Bound by ancestry - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
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After the battle, the wind changed.
It no longer carried dread or memory, but the scent of rebirth—of earth turned anew. In Umuguma, people rose earlier, walked slower, spoke softly. The victory over the Obiri had changed them all. Yet deep down, every heart knew it was only the beginning.
Adaeze stood at the village edge, staring into the horizon. The staff rested against her shoulder, and the pendant, now cool, hung around her neck. She traced the spiral design absentmindedly. Each loop reminded her of the journey—the seals, the guardians, the truths uncovered—and the darkness that still lurked beyond what they could see.
Beside her, Chidubem remained quiet. His mind had not settled since the night the Obiri appeared. Something had stirred inside him, something older than himself. A question he had not dared to ask until now.
“Why me?” he finally said.
Adaeze didn’t turn. “Because your blood called back the truth.”
“My grandfather tried to silence it.”
“And your heart opened it again.”
They turned at the sound of drums.
In the village square, a gathering had begun. The guardians stood tall in the center, their faces solemn. Mama Ukamaka, leaning on her staff, walked slowly into the circle. She raised her hand, calling for silence.
“The Obiri have been cast out. But others still stir. The world is not what it was before the seals were broken.”
The villagers murmured.
“We must go beyond Umuguma,” she continued. “We must find those like us—those who remember, those who resist.”
Adaeze stepped forward. “You mean there are more?”
Uzochi nodded. “Across rivers. Behind mountains. In cities that have forgotten they were built on sacred bones.”
Chidubem exhaled. “Then we travel.”
Mama Ukamaka turned to the people. “We need volunteers. Not warriors of weapon, but warriors of will.”
At first, only a few stepped forward. A teacher. A palm wine tapper. An old widow. Then, slowly, more emerged. A boy no older than ten. A mother with her infant tied to her back. Even Igwe stepped into the light, head bowed.
“Let this be our oath,” Adaeze said, her voice rising. “We are not guardians. We are not watchers. We are the bridge. Between past and future, truth and silence.”
The people repeated her words.
From the edge of the gathering, the guardians moved as one. They lifted their arms, and a glowing circle formed above the crowd.
“This is the Covenant of Ashes,” Nkemjika said. “From destruction, you rise. Not to rule, but to remember.”
Each villager received a mark—drawn in ash across their palms. It did not burn, but pulsed softly, like the beat of the land itself.
That night, the Circle prepared.
Adaeze and Chidubem gathered scrolls, herbs, water skins. Mama Ukamaka blessed them with sacred words passed down through her own grandmother. The guardians stood at the ary of the village, waiting.
By morning, the mist returned—no longer heavy with secrets, but with promise.
They left Umuguma just after dawn.
A new road lay before them. Not paved or marked. Just guided by wind, memory, and faith.
Behind them, Umuguma stood taller than ever. Ahead of them, the forgotten world waited to remember.
It no longer carried dread or memory, but the scent of rebirth—of earth turned anew. In Umuguma, people rose earlier, walked slower, spoke softly. The victory over the Obiri had changed them all. Yet deep down, every heart knew it was only the beginning.
Adaeze stood at the village edge, staring into the horizon. The staff rested against her shoulder, and the pendant, now cool, hung around her neck. She traced the spiral design absentmindedly. Each loop reminded her of the journey—the seals, the guardians, the truths uncovered—and the darkness that still lurked beyond what they could see.
Beside her, Chidubem remained quiet. His mind had not settled since the night the Obiri appeared. Something had stirred inside him, something older than himself. A question he had not dared to ask until now.
“Why me?” he finally said.
Adaeze didn’t turn. “Because your blood called back the truth.”
“My grandfather tried to silence it.”
“And your heart opened it again.”
They turned at the sound of drums.
In the village square, a gathering had begun. The guardians stood tall in the center, their faces solemn. Mama Ukamaka, leaning on her staff, walked slowly into the circle. She raised her hand, calling for silence.
“The Obiri have been cast out. But others still stir. The world is not what it was before the seals were broken.”
The villagers murmured.
“We must go beyond Umuguma,” she continued. “We must find those like us—those who remember, those who resist.”
Adaeze stepped forward. “You mean there are more?”
Uzochi nodded. “Across rivers. Behind mountains. In cities that have forgotten they were built on sacred bones.”
Chidubem exhaled. “Then we travel.”
Mama Ukamaka turned to the people. “We need volunteers. Not warriors of weapon, but warriors of will.”
At first, only a few stepped forward. A teacher. A palm wine tapper. An old widow. Then, slowly, more emerged. A boy no older than ten. A mother with her infant tied to her back. Even Igwe stepped into the light, head bowed.
“Let this be our oath,” Adaeze said, her voice rising. “We are not guardians. We are not watchers. We are the bridge. Between past and future, truth and silence.”
The people repeated her words.
From the edge of the gathering, the guardians moved as one. They lifted their arms, and a glowing circle formed above the crowd.
“This is the Covenant of Ashes,” Nkemjika said. “From destruction, you rise. Not to rule, but to remember.”
Each villager received a mark—drawn in ash across their palms. It did not burn, but pulsed softly, like the beat of the land itself.
That night, the Circle prepared.
Adaeze and Chidubem gathered scrolls, herbs, water skins. Mama Ukamaka blessed them with sacred words passed down through her own grandmother. The guardians stood at the ary of the village, waiting.
By morning, the mist returned—no longer heavy with secrets, but with promise.
They left Umuguma just after dawn.
A new road lay before them. Not paved or marked. Just guided by wind, memory, and faith.
Behind them, Umuguma stood taller than ever. Ahead of them, the forgotten world waited to remember.
End of Bound by ancestry Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to Bound by ancestry book page.