Esther. Ugegbe was not sure what the name meant, but she thought it suited her and deemed it beautiful. It was her new name, after all, the one the reverend gave her not long after her baptism. And according to the customs she'd grown up to meet, the meanings of names were quite severely important.

She reckoned that she should have at least asked what its origins were, but she'd suppressed the urge, worrying that she'd be prying the men away from their important work for something so trivial, and started off on her journey with Zelunjo back to the servant's quarters.

Her reluctance stemmed from her fear of the men of God viewing her act as one of a selfish and self-centred person who cared nothing for others. Such attributes were not supposed to be characteristic of a believer and one who was born again. She wanted none of a bad reputation when she had just begun her journey as one of the few converts in her village.

Moreover, the name itself was from the precious book that held God's words and where every sermon from the clergy was read out of. She was sure of those facts, but not of anything else.

In any event, bearing something that came from so holy an object joyed her. At the same time, she was also pleased that the slim man with a small build and intelligent eyes did not expect her to drop her true name in order to adopt the new title he'd bestowed on her. She liked the fact that she could bear both and, all the while, be true to herself.

At the moment of her baptism, Ugegbe had been rejuvenated, refreshed, and happy. In the moments that followed, she could only feel positive emotions. Though the dress was sticking too tight to her body in a way that made her uncomfortable, and her newly-made braids were bound to itch since they'd been submerged underwater, neither of both troubles had a chance of dampening her spirits.

Ugegbe was glad she did not let them do so, as, with the brittle wind that whispered by, her dress was drying finely just as she wanted. Her plaits also did not feel as heavy as before. If they dried quickly, as they appeared to be doing, she was hopeful that they would not be affected much by the riverine water and the sediments it carted around.

The warmth and comfort she'd experienced still hummed inside of her, giving her the feeling of floating on air. There was a cleanliness to herself, both inside and outside, that she didn't think would ever be possible.

Initially, when the reverend declared that her sins, and those of others who chose to go through the process of baptism, would be washed away and that they would all become new creatures, she'd been confused. It was hard to wrap her head around the idea of becoming novel yet also being her normal self. She'd wondered whether the outcome would be a spiritual, mental or even physical change.

Now, she knew. It was all three. After being immersed in the water, she came out different from how she'd originally been. Her mind was empty, free, open for the Holy Spirit to take over. She was cleansed mentally; Ugegbe concluded her thought processes to be refined. Unlike before, she was doing her best to reason like a child of God would. She wanted to do everything to please Him, to make Him proud of her as His daughter.

There was an obvious spiritual change as well. The inner restlessness that her soul carried around had been quieted. She was calm, focusing on all things spiritual, noticing the inner growth inside of her in only a day. Physically, she was stronger than ever. She could sense that same presence that gave her strength in one of the worst times she'd ever faced.

She could tell that He would never leave or forsake her. He would be by her side, protecting, shielding, and upholding her. She'd accepted Him fully to take precedence over her life. When she said "Amen" to the charge of the priest, she'd made the decision that she would live according to His will and for Him alone. Today, she was clearly not where she needed to be with Him, but with constant steps in the direction of the path He wanted her to take, she was positive she would be closer.

Right from her childhood, Ugegbe was not associated with the traditional practices that came with worshipping the gods of the land, as her father was not a man committed to the practices of the religion. This appeared to be one reason why she had virtually no problem letting go of the customs most people struggled with. She'd never been closely linked to it.

Unlike many children who were forced from a young age to join their parents in sacrificing animals to the deities frequently, Ugegbe did not once experience such. When there was a need, her father made the sacrifices himself, specifically on days when the spirits needed to be appeased. Those were the only days she ever saw him take the offerings seriously as she was yet to see him lead such ceremonies, on behalf of himself and his family, for protection or prosperity.

Ugegbe spun up situations in her head where her father found out about her newly adopted faith. Would he be disappointed or angry? She did not know. Though the man was not usually ill-tempered, except sometimes when he was sick, she knew how awful the weight of his disappointment was and how well it hung on one's neck, almost dragging them down through the earth.

It took a single, fateful incident to teach her that disappointing her father was far worse than earning his wrath. That day, she'd wished he would lash out at her, insult her or the man she'd used to bring upon his name utter disgrace, or maybe lay his hands on her like most men did the women that they had in their households. But he did none of what she'd wanted.

The sad eyes he'd regarded her with, the solemn words he'd spoken, and the sorrowful tears he'd shed then would not leave her mind's slate. She'd have to die for her to forget the shame and pain she brought the only man who loved her as dearly as any father could.

She could barely remember the last time she saw him. In fact, since she became a slave, she had not set her eyes on his face, and neither had he on hers. There'd been no opportunity for the sorts of formalities that she'd hoped for. Though he'd sent her a few messages through a runner, she'd been unable to return the action.

As a slave, it was impossible to pay the messenger for his services. All the money that would have been hers if she were just a servant working for her payday was being siphoned and pooled in Chief Mmeremikwu's cavernous pockets. As far as she knew, the man's quest for riches would not be coming to an end in the nearest or even latest future.

Maybe if Ugegbe had said goodbye to her father or at least left on good terms, she wouldn't be so bitter towards Mmeremikwu. But as it was, neither of the mentioned scenarios were realities. If only they could be. If only.

