The rain just wouldn't quit.
For three days straight, it poured on and off – sometimes gently, sometimes like a monsoon. It soaked the yam fields, flooded the paths, and turned Umuaka into a muddy mess.
But for Awele, the rain wasn't the real issue.
It was the quiet that came with it. The air felt thick, like something was lurking, ready to jump out.
And then there was this stone.
It lay on the mat between her and Toba, still warm, as if it had a heartbeat. She hadn't touched it again since she heard that strange whisper:
> "You have seven days."
Seven days for what?
Death?
Awakening?
She didn't really know. All she knew was this stone felt different.
And so did she.
---
Toba squatted next to her, drip-drip-drip from his wet clothes making the mat soggy. "Are you going to tell me what just happened?" he asked.
Awele kept staring at the stone, not saying a word.
The spiral on her chest tingled. Not pain, just a strange awareness.
"I heard a voice again," she said softly.
Toba stayed calm. "Like before?"
She shook her head. "No. This was clearer. Stronger."
"What did it say?"
"That I have seven days."
His eyebrows knitted together. "Seven days for what?"
She looked at him, keeping her voice low. "I think… something is waking up. Inside me. Around me."
Toba nodded slowly, looking serious. "And the red moon?"
"It all fits together."
---
Everyone in Umuaka had heard the stories about the red moon. Just days ago, Papa Chidi, the priest, warned about it. The last time it rose, the crops failed, and a fever took the lives of seven kids.
But no one remembered what happened before that.
Only the elders would mumble about it.
They talked about a time when the red moon brought not just sickness, but also spirits — restless souls who walked among the living, whispering names and collecting debts.
But those debts weren't about money.
They were about blood. Promises made long ago, forgotten over time.
And Awele's Spiral Mark was tied to all that.
Nnenna had warned her: "Your blood remembers what your mind doesn't. One day, it'll wake up. And you'll need to pay attention."
She was listening now.
And the quiet scared her.
---
That night, sleep completely deserted her.
Awele lay on her mat, watching shadows dance on the hut's ceiling. Every creak of wood was amplified. The wind nudged the windows like it wanted in.
Then… she felt it.
A low, steady thumping — not from outside, but from deep in the earth. Slow, ancient. Like a heartbeat.
She sat up.
The mark on her chest pulsed with the rhythm.
The hut got darker.
Not from a lack of light — it was like something had sucked it away. The shadows grew deeper. The air felt cold.
Then she spotted it.
A woman — almost like mist — standing by the door. She shimmered, and her eyes glowed gold, like fireflies in a jar.
The spirit spoke in Awele's mind, not with words.
> "You must walk the hidden path."
Awele's throat went dry. "What path? Where?"
> "In the forest. Beyond the old fig tree. Where no one dares to go."
> "Why me?"
> "Because you are the key. And the door."
With that, the spirit disappeared.
The drumming stopped.
But the silence was deafening.
---
She left before the sun came up.
No waiting for the roosters. No note.
Just packed up her leather pouch — a charm, some nuts, water in a gourd — and slipped the glowing stone into her wrapper.
She didn't tell Toba.
Not yet.
He'd try to stop her. Or worse — follow her.
Awele had a feeling this path was meant just for her.
The forest outside Umuaka was known as Ogbunike. It meant "the place where things are swallowed."
Kids were warned against going there.
Not just because of snakes or wild pigs, but because the trees remembered.
People said the forest had eyes.
Some swore it had doors.
---
She stepped in just as the sun broke through the clouds, casting golden rays across the ground.
It was too quiet.
No bird songs. No monkey chatter. Just her breathing and the occasional snap of twigs underfoot.
She followed the voice's directions: beyond the old fig tree.
It didn't take long to find it.
The fig tree loomed, its gnarled branches twisting like a giant mid-scream. Its bark was cracked, revealing a shadowy hollow.
Awele moved past it.
And everything shifted.
The air thickened. The light dimmed even though it was morning. Her ears rang softly, like she had entered a space that preferred not to be noticed.
She walked for what felt like hours — or maybe just minutes. Time lost meaning.
Then she saw it.
A path.
Not a man-made one. A winding, narrow clearing lined with faintly glowing stones — just like the one 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 took her to an odd place — a clearing surrounded by twisted trees with silver leaves. In the center stood a big stone altar, cracked but still intact.
Symbols covered its surface — spirals, circles, lines that twisted if she stared too long.
At the base, a skeleton sat.
Still in faded robes, its bony hands wrapped around a small scroll.
Awele paused, then moved closer, taking the scroll gently.
It opened on its own in her hand.
Written in a language she didn't recognize — yet 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 absorbed the words before the wind changed.
It turned sharp, almost angry.
The forest growled.
And from the shadows, something stirred.
Eyes — too many eyes — watched her from the trees. Not human. Not animal.
They blinked all together.
Then a voice came — deep and cold.
> "You have come early, child of the mark."
Awele turned slowly.
Behind her stood a figure cloaked in black, his face hidden, but his presence felt heavy.
> "I came because I was called," she said, finding her voice.
> "You do not know the cost of being chosen."
> "Then show me."
Silence hung for a moment.
Then the figure raised a hand.
Awele's spiral burned.
She gasped, clutching herself but stifled a scream.
The forest shimmered around her — no longer just trees and roots, but shadows and glimpses of the spirit realm, overlapping like two worlds on the same plane.
And she saw.
Figures moving — half-there, half-gone.
Her mother stood in the mist, sorrow in her eyes.
Awele took a step forward.
"Mamá?"
Her mother raised a hand, but her image wavered like smoke.
> "You must choose," the voice said again.
"Go forward, and never return.
Or turn back, and forget you ever saw this path."
Awele's legs shook.
Tears blurred her vision.
But she moved forward.
One step.
Then two.
And the moment she touched the symbol on the altar — everything exploded in light.
---
She woke on the forest floor, the scroll still in her hand.
The figure was gone. The spirits, gone. The stone path… disappeared.
But the spiral on her chest was glowing — visibly now — and in its center, a new mark had formed.
A second spiral. Smaller. Intertwined.
Two paths.
Two fates.
And only seven days to choose.