“Omi ti dé láti j??, ? j?? kó j?? it?? náà…
(The water has come to devour, give it way to eat up the throne)
Omi ti dé láti j??, ? j?? kó j?? it?? náà…
(The water has come to devour, give it way to eat up the throne)
Omi ti dé láti j??, ? j?? kó j?? it?? náà...”
(The water has come to devour, give it way to eat up the throne)
The song came first, low, haunting, chanted from a place between sleep and storm. It coiled through the air like incense, like a warning, like a prophecy. Then the vision began.
The moon was swallowing the sun. Bright dusk twisted into an eerie dawn as darkness descended upon the land like dew. From the heart of the River, clouds slithered upward and outward, their misty arms stretching into the hollow huts of the now deserted Town of Ajinorun, a place said to have been touched by ?àngó (god of Justice and Thunder) himself.
Trees that once proudly stood now shook and writhed, dancing with a possessed kind of violence. The chant had enthralled them, their branches tearing away, leaves spiraling into the sky like feathers escaping a fallen bird. They stood naked and wild in the wind’s grip.
And still, the song rang. This time it came from the River.
The water from the River that followed didn’t dance, it wasn’t soft, it raged. It ripped through the village like a beast loosed from a sacred tithe, dragging the remnants of the huts with it. Then it began to tower up the hill that led to the palace, destroying everything in its path.
There at the top of the hill stood the Palace, Ilé Tuntun Ayégb??d? (The New House of Eternal Gold) carved by the ancient omus, its pillars were made of bronze and gold, legends say ògún (god of iron and steel) (god of Iron)himself descended the land to build the palace.
The great palace, once a beacon of divine pride, now cowered before the fury of the storm. Its walls dimmed, its pillars moaned in anguish, and its gold turned sallow in the face of what surged toward it.
The water bulled itself into the palace.
It tore through the rooms, courtyards, passageways, council halls, the king’s quarters and then it headed straight for the throne room. It moved relentlessly with a motivated kind of vindication.
Crashing into the throne room, the doors bowed to it in surrender as it resumed its pursuit to devour, looming closer and closer to the throne of the Kabiyesi(King). Then suddenly it came to an abrupt halt like it had hit an invisible wall preventing it from consuming the throne. The water didn't like this, it pushed harder against the invisible wall, slamming into it without end.
Then came the light.
A glow, golden and alive, pulsed from the throne. With each push of the water, it gleamed brighter. Then blazed. Then burned.
Until it shone like a second sun, pure, searing, divine.
And just before the light swallowed everything
Tanimolu woke up.
Gasping.
Her body jerked upright, her heart thumping in her chest. Night sweat clung to her brow, her night wrapper tangled around her knees. The echo of the River’s song still curled around her ears like an omen that refused to fade.
This was the third time she had dreamt about the water and the throne room in a week.
Unlike other dreams that melted at dawn, this one returned each night with clarity unchanged and relentless. The second time it came, she had wandered to the River to investigate if the water had indeed begun to rise. But she hadn’t gotten far. The fishermen had chased her away, muttering that her “dry” curse might scare the fish into hiding.
Tanimolu understood the weight of dreams. And the mystery of this one gnawed at her ribs like a silent animal. It was not merely a dream. It was a warning. One she couldn’t yet interpret, and that more than anything crippled her with suspense.
A sharp pain flared in her shoulder as she shifted, as though whatever force visited her in the dream had left its mark behind. The dawn glow crept into her room as if showering her with greeting, caressing her with its warm air. The air still smelled fresh of morning dew but the sun was at its peak as if in midday, high as though it had skipped its turn and taken the sky by force. To Tanimolu, that could only mean one thing.
It was going to be a bad day.
Outside, birds chirped with wild joy, nesting on the mango tree near her window. The world was already awake and soon, so would her mother. She stood slowly, folding her mat and tucking it beside the cooling drum. She shared this space with Yemíké, but Yemíké had risen before the sun, off to wherever the day pulled her.
Tanimolu sat quietly for a moment longer, lost in thought, her fingers tracing the hem of her wrapper. She glanced at the doorway. A sliver of golden light spilled through it like a whisper.
And still, she could feel it,
The water.
The song.
The throne.
Tanimolu suddenly felt a shift in the air. The ground quivered beneath the weight of someone’s hurried, angry steps footfalls thick with the heat of resentment headed straight for her room.
And just as expected, her mother barged in.
“Tani, I pray to Yemoja you are not still parading around like a jobless goat.”
Tanimolu studied the middle-aged woman before her, lips thinned in irritation, eyes scanning the room before locking onto their prey. The streaks of white in her hair glittered under the sunlight, revealing the poor attempt at henna dye she still clung to, a, habit she had copied from Mama Bayo. Her eyes narrowed with age and worsening sight. Her wrapper hung loosely around her waist, threatening to unravel with every exaggerated move.
