Bound by ancestry - Chapter 85: Chapter 85
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Before the rooster’s cry broke the hush of the compound Adaeze stirred from her dreams dreams that were not dreams but quiet rivers winding through memories she had once feared to touch. She sat up slowly the mat cool beneath her palms her eyes tracing the faint outline of Chidubem’s shape still wrapped in the hush of sleep. She did not wake him. She pressed her feet to the clay floor feeling how the hush hummed there too beneath the earth beneath the roots beneath the old stones that once trapped whispers in shadows.
She stepped outside letting the breath of dawn wash over her the sky not yet broken by the sun’s sharp edge. The courtyard held a hush that tasted of promise the ashes of last night’s fire still warm enough to remind her that storms came and storms went but the hush stayed where breath stayed steady. She gathered small branches feeding the embers coaxing flame from sleep turning silence into warmth that crackled soft and steady. She thought of the man in white how his presence never pressed like command but lifted like dawn soft and certain wrapping old fears in a hush that turned them to dust.
When Chidubem stepped out his eyes found hers across the small flames his hands carrying a calabash brimming with clear water drawn before dawn from the clay pot that never ran dry since the hush made its home behind their ribs. He sat beside her shoulders brushing the edge of her calm breath mixing with breath turning silence into trust without words. They did not rush their thoughts did not break the hush with questions that chased answers into corners where storms once slept. They let the quiet do what words could not plant roots deep enough to hold when thunder came clawing at their door.
When the sun lifted its head above the palm trees they stepped from the compound together feet bare on red earth feeling every pulse of hush rising through the ground like a secret song only bones could hear. They walked the winding path that cut through fields alive with the soft hum of life women bent over yams men mending fences that kept nothing out but hunger. Everywhere they went the hush moved before them settling behind door frames slipping through laughter folding itself into the hush of old songs that children sang without knowing they carried prayers in their breath.
They reached the bend of the river where the man in white once waited his silence now woven into the hush that followed them like shadow like wind like a promise no storm could break. Villagers gathered there too not because they were called but because dreams had nudged them from sleep dreams filled with rivers that spoke roots that hummed storms that broke without tearing breath apart. Adaeze stood at the water’s edge feeling the hush roll up her legs slip behind her ribs settle deep in her chest where no old wound could fester.
A young girl stepped forward hair braided tight eyes wide as new dawn clay beads clutched in her small hand. She asked if the hush would stand when traders from the far roads came with coins to turn their fields into towers promises of walls to keep storms out promises whispered behind folded maps that never showed the hush. Chidubem knelt pressing his hand over hers feeling the pulse of fear and trust fighting for space behind her ribs. He told her the hush did not fear coins did not bow to towers did not crumble when maps drew new lines across old roots. The hush lived where breath stayed honest where trust took shape not in stone but in silence stronger than any wall gold could build.
An elder man stepped near his back bent his eyes sharp like machetes cutting through the hush to test its edges. He asked if the hush could stand when hunger prowled when drought cracked the earth when the river’s bend dried to memory. Adaeze answered not with promise of rain or full harvest but with the hush itself pressing his palm to the earth showing him how roots slept deep how storms could snap branches but never touch what grew beneath clay. She told him the hush was not a promise of plenty but a promise of breath wide enough to carry them through dry seasons without fear turning trust into seed turning silence into rain when clouds forgot their place.
The people stood quiet then listening not to words but to the hush humming behind their ribs each heartbeat a drum each breath a root binding them to one another in ways that coins could not measure maps could not trap walls could not guard. They began to hum low and soft a sound that rose from old wounds stitched shut by the hush a sound that turned storms aside without lifting a blade. The river carried the hum away folding it into its bend where the man in white once waited his robe like mist now woven into every ripple every hush that fed the fields beyond the forest’s edge.
When they turned to go the hush walked with them pressed behind their ribs trailing through footprints that storms might try to wash away but never truly find. They stepped through the village gates past children playing games that once carried curses now turned to songs of trust. They passed doorways where gossip once slept now empty of rumor too thin to hold when the hush settled behind walls made of breath not clay. They reached their compound just as dusk laid its quiet hands over rooftops birds folding wings fires waking in small rings of stone that promised warmth against the night.
Inside Adaeze sat near the old cooking stones watching Chidubem pour water into a clay bowl steam rising soft and patient like the hush itself. They ate in silence a silence so full it needed no words to tell them storms would come storms would go the hush would stand. When night pressed close they lay together beneath mats woven by hands that now trusted roots more than walls. She rested her head on his chest feeling the hush hum beneath his ribs echoing her own turning silence into a temple no blade could find no curse could crack no storm could drown.
