

## The Long Road

C. N. Obinna

Copyright 2018 by C. N. Obinna

This book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One: The Beginning

Chapter Two: Dreams and Nightmares

Chapter Three: The Real Beginning

Chapter Four: Severed Heads don't Talk

Chapter Five: Ala Mmuo

Chapter Six: The thing about Witches

Chapter Seven: Sinister

Chapter Eight: A Gathering of Witches

Chapter Nine: Paranoia

prologue

There was a hut, and it was strange. It was strictly made of red earth, dry on wet days, and glistening wet on dry days. It had a raised thatched roof of dry, brown raffia and a lone, crooked door made of some sort of wood, white and powdering from the termites that lived within. The body of the hut was lined with intricate markings, handmade it seemed, of circular patterns like a rising sun, with sharp edges sticking out of the circle.

The strange aspect of this hut was that no one seemed to notice its presence: when it disappeared or when it reappeared. No one knew who lived in it, how would they? It was just a relic from an age long gone; a neglected structure stuffed beneath thick bushes, fading with time.

So it was strange enough that a little girl stood by the edge of the bush path, clutching a small basket of green oranges. It was even more strange, the fact that the little girl thought she'd seen someone move into the hut. She tried hard to recall what had mother had told her about this hut; nothing. She'd never heard of it.

The wet grass stuck to her bare feet as she wriggled her toes to rid herself of the sticky grasses that lodged between them. She shouldn't be here, she knew that. But there was something about the eerie silence around the hut that made her take a step forward. The grass around her feet gave way, curling back like the slimy eyes of a snail and creating a small space for her next step.

She wondered about this; her mother had once told her about witches and the devil, and the strangeness of the world they lived in. But her mother was dead. She took another step forward, just in time to hear a long, throaty mumble come from within the hut. It didn't sound as scary as she thought it would be. It just felt like an old folk song, or an ancient rhyme being recited. She moved even further, unaware of the path behind her curling and covering up, just as the one before her gave way.

A low creaking sound began to fill the air as the lone door slowly opened inwards, darkness seeping and taking its place. The little girl looked on, still a little distance away from the hut, now without her basket of oranges.

She began to hear a crackling sound, like someone roasting maize over an open fire. She did smell roasted maize. It made her curious, she loved roasted maize.

Not thinking now, like an unsure animal stepping close to a treat placed within a trap, she walked towards the open door. There was indeed a fire deep within the hut–really deep. The hut seemed bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. She was aware of the darkness within the hut and the strange figure hunched over the fire. But she could also see a gauze placed carefully over the fire with a couple of well-roasted maize crackling over it.

"Come on in," a voice said, one she recognized as the throaty, mumbling one.

She stepped back a bit, shocked at the thought of someone living in such a dark place. But the roasted maize.

"Don't be afraid now," the voice said and the hunched figure rose up and approached her. "Do you like stories? I could tell you one." He was standing close to her now, a pale-skinned old man.

She licked her lips and glanced to her side. With a sigh, as if her decision made, she made her move. Just as she placed her foot into the hut, a darkness, like a shadow engulfed her and pulled her in, her scream barely lasting a second. The door of the hut slammed shut, and the only reminder of the girl was the fallen basket of green oranges outside a strange bush path.

CHAPTER ONE

The Beginning

The boy's name was Rami. He stood outside the gates of his school with a brown leather satchel above his head to shield him from the icy drops of rain beginning fall. His eyes searched the road for his parents; they'd forgotten to pick him from school, again.

Maybe they'd been serious when they'd told him he was old enough to walk the distance from his school to the house. He was fourteen, after all. And most of his classmates did it; trekking longer distances and all so seemingly happy and content with it.

But he had that stomach thing, he'd forgotten what the doctor had called it, but his parents had called it excuses. His chest really did hurt whenever he trekked for so long, or ran, and his stomach always felt squeezed like he'd just been punched.

"Still here, Rami?" Jonah, the security on nightshift asked just as he leisurely rolled in his archaic bicycle–which, in truth, was more rusty scrap than a mode of transportation: what had once been shiny, glistening metal was now scaly, brown and ancient; he never did ride it anyway.

Jonah was an albino, especially red on sunny days. His eyes were blue and always narrow, shielded from the sun by big, black glasses. His legs were short with a slight limp and his teeth, whenever he chose to smile, was stained brown. His clothes always hung awkwardly on his frame: his signature clothes being what the school kids called the street man selection: a tattered, oversized coat which had once been black (the best guess), but was now a bleached something-like-ash color, a loose, baggy pants held tightly by a string and a Manchester united jersey (faded, of course).

His shift did not begin for another couple of hours but he was known to wheel in early, to provide ample time for him to smoke his brown tobacco up until his shift began. That way, in his own words, he was sharp and ready. Although it was unclear what he was 'ready' for, as it was highly unlikely for anyone to break into the barely maintained community school, with its broken gates and fences which screamed 'rob me, but don't be disappointed if you don't find anything'.

"Uh, yes. My parents..." Rami paused and stared at Jonah, who seemed dazed as brown smoked drifted out from the side of his curled lip. Rami wondered if it was even allowed, smoking on duty.

"Keeps me sharp and ready," Jonah said, as if he'd read the boy's mind. Rami rolled his eyes; he could have guessed that. He didn't care for Jonah at the moment, he was more worried about the cold rain which seemed relentless and unlikely to stop soon. It was getting late, but he still had two options: wait out the rain in the company of buzzed Jonah, or take his chances with the cold shower.

Rami took a deep breath and leaped into the rain. Jonah leaned up from his small stool and watched as the boy ran (if you could call it that) under the rain. Although all he could probably see was a blurred shape skipping over puddles, and failing at it. He shrugged casually and took a long puff at the crudely made cigarette.

There it was again, Rami thought as he paused to catch his breath; that blasted hammering in his chest. He was completely drenched now, his white school shirt sticking to his body and his orange shorts feeling heavier than normal. He'd taken his shoes off a couple of minutes ago, a burden now to his hands.

The sky seemed to grow darker as he walked. The streets were cleared of any form of traffic; the muddy roads covered with enlarging puddles of equally muddy water. He certainly couldn't walk through that. Empty stores were packed full with blue, tarpaulin-clad okada riders, huddled close to their bikes like penguins waiting out an ice storm–except this time they counted the drops and prayed for the rains to stop.

Giggling children, clad only in a suspiciously-brown, slacked underpants (for those who bothered to wear anything) played under the rain, shouting and splashing and simulating the breaststroke of an Olympic swimmer, inside the muddy pools.

The stone pavements by the side of the road, once gutters, were now eroded and completely unapproachable. The dark clouds lit up with a flash of lightning and a rumble passed through them. It was getting late, Rami thought and turned to a bush path a few feet from where he stood. He'd seen his classmates pass through there; a shortcut, they'd said. He turned to the road ahead, the splitting rain drops blurring his vision and then looked back at the bush path.

The rain made the decision for him and so he turned towards the bush path. As he cut through the wet greens, he suddenly felt alone. He could have run the length of the bush path but his heart was as weak as his Grandpa's motorcycle, maybe even weaker. The fast approaching darkness gave the surrounding bushes a grim look; he'd heard the news about kids disappearing, they'd announced it several times in school. Wasn't that what he'd also told his parents but here he was, trekking through a slightly-waterlogged path, completely vulnerable to kidnappers or whatever it was that made those kids disappear. Maybe they'd just lost their way; gone missing. He suddenly paused as he thought of this. Something was not right.

First, he couldn't feel the raindrops on him as intense as they'd been a few minutes earlier. He looked up and realized that he was under a large tree, with branches spread so wide it covered his view of the sky. He still heard the heavy pattering of raindrops, but it sounded a bit distant, and the pouring had now been reduced to minute drops on his shoulders and eyes, as he looked up.