“Mama, is it not too early to call someone a goat?” Tanimolu asked, walking forward as tradition demanded. You always stepped closer when an elder called you especially when that elder was your mother. Besides, today, she wasn’t in the mood to earn extra punishment.
“Is it not too early to be acting like one?” her mother snapped, still searching the room like a guard sniffing out an offense. She clicked her tongue and continued, voice rising with every word.
“While the rest of the world is already awake, you sleep like a pregnant she-goat. Yemíké has finished her morning duties and has even gone to help Funke on the farm. But you, Madam of the compound, wake up whenever it pleases you.”
Tanimolu bowed her head in apology before her mother could say more. There was no use defending herself. The dream had shaken her, lingering like mist in her mind. It was all that wandered her mind.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Should I go back to the River? she wondered, barely catching the last half of her mother’s rant as it trailed into familiar complaints and the usual comparisons.
“There's a drum of palm kernel seeds boiling in the backyard shade. Once they soften, pound them and squeeze out the oil. You know what to do. Ma j?? kí n s??r?? p?? o! (don’t make me talk too much)” her mother snapped, not waiting for any protest before turning to leave.
Tanimolu stared at her retreating back, mouth slightly agape.
How was she supposed to process an entire drum of palm kernels by herself? She had planned to visit the River today, not spend her whole morning pounding seeds into pulp. She imagined her skin was already red and greasy from the work. A wicked idea crossed her mind maybe she’d still go to the River, slicked with oil, and scare the fishermen out of their canoes. Let them run for once. Let her chase.
“I knew today was going to be a bad day already,” she muttered as she tied her wrapper tight and stepped into her morning, hoping to finish fast enough and find some answers by the River.
Tanimolu prepared to step into the harsh sun, her “palm oil” wrapper securely tied around her waist. She cast a displeased glance at the task ahead and walked toward the shelter where the boiling palm kernel seeds simmered. Absently, her nails found their way to her teeth again, and she chewed off the stray bits, the flesh around them raw.
“Tani, stop chewing your nails. Ewww. When will you stop this disgusting habit?”
Tanimolu looked up at the source of the scolding voice, Tayo, her cousin who eyed her with visible disgust, snapping her out of her thoughts. She didn’t particularly enjoy looking at him. She thought he might be in some sort of competition with the town’s massive Iroko tree for the title of "Most Unyielding."
“Stop looking at me if it irritates you so much,” she snapped back, trying to brush off his judgment. She didn’t like being caught in her bad habit. She’d been scolded for it countless times and had tried to stop, but every time her mind wandered, her nails would find their way to her mouth.
Tayo narrowed his eyes, suspicious. His gaze darted around, reading her as if trying to piece together a puzzle. He knew she chewed her nails when lost in thought, but the Tanimolu he saw now was different, her bite was deeper, more frantic. Blood mixed with her nail clippings as she chewed with a fierceness that unsettled him.
“What’s wrong?” His voice softened, tinged with concern.
“Nothing…” she replied quickly, avoiding his searching eyes. She hadn’t even noticed he was still here. Had Mother scolded him too?
She studied Tayo more carefully now. He was taller than most huts in the village, and his teeth gleamed brighter than cowries under the sun. His face was sharply etched, as if Ogun himself had carved it, and his hair, the color of red clay, blended handsomely with his dark skin, which shone with the sheen of shea butter. His frame was firm and solid from days spent climbing palm trees and tending the farm.
Tanimolu and Tayo shared a striking resemblance, though their differences were just as noticeable. Her skin, like his, was the deep shade of ebony, but her height was only average for a village woman, just taller than Yemíké. Her face was round and plain, lacking the sharp beauty that seemed to bless so many others, and her hair was wild, coarse, and unkempt as the wind tousled it.
“Tayo, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the farm by now,” Tanimolu asked, genuinely puzzled.
Tayo scratched his head nervously and gave a half-hearted laugh, tugging at his hair as if searching for the right words.
“Tani, I need a small favor from you. See, I promise to pay you back... and run some errands for you. Please.” He pressed, his voice carrying a certain urgency.
“No,” Tanimolu replied immediately, her tone flat. She picked up her pace, hoping to put some distance between them. She hadn’t wanted to engage with him further. She regretted even giving him attention, letting herself be distracted by his request.
“You haven’t even heard my request, and you immediately said No. Just listen, hear me out, Tani,” Tayo said, still following closely behind her, easily matching her pace.
