SCENE START
SETTING: The opulent Palace of Oba Aderemi and the sprawling estate of the merchant Ajegbami. It has been 33 years. The architecture is grand, but the air feels unnaturally dry, as if the moisture is being sucked out of the world.
CHARACTERS:
OJUOLA (formerly OGUNSHOLA): Now a Queen, draped in heavy coral beads. Her beauty has turned sharp and brittle.
WEMIMO (formerly OGUNWEMI): A wealthy merchant's wife, obsessed with counting her gold.
OBA ADEREMI: An aging king, troubled by strange dreams.
PRINCE ADEBAYO: Ojuola's eldest son, arrogant and strong.
BABA JIDE: Now very old, blind, and considered a "holy madman." He sits at the palace gates.
[ACT 1]
(The Palace. OJUOLA is watching her three sons practice wrestling. She looks proud, but she constantly rubs a scar on her palm the place where she gripped the bronze mace 33 years ago.)
OJUOLA: Look at them, my King. Three lions. Our bloodline is a fortress that no one can breach.
OBA ADEREMI: They are strong, my Queen. But lately, the diviners are uneasy. The iron in the armory is weeping.
OJUOLA: (Stiffening) Weeping? What nonsense. Iron is dead. It does not weep.
OBA ADEREMI: My master-at-arms says the swords are rusting from the inside out. And last night, I dreamt of a blacksmith's forge... and a girl with eyes like embers.
OJUOLA: (Sharply) Dreams are for children and the senile, Aderemi. We have built this kingdom on strength. Let the iron rust; we will buy more from the coast.
(WEMIMO enters the palace, followed by servants carrying gifts. She looks anxious, her fingers twitching.)
WEMIMO: Sister! I had to come. Something is wrong at the estate.
OJUOLA: (Dismissing the servants) Speak, Wemimo. You look like you've seen a ghost.
WEMIMO: My husband's warehouses... the 400 kegs of palm oil we stored? They turned to blood overnight. And my sons all four of them woke up with the same mark on their foreheads. A mark of a broken anvil.
OJUOLA: (Hissing) Be quiet! Do you want the walls to hear? It has been 33 years. The forest took that stranger, and the earth took that girl. We are safe.
BABA JIDE'S VOICE: (Wailing from outside the palace window) Thirty-three years the iron slept,
Thirty-three years the secret was kept!
But the Blacksmith's breath is a hot, hot wind,
And the God is coming for the fruit of the sin!
OJUOLA: (To the guards) Throw that old drunk into the dungeons! I am tired of his riddles!