Second, he noticed that he wasn't on a bush path anymore. He'd strayed, it seemed, off the path and onto a muddy road. He looked around and found the path and with a sigh of relief, he started towards it. He immediately stopped as he heard a shriek. The sound, loud and piercing, sent shivers through him. Someone was in terrible pain, or danger and whatever it was, it certainly must be greater than him. He made to move again.

"Help!" The voice was clearer now, like a child's. The bushes around him began to shake, something or someone was in there. His hand shivered and, blast it, his heart ached as it hammered against his chest. He wasn't used to this much excitement. He heard the voice again, this time followed by a dry thunder clap.

He tried to think. The voice had come from the clearing in front of him, away from the bush path. Surely he could just turn back now and go get help; there definitely were stronger men out there and with stronger hearts, too.

"Helpppp!!" The voice again, even more piercing. As Rami made to move towards the sound, he paused. The voice he'd heard just now, the second one, had sounded nothing like the first. This one was older, shakier, weaker. So there were more than one persons trapped somewhere, in terrible danger. He certainly was no superhero, but he had to do something.

"I'm coming!" He heard himself yell as he began towards the voices. He crossed a large puddle and leaped over a clump of bushes (he really needed to stop with the leaping), and then came upon a large clearing. The air around him was dry, too dry. The ground was also dry, scorched even. There was a loud snapping sound behind him, he turned and realized that the bush behind the path where he'd come through had closed itself up. He was trapped, but he had no idea yet.

"Strange," Rami muttered to himself as he turned around and observed all that came within his view: the shaky trees that seemed to glare down at him, the bright skies that showed no sign of rain and, most importantly, the hut.

Rami had no idea if he was supposed to be afraid or surprised. He certainly could squeeze in both.

"What is this place?" he thought aloud, feeling a draft of warm air against his face. The hut was nothing like the ones he'd seen in books. Granted, this one was made of red mud and also had thatched roof, but nothing in the books mentioned glowing, white markings that moved around like a snake slithering on a wall.

"You came," a voice said from behind him.

Rami gasped and turned around. There was no one there but the voice seemed to be stuck in his head.

"Come on in, young boy," the voice said. "Welcome. You came," it repeated.

"Who..." Rami wanted to speak but paused. This was certainly a dream, there was no point engaging the voice, whatever it was, in any conversation.

"I'm dreaming," he said out loud in the faint hope that the voice would affirm so, and that he'd believe it.

"This is no dream," the voice came, this time from the hut. "Come on in." As it said this, the glowing white markings around the hut swirled and curled and merged into a rectangle, a little above his height, and soon a dark door appeared in its place. The door clicked, like a latch had been unhooked, and slowly creaked open.

Rami shifted his feet and watched as the door opened. He remained still for a moment, then there was a spark inside the hut and a fire started. It was odd, Rami thought, that he suddenly felt the urge to touch the yellow and red flames.

"Come on in," the voice repeated, now a mixture of the child's and the other one.

Rami began a slow movement towards the open hut. The flames danced in such a way that his mouth watered, but it was not the flames; it was what he saw within.

He could feel the heat and even hear the flames. He was barely a few feet from the door when a pair of blood red eyes appeared. He didn't feel afraid for he wasn't himself anymore.

"Closer," the voice urged on and just as he was about to step his foot in, he perceived a foul stench. It was a familiar one: burnt tobacco.

"Wake up, boy," he heard a distant voice and then his eyes slowly opened. His gaze fell upon Jonah, who seemed to lean over him. He chewed on the half burnt tobacco and puffed more smoke on him.

Rami coughed and sat up, "Stop that," he said and coughed some more. The rain still fell but the day was a lot darker now. Jonah stepped back and watched him carefully.

"I remembered what I wanted to tell you," he said and stretched his hand out to Rami, who gripped it. Jonah pulled him up and watched the boy clean the dirt around his knees and elbows.

"Do not take the shortcut."

"Thanks," Rami said, a bit dazed. He tried to remember why he'd been on the ground, and what shortcut?

He turned around and realized that Jonah was no more there. His gaze then fell on the bush path with its curled road. He felt a strange tingling within him, like he'd forgotten something in that path. He turned away and ran home.

CHAPTER TWO

Dreams and Nightmares

Rami had a bored look on his face as his mother fretted over him. His father sat in a corner, eyes glued to the TV as he mumbled some words.

"Boy is just lazy," he said to his wife, Rami's mother.

"You shouldn't have stayed back so late," she said with concern in her voice as she inspected him for injuries, or any changes that could have materialized during his absence.

"I waited for you both," Rami replied and shrugged his mother's hands off. "The rain...you could have just made a change and picked me up at closing time."

His father didn't look away from the TV as he spoke, "Shut up and go to your room. Didn't...eh...what's his name, that boy next door..."

"Meka?" His wife suggested.

"Yes, that one." He said and shifted in his chair, "didn't that boy come home on his own, eh, Rami?"

"Was it a different rain that fell where he was?" He mumbled, "In my days we trekked under the rain, worked under the rain, and sometimes even slept under the rain!"

"That was in your days," Rami shot back, "archaic times."

"What was that?" His father said and sat upright, looking for a moment as if he'd leave the TV. He didn't.

"Thank your God that I can't miss a minute of this game, if not..." his voice trailed off as his focus returned back on the TV.

"Someday I'll disappear. That time..you..you..you'll all see," Rami said, his voice cracked.

His mother gasped and held his arm, "don't say things like that, Rami. Words have power."

Rami grunted, ignoring his mom's whispered pleas, and stormed off to his room. He suddenly felt weak and tired and his chest hurt. When did it never hurt?

As he lay on his bed, he began to have the feeling that something strange (or important) had happened to him, and yet he was unaware of it. He closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep, oblivious of the creeping sound beneath his bed.

°°°°

It started with the voice. A mocking voice, creepy in a weird kind of way. It whispered to him, this voice–reminded him of 'some unfinished business'.

Rami tossed on his bed, his breathing halted and split into short gasp. Sweat trickled down his body, and he felt hot. He also felt cold–really cold, deep within himself. It was like a frozen plate of soup dropped into a metal pot placed over a fire: the outside would suddenly be invaded by heat, but deep within remained frozen, at least for the time being.

The voice rang on in his ears, whispering consistently and urging him to do something. It was strange, because Rami felt awake; conscious of the voice.

A scraping sound came from beneath his bed. It lingered for a while and then his bed creaked as if something climbed on it. Rami tried to open his eyes but he couldn't. He could breathe, yes, but he couldn't get up, or move his limbs anymore. Sleep paralysis, the doctor had called it. But it was more than that: it felt as if something had climbed unto his chest. He felt a finger against his hair, and a light grazing on his cheek.

"Remember," the whisper came out, clearer this time. "Remember and come back."

Immediately, the image of that strange hut flashed into his mind. He saw the door open and the darkness give way; then he saw the fire and what was within. As he began to move closer, his body lighting up with the warm flame, he heard a scream and his eyes suddenly opened wide.

"Rami!" It was his mom's frantic voice; it was all so familiar. What is she doing in my room? He asked himself. Her next question startled him.

"Where are you going?" She asked and pushed his hand away from the door handle.

"I.." Rami tried to speak. He wasn't in his room. It was still very dark outside, the windows a mere dark shadow in the wall. He was in the living room, in front of the door which, from the look of it, he'd already opened halfway. The metal bar placed across the door lay on the floor, the main bolt had been slid away and his hand had been on the door handle when his mom had screamed his name. He also had a lamp in his hand.

"I don't know..." Rami said, trying to understand what was happening. He stepped back from the door and dropped the lamp.

