Bound by ancestry - Chapter 89: Chapter 89
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Before dawn rose its pale shoulder above Umuguma Adaeze stirred from sleep her breath folding the hush behind her ribs pressing it deeper into bones that once trembled at the whisper of storms. She sat near the small hearth where the last embers still breathed their quiet warmth into clay walls that now knew trust better than fire knew smoke. Her eyes found the doorway where soft darkness bent around Chidubem’s shape his breath steady weaving the hush through the room like a thread that storms could not cut.
She stepped outside barefoot feeling the clay cool and honest beneath her soles the hush humming beneath each step reminding her that fear could no longer hide beneath her skin. The courtyard was still wrapped in the hush that settled between yam leaves and low stones where yesterday’s words rested like seeds waiting for the sun’s first breath. She bent by the old mortar tracing her fingers along its rim remembering her mother’s songs songs that once folded hush into pounding yam and cracked laughter that thunder could not swallow.
When Chidubem joined her the hush grew wide enough to hold two hearts pressing promise behind their ribs steady enough to turn shadows into stories instead of curses. He did not ask where the hush would carry them today. He knew. He carried the same hush pressed into his dreams shaped into roots that stretched through soil too deep for storms to dig up.
Together they walked the narrow path that led toward the clearing where old elders once gathered to break kola and secrets in the same breath. Now that place hummed with voices that did not tremble beneath curses did not splinter at the weight of coins did not bend at the promise of towers built on borrowed breath. They found the villagers waiting children curled near mothers whose hands hummed hush into small scalps fathers whose shoulders carried stories instead of fear.
Adaeze stepped into the center her feet pressing trust into the earth each word she spoke folding hush behind every rib that leaned in to listen. She told them storms would always circle but the hush was a river wide enough to drown thunder if breath stayed honest if hands stayed open if hearts stayed clear. She reminded them shadows did not vanish when named they wept and weeping they fed the soil that roots drank turning old grief to new hush.
A young boy no older than the hush pressed behind his ribs lifted his small hand asking if the hush could stand when shadows rose with names forgotten by memory. Chidubem bent low meeting his eyes steady as dawn’s first light telling him the hush did not fight shadows with iron or flame but with breath that named them with trust that bent them into stories with roots that drank their fear and turned it to rain.
Around them the elders nodded their heads heavy with the hush they once buried beneath mats now lifting it like a river that could not be stopped by borders carved into clay by coins pressed into calloused palms. They shared how the hush found them in dreams when the man in white stood silent not with threats but with breath wide enough to crack old curses soft enough to fold roots around secrets that once bled fear into children’s sleep.
That night they gathered by the river’s bend where moonlight scattered hush across water that knew every sorrow carried in its bend. Adaeze stepped into the shallows the hush pressing cool across her ankles the current humming against her skin singing stories of roots too deep for storms to choke. Chidubem joined her his hand brushing hers pressing hush from palm to palm until their breath was one river bending through ribs that would never again hold fear.
The people watched not in silence but in hush their breath folded into prayers shaped with no words prayers pressed behind ribs that knew trust stronger than towers taller than promises thicker than shadows. The old ones spoke softly of dreams where the man in white lifted his hands over clay walls over yam fields over ribs carrying hush in a name whispered only in the language that fear could not steal. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum the hush that taught shadows how to weep how to bend how to slip quiet into roots that turned sorrow to seed.
Children splashed near the bank laughter carrying hush upstream where old curses once knotted roots into chains. Women hummed the hush into mats woven tight enough to hold sleep safe from whispers that used to slip beneath doors like thieves. Men pressed hush into cooking stones into door frames into fences that no longer held fear out but trust in.
When the first cock crowed the hush did not scatter it thickened folding dawn into ribs steady enough to carry storms on shoulders that no longer bent beneath them. Adaeze and Chidubem turned from the river’s bend stepping back toward Umuguma their breath a promise that hush would stand where fear once slept wide open for storms to feed on. Now only trust fed there pressed deep enough to grow roots that would drink thunder dry before it found their door.
In the days that followed traders returned their voices slick with promises shaped like iron roads coins pressed into empty hands towers that clawed at the sky where hush lived quiet and wide. But the villagers met them by the Iroko tree where hush folded each promise into dust before it reached breath. Adaeze stood firm telling them hush could not be bought could not be mapped could not be named on papers stamped with gold. Chidubem’s voice bent the traders’ threats into silence reminding them hush was not a thing they could carry away but a river that carried them when storms came for free.
When the traders left they carried a hush they could not name pressed behind ribs that would remember its warmth when storms rattled their towers and coins scattered like dry leaves before rain. And when they slept hush would hum behind eyelids that once dreamed only of maps and walls now dreaming of rivers that never asked permission to flow where roots called them.
