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father and the elegant woman who stood at his back, who had to be Awochu’s mother. “But he has sullied my name and the name of my family with his accusation of love magic. He must pay halfthe bride price for his lies. He should be grateful I do not ask for it all. You see?” She took the delicate skin on which the contract was written from her sash, unfolded it, and offered it to Chief Rusom. “It is written there. If I release him, he must pay half the bride price to me. If he lies about me, he must pay it all and apologize for his evil, and admit he lied.”
    “It is she who lies!” cried Awochu. “It is also written that if I am forced to this or lied to about her honor or her maiden nature, I am free of the contract!”
    Chief Rusom read the document carefully, his eyes flicking to Awochu, to Iyaka, to my parents, to our shaman, and to our chief. He did not look at Awochu’s father. Instead, when he reached down to that hospitality table for his teacup, Awochu’s father picked it up and filled it, then gave it to Rusom. It was as plain as a baboon’s red behind: Awochu’s father would find a way to fill Rusom’s cup if the chief could help his son.
    Rusom let the contract fall. “When there is such disagreement, and good names at stake, there are several ways to resolve the matter,” he said in a voice like oil. “But involving magic …” He stroked his chin. “No, I think it must be trial by combat. The gods will allow the innocent side to win. Awochu?”
    “I fight my own battles,” Awochu said, thrusting his chest out. His eyes held the same gleam as those of the chief and his father. He knew the way was prepared.
    “Me,” Ogin said, thrusting his way past Papa and me. The Falcon, Vah-lah-nee, was also getting to his feet, as if a white man knew anything of us.
    The chief was already shaking his head. “It must be a member of the girl’s direct family,” he said, proving he knew quite well who we were.
    Papa took a limping step forward. The gleam in Awochu’s eyes brightened.
    I thrust ahead, noticing only then that I was as tall as my papa. “I will fight,” I said, though my voice cracked when I said “fight.” I ignored the laughter of everyone and made myself say, “She is my sister. It is my name, too.”
    “No!” cried Mama. “I forbid it! She is a girl! She is no warrior!”
    But Rusom already was shaking his head. “Do you believe the gods will help you, girl? This is no time to thrust yourself into serious business if
you
are not serious.”
    I trembled and sweated as I made myself say, “I believe in the gods.” What I believed in was the ostrich gods, the giraffe gods, the lion gods. This dishonorable chief knew nothing of them.
    “If the gods decide, then surely it only matters that she is of the girl’s blood,” said Chief Rusom. “I call for the combat when the sun leaves us no shadow.”
    All was noise then. Mama and Papa scolded me. Iyaka hit me with her fists. My chief told me I was a fool and had cost my sister
and
my papa their honor. The gleeful crowd followed us to the enclosure set aside for trial by combat. Servants came to take away Awochu’s golden ornaments as his girl poured a cup of wine for him. His mama set a stool in the shade for him to rest upon while he waited for the proper time.
    Ogin and the white man brought a stool for me. Theymade me sit and drink some water. Gently the white man, the Falcon, placed hands like iron on the muscles between my neck and shoulders. I felt him hesitate. Then he raised my hands, examining my callused knuckles. He probed my back muscles with those hard fingers, then bent down to look at my legs and feet.
    “Well,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, like dark honey. “Perhaps this is not the folly it looks to be.” His Dikurri accent was thick, but I could understand him.
    Of course, peahen, I told myself. He sat with the chief. They must be able to talk.
    He was asking me something. I turned to look