His movement was as if measured with a ruler – calculated. His right hand hovered and was supported at the ipsilateral shoulder as if he was about to throw a stone; only that it has remained there since he started this journey.
In that hand was a double edged sword – blazing occasionally when it meets the light reflecting from the moon. At other times, the sword was invisible as the shadows from the trees and hills that stretched along their path, cast themselves on their silhouette. It was too dark. It was the time of the night, the people of the land called Ajin.
Except for the two other persons with him, Abenilori - the village Executioner would have been alone. All the birds seemed to be asleep as well. No chirps, no chirrups nor fluttering. The only forms of noise constant were the raspy - lispy trills of the night insects and the katydids; sounding like a well – spaced clicking, spontaneously rhyming with "wass – wass" clap of their feet on the dried leaves that strewn along as they trudged on. All the sounds emanating on this their ominous journey; almost danceable. Albeit, this company was far from a stage play.
Sandwiched between the fiendish village executioner and the town crier was Abeni – a young maiden of about 28 - year old. Her head had been shaved and painted with a form of black powder made into a paste. It could pass for a grounded charcoal paste, but it's not. The town crier beat his gong and shouts to no one in particular:
"Abeni n wo gb'oro!"
"O ti begi nigb'oro!"
(Abeni is going to the forbidden forest, she has committed an abomination)
He beat the gong again and again then stared to the left, then up and then to the right as if looking for another culprit like the one they accompanied.
Abeni walked without thinking again. Few days ago, she was in the company of other maids of honour planning for the elaborate Isoha day – the day when Ninijenra people speak to their ancestors and the gods.
They would ask their ancestors to beg Olodumare for fruitful family lives, bountiful harvests and conquering of all their enemies. The maids of honour come to the palace usually led by the village Seer – the only fearless woman in the land. They come with their moulded plates of honour to dance for the gods.
All the village maids of honour are unmarried virgins and must remain so till their 30th year when the gods no longer require their celibacy. If a maid of honour looses her pride before she reaches her age of departure from the Seer's company, such a maid of honour has committed a great abomination against the gods and must be accompanied to the forbidden forest by the village Abenilori.
Abeni had avoided her assailant many times before their last encounter. The only trouble she had was the Adegbolade's self – assurance. A well built hunk in all aspects: well – proportioned, suave appearance and he always looks debonair. Abeni knew Adegbolade was a lot of trouble – what they call Agbako-oriede in the native parlance.
Nevertheless, her skipping heartbeat at each time he cornered her on the way to the stream didn't help her resolution to beware of a man like that. She kept wishing she was already 30- year old so as to escape the plate's dance at the palace. The same dance that betrayed her loss of innocence before the multitude of people and the majestic court of Ninijenra.
Yes, she was naïve. She should have simply run away before the Isoha day. She didn't need to come out like the rest of her 20 young spinsters whose innocence remained untouched. Needless was she supposed to have even picked her two moulded plates of honour when she heard the talking drums and the Seer's sonorous voice calling on her 21 maidens:
"Alawo mi gbawo mi ko mi o, awo e, alawo!" (My plate bearer and maiden, bring my plate for me - Here I am, the plate owner - My Seer!)
"Mi du o gbawo mi ko mi o, awo e alawo!" (My plate bearer and maiden, bring my plate for me - Here I am, the plate owner - My Seer!)
"Mo ti gbawo e fube o, awo e, alawo!" (I have brought your plate o my Plate owner).
"Han ka jo o, han ka jo e, awo e, alawo" (Keep dancing, keep rejoicing my plate maiden).
"Omidan mokanlelogun lode Isoha, awo e alawo…" (The 21 virgins in Isoha land)
But she did and her loss of virginity betrayed her. She fell forward with her two plates of honour breaking into pieces and the festival went maniacal.
And when she looked around, there was no one like Adegbolade. Even when the court of chiefs was quizzing her about how she became a broken vessel, she lost her mind. Her memory appeared unused. She was blank till her verdict was whispered to the Village's Otun – the one who sits at the right of the King with so much privileges.
As she continued her hard slog this night of terrors and shame, she was exhausted with perched lips and dried throats – exsiccated from no food and water in the last 2 days.
Too many thoughts flustered and wandered from her credulous mind. She had lain sleepless all night and couldn't think of anything than her aged parents. Wishing she could undo the hands of time. And when the palace guard opened the door of the tubu where offenders like herself are kept, she knew her verdict was real.
Whether it was lateness of the night or the deafening silence that surrounded them, the trio didn't imagine they had reached the inevitable tail end of the forest marked by a tent of palm fronds spread by a well – taut rope of many colours.
In the following minutes that ensued, the double edged sword has left the Abenilori's shoulder. The initially semi - reflecting sword has travelled through and swung back. Except for the town crier and the sword carrier, there was no other person standing again and their bared feet could feel the warmth and wetness. Abeni's blood ran without legs.
The two men turned away and left hurriedly. There was no longer calculation in their steps while the town crier sobbed quietly.