Secured beneath her tough belt of experiences were a string of 'if only' and 'had I knowns?' If only she'd not let herself be tricked into believing that she loved and cherished a man above her own dignity and integrity. If only Papa had not found out about the scandal that threatened to hang over their heads if the issue was not dealt with. If only she'd not, eventually driven by guilt, taken up the post as a slave against her father's desire without his blessings or recognition, maybe, everything would have been different than it currently was.

His plan was never for her to be the scapegoat instead of himself. The man acknowledged his failings and mistakes and was ready to pay for them without involving his precious daughter; he'd made this fact apparent to her since the first day he was hit with the false accusations and dead farmlands.

More than often, Ugegbe chose to console herself with the relief that at least her father was not suffering, wasting away while doing hard labour that was neither for old men nor those who had frail bodies—two categories to which he belonged—but the truth was that was all she could do to not break down and give up on this life which she so desperately wanted to break away from someday.

In her past, when she was but a child and had the permission to dream about her future, slavery was not one of the situations she imagined she would be in. Her father promised her his lands early enough to prepare and purposefully ready her for a time to come. Not anymore. The farms were nowhere close to being in her possession as her father had been tricked into losing them by his dearest, younger, and unsurprisingly, only brother, Alutu.

Thinking of a betrayal so devastating that it sent her father into a weeklong illness rose the rage inside Ugegbe. She winced as the headache that often accompanied her anger stabbed between her eyes. It was hard to see through the ache that intensified as she trudged forward.

"Gegbe, what is it? Are you alright?"

Biting back a groan of pain, Ugegbe nodded convincingly at Zelunjo. "I am fine. It must be that I need to rest as I am worn out."

"Hmm. I agree. I want to rest as well. There is a weariness to my bones that makes me not want to do anything, not even utter a word if I can avoid doing so."

"It is no wonder you have been so quiet then."

A tired smile wriggled the corners of her lips upward. "Sometimes, it pays to be silent."

"Indeed, it does." Ugegbe agreed, shooting off hot pebbles to the sides of the road with her firm kicks. She was rarely not quiet, and so she knew the benefits of holding her tongue captive. It gave her time to think and, even more importantly, allowed her to observe all around her.

Despite the weariness emanating from Zelunjo and her shoulders consequently forming into a slouch, Ugegbe could see her beauty shining through. It was no surprise that she'd caught Mr. John staring funnily at her. There was no possibility that he'd meant something other than his disinterested eyes were telling: an apparent attraction to her best friend.

She wondered if his feelings would remain unchanged if he knew Zelunjo was betrothed to one of the palace guards. Debare, as he was called, was one of the highest-ranking guards and so was usually assigned to secret missions. In fact, from the conversations she'd had with Zelunjo, it was clear that she had spoken to him in person only a few times. Luckily, she liked him well enough in those meetings.

Ugegbe thought that his job kept him away for far too long. There were many wolves around waiting to cart off one's sheep if care was not taken. Now that it seemed that a white man had taken an interest in her, the chances of Debare losing his woman was far higher than ever.

Mr. John, from Ugegbe's observations, was a nice man whose actions proved that he was devoted to the work of God. Since Zelunjo was a believer like him and unlike Debare—who most likely worshipped and revered the god of thunder, Amadioha, as did most warriors—there was an even higher chance that she could notice the sentiments John bore towards her sooner than later. Indeed, no matter how well one might try to sugarcoat actuality, the truth remained that like-minded and same goal-oriented persons attracted each other.

It was not a far stretch to imagine a scenario where Zelunjo would be courted by the pale man whose concentration seemed to follow and settle on her every move at the baptismal event while admiration brightened his features.

The only problem that had a possibility of rearing up its head was if Debare decided to fight John, one on one, for Zelunjo's hand in marriage. For Ugegbe was sure the winner was already predetermined and would certainly not be the man who had never in his existence faced or experienced the trials and hardships of being a warrior.

Moreover, Ugegbe had also picked out another white missionary's signals—he was one of the last people who joined at the baptism and so far, had been a constant presence at usual sermon-days—towards Zelunjo. The exception in his case was that she wasn't particularly fond of him or his mannerisms like she was of Mr. John. She hated the way his shifty eyes tethered onto Zelunjo's body whenever her view was focused on something else and the devilish gleam that decorated them afterwards. It chilled her blood.

What was his name again? She'd heard the appellation once but could not remember it. In her opinion, it was better that she didn't. She wanted nothing to do with him and hoped that Zelunjo wouldn't either.

Well, it was a good thing that she would be here to advise her friend and keep him a thousand miles away from her. She would do everything in her might to keep Zelunjo safe. It was the least she could do for the woman who'd protected her from the ploys of the jealous palace maids who detested her camaraderie with the second prince.

True, they still gossiped about her and threw her dirty looks every chance they got—there was no solution to those problems. But they'd not tried to bully or physically assault her as Zelunjo had thought. Maybe it was because of the fact that she formed a human shield around her whenever they were in the palace.

It had to be that as Zelunjo virtually shot arrows out of her eyes while keeping up a barrier around her dear friend as soon as they encountered any gossiping maids. Ugegbe was eternally grateful for her actions.

In the comfortable silence, they continued walking until a deep voice broke through the quiet atmosphere, causing both women to stiffen at an instant. "Ugegbe!"
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A/N: Please do vote and comment, loves. Thank you for reading!💛