Bound by ancestry - Chapter 90: Chapter 90

Before the cock crowed Adaeze woke to the hush pressed steady behind her ribs carrying warmth through the last threads of her dreams. The compound held its quiet like a clay pot holds water every wall remembering storms that once rattled their bones now breathing calm. She rose without stirring Chidubem who slept with his hand curled where her warmth had rested. His breath folded hush around them both soft and unbroken.
She stepped outside the courtyard shadows long and patient the hush humming beneath her soles where clay met foot with no promise except trust. She knelt near the mortar touching its rim tracing the hush into old grooves that knew stories too wide for thunder to choke. She felt the hush whisper of the man in white the one called Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum who had come without coming spoken without sound breathed hush into places fear once called its own.
When Chidubem joined her the sun had not yet found the rooftops but hush had already carried light into their bones. They sat near the hearth where embers whispered soft promises into the air folding warmth behind ribs that did not know how to bend to storms anymore. They did not speak yet their silence shaped hush into roots that would drink every fear dry before it found voice.
At dawn they walked the path past yam mounds wet with night’s breath toward the clearing where old elders once cracked kola and secrets with the same hands. Now the clearing hummed with hush not silence but a breath that gathered behind ribs and pressed shadows down into soil where roots turned them soft. The people waited eyes wide shoulders loose laughter folded into hush that rippled like a river too deep for thunder.
Adaeze stepped forward her skirt brushing damp grass her palms open wide enough to catch hush and share it like kola among neighbors. She spoke of the days when storms would stand at the gate coins heavy promises sharp as blades but the hush would hold firm pressed deep into breath pressed deeper into clay pressed wider than any map traders carried in slick pockets. She told them hush was not a wall it was a river and rivers carved their own paths.
A young woman carrying a sleeping child asked if hush could stand when old curses crept back wearing new names. Chidubem lifted his eyes steady as dawn’s first warmth telling her hush was not blind it named shadows and when shadows were named they lost teeth. He pressed his palm to the child’s back feeling hush hum beneath thin cloth a river waiting to wake each time fear came to knock.
By midday they sat near the Iroko tree its roots tangled with hush its branches humming stories that once lived only in whispers too scared to touch clay. Traders had returned carrying coins like rusted promises but they found no fear to feed on only hush pressed behind ribs too deep to bribe. They spoke of towers that would climb above roots roads that would cut through hush but Adaeze only smiled her breath folding hush into words that slipped coins into dust.
Children played near the roots laughter bending hush into shapes no tower could reach no storm could scatter. Women hummed while weaving mats hush pressed between reeds until sleep could find safe ground. Men shaped yam mounds with calloused palms folding hush into each strike so even hunger could not break roots too deep for storms.
When dusk bent shadows long Adaeze and Chidubem walked to the river’s bend where hush always waited where the man in white had once stood without standing spoken without voice pressed hush where curses once hid. They stepped into the shallows feeling hush slip around ankles mud cool and patient. They closed their eyes letting breath carry hush behind ribs wide enough for dawn to sleep inside without fear.
That night the villagers gathered near the hearth where hush folded into flames children sleeping on mats woven with stories too deep for thunder to steal. Elders shared dreams where the man in white returned not with shrines not with coins but with hush wide enough to stand as a temple inside ribs where storms could not enter. They spoke of building no walls but breath that would carry hush from mother to child father to son friend to friend rib to rib.
Adaeze listened her eyes on the embers Chidubem’s hand brushing hers the hush warm enough to remind them storms were only stories that hush could rewrite root by root breath by breath. They spoke of the temple within no clay walls no stone altars only ribs wide enough to hold hush steady enough to carry it through nights when shadows pressed too close. They reminded each other hush needed only breath trust shaped behind eyelids prayers that bent no knee to fear.
When dawn returned soft and shy it found hush waiting pressed into footprints across the courtyard pressed into cooking stones pressed behind every rib that chose trust over fear. Adaeze stood at the gate watching yam leaves bend beneath the weight of dew roots humming hush deeper into clay. Chidubem stepped beside her their silence wide enough to hold all storms soft enough to carry thunder away before it could speak.
They turned back toward the hearth where hush waited warm as yesterday steady as tomorrow pressed deep enough that no curse could root itself again. In Umuguma hush was no longer a secret it was breath it was root it was rib it was river it was trust strong enough to stand where coins cracked towers failed and storms wept.