Chapter 4: The Scars that Summon

The smoke never left Obinna's chest. Not the scent. Not the memory. Not even the sting that curled behind his ribs like a second heartbeat. He had walked miles back to the village—what remained of it. Not because he thought there was something to save, but because the earth itself remembered. The land didn't forget the footprints of its children, even when those children returned carrying blood in their shadows.

His old home had been a square of charred wood and silence. Now, it was nothing.

No roof. No altar. Just stones half-sunk into blackened soil and an iron cooking pot warped by fire. He stood in what used to be their compound and let the silence bleed into him. Not even the birds cried here anymore.

He crouched beside the yam field—what had once fed ten families. The soil was dead. His hand brushed over a faint glint beneath the ash. A child's bracelet. Woven with blue and white beads.

Amaka's.

His throat tightened. His fingers curled around it, knuckles whitening.

A breeze came—not gentle, not playful. It dragged heat with it, and whispers.

"You should not have come back," said a voice behind him.

He turned without rising.

Mama Ugo.

She stood barefoot on the scorched earth like it still belonged to her. Her wrapper was old and stained with herbs and ash. Her left arm ended in a clean stump, wrapped in a faded strip of cloth. Her eyes—still clear, still sharp—held stories that Obinna was only beginning to understand.

"I had to," he said quietly.

She lowered herself beside him with effort, her body thin but unbroken. "They will come again. Not the soldiers—something older. The land saw what you did. So did they."

Obinna didn't answer.

She stared ahead. "The gods aren't silent anymore. They speak to each other through smoke now. And your blood listens."

He turned toward her slowly. "The gods?"

She nodded once. "Not the white man's god. Not the ones with collars and pulpits. I mean the old ones. The gods whose names were carved into drums, not books. They are watching."

A long silence.

She reached into her satchel and brought out a small gourd. Snakes were carved around its base, and its mouth was sealed with wax and cloth.

"This is Oji-Eke," she said. "The Black Kola. Your mother took it once, before she bore you. You drink it, you'll see what sleeps inside your bones."

Obinna stared at it. "What if I don't like what I see?"

"Then you fight it."

She passed it to him.

He opened the gourd. The scent was thick and metallic. He drank.

The world cracked.

His body fell, but his soul didn't land.

He tumbled through wind that wasn't wind, through echoes of war drums and whispers. He saw his mother, young and radiant, laughing beneath a moon soaked in red. He saw his father—silent, standing in a circle of soldiers, eyes full of something monstrous.

He saw himself. Burning.

He stood now in a void shaped like Nigeria, but older—carved in runes instead of borders. Nine great gates floated before him, each glowing with a different power:

One of stone and silence.

One of smoke and teeth.

One of blood that glowed.

One of mirrors that wept.

One of iron soaked in honey.

One of sand held by wind.

One of fire wrapped in feathers.

One of bones singing songs.

And one of shadows that prayed.

Behind each gate, a realm pulsed with energy. He felt it in his marrow. He did not belong to one. He belonged to all of them.

Then a voice rang out from the dark.

"Choose what you bleed for."

He reached toward the fire-wrapped gate—but they all vanished before he could choose.

He gasped awake.

The sky had turned to dusk. Mama Ugo was gone. In her place was a folded cloth resting on the stone beside him. Inside was a single black feather, long and warm, glowing faintly with red lines like cracks in lava.

The moment his fingers touched it, a drum sounded in the hills.

Ikoro.

Not a drum of mourning. Not a warning.

A summoning.

The wind shifted. The sky throbbed. Obinna stood slowly, the feather in hand. He looked toward the East—toward the shrine trees, toward the stone path that led up into the hills no one climbed unless they were called.

He did not speak.

The gods had spoken for him.

And far away, the beast that would carry him to the gods had already begun to stir.

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Mini-Dictionary (Chapter 4)

Chi – A person's guiding spiritual essence or destiny soul, central to Igbo cosmology.

Mama Ugo – A wise elder and herbalist of the village, spiritually sensitive and connected to ancient traditions.

Oji-Eke (Black Kola) – A mystical extract used in Igbo rituals to reveal spiritual paths and hidden truths through visions.

Nine Gates – Ancient portals representing different elemental Realms of Power and philosophical forces across a mystical Nigeria.

Summoning Feather – A divine or beast-gifted item that marks a chosen individual for elevation or selection by the gods.

Ikoro – A massive sacred wooden drum used traditionally in Igbo culture to call attention to great events; here, it signals divine summons.

The Realms (Teased) – Realities or dimensions layered over Nigeria, each aligned with a mystical force or forgotten god.