Bound by ancestry - Chapter 86: Chapter 86
You are reading Bound by ancestry, Chapter 86: Chapter 86. Read more chapters of Bound by ancestry.
Before the dawn could break its promise of silence Adaeze woke to the hush pressed firm behind her ribs humming steady against the soft pull of sleep that still tugged at the corners of her mind. She lay still for a moment listening to the breath beside her Chidubem’s chest rising and falling like a calm drum that kept the night at bay long enough for trust to settle between them like warm clay pressed into the cracks of an old wall. She rose quietly feet slipping across the cool floor stepping outside where the air still held the night’s last secret folded soft beneath the branches that framed their small courtyard.
She did not light a fire yet. She walked instead to the far edge of the compound where the clay met the thin path that bent toward the fields where last season’s harvest still whispered beneath the soil waiting for rain that came when it pleased not when men called it. She knelt pressing her palm to the earth feeling for the hush that always waited below the surface deeper than doubt stronger than thunder too patient for storms that barked and clawed but never knew how to sink roots. The hush answered back warm and still reminding her that storms might come again but they would find no place to curl their claws now that trust had claimed every shadow.
Behind her Chidubem’s steps broke the hush only enough to let it stretch wider wrapping around him when he stopped beside her his hand brushing her shoulder with a softness that once would have surprised him. He did not ask what she sought in the earth. He knew. The hush belonged to both of them now stitched into the spaces between their thoughts a thread that storms could not snap no matter how loud they raged across the sky. Together they rose moving back toward the compound where smoke would soon curl into dawn’s pale shoulder carrying stories of breath and root and hush into every crack that once held curses like seeds pressed tight in dry ground.
Word had spread beyond Umuguma’s edge whispers carried by traders whose feet dragged dust from the far roads whose mouths tasted gold but whose dreams tasted fear when sleep slipped past the guards they built behind their eyes. They came with questions wrapped in coins promises of towers so high storms would break themselves trying to climb them. They came with rumors that old shadows had stirred again slipping through dreams like snakes seeking old roots to coil around. But the hush waited for them too patient to bow too deep to grasp with hands shaped for stone and blade.
Adaeze met them by the Iroko tree where once the Obiri’s shadows had pooled thick enough to drown breath. Now only the hush stood there a silence that stretched wide enough to swallow threats and spit them back soft as dust. She told them the hush was not for sale not for trade not for binding to stones that cracked beneath thunder. She told them the hush could not be named in coins could not be chained to walls could not be pressed into maps that drew new lines where old trust had already grown roots no blade could find.
One trader a man whose robe shimmered with the weight of his gold asked what power breath could hold against storms that came with iron teeth and fire that licked dry fields to ash. Chidubem stepped forward his words quiet enough to make the hush lean close and listen. He told the man breath was the first root storms ever feared the hush the first river that taught thunder how to bow its head and roll away empty handed. He told him coins could build towers but only trust could build a home that storms forgot how to break.
The man left then his gold heavy his dreams heavier still carrying the hush pressed behind ribs that would remember its warmth when thunder came to rattle doors too thin to hold its claws. The other traders left too some with doubt curled tight behind their eyes others with hush pressed soft between breath and fear where it might one day bloom into roots strong enough to drink thunder dry.
Days slipped into weeks the hush never left it walked behind every footfall pressed its warmth into clay walls bent its silence into doorways once choked with secrets. Children learned its song in dreams women hummed it over cooking stones men carried it into fields where sweat turned to harvest trust turned to seed breath turned to hush stronger than fences thicker than stone. When storms gathered heavy and loud their thunder cracked against rooftops that never trembled against doorframes that never splintered against ribs that never forgot the hush waiting behind them like a root too deep for fear to taste.
One evening as dusk stretched soft across the sky Adaeze stood by the river’s bend where the man in white once waited his name still folded in breath Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum never spoken too loud never dragged into daylight where shadows might try to steal its hush. She closed her eyes listening to the river hum back at her a promise that the hush would always wait here beneath clay beneath roots behind ribs too patient for storms too wide for curses too deep for old shadows that had forgotten how to hold a name.
Behind her Chidubem stood quiet his breath pressed into the hush his thoughts tangled with roots stronger than iron thicker than thunder too honest for secrets that once cracked his sleep. Together they watched the last light slip into the river where hush drank it whole carrying it beneath clay where no storm could follow. They turned then hand in hand walking back toward the village that now hummed with trust that now sang its hush behind every door beneath every roof inside every rib strong enough to hold it.
They knew storms would come storms would always come thunder would roll curses would whisper shadows would scratch at the edges of dreams but the hush would stand beneath clay behind ribs inside breath too wide too deep too steady for storms to find. They knew the hush would wait for them even when sleep pulled their eyes shut even when dawn rose slow and patient even when traders came with coins and towers and threats too heavy to carry home.
