Dawn did not bring light to Osaro's world; it only brought the cold, terrifying realization that time was moving.
She had finished scrubbing the last iron pot just as the first rooster crowed from the top of the mud wall. Her hands were raw, red, and swollen, the skin around her fingernails cracked and caked with a mixture of soot, dried blood, and abrasive wood ash. She couldn't even close her fingers into a fist without a sharp, tearing pain cutting through her knuckles.
As the first golden rays of sunlight pierced the morning mist, the heavy wooden door of the main house creaked open.
Osaro, still kneeling on the damp ground beside the glistening, soot-free pots, froze. Her breath hitched in her chest.
Mr. Okhizu stepped out onto the porch, flanked by two young men carrying his ceremonial bags. He was dressed grandly for his journey to the upper village, wearing a rich, dark-red velvet wrapper and heavy coral beads around his wrists. He looked every bit the powerful nobleman, clean and imposing, untouched by the misery he had inflicted inside his compound.
He paused at the top of the stairs, his cold, dark gaze sweeping across the yard until it locked directly onto Osaro.
He didn't say a single word. He didn't need to. The quiet, deliberate smirk that touched the corner of his lips was louder than a shout.
It was a reminder.
Dusk.
Osaro lowered her eyes to the dirt, her whole body shaking violently as his heavy footsteps faded toward the compound gate, accompanied by the low chatter of his entourage.
The moment the gate slammed shut, a tiny, foolish sigh of relief tried to escape Osaro's lips, but it was instantly killed by the sharp voice of the aunt stepping out from the kitchen hut.
"Look at her, sitting there like a queen whose throne was stolen," the aunt barked, holding a long broom. "So you think because your husband has gone to the council meeting, you will spend the whole day folding your hands and pitying yourself? Get up from that dirt!"
Osaro struggled to her feet, her knees trembling so badly she had to lean against the soot-stained wall of the kitchen hut to keep from falling. Her ribs throbbed with a dull, sickening ache.
"Take the clay pots and go down to the stream," the aunt commanded, pointing a bony finger toward the back path. "We need fresh water for the afternoon meals. And don't dare lag behind, or I will make sure you wash every cloth in this compound before noon."
Before Osaro could even whisper a response, Mama Adanna stepped out from the shade of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was set in a firm, resolute expression.
"Aunt, leave the girl alone," Mama Adanna said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Look at her hands. They are raw and bleeding from those pots. She cannot carry a heavy water pot on her head in this state. Adanna and the other girls will go to the stream and fetch the water. Let Osaro rest her body small."
The aunt turned on Mama Adanna, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, her voice rising in immediate challenge.
"Mama Adanna! Since when did you start giving orders in this compound? Are you now the one controlling how this house is run?"
"I am not giving orders, Aunt," Mama Adanna replied calmly, stepping right between the aunt and Osaro. "I am only saying what is sensible. If Osaro collapses on the road to the stream with our husband's clay pots, who will bear the loss? Adanna and the others are strong and ready. They will bring the water."
The aunt glared at Mama Adanna, her chest heaving with irritation. She looked at Osaro, whose legs were visibly swaying, then spat on the dirt in disgust.
"You people are pampering a lazy bone. Fine! Let Adanna and the others go. But don't think she will just fold her arms today. She will sit right here and shell the egusi for the evening soup!"
"She will do it," Mama Adanna said softly, taking Osaro by the arm and gently leading her into the dark, cool interior of the kitchen hut before the aunt could change her mind.
Inside the smoky quiet of the kitchen hut, the heat grew suffocating as the afternoon wore on.
Osaro sat on a low wooden stool, her body burning with a high fever that had crept up on her like a thief. Mama Adanna sat beside her, carefully feeding her spoonfuls of a dark, bitter liquid from a small calabash.
"Drink it all, my daughter," Mama Adanna murmured, her eyes heavy with years of unspoken sorrow. "It will make your stomach churn, but it will make your body hot and weak to the touch. It is the only shield we can give you today."
Osaro swallowed the bitter juice, her body shuddering as the nasty liquid hit her throat.
"Thank you, Mama Adanna," she choked out.
"Don't thank me," Mama Adanna said softly, wiping Osaro's sweating forehead with a damp cloth. "In this house, we women are like dry leaves in a strong wind. We can only bend so we don't snap completely."
Outside the kitchen hut, the shadows began to stretch long and thin across the dirt courtyard. The bright afternoon light was slowly softening into an amber glow.
Dusk was arriving.
Every minute felt like a second, every heartbeat like a drum sounding her doom. Osaro watched through the small kitchen window as the sky transformed into shades of deep orange, pink, and bruised purple. The birds began their evening flights back to their nests. The air grew cooler, but inside Osaro, panic was boiling over.
Her stomach suddenly cramped violently from the bitter herbs. She doubled over, clutching her abdomen, a dry heave tearing through her chest.
"It is working," Mama Adanna whispered, holding her firmly. "Lie down on the mat here. Let your body look limp."
Just as Osaro collapsed onto the thin kitchen mat, the loud, familiar creak of the compound's heavy wooden gate echoed through the quiet evening air.
The master was back.
The sound of his car pulling into the compound and his heavy, deliberate footsteps on the gravel sent a wave of icy horror straight through Osaro's veins. The bitter herbs churned in her belly, but her fear was far more potent than any medicine.
Footsteps approached the kitchen hut. The curtain was pushed aside, and the aunt's face appeared in the doorway, a cruel, knowing smile on her lips.
"Osaro," the aunt said coldly. "Your husband has returned from the upper village. He is in his inner chamber, and he said you should not keep him waiting."
Mama Adanna quickly stood up, stepping between the aunt and Osaro once again.
"Aunt, please, look at the girl. She has been vomiting since afternoon. Her body is burning like firewood. She cannot even stand on her feet."
"Did I ask for your medical report, Mama Adanna?" the aunt interrupted fiercely, her eyes flashing with cold authority. "Her husband did not ask if she was healthy. He said she should come to his chamber now. Or do you want to go to his chamber in her place?"
Mama Adanna froze, her mouth closing slowly, her hands trembling at her side. She looked down at Osaro with absolute, heartbreaking helplessness.
Osaro lay on the mat, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked at Mama Adanna, then at Oge, who was watching from the doorway with tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
There was no rescue.
The herbs could not save her.
The sisterhood could not save her.
Slowly, agonizingly, Osaro forced her burning, exhausted body to sit up. She wiped the cold sweat from her brow, tied her faded wrapper securely around her waist, and stood up on legs that felt like water.
She walked out of the kitchen hut into the dying light of dusk. The sky was now a deep, ominous crimson.
Step by step, she crossed the quiet courtyard toward the main house. Each footfall felt like a step toward her own grave. She climbed the wooden stairs, reached the dark hallway, and stopped before the heavy door of her husband's inner chamber.
From inside the room, his low, stern voice cut through the silence.
"Come in, Osaro."
Osaro closed her eyes, swallowed her final tears, and reached her trembling hand toward the brass doorknob.