The people of Umudibia believed dreams were far more than wandering thoughts born of sleep.
To them, dreams were journeys. When the body slept, the spirit walked another world—a place where the living crossed paths with the dead, where the gods whispered warnings, and where hidden truths revealed themselves to those chosen to receive them. Some dreams were ordinary, but others carried weight. They demanded interpretation from elders or dibias, for they were believed to contain messages capable of changing destinies.
Ego did not think hers required such interpretation.
To her, the dream was an answer.
For days she had prayed for understanding, and at last the gods had granted it.
The old woman's appearance in the dream explained many things that had tormented her since she escaped the forest. It explained the herbs smeared over her body, the fever that had left her weak, and the terrifying sensation of waking inside what she believed had been a coffin. According to the old woman, all of that had been born from illness and fear.
Yet not every mystery had been answered.
How had she vanished after stepping outside to relieve herself?
Who had buried her alive in that shallow grave?
Were the people in the strange shrine merely creations of her fevered mind, or had they truly existed?
And above all...
How could that frail old woman have dragged her unconscious body through miles of dense forest?
The explanation sounded possible.
Yet something about it refused to settle peacefully inside her.
Her thoughts drifted instead to the old woman's prophecy.
The coming darkness.
The battle between Abali and Anyawu.
The mysterious Nza with the shining cord tied around its leg.
If the prophecy proved true, everything in her life could change.
No more hunger.
No more struggling to survive.
No more being pitied as the barren widow everyone looked down upon.
Perhaps the gods had finally remembered her.
Perhaps this was the reward for every kindness she had shown without expecting anything in return.
She clenched her fists.
If darkness truly covered the earth tomorrow afternoon, she would find that bird.
No matter what it took.
No matter what she had to endure.
Then doubt crept quietly into her mind.
What if none of it happens?
The thought was soft, almost harmless.
What if the old woman lied again?
Ego frowned.
"She wouldn't lie about something like this," she whispered to herself.
Wouldn't she?
The voice persisted.
Isn't she the same woman who deceived you before? The same woman whose stories keep changing?
Ego looked toward the doorway where the wind had earlier rattled it open.
"She also saved my life."
Did you actually see her save you?
She hesitated.
No.
She had only heard the story from the old woman's own lips.
Someone else could have rescued you.
Someone else could have buried you.
Someone else could have carried you home.
"And someone else could have lied," Ego murmured.
Silence settled over the hut.
The argument inside her mind continued.
What if this prophecy is only another trap?
She stared into the dying embers of the fire.
"If it is," she finally said, "then I shall face it."
The words surprised even her.
"What choice do I have?"
She had already lost almost everything.
If the prophecy was false, she would return home no worse than she already was.
But if it was true...
Everything could change.
"There is only one way to know."
With that thought, the fear gradually loosened its grip on her heart.
She lay back upon her bamboo bed.
For the first time in many nights, neither Nnanna nor the mysterious old woman appeared in her dreams.
Sleep embraced her until the first crow of a cock announced the coming dawn.
*
Ego woke before sunrise.
A strange mixture of excitement and apprehension fluttered inside her chest.
Today.
Everything depended on today.
She performed her morning ablutions before walking to the small shrine beside her hut. Kneeling before her chi, she poured libation upon the earth and bowed her head.
"My fathers," she prayed softly, "thank you for preserving my life. If truly you have opened a door before me, grant me the courage to walk through it. Guide my steps today and do not allow evil to prevail over me."
When she rose, she felt lighter.
She picked up her broom and swept every corner of the compound while softly singing old Igbo songs of praise.
Neighbours passing by slowed their steps.
Some greeted her.
Others simply watched in surprise.
It had been a long time since anyone had seen Ego smiling.
Before Nnanna's death, laughter had followed her everywhere. She had been known throughout Umudibia for greeting everyone she met, whether child or elder, rich or poor.
His death had stolen that brightness from her.
Yet this morning, it had returned.
When the compound gleamed, she prepared one of her favourite meals—Ofe Owerri with pounded yam.
It was a feast usually reserved for festivals and special occasions because of the labour involved.
Today deserved such honour.
She ate until she was satisfied, then washed every pot, scrubbed the kitchen spotless, and arranged everything neatly, almost as though she were preparing for a long journey from which she might not return.
Still...
Afternoon refused to come.
Impatient, she walked to the small garden behind her hut.
She selected several ripe maize cobs, peeled away their husks, and carefully removed every kernel. Wrapping the grains inside broad cocoyam leaves, she placed them safely beside the mortar and pestle she intended to carry later.
Even then, the sun seemed reluctant to move.
To occupy herself, she knelt among the crops and began pulling weeds from the soil with her bare hands. She had brought no hoe because farming had never been part of today's plan.
Her ears, however, remained fixed on the sky.
Every few moments she looked upward.
Waiting.
Watching.
Listening.
For the impossible.