Consciousness returned to Somadina like the slow ebb of a tide. The first thing he became aware of was the dull ache in his side, a constant throb that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Then came the smells—a blend of herbal remedies, incense, and the earthy scent of clay walls. As his eyes fluttered open, the world gradually came into focus.

Mama G was scowling at someone when he fully awakened. Her weathered face was creased with annoyance, eyes sharp despite her advanced age. It was Obinze, one of her many grandchildren, whom she had caught peeking through the door, eyes as wide as a plate. The boy's curiosity was as palpable as it was shameless and his gaze darted between Somadina and his grandmother.

Somadina stared for a moment as Mama G began to berate Obinze, her voice a low, controlled rumble of displeasure but the words washed over him, not really registering. He turned away, disinterested. He didn't even react when she called the unfortunate boy a "goat with rocks for brains," a colourful insult that would normally have amused him. All he wanted was to stay where he was and do nothing.

Mama G cut off her tirade when another woman entered, though the look she gave Obinze promised that this was not the end of it. The boy scurried away, the patter of his bare feet on the clay floor fading quickly.

Somadina watched through half-lidded eyes as the new arrival approached. She moved with the quiet confidence of a healer, her steps measured and purposeful. The monkey tattoo of the clan adorned her neck, the intricate design a mark of her belonging and status. As she drew closer, Somadina could see the faint shimmer of anwansi around her hands—a sign of her readiness to use the clan’s signature healing magic at a moment's notice.

The woman examined his side with practised efficiency, her touch gentle but firm. Somadina still had to suppress a slight hiss as she probed the area where the Direbeast had struck him.

"How is it?" asked Mama G, peering closer. Her earlier irritation had been replaced by genuine concern, though she tried to mask it with her usual gruff demeanour.

"Healing quickly." The healer's voice was tinged with surprise. She unwrapped the rest of the bandages, revealing skin that was far less damaged than it should have been. She raised an eyebrow at the thin scar there, her expression a mix of confusion and professional interest. "Too quickly. I thought you said he was unbonded."

"So I did." Mama G's fiery gaze landed on Somadina, pinning him in place more effectively than any physical restraint. There was a glint in her eyes—not anger, but a keen, probing curiosity that made Somadina feel as if she could see right through him. "Somadina. Could you explain?"

Somadina hesitated, his mind racing. The events of the past few days swirled in his thoughts, a chaotic mix of terror, loss, and newfound power. He wondered if he should reveal everything. But then he glanced up and saw Mama G's expression—a blend of concern, curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite place—and decided that answering was the best option.

He took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pull on his injured side, and began his tale. He told them that he had been hunting when he found a torn scroll. His voice grew more animated as he described noticing that it contained the recipe for an Ancestral Seed. Realising what it was, he had created one, and taken it when the Direbeasts attacked.

As he spoke, Somadina carefully avoided telling them about the cave or the stash it contained. Mama G was fine and all, but he wasn't about to hand over knowledge of something like that. Some secrets, he felt, were best kept close.

When he finished, a heavy silence fell over the room. Mama G and the healer exchanged a significant look, years of working together allowing them to communicate volumes without a word.

“Well,” said Mama G when he was done. “That was incredibly foolish.”

“Indeed,” the woman agreed. "You don't just take something like that without supervision. What if the recipe was wrong? Or not even for an Ancestral Seed at all? You could have poisoned yourself." She scowled at him, but there was worry behind her stern expression. "And how does one randomly find something like that anyway?"

Mama G's eyes took on a distant look, as if seeing beyond the confines of the room. "The Forest is ancient, Nneka. Far older than our village," she said thoughtfully, her voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller. "From the way he described it, it sounded like he discovered part of a Firstborn scroll. Perhaps some clan previously settled in the Forest. If it wasn't for the Aberrations and soul beasts, it would make a serviceable home."

She considered Somadina, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Go, Nneka. I'll look after him. I imagine he has a lot of questions."

Nneka bowed, the movement graceful and practised. "Yes, honoured Matriarch." With a last concerned glance at Somadina, she left the room, her footsteps fading into silence.

Somadina watched her leave, then turned to Mama G who sat by his bedside, waiting patiently. The weight of unasked questions hung in the air between them. And he did have many—so many that they seemed to tangle in his mind, each vying for attention. But now that he had the opportunity to have them answered, it was hard deciding which to ask first.

