Chapter 7 - The Child at the Cursed Door
"Search every room!"
Chief Akinwale's command thundered across the courtyard.
Servants scattered toward the storehouses, gardens, kitchens, and servants' quarters.
Guards hurried through the enormous compound carrying oil lamps.
Madam Ireti ran toward Olanike's bedroom.
The bed was empty.
The curtains moved gently in the evening breeze.
Her daughter's sandals were missing.
So was the small wooden doll.
Ireti touched the pillow.
It was still warm.
Only minutes had passed.
"Olanike!" she called.
No answer.
Akinwale arrived behind her.
"Have they found anything?"
She shook her head.
He saw the fear in her eyes and reached for her hand.
"We will find her."
"You don't know that."
The words escaped before Ireti could stop them.
She looked toward him, tears gathering.
"We were sitting here while people discussed giving away our daughter. What if she heard them?"
Akinwale swallowed.
"Then she must be terrified."
Outside, thunder rolled over Agone.
The evening sky darkened.
A servant rushed through the hallway.
"Chief, one of the kitchen workers saw a little girl walking toward the old storehouse."
Olanma heard him.
Her face turned pale.
"The forbidden room."
She began moving toward the courtyard.
Akinwale followed.
"Mother, stay behind us."
But Olanma continued walking.
"She may listen to me."
The first drops of rain struck the ground.
They hurried past the enormous food storehouse and entered the narrow passage leading toward the locked building.
There, beneath the weak yellow light of an oil lamp, stood Olanike.
She was barefoot.
Her mustard-colored dress moved gently in the wind.
Her wooden doll hung loosely from one hand.
And she was staring at the locked door.
"Olanike!"
Ireti rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
The little girl blinked in confusion.
"Mother?"
"Oh, sweetheart!"
Ireti held her tightly.
"Why did you come here?"
Olanike looked toward the door.
"Someone called me."
Olanma stopped breathing for a moment.
"Who called you, my child?"
The girl hesitated.
"It sounded like you, Grandmother."
Akinwale looked sharply toward the locked room.
"What did the voice say?"
Olanike hugged her doll.
"It said you were waiting for me."
Olanma covered her mouth.
The child continued.
"It said you were lonely and needed me to come inside."
Ireti pulled Olanike closer.
"Did you open the door?"
"No."
"Did you touch it?"
The girl shook her head.
"I remembered what Grandmother said."
Olanma lowered herself beside her granddaughter.
"What did I say?"
"That some doors must stay closed."
A tear slipped down Olanma's cheek.
She embraced the child.
"Oh, thank goodness."
Then Olanike whispered something that made everyone freeze.
"But Grandmother, the person inside sounded very sad."
Olanma slowly lifted her head.
"What do you mean?"
"It kept asking whether I would give it my name."
The air seemed to grow colder.
Akinwale moved between his family and the door.
"What did you tell it?"
Olanike looked at him.
"I said my name belongs to me."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then a deep knocking sound came from the other side.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Ireti carried Olanike away.
Akinwale remained beside his mother.
"Whatever is in there," he whispered, "it will not have my daughter."
Olanma looked at the door.
"You must be prepared to lose everything else."
"Then everything else can go."
He took his mother's hand and led her away.
Behind them, the knocking stopped.
But something else had begun changing.
At the edge of the estate, several workers were returning from the western farmland.
One of them stumbled into the courtyard, soaked by the rain.
"Chief!"
Akinwale turned.
"What is it?"
"The yam fields!"
"What happened?"
The worker's face was gray with fear.
"They were green this morning. Now the leaves are turning black."
Akinwale stared at him.
"How many fields?"
The man swallowed.
"All of them."
A second worker arrived moments later.
"And the cattle are refusing to eat."
Olanma closed her eyes.
The bargain was beginning to unravel.
But before anyone could respond, a third messenger came running through the gate.
He was from Ilara.
His clothes were muddy.
His breathing was ragged.
"Chief Akinwale, the crops in our village are failing too!"
Akinwale looked toward the dark horizon.
The rain was growing heavier.
May you like
Then the messenger delivered the words that made the entire courtyard fall silent.
"The elders are coming here tonight. They say if saving one child means losing seven villages, they will not allow you to make that choice alone."
