The Secret of Ubia
246 Words
Chapter 2:
The Secret of Ubia
Ubia was a village of storytellers. Every night, by the fireside, elders spun tales of gods and spirits, of talking animals and ancient warriors. But the tale of the Iroko—that one was rarely told.
"It was once a man," Nana Ife had said one evening when the moon was fat. "Okwe, the spirit of the land. When the great drought came, he gave himself to the earth, rooted himself to save the village. His soul lives in the tree."
Ada remembered that tale now as she sat beside the village stream, staring into the water. The ripples distorted her reflection, making her look older, wiser. Something stirred inside her—not fear, but a strange sense of calling.
The elders believed that stories held power. To speak a story was to breathe life into it, to make it live again. Ada often wondered why the tale of Okwe was spoken in hushed tones, why it always ended with silence and prayer. She now understood—it was not just a story. It was a warning.
Baba Ogun, the village elder, approached her. His walking staff tapped the earth like a slow drumbeat.
"You went to the tree," he said.
She nodded.
"Then you must be ready to learn the truth. Come, child. There is much you do not yet know."
As she rose to follow him, a gust of wind whispered through the trees. The Iroko was listening.
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