There was a tense silence as his mother looked him over. She picked up the lamp and slowly stepped outside, mumbling some words with a barely audible 'not my son' escaping from her lips. She raised the lamp above her head and moved it sideways. The thin light from the lamp spilled unto the corridor, creating a glowing semicircle which cut through the dark night –electricity was out so the houses around lay in a dark silence.

She moved back into the house and shut the door, locking the bolts twice and removing the key from the rack where it usually hung. Rami was no longer in the living room.

He didn't sleep again that night–he couldn't. One of the reasons being that the voices of his parents, deep in discussion, filtered into his room.

"Sleep walking." He heard his mother say.

His father, as usual with a way to blame him, said something about him being possessed and the possibility of seeking Baba under such short notice.

Rami got up and shut his room door. He felt scared, not because he'd been sleepwalking (this wasn't a first), but because of the person he'd seen while he was at the door. Those blood-red eyes were unmistakable and the memory of the hut was fresh in his mind now. Perhaps, if he went back there he'd know who the strange person was, and what that fire meant.

Just then the door swung open and his parents stepped into his room, which suddenly felt crowded. His mother had the scared look she usually had when the pastor in church always talked about diabolical powers of the devil. His father just seemed pissed, probably because he was out of bed so late at night. Rami just sighed and looked away.

It happened again the following night. And the night after that. Rami would find himself walking through the house, oddly between the hours of eleven and midnight.

His mother became wary, sure now that there was an evil spirit at work. Rami mentioned nothing about the voices he'd been hearing, or the strange weight he felt on his chest (for he always slept face-up), he concluded that she'd have just gone crazy. And she did, sort of. Her proclamation the morning of the third incident made him think so.

"We're taking you somewhere Rami."

"Where?" He asked.

"Someplace where we'll get help," she said after a slight pause.

Rami didn't make any comment after that. He only thought of the hut and the fire within.

°°°°

Rami leaned against the glass window and watched the trees stroll by as his father's five year old Toyota bounced along the red dirt road. They'd been driving for an hour and he'd heard his father announce 'almost there' a couple of times.

"We're almost there," His father made the latest announcement just as they drove past a rusty, old sign board which spoke of a spiritual medium just up ahead. The car rattled on down the road which sloped with each kilometer covered. The red road was flanked on both sides with brown, stalky trees, the branches of which cast wary shadows over the car.

"You're letting the dust in," Rami's father said, "Roll the window up already."

Rami grunted and felt for the window lever. He fixed his eyes on the trees while he turned the lever slowly. That was when he saw it, again.

Before now, Rami had been trying to make sense of the things he'd seen in his dreams; the figures and voices, but it was impossible as he always forgot it all the moment he woke up. So how come he recognized the pale old man standing deep within those trees?

As the car drove by, and the trees rolled past, the pale old man still remained in view. It felt as if the image was stuck on the window by his side. Rami leaned in towards the door, his fingers slowly groping for the handle. He began to hear the voices again, stirring up like smoke in his head. His parent's voices were distinct now: his mom was shouting about something and his father, in his usual condescending tone, was equally yelling.

The pale old man looked on, not blinking and not moving –and yet somehow he remained in view of the moving car. Rami's fingers closed on the square door handle and pulled on it, it was locked. Just then the car screeched loudly as it swerved to the side. Rami grunted as he bounced up on his seat, hitting his head on the roof of the car. Back to his senses, Rami gripped with both hands his parents' seats and shifted himself between them; the car was somehow rolling down a slope and his father was constantly yelling 'the car won't start!'

Rami gasped and leaned back on his seat. The car was covered in red dust which made visibility impossible. He held on to the groove of the seat; the damn car didn't have any seat belts at the back. He turned sharply to his right and realized that the pale old man was no more.

The car screeched some more and then suddenly came to a halt in front of a crooked tree with white and red cloths tied around it. The red dust slowly cleared out, blowing sideways with the wind. There was a rising hissing sound accompanied by a cloud of white smoke escaping from the hood of the car.

Rami found himself staring straight at his parents.

"I told you to close that window!" His father yelled, "now I'll have to probably pay someone for a thorough cleaning. Look at all this smoke." He stepped out of the car and went straight to the hood.

"Are you hurt?" His mother asked and placed her hand on his forehead. He saw the look on her face; the this-is-somehow-your-fault-but-I-don't-blame-you look. He shook her hand off and rubbed the red dirt which had settled on his arm.

"I'm fine." He glanced again at the trees, just in time to see a shadow fade in the distance. Rami watched his parents from where he sat; for some reason (probably his father) he decided to remain inside the car. The dust was affecting his lungs and he was hallucinating–how else would you explain that old man with extra white skin?

The leather seat crunched slightly as he flicked off the dirt on them. What area was this anyway? The air was quiet and there was a strange smell that clung to it; one he recognized as rotting animal and burnt flesh. His parents were still talking over the raised hood and the hissing smoke.

"...I tell you he's almost good for nothing. Except eating my food, maybe."

"Don't be hard on him now. It's not his fault that he's so..."

"Weak?"

"I wanted to say fragile."

"Fragile, weak...we're both saying the same thing. Let's just see Baba and, hopefully, he'll have a solution to that his latest manifestation."

"Stop it now, Reginald. He is your son."

"Sadly."

Their discussion really didn't bother him. It was obvious they didn't care if he heard them or not; he didn't care either. Their voices, and the clanking of whatever tool his father was using, and maybe something else, made them oblivious of his slipping out of the car.

Rami walked away from the car and towards the neat row of trees. He still heard their conversation, though faded now, and managed one look back in the faint hopes that they'd ask–or even command –him to come back. They didn't even take a quick glance his way. For some season they seemed compelled to talk and talk, on and on while his father leaned in and tinkered with the car's guts.

Rami felt the heat of the sun against his bare legs; he became thankful he'd worn shorts and not the 'jean trousers that'll make you look smart', according to his mother. Among some of his 'charming' qualities was his almost exaggerated sensitivity to the sun's heat. And you're not an albino, most people were always quick to point out.

Thankful for the cool shade of the trees, Rami began to walk along the red path surrounded by stalky trees. His parents and the car were still visible, a good thing. He looked up at the trees and noticed that the branches were bare of leaves or they seemed so for the branches creeped and climbed over one another, casting a deep shadow over the road beneath. Rami was sure he'd seen leaves earlier on and, looking closer, he did see leaves on the branches. Except these leaves were not leaves(as he immediately found out) but some sort of green and brown insects– grasshoppers maybe.

He caught the nasty rotting smell again. It made him cringe as he looked around for the source. The trees suddenly echoed with the sound of his mother calling his name. They finally noticed my absence, he thought and decided it was time to return back to the car.

He turned around but didn't find a path, instead he saw more trees, lined neatly for miles. Strange, he thought, he was sure he'd come through that way. He looked around for a while and finally found a path. The moment he set his foot on the path the atmosphere became bizarre: the winds picked up and blew dried up leaves across his face–so much that it momentarily blinded him; blocking the path ahead. When the wind passed, Rami found himself in an open clearing, staring at the hut.

He heard a cackle and saw, from the side of his eyes, a child run across the clearing. He turned to catch a glimpse but saw nothing. He glanced back at the hut and took a step toward it. Again he heard a cackle, this time low and then the cackle became a sob.

Rami narrowed his eyes as he tried to search for the sobbing child. It didn't last long though, the sobbing, for it became muffled almost as if a hand had been forcefully placed over the sobbing mouth.

Rami remained in one spot, pondering the strangeness that surrounded him. He felt conscious and at the same time unconscious; in control of his body, yet not in control –for why else was he still standing in front of the hut?

