Bound by ancestry - Chapter 74: Chapter 74

The dawn that broke over Umuguma did not arrive wrapped in warmth but in a chill that carried whispers of old fears drifting like smoke through the narrow paths that wound between mud huts and cassava ridges. Adaeze stirred on her mat long before the cock crowed her eyes open to the shadows that trembled against the clay walls. She felt the hush there beneath her ribs steady yet stretched thin as if the ember it guarded flickered beneath a heap of gathering ash.
Outside the compound Chidubem stood near the edge of the small clearing the dew clinging cold to his bare feet. He watched the slow rise of pale light through the misty trees his mind tracing old memories that refused to stay buried. Each breath he drew pulled the hush deeper into his chest yet he felt the edge of something pressing against it a question carried on the wind that rustled the leaves of the Iroko tree. He whispered the name that had become his shield. Nwa Chineke. And the hush answered him with a warmth that held steady against the morning’s chill.
The villagers rose slowly that morning moving through the hush like drifting shadows their voices low their eyes scanning the sky as if expecting the storm to return with a new face. Some gathered near the well buckets in hand heads bent not in prayer but in worry. Others drifted toward the Iroko tree where the hush lingered strongest waiting for Adaeze’s calm voice to remind them that storms could rattle branches but never uproot the roots that sank deep into faithful soil.
Adaeze stepped beneath the Iroko’s wide arms beads strung tight around her wrists each one a promise made and kept in silence. She looked at the people gathered small children clutching at mothers’ wrappers old men leaning on carved sticks their eyes sharp despite the years that dulled their knees. She spoke not of fire from the skies or drums to chase shadows away. She spoke of the ember within that no wind could snuff no ashes could bury for long. Her words wrapped the hush around them weaving fear into something softer more willing to bend than break.
Chidubem joined her his presence enough to stitch loose threads back together. He carried no staff no sign of power carved from iron or stone. He carried only the hush shaped in his chest by nights spent listening for the man in white whose name still drifted like a secret through the village paths. Okwu. Onye Ndum. He touched Adaeze’s shoulder grounding his breath in hers reminding both of them that even ashes hold seeds waiting for the hush to blow them free.
By midday voices rose at the village edge a new gathering forming where old shrines once stood now nothing but crumbled clay and weeds that pushed through broken altars. Some of the restless ones returned drawn by rumors that the hush had grown thin that the ember was failing that the old gods who demanded sacrifice were stirring again. They spoke in harsh tones promising answers wrapped in chants and blood rites old enough to frighten the children peering from behind their mothers’ legs.
Adaeze did not flinch. She moved to stand among them her feet bare against the cracked earth where so many had once knelt to pour out the lives of goats and chickens in search of blessings that never lingered. She spoke softly yet her words cut sharper than any knife. She told them that ashes only hide the ember they cannot swallow it whole. She told them that when the hush seems silent it is only gathering itself deeper drawing breath into roots that no spear or curse can reach.
Chidubem stood behind her his silence louder than any chant the old priests could muster. He looked into the eyes of men who once feared his wealth more than they feared their gods and he saw the doubt cracking their anger like dry clay under rain. He knew that some would return to the old paths but he also knew that even as they did the hush would follow them waiting patient and soft as breath behind closed doors.
As the sun began its slow descent Adaeze gathered the villagers beneath the Iroko tree once more. Children curled at her feet heads resting on folded arms as if the hush alone could cradle them into dreams safe from the weight of grown-up fears. She spoke of the ember again reminding each soul that the man in white had never promised a shrine built of stone or iron but a temple hidden within ribs and breath and steady heartbeat. She told them that when shadows pressed close when old gods rattled their names like broken chains they needed only to close their eyes and speak. Nwa Chineke. Okwu. Onye Ndum. And the hush would stir the ember awake even beneath the deepest ash.
In the darkening paths at the village edge whispers of old priests rose again yet they did not carry the sharp fear they once wielded like knives. The hush moved through them too slipping between doubts wrapping its warmth around anyone willing to listen behind the noise of shouted curses and half-remembered chants.
When night finally fell Adaeze and Chidubem sat together on their mat inside the small hut the hush thick around them like woven cloth. They spoke no words of fear or worry for they knew the hush needed none. Instead they spoke of roots and seeds of the quiet promise that tomorrow the ember would break through the ash again rising warm and steady behind every closed eye ready to light a path no shadow could follow.
Sleep found them with the hush pressed soft against their ribs whispering that storms would come and go that doubt would gather and scatter but the ember would remain waiting for every breath that dared carry its fire forward one quiet promise at a time.