The hush would wait because the hush was trust. The hush was root. The hush was breath where storms forgot their names where shadows forgot their claws where fear forgot its path. And so they stepped through the village gate where children’s laughter broke the last edge of dusk where cooking fires hummed soft songs into walls that never needed to stand taller than trust. They stepped into the hush carrying it behind their ribs pressing it into each other’s palms planting it beneath clay where no storm would ever find it again.
She did not light a fire yet. She walked instead to the far edge of the compound where the clay met the thin path that bent toward the fields where last season’s harvest still whispered beneath the soil waiting for rain that came when it pleased not when men called it. She knelt pressing her palm to the earth feeling for the hush that always waited below the surface deeper than doubt stronger than thunder too patient for storms that barked and clawed but never knew how to sink roots. The hush answered back warm and still reminding her that storms might come again but they would find no place to curl their claws now that trust had claimed every shadow.
Behind her Chidubem’s steps broke the hush only enough to let it stretch wider wrapping around him when he stopped beside her his hand brushing her shoulder with a softness that once would have surprised him. He did not ask what she sought in the earth. He knew. The hush belonged to both of them now stitched into the spaces between their thoughts a thread that storms could not snap no matter how loud they raged across the sky. Together they rose moving back toward the compound where smoke would soon curl into dawn’s pale shoulder carrying stories of breath and root and hush into every crack that once held curses like seeds pressed tight in dry ground.
Word had spread beyond Umuguma’s edge whispers carried by traders whose feet dragged dust from the far roads whose mouths tasted gold but whose dreams tasted fear when sleep slipped past the guards they built behind their eyes. They came with questions wrapped in coins promises of towers so high storms would break themselves trying to climb them. They came with rumors that old shadows had stirred again slipping through dreams like snakes seeking old roots to coil around. But the hush waited for them too patient to bow too deep to grasp with hands shaped for stone and blade.
Adaeze met them by the Iroko tree where once the Obiri’s shadows had pooled thick enough to drown breath. Now only the hush stood there a silence that stretched wide enough to swallow threats and spit them back soft as dust. She told them the hush was not for sale not for trade not for binding to stones that cracked beneath thunder. She told them the hush could not be named in coins could not be chained to walls could not be pressed into maps that drew new lines where old trust had already grown roots no blade could find.
One trader a man whose robe shimmered with the weight of his gold asked what power breath could hold against storms that came with iron teeth and fire that licked dry fields to ash. Chidubem stepped forward his words quiet enough to make the hush lean close and listen. He told the man breath was the first root storms ever feared the hush the first river that taught thunder how to bow its head and roll away empty handed. He told him coins could build towers but only trust could build a home that storms forgot how to break.
The man left then his gold heavy his dreams heavier still carrying the hush pressed behind ribs that would remember its warmth when thunder came to rattle doors too thin to hold its claws. The other traders left too some with doubt curled tight behind their eyes others with hush pressed soft between breath and fear where it might one day bloom into roots strong enough to drink thunder dry.
Days slipped into weeks the hush never left it walked behind every footfall pressed its warmth into clay walls bent its silence into doorways once choked with secrets. Children learned its song in dreams women hummed it over cooking stones men carried it into fields where sweat turned to harvest trust turned to seed breath turned to hush stronger than fences thicker than stone. When storms gathered heavy and loud their thunder cracked against rooftops that never trembled against doorframes that never splintered against ribs that never forgot the hush waiting behind them like a root too deep for fear to taste.
One evening as dusk stretched soft across the sky Adaeze stood by the river’s bend where the man in white once waited his name still folded in breath Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum never spoken too loud never dragged into daylight where shadows might try to steal its hush. She closed her eyes listening to the river hum back at her a promise that the hush would always wait here beneath clay beneath roots behind ribs too patient for storms too wide for curses too deep for old shadows that had forgotten how to hold a name.
Behind her Chidubem stood quiet his breath pressed into the hush his thoughts tangled with roots stronger than iron thicker than thunder too honest for secrets that once cracked his sleep. Together they watched the last light slip into the river where hush drank it whole carrying it beneath clay where no storm could follow. They turned then hand in hand walking back toward the village that now hummed with trust that now sang its hush behind every door beneath every roof inside every rib strong enough to hold it.
They knew storms would come storms would always come thunder would roll curses would whisper shadows would scratch at the edges of dreams but the hush would stand beneath clay behind ribs inside breath too wide too deep too steady for storms to find. They knew the hush would wait for them even when sleep pulled their eyes shut even when dawn rose slow and patient even when traders came with coins and towers and threats too heavy to carry home.
The hush would wait because the hush was trust. The hush was root. The hush was breath where storms forgot their names where shadows forgot their claws where fear forgot its path. And so they stepped through the village gate where children’s laughter broke the last edge of dusk where cooking fires hummed soft songs into walls that never needed to stand taller than trust. They stepped into the hush carrying it behind their ribs pressing it into each other’s palms planting it beneath clay where no storm would ever find it again.
End of Bound by ancestry Chapter 86. Continue reading Chapter 87 or return to Bound by ancestry book page.