ogele waited patiently, and now they were face to face, she prepared her reply. Lying to the elder was futile, especially when Ogele locked eyes with her like this. Saying the words out loud was easier than denying it.

“Jomiloju prayed for me while we were gathering,” she began. “She prayed that blessings of childbirth would find me. She wants me to seek that man out.”

“And?” Ogele prodded.

“And I couldn’t affirm her prayer, but I long to carry my own child.”

Ewa shut her eyes against a quivering breath.

“You will have them.” Ogele sounded like Jomiloju. She placed a wrinkled hand on Ewa’s stomach, and Ewa covered the elder’s hand with both of hers.

“How?”

“You forget you are a married woman,” Ogele began. At Ewa’s groan, she warned, “Listen to me.”

Ewa prepared to turn her mind away from Ogele’s words. Too polite to object or challenge an elder, she was skilled at not listening while pretending to. She was once extremely stubborn.

“Your husband pines for you,” Ogele said. “And you, him.”

“Did you go up to see him?” she asked accusingly. It would be a betrayal of her trust.

“I’m much too old to brave it,” Ogele replied. “But I raised him, and I know him.”

A mother was always quick to overlook her child’s errors. Not Ewa. She would never reveal her true feelings about the man Ogele had raised to the elder’s face. Ewa had witnessed the kind of destruction the region’s bravest warrior left in his wake. Such a violent man was no husband of hers, no matter what the elders said.

“You aren’t listening,” Ogele said.

“I was.”

“Alright, what did I say?” At her sigh, Ogele continued. “You see. Do you recall those days when you attempted to run away from this compound? You never did, even after I gave you the directions. Why?”

Because I had nowhere else to go. Because time showed me that my father, his wife, and my sister left me to face war on my own.

The answer came readily, but she refused to voice it. Ogele was primed to lecture her about destiny, that she was in Kuta because she was meant to be, and she wasn’t in the mood for this.

She let go of Ogele’s hands and turned her back to the older woman.

“I am so tired, Iya,” she said, shutting her eyes. “May we sleep to wake up.”

“Ase,” Ogele replied, softly.