A hand appeared at the edge of the brown door, a pale hand with long fingers as thin as twigs. The fingers, appearing one at a time, gripped the door and began to pull it open. Rami stared curiously as the door opened wider, giving way to a well-lit room.

"Come on in," a voice said. It was the old man; the one he'd seen among the trees. He had a tired look on his face–a look that he tried to disguise with the dancing flames.

Rami hesitated for a moment.

"I won't harm you now, young boy," the old man said with a weak smile. "I am but a weak old man–frail and dried up. Even the elements can overpower me."

Rami thought this over in his mind. Maybe the old man was right, surely if he tried anything funny all he needed to do was push him into the flames. He thought about this, yes, but in truth the decision had already been made for him. He had no choice, unknowing to him.

He stepped inside the hut and stood still, as if expecting the floor to cave in beneath him. He smiled, nothing happened. Just then a young girl, pale as the full moon, appeared in the flames. The old man didn't look pleased at this but at the same time he didn't look too bothered; the boy was already inside the hut. The young girl shook her head in warning and Rami frowned. Something in his head nudged him and told him to leave. He listened to it, but it was too late–the flames switched off suddenly and the door shut loudly behind him.

Rami became conscious of the thick darkness engulfing him. He could also feel those frail fingers on him, pinching and peeling at his skin. In the shadows, the old man lurked. Rami grunted as he felt the burning on his flesh, the peeling of skin off his body, like a wrapping over a newly bought present. He felt the fingers dig in deep, slicing around and preparing to separate skin from body. Then Rami yelled and pushed himself away, stumbling over to the middle of the darkness. Something felt hot underneath his feet–he'd stepped into the spot where the flames had been. The old man leaped forward in an attempt to get him back, but the ground beneath the boy shook and a blue flame suddenly rose high from where he stood, covering him completely.

The last thing Rami remembered was the screeching of the old man and the crackling of flames.
CHAPTER THREE

The Real Beginning

Hurry now!

There was a long road, white as chalk and bright as the moon. Then there was a voice, echoing through this road, like the resonance created by smacking a gong against a metal drum. He followed the voice, the boy Rami, and saw the bright light awaiting him at the end.

Hurry now! Come on, hurry!

The voice was unfamiliar –he'd never heard it before, yet it sounded so 'trustworthy'. He followed. Before he got close enough for the light to embrace him, he heard a loud crack behind him. It took a couple of seconds before the pain set in and then he blacked out.

°°°°

Rami woke up to a scraping sound around his ears. This sound, like the crunching of nuts and the distinct mumblings of a conversation, came and went.

He opened one of his eyes and winced as his retinas burned from the bright light that greeted it. He thought it was the sun, or maybe the moon–in all its whiteness –but he'd slept in his room last night, right? He closed his eyes again; he had to be dreaming.

The sound came out louder this time and then he heard some voices.

"Is he alive?" The first voice, low and deep, said followed by a rattling noise like that of leaves.

"I believe so. Strange looking, don't you think?" Another voice said. This one was sharp and fast.

Rami grunted as the conversations reached him. He opened his eyes and moved them from side to side, hoping to see the owners of the voices and tell them to get out of his room. He wasn't in his room, he quickly noticed. He was underneath some sort of tree, a really big tree. The branches on this tree were wide and stretched, covered with white leaves. The trunk of this tree was broad and also white; it was a white tree.

Rami sat up and look around him. His fingers dug into the sand on which he lay; white sand –sharp and stringy. There was no one around him, except more white trees and an unholy silence, not so typical of places with lots of trees.

"I think he's looking for us," one of the voices intuited, the bold one.

"Well, he isn't so smart then. He's looked all around, maybe he should try looking up," the other voice said with a sour note.

Rami took that as a suggestion and looked up. He saw nothing, except the rattling of leaves. He immediately stood on his feet and looked closer, at the trees. There was no body–no person, except two strange looking monkeys.

"Uh, hello?" He said to the monkeys, taking a step forward and hoping they wouldn't answer him. The monkeys were strange; not strange as in different from other species of monkeys. They were different alright, but in a weirder sense. Their tails hung from the branch they sat on, really long tails that swung slowly as if to a hidden beat. Their fur was yellow, and it seemed transparent (Rami had to squint his eyes to be sure it wasn't his blurred vision). Their ears were big, like flat, circular plates and there were blue collar-like stripes all around their body. One of the monkeys was fat and wide around its stomach, while the other was really thin–you could say it was a really thin version of the big monkey.

"About time," the thin monkey said to the fat one and swung its tail sharply such that it faced the boy.

Rami brushed the shiny sand from the seat of his shorts and moved closer to the tree. The fallen dried leaves crunched under his feet; the base of the tree was littered with these white leaves which easily covered his feet.

Monkeys can't talk, he thought to himself, so this had to be a dream. He looked around him –some sort of realistic dream. The monkeys were still mumbling to themselves.

"....hold on, I'll ask him," the thin one said and then stretched its neck closer so that he got a good view of the boy.

"Hey, are you an organic?" The monkey then turned to the other one, "he certainly doesn't look like one."

"An organic?" Rami asked and looked up at the two monkeys. He was now a few feet away from them; close enough, he thought.

"Yes. An organic." The two monkeys chorused and nodded, both staring intently at him.

"I.." Rami started to speak but paused when he noticed a slithering movement beneath the pile of white leaves. He quickly shifted his feet over to a stone slab and stood on it, that way his feet was no longer hidden under the pile.

"Maybe he is smart after all," the big monkey mumbled low.

"What's an organic?" he asked the monkeys who seemed interested in every move he made; their heads turned to the left and right, with each motion he made.

"He isn't an organic," the monkeys said in unison, then they paused as their voices echoed and then they broke into some sort of rhythmical laughter, almost forgetting about the boy below them–almost.

"Where exactly am I?" Rami asked.

The thin monkey leaped from the tree and landed just in front of Rami. Rami gasped and shifted backwards. The monkey had a man-like gait to it; standing on its two feet. It was really big, taller than him by many inches –certainly taller than anybody he'd seen in his town.

The monkey moved closer to him and sniffed the air around him, its breath dragging the boy's hair into its nose. Rami shook his head to free his hair. The monkey snarled, exposing a chipped yellow fang and then turned to the big one.

"I am sure now. He is no organic. He smells..." It paused and sniffed again, "human."

There was a tense silence as all three absorbed the implications of this; all in their own way. Rami felt puzzled, of course he was human. He didn't go around telling them they smelled like monkeys–which they did, by the way.

"Then that would mean..." The big monkey still balanced on the tree, turned sharply to the thin one and then to Rami.

"Where is your shell?" It asked.

"My what?"

The thin monkey, still close to Rami, rolled his eyes and grunted. "Your shell. You know, that thing that covers you humans."

"Humans don't have shells," Rami answered, "Turtles do, and tortoises and snails, but not humans."

"Oh yeah?" The thin monkey snarled, "then how do you explain this?" It picked up Rami's arm and waved it around.

Rami shook his arm free and looked at it. "They're normal." He wanted to say but as he looked closer he noticed something not so normal: his hand flickered; shifting between transparent and visible.

"What's going on?" He asked and lifted his shirt. Even his body was just as transparent as his hands. His breathing began to break, the way it did whenever he panicked. His hands shook and his heart hammered.

"You're missing your shell," the big monkey said, softly as it suddenly felt sympathy for the boy.

The thin monkey turned sharply, "why do you sound all sympathetic now, eh Nandi?"

"He is a child. You should have some sympathy."

"I see. How about that time I fell from that hollow tree, were you sympathetic? no, you laughed at me and..."

The monkeys' argument became muted to Rami as he stared at his flickering hand. He looked around him: white trees, talking monkeys. This was not home.

