Chapter Four: Threads of Truth
470 Words
Scene 1 – What the Veil Sees
That night, the chamber was colder.
Even with the fireflies flickering in lantern-glass and warm food left by Nso, Ehia could feel it: something in the air had shifted. The veil, now half-spun, hung lower—heavier, as if weighed down by the memories stitched into its weave.
She sat before it, cross-legged, and touched the threads gently.
This time, she didn’t try to control it.
She let it pull her in.
Her fingers moved on their own—instinct guiding them more than thought. Each pass of thread sang a note she couldn’t hear with her ears, only with her blood.
Then—
The loom trembled.
The chamber vanished.
And she was no longer alone.
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She stood on palace stone, but the walls were shifting, dreamlike. Shadows flickered where light should have been. And in the center—the veil, floating midair, now glowing from within.
It unfurled like a scroll of silk and smoke.
> Images formed. Moments not her own. Secrets not meant for her.
She saw—
—The Oba, younger, kneeling before a dying priestess, taking a blade from her hand and whispering, “I vow my rule, my blood, my soul.”
—The mad weaver, screaming in tongues, her fingers bleeding, her eyes gone white.
—A white-skinned woman, veiled in crimson, placing a gold ring into a bowl of black feathers.
Then—
A flash.
Ehia’s aunt.
In the forest.
Whispering a name into the wind.
> “Ehia… You must not finish it. Or you become it.”
Ehia gasped. The image shattered.
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She fell back onto the chamber floor, panting. The veil hung silently above her, swaying slightly as if pleased.
She sat up slowly, eyes wide.
> “The veil sees,” she whispered.
“The veil remembers.”
“And it… warns.”
But who was it warning?
And who was it trying to destroy?
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Scene 2 – Nso’s Confession
At dawn, Nso returned.
But this time she was pale. Shaking. Eyes wide.
She didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway.
Then she said:
“They found another one.”
“Another what?” Ehia asked.
“A girl. Palace maid. Same mark on her hand. Same blood…”
Ehia stood sharply. “Where?”
“The bathing house. Her body was… cold. But the water boiled around her. No fire. No wound. Just… the mark.”
Nso showed her own hand.
Clean.
Unmarked.
“I want to live,” she whispered. “Help me. Please. I can’t stay silent anymore.”
Ehia moved forward. Slowly.
“What do you know, Nso?”
Nso swallowed hard.
> “The veil is not just cloth. It is a lock. And someone is trying to open it.”
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