THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART EIGHT
Late that afternoon, the compound lay under the fading weight of the sun.
The tiled ground still held the day’s warmth, and the quiet air hummed faintly with distant roadside movement.
Palm leaves along the compound wall rustled softly as the breeze slipped through the iron bars of the gate.
Then the stillness broke.
From the roadside beyond the wall came the low rumble of an approaching vehicle.
The sound grew deeper, vibrating faintly through the compound floor before a sleek black car rolled slowly into view.
Its tires glided smoothly across the tiled entrance, the polished body catching the dim orange glow of the late afternoon sun.
The vehicle eased to a stop near the gate. For a moment, the engine purred softly like a restrained beast. Then it died into silence.
The driver stepped out quickly, his polished shoes tapping against the tiles as he hurried to the back seat. With a respectful motion, he pulled the rear door open.
Excel emerged.
The faint breeze shifted through the compound as she stepped out with quiet authority.
She wore a tailored navy suit and skirt, the sharp cut of the fabric giving her presence both elegance and command.
Her heels clicked gently against the tiled ground as she moved forward.
She adjusted her dark glasses and took two measured steps forward. Then she stopped.
Something had caught her attention. Her gaze drifted toward the gate. There, near the edge of the compound floor, a figure lay motionless.
The breeze lifted the corner of her silk scarf, letting it flutter briefly behind her shoulder. She slowly removed her glasses. Her heartbeat shifted.
The compound seemed to grow quieter as she studied the unmoving body on the ground. Even the rustling palm leaves softened as if the air itself had begun to listen.
Without speaking, she began walking toward him. Her heels tapped against the tiles in steady rhythm. The faint scent of her perfume trailed behind her, mixing with the dry afternoon air.
She stopped beside the body.
Orean lay there, pale and still, his breathing shallow—barely visible in the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Excel bent slightly, her sharp eyes scanning his face. Something unfamiliar stirred inside her chest.
Not strategy. Not calculation. Something softer. Something almost painful.
She crouched beside him, the fabric of her suit brushing lightly against the warm tiles.
For a moment, she simply looked at him. Her fingers lifted slowly. They hovered just above his forehead. Then gently, they touched his skin.
The instant contact was made, heat surged violently through her palm—like fire racing through dry grass.
The cry burst from her throat as her body recoiled violently, the echo slamming against the compound walls.
Excel (shocked):
“Ah!”
The sudden sound shattered the calm afternoon silence. The driver spun around in alarm and rushed forward across the tiles.
At the gate, the guards quickly pushed the small gate open and stepped outside the compound, their boots striking the ground sharply.
From the veranda above, two maids hurried down the steps, their slippers slapping hurriedly against the stone as they came outside.
Even the wind seemed to shift restlessly through the palm leaves, stirring the atmosphere with a strange tension as Excel clutched her hand, the heat from Orean’s skin still burning faintly through her palm.
One of the maids stepped closer, her eyes wide with concern. Her voice came quick and tight with worry, barely holding steady.
Maid (breathless):
“Ma'am... please, what happened?”
The question cut through the gathering tension. The driver slowed his steps but remained alert, watching closely.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances near the gate, their eyes moving between Excel and the unconscious Orean on the ground.
The late afternoon air seemed to thicken, pressing quietly against the walls of the compound as Excel quickly pulled her hand back and rose to her feet, swallowing hard.
A faint tremor lingered in her fingers, but she hid it with practiced control. Her expression hardened again. Her words landed with cold authority.
Excel (firmly):
“Nothing.”
The maids immediately fell silent, lowering their eyes in obedience. The driver straightened his posture, waiting for further instruction.
The wind brushed lightly across the compound again, carrying away the last echoes of her cry as Excel regained her composure.
She briskly brushed her hand as if removing invisible dust. Her eyes flicked once more toward Orean’s face, sharp and certain.
A quick breath steadied her, and her tone cut clean through the tension—firm, controlled, leaving no room for doubt.
Excel (commanding):
“He’s alive. Take him to the hospital. Immediately.”
The command snapped through the compound like a whip. The driver moved instantly, kneeling beside Orean while the guards stepped forward to assist.
One maid clasped her hands anxiously while the other hurried to open the car door wider.
