Excerpts from my new novel: The Darkest Dawn

Prologue

INSPIRED BY A TRUE LIFE STORY

A story of vengeance and blood

THE DARKEST DAWN

It was at the Conquerors’ Cathedral I saw it happened on one pleasant Saturday in December. Something so strange and alarming, I had never seen before, heard before nor witnessed, until that early morning when the sun was most friendly and the cool breeze, the only thing that passed in apathy, choosing not to notice the beauty of the bride, the rarest beauty to look at, approaching the aisle like the dawn of the brightest day. Her beauty was strange, just like the day was.

She walked down, one step after another, something she would have rehearsed through the help of marriage counselors days before. Her bouquet was deep grey, like her eyes, like the drapes, the floor, the pews, her train and the man in grey suit standing at the end of the aisle whom she was going to devout her soul and body to. They all matched the colour the sky suddenly turned to without warning. It became a grey day, as heavy rain cloud like an intruder enveloped the heavens above the Cathedral.

 Maybe it was in the cloud I know not, perhaps it was the colours. But suddenly the grey cloud sparked some lightening when a woman walked in late and sat quietly at the end of the back. All eyes were on her as she made a rather noisy entrance. She sat awkwardly, adjusting her clothes and fumbling with her disheveled hair. She was breathless, uneasy and nervous.

The bishop proceeded with sermon about the sanctity of marriage, chastity in courtship. And he asked the congregation if anyone had a reason why the two should not be joined.

It was then I saw an unsure finger, and then slowly it became a bold hand raised defiantly against the wish of the other part of the body. Yes, it was her hands raised when the Bishop asked for any who did not want the bride joined with the groom, the woman at the end of the pew. And all eyes turned towards her.

The bride burst into tears as the sky begun to pour out heavy cruel rain. She did not faint as you would have expected, neither did she take a run with her flowing gown and flowing tears.

She stood and asked a question that she shouldn’t have. A question that changed the course of her life, one that steered it in the direction least expected, sparkling chain of event that burned into my memory and I have chosen to tell you about.

“Deaconess Bisi, what is the problem?” She demanded to know. With fiery eyes burning in anger, she glared at the woman and in those grey eyes which now looked as dark as the rarest coal, hot coal, you could hear her burning question in her cold voice.

Every eye looked at Deaconess Bisi questioningly, familiar eyes and the ones never seen, well-wishers, families of the couple and some handful of foes who put on a good smile on the inside at the turn of event.

Deaconess Bisi looked around. She had been a marriage counselor at the Conquerors Chapel for seventeen years, a doctor and also a minister too. And she was in charge of the couple’s counseling during courtship, in preparation for not only the altar but also the marriage.

  Anyone meeting Deaconess Bisi for the first time would see a woman in her early fifties with few shoots of grey hairs here and there. Everyone who really knew Deaconess Bisi was privy to the knowledge that she had never married. And her hope of getting married someday could be infectious to many singles around her.

Whatever issues she had with the bride or the couple sure could have been sorted out before the wedding bells jingled at the cathedral that morning. Her recommendations to Bishop Adeyemo could have determined whether the wedding would hold in the prestigious Conquerors Cathedral where many wanted to be joined. Why she had to wait for that moment before she registered her reservation was unknown to all, but to her. And if she kept it to herself and told the bride in secret after the wedding, she would be remembered as the counselor who broke a courtship at the altar, cancelled a wedding at the last minute and a kill joy. She would be labeled cruel, calculating and every miserable word imaginable. It was this that caused her to make a decision to answer the bride’s question.

“You have HIV.”

There was some murmuring in the congregation. The bride’s father stood up

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

The groom, who stood, dazed all the while could not take it anymore. His legs weakened as he struggled to look for something to sit on. Some people began to leave the pew and take their exit quietly; I watched as that colourful morning began to turn for her to a hue of grey, and then cold tears.

Then she did what many would not forget. She gathered her flowing gown as if grabbing the little dignity she had left. Then she walked, back straight and head high out of the Cathedral. No one followed her. I noticed as she passed by me, her eyes were dry. But the ground she stepped into outside was wet, and cold. And it had just stopped raining.