THE MASQUERADE AT THE VILLAGE SQUARE DANCING FOR THE FOREST PRINCESS

THE MASQUERADE DANCING FOR THE FOREST PRINCESS

At the heart of Ayanfe Village, where the earth spread wide like a listening ear and the iroko trees stood as elders, the village square awoke to a rare summons. The drums had not spoken this rhythm in many seasons. It was the rhythm meant for only one being—the Forest Princess.
As dawn melted into evening, the square filled with palm-oil lamps and the smell of burning herbs. Elders traced white chalk symbols on the ground, calling for protection, while children were warned not to wander near the trees. Everyone knew the truth whispered from grandmother to grandchild: when the masquerades danced for the Forest Princess, the boundary between forest and village grew thin.
The first drum sounded—gbooom… gbooom… gbooom—slow and heavy like a giant heartbeat. From the edge of the forest, the masquerades emerged.They were not men anymore.
Clothed in layered raffia, feathers, cowries, and bones that clattered softly, they moved as spirits. One had a mask carved like a leopard, eyes glowing with palm oil fire. Another wore antelope horns, tall and proud, stamping the earth as if testing its strength. The smallest masquerade danced low to the ground, spinning so fast that dust rose like smoke.
The crowd stepped back in silence.Then the drums changed.Faster. Sharper. Urgent.The masquerades began their dance—not for the people, not for praise, but for the forest itself. Their feet struck the earth in coded rhythms, telling ancient stories: of trees older than kingdoms, of rivers that chose their paths, of a princess born not of womb but of roots and moonlight.
As the final drumbeat echoed, the wind shifted.
Leaves trembled. Fireflies gathered like stars pulled down from the sky.
From the forest path stepped the Forest Princess.
She was tall and glowing softly, her skin the color of new bark after rain. Vines crowned her hair, and her eyes shimmered green-gold, holding centuries of watching. Where her feet touched the ground, grass grew instantly, fresh and alive.The masquerades fell into deeper motion.
One leapt high, twisting mid-air, landing before her in submission. Another spun wildly, summoning dust spirits that danced around her ankles. The leopard-masked masquerade circled her slowly, guarding her presence.
The princess raised one slender hand.
The drums softened.
She watched the dance with a face both kind and terrifying—because she loved the village, but she loved the forest more.
At the dance’s peak, the smallest masquerade collapsed to the ground, its mask falling off. A gasp rippled through the crowd—but the elders did not move.The boy beneath the mask did not breathe.The Forest Princess stepped forward and touched his chest with two fingers. Green light flowed like sap. The boy gasped and rose slowly, eyes glowing briefly before returning to normal.
The village exhaled.“This dance is accepted,” the Forest Princess spoke, her voice like wind through leaves. “Your forests shall stand. Your rivers shall run. But remember—when you forget the old paths, the drums will call again.”
With that, she turned back toward the forest.
The masquerades followed her one by one, disappearing into shadow and leaves. The drums stopped suddenly, leaving the square in deep silence.
By morning, only footprints remained—some human, some not.And to this day, whenever the forest grows restless and the night wind hums like a drum, the people of Ayanfe know:
The masquerades are dancing again—for their princess.