He quickly turned towards a path, like a long road; like the one he'd seen, and ran towards it.

"Hey, wait. That's not a good idea." The monkeys said as they ceased their argument and watched him run towards the road.

I came in through this road, I can go back out through it.

Those were the thoughts that kept running through his mind as he approached the road.

"Goodbye, annoying monkeys," Rami actually said and leaped unto the road. The moment his feet touched the white road, he felt a force lift him off the ground and toss him back, towards the trees.

Rami felt a bit dazed as he groaned on the ground. He heard a loud laughter from above him, then another.

The thin monkey leaped towards him and rolled on its back as it laughed, "Goodbye, annoying monkeys he said. Ha!"

The monkey suddenly stopped laughing and crouched, like a real monkey would, on its hind legs and began to pick at its fur. It brought out a glowing white insect which it inspected in the light and then threw into its mouth.

Rami picked himself up. He thought it odd that he didn't feel any pain from the impact with the ground.

"What happened?" He asked, once again wiping off the sand on his body and leaves stuck from the fall.

The thin monkey, still smiling and gasping for air, walked up to him. Rami shifted backwards –the monkey stank of something weird and strong, and not entirely pleasant.

"That is a barrier," it said and stretched its long arms towards the long road.

"A barrier for what?" Rami asked.

"Good question." It was the big monkey this time. It had jumped down and joined its comrade, who was slightly taller. Both monkeys were bigger than Rami.

"A barrier to separate humans from organics," the thin monkey quickly put in.

"He doesn't know what those are," the big monkey, Nandi, said.

"Who cares?" The thin monkey said and then turned to Rami, "think of it as a door that can only be assessed from the other side. The lock and the key, everything, is over there. Once in a while the door opens and the stranger comes in with a new shell and its human owner. We've never seen a human come here on their own."

"The stranger?" Rami asked.

"Uh, yes. We'll rather not talk about him," the monkey said, suddenly shifty.

"How can I cross the barrier?" Rami asked, not fully grasping what they were telling him.

The thin monkey shook its head and began to walk back to the white tree. Nandi spoke this time.

"Your worry should not be the barrier. You've lost your shell, and without it you cannot cross back to your world."

"And you need to find it before that comes down," The thin monkey added and pointed at a white moon which hung high in the bright sky, from a thin thread-like material. It shifted a few inches while they watched.

"What is that?" Rami asked and squinted to look at it. He noticed the shift, although minute, and wondered how long it would take for it to come down.

"The white moon," Nandi said.

"Obviously," The thing monkey put in from far off where he was, his voice was laced with sarcasm and a certain hostility. Rami wondered if he'd said anything offensive.

"He can be grumpy this time of day–the creepers will soon be upon us, he hates them," Nandi said and patted Rami's shoulder. His hand was surprisingly light and it seemed to meld with Rami's increasing glow.

"The white moon is like a clock. I will state the facts: you have lost your shell, you need to find it before the white moon sets, or else you'll be stuck here forever."

"How can I find it?"

The thin monkey, seemingly restless, grunted and took one long leap towards the boy. He gave him an impatient glare and turned towards a large green forest. The monkey's eyes were noticeably red now and it seemed uneasy.

"Over there, by that mountain. Do you see it?" The monkey pointed at a misty mountain, at the far end of the forest.

Rami nodded.

"At the top of that mountain is the creator's hut. Find him, he'll help you. Now go already, we shouldn't be down here by this time." It sniffed the air, spat and wriggled its fur, "and you better find a tree before nightfall–you don't want those creepers on you just yet."

Rami's gaze remained on the mountain, a large black protrusion that seemed to rise from the far end of the forest and into the clouds. It must be a huge mountain, Rami thought, for the very top was covered with a thick white mist, cloud-like in a way.

"What are creepers?" Rami asked and turned. He was alone now, the monkeys gone. He ran to the base of the white tree and looked up; they were not there anymore. He suddenly felt alone.

"Find the creator's hut." He told himself but felt a bit dismayed as he thought of the distance from where he stood and the mountain. Surely there had to be a faster way.

He looked back up at the tree in a faint hope and at the long road, which seemed fainter and a bit farther than it had been before. The white moon remained solitary, thankfully, but Rami began to wonder how long he had. Only one way to find out, he thought and took his first step into the green jungle.

High up in the trees, the monkeys sat and watched the boy venture into the forest.

"You think we should have told him about the dangers in that forest?" Nandi asked.

"Oh, no. Let him figure that out by himself. He seems to be the Stranger's business, and I have a strong dislike for the Stranger." The thin monkey said this while it cracked a big, brown nut on the tree. Its frail fingers picked up the framents of the seeds within the nut and tossed them into its mouth, grinding it with a loud crunch.

Nandi looked on, and spoke in its usual deliberate manner. "I hope he doesn't mention to anyone that he's lost his shell. We never did get his name."

CHAPTER FOUR

Severed Heads Don't Talk

Rami walked on into the forest. He kept his eyes on the path in front of him; a path so straight and narrow, perfectly unchanged in width and characteristics. The forest had been silent when he'd first stepped in, but now it had a low grumble to it. The trees–relatively normally unlike the white ones–all seemed to watch him. He felt them turn and watch him; he knew, but he didn't stare, he just walked on. The forest was dark except for straight rays of light piercing through the trees. He walked on for what felt like an hour–he couldn't tell, the hands of his watch were still or busted (he'd learned that a couple of minutes ago when he'd wondered where the time was).

He had no view of the mountain from where he stood, which was the main reason why he maintained his straight path. The wet grasses stuck to his legs and he was forced to stop every few minutes to wipe the moisture off. Now he wished he'd worn trousers. The thought of trousers made him think of his parents – he could recall the faint image of a mother, and a father, maybe. His name was Rami, yes, but he really couldn't remember much.

Rami sat on a fallen log and rested his feet. There were curious whisperings around him, but no birds and no animals–at least he hadn't see any yet–just the creaking and mumblings, and groans. This all changed when a sharp cry rang through the air.

Rami gasped and immediately got up from the log, more out of shock than anything else.

"Help me!" He heard the cry again, a man. He stepped away from the rock and listened for where the sound had come from. The forest was silent again, as if also listening.

"Where are you?" He shouted, his voice echoing high across the trees.

"Thank goodness. Finally, someone," the voice said with relief, "over here, by those yellow bushes."

Rami turned and saw a hedge of yellow bushes, as high as his chest. He could have sworn he hadn't seen those a moment ago. But the thought of someone, albeit someone in need of help, excited him. Maybe this person could help him out, or assure him that this was all some strange dream. He desperately needed to believe that.

"I'm coming," he shouted with new energy and rushed towards the shaky yellow bushes. It was wet, the yellow leaves, and smelled nice and fruity. He reached his hand in an attempt to part the bushes but gasped in shock as large thorns, long enough to impale him, shot out of the bush. The thorns slowly retreated back into a dark sheath as he removed his hands. He tried again, and the same thing happened. The forest seemed to whoosh and gasp each time the thorns shot out.

"I can't...the thorns." Rami said with a frustrated grunt.

"Oh yes, my bad. I should have warned you, the thorns won't let you through unless you beat them with a stick. There's one beneath that red tree, over by your left."

"There's isn't any re..." Rami paused and saw a small red tree, distinct from the rest. Weird, he thought, and walked to the tree. A stick lay at the roots, entangled by red creeping vines that curled and twisted away as he stepped closer. He picked the stick and beat the yellow bush with it. A piercing shriek escaped from the yellow bushes as Rami struck it; like a child's whine: deafening and heart-wrenching.

"Uh–ignore their shrieks," the voice behind the bush said.