“Again, No, Tayo. I’m not giving you my hard-earned cowries. I spent my entire afternoons on the farm to earn them. So, no,” Tanimolu replied with finality. It was always like this with Tayo, it was always about favors.
Tayo looked down at her with a pitiful gaze, momentarily ignoring the flirtatious glances and muffled giggles from the onlookers nearby. The air seemed to hum with their whispers.
Without warning, Tayo dashed in front of Tanimolu and stopped her in her tracks. The next words out of his mouth sent a ripple of shock through her. She stared at him, caught in a dazed confusion.
“Tani, Adewale is back from the hunt. I need some cowries to contribute toward a small celebration for his return,” Tayo said, continuing to explain the need for the cowries, but Tanimolu was still stuck on one part: Adewale is back.
“Stop talking. You said Adewale is back? When? Why wasn’t I told?” Tanimolu pressed, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. Tayo scratched his head nervously, his usual posture betraying a hint of guilt as if he were trying to cover up something.
“Err… he returned last night,” Tayo answered, his voice faltering.
“Last night???” Tanimolu’s voice raised in disbelief. “How am I just hearing about this now?” she questioned further, her eyes now fixed on him, waiting for a truthful answer. Tayo shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, a clear sign that he was about to lie.
“Adewale wanted some time to himself. You know how exhausting the hunt can be,” he muttered, his voice tinged with nervousness.
Tanimolu knew all too well the harsh realities of the hunt and the demands of the King, Oba Ar??mu ?àngódáre, who had sent his most skilled warriors, including Adewale, who had been raised by the Royal House but was not of royal blood, to find a mythical beast. Weeks ago, the King had dreamt of a creature with three golden horns, its fur as white as a newborn lamb, as tall as an antelope, yet as wide as a bull. His description had been so vivid that it had sounded more like a child’s fairy tale than a royal vision. Yet, Oba Ar??mu had ordered his warriors to search for the beast in the Iru forest, where he had seen it in his dream.
Tanimolu’s mind raced. If Adewale was back and a feast was being prepared for his return, that must mean the beast had been captured. But why was no one talking about it? She eyed Tayo with a narrowed gaze and asked, “Did Adewale capture the beast?”
Tayo sighed heavily, knowing he couldn’t escape Tanimolu’s suspicion. He had to give her the answer she wanted if he was going to get what he needed.
He answered truthfully, “Yes, he did. But don’t tell a single soul until the official announcement is made.” Tayo’s eyes gleamed with pride as he continued, “The other warriors said Adewale entered the forest like he knew exactly where the mythical beast was. He fought it into submission.”
Tanimolu’s heart fluttered at the news. She turned and began walking in the direction of the palace, her mind consumed by thoughts of Adewale. She longed to see the boy who had captured her heart, to listen to his soothing whispers once more, and to lose herself in his embrace.
Tayo hurried after her, his voice laced with panic. “Tanimolu, stop. Where are you going?”
“To meet Adewale,” she answered, her steps quickening.
Tayo’s face twisted in terror. “I told you this was a secret! I wasn’t supposed to tell you before the official announcement. Do you want to get me in trouble? I told you because I know how you feel about him and because of the cowries. But you can’t just walk into the palace like this!”
Tanimolu understood Tayo’s dilemma, but her heart was set on seeing Adewale. Her love had returned.
……………….
Meanwhile, at the palace...
Oba Ar??mu ?àngódáre basked in the glow of victory, his pride swelling as Adewale presented the mythical beast before him. This was the proof he had longed for, a sign from ?àngó himself. The people of Ajinorun would now believe that his lineage was truly blessed by the gods. The king, already half-drunk on palm wine and a belly full of rich pork, looked directly at Adewale with a smile of approval.
“Adewale,” he began, his voice steady with authority, “now that you’ve brought victory and grace to the palace, I shall reward you. Ask me for anything you desire, and it shall be granted.”
Adewale bowed deeply, his humility unwavering. “My king, serving you pleases me more than silver and gold. My reward lies in Sango’s bosom, for as I serve you, I also give reverence to him.”
The king’s chest swelled with pride at Adewale’s response. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. He pressed further, his voice rich with approval.
“Adewale, as you have pleased me, you have also pleased ?àngó. Now ask, and you shall have whatever you desire. The gods have spoken, and it shall be done.”
Adewale surveyed the court around him, noting the uneasy faces of the officers who clearly resented the attention he was receiving. He could sense the air thick with unspoken malice their jealousy was palpable, their desire to rid themselves of him more intoxicating than any brew.
He stood still, weighing his words carefully, before addressing the king.
“Oba Ar??mu ?àngódáre, the one blessed by the gods themselves… if it pleases you, grant me Yemike’s hand in marriage.”