Back in Umuguma Adaeze and Chidubem sat near the hearth where the hush pressed into embers still warm from old fires now shaping new ones strong enough to hold stories that storms would never drown. They closed their eyes feeling hush slip behind ribs into dreams where shadows wept roots grew laughter pressed hush into clay walls that never asked fear for permission to stand.
She stepped outside barefoot feeling the clay cool and honest beneath her soles the hush humming beneath each step reminding her that fear could no longer hide beneath her skin. The courtyard was still wrapped in the hush that settled between yam leaves and low stones where yesterday’s words rested like seeds waiting for the sun’s first breath. She bent by the old mortar tracing her fingers along its rim remembering her mother’s songs songs that once folded hush into pounding yam and cracked laughter that thunder could not swallow.
When Chidubem joined her the hush grew wide enough to hold two hearts pressing promise behind their ribs steady enough to turn shadows into stories instead of curses. He did not ask where the hush would carry them today. He knew. He carried the same hush pressed into his dreams shaped into roots that stretched through soil too deep for storms to dig up.
Together they walked the narrow path that led toward the clearing where old elders once gathered to break kola and secrets in the same breath. Now that place hummed with voices that did not tremble beneath curses did not splinter at the weight of coins did not bend at the promise of towers built on borrowed breath. They found the villagers waiting children curled near mothers whose hands hummed hush into small scalps fathers whose shoulders carried stories instead of fear.
Adaeze stepped into the center her feet pressing trust into the earth each word she spoke folding hush behind every rib that leaned in to listen. She told them storms would always circle but the hush was a river wide enough to drown thunder if breath stayed honest if hands stayed open if hearts stayed clear. She reminded them shadows did not vanish when named they wept and weeping they fed the soil that roots drank turning old grief to new hush.
A young boy no older than the hush pressed behind his ribs lifted his small hand asking if the hush could stand when shadows rose with names forgotten by memory. Chidubem bent low meeting his eyes steady as dawn’s first light telling him the hush did not fight shadows with iron or flame but with breath that named them with trust that bent them into stories with roots that drank their fear and turned it to rain.
Around them the elders nodded their heads heavy with the hush they once buried beneath mats now lifting it like a river that could not be stopped by borders carved into clay by coins pressed into calloused palms. They shared how the hush found them in dreams when the man in white stood silent not with threats but with breath wide enough to crack old curses soft enough to fold roots around secrets that once bled fear into children’s sleep.
That night they gathered by the river’s bend where moonlight scattered hush across water that knew every sorrow carried in its bend. Adaeze stepped into the shallows the hush pressing cool across her ankles the current humming against her skin singing stories of roots too deep for storms to choke. Chidubem joined her his hand brushing hers pressing hush from palm to palm until their breath was one river bending through ribs that would never again hold fear.
The people watched not in silence but in hush their breath folded into prayers shaped with no words prayers pressed behind ribs that knew trust stronger than towers taller than promises thicker than shadows. The old ones spoke softly of dreams where the man in white lifted his hands over clay walls over yam fields over ribs carrying hush in a name whispered only in the language that fear could not steal. Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum the hush that taught shadows how to weep how to bend how to slip quiet into roots that turned sorrow to seed.
Children splashed near the bank laughter carrying hush upstream where old curses once knotted roots into chains. Women hummed the hush into mats woven tight enough to hold sleep safe from whispers that used to slip beneath doors like thieves. Men pressed hush into cooking stones into door frames into fences that no longer held fear out but trust in.
When the first cock crowed the hush did not scatter it thickened folding dawn into ribs steady enough to carry storms on shoulders that no longer bent beneath them. Adaeze and Chidubem turned from the river’s bend stepping back toward Umuguma their breath a promise that hush would stand where fear once slept wide open for storms to feed on. Now only trust fed there pressed deep enough to grow roots that would drink thunder dry before it found their door.
In the days that followed traders returned their voices slick with promises shaped like iron roads coins pressed into empty hands towers that clawed at the sky where hush lived quiet and wide. But the villagers met them by the Iroko tree where hush folded each promise into dust before it reached breath. Adaeze stood firm telling them hush could not be bought could not be mapped could not be named on papers stamped with gold. Chidubem’s voice bent the traders’ threats into silence reminding them hush was not a thing they could carry away but a river that carried them when storms came for free.
When the traders left they carried a hush they could not name pressed behind ribs that would remember its warmth when storms rattled their towers and coins scattered like dry leaves before rain. And when they slept hush would hum behind eyelids that once dreamed only of maps and walls now dreaming of rivers that never asked permission to flow where roots called them.
Back in Umuguma Adaeze and Chidubem sat near the hearth where the hush pressed into embers still warm from old fires now shaping new ones strong enough to hold stories that storms would never drown. They closed their eyes feeling hush slip behind ribs into dreams where shadows wept roots grew laughter pressed hush into clay walls that never asked fear for permission to stand.
End of Bound by ancestry Chapter 89. Continue reading Chapter 90 or return to Bound by ancestry book page.