This and all parts of the story (c) Remo Kurka 2025
Arc III: The Gathering Storm
The Ashanti Empire holds—for now. But cracks form beneath the gold.
Osei Bonsu still lives, but the end approaches.
And with each moon, the fire of rebellion spreads deeper into the roots.*
Osei Bonsu lives until January 21, 1824, though by 1819 he is gravely ill and increasingly absent from court.
Tensions with the British grow more volatile under Governor Charles MacCarthy.
Aputai’s guerilla war intensifies.
The young heir, Prince Adu, begins to take on royal duties as his father fades.
Trade falters. Trust erodes.
Kofi – Former soldier, now royal advisor, quietly managing power behind the scenes.
Prince Adu – Intelligent and dutiful, stepping into leadership before time.
Osei Bonsu – Ailing king, still formidable in spirit, but tethered to memory.
Aputai – Rebel turned myth, whose hatred has grown colder, sharper.
Ama Baa – The conscience Aputai refuses to listen to.
Charles MacCarthy – British Governor, preparing for a different kind of diplomacy.
Court Elders – Torn between tradition and rising paranoia.
Kumasi, Mid-1823
The inner palace is quiet. No drums. No horns.
Just the faint breath of a king.
Osei Bonsu, wrapped in white and gold, lies on a raised platform. His chest rises with difficulty. Around him, incense coils in the air. Kofi watches from the shadows.
Osei Bonsu (softly):
“Have they come to say goodbye… or to measure my crown?”
Kofi:
“Both, Majesty. But your shadow still frightens them.”
The king coughs. Blood. Still, he laughs.
Osei Bonsu:
“Good. Let them learn that a dying lion can still bite.”
Outer Court Pavilion
Prince Adu presides over his first independent session of council. His voice is measured, but his eyes are sharp.
Prince Adu:
“The British have sent another envoy. They claim only to secure trade... but their maps show our villages.”
Murmurs in the court. Elders exchange glances.
Elder:
“What would the king have us do?”
Prince Adu (calmly):
“He told me: ‘Speak softly, but send soldiers with your words.’”
Assin Jungle, Late 1823
Aputai stands over another torch-lit ambush. This one is different. Not Ashanti traders — but messengers from the British, carrying silver and letters.
Ama Baa (furious):
“These were not warriors!”
Aputai (cold):
“They walk with the lion. They fall with him.”
She throws her blade to the ground.
Ama Baa:
“You're not fighting the king anymore. You're burning the world.”
He doesn’t answer. Only stares at the white man’s letter, turning it over in his bloodied hands.
Cape Coast Castle
Governor MacCarthy reads the grim report from his courier.
Dead. Slaughtered by guerillas. Message undelivered.
MacCarthy (writing):
“The Ashanti court claims peace.
Yet their wild dogs gnaw at our heels.
We will no longer allow jungle bandits to dictate imperial policy.”
His next dispatch is to London.
**“I request permission to raise an armed expedition.
These people must understand: we carry not just treaties — but law.”**
Kumasi – Late 1823
The old year drags itself to an end. Osei Bonsu hasn’t been seen in weeks.
Kofi walks with Prince Adu in the gardens. The sky is bruised with dusk.
Kofi:
“The British send soldiers with their trade now.”
Prince Adu:
“Let them. We have warriors.”
Kofi (low voice):
“But they wear red, and they come with thunder. You must think beyond the sword.”
The prince frowns.
Prince Adu:
“I do.
But the ghost in the forest — Aputai — has already made his choice.
And the British… they’ve made theirs.”
January 21, 1824 – Kumasi
The drums sound once at dawn. Then stop. Then sound again.
Seven times. The number of a king.
Osei Bonsu is dead.
Age: 45.
The city trembles. Traders weep. Mothers sing dirges in cracked voices.
The Ashanti Golden Stool sits waiting.
Kofi (narrating):
“The king is gone. The treaties lie dusty. The jungle waits with teeth.The white man watches with soldiers.
And the boy who would be king must now wear a crown made of fire.”
The new king, Osei Yaw Akoto, ascends.
The British move troops into the interior.
Aputai unleashes his final, most violent phase of rebellion.
All paths lead toward one place:
The bloody road to the Battle of Nsamankow.
Continue Here