Like the warriors of old who, upon reaching an enemy's shore, set fire to their own boats so retreat was no longer an option, Ego crossed the threshold of her hut knowing there could be no turning back. Once she stepped into the darkness, there would be only two endings—victory or death.
She eased the wooden door shut behind her.
The dull thud echoed through the silent village.
With the mortar balanced carefully on her head, the pestle tucked beneath one arm, and a flaming torch in her right hand, she drew a long breath.
Hell always comes before growth, she reminded herself.
Then she stepped into the waiting darkness.
The world had died.
Not a leaf stirred. Not an insect chirped. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned the earth. Darkness lay across Umudibia like a burial cloth, swallowing every familiar path and every familiar tree.
Only the trembling flame of her torch pushed against it.
She moved slowly, placing each foot with care, her eyes searching beyond the weak circle of light.
Ten steps.
No more.
Footsteps.
Not hers.
Behind her.
One pair.
Then another.
Then many.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
It sounded as though an entire crowd had fallen in behind her, matching her pace with eerie precision.
The old woman's warning echoed inside her head.
Do not speak.
Do not turn back.
She swallowed hard and kept walking.
The footsteps drew closer.
Then came light.
Not from one torch.
Many.
Their glow stretched around her until four long shadows danced across the path ahead.
Unable to resist, Ego shifted slightly to one side to let the strangers pass.
They did not.
Instead, they stopped.
The silence that followed was worse than the footsteps.
Their shadows stood motionless.
Watching.
Waiting.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn around.
To demand who they were.
To ask why they followed her.
Her fingers tightened around the torch until her knuckles ached.
She stared straight ahead.
Keep walking.
A rush of air swept past her.
Something flashed beside her shoulder so quickly it almost knocked the mortar from her head.
She staggered but caught it before it fell.
Before she had regained her balance, another streak shot past.
Then another.
Then another.
She caught only a glimpse.
Torches.
Burning torches...
...floating through the darkness with no hands to carry them.
Within moments they had vanished into the blackness ahead.
Ego stood frozen.
Cold prickled across her skin.
She dared not follow them with her eyes.
After several steadying breaths, she adjusted the mortar and continued her journey.
The deeper she ventured, the heavier the darkness became.
Then someone called her name.
"Ego..."
The voice was soft.
Childlike.
She stopped.
The old woman's warning rang once more inside her mind.
Do not answer.
Another whisper drifted through the trees.
"Ego..."
Against her better judgment, she turned her head.
A little boy stood beside the path.
He could not have been older than nine.
His small body was painted from head to toe with intricate white markings that glowed faintly beneath the torchlight. He wore nothing but a narrow strip of cloth around his waist.
The moment he saw her looking at him, his face lit up with joy.
"You can see me."
His voice trembled.
"You can actually see me."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"I've waited... so long."
Ego stared at him in silence.
The boy took a hesitant step closer.
Then she saw his face clearly.
There were no eyelids.
His eyes bulged nakedly within their sockets, never blinking.
When he smiled, blood stained his tiny teeth.
Fresh crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto his bare chest.
Ego's breath caught.
Every instinct urged her to flee.
Yet the child's expression held no malice.
Only sorrow.
"Please don't be afraid," he pleaded.
"I know I look frightening."
His voice cracked.
"But I won't hurt you."
"I only want to see my mother again."
His tears fell freely now.
He waited for her to speak.
She could not.
Even if she wanted to comfort him, the old woman's command bound her tongue more tightly than any rope.
The boy lowered his eyes.
"I've been trapped between this world and the next for more than twenty years."
He swallowed painfully.
"My stepmother killed me."
He lifted a trembling hand toward the forest floor.
"Right here."
"She feared that because I was my father's first son, I would inherit everything. She wanted her own child to take my place."
His voice grew quieter.
"She told me she needed help gathering firewood."
A sad smile crossed his face.
"I believed her."
He looked down at his small hands.
"When I bent to lift the bundle... she struck me."
He touched the left side of his head.
"The first blow threw me to the ground."
His fingers slowly slid over the shattered side of his skull.
"I think she kept hitting me after that."
His voice became distant.
"When I opened my eyes... I was standing."
He looked directly at Ego.
"My body wasn't."
"I screamed."
"I called her names."
"I begged her to stop."
"I threatened to tell my father."
He gave a bitter laugh.
"But my hands passed straight through her."
"I had become nothing more than wind."
The boy turned toward a patch of earth beside the path.
"I watched her dig a shallow grave."
His voice broke.
"I watched her bury me."
"And I could do nothing."