The thorns broke apart and the yellow leaves thinned out and closed up into a thick, ash smoke. It smelled foul, the smoke, and then good–really good. Then the foulness returned. Rami shielded his eyes with one hand and tried to clear the smoke by beating his hand against it. The smoke made his throat itchy and he suddenly began to cough.

"Careful now, you don't want them thinking you're weak, because they will come back."

Rami stopped coughing and strained his eyes to get a view of the person he'd just helped. The smoke slowly thinned out, a strangely shaped shadow beginning to form, and then he came into view.

At first, he thought it was the smoke playing tricks on him so he cleaned his eyes again; if anything the image became clearer.

"Ah!!" Rami screamed, rooted to the spot.

"Ahhh!!" The voice screamed, even louder than his. "What, what–tell me, what?"

Rami found that he was dry heaving now, his breath hard to catch. His fingers gripped the edge of his shorts, picking at the threads.

"You're... You're..." He paused and looked closer at the source of the voice. He was staring at a severed head mounted on a thin, red pike. The pike looked ancient, with markings all around it (or bite marks). The top of the pike, where the severed, fleshy chunk was mounted, was stained a faded brown–possibly from dried up blood. It was the head of a young man that looked really old–a young, old man. His hair had traces of its original black, but most of it was white. He had an overgrown beard that seemed to cover his mouth.

What was most curious to Rami was the perfect circle of deep, white chalk drawn around the base of the pike. The inner-half of the circle was neat and fresh, like it hadn't been stepped on in decades; preserved in a certain way, or maybe it was swept every day.

"You're..." Rami stuttered and cupped his mouth with his hand.

The head shook impatiently and rolled his eyes, "speak already, young boy."

"Where is your body?" Rami asked, his eyes moving all over the head.

"Oh," the severed head said, indifferently, "I haven't seen it in a while."

Rami wondered what a while was. He kept staring at the head.

"Haven't you ever seen a severed head before?" He asked, suddenly curious about the boy in front of him.

"Uh, no. Not really," he answered.

The head seemed surprised at this, "you are from around here, aren't you? All spirits have seen severed heads. Although they weren't this special: talking heads." The severed head became silent for a while, then a gust of wind blew against the pike, tilting it ever so slightly.

"What do they call you?" The severed head suddenly said and looked sharply at the boy.

"R-Rami," he said, slowly.

"Hmm, a strange name. You are strange," he said.

"Not more strange than a talking, severed head on a stick?" Rami asked, suddenly bold.

"Pike," the severed head corrected, "this is a pike. A stick is what you used on those blasted charmed flowers. At least award me some dignity."

"What do they call you?" Rami asked.

"A head, ha ha," he answered and laughed. Rami didn't catch the joke, so he just looked on.

The severed head stopped laughing and looked down, "I had a name once. A long time ago. I can't remember it, though. That's what this place does to you." He was watching Rami closely now, "which begs the question: how come you have a name?"

Rami stepped back a bit, puzzled. "I–everyone has a name. I mean, everyone should."

"Where are you from?" The severed head asked.

Rami thought about this. Where am I from? He just couldn't remember. It felt, in his mind, like a blurry image: it was there, he just couldn't see it.

"I don't know."

The severed head remained silent for a long time, then he spoke.

"You definitely are not from around here. The trees have been whispering about a non-organic, roaming around this utterly confusing forest and.."

"Is that what it's called?" Rami interrupted him.

"What?"

"The forest–the utterly confusing forest, is that the name of this place?"

"No," the severed head said and spat unto the ground, a spit that fizzled immediately. "This place has no name. You can call it whatever you want, but it is utterly confusing."

Rami nodded, and the head continued.

"Just as I was saying, before you cut me short, you don't want to be here. I mean, you shouldn't." He paused, and then quickly spoke, "but I can help you. Only if you help me first."

Rami eyed the severed head suspiciously, "how?"

The head suddenly groaned and shook, "well, as you can see, this pike is not very comfortable."

Rami remained where he stood, "so you need a new sti–I mean, pike?"

"What, no!" The severed head snapped He closed his eyes and breathed calmly. A fly, glowing yellow, like a bee, buzzed past him and then circled back and perched on the severed head.

"Ugh! get off, rotten insect." His eyes were still closed, "see what I have to deal with?" His voice came out smooth as he slowly opened his eyes.

Rami gasped at the blank whiteness he saw in the severed head's wary eyes.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You mean how I got on this cur-sed pike?"

Rami nodded. The head turned to the side and told a story.

Many, many years ago, a young boy found himself lost in this very forest. This young boy had a certain arrogance to him: he was lost, but he talked a lot and he was rude. While wondering about the forest, he came upon a strange sight: a severed head on a pike. It was strange, of course, and ghastly–if you may. Then the head spoke to the boy. He was startled, the young boy.

"Severed heads don't talk," he'd said to the head. "Ah, but here I am, talking." The head had replied.

The young boy couldn't believe it and looked around him for someone to tell. "Don't go saying everything you see, young boy," the severed head warned him, but he never listened. Instead he ran to a nearby village and went straight to the village chief. "A talking, severed head, you say?" The chief had asked incredulously, "this I must see." The chief had made the move to leave his throne when his advisor suddenly whispered into his ears. The chief watched the young boy, and then squeezed his staff.

"If what you say is false then I shall have your head on a pike," the chief had declared and the foolish young boy readily agreed.

Half the village followed behind the chief and the young boy, a talking severed head was a rarity–in fact it had never been encountered. The boy led them straight to the head and truly, there it was: a severed head. But it was just a regular severed head.

"Well, make it talk." The chief had said, his patience running thin. The young boy tried, his fear compounding with each failed attempt. At the end the chief gave up and had the young boy beheaded. Just as his body dangled on the ground, his head spurting out blood, the severed head spoke: "I warned him not to say everything he sees."

The severed head finished his story, his eyes glistening and watery, his voice croaked. He turned to Rami but said nothing.

"Were you the young boy?" Rami asked.

"That doesn't matter. What matters now is that it's almost nightfall and you shouldn't be down here." The severed head's voice was low and somber now, "you should get going. It's not safe."

Rami looked around him. The groaning in the trees had ceased abruptly, a thin, white fog was developing around the forest, blanketing the trees. He looked up, the white moon still hung steadily, but it shone brighter now. Rami didn't understand what nightfall meant; the forest still had the same poor lighting it'd had earlier, when he'd first stepped in.

Rami suddenly reached for the head.

"What are you doing?" The head shouted, a bit startled.

"Helping you." Rami said, puzzled.

"Right. By dooming yourself?" The severed head said and rolled his eyes downwards, "look at that circle, what do you think it's there for?"

Rami shrugged.

"Follow my instructions carefully: take two steps back from where you're standing, and then three paces forward. You should be standing right at the edge of the circle, that's when you use your left leg to break the line and, ultimately, break the curse that keeps me here."

Rami was about to do so when a thought suddenly crossed his mind. The severed head noticed his hesitation.

"What is it?" He asked.

"How do I know you're not about to trick me, and that I wouldn't–maybe–take your place?"

"You don't," the severed head said, matter-of-factly, "you just have to trust me. You're in a strange land and you're in a conversation with a talking head."

It didn't make sense to him but he nodded and took two steps back. He breathed in and then took three paces forward. Standing at the edge of the line, he kicked off the some of the white chalk, breaking the circle. The air suddenly became hot and a whirlwind created a wall between him and the head. He couldn't see anything with the leaves circling around him, then it all suddenly stopped. Rami shook his head and squinted at the bright light in front of him, and then at the figure that walked within it.

"It worked!" The figure of pure light, said ecstatically.

The voice wasn't the rough, croaking voice of the severed head, but that of a young boy no older than him. Rami said nothing.

