Chapter 2: Morayo’s Secret Courage

2

Mama picked Morayo from inside dead bodies.

The smell of burning cloth and flesh still haunts my nose. Mama say her cry was so small, like chick lost in the bush.

That year, masquerade clan destroyed a whole town. Mama carried us go save survivors, but only brought Morayo back.

We saw plenty children, all silent, all gone. Only Morayo, eyes open wide, staring at nothing, mouth moving with no sound. Mama wrapped her up and took her home.

She was thirteen. Mama took her in as a disciple, like her own daughter.

Mama gave her new wrappers, a mat to sleep, and a wooden spoon for her own food bowl. She got a place in the kitchen, a spot beside me during prayer. She was family.

But Morayo no get drive, she no like stress herself.

If you ask her to fetch water, she go grumble. If you say make she sweep, she go say her back dey pain am. Mama just sigh, shake head, and tell me to leave her be.

Anytime we dey practice, na she dey always come last, run go first.

Her sword form na story—she dey fumble, dey bend knee, dey complain say sand dey inside her slippers. When practice finish, she first run to kitchen, eyes sharp for leftover meat.

Mama just left her—partly because she no too sabi, partly because with Kelechi and me, she never get chance to lead.

Mama always said, “No be everybody go be leader. Some just need to survive.” Sometimes, she would pat Morayo’s head and smile, as if she knew her own story.

If she just behave, as senior sister, I go protect her.

I used to keep an extra piece of meat for her, help her wash her sword, warn her before Mama’s inspection. Even when she vex me, I still protect her.

But from the day she enter the sect, Morayo no like me.

Her eyes sharp when she see me and Kelechi talk. Her smile always had knife edge when Mama praised me. She’d sigh and shake her head, like she was pitying me for working too hard.

She no fit stand my hard work, or Mama’s hope for me, or the way Kelechi dey treat me special.

She would complain, “Why senior sister dey always dey do pass herself? She wan win all the praise for herself?” But me, I just do my work.

So every few days, she go find my trouble.

She’d hide my slippers, pour sand in my bathwater, or tell small lies to Mama. Sometimes, she just make face at me when nobody look. Other times, she come gossip with the other girls, her eyes always watching me.

If she no dey gossip about me to Mama, na to put frogs for my bed.

One night, I open wrapper, frog jump out, the cold thing land for my leg—me I just laugh, remembering how she dey find trouble. Another night, lizard. But I no vex—her tricks small-small.

She dey worse anytime Kelechi show—sometimes doing the most shameless things.

Her voice would turn soft-soft, she’d pretend to fall or trip near him. She would even carry his calabash water for him, giggling like small pikin.

One time, during sword practice at Oba Lake, Morayo and some junior disciples dey stand for top stakes, one leg, as I dey correct their form.

Oba Lake water cold that day, frogs croaking everywhere. Sun was high, sweat dripping from my back. My voice echoed, “Balance! No bend knee! Hold sword straight!”

Just as Kelechi pass, Morayo fall enter the lake with a big splash.

Her scream scatter the practice. Water splash everywhere, even on my wrapper. All the junior disciples laugh, but Morayo just dey shiver, calling “Senior brother! Senior brother!”

Kelechi rush pull her out, and she just shrink for his arms, acting pitiful: Her eyes big, lips quiver—if you no know her, you go pity. “Maybe I no do am well, so senior sister vex and push me inside.”

She sniffed, eyes watery, voice trembling like rat wey see cat.

Kelechi console her, carry her go rest. Morayo give me one wicked look, like say she don win.

Her mouth curved in small smile, as if to say, “See your life.”

Me, I no talk anything.

Inside, I just carry on, focus on my steps, acting like nothing dey do me. But inside, sometimes I just tire.

Her small-small plans just be like play to me, even funny self.

Sometimes I even wait for her next wahala. It was a kind of dance we did, junior sister and me.

Morayo liked Kelechi, and for decades, she dey drag him with me.

Every festival, every group duty, both of us trying to stand beside him, both trying to catch his eye. It was a kind of silent war, a rivalry nobody say out loud but everybody feel.

But who go believe say the senior brother wey look so proper don already join hand with masquerade clan?

That face—gentle, always smiling, always ready to help. Who go know say darkness dey inside?

He wait till Mama and I travel, then carry masquerades come attack our sect.

The traitor move quiet. He lead us out with one story, then bring enemies behind our back. The night was hot, masquerade drums beating, fire everywhere.

Nobody suspect am, so the sect just finish.

Nobody see the knife behind his back.

The last person left was Morayo.

She stand alone, blood on her face, her back straight like palm tree.

Her power weak—she never even learn how to change form.

She always slack for lessons. But that night, stubbornness keep her standing.

To buy us time to come back, this girl wey love beauty pass anything use sword spoil her own face.

She drag blade across her cheek. Blood pour, but she no cry. Her beauty gone, but her courage rise.

She disguise as me, stand for gate with sword, dey shout say help dey come.

Her voice rough, but she no back down. She fooled them for hours.

That night, Morayo use every move she ever learn, even the ones she always lazy to practice.

Her feet steady, her blade sharp. She recall all my corrections, every scolding from Mama. Her form never look so good before.

But till she die, she no fit wound Kelechi at all.

He was too strong, and he hesitated not even once. But Morayo keep trying, never surrender.

When I reach, Morayo face full of blood, kneeling for gate, almost die finish.

Her breathing shallow, her body trembling, but her eyes still stubborn, staring at the sky.

I bend near, hear her whisper:

“So troublesome... why you dey so good... I no fit be like you... at all.”

The words shake my soul, then and now.