chapter two

I had barely taken three steps out of the water when I heard it.

"Nkem! Come here joor!"

I froze. My heart lurched in my chest as I turned toward the voice.

Ifunanya stood on the village bridge, arms folded, her brows furrowed in irritation.

I swallowed hard, forcing my breath to steady. I didn't want her to see how shaken I was.

She marched closer. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"You know we do not go to that village stream anyhow, right?" she said, her voice dropping lower. "Something could hurt you."

The words sent a fresh wave of unease through me.

"Sorry. I won't do it again," I mumbled.

Ifunanya sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Let's go."

I followed her without a word, sneaking one last glance at the river. The water was calm again, its surface undisturbed. Yet, deep inside, I felt something… lingering.

Nightfall

When we got home, I went straight to the kitchen. The scent of roasted yam filled the air, but I had no appetite. My hands moved automatically as I helped prepare food, my mind elsewhere.

That voice… that whisper…

That night, I lay on my mat, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the wooden window, casting silver streaks across the room. The distant croaking of frogs and the rustling of palm trees outside should have been comforting, but they weren't.

I couldn't stop thinking about the river. About the way the water clung to me like unseen fingers. About the way it called to me.

I shook my head and turned, trying to block out the feeling. But as soon as my eyes shut, I was pulled under.

---

A Place Between Worlds

Laughter.

Deep. Echoing. Not human.

I opened my eyes and gasped.

I was back at the river.

But this wasn't the same stream I had played in earlier. The water was too still, too dark, stretching endlessly like a liquid night sky. The air smelled of something rich palm wine, earth after heavy rain, something else I couldn't name.

I turned, heart pounding.

"Nkem…"

I froze.

The voice slithered through the air like a whisper against my skin. It was rich, deep, and possessive. Like someone who had always known me.

I tried to move, but my feet were submerged. The water had risen to my knees without me noticing. It wasn't cold it was warm, almost like a touch, a caress.

"Who's there?" My voice barely came out.

Laughter again. Closer.

The water rippled ahead of me. Then, slowly, a figure emerged.

At first, I could only make out the silhouette of broad shoulders, the curve of a strong jaw. Long hair floated around him, as though he wasn't just standing in the water he was part of it.

Then, I saw his eyes.

They glowed like the depths of the ocean—black, but shifting, like something ancient watched me from beneath.

"My love," he said smoothly, the words sending shivers down my spine. "Come to me."

I shook my head, my breath hitching. "No…"

He smiled. A slow, knowing smile.

"Do not fear me. I have waited for you for so long."

Drums sounded in the distance. Slow, deliberate beats that matched the frantic pounding of my heart.

Then, the voices started.

They rose from the water itself, singing in Igbo, ancient and hypnotic.

"Ọ m bụ nke gị…" (You are mine…)

"Ọ gaghị ekwe omume ịgbapụ…" (You cannot escape…)

"Ọdụm mmiri agwala gi…" (The lion of the water has spoken…)

I clutched my head, the words pressing into my skull, into my very soul.

"Stop!" I screamed.

Everything went still.

The drumming. The singing. The wind. Even the water around me froze.

Then—

"In six days' time, we will join the bond."

His voice was the only thing left in the world. It curled around me, dark and unshakable.

"Be ready."

A strong hand brushed against my cheek, burning even though it was cold.

Then I fell.

Down, down, into the endless dark—

And woke up gasping.

I woke up gasping, my chest rising and falling rapidly as if I had been running. The room was dark, except for the dim moonlight sneaking through the wooden shutters. My skin felt damp, sticky with sweat, yet the room wasn't hot. I turned my head, my pulse still racing.

Ifunanya stirred beside me, raising her head slightly. She arched a brow but said nothing before turning over and going back to sleep. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I wanted to wake her up, tell her about the dream no, the nightmare but something stopped me.

A deep, lingering fear.

If I spoke about it, I would make it real.

So, I shut my eyes tightly, pressing myself closer to Ifunanya, seeking warmth. But even with her beside me, I felt it.

A presence. Watching. Waiting.

The Market and the Woman Who Knew

Morning came with the scent of wood smoke and frying akara. I pushed my dream to the back of my mind and rushed to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling. My grandmother was already up, stirring a pot of yam porridge while my aunts bustled around, talking in fast Igbo.

By noon, I followed my cousin and younger sister to the village market. The air was thick with the scent of roasted corn, ripe plantains, and fresh palm oil. Stalls lined the dusty road, overflowing with vegetables, dried fish, and woven baskets.

I was beginning to feel like myself again, laughing as Chuka haggled over the price of kola nuts. But as we walked deeper into the market, an uneasy feeling returned.

Then,

An old woman, her back slightly bent with age, her wrapper tied tightly around her waist. Her eyes sharp, too knowing locked onto me the moment we passed.

She muttered something under her breath, her hands moving in a slow, deliberate motion, as though tracing something in the air.

Then, her lips parted.

"It is you."

I stopped abruptly. My skin prickled.

"Gịnị?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. (What?)

She just smiled.

Chuka and Ifunanya looked at her, then at me, confused.

When I reached into my small purse to pay for the dried pepper we had picked, she shook her head.

