King Ajaka was young and handsome, his tangled long hair flowing over his shoulders, his brown skin glowing with strength and beauty. He was dressed in regal aso-ofi, seated high on horseback. At his side rode Kulubo, a short, scar-faced man, hardened by battles. Kulubo wore adire dyed in red and brown, a rope hanging at his waist beside a small knife. A single-headed axe rested near his hip. Iron plates shielded parts of his arms and legs, the marks of a warrior's rank.
Around them marched Ajaka's bodyguards, walking on foot. Each carried heavy war clubs, their green adire cloth showing their rank. Farmers filled the wide fields, raising their hands in greeting as the king passed.
Ajaka broke the silence. "What do you think, Kulubo?"
Kulubo bowed his head. "Kabiyesi o! Second commander of the gods, I have no opinion. No one dares to question you."
Ajaka laughed. "Shut up, Kulubo! Speak like the Kulubo I know. It is Ajaka who stands before you, not the Oloyo."
Kulubo lifted his face and replied boldly:
"They say when hunger is gone, poverty is gone, and life is better. But your father, the mighty Oranmiyan, the living god of Ife, the late king of Benin, the Akin Orun, the king of Oyo ruled with war. Thousands of men followed him, knowing only war and peace. But what is peace, when sons go to war and some never return? Husbands rejoice in the spoils today, only to bleed tomorrow. Let the people call you the King of Peasants if they must but Oyo will remember you as the King of Peace. We need no more war, Ajaka. We want peace."
Ajaka smiled. "Do you know why I keep you close, Kulubo? Olodumare denied you beauty and height—but He blessed you with wisdom."
Kulubo grinned. "Alaafin is body-shaming his subject."
They both laughed.
But the laughter was broken by a war cry.
From deep within the fields, hundreds of men charged forth. Their bodies were smeared with chalk, hornbill feathers tied to their arms, charms glowing on their wrists. Animal skins clung to their shoulders. In their hands they carried heavy clubs with blades fastened to the ends.
The savages tore through the workers, cutting them down. Blood stained the crops.
"Protect the king!" Kulubo roared, drawing his axe. The guards raised their shields and rushed to meet the attackers.
One warrior broke through the line, swinging a war club. Kulubo's rope lashed out, stripping the weapon from his grip. In the same motion, Kulubo flung his knife, striking the man in the head. The warrior collapsed. With a roar, Kulubo pressed forward, axe in hand, cutting down another who dared approach Ajaka.
The battle raged, the air filled with dust and shouts. Ajaka held his ground, watching as his men fought desperately.
Then an arrow whistled from the distance. It struck one of the attackers in the chest. Another arrow followed, then another. The raiders faltered. More arrows rained down from unseen bowmen. Panic seized them, and they fled into the wilderness, dragging a few workers as captives.
Out of the shadows stepped Ogungbero, old, yet fierce, wielding a great sword. Around him stood his unit: archers with bows drawn, warriors with axes, spears, and clubs. They formed a circle around the king.
"Find them!" Ogungbero thundered. "Bring them to their knees!" His men gave chase, disappearing into the trees.
Kulubo rushed to Ajaka's side. "Are you safe, my king?"
"I am unharmed," Ajaka answered, though his eyes burned with fury. He turned to Ogungbero. "Who were they? Where did they come from?"
Ogungbero bowed stiffly. "They are the Okoleti. They slipped through the northern wall. Once, they praised your father, but in secret they resented him, longing for his throne. They cry for a king like Oranmiyan, not a peasant king. They want a leader of war, not of peace. They say they are tired of your mercy, my king."
"You shall not belittle the Oloyo in front of his men," Kulubo warned, his hand tightening on his axe.
Ogungbero fell to one knee, lifting his sword with both hands. His voice was steady.
"No one dares question my king. If I have spoken wrongly, you may take my head."
Ajaka stepped forward, his eyes dark with restrained anger. He seized the sword and thrust it deep into the savannah grass. His voice rang like iron:
"Make sure my people are safe. Find those who were taken. I will not speak further of the Okoleti. But hear me the wall shall be rebuilt."
He turned sharply, mounting his horse. Kulubo followed, and the guards fell into formation. Though Ajaka's face was calm, the fire in his eyes betrayed his anger.
Behind them, Ogungbero remained kneeling. His jaw clenched as he muttered under his breath, "I was a general at your father's side, not a doctor for peasants." He rose stiffly, leading his warriors back into the wounded fields.
From hidden paths, priests and healers emerged, carrying gourds of water, woven baskets filled with roots, leaves, and ground powders. They bent quickly over the wounded, washing cuts, binding cloth, and pressing herbs into open flesh to stop the bleeding. The sharp scent of crushed plants filled the air as they worked with calm precision. But our gaze followed the king.
"I am sorry, my king," Kulubo said as he rode beside him. His arm was wrapped tight, blood staining the cloth.
Ajaka's eyes softened. "You are wounded."
Kulubo grinned through the pain. "It is nothing, a mark of bravery." He pressed his hand to the wound, smiling as though the blood itself were an honor.
In the deep forests of Elempe, Shango Telaoko rode beside his closest friend, Alade. Two others followed
Toboso and Belari, sons of Elempe's generals.
Each boy carried a bow, their eyes fixed on the antelopes darting through the thickets.
Shango drew first. His arrow struck true, felling one antelope. The rest fled.
The others missed.
"You lose again, Toboso and you, Belari," Shango said with a grin. "Fetch the kill. Alade, you try next time."
He clapped Alade's shoulder as their horses trotted forward.
The other boys' faces darkened.
"You shoot aimlessly," Alade teased, half smiling.
Belari leaned toward Toboso, whispering, "He invited us only to insult us."
Shango urged his horse faster. They followed in a rush.
"I told you I am as brave as my father, the great Oranmiyan!" Shango shouted.
Toboso spat back, "Your father, the Akin Orun, did not waste arrows on animals. He hunted men."
Shango reined in hard, turning to face him.
"Then I am like him. He preyed on cowards and so do I. At least I am better in combat than you, son of Elempe's general."
Belari laughed bitterly. "What combat? Is that the way of Oyo, or of us Nupe?"
"You should be ashamed," Toboso added, sneering. "You don't even know your mother's tongue. She dragged you here only so Oyo would not spit you out. Half-blood prince
neither Oyo nor Nupe."
Shango's face burned. His hands tightened around his bow, raising it toward them in rage.
Alade spurred forward quickly. "Enough! You two shame yourselves. At the Red River, you barely stained your spears. Telaoko killed more men than both of you. He carries honor where your fathers carried disgrace. He is prince of Oyo and heir to Elempe's throne. Insult him again, and you insult the king himself. That is treason!"
Toboso and Belari froze, their laughter gone. Their horses stamped uneasily as if sensing their fear.
At that moment, two palace guards appeared on horseback, an antelope draped across one saddle.
Alade leaned toward Shango. "I know what they want. Let the guards hand them the antelope. Their fathers will be proud, and your honor will remain untouched."
Shango glared at his rivals, then gave a sharp nod.
The guards dropped the kill before Toboso and Belari.
Without another word, Shango spurred his horse forward. Alade followed close behind, the guards riding after them.