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The Dark-Horsed King

Updated: 2 days ago

by Maria Oluwabukola Oni



After the governor died, he died twice again in the space of two days. Even Jesus and Mohammed died once. But there are people who don't die once, who shouldn't die once lest they resurrect again. Powerful people who have walked the whole ends of this world and beyond, who have bought into high secret places and have become something of a god- a superhuman, seeing what others cannot see and doing what others cannot do. They who cannot die, and even when, can't be easily claimed except death kills them twice or thrice with the cooperation of other elements, on ground, in the air, in water and underground, in their dark, dark grave.


We are watching the news, me and my mum.


"My people have strong voodoo. Not every human is a human." My mum says. She is a Christian, the prayer warrior kind who went to theological seminary but strongly believes in the rule: Give unto Caesar what is Caesar's. For we who didn't receive religion of our own efforts, we who were born into it, it can be a bit difficult to argue the teachings with the principals whether they use it appropriately or otherwise.


We are following the news on the unexplainable circumstances around the state governor's death and burial. He reportedly slumped and died without warning. A month later, his body was escorted to his hometown for burial in an airplane by some family members, friends and national dignitaries before they crashed, sparing two people and killing others including the corpse. 


A vehicle was quickly arranged to go by road in order not to delay the burial only for it to be involved in another accident, killing more people and the battered corpse. Meanwhile, it was raining heavily back home and when the thrice dead corpse arrived, his grave was filled with water. As the day stretched and the rain strengthened with anger, the only option was to bury the body in the watery grave.


I look at my mum.


"Some people want him to stay dead." I say. My mum isn't new to stories like this. In fact, it was she who opened my eyes to this side of life, the mysterious. I remember she told me, as a child, the story of a particular woman who mercilessly terrorised their town and evaded all attempts to banish her. Until the people succeeded in overpowering her with spiritual means, and cut up her body into various parts, to be buried separately so she somehow won't be able to assemble and come back to life. But her head started talking endlessly with a loud, eerie voice before it could be buried, inciting fear and haunting the town anew.


Another of such chilling tales is the legend of the dark-horsed king who lived about seventy years ago in Owo town: The crowd gathered in the king's courtyard in merriment. It was the final day of the 17-day-long Igogo Festival. Men groups sang boisterous odes with soft instrumentals from two buffalo horns, sticks and metal gongs, drawing excited hailings from the people. Any form of noise was prohibited during the festival, including beating of drums and shooting of guns into the air in remembrance of the mythical Queen Oronsen. Anyone who loved their animals would keep them safe for strays were seized and killed for meat. Nobody wore caps or headgears, not even the chiefs who were all dressed like women, wearing plaited hairs decorated with cowries and shells, face makeup, coral beads on their necks and wrists, and beaded free white dresses. The male chiefs padded up their chests and buttocks and mimicked the mannerisms of women to honour Oronsen excluding the townspeople who wore plain white fabric. They awaited the outing of Olowo Ajakaye, the king. After his blessings, they would troop to each shrine in the village and Queen Oronsen's sacred spot. Prayers and sacrifices would be offered by the chief priest. Afterwards, each chief's wives would pound yams or prepare asaro and various yam-derived dishes to officially commence the consumption and sale of the staple in the village. Farmers would then be able to display and sell their harvested yams in the market. Sonorous female voices raised the song:


Ekun iyawo, ekun iyawo 

Igogo e e 

Ekun iyawo, ekun iyawo 

Igogo e e 

Ohun to l'ade, O to l'ase

Igogo e e ...


The shout of 'o to! ' abruptly stopped the singing and announced the physically war-hardened king's appearance. He wore plaited hair and was dressed in a customised beaded Ewu Okun (royal dress top) with a skirt that had a sword attached to it. Everyone quickly prostrated with shouts of 'Kabiyesi o ' which became suddenly drowned out by terrifying, raucous wails of a woman. Noise. The people straightened with confused looks on their faces as the cries retreated into the air. The king immediately turned and went into the palace with his chiefs hurrying after him. He instructed them to finish the ceremony before he went into his chamber. Unaware of the sinister motive of their king, the chiefs went out to the courtyard and tried to allay the people's fears. The ceremony continued, the visit to the shrines was done, prayers were offered and yam eating was thrown open. The chiefs went back to the palace, expecting the king to come out of his room. When he appeared, they fell flat on their bellies.


"Kabiyesi o." Long live the king, they greeted, wondering why he looked sweaty and dishevelled.


"I followed that noise. It was an attack from the people of Idogan. We are going to war against them in two days' time. Otun, dispatch the messengers to inform them. Balogun, send your men into town to pick up every grown male they can find and prepare them. " The king said menacingly as he looked at their faces, one after the other and read their fearful expressions: what was the need for war? But the chiefs dispersed in clusters, not daring to ask questions. Iyalode and Iyaloja walked home together with heavy thoughts, only opening their mouths in response to people who stopped to greet them courteously before continuing on their way.