She stepped outside letting the breath of dawn wash over her the sky not yet broken by the sun’s sharp edge. The courtyard held a hush that tasted of promise the ashes of last night’s fire still warm enough to remind her that storms came and storms went but the hush stayed where breath stayed steady. She gathered small branches feeding the embers coaxing flame from sleep turning silence into warmth that crackled soft and steady. She thought of the man in white how his presence never pressed like command but lifted like dawn soft and certain wrapping old fears in a hush that turned them to dust.
When Chidubem stepped out his eyes found hers across the small flames his hands carrying a calabash brimming with clear water drawn before dawn from the clay pot that never ran dry since the hush made its home behind their ribs. He sat beside her shoulders brushing the edge of her calm breath mixing with breath turning silence into trust without words. They did not rush their thoughts did not break the hush with questions that chased answers into corners where storms once slept. They let the quiet do what words could not plant roots deep enough to hold when thunder came clawing at their door.
When the sun lifted its head above the palm trees they stepped from the compound together feet bare on red earth feeling every pulse of hush rising through the ground like a secret song only bones could hear. They walked the winding path that cut through fields alive with the soft hum of life women bent over yams men mending fences that kept nothing out but hunger. Everywhere they went the hush moved before them settling behind door frames slipping through laughter folding itself into the hush of old songs that children sang without knowing they carried prayers in their breath.
They reached the bend of the river where the man in white once waited his silence now woven into the hush that followed them like shadow like wind like a promise no storm could break. Villagers gathered there too not because they were called but because dreams had nudged them from sleep dreams filled with rivers that spoke roots that hummed storms that broke without tearing breath apart. Adaeze stood at the water’s edge feeling the hush roll up her legs slip behind her ribs settle deep in her chest where no old wound could fester.
A young girl stepped forward hair braided tight eyes wide as new dawn clay beads clutched in her small hand. She asked if the hush would stand when traders from the far roads came with coins to turn their fields into towers promises of walls to keep storms out promises whispered behind folded maps that never showed the hush. Chidubem knelt pressing his hand over hers feeling the pulse of fear and trust fighting for space behind her ribs. He told her the hush did not fear coins did not bow to towers did not crumble when maps drew new lines across old roots. The hush lived where breath stayed honest where trust took shape not in stone but in silence stronger than any wall gold could build.
An elder man stepped near his back bent his eyes sharp like machetes cutting through the hush to test its edges. He asked if the hush could stand when hunger prowled when drought cracked the earth when the river’s bend dried to memory. Adaeze answered not with promise of rain or full harvest but with the hush itself pressing his palm to the earth showing him how roots slept deep how storms could snap branches but never touch what grew beneath clay. She told him the hush was not a promise of plenty but a promise of breath wide enough to carry them through dry seasons without fear turning trust into seed turning silence into rain when clouds forgot their place.
The people stood quiet then listening not to words but to the hush humming behind their ribs each heartbeat a drum each breath a root binding them to one another in ways that coins could not measure maps could not trap walls could not guard. They began to hum low and soft a sound that rose from old wounds stitched shut by the hush a sound that turned storms aside without lifting a blade. The river carried the hum away folding it into its bend where the man in white once waited his robe like mist now woven into every ripple every hush that fed the fields beyond the forest’s edge.
When they turned to go the hush walked with them pressed behind their ribs trailing through footprints that storms might try to wash away but never truly find. They stepped through the village gates past children playing games that once carried curses now turned to songs of trust. They passed doorways where gossip once slept now empty of rumor too thin to hold when the hush settled behind walls made of breath not clay. They reached their compound just as dusk laid its quiet hands over rooftops birds folding wings fires waking in small rings of stone that promised warmth against the night.
Inside Adaeze sat near the old cooking stones watching Chidubem pour water into a clay bowl steam rising soft and patient like the hush itself. They ate in silence a silence so full it needed no words to tell them storms would come storms would go the hush would stand. When night pressed close they lay together beneath mats woven by hands that now trusted roots more than walls. She rested her head on his chest feeling the hush hum beneath his ribs echoing her own turning silence into a temple no blade could find no curse could crack no storm could drown.
End of Bound by ancestry Chapter 85. Continue reading Chapter 86 or return to Bound by ancestry book page.