"No need to pay, nwaanyi mmiri." (Water woman.)

Then, in a voice too soft for the others to hear—

"Our bride."

A chill ran down my spine.

Ifunanya and my cousin exchanged glances, their brows furrowing.

"Kedu ihe ọ na-ekwu?" Chuka asked, frowning. (What is she saying?)

I forced a laugh, shaking my head. "Nothing—she's just being nice."

But I knew it wasn't just kindness.

The old woman's gaze lingered on me as we left, her lips curled in a knowing smile.

On our way home, we passed the old village bridge the same one I had crossed last night when I first saw the river.

A cool breeze swept over me, making the fine hairs on my arms rise.

Then, I heard it.

"Nkem..."

The voice curled around my ear like a breath.

I spun around so fast that Ifunanya bumped into me.

"Kedu ihe?" she asked, rubbing her arm. (What is it?)

I stared at the bridge, at the slow-moving river below. Nothing was there.

Nothing... except a strange ripple on the water's surface, as though someone had just whispered my name across it.

I swallowed hard, gripping my basket tighter.

"Nothing," I mumbled.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

I wasn't alone.

By the time we reached home, the sky was a deep shade of indigo. Lanterns flickered in the courtyard, casting long shadows against the cracked walls. The smell of burning firewood mixed with the aroma of bitterleaf soup, but my appetite was gone.

I went through the motions helping in the kitchen, setting the plates, ignoring Chuka's teasing. But my mind was elsewhere, stuck on the voice.

When night fell, I lay on my mat, staring at the rafters. The village was alive with the usual sounds of night the distant hoot of an owl, the rustling of palm fronds in the wind.

Then, the laughter started.

It was soft at first.

A giggle.

A child's voice? A woman? No... several voices. Layered, rippling through the air like a song.

Then—

"Nkem..."

I sat up so fast my head spun.

A cold breeze slipped through the window, carrying the scent of something sweet—saltwater and flowers.

I turned my head slowly.

My breath hitched.

I wasn't in my room anymore.

I was standing in the middle of the river.

Water lapped at my ankles, cool and welcoming.

The night sky stretched endlessly above, stars swirling like they were alive. The air buzzed with unseen energy, something old, something powerful.

Then, I heard it again.

"My love... come to me

The voice was like velvet, thick with warmth yet laced with something ancient. It was neither pleading nor commanding it simply was. A force. A presence.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry despite the water swirling around me. My heart pounded against my ribs, a warning, a desperate signal that I should run.

But my feet remained rooted.

The river stretched endlessly, its surface smooth as glass except for where the water lapped at my skin. The night air hummed with something unseen, something powerful, as if the world itself was waiting.

Then, the water shifted.

A ripple.

A disturbance.

Something moved beneath the surface.

I gasped, stumbling back, my legs dragging through the water as I tried to find the shore. But there was no shore. No banks. No trees. Only water and sky.

The ripples grew larger, spreading outward like an unseen hand had brushed against them.

Then, he rose.

At first, he was just a silhouette, dark and towering against the silver-lit water. Then, the moon broke through the clouds, and I saw him.

He was tall, impossibly so, his broad shoulders gleaming with rivulets of water. His skin was deep, dark like the river at night, smooth yet rippling with restrained power. Long, wet locs clung to his face, to the sharp cut of his jawline. His eyes—oh God—his eyes were pools of shifting silver and storm, locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath falter.

"You are even more beautiful up close."

His voice was deep, slow, filled with something that sent a shiver down my spine. He took a step forward, the water parting around him as if it obeyed him.

I tried to move. To step back. But the river held me in place.

"Who... who are you?" My voice came out small, barely more than a whisper.

A slow smile spread across his lips, revealing the sharp glint of teeth too sharp.

"You know me, Nkem. You have always known me."

A sudden gust of wind rushed past, lifting my hair, sending ripples across the water.

The voices started again soft, melodic, chanting in Igbo.

"Ọmụmụ alụkwaghịm..." (The bride is promised...)

"Ndi mmiri nwere ya..." (The water people have her...)

The words sent ice through my veins.

"No... no, that's not true," I stammered.

He tilted his head, watching me with an expression I couldn't decipher.

"You entered my waters. You called to me, whether you knew it or not."

His fingers lifted, barely an inch from my face. I flinched.

"Do not be afraid," he murmured. "I would never harm you."

The river swirled around us, rising, churning as if responding to his emotions.

"In six days, we will join the bond."

The words slammed into me like a tidal wave.

"No!" I gasped, shaking my head violently. "I don't know what you're talking about I don't belong to you!"

His smile didn't fade.

"You always have."

The water surged, rising higher, pressing against my skin.

The drumming grew louder.

The voices swelled, their song spinning around me in layers of possession and fate.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Then—

Silence.

I gasped as my body jerked awake.

The familiar, dim glow of the lantern flickered in the corner of the room. Ifunanya's soft breathing filled the space beside me, undisturbed. The night outside was still, the wind no longer carrying whispers.

But I could still feel it.

The water. The heat of his gaze. The weight of his words.

In six days, we will join the bond.

I gripped my sheets, my entire body trembling.

He was real.

And he was coming for me.