chapter three

The days crawled by, each one heavier than the last.

I couldn't shake the feeling of something unseen, something watching.

Everywhere I went, I felt it the weight of invisible eyes, the faint brush of something against my skin when no one was near. Even the wind carried whispers, soft and teasing, like fingers tracing down my spine.

I barely ate. I barely spoke.

Chuka noticed first.

"Are you okay?" He asked one afternoon, frowning as I sat outside, staring blankly at the trees.

"I'm fine," I lied, forcing a smile.

He didn't believe me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

If only he knew.

Each night, I lay awake, gripping my sheets, my heart racing at every sound. I prayed—God, please, don't let this be real. Don't let him come for me.

But I knew.

I knew.

The sixth day was coming.

And when it did—

I wouldn't be able to run.

The sun set too quickly that day.

I wanted to beg it to stay, to stretch out the last moments of light, to keep me safe in its warmth. But darkness came, swallowing the village in thick shadows.

My stomach twisted.

I had been living in fear for days. Always looking over my shoulder. Always listening for whispers that weren't there.

And now, it was here.

The sixth day.

I felt sick.

"Adaora!" My grandmother's voice rang from inside. "Go and fetch palm oil from Nne Ugo's house before it gets too late!"

I stiffened.

"Nna m, let Ifunanya go instead," I called back, voice tight.

"You are the one standing there doing nothing. Go now!"

I hesitated, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I didn't want to go. I couldn't go.

But saying no to Grandma wasn't an option.

Swallowing hard, I grabbed my wrapper and stepped out into the night.

---

The path was too quiet.

Too still.

The moon sat high in the sky, casting long shadows through the trees. My sandals scuffed against the dirt, the only sound in the empty road.

I walked quickly, clutching my hands to my chest.

Then—

Crunch.

I froze.

A rustling sound came from behind.

Leaves shifting. Twigs snapping.

Someone is there.

I turned sharply.

Nothing.

Only the trees swaying gently.

I swallowed and kept walking, faster this time.

But the sound followed me.

Crunch. Crunch.

Closer.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Stop it. Please, stop it.

"Who is there?" My voice was barely a whisper.

The trees didn't answer.

The wind picked up, carrying something with it. A laugh. Soft. Echoing.

My stomach twisted painfully.

"Stop... please," I whispered, my throat tight.

Then—

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

Even the crickets stopped singing.

Even the wind stopped blowing.

The weight of the air changed.

It pressed down on me, heavy, thick, like I was sinking into something unseen.

Then, right next to my ear—

"Nkem."

I screamed.

I didn't wait.

Didn't look.

Didn't breathe.

I ran.

Feet pounding against the dirt, heart slamming against my ribs, breath burning in my throat.

I didn't stop.

Not when my legs screamed in pain.

Not when I tripped over a stone and nearly fell.

Not until I reached home, bursting through the door, gasping for air.

Grandmother turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "Gịnị? What is wrong with you?"

I couldn't speak.

I couldn't think.

I could only hear it—

That voice.

That name.

Whispered just for me.

"Nkem."

And I knew.

I knew.

He was coming.

The night was heavy.

Too heavy.

Like the sky itself had settled on my chest, pressing down, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I couldn't sleep.

I didn't want to.

Yet, my body betrayed me.

A strange weakness crawled into my bones, dragging me down, down, down.

And before I could fight it—

I was gone.

When my eyes opened, I was not in my room.

Not in my bed.

Not even in my world.

I was standing in white.

An endless, shifting whiteness stretched in all directions.

No ground beneath my feet.

No sky above.

Just emptiness.

Then—

"Bịa..."

A voice, deep and ancient, rippled through the emptiness like a wave.

"Bịa, Nkem..."

"Come, my own."

I wanted to turn back.

But my feet moved forward.

I wasn't in control anymore.

The whiteness began to change.

To ripple.

To darken.

A sound, soft at first, slithered into my ears.

Singing.

Low voices, melodic, hypnotic.

Then—

Drums.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Thunderous, shaking the air.

And before me, the river appeared.

Dark. Endless. Alive.

A shape rose from the currents.

Not a man. Not a beast.

The river itself.

Towering. Massive.

His form shifted with the waves, his body made of cascading water, stretching, shifting, endless.

The current of the river was his veins.

The crashing waves were his breath.

The depths below were his bones.

He was the river, and the river was him.

And he was waiting for me.

The drumming grew faster.

The singing grew louder.

More voices joined in high-pitched, guttural, whispering, wailing.

Some spoke words I could not understand.

Some laughed.

Some moaned.

Some wept.

They were everywhere.

Dancing. Gliding over the water.

Creatures, not human.