Together, they lifted Orean carefully from the tiled ground. His head rolled weakly to one side, his body limp, but the faint rise and fall of his chest proved life still clung to him.
The compound air shifted again, quieter now, as if watching the fragile moment unfold.
They carried him quickly toward the waiting car. The driver guided his body gently into the back seat. The door shut.
Moments later, the engine roared back to life. The black vehicle sped out through the gate, its tires sweeping dust lightly from the road as it disappeared into the fading light of the evening.
The compound slowly returned to silence.
But something in the air had changed. Something unseen had stirred.
Night had fully settled over the compound. The sky outside was dark and heavy, the distant glow of city lights barely touching the horizon.
Inside Excel’s private bedroom upstairs, the air conditioner hummed with a low mechanical rhythm.
Heavy curtains swallowed the moonlight, leaving only the warm amber glow of a bedside lamp washing across the cream-colored walls and the polished floor.
At the center of the room stood a perfectly arranged king-sized bed, its white sheets untouched, pillows fluffed with quiet precision.
Excel sat at the edge of the bed.
Her back was straight, but her gaze remained locked on her right hand as though expecting to see burn marks appear across her skin.
Her fingers trembled faintly, the memory of heat still alive in her nerves.
Her breathing slowly steadied, yet her thoughts raced like wild currents beneath calm waters. Her lips parted, releasing a whisper that barely disturbed the quiet room.
Excel (bewildered):
“How… could a half-dead man cause such heat?”
The words slipped into the air like a secret confession. The lamp’s glow flickered softly across her face while the air conditioner continued its steady hum.
A strange tension settled over the room, as though the very walls were listening. Her brows slowly pulled together, confusion tightening her expression. Her voice returned again, low and strained.
Excel (disturbed):
“I’ve touched countless people.”
The room seemed to tighten around her words, the silence growing denser, as if even the air had paused to listen.
Her gaze drifted for a moment, distant and inward. Her voice followed—lower now, thoughtful, carrying the weight of memory and unease.
Excel (reflective):
“Politicians. Diplomats. Professionals. Governors. Ministers. Men of power. Poor. None felt like this. But this one… he burns.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted with her confession. The quiet air seemed to carry the weight of what she had felt earlier that day.
Beyond the closed curtains, the night breeze whispered through the compound trees while distant traffic murmured far away.
Excel slowly rose from the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touched the polished floor before meeting the soft rug, her steps quiet as she began pacing across the room.
Her movements were controlled, thoughtful, like a strategist turning over a difficult puzzle. Her lips moved again as her thoughts slipped into a quiet murmur.
Excel (thoughtful):
“I must know who he is.”
The moment the words left her mouth, the room changed. The temperature dropped.
The air conditioner’s hum seemed to falter beneath a heavier silence. The bedside lamp flickered once—then steadied—then flickered again.
Across the cream-colored wall, a shadow stretched unnaturally long.
It moved against the direction of the lamp’s light, creeping like spilled ink across the wall. Slowly it thickened, gathering form as it rose from the polished floor.
Darkness lifted upward until it shaped itself into the outline of a woman. Tall. Elegant. Terrible.
Her beauty appeared unnatural beneath the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The air itself seemed to bend as Kaliqa stepped forward from the shadow.
Excel straightened immediately. The shift was instant, instinctive—like a soldier recognizing the presence of a commander.
Kaliqa’s eyes glowed faintly in the dim room, their cold light piercing through the warm lamplight.
The shadows behind her seemed alive, swirling faintly as though obeying her presence. Her voice entered the room like cold iron.
Kaliqa (coldly):
“Do not bring that man into your house.”
The words did not echo. They settled into the air like thick smoke, pressing against the walls and ceiling.
Excel stood perfectly still, but her breathing had changed. The atmosphere in the room tightened like a drawn blade.
Kaliqa’s expression sharpened, her gaze hardening into something far colder than before. Her fingers stilled mid-air, then curled slowly into a firm, decisive point.
A low breath slipped through her nostrils—controlled, clipped—before her tone cut through the silence like steel.
Kaliqa (sharply):
“Command the doctors to poison him. Let them end him now.”
The bedside lamp dimmed slightly as her words spread through the room. Even the air conditioner seemed to groan under the strange pressure filling the space.
The warmth in the room drained away as something colder took its place. Kaliqa continued. Her voice dropped into something far more dangerous.