Iyalode finally broke the silence. "This year's festival didn't go well. I kept worrying something bad will happen."


"What's something worse than this war Olowo went to ask for from the people of Idogan? I'm afraid my son will be recruited this time, he is still a child." Iyaloja, the market leader said with concern.


"Mmm. Every family has lost at least one male since this demon, Ajakaye, ascended the throne. He pushes these young, inexperienced children to the battle front. He doesn't have a child, how will he understand the pains of burying one?"


Iyaloja shook her head in disagreement. "Must one have children to be humane? When all the men are dead from his never-ending wars, can anyone stop him from forcing women to the battle ground?"


Iyalode lowered her voice to speak. "Women are like men to him. Do you know he doesn't have sexual relations with any of his wives?" Iyaloja widened her eyes in disbelief.


"Queen Amope told me herself. He just comes into their room at night to make small talk. She said he never sleeps." Iyalode added.


"I've always wondered about his strange behaviours. I asked, none of the palace guards saw him leave for Idogan neither did they see him return. So, how did he go?" The two women got swallowed up in their individual thoughts and walked on again in pensive silence.


For Iyaloja, her worry and fear increased when the soldiers came to take Omolaso away. When they left for Idogan on galloping horses, carrying blood thirsty swords and axes, chanting war songs, she prayed Balogun, the warrior chief, will remember his promise to keep her son at his side always. She had visited him with choice yams, a bag of cowries, and rows of rich, sparkling beads for his wives. Her worry deepened days afterwards as the chiefs were called to mediate strange, dreadful situations. A body was seen hanging from the lowest, dipping branch of the thick, sprawling Araba silk cotton tree that grew from the center and spanned yards over the swift current of the Ogbese River. The lumberjacks were paid to come with a boom truck from the city. Two men climbed the extended part of the truck to get to an outstretched branch of the tree. They crawled carefully from branch to branch till they reached the drooping end and unhooked the body. The villagers wailed when they saw it was Abeni, the aso oke trader who travelled far to source the finest fabric fit for royalty. Her relatives brought her clothes, beads, cooking utensils and other personal items and threw them in the river as was the custom. They buried her at the riverbank after due sacrifices was offered to the river.


People speculated that she must have used the amulet of disappearance, Egbe, without telling it the specific destination to transport her to, probably to escape kidnappers or robbers. Egbe was notoriously known for dropping off people who called for its help from situations of danger in even worse situations, like the forest or an unfriendly town were they were mistaken for spies. They concluded that she must have died from dehydration and exhaustion.


Few days later, Odeniyi was struck dead at the big Ikoko Market. The market held every five days and was patronised by people from within and outside the town. It was rumoured for years that even ghosts came to this market, floating along instead of walking. Odeniyi wanted to confirm the rumour but as he bent to the ground to observe the movements of legs, some force struck him and he dried up there.


Ifanike who had a baby last week was said to be showing signs of madness. She refused to breastfeed the baby neither did she allow anyone to carry or feed the non-stop crying baby. She talked ceaselessly all day and cried and yelled and fought invisible people at night, destroying things and making a terrible noise. Yesterday, she picked up the baby and made to fling him into the bush. Her husband stopped her and she pinned him with unbelievable strength and sunk her teeth into his arm, drawing blood and ripping off his flesh when she was finally pulled away by four men.


It was a case of one day, one trouble. People started to complain and gather in gossiping groups. Iyaloja's dreams became nightmarish and the other chiefs had no rest of mind. They met in the palace to discuss the calamities following the king's absence and deliberated on possible solutions, of which consulting the oracle was the first step. They agreed on visiting the chief priest and sending emissaries to different neighbouring towns, to inquire of the oracle the cause of the happenings, and the next line of action to prevent more occurrences. Just then, a soft, tinkling sound reached their ears and they looked round at one another and about the room. Before their eyes, a strange chain seemed to descend from the roof and a black horse with a decorated rug on its rump, and tiny metal-like objects in the tassels at the rug's edges glided down, carrying a limp body.


They stared wide-eyed with bated breaths as the horse landed and the load on its back tumbled off to the ground before the chain was yanked upward, and it disappeared through the still intact roof. They rushed to the still body and were alarmed to see it was their king. His war clothes were torn and muddy. His right ear was chopped off at the tip and blood dripped from it and from cuts on the side of his head, his face and shoulder. Chief Osi felt his weak pulse. Apparently, the king was in coma. When he mentioned this, Iyaloja who was stiff-stricken started shouting.


"Where is my son?" Hands quickly covered her mouth and warned her of the danger of calling people's attention. With the king's vulnerable state, the soldiers at war and their wellbeing unknown, the people could become uncontrollable and their lives would be at risk. They gently moved the king to his room, undressed him, wiped his wounds and made efforts to cover them up. Then, they sent for the herbalist and called for the senior queen to sit with him.


When the men came back into the meeting room, the women who had been sitting in poorly contained shock rushed at them.


"Is he awake? He should provide my son. Where is Omolaso?" Iyaloja asked in distress.


