Say Walah

52: The Shadow Awakes

The herb smoke coiled like serpents through the dim hut, weaving between rough-hewn wooden beams and dancing in the thin shafts of sunlight that pierced the thatch. Its bitter-sweet aroma carried hints of ofor bark and uda seeds, ancient remedies that spoke of generations of healing wisdom. The smoke seemed to whisper secrets in its spiraling dance, secrets as old as the earth itself.

Through the haze of consciousness, I first heard her humming – a low, melodic sound that seemed to vibrate through the wooden floors and into my bones. The tune was familiar yet strange, like a half-remembered lullaby from another life. When my heavy eyelids finally yielded to awareness, I found myself looking into the deep-set eyes of an elderly woman, her face mapped with the wrinkles of a thousand stories. Her white hair was wrapped in a faded indigo cloth, and her hands, gnarled like ancient tree roots, moved rhythmically as she tended to smoking herbs.

"Welcome to the land of the living, shadow of Onoka," she intoned. The title she gave me – shadow of Onoka – sent an inexplicable shiver down my spine, though I couldn't understand why. I attempted to rise, but my body betrayed me, every muscle screaming in protest as if I'd been running for days without rest.

Through my blurred vision, I saw Mairo burst into the hut. The suddenness of her entrance disturbed the lazy dance of the smoke, creating wild new patterns in the air. Her face, usually composed, showed raw concern as she rushed toward me. But before she could reach my side, darkness claimed me once more, pulling me back into its embrace.

Time became water, flowing like honey until consciousness returned again. The transformation was stark – the herb smoke had dissipated, leaving behind only its lingering scent in the fibers of my clothing. The mysterious old woman had vanished as if she had been merely a fragment of a fever dream. The silence in the hut was broken only by the distant sounds of life beyond its walls.

With trembling arms and shaking legs, I pushed myself up. My body protested each movement, but determination won over discomfort. Standing was a victory, albeit a precarious one, as I swayed like a palm tree in the harmattan winds. Each step toward the door felt like walking on shifting sand, but the pull of the outside world was stronger than my weakness.

Stepping into Nne Ogwu's compound was like emerging into a different realm. As usual, the compound pulsed with vitality – women pounding yam in wooden mortars, their rhythmic thuds a heartbeat to the day's rhythm. Children chased each other between the buildings, their laughter rising like birds into the hot afternoon air. Young men carried firewood and water, their muscles gleaming with sweat in the intense sunlight. It was a tapestry of ordinary life, yet it felt extraordinary after the mystical atmosphere of the healing hut.

As I appeared, a ripple of recognition spread through the compound. Children stopped their games, their eyes wide with wonder. Adolescents nudged each other, whispering excitedly before darting off to spread the news of my awakening. Their reactions suggested something significant had occurred during my unconscious state, something that had transformed me from a mere visitor into a figure of fascination.

Among the curious onlookers, a young girl, no more than seven years old, approached me. Her small feet kicked up little puffs of dust as she walked, and her eyes held wisdom beyond her years. Unlike the others who seemed in awe, she showed no hesitation. Her smile was bright and knowing as she looked up at me, her small hand reaching out in offering.

"Nne Ogwu is waiting," she said simply, her voice clear as a stream in the dry season. "I will take you to her." Her presence seemed to ground the surreal quality of the moment, offering a bridge between the mystical experience of my awakening and whatever revelations awaited me with Nne Ogwu.

Nne Ogwu's garden was a tapestry of medicinal herbs and sacred plants, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Nne Ogwu's hands moved with practiced grace among the ogwu ocha and nchuanwu leaves, her fingers stained green from her work. She didn't turn as we approached, but I could tell she knew we were there. The little girl squeezed my hand once before departing, leaving me alone with the wise woman.

"We feared you might not return to us," she said, her voice carrying both relief and lingering concern. "You were asleep for weeks."

My throat felt dry. "Weeks?"

She nodded, finally turning to face me. "The price of victory is often paid in blood and time. But your sacrifice brought the change we needed." Her eyes, sharp despite her age, studied my face. "The Igwe has returned to the Lion throne. The usurpers have fallen."

"What now?"

"Their properties seized, their names now whispered as cautionary tales." She plucked a leaf, rolling it between her fingers. "Their families bear the weight of their fathers' treachery. They were exiled at dawn three days ago. Even Nkili, Ibezim's daughter."

I felt no remorse for her but she didn't deserve this.

"Ehime went with her," Nne Ogwu added softly. "That young woman's loyalty runs deeper than any oath. She refuses to leave her side, even in disgrace."

I leaned against a nearby tree, my legs still weak. "And no one knows? About what really happened?"

A knowing smile crossed her weathered face. "The Igwe of Obiako sits on his throne, and even the great king of Irum Ala speak in wonder of his miraculous return. None know of the dead warriors who bled for peace, nor of the shadow paths you walked to make it possible."

"Amadi?" I asked, remembering his wounds.

"Recovering. Slowly, but surely. He asks about you every day." She paused, her hands stilling over her herbs. "As does Mairo."

My heart quickened at her name, remembering those golden eyes. "Where is she?"

Nne Ogwu's expression grew complicated. "She has been here every day, watching over you. Those eyes of hers never left your face." She sighed deeply. "But things are... different now. Changed. She goes to the hills each day to pray for your recovery. The same hills where the ancient shrine stands."

I pushed myself away from the tree. "I need to see her."

"Yes, you do." Her voice carried a weight of unspoken knowledge. "She waits there now. There are things... things that must be said between you two. Things that can only be spoken where the ancestors can bear witness."

Something in her tone made me pause. "What aren't you telling me?"

She turned back to her herbs, but not before I caught a flash of sadness in her eyes. "Some truths must be heard from the right lips, at the right time. Go to her. The hill path is clear today, and the spirits are watching."

I stood there for a moment longer, watching this woman who had pulled me back from death's edge. "Thank you," I said simply, knowing the words were inadequate for all she had done.

She waved her hand dismissively, but I could see the smile playing at her lips. "Go now. Before the sun climbs too high. She has waited long enough."

As I turned to leave, her voice caught me one last time: "Remember, child – sometimes the greatest battles we fight are not with swords, but with our own hearts."

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