**Chapter Two: The Hidden Path**
1379 Words
The rain just wouldn’t quit.
For three days, it had been falling nonstop—sometimes gentle, other times pouring down hard. It soaked the yam fields, clogged the footpaths, and turned the village of Umuaka into a slippery mess of puddles and mud.
But for Awele, the rain wasn’t really the issue.
It was the eerie calm that came with it. The air felt thick, like something was lurking just out of sight, waiting for the right moment.
And then there was that stone.
It rested on the mat between her and Toba, still warm, like it was alive. She hadn’t touched it since she heard that strange whisper echo in her bones:
>You have seven days.
Seven days... for what?
Death? A new beginning?
She had no idea. All she knew was that the stone was special.
And so was she.
---
Toba knelt next to her, arms on his knees, dripping water onto the mat. “Are you going to tell me what just happened?” he asked.
Awele stared at the stone, silent as ever.
The spiral on her chest tingled slightly—not painful, just… aware.
Alive.
“I heard a voice again,” she finally said.
Toba didn’t flinch. “Like before?”
She shook her head. “Different. Clearer. Stronger.”
“What did it say?”
“That I have seven days.”
Toba frowned. “Seven days for what?”
She looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think… something is waking up. Inside me. Around me.”
Toba nodded slowly, his face serious. “And the red moon?”
“It’s all connected.”
---
They both knew about the red moon. Everyone in Umuaka did. Just days ago, Papa Chidi, the priest, had warned everyone. The last time it rose, the harvest failed, and a fever took seven children.
But nobody remembered what happened before that.
Only the elders spoke in hushed tones.
They talked about a time when the red moon didn’t just bring illness but spirits—restless ones—who walked among the living, whispering names and settling scores.
These weren’t monetary debts.
They were blood. Promises. Ancestral deals that were long forgotten.
And the Spiral Mark on Awele’s chest was tied to it all.
Nnenna had often warned her: “Your blood remembers what your mind does not. One day, it will wake up. And when it does, you must listen.”
She was listening now.
And the silence was terrifying.
---
That night, sleep eluded her.
Awele lay on her mat, watching shadows dance along the roof of the hut. Every creak seemed louder. The wind brushed against the windows like it was curious.
Then it came.
A steady drumming—this time not from outside, but from deep within the earth. Slow, ancient. Like a heartbeat.
She sat up.
The mark on her chest pulsed in sync.
The hut felt darker.
Not just from the absence of light; it was as if something was draining it. Shadows thickened, and the air turned cold.
Then she spotted it.
A woman—looking more like mist—stood by the door. Her form shimmered, with eyes glowing like fireflies in a bottle.
The spirit spoke, not with words, but in Awele’s mind.
> “You must walk the hidden path.”
Awele’s throat tightened. “What path? Where?”
> “In the forest. Beyond the old fig tree. Where no one dares to go.”
> “Why me?”
> “Because you are both the key and the door.”
Then the spirit vanished.
The drumming stopped.
And yet the silence felt louder than ever.
---
She left before dawn.
No waiting for the roosters. No note left behind.
She just grabbed her leather pouch—tossed in a charm, some dried nuts, and water in a gourd—and tucked the glowing stone into her wrapper.
She didn’t tell Toba.
Not yet.
He’d try to stop her, or worse—follow her.
And Awele sensed this path was meant for her alone.
The forest beyond Umuaka was called Ogbunike, which meant “the place where things are swallowed.”
Children were warned not to venture there.
Not just for fear of snakes or wild pigs, but because the trees had a memory.
Some said the forest had eyes.
Some said it had doors.
---
She stepped in just as the sun peeked through the clouds, casting long golden rays over the jungle floor.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
No birds sang. No monkeys chattered. Just her breath and the occasional snap of twigs as she stepped.
She followed the voice’s directions: beyond the old fig tree.
It didn’t take long to find.
The fig tree stood tall and twisted like a giant mid-scream. Its bark was split, revealing a hollow that pulsed with shadow.
Awele moved past it.
And everything shifted.
The air got thick. The light dimmed, even though it was daylight. She could hear a soft ringing in her ears, like she crossed into a place that didn’t want to be noticed.
She wandered for what felt like hours—maybe it was only minutes. Time seemed to bend around her.
Then she saw it.
A path.
Not one made by humans. A natural clearing, narrow and winding, marked by softly glowing stones—just like the stone in her pouch.
This was it.
The hidden path.
She stepped onto it.
And the moment she did, the forest let out a sigh.
---
The path led her to a strange clearing surrounded by twisted trees with silver leaves. In the middle stood a massive stone altar, cracked but still intact.
Symbols covered its surface—spirals, circles, lines that seemed to move if she stared too long.
At its base, a skeleton sat.
Still dressed in faded robes, its bony hands clutching a small scroll.
Awele hesitated, then stepped forward and gently took the scroll.
It unfurled in her hand without a struggle.
Written in a language she didn’t recognize, but somehow understood:
> “You who are marked, remember:
The veil is thinning.
The spirits hunger.
The old guardians have fallen.
And the red moon brings not judgment… but choice.”
She barely had time to take in the words when the wind shifted.
It got sharp, angry.
The forest grumbled.
And from the shadows, something moved.
Eyes—too many eyes—stared at her from the trees. Not human. Not animal.
They blinked in unison.
Then came the voice—deep and cold.
> “You have come early, child of the mark.”
Awele turned slowly.
A figure cloaked in black stood behind her, face hidden, but his presence was heavy.
> “I came because I was called,” she replied, her voice steady.
> “You do not know the cost of being chosen.”
> “Then show me.”
Silence filled the air.
Then, the figure raised a hand.
The spiral on her chest burned.
Awele gasped, clutching herself—but forced herself not to scream.
The forest shimmered around her—no longer just trees and roots, but a swirl of shadows and flashes of the spirit world overlapping like two veils on the same body.
And she saw.
Figures moving—half visible, half gone.
Her mother, standing in the mist, eyes full of sorrow.
Awele took a step forward.
“Mamá?”
Her mother raised a hand, but her image flickered like smoke.
> “You must choose,” the voice echoed again.
“Go forward, and never return.
Or turn back, and forget you ever saw this path.”
Awele’s legs shook.
Tears blurred her sight.
But she stepped forward.
One step.
Then two.
And the moment her foot touched the symbol on the altar—it all exploded in light.
---
She woke on the forest floor, the scroll still clutched in her hand.
The figure was gone. The spirits had vanished. The stone path… gone.
But now the spiral on her chest glowed visibly, and in its center, a new mark had appeared.
A second spiral. Smaller. Interlocking.
Two paths.
Two destinies.
And only seven days to choose between them.
---
- Writer