"Thank you," the boy said. "I'm free now. Here, take this." He said and stretched his hand out to Rami. Within it was a black snail shell, tied with a string.

"Wear it," the boy said, "it'll disguise you as a spirit. It's a bad place, this world."

Rami took the string from the glowing, white hand. He looked on at the boy again, "I need to find the creator, where do I go?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," the boy said, "but it's almost nightfall. Strange things –I mean stranger than what you've seen–happen at nightfall. Go down the white path, you'll find a house. Ask for shelter from the woman there, but be careful. Not all that she says is true."

The boy's voice echoed and he let out a soft sigh as the light suddenly streamed upwards, past the white moon. Rami kept looking up until the light vanished. He felt the string in his hand; he felt it but couldn't feel it: he was getting more and more transparent, glowing like the monkeys. He wore the string with the snail shell and soon his whole body took on a constant transparent glow: he was now disguised as a spirit. He turned and saw the white path, and followed it.
CHAPTER FIVE

Ala Mmuo

The first signs of nightfall came with the mist. The path in front of him glowed white and left a deep imprint wherever he placed his foot. Rami fixed his eyes on the glow as he advanced through it, then he noticed the dullness and the mist.

It came slowly like the smoke from a young flame, hissing and swirling around the woods. Rami glanced up at the sky and watched as a dark veil (night, he presumed) take the place of the dull, orange sky. The white moon still dangled somberly.

As he walked on, he noticed something else. The forest was alive: white insects danced past him, the trees wriggled obviously now, their branches outstretched like arms (they did look like arms, on a closer inspection): the end of each outstretched crooked branch had thin branches which Rami guessed were fingers.

Transparent beings, more like himself–but only in the sense that they were transparent –moved along the white road, in a single file. These beings were really tall, like stretched out images on a computer, with thin arms pointed at the tip and strange markings all over what was their body.

Rami told himself not to look, but he had to. The beings were much like humans, but with glassy eyes that never blinked but stare focused only on the path in front of them. One of the beings, a really tall one with long arms that reached the ground and bent backwards–possibly because of the length–turned slowly to Rami. He stared quizzically at him as one would stare at a new kid in school, Rami gulped and looked away. He moved on and then turned around; the tall being still glared at him, rooted in one spot, but with a gaze that seemed to search his very soul. Its gaze seemed focused on the charm around his neck.

Rami hid the snail shell from view by putting it inside his shirt, then he hastened his step and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he'd left the tall being behind.

The mist was merely as transparent as they were, but it was getting thicker. Rami wondered how far the white path went and when he'd finally reach the woman's house –whoever she was. He stopped and rested his back against a tree.

_Not all that she says is true._ Rami wondered what that meant. Was the woman an evil spirit? Certainly not, maybe she just had a bad reputation, after all his mother had thought him not to judge people until he knew them.

"Mother," he said out loud. The words rang in his head, he still remembered.

"Mother," a muffled voice said, but not his. Rami felt a vibration on the part of his back that rested against the tree. He quickly stepped away from the tree.

"Uh, thank you." He heard the voice say, clearer this time. Rami stared closely at the tree. It was small, a few inches taller than him. The branches weren't as long as the others he'd seen, but it was long nonetheless. The voice escaped from a small hole in the lower part of the tree trunk.

"Hello?" Rami said with uncertainty, expecting some sort of spirit-squirrel to jump out of the hole. He bent and leaned in closer, staring at the hole. Then it moved

"Don't you think it's rude to stare...into someone's mouth?" The tree spoke, the hole moving in synch with the voice.

Rami glanced from left to right, and then at the tree again.

"You can talk?" Rami asked and shifted back. He was not especially surprised. He'd just seen a talking head, after all.

"Of course I can talk." The voice was thin, like a boy's –especially one trying to act like a man but still showing signs of its true boyishness.

"Is there anything here that can't talk?" Rami asked and stared at the lines along the tree trunk: lines with a certain white glow within like a lit torch had been dropped inside the tree.

"I don't know," the tree said and shook its branch, "but I can."

Rami stood up straight and made to continue on his path. The voice of the tree stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

_Well, I'm lost and I was told to find the creator by a bunch of talking monkeys, but first I must seek shelter in some strange woman's house._ Rami wanted to say, instead he pointed along the path.

The young tree shook its branches unsatisfactory, "not when the mist is thickening."

Rami looked around him and, truly, the mist had become whiter, making the path ahead blurred. He also saw more of those transparent beings walking away from the mists, mumbling nervously.

"Where are they hurrying off to?" Rami asked, suddenly apprehensive. The trees were whispering nervously to each other as the mist grew thicker.

"What's happening...?" Rami said but couldn't finish as a loud screech cut through the mist, echoing with a loud humming vibration. The ground shook, which made Rami sway his arms and land on his back.

"Quick, up!" The young tree said and stretched its branch out to Rami, "take it...up!"

Rami remained on the ground. Dry leaves moved past him, towards the approaching mist as if by the whim of a large fan. He then got on his knees and stared into the mist; he could hear voices, strange, angry voices. The mist blew over him and suddenly covered him. Rami stood on his feet and heard the voices swirl around him, with the mist. Like smoke rising around him, the mist surrounded him.

He saw a white hand appear, like a fist. The fist suddenly opened up to reveal a piercing red eye sewn into the palm. The eye stared at Rami, scrutinizing him. It spoke to him, yet it had no mouth. It was more of a telepathic invasion of his mind; it demanded for him to come closer, and Rami obliged.

As he made to move his feet, he felt something tight wrap around his waist and tug at him, yanking him into the air and out of the mist. Rami landed with a thud high on a flat branch. He shook his head and held on to the huge tree trunk.

"That was completely stupid," The tree said as it unwound its green vines from around Rami.

"And strange," Rami heard the voice of the young tree. He looked down from the branch and saw the young tree, fused to the bigger tree on which he stood.

"How are you not...like them?" The young tree asked.

Rami remained silent, dazed. He'd seen something inside the eye, or maybe the eye had shown him something.

"I know what you are, you can't hide behind a cheap charm. Come, let me feel you." The eye had been demanding–too demanding. It made him afraid, and what about those other voices he'd heard within the mist?

"....yes, he is strange indeed." The big tree said as Rami turned to him.

"What are those?" He asked and pointed below him. The white mist had covered the forest now, the floor hidden and the sounds replaced by the hushed voices in the mist.

"Creepers," The young tree said.

The big tree grunted and shook its branch such that Rami had to hold on tight for risk of falling.

"You shouldn't mention that name. Let them be!" The big tree scolded and the young tree retreated from view.

"But what are cree...you know, those things?" Rami asked again.

"Mmuos, spirits. A deadly kind." The trunk creaked as the tree shifted its dark eyes and turned towards the boy who stood on its branched. The eyes went over him and Rami hated it.

"Stop it!" Rami shouted, "since I came here almost everything I meet looks at me that way. I'm not so different."

A low moan echoed from beneath the tree. Both Rami and the big tree paused to listen as the moan faded in the distance.

"But you are different. Why didn't you meld with the mist?" The tree asked.

"What?"

The tree creaked closer and shook its branches above him.

"You saw something inside there, didn't you?"

Images of the hand and the menacing eyes flashed in his mind, then the voices and the pleas.

"Yes," Rami said and turned away from the tree's eyes, "and I heard voices, many voices. Like..like..."

"People in pain?" The tree suggested.

Rami turned to it, "maybe, but more desperate. And then there was the white hand with the strange eye."

The tree became silent, and then its voice suddenly changed. "You should sleep now. The mist will be gone by morning."