To buy himself time, he looked around the room, taking in details he had missed earlier. The clay walls, polished with water until they gleamed, indicated that he was in the Ancestral Hall, the oldest building in Omata. This was where the village's leaders resided and the only structure remaining in the village that was built in the old style of clay walls and palm leaf roofing.

A single, palm oil lamp flickered underneath the lone window, casting a warm, orange glow over everything. The light danced on the walls, creating shifting shadows that seemed almost alive and the window itself opened out to darkness, a faint purpling in the distance telling him that dawn wasn't too far off.

Somadina spared a moment of worry for the open window—memories of the Direbeast attack still fresh in his mind—but a glance at the walls around it revealed several warding scripts. The intricate symbols glowed faintly with power, a reassuring barrier against the dangers of the night. No mosquitoes or Direlings would be entering through there.

Somadina returned his attention to Mama G. Now that he had thought about it, there was a pressing question, something that had immediately come to mind when he woke. He considered it, weighing the implications, then asked instead:

"Matriarch? Why didn't you tell me?"

Mama G's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it settled back into its usual inscrutable expression. "Would it have changed anything if you knew?" she counter-asked, flexing her fingers in a gesture Somadina now recognized as a habit when she was thinking deeply. "Very few people outside this village know. Certainly not the other clans. Not only is it tactically sound to hide the identity of your clan's strongest member, but it also allows you to get an accurate read of people if they believe you're just an old woman."

"A grumpy one," Somadina interjected, a ghost of his usual humour surfacing briefly.

Mama G glared at him, then let her features relax into a small smile. "Yes. I suppose I am."

Somadina gave her a quick smile in return, then let it fade. The weight of everything that had happened settled back on him, and he found himself asking the question he both dreaded and needed to know the answer to.

"You're an Ordained." It wasn't a question.

"I am," came the calm reply.

"Which means your spiritual perception is good?" Somadina pressed, his heart beginning to race.

"More than good." Mama G's voice was gentle now, sensing the direction of his thoughts.

"Ok." He gathered himself, steeling his nerves for what he was about to ask. "Can... Can you tell me exactly what happened to her?"

Mama G mulled it over, her expression grave. "I can. But I think it would be best to hold it off until you see her. We can do it when you are ready."

Somadina sat up immediately, shaking his head when Mama G made to stop him. "I'm ready. She died protecting me. It's the least I could do."

The old Matriarch hesitated, clearly torn between protecting him and respecting his wishes. After a moment of internal debate, she nodded once and held out an arm. Somadina took it and staggered to his feet, ignoring the sharp spike of pain that lanced out from his side. The arm switched positions, encircling him, and he leaned on her gratefully as they walked out into a hallway.

The corridor was dark, save for a few patches of light cast by more of the palm oil lanterns. The flickering flames created an almost dreamlike atmosphere, as if they were walking through a realm between worlds. A group of whispering dibias looked up as they approached, their conversations dying away at the sight of the Matriarch. They bowed deeply, a gesture of respect and perhaps a touch of fear, before melting away after opening a door behind them.

Somadina paused at the entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, the scent of incense and herbs filling his lungs, and went in.

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The chamber beyond was a little bigger than the room he'd been in, its atmosphere heavy with solemnity and power. Clusters of glowshrooms sat in multiple alcoves in the walls, their soft, ethereal light creating a serene ambiance. Stalks of aether-roses hung down from the ceiling, raining down golden-yellow motes over everything. The magical pollen drifted lazily through the air, creating an otherworldly effect.

But Somadina only had eyes for the bundle resting on the platform in the middle of the chamber. Time seemed to slow as he moved forward, each step feeling like an eternity.

Someone had dressed her in a white gown, the fabric seeming to glow in the soft light of the chamber. Her hands were wrapped over her chest, fingers intertwined as if in prayer. She could have been sleeping, if not for the grey pallor to her skin—a stark reminder of the life that had fled.

Somadina stared at the shattered soulmark on her neck, the sight of which drove home the finality of what had happened, and he felt a lump form in his throat.

"What happened to her?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mama G's reply was equally soft, her tone gentle but matter-of-fact. "She overloaded her anwansi channels," she explained. "It's normally impossible to do so unless you are trying to break into a new rank, and even then it's more likely that you would drain your core long before you even stressed them. But hers was broken."

She paused, her next words careful and measured. "From my examination, while the damage was extensive, it could have been treated earlier, before it deteriorated to that level."

