The night after the judgment was heavy. The village seemed quieter than before, but it was not the quiet of peace. It was the silence of whispers held back, of anger hidden in the dark. Even the crickets seemed afraid to sing too loudly, and the air itself felt thick with unease.
Sola sat by the small fire in her hut, staring into the flames as if they could give her answers. The judgment had spared her, but it had not freed her. She still carried the weight of the crowd's stares in her heart. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw their faces—the sharp gazes, the cruel smiles, the bitter envy of women, the mocking eyes of men.
Beside her, Kunle sat sharpening his cutlass with slow, steady strokes. The sound of metal against stone echoed in the quiet hut, a steady rhythm that sounded almost like a heartbeat. Each scrape of the blade seemed to cut into the silence.
"You are not sleeping," Sola whispered, her voice barely louder than the fire's crackle.
Kunle lifted his head and glanced at her. His eyes were calm but watchful. "How can I sleep, when the whole village is against us? They will not forgive easily. And Ola… he is burning inside. I saw it in his eyes today."
At the mention of her husband's name, Sola shivered. She pulled her wrapper tighter around her shoulders, as though cloth alone could shield her from the storm rising around them. "He will not stop," she murmured. "Even if the elders warned him, he would not stop."
Kunle reached for her hand, his palm rough from farm work but warm with steady strength. "Then let him come," he said firmly. "If he tries to harm you, he will find me waiting."
Her chest ached at his words. She believed him—she wanted to believe him—but deep inside, a small voice of fear whispered that Ola was not a man who would fight openly. He was a man who would strike from the shadows.
That same night, on the other side of the village, Ola sat in his hut. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails cut into his palms. His breath reeked of palm wine, and though his head spun, the anger inside him was sharp and cold, like a blade.
"The elders are weak," he spat into the darkness. His voice was harsh, cutting through the silence of his small room. "They protect sinners. They shame me before the whole village."
Two men sat with him. They were his old companions, men who had hunted with him, drunk with him, fought beside him in quarrels at the market. Their faces were hard, their eyes sharp, their hands quick to violence. They listened as Ola slammed his calabash onto the floor, the last drops of wine spilling onto the dirt.
"I will not wait for their gods to punish," Ola growled. "I will take my justice with my own hands."
One of the men leaned forward, his voice low. "But the elders warned you. If you strike, you will answer."
Ola let out a bitter laugh. "Do you think I fear them? Their staff is heavy, their eyes dim. They sit and talk, but they cannot touch me. This is my house, my wife, my honor. If they do not punish the boy, then I will."
The second man hesitated. "Kunle is strong. He is quick with his blade. To strike him is not a small matter."
Ola's eyes flashed in the lamplight. He leaned closer, his voice like fire. "Do you think I care for his strength? A man is strongest when he does not expect the blow. We will not face him in daylight. We will not meet him in the square. No. We will wait. We will watch. And when he walks alone in the dark, we will strike."
The men exchanged a long glance. Loyalty bound them to Ola more than wisdom did. Slowly, they nodded, their silence becoming an oath.
"Then tell us what to do," one whispered.
Ola's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Wait with me. Watch with me. And when the moment comes, we will cut him down like a goat."
Back in her hut, Sola tossed on her mat, unable to rest. Her mind was a cruel master that night, showing her things she did not want to see. She imagined footsteps outside, slow and deliberate. She imagined voices whispering her name in the dark. She imagined Ola's shadow standing at her door, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Kunle, sensing her unrest, lay down beside her. He pulled her against his chest, his arm heavy and protective around her shoulders.
"Do not fear," he murmured into her hair. His voice was steady, like the earth beneath her. "As long as I breathe, nothing will harm you."
Sola buried her face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was strong and steady, and for a fleeting moment she felt safe. For a moment, the world outside faded away. But no matter how tightly she clung to him, the fear inside her would not leave.
The next morning, the village stirred with restless energy. At the stream, women fetching water bent close to one another, whispering with sharp tongues. Their laughter was quiet, but their eyes glittered when Sola passed.
"See her," one murmured.
"She walks as though she is still a wife," another replied.
"Does she think she will escape shame?"
Their words floated through the air like smoke, burning her ears even when she pretended not to hear.
At the market, her steps grew heavier. Traders lowered their voices when she approached. Some looked away, but most stared boldly, as if her presence itself was a challenge.
Children, who once played without care, now mocked her openly. They ran past her hut, singing cruel songs, clapping their hands in rhythm to her disgrace.
One boy, no more than ten, stopped at her doorway. In his hand was a dead bird, its feathers ragged, its wings broken. He dropped it on the ground, his small face twisted with the cruelty of learned hate.
"Shameful woman," he hissed, before running off to join the others.
Sola gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth as her body trembled. She stared at the lifeless bird, its glassy eyes reflecting her own terror. Was it a warning? A curse? Or simply a child repeating the poison he heard at home?
Kunle found her standing there, her face pale, her hands shaking. His jaw tightened when he saw the bird. With a swift kick, he sent it rolling into the dust.
"They will not break you," he said sharply. His voice carried the heat of anger, but also the strength of resolve. "Do you hear me, Sola? They will not break us."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Everywhere I go, they see me as dirt. Even the children mock me."
Kunle cupped her face, lifting her chin so she was forced to meet his eyes. His voice softened. "Let them talk. Their tongues cannot kill us. Only fear can. Do not give them that power."
She nodded weakly, but the heaviness in her heart did not lift.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky with streaks of fire, Kunle rose to his feet. "I must go to the farm," he said. "I left my tools there."
Sola's heart seized with dread. "Go in the morning. Please. The night is not safe."
But Kunle only smiled softly and bent to kiss her forehead. "Do not worry. I will be back before the moon rises. Stay inside. Lock the door."
She clutched his hand, unwilling to let go, but he gently freed himself and stepped into the fading light. She watched him walk down the narrow path until the trees swallowed him.
As darkness fell, she sat in her hut, her heart pounding with every passing moment. The fire burned low, casting long shadows across the walls. Every creak of wood, every rustle of leaves outside, made her jump.
Hours passed. The moon rose, silver and distant. The night deepened, heavy with silence. But Kunle did not return.
Sola's fingers twisted her wrapper as she sat by the door, her ears straining for the sound of his footsteps. Her mind was full of images she did not want to see—Kunle lying hurt in the bush, Ola's shadow looming with a blade, men's voices laughing in the dark.
Then, at last, she heard something. A faint rustle outside. The sound of someone moving.
Her breath caught. "Kunle?" she whispered into the silence.
No answer.
Her heart beat so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. Slowly, with trembling hands, she reached for the door. She pushed it open just a crack. The moonlight spilled across the narrow path. For a heartbeat, she saw nothing.
Then—a figure.
Ola.
He stood only a few steps away, his body stiff, his eyes glowing with fury in the pale light. He looked like a hunter who had finally cornered his prey.
Sola's blood turned to ice. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
And then, from the shadows behind him, two more figures moved, silent as death.
What did you think would happen in the next chapter