Chapter 5 The Feast of Remembrance

The palace of Akun came alive as the eleven-day countdown began. In a rare moment of unity, the royal courtyard opened its gates to both nobles and commoners. Drummers lined the walls, pounding deep rhythms into the earth. Fragrant smoke from burning incense drifted upward into the evening air, mingling with the soft aroma of palm oil and the metallic tang of war-forged tension. The sky, tinged orange like a warrior's scar, bore silent witness to a kingdom at a crossroads.

The feast was more than a celebration - it was a curtain before a storm.

Massive pots of pepper soup bubbled near the open kitchen fires, their scent sharp with uziza and goat meat. Spiced jollof rice, roasted bushmeat, fried plantains, and steaming pounded yam filled golden trays carried by the tireless hands of palace servants. Dancers from the eastern border spun in circles, their beaded waists jingling like rainfall on corrugated roofs, while singers praised the name of the late Kabiyesi, Adeyemi Adesoji.

The 1st prince, Adebayo, stood at the edge of the upper balcony, arms folded tightly across his chest. He watched the crowd below - a blend of celebration, wary hope, and hidden mourning. His face bore the marks of recent war, the scar near his left brow still healing from the last battle at the northern ridge. Behind his calm gaze, a storm brewed quietly.

He had only just returned from defending the kingdom's northern border when news of his father's death arrived. The message was brief: Kabiyesi has joined the ancestors. You must return. There was no mention that his title had been stripped. No hint that a deadly quest awaited him and his brothers.

Now, as the drummers' pace quickened, Adebayo could feel the eyes upon him - from the silent Oloyes, from the Ogboni council, and perhaps most unsettling, from his own blood.

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On the ground floor, Queen Akerele - Olori 1 - moved through the crowd with the grace of a panther. Her eyes, sharp as flint, flicked across every table, every face. She nodded at Oloye Tanimola, who stood near the royal wine with a subtle nod of his own.

"All is in motion," he whispered as she passed.

Not far behind her, the 2nd prince, Adeola, sat quietly with a group of nobles. His demeanor was calm, almost detached, but his thoughts were piercing. He had heard the whispers: Adebayo was once the favored son... until the day he wasn't.

"So the princes eat together tonight," said a voice beside him. It was the 4th prince, Adesola, flashing his ever-wide smile. "Who knows? This might be the last meal for some of us."

Adeola gave a faint smile. "You always did enjoy drama."

"And you always hide behind wisdom," Adesola replied, plucking a meat skewer from a golden tray. "But I say this: the meek won't inherit Akun. Not this time."

Their laughter was light, but the weight behind the words was heavy.

Inside the royal dining hall, a more intimate dinner unfolded. The six children of Kabiyesi sat together for the first time in many years. The 3rd prince, Adelabu, slouched slightly, pushing food around his plate with disinterest. The 5th prince, Adeoye - the youngest of the brothers - asked questions in whispers, eyes wide with innocence and awe.

The princess, Adepeju, dressed in a simple but elegant indigo wrapper, watched them all with quiet sadness. Her posture was regal, but her eyes betrayed the ache of memory. She did not speak until halfway through the meal.

"Do you all remember Father's last meal with us?"

The table fell into silence.

"He barely touched his food," she continued. "And he only said one thing: 'A crown worn in peace is heavier than one taken in war.'"

Adebayo nodded slowly. "He knew his end was near."

"He changed before his death," Adeola added. "Became quieter. Spoke to the priest of Oke Ireti often."

Adesola scoffed. "Or maybe he was just scared of dying."

Adeoye frowned. "He converted to the faith, didn't he?"

Adelabu finally looked up. "Yes. On his last night. But maybe not for the reasons we think."

"Meaning?" Adebayo asked.

Adelabu toyed with a spoon, rolling it between his fingers. "Maybe he saw something coming. Or maybe he made a deal."

Their words hung in the air like incense smoke, fragrant but unclear.

Later that night, as the crowd danced and wine flowed like river water, the Oloyes gathered in the upper court with the Ogboni council. High Ogboni Salako raised a carved wooden staff, etched with symbols of the ancestors.

"People of Akun," he began, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade, "your king has returned to the ancestors, and the throne waits to be filled. Five princes remain. But the throne cannot be claimed through inheritance - only through proof."

A hush fell like rain.

"By agreement with the council and the spirits of our land, the princes shall embark on a quest. They will seek five sacred treasures, one from each of the rival kingdoms. Whoever returns with the treasures and survives the journey shall claim the throne. If two return, the kingdom will be divided. If only one, he shall rule."

Gasps spread through the courtyard like wildfire.

Adebayo stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "And if none return?"

High Ogboni Salako turned toward him slowly. "Then the royal line ends. Akun will fall into the hands of the five kingdoms that now circle us like vultures."

The drumming stopped.

A moment of absolute silence stretched across the courtyard. Even the torches seemed to flicker slower.

Then, Adesola raised his goblet. "To destiny."

That night, after the crowd had dispersed like mist, Adebayo sat alone in the ancestral hall. A servant placed a single candle before him. The room was silent, save for the crackling of flame.

From his robe, he pulled out a worn letter - the last one his father had written to him. It was unsigned, stained by age and grief.

"You were never the son I wanted. But you became the son I needed. If I fail to protect you, let your scars remind you: Akun needs a lion, not a dove."

He stared at the letter. His jaw tightened. His breath slowed.

Outside, the wind carried distant chants. Somewhere, a child laughed. Somewhere else, someone wept.

Tomorrow, they would begin preparations for the journey that could end their bloodline.

But tonight-

Tonight was for memory.

And for fire.