The implications of her words hung heavy in the air. Somadina felt a mix of emotions wash over him—grief, guilt, and a burning need to understand more. He turned to Mama G.

“Would you have?”

“What?”

“Would you have treated her if she had asked?”

“Of course!” Mama G replied, indignant. “We would not have turned her away. I would not have turned her away.”

She speared him with a look. “The Rush belongs to this village by rights. We let you stay there because your mother would not take the house we offered her here. She held an immense dislike for villages and considering what happened to her, I don’t blame her. There was no point in giving you access to our Ancestral Tree without a Firstborn scroll to accompany it and I never offered you ours because I knew you’d be unable to use it. Not even if we made you members. You have to be a native by blood. That’s how it works.”

Somadina let his gaze drop to the floor, head bowed in shame. What could you say to that? Mama G glared some more before snorting and turning to leave, voice dropping to a whisper as she said: “We felt it you know. The moment she saved you.”

“Why?”

“It’s rare for techniques to be felt a considerable distance from where it's performed. It’s usually because of one of two things. Either the person performing it is at least a Mystic and they want it to be felt.”

Mystic? That was new. But Somadina was not in the mood to pursue that line of information.

“Or?”

“Or the dibia in question broke through. We all felt it Somadina, because, for a single moment, your mother was Ordained.”

With that, she left him alone with his thoughts and the woman who had given him so much. Including her life.

***

The burial took place a few hours after dawn, when the sun had climbed just high enough to bathe the Rush in a soft, golden light, but not yet hot enough to sting. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, sweet aroma of wildflowers that dotted the clearings between the towering baobab trees. Somadina stood at the edge of the freshly dug grave, his feet sinking slightly into the rich, dark soil. Beside him, Obinze's presence was a silent comfort, their shoulders nearly touching. A small gathering of villagers formed a loose semicircle around them, their faces etched with the solemnity of the occasion.

Mama G, her weathered face a map of wrinkles earned through years of laughter and sorrow, stepped forward. Her vibrant, patterned cloth stood out against the muted greens and browns of the Rush, a testament to the Oreze people's love of colour even in times of mourning. In her gnarled hands, she held a branch from a sacred iroko tree, its leaves rustling softly in the breeze as if whispering ancient secrets.

"From ash, we were born," Mama G began, her voice carrying the weight of generations of tradition, "and to ash, we will return."

She turned to Somadina, then, and handed him the branch. At his touch, it ignited with a crimson flame that danced and flickered, casting shifting shadows across Somadina's face. He looked down at the grave, his throat tight with unshed tears.

"Goodbye, mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves. With a trembling hand, he let the branch fall.

The moment the burning wood touched the carefully prepared pyre, flames erupted in a dazzling display. Somadina and the others stepped back, the heat washing over them in waves. The fire seemed to have a life of its own, reaching hungrily towards the sky as it consumed the earthly remains of Kambili.

But it wasn't just fire that rose from the pyre. As the flames grew higher, they began to change colour, shifting from deep red to brilliant white, then to soft pink and vibrant green. The anwansi—the magical essence—that Kambili had gathered throughout her life was released, mixing with the fire in a spectacular fusion of natural and supernatural elements.

Mama G began to sing, her voice cracked with age but still strong, and the other villagers joined in, their voices blending in a haunting harmony that seemed to resonate with the very trees around them. After a moment of hesitation, Somadina added his own voice to the chorus, hoarse with emotion but determined to honour his mother's memory.

As they sang, the sky above them became a canvas of shifting colours, the released anwansi creating patterns and shapes that danced and swirled overhead, as if Kambili's spirit was painting one final masterpiece for her son.

The group stayed with Somadina until the last of the flames had died down, leaving behind only ash and embers and together, they covered the grave with the dark, rich soil of the Rush.

As the others began to drift away, Mama G approached Somadina. Her joints creaked audibly as she placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder, but her grip was still strong. "Your mother is gone," she said, her voice low and filled with compassion. "But you are still here. I know it may feel like it, but this is not the end of the world."

She hesitated, her eyes searching Somadina's face. "You still won't be able to read our scroll and bond with our clan's Firstborn. But you have an active core now. You could come with me. Mother knows I need an assistant, and we can work on building something for you. It has been done before."

Somadina turned his gaze from the freshly covered grave to meet Mama G's eyes. "Thank you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But I can't accept your offer. I know I'd be happy with you, and I know I'd grow stronger as well. But if I stay, I'll never be powerful enough to ensure no one else has to go through the pain of losing someone to an Aberration. I must find my own path. And I can't do that here, where all the roads are as familiar to me as the back of my hand."