"Iyaloja, if anyone outside this palace gets to know about this, you'll be held responsible." Osi reprimanded.


"We all have relatives in the war. Let's take care of the king first." Asipa supported.


"So the king's life is more important than my son's and the lives of the hundreds of men that went with him to war?" Iyaloja asked in a rising voice. The other chiefs placated her and suggested that messengers would be sent to get news of the battle. They walked home like lip-sealed mourners, thinking about the strange horse and chain, wondering what was happening at the battle ground and what would happen in the coming days. The king came to days later but refused to say anything about the war and noone mentioned the mysterious horse though it was heavy on their minds and tongues. Was the king into magic? How did he get a horse that appeared and disappeared? Was it this horse that had been helping him escape from the battle ground while many soldiers fought and lost their lives?  Iyaloja was pondering on these, the source of the king's powers and how there was no news about the innocent soldiers, including her son when she heard her girl servants' shouts.


"Maami! Come quickly." They called. She rushed out and stopped when she saw them holding up her son, Omolaso.


"Omolaso! Omolaso!" She ran to him and held him, looking all over his body. "Welcome." She said happily and discharged the girls to boil hot water for his bath, get some herbs for his wounds and make a sumptuous meal. She helped him into his room.


"Olodumare, thank you." She praised the creator. She asked about other soldiers and how they were able to find their way home.


"Many people died, even King Ajakaye. I saw when someone hit him severally and he fell from his horse. Balogun kicked my horse forward and we ran from the war together." Omolaso said with fear and panic from the memory clouding his eyes. Iyaloja looked at her son. The king who was said to be dead was being waited on in his palace where he would probably eat pounded yam, egusi and sweet bushmeat for lunch. She became enraged and told her son to rest before rushing out to see the other chiefs. Coincidentally, she met them few compounds away with sand-caked legs and astonished looks. They heard that the soldiers were back and had made rounds through the village, consoling those who were mourning and questioning those who could talk. Only about one-third of the soldiers had returned and they all said the king died at war.


"How do we explain that the king is alive? Or can we hide him forever?" Iyaloja queried.


"They will find out one way or the other. My problem right now is how to tell Adetoke, my daughter, that her husband didn't make it." Chief Osi said worriedly.


Good, Iyaloja thought. The truth had struck home. He would realize that the king's life was not more important than those of others'. By the next day, the news that the king died in the battle had gone round the town. The people gathered outside the palace, demanding to know how the bodies of the fallen soldiers would be recovered, the truth about the king's death and their fate if the people of Idogan should attack their town.


The chiefs pushed Osi forward to address their questions.


"My people, we hear you and understand your concerns. It is unfortunate that we lost some of our men. I also lost my son-in-law. May the gods comfort us. As for the king, he isn't dead. He could have been but someone helped him and brought him home few days ago. Please, exercise patience with us as we decide on how to bring our dead men home." The ominous silence that spread over the courtyard was palpable. The king was alive and in the palace? they asked themselves in disbelief. A guard came with the message that the king asked for an assembly by the next evening which the chiefs relayed to the restless crowd. And like that, the king continued his reign while the people mumbled and silently protested. The emissaries earlier sent to different kingdoms came back with varied versions of the message: the king was rejected by the gods of the land. Iyaloja, Iyalode and Osi joined forces and began to hold secret meetings in Osi's house without the knowledge of Otun, Asipa and the chief priest. Under the guise of going for trade, Osi travelled to his mother's town in Ado Ekiti to consult the elders there. It was revealed that the king would live and continue his iron rule for a long time if his powers weren't neutralised by offering him his taboos. The taboo were: the king mustn't see the unshaved hair of a baby nor the young shoots of a pineapple.


Soon, the king called for a reprisal attack on Idogan. The chiefs; some unaware they had divided into different caucuses and interests; bid the soldiers a heavy farewell and stared after them as they marched and galloped away. Iyaloja and Iyalode became willing baby carriers and emergency mothers, frequenting the palace with a baby strapped to their back and a covered calabash containing the young shoots of a pineapple. Few days into battle, as they sat discussing matters in the palace, they heard the familiar twinkling sound and rushed to lift the baby and the pineapple to the descending horse and its rider. The horse reared furiously and went back upward to fall on the exact spot the king fell earlier, on the battle ground and rotted there, solidifying into a rock-statue with the shape of a fallen black horse and a male rider holding a chain, condoned off to the public and still in its position in Owo to this modern day.


Indeed, there are fearsome dark powers from beyond who were attracted by the anarchy and depravity in this world and came disguised as humans. To feast. To rule.



 


Maria Oluwabukola Oni is a copywriter and storyteller based in Lagos, Nigeria. Her stories have appeared and are forthcoming in Black Glass Pages, Zinnia Journal, Iko Africa, Pencilmarks, Words, Rhymes & Rhythm, Akowdee Magazine, Ebedi Review, Nantygreens, Jellyfish Review and more. She is currently working on her debut fiction collection. She tweets @OhMariaCopy.

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