Kaliqa (darkly):
“He is a terror to our kingdom.”
She stepped forward slowly, her form gliding rather than walking. Dark mist trailed behind her movements like smoke drawn by an unseen wind.
Her gaze locked onto Excel with chilling precision. A cold stillness preceded her words, like the pause before a blade is drawn. Then her tone came—low, sharp, and laced with quiet menace.
Kaliqa (threatening):
“If you fail—your own life will be cut short.”
The threat hung in the room like a blade suspended in midair.
Excel’s fingers curled faintly at her sides. For a moment she lowered her chin, her mind turning quickly as silence filled the room.
The night outside pressed against the walls, wind brushing faintly against the compound gate far below.
Then she lifted her head. Her eyes steadied. Her voice entered the silence with calm control.
Excel (firmly):
“Wait.”
The single word halted the heavy tension in the room. The shadows around Kaliqa shifted slightly as though listening. Excel raised her chin slightly, her tone measured now.
Excel (measured):
“My queen… I felt his fire. Doctors will not succeed.”
The statement settled like a stone dropped into still water. Even the demonic presence seemed to pause.
Kaliqa’s glowing eyes narrowed. Excel continued, confidence slowly building in her tone.
Excel (strategically):
“Let me handle him. I will draw close to him. I will marry him. Through covenant, I will find his weakness. I will break him from within. Quietly. Completely.”
The air trembled faintly as the words carried both calculation and ambition.
For a brief moment the room remained silent. Then a thin smile slowly curved across Kaliqa’s lips. Excel continued, her voice steady with quiet pride.
Excel (confidently):
“You know me... since the day I pledged my loyalty, I have never failed you.”
The statement hung in the dim room like a sworn oath. Silence lingered for several seconds.
Kaliqa tilted her head slightly, studying her. Then she began circling Excel slowly, her movement smooth and predatory.
Dark mist trailed behind her like a living cloak brushing the polished floor. Her voice came again, low and amused.
Kaliqa (amused):
“So… you wish to dance with fire.”
A quiet, sinister satisfaction flickered in her eyes. She slowly stepped backward. Her form began dissolving into shadow once again. Her final words slipped through the room like cold wind.
Kaliqa (commanding):
“Four walls cannot protect you if you fail. Bring me results.”
The shadows collapsed upward toward the corner of the ceiling. Then vanished.
The room suddenly warmed again. The bedside lamp steadied completely. The air conditioner resumed its gentle humming as though nothing supernatural had just happened.
Excel stood alone.
The faint night breeze pressed softly against the curtains.
She exhaled slowly. Then she turned and walked toward the large mirror mounted beside her wardrobe. The lamp’s glow reflected across the glass as she studied her own image.
Composed. Elegant. Powerful.
Her fingers rose slowly, tracing along her jawline as though confirming the reality of her own reflection. Her voice softened into a fragile whisper.
Excel (softly):
“I am alone.”
The quiet confession lingered in the air. Outside, the night wind rustled the bougainvillea leaves climbing along the compound wall.
Excel clasped her hands loosely together, staring into the mirror as though searching for an answer hidden behind her own eyes. Her tone returned again, thoughtful.
Excel (reflectively):
“Perhaps... it is time to settle down.”
She turned away from the mirror and walked back toward the bed, lowering herself slowly onto its edge.
Outside the compound, a distant car horn echoed faintly before fading into the night.
Excel leaned back onto the mattress, her eyes drifting upward toward the ceiling. A faint, calculating smile touched her lips. Her voice slipped into the quiet room once more.
Excel (calculating):
“But how do I convince a man who carries fire?”
The question lingered like a puzzle yet unsolved. Her gaze darkened slightly as her thoughts sank deeper, tracing the weight of what had just been laid before her.
A quiet breath left her, slow and measured, as if she were already measuring the climb ahead. She leaned back a fraction more, her tone coming softly—reflective, almost to herself.
Excel (thoughtfully):
“Another mountain to climb.”
The room fell still again.
The curtains shifted gently as the night breeze brushed against them. The compound beyond remained quiet under the dark sky.
Inside the bedroom, the only sound left was the soft, steady hum of the air conditioner as the night deepened around her.
A strange calm settled over the room—the calm that often follows the whisper of darkness before a greater storm.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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