Mama G sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years and reached into the folds of her wrapper, pulling out a package wrapped in leaves and pressing it into Somadina's hands.

"I expected you'd say something like that. Very well, I've gathered a few things you'll find useful on your journey."

Her voice took on a more serious tone as she continued, "If it's strength you're looking for, you'll want to head for the Tower of Plenty. It's an old edifice from when the Firstborn and the Arushis walked Oreze all those years ago. It opens once every ten years or so and the time for this decade's opening is near."

"It's a dangerous journey," Mama G warned, "and the Tower itself is even more so. But you have a knack for surviving perilous situations. I'm sure you'll be fine." She smiled at him, a mixture of pride and concern in her eyes. "Train hard, Somadina. When next I see you, I want you to be far stronger than me."

Somadina nodded, squeezing her fingers in gratitude. Then she too was gone, striding towards the village with a speed that should not have been possible for one her age. He watched her go for a few minutes, then turned into the tree, half expecting to find his mother there, her eyes staring past him into nothingness. But the room was empty, save for the few belongings that were now his, and his satchel, which a villager had thoughtfully brought over for him.

The familiar scent of herbs and smoke that had always clung to their home now seemed faded, as if Kambili's absence had already begun to erase her presence from the world. Somadina's eyes fell on the book he had found in the Forest, still safely tucked inside his satchel. He was grateful he wouldn't have to return to that place to retrieve it; the memory of his encounter with the Aberration was still too fresh, too raw.

With a heavy heart, Somadina began to pack. It didn't take long; his possessions were few. Into his satchel went the book and the cypher stone, along with the clothes and provisions Mama G had given him. As he worked, his mind raced with thoughts of the journey ahead. The Tower of Plenty was a place of legend, a relic from an age when magic and might ruled the land. What secrets might he uncover there? What dangers would he face?

His packing complete, Somadina stood and cast one last look around the room that had been his entire world for so long. He tried to fix every detail in his mind: the walls of bark that sometimes grew moss if the rains were particularly heavy that season; the dug-out fireplace by the corner where he had first learned to cook and where Kambili had first taught him to read and write, using the soot left over from their cooking; the beds, woven from cotton fibres and bamboo shoots, that had cradled him through countless nights.

It was as his gaze swept over his mother's bed that Somadina paused. There, barely visible beneath the bedding, was a small lump that he was certain hadn't been there before. Frowning, he bent closer and gently pulled back the covering.

What he found made his breath catch in his throat. It was a necklace, circular, with thin lines running around a transparent gemstone that seemed to capture and refract the light in mesmerising patterns. The necklace was wrapped around a folded piece of paper, its relative cleanliness an indicator of its recent age.

With trembling hands, Somadina unfolded the paper and began to read:

My dearest Somadina,

If you're reading this, then I'm most likely dead. It is not surprising to me, though it may be to you. I've known for quite some time that I've been living on borrowed time. I should have died that day with your father and the rest of my clan. Only you made life worth living. But I can feel myself slipping more and more. The fog getting harder and harder to fight through every day. I know that one day, I will fade and be unable to return, to tell you just how much of a blessing you've been.

I've held on as long as I have so I could watch you grow. And what a fine young man you've become. With me out of the way, you'll be free to achieve the greatness I saw in you from the moment I first held you in my arms. My only request is that you maintain that kindness in your heart. It is so rare among the powerful.

I leave to you the betrothal necklace your father gave to me. It is the last thing I have of him and our clan. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you much in life. But if there is an existence after this one, know that I'll be with you all the days of your life.

Farewell, my son. And may the fates treat you better than they did me.

I love you.

Your mother, Kambili.

For a long moment, Somadina did nothing but stare at the letter, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. There were so many things he could have done in that moment. He could have raged against the unfairness of it all, flinging things about the room in a fit of grief-stricken anger. He could have screamed his pain to the heavens, letting his anguish echo through the Rush.

Instead, he cradled both the necklace and the letter to his heart, sinking to his knees as the tears finally began to fall and the devastation descended upon him like a wave unending.

***

Necklace around his neck and bag slung across his shoulders, Somadina left the Rush when the moon was high in the sky, pausing only a moment, to give a final glance to the baobab tree that had been his home for the past eighteen years.