Women Of Steel | ✔

V

"You are a liar!" I explode, wrenching my arm from his grip, ignoring the sting of pain. I shuffle away from him, almost tripping on the desert sand.

He makes no attempt at reaching for me, and when I foolishly break into a run, he doesn't come after me, I run far away from him, away from the bazaar and away from the tents that loom ahead.

When I collapse on the sand just seconds later, he is right there in front of me, just watching. I think of how I look to him, ragged, and hungry looking and I realize that for once in my life, I don't care how I look.

My mother told me that as women, the power we wield is not of the men or their weapons but it is twice as dangerous if used well, she taught me how to seduce a man, how to command stares to turn to me because of my looks. Clothes were my armour and back then, I wouldn't have been caught in anything less than perfect. Now I look anything but, I don't look like a princess, or anyone of worth, here I am nothing.

"My father was late Kabiyesi Gbadamosi of Ile Wura, my mother was Oloori Adunni, former princess of Ile Ogo. My brother was Kabiyesi Tadenikawo of Ile Wura. I am a princess!" I say with fever in my tone. "I am not your daughter, mad man."

I expect a stinging slap across my cheek, the man just shakes his head and sinks down besides me on the hot sand, even sitting, I still have to look up to stare into his strange eyes.

"I knew your mother and your father, nineteen years ago." He says after a moment of silence. "I was on a mission and made a stop at your village, your father was king then and welcomed me into his home, wickedly fascinated by the magic I wield."

I am not surprised to hear that this strange man has magic, what else explains his strange eyes and unnatural height. But I am still not sure what he hopes to gain by telling me his story, I know my family, I know my father and this man is not him.

"Your mother had been seeking a child even though their had not been married up to a year. Gbadamosi didn't care, he already had a son, an heir, he had only married your mother because he was pressured to do so by his cabinet, and the marriage never stopped him from seeking pleasure from other women, commoners and royals alike." The man says, he touches a hand to his clean shaven chin, there is a thin scar that runs from his lower chin down to his neck, disappearing beneath his kaftan.

"Adunni was afraid that he would father a bastard and cast her away or kill her." He continues. His eyes flash from amber to bright purple.

I almost laugh, despite all my mother's tricks, my father still had her killed the day I turned thirteen. I didn't care then, she was never really a mother to me, I rarely ever saw her and she rarely ever came to see me.

"We sired a child together." He finally says the words I was expecting, words I still don't believe. This man cannot be my father, my whole life is a lie then, Tade was never my brother then. I don't have any claim to the throne, not even as a princess.

I begin to shake my head, anger returning. I am nothing like this man, I have the temper of my father, the pigheadedness of my brother and the looks of my mother. Nothing in this man reminds me of myself.

"I am not your daughter," I tell him through gritted teeth. "I am not your daughter!"

"I am Omolara and I am princess of Ile Wura, not the daughter of a confused nobody."

For the first time, something like anger swirls in the depths of his eyes, flames seem to burn within them and with a shriek, I shift away from him.

"Blood runs thicker than whatever evil you might have grown up to. Get up," He says, rising gracefully. He does not offer a hand to help me.

"Get up," He repeats harshly. He bends to drag me up when I remain kneeling, tugging at my branded wrist until a whimper escapes my lips, not from pain but from memories; a hot knife, the scent of my blood and his own grim face.

"Just let me go, please, I have nothing you want." I plead.

He sighs, letting go of my arm, it would be foolish to tru and run away again, I know now that this man would find me wherever I run to, the only way I am going back home if he let's me go.

"Omolara, you are not a stupid girl, why would I buy you out of that hell just to let you go?"

"A real father would." I say weakly.

He laughs, all snorts, not anything like the calculated laugh of liars.

"Would Gbadamosi ever do that for you?" He asks.

I don't say a word because I know my father would never buy me out of trouble for no selfish reason, every single act of kindness while he was alive was calculated, he took care of me because someday I would have fetched him a hefty bride price when he married me off to some old king or merchant. For the most part of my childhood, he ignored me and I preferred it, my father's attention was never a good thing focused on someone, I witnessed it first hand whenever he dealt blows and beatings to his heir.

I look at the man who claims to be my father and wonder if there is any truth to his words, or if I am simply choosing to ignore it. Another thing I learnt from living with my father was knowing when to turn my head away at the sign of injustice, I turned it away when he always beat Tade or rape an innocent slave and I kept turning it away when Tade did the same to Demilade.

"I will never stop trying to escape." I hiss to him as he begins to walk, not even sparing me a glance to see I follow. "My father did not raise me a coward." I add.

He shakes his head. "Then your mother should have known better than to make a deal with an orisha."

I freeze in my steps, stumbling ungracefully.

"You're an orisha?"

Orishas were once humans that walked the earth, doing powerful deeds and ascending the afterlife as gods, the stories say some of them still watch and walk the earth among us. Only few have met with them and lived to tell the tale, and this one claims he is my father.

Suddenly, the world seems to halt in time, how could have I ignored the signs, the way he carries himself, his eyes and the power that cloaks him like clothes. He is a walking mountain, you cannot help but notice it, I wonder if that's why no merchants bothered us when we walked through the bazaar.

He stops and turns to stare at me, as if he did not just announce himself.

"You are awfully quiet for a girl who was raining curses just moments ago." He drawls.

"Which one are you?" I breath out, partly in awe and in fear. I whisper a prayer that this man is not Sango, the god of thunder, the one orisha we feared as children.

"Esu." He says simply, then he resumes his walk and leaves me to stumble after him, realization making my head dizzy.

The god of mischief is my father.