The night was thick with the scent of the coming rain. Obolo worked with a feverish intensity that the guards mistook for fear. The shuttle of the loom flew back and forth clack, clack, clack as she wove the King’s robe.
But Obolo wasn’t weaving a garment of honor. She was weaving a trap.
Using the hidden techniques her mother had taught her, the “Double-Bind” stitch often used for heavy hunting nets. She reinforced the hem and sleeves with reinforced wire-silk. She kept the poisoned needle hidden in her tresses, the blue resin glinting like a deadly jewel.
At midnight, the King arrived. He was still learning all he could about the village, as Akoro; two kings before him had left behind a bad legacy that the former king tried so hard to rebuild. “Is it finished, Weaver?” he asked, his voice calmer than I remembered.
“It is, My Lord,” Obolo said, bowing low. “A garment for a protector.”
As the King stepped forward to try the robe, the palace bells suddenly began to toll, a frantic, uneven rhythm. The attack had begun. Shouts erupted from the courtyard. Iseye’s troops had breached the outer wall.
Iseye burst into the weaving room, no longer hiding. He held a curved blade, his face twisted in a triumphant grin. “Too late, you impostor! The blood of Akoro has returned to take over!”
The King reached for his sword, but Iseye was faster. However, as Iseye lunged, Obolo didn’t flee. She grabbed the heavy ceremonial robe from the loom and threw it with all her might.
Because of her “Double-Bind” stitch, the robe didn’t just fall; it acted like a weighted net. The heavy wire-silk entangled Iseye’s sword arm and wrapped around his torso. He thrashed, but the more he fought, the tighter the Weaver’s trap became.
“You think a piece of cloth can stop me?” Iseye roared, struggling to free his blade.
“It’s not just cloth,” Obolo said, stepping forward. She pulled the poisoned needle from her hair. “It’s the justice of the people you called ‘fearful’.”
“You all will be my slaves, I gave you a chance but you threw it all away” he screamed in anger.
“Your father, Aproko you are fighting for was a very cruel king, he executed people without trials, he didn’t listen to the kingsmen or the villagers, and when your mother pleaded, he threw her to the evil forest without remorse, claiming she was submissive enough. He took people’s wives in daylight and made them his wives. Killed any man who dared to question him” Obolo explained. “Surrender now and the king will have mercy on you and your men”
“Never! I must avenge fathers name and kill all those who chased my father out”
With a swift, steady hand, Obolo struck. She didn’t kill him; she grazed his hand, the hand that had held her mouth shut. The blue resin entered his blood. Iseye’s eyes went wide. The curved blade fell from his numb fingers. He slumped into the folds of the gray robe, the very fabric he had intended for the King’s death now becoming his own prison.
The guards, seeing their leader fallen, hesitated. The village men, led by a crying but fierce Iyema who had broken into the palace armory, surged into the room. Seeing Obolo standing over the fallen spy, they let out a roar that shook the rafters.
As the sun rose over Itenwa, the foreign troops fled back into the forest, leaderless and broken. Iseye was taken to the Boundary, the same place his father had sent so many others to face the judgment of the wild.
The King stood before Obolo in the market square the next morning. He tried to offer her gold, a title, a place in the palace forever.
Read moreCaught at 6pm: Chapter 5
Obolo looked at her hands, reddened by the loom and the struggle. She looked at Iyema, who was already setting up their old stall.
“I am a weaver of the people, My Lord,” Obolo said, a small, tired smile touching her lips. I would like to go back to weaving clothes that bring peace.”
Obolo returned to her stall. And though the 6 PM gong still rang every time a new king was to be crowned, no one in Itenwa ran in fear anymore. They simply walked home, earlier knowing that their traditions were meant to protect them.
The End.
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