They wore white wrappers, their hair long and dripping wet, eyes glowing like the moon.

Some had webbed fingers.

Some had glistening scales.

Some had mouths too wide, filled with needle-like teeth.

"Tonight is the night!" someone sang.

"Tonight, we take our bride!"

"Nkem... my own... come to me."

My feet moved on their own.

I tried to stop.

I couldn't.

I was floating now, drawn deeper, my body weightless, the river rising up to welcome me.

And then—

A scream.

But not of terror.

Of joy.

I turned and saw her.

A woman, old, her face lined with centuries, her body half-submerged in the water.

Her legs were gone.

In their place tentacles, long and sinuous, twisting through the river, gliding like an octopus.

Or was it a tail?

A monstrous mass of fins and scales, shifting between forms as she danced, twirling, laughing.

"Ọ bịala! She has come!" she cried, clapping her webbed hands.

The river people cheered.

The drums thundered.

The chanting rose higher.

"Bịa nwunye anyi!"

"Come, our bride!"

The air vibrated with power.

I was floating toward him.

Toward the Water King.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to scream.

But his hand made of water, yet solid as iron wrapped around my arm.

A hush fell.

The drums stopped.

The singing faded.

The air crackled.

Then, a voice low, commanding.

"Listen."

They obeyed.

Not a single ripple disturbed the river.

The old woman swayed forward, her glowing eyes on mine.

"Anyị ga-akọkọta ha."

"We will bind them."

I thrashed.

"No! No! Let me go!"

The priest stepped forward.

His eyes were black voids, his skin smooth like polished stone.

He carried a knife.

Ancient. Rusted. Curved like a serpent's fang.

My breath shook.

I struggled.

I begged.

"Biko! No! Please!"

But they only smiled.

The knife pressed against my palm.

A sharp sting.

Warm blood spilled.

The river drank it.

Then—

A second cut.

His hand.

His blood mingled with mine.

The water glowed.

The river shuddered.

The old woman laughed.

The creatures howled in joy.

The Water King leaned close.

His voice, the voice of the deep—

"You are mine."

I gasped.

The world ripped apart.

I was back.

In my room.

My body drenched in sweat.

My hands shaking.

I looked down.

My palm.

The cut was still there.

A mark.

A claim.

A bond.

And from the corner of the room—

I heard the drums.

I pressed my hands over my ears, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. But it didn't stop.

The drums were inside me now.

A rhythm pulsing through my veins, threading into my very bones.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

It was not a sound meant for human ears it was a call, a command, vibrating through my chest like a second heartbeat.

I scrambled back against the bed, my fingers curling into the sheets. My room was the same, but something felt wrong.

The air was thick, humid, carrying the scent of the river salt, earth, something deep and ancient.

My window was open.

I was sure I had closed it before I went to bed.

A cold gust of wind slithered through, carrying the whisper of water against rocks.

And then—

A shadow moved.

I saw it, just outside the window. A shape too tall, too still.

Watching.

Waiting.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. My pulse pounded against my skin, mirroring the distant drumbeat.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

I knew who it was.

I didn't need to see his face to know.

He had followed me.

He was here.

And the bond had already begun to tighten.

He was here.

In my room.

Water pooled at his feet, soaking into the wooden floor. The scent of the river clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

But he did not move.

He stood there, his form shifting like the currents, his eyes deep, endless, watching.

I didn't wait.

I ran.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. My trembling legs pushed me forward, past the open window, past the swirling mist creeping into my room.

I burst through the door.

The hallway was dark.

The air thick.

The walls felt too close, as if they were pressing in, trying to trap me.

I didn't care.

I ran straight for the one place that made sense—

My brother's room.

For the first time.

I nearly stumbled into Osy's door. Pushed it open.

He was still on the mattress, sprawled out in the dim light.

"Osy!" I hissed, scrambling toward him.

No response.

I shoved his shoulder.

"Osy, wake up!"

He stirred with a groggy groan, blinking sluggishly.

"What—?"

I looked over my shoulder.

The doorway was empty.

He was gone.

But the wind still howled.

The scent of river water still clung to my skin.

Osy frowned, rubbing his face. "Why are you shaking?"

I couldn't answer.

I didn't know how.

"What is it?" he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Nothing," I whispered. "Just shift."

He sighed but scooted over.

I didn't wait.

I slid onto the mattress beside him, pulling the blanket over myself.

Osy turned onto his side, already half-asleep again.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Tried to breathe.

Tried to forget.

But as I lay there, heart racing, hand throbbing

I felt it.

A faint, lingering presence.

Not inside the room.

Inside me.

Like a tide pulling at the edges of my soul.

The bond had taken root.