Women Of Steel | ✔

X

The slave traders nod at each other and the short leader mutters something low that causes the man that I recognize to stay back while the other three take hesitant steps forward. Their leader stops before Prince Zahir and sneer in his face.

"If I smell the slightest hint of foul play, we will burn this camp to the ground." He says aloud. I refrain from snorting, this man clearly does not understand that they are well outnumbered, still this does not comfort me as he resumes his brisk walk. If they find Arewa, I do not want to think what will happen to both her and this camp.

The slave traders begin their search, trailed behind by Zahir's men, they stop at the first tent in the circle and one of them barge into it, the tent flap billowing after him.

Slowly, I begin to slither away from where I am crouched, towards the far end tents where Arewa is undoubtedly in, unless the prince had her moved. I narrow my eyes in his direction, then startle when his voice booms suddenly just as the slaver comes out of the tent, empty handed.

"As you can see, there is no lame girl in this camp." He says in an unnecessarily loud voice, I jolt when I realize that it is a warning, to Arewa wherever she is.

I don't wait to catch the insults hollered back at the prince, I quicken my steps, hoping the dark hides me in its shadows. Upon reaching the tent, I crouch and push the flap open, rolling into it. The inside is dark and it takes several blinks to see the shadow in the corner, slightly illuminated by the moon light piercing through the tent cloth.

"Arewa?" I whisper. "You need to leave, they are coming." I add when I hear the shout of the lead slaver telling his friends to move faster.

She shuffles in the dark and I almost scream when I feel her cold fingers on my shoulder.

"Where do I go?" Her voice is shaky and I can hear the tears in them. I want to lead her outside but I remember her injury, how walking would be a dead giveaway.

I touch a hand to my chin in contemplation.

"You need to wear a disguise," there is childish excitement in my tone, when I was little, I wanted nothing more than to train with my brother.

I wanted to wield the swords he fought with, I wanted to throw arrows and spears but Kabiyesi Gbadamosi was quick to kill those desires, he indulged my wishes, he let me train with my brother for three days and he never let Tadenikawo go easy with me, he said if I was ready to learn to fight, then I should have been ready to bleed too. The last straw was commanding me to take the head of the yam thief that plagued the village for months.

I had quivered and begged but Gbadamosi would rather take his own life than let his children be declared cowards. In the end, Tadenikawo swooped in and hacked through the man's head with nothing on his face, it was the first time I had ever been scared of him.

My father had made me pay for it after, seventy strokes on my bare bottom.

A part of that childish fantasy still stays with me. Naivety, Demilade would call it, snarl it in my face if she saw me now.

The thought of the king wipes the smile off my face and I tap at Arewa's hand.

"Where is the kaftan that man gave to you as a blanket?" I ask.

"I am wearing it now." Arewa murmurs timidly.

My smile returns, I slip off the iro tied around my waist, thankful that I had wrapped two instead of one.

"Wear this around you head, like the big head scarfs they wear around." I tell her hurriedly, shoving the cloth into what I assume is her laps.

Then I tiptoe back outside, feeling her follow right behind me. I cast a look at her, my smile widening, the kaftan swallowing her already small frame and the scarf on her head bigger than her head. Her lips are pursed in fear and I notice she stands almost upright, slouching slightly.