The Spirits of Umudike

Volume I: Children of the Earth

Chapter 2: Alozie's Burden

Alozie knelt by the riverbank, the cold water rushing over his hands as he washed away the blood from the day's hunt. His muscles ached, the weariness settling deep into his bones, but he welcomed the exhaustion. It kept his mind off the hunger that gnawed at his belly—a familiar companion for someone of his standing.

He stood, wiping his hands on his tattered tunic, and looked out over the river. The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving only a faint glow in the sky. The night would soon fall, bringing with it the sounds of the forest—the croaking frogs, the hoot of owls, and the distant howls of predators that prowled the underbrush. But tonight, Alozie felt a different kind of tension in the air, a stillness that made his skin prickle.

He could sense it, even out here, far from the palace and the secrets it held.

The people of Umudike had always whispered about the spirits, about how they watched over the land and intervened in the affairs of men. But for someone like Alozie, the son of a poor farmer, the spirits seemed distant, if not entirely indifferent. The gods favored kings and priests, not commoners like him. At least, that's what his father had always said before sickness took him three years ago, leaving Alozie to care for his mother and younger siblings.

The weight of his family's survival hung heavy on his shoulders, and it was a weight he bore alone.

He slung the day's catch—a brace of rabbits—over his shoulder and turned toward the path that led back to his village. As he walked, the light of the moon filtered through the thick canopy of trees, casting long shadows on the ground. His thoughts drifted to the stories his mother used to tell him as a child, of the great warriors of the past who had risen from nothing to become legends. Men like Ikenga the Invincible, whose spirit was said to live on in the blood of the brave. Those stories had always filled him with hope when he was younger, but now, as a grown man, they felt more like fantasies, distant dreams meant for someone else.

"Alozie," a voice called from behind.

He turned to see a familiar figure emerging from the trees—Olaedo, one of his closest friends, and a fellow hunter. She moved with a grace that came from years of navigating the forest, her face half-hidden by the shadows, but her eyes shone with a sharpness that told him she had been watching him for some time.

"Olaedo," he greeted her with a nod. "You've been following me again."

She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Only because you always disappear before the rest of us can share in your bounty. One day, you'll have to teach me how you manage to catch so much with so little."

Alozie shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips. "Patience. That's the key. The forest will provide if you know how to listen."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" she teased. "Because I've heard the real secret is that you whisper to the spirits while you hunt."

Alozie shook his head, chuckling. "If that were true, I'd have much more than rabbits to show for it."

They began walking together along the path, the easy camaraderie between them a welcome distraction from the weight of the day. Olaedo had always been a source of laughter and light in his life, even in the darkest times. She had grown up in the same village, and though her family was no wealthier than his, she had a fierce spirit that made her stand out among their peers. Where Alozie was quiet and measured, Olaedo was bold and full of life.

"Did you hear about the Oracle?" Olaedo asked after a long silence, her voice growing more serious.

Alozie frowned, glancing at her. "What about the Oracle?"

"They say a great prophecy was spoken tonight, at the sacred grounds of Njemanze," she said, her tone dropping to a whisper as though the trees might overhear. "Something about a child born of the earth who will either save or destroy Umudike."

Alozie felt a strange chill creep down his spine. Prophecies were not to be taken lightly, especially when the Oracle herself was involved. He had heard stories of her visions coming true, and they were rarely simple or straightforward. The Oracle spoke in riddles, her words often layered with meaning that only revealed itself in time.

"A child born of the earth?" Alozie repeated, more to himself than to her. "What does that even mean?"

"Who knows?" Olaedo replied, her voice a little too casual. "But it's got everyone on edge. The council is already divided, and if the prophecy points to a new leader rising, well… let's just say things could get ugly."

Alozie nodded, though he felt a deep unease settle in his chest. Umudike was a kingdom on the brink of change, whether they were ready for it or not. But prophecies were not for men like him to worry about. His focus had to be on his family, on survival. The spirits would guide the powerful—he had his own path to walk.

But as they continued toward the village, Alozie couldn't shake the feeling that something larger than himself was at work. He had never been one to believe in fate, but tonight, the forest felt alive with possibilities, as though the earth itself was stirring.

The Night Visions

Alozie lay on the mat in his small, cramped hut, listening to the rhythmic breathing of his mother and siblings in the other corner. The room was dark, save for the faint flicker of the dying fire that cast dancing shadows on the walls. He should have been tired—his body certainly was—but his mind refused to rest.

His thoughts kept returning to the prophecy, to the unease that had clung to him since Olaedo mentioned it. A child born of the earth. The phrase echoed in his mind, strange and unsettling. He couldn't shake the feeling that it meant more than it seemed.

And then, as he closed his eyes, a strange sensation washed over him—like a breeze blowing through the room, though the air was still. The shadows on the walls seemed to grow darker, twisting into unfamiliar shapes. He tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, as though invisible hands were holding him down.

The air grew thick, and suddenly, he was no longer in his hut.

He stood in a vast, open plain, the sky above him dark and swirling with storm clouds. The wind whipped at his face, carrying with it the scent of fire and blood. In the distance, he saw a figure standing alone—a figure bathed in light, though the sky around them was full of darkness.

The figure turned, and though their face was obscured, Alozie could feel their gaze pierce through him. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and a voice—low and rumbling like the sound of distant thunder—echoed across the plain.

"Born of the earth… destined for the sky… You will walk with the gods or fall with the mortals."

Alozie's heart raced. The figure stepped closer, and as they did, the earth beneath them began to crack, splitting open as flames erupted from the ground. The sky roared with the sound of war, and Alozie felt a surge of heat as the flames licked at his feet.

"Choose," the voice commanded. "The path of the gods… or the path of men."

Before he could speak, the vision dissolved, and Alozie jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. The room was silent once more, the fire reduced to embers. He lay there, his heart pounding, the vision still fresh in his mind.

The spirits had spoken to him. And now, there was no turning back.