{STORY SERIES}••• THE WHITE WIZARD PART 1

ONE

Ìgbëtì town lay at the foot of several huge mountains, long time ago. It was surrounded by fertile plain and blossoming orchards. For thirty years, Qlöwô reigned and ruled with fairness and wise moderation. During Qlöwô‘s time, the natives reaped good crops, their pasture was verdant, their goats and sheep strong. They enjoyed memorable feasts and sang praises to honour the king. The chieftains, too, were loyal to Qlöwô and often asked the gods to grant him a long life. But the king died unexpectedly one morning, leaving behind his only surviving son.

For months, the natives mourned their dead king and their hearts were filled with great grief. The chieftains were more disheartened, for they held a common opinion about Eléwì, Qlöwô’s heir apparent. To these men, Eléwì was too young to rule Ìgbëtì after his father.

One evening, under a heavy rain, Eléwì dashed into Alápó’s house. Alápó was a high-ranking chieftain in Ìgbëtì.

“What can I do for you?,” the chieftain asked Eléwì as the latter lowered himself on a stool.

“I have come to you as your own son. I entrust you to tell me what I must do to rule this land after my father... Please, treat me as your own son and tell me the truth,” Eléwì said imploringly, his eyes on the chieftain. “I have waited for twelve months without a word from you kingmakers.”

Alápó sighed and moved uneasily on his seat. He appeared to be touched by Eléwì’s words.

“Your father and I were good friends,” he said to Eléwì quietly. “You are my son.... I remember that I was the one who lifted you from the pool of blood.”

“Yes, I know that my mother died the day I was born. Every native knows the story,” Eléwì cut in casually, a little impatient.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to relate the horrible incident; but it reminds me of my closeness to your father. Oh, I was the only chieftain who touched your mother’s corpse before her burial...”

“Allow the past to lie behind us, Chief. I beg you...”

Alápó studied Eléwì for a while. He could perceive a sense of maturity in the young man.

“You are yet to reach twenty; the Council of chieftains still considers you a weakling, too timid to lead wise men and great warriors,” he said frankly.

“Has age anything to do only with the count of the moon? No!,” Eléwì exclaimed uneasily. “At eighteen, I have a wife and two children; So I am now a man!”

“The council thinks you need great wisdom to rule Ìgbëtì. Qlöwô, your father, became king at forty,” Alápó said and paused for a while. “For ten years, he wandered in strange lands searching for wisdom. He returned to this land a wise man and the oracle was pleased with him. Yes, the oracle was on his side.”

Eléwì sprang to his feet and began to pace up and down, thinking. He stopped abruptly in front of Alápö.

“Why do you speak of wisdom when I am yet to be crowned king? You have not tested my wit and temper, have you? And the kingmakers have failed to give the oracle a chance to speak ...”

“Be calm and sit down–”

“Conspiracy! The kingmakers hate to see me on the throne!,” Eléwì said huskily, frowning as he occupied his seat.

After a short silence, Alápó spoke again.

“The kingmakers are cautious and hope to install a good king.”

“But you kingmakers are mortal and cannot speak for the oracle... Besides, the stool is my birthright!”

Alápó shuddered and gave a sad look.

“Yes, the stool is your birthright. But you seem to forget that today the whole Ìgbëtì cannot boast of a diviner,” he said, still wearing a sad look. “The Council of Chieftains has searched in vain for a man who could take Fálànà’s place... Can you now see why the council is cautious?”

Eléwì threw his arm helplessly. He was confused.

“First, you talked about wisdom... Now you are mourning a dead Ifá priest,” he said indignantly. “Do I need wisdom to claim my birthright? Why do you stop me from assuming my right position, when I am the only surviving son of the dead king? Or, do you have someone else to crown as your king?”

“Know this day that members of the council are not corrupt. They are good people,” Alápó said in an assertive tone of voice. “A good king has to choose between good and evil. He has to solve riddles and preside over puzzling cases. Now that the oracle is not in Ìgbëtì to speak, only wisdom can make you a good king.”

Eléwì stared coldly at the chieftain. Again, he could not understand what he was expected to do.

“Do I have to wait till I’m forty, like my father before me? Or do you know of a place where I can search for and buy wisdom with bags of precious stones?”

For the first time, Alápó gave a light smile. He was amused by Eléwí’s seeming ignorance.

“The council is right – you’re not ripe enough,” he chuckled. “You cannot buy wisdom with bags of precious stone.”

“Then send some men to the neighbouring towns to fetch a diviner. Maybe the oracle will remove your fears and ask you chieftains to crown me as your king.”

Alápó shook his head.

“Diviners are hard to get these days,” he said. “You know that strangers stormed our land – from the north to the south, the west to the east – to seek Fálànà’s help