Chapter 1: Fall of the Sword Master

I used to be the greatest sword master in all of Umuola Kingdom.

That name alone used to make elders shake their heads and children gather round to hear my stories. From Eke Market to the riverside at Umuonyema, nobody fit challenge me with blade—my fame spread faster than harmattan fire.

To open what people here call the Celestial Gate, my people call the Spirit Gate of Umuola. Ascending that one no be small thing, but just as I cross over, I jam Baba Oko, who dey scatter everywhere inside the Spirit Palace.

Ah, Baba Oko! That old trickster—dem say if you see am laugh for morning, you go fear for night. Always with his red head tie, laughter wey fit wake dead man—see as he dey turn Spirit Palace upside down like say na local palmwine joint. Me, I just dey enter, mind still sharp, pride still full, when I nearly jam him head-on.

He was fighting the Three-Eyed Hunter, and the force from their battle scatter my soul like broken kolanut—pieces everywhere, no hand fit gather am back.

The ground crack, thunder sound like masquerades beating their drums. Baba Oko leap, Three-Eyed Hunter raise staff—see fight wey my ancestors never dream of. The whole place dey scatter, until one invisible slap just blow my soul into pieces—no warning, no time to even say last prayer.

When I opened my eyes again, everything had changed.

I see myself dey float, no body, no sword, no shrine—only emptiness, like inside old calabash wey break finish. My heart sink, my pride vanish; I know say nothing ever remain the same again.

One ugly old woman, calling herself the Great Black Mama of Mercy, came for my life.

Her eyes red like pepper, skin dark like burnt yam, voice like rain beating zinc roof. "You," she point finger, "your soul is mine!" The air cold, but I just dey watch her like say she be stubborn goat for market.

I just laughed.

I laugh loud, belly full. I say, "Abeg, carry your wahala go. If na fight, I dey ready, but you no reach my shoe size. See this one! You never even try. For your mind, you reach my level?" My voice carry, spirits for nearby trees sef begin whisper.

If I couldn’t even beat the Great Sage of the Spirits himself, then you—just a common evil spirit—do you even reach the level where I should draw my sword for you?

I raise imaginary sword, spirit still strong inside me. I say, "Madam, abeg shift. If na you dem send, dem for do better."