The first call of the rooster broke the silence of the night.
Then came the drums.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
They rolled through the village, slow and heavy, calling every man, woman, and child back to the square. The elders had spoken: today the judgment would fall.
Sola rose from her mat with trembling hands. She had not slept for a moment. Her eyes burned, her heart felt too heavy to carry. Beside her, Kunle was already awake. He had sat through the night in silence, staring into the dying embers of the fire.
Now he stood, shoulders squared, eyes dark with resolve. "It is time," he said quietly.
Sola wanted to hold him back, to hide in the shadows forever, but she knew it was useless. The village would drag them out even if they resisted. Today, their fates would be sealed.
When they stepped into the square, the crowd was already thick. The air buzzed with whispers, with judgment, with curiosity. Some eyes burned with anger. Others, especially the younger women, carried something softer—fear, or maybe secret sympathy.
Ola stood near the front, chest bare, his face twisted with fury. He had not slept either. His eyes locked on Sola, sharp as knives, and she felt her breath falter.
The elders sat once again in their half-circle, their staff planted firmly in the ground. Elder Taye was in the center, his wrinkled face carved with lines of both wisdom and weariness.
The drum beats stopped. Silence fell like a heavy cloth.
Elder Taye lifted his staff. "People of the village, we are gathered to end the matter that has disturbed our peace. The wife of Ola, and this man Kunle, stand accused of breaking sacred bonds. Yesterday we heard their words. Today we give our judgment."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. All eyes turned to Sola and Kunle.
Ola surged forward, his voice cracking with rage. "What more is there to say? She betrayed me. He mocked me. The law is clear—such a woman must be cast out, such a man must be flogged and banished! If you delay, you shame us all!"
The crowd roared in agreement. Some men clapped their hands. Women spat on the ground. Children pointed and whispered.
Sola's knees shook, but Kunle stepped forward, his voice strong.
"Elders, hear me. I will not deny what I said yesterday. I love her. She loves me. If you call that shame, then let the shame fall on me alone. Do not cast her out. Do not destroy her."
Gasps rose from the crowd. Never before had a man stood before the council and offered himself so boldly.
But Ola only sneered. "See? He admits it again. What more proof do you need? Elders, if you do not punish them, then you will teach every woman to spit on her vows!"
The tension was like a storm pressing down on the square.
Elder Taye's voice was slow, measured. "The bond of marriage is sacred. To break it is to break trust. Yet the matters of the heart are never simple. We, the elders, have spoken through the night. We have weighed this matter carefully."
He paused. The silence was unbearable.
"Kunle," he said at last, "you have wronged your brother by stepping into his home. For this, you will be flogged before the people."
A shout of approval rose. Ola's face twisted in satisfaction.
Sola gasped, reaching for Kunle's arm, but he stood tall, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with silent fire.
"And you, Sola," Elder Taye continued, his voice heavy, "you have broken the vows made before your family and the gods. A wife must guard her home, even in loneliness. For this, you may no longer remain in Ola's house."
The crowd erupted again—some cheering, some murmuring in shock. Ola's mouth dropped open. He had expected Sola to be cast out into disgrace, wandering with no shelter. But Elder Taye raised his staff again.
"However," the elder said, his eyes narrowing, "we do not judge with anger alone. A husband who leaves his wife in silence for too long bears blame as well. Ola, you neglected your home. You left it empty. A hollow house invites shadows. You too must answer this."
The square fell silent again. No one had expected such words. Ola's face went pale with fury. "You dare blame me? I am the husband!"
"You are," Elder Taye said firmly. "But a husband must care for his home, or it will crumble. Today, we give no final judgment of banishment or death. Instead, both Sola and Kunle will remain under watch. Their lives are bound by our eyes now. Tomorrow, and the day after, we will see what the gods reveal."
The crowd exploded in confusion. Some cried out for harsher punishment. Others muttered that the elders had shown wisdom.
Ola shouted in protest, but the elders struck their staff on the ground, ending all noise.
"The matter is not closed," Elder Taye declared. "It is only delayed. The gods will show the truth. Until then, let no hand rise in secret against them, or that hand will answer us."
Sola's heart pounded. Relief and terror tangled inside her. Kunle reached for her hand briefly, squeezing it once before letting go.
They had not been destroyed—but neither were they free.
The crowd slowly dispersed, voices buzzing like angry bees. Ola's glare followed them as they left, his chest heaving with rage.
Sola walked beside Kunle, her steps unsteady. "They spared us… but for how long?"
Kunle's jaw tightened. "As long as we breathe, there is hope. But Ola will not rest. We must be ready."
That night, as the village settled again, Sola lay awake staring at the roof of her hut. The words of Elder Taye echoed in her mind.
No final judgment. The gods will reveal the truth.
Her heart ached with both fear and love. Tomorrow was uncertain. But tonight, she still had Kunle's hand in hers. And that was enough—for now.
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