Bound by ancestry - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

They grew without instruction without interference and without fear. Their roots spread in gentle spirals wrapping themselves around memories too old for language. The elders who once feared the quiet began to sit longer in silence near them their hands resting softly on the soil their eyes closed not in sleep but in surrender. The children who had planted them returned daily sometimes singing sometimes simply breathing. There was no rule for how to be near the Dreamroots. One only needed to be present.
Adaeze found herself drawn to them each morning before the spiral path filled with footsteps. She would kneel beside the tallest one its leaves shifting with unseen wind and she would listen. The Dreamroots did not speak in voices but in pulses. Each time she touched the leaves a different memory surfaced not always hers but always connected. One morning she felt a grandmother’s longing for her village another day the sorrow of a trader lost in a storm generations ago. It was as if the roots had tapped into a hidden river of remembrance flowing quietly beneath the waking world.
The Circle met beneath the iroko tree and spoke of what was stirring. Chidubem who had kept his silence for weeks shared his latest vision.
“The roots are maps” he said. “Not of places but of possibilities. They grow in directions we do not yet understand but every path they take carries intention. They are searching.”
Uche nodded and added “I felt it too. They are not just reaching out. They are reaching inward into us into the land into the breath between moments. And in that space they are showing us what we were always meant to become.”
Ogbonna had brought a bundle of fresh bark peeled from a tree that had grown overnight beside the memory house. Upon the bark were symbols etched without blade or hand. The symbols moved slowly as if alive shifting and returning to form again. He placed it at the center of the Circle.
“These appeared after I slept beside the Echo Nest. I do not know what they say but they feel familiar.”
Adaeze studied the markings and placed her palm gently on the bark. Her breath caught. Images flooded her mind not visions but impressions. A field of fireflies blinking in unison. A river that ran in spirals instead of curves. A tower of light rising from a mountain and folding back into the earth.
“They are invitations” she said. “Each symbol is a doorway. And each Dreamroot is a key.”
From that day the Circle began mapping the Dreamroots. Not cutting or removing them but tracing their paths and recording the directions they grew. Some formed circles. Others wove through sleeping areas and around cooking fires. A few reached toward the outer fields as if pointing toward distant places.
Then one afternoon a Dreamroot bloomed.
It happened near the edge of the spiral path. A small root that had remained unchanged suddenly erupted with light. A flower opened at its tip with petals like thin glass holding images that shimmered in layers. The entire village gathered as the flower released a soft hum.
The hum formed words not spoken aloud but heard within.
“The veil has thinned. The memory of tomorrow seeks its place.”
Adaeze stepped forward and placed her hand near the flower. It leaned toward her and the images within the petals shifted. She saw a forest of lights a child speaking to the stars a circle of people surrounded by floating flames.
“These are not memories” she whispered. “These are paths waiting to be walked.”
That night the village held no feast no dance. Instead they gathered in quiet circles each person sharing what they had felt near the Dreamroots. For many it was comfort. For others it was challenge. For a few it was the clear call to act.
Among those few was a young boy named Obinna who had never spoken aloud. He stood beside the Echo Nest with eyes wide and heart steady and lifted his hands toward the sky. A soft light gathered around him not from fire not from root but from within. And then for the first time he spoke.
“I remember the river before it forgot its name.”
The words settled like dew.
The next morning the Dreamroots began to hum in rhythm. Not chaotic not confusing but patterned like a language not yet learned. Adaeze recognized the rhythm. It matched the oldest drumbeat ever recorded in the memory house.
“It is time to return to the Stone Forest” she said.
The Stone Forest lay beyond the western ridge where stones stood like guardians each bearing marks too old for deciphering. The Circle had once passed it in silence but never stayed. Now they would walk there with intention.
They gathered provisions wrapped memory bark around their wrists and carried a seed from each Dreamroot. Children followed to the village edge then watched in silence as the group disappeared into the trees.
The journey was not long but it was deep. With each step they felt the land shift beneath them not in instability but in awareness. Birds flew overhead in spirals. The wind moved through the branches in a whispering pattern.
When they reached the forest the stones greeted them. Not with voice not with movement but with knowing. Each stone pulsed faintly when touched. Each mark warmed beneath their fingers.
At the center of the forest stood a wide flat stone unlike the others. It bore no marks. No moss. Just stillness. Adaeze placed the first Dreamroot seed upon it and waited.
Nothing happened.
Then she sat. The others followed. They formed a circle around the stone and breathed in unison. No chants. No demands. Just presence.
Minutes passed.
Then the seed cracked.
From it grew a single thread of light that stretched upward then outward and connected with each stone in the forest. The marks on the stones began to glow and shift. The forest filled with quiet music like wind chimes made from time itself.
The marks formed a map.
Not of roads. Not of rivers. But of memory currents. Flows of remembrance moving beneath the land like invisible rivers.
Uche traced one of the paths on the map and her eyes filled with tears.
“This current leads to where my great grandmother was buried. A place I have never seen but always dreamed of.”
Ogbonna pointed to another path. “This one touches the city ruins where the elders say the first forgetting began.”
They understood.
The Dreamroots had awakened the memory currents and the Stone Forest was the conduit.
Adaeze placed the rest of the seeds on the central stone and watched as each one sent out light connecting past present and future in a network of becoming.
They camped in the forest that night surrounded by glowing stones and silent memory. Dreams came easily and deeply. Each person awoke with a new thread of understanding.
When they returned to the village they brought no relics. No trophies. Only knowing.
The Dreamroots greeted them with fresh blooms. The flowers now showed not just images but sounds and scents. Each one a living message waiting to be received.
And so the village adapted again. New practices formed. The Dreamroot Council was born. Not of leaders but of listeners. People who had sat with the roots long enough to understand their pulses. They met weekly beside the spiral path and shared not decisions but interpretations.
Children created art using symbols from the glowing stones. Elders began tracing their dreams in ash upon flat stones for others to read. Travelers brought back soil from distant lands and placed it near the roots watching how they responded.
Adaeze smiled often but spoke little. Her voice had become a vessel for listening.
And beneath the soil the Dreamroots continued to grow.