"Wait, but..." Rami paused, the tree was now just a blank bark staring at him. He crawled against a wide space on the tree and folded himself against the tree trunk. From where he sat, he could see the white moon, and to his horror, it shifted an inch.

Rami sighed and rested his head on his knees; he felt cold, and very much alone. The sounds around him terrified him: hushed whispers and angry voices. The forest was dead now; still, as the mist roamed.

Beyond the white moon, in the far distance, against a sea of dark greens, was the large mountain and above it was a trail of dark smoke. Rami closed his eyes, and slept.

****

The two monkeys sat quietly and watched the mist as it rolled by. Their tails were wrapped around their necks and their fur seemed pale, without its glow.

"He could be dead already," The thin monkey finally spoke, a dreadful look on its face.

Nandi, the bigger monkey, shifted uneasily. "I do not think so." He said, not at all convinced.
CHAPTER SIX

The Thing About Witches

Rami found himself on the white path when he woke up. His body was wet with dew and his chest ached from sleeping on the ground. Had he slept on the ground?

The mist! He thought and quickly got up. He was on the ground, alright, but there was no mist and the forest was back to sounding normal–normal being grumbles and groans and creaking sound as the woods shifted and shook. Those sounds were still better than the whispering mist.

It was morning, Rami assumed. The white moon was fairly covered by thin clouds and the forest was warm, with a light shower dew falling on it. Rami adjusted his shorts and glanced at the wet path ahead. He wondered where the trees were –the talking ones. He couldn't spot them, then again almost all the trees looked alike.

Rami took out the stringed snail charm and held it in his dirty palm. The shell was crusty and old; the snail must have died years again. He could see the shell on his palm, and also the grassy path beneath, through his transparent body.

His name was Rami, he remembered, but only after some deep thinking.

That's what this place does to you.

Wasn't that what the severed head had said? He felt a certain sense of urgency as he imagined forgetting his name. He had no intention of doing that. Rami looked around for a way to engrave his name; a sheet of paper, or a wooden slab but he found none. He felt something poke at his thighs so he reached into his pocket and retrieved a shiny pair of mathematical compasses. He remembered now.

"Abeg, Rami borrow me your math set." His classmate, Sammy yellow teeth had begged him. He pronounced the math set as 'maset', and one didn't need to ask to know why he was called Sammy yellow teeth (behind his back, of course)–his teeth were, well, yellow.

Rami had given his math set to Sammy, who had thought probably had some construction to do, only to later find him playing 'board darts' with it. He'd seized it and placed it in his school shorts, which he'd then transferred to his favorite combat short –the one he was wearing now.

Rami looked at the compass now and curiously poked his arm with it. It didn't hurt, so he took a deep breath and cut his name crudely into his arm.

"It didn't hurt." Rami said and smiled broadly. "I wonder if..." He muttered to himself and took off the snail charm. This proved to be a big mistake for two reasons: the first being that the cut on his arm, where he'd engraved his name, hurt badly and a few drops of his blood dropped the white grass beneath him. The second, unknowing to him, was the weird-looking black bird that circled the sky above him. The bird had seen him as he slept, thinking he was to be its next meal. But this one was different so it perched closer and watched with rising curiosity as he'd cut himself. Then it had seen him remove a charm around its neck and completely changed. The black bird flew away, eager to report the strange thing it'd just witnessed.

Rami quickly put the charm around his neck and felt the pain fade away and he sighed. He didn't notice the drops of red blood visible on the white path. He was too busy walking on, towards the strange woman's house.

****

He found the house after a few minutes of walking. It was the first thing faintly resembling normal he'd seen in a while. The house was wooden, though, which was still weird; houses where he'd come from were usually made of cement and roofed with corrugated iron sheets. But this one was wooden all through.

It had two large windows on either side of a thin door, about four feet high. It had to be the smallest door he'd ever seen. The house sat surrounded by tall, green bushes, but a few meters around it was cleared and trimmed nicely.

The hut had a bulb with an orange light in it. This was also strange; spirits don't have electricity, he thought.

"You're right," a voice came from behind him. Rami turned around and found himself staring at a very small woman. She was beautiful with really dark skin and long, dark hair. Rami glanced down at the woman, and then at the door, measuring. That explains it, he thought. Rami began to wonder if she was a spirit; she didn't have that glow the monkeys had, then again he knew nothing about organics or spirits or whatever they called it.

The woman seemed to have some sort of basket strapped to her back which gave her a hunched look. Inside the basket were green leaves–herbs, it would seem. Rami remained silent, wondering what to say to the small woman in front of him. She didn't seem to be in the same predicament as she began to speak.

"Help an old woman with her load, will you?" She asked and, without waiting for an answer, shifted the basket off her back and unto his hands.

"I know what you're thinking," she said and glanced at him. She paused when her dark eyes fell on the crudely cut words on his hands, then she quickly looked away, "I don't look so old." She began to walk towards the bushes around the wooden house, Rami followed behind her.

The basket of herbs turned out to be heavier than he'd predicted. As a matter of fact, it pulled his hands downwards and made him strain. He looked inside the basket, wondering what else was in it: probably some fruits, or a lot of stones, but definitely not just leaves. He watched the leaves, wet and puffy, and as he looked closer he noticed a movement inside the basket. Rami looked up, the woman was still talking, a bit ahead of him, and then he glanced back at the basket. There was something in there, if he could just shift those leaves apart, he thought as he reached for the leaves.

"Stop!" The woman's voice came, sharp and sudden. She took quick steps back to him and waved her hand over the basket, whatever was in it stopped moving as a cover went over the basket.

"Sometimes a little ignorance is good for us all," she said and suddenly chuckled. Rami forced a smile and followed her. He was silent the whole time, while she picked through the tall grass.

"I know you're wondering what was in the basket," she said and crouched close to a grassy patch–well, to be honest she didn't really have to crouch; she was so small already.

"I am wondering about so many things," Rami said, "like..." He paused when she raised her hand in the air and flicked it towards him, "come and see," she said.

There was a small hole, roughly dug right beneath the root of the grassy patch. The hole was about the size of his fist, maybe a bit wider, and it looked freshly dug with the loose brown dirt a bit moist.

Rami stood over the woman, watching the hole closely. He joined her in a crouching position when he saw that he basically towered over her; he didn't want to seem rude.

A little croaking sound came from inside the hole; a croaking sound that vibrated.

"What is in there?" Rami asked, realizing that a few dirt particles were closing into the hole.

"Find out for yourself," she answered and looked at him.

"What?" Rami said and looked at her. He suddenly realized that the woman had a certain crazy twitch in her eyes and her smile was relaxed; a little too relaxed.

"Go ahead, reach into the hole."

Rami rubbed his fingers and began to stretch his hand. He glanced at her once again and gave her the 'are you sure' look.

"Go on," she said, her eyes fixed on the markings on his arm. She watched him intently as his fingers neared the hole, "that's it," she urged, her focus now on the hole. As Rami's fingers got to the edge of the hole, the croaking sound got louder, and then it became an irritated hiss.

Rami shook his head and was about the retreat his fingers when he felt a soft hand grip his and force it into the hole. His eyes opened wide as he felt the moist dirt against the length of his arm.

"Grab it!" The woman urged sharply.

Grab what, Rami wanted to ask when his fingers suddenly touched something slimy and soft. Whatever he touched croaked and retreated from his touch, then he felt something else, something hard and scaly. Whatever this one was, it didn't retreat. Instead it dug something sharp into his arm. Rami winced and began to pull his arm out, but it held on.

"Grab it now!"

He gritted his teeth and opened his fingers, reaching for whatever had its tooth in his arm. It was hard and rope-like, he held on and began to pull.

"That's it," the woman said with a laugh.

It wasn't funny, not to him. As he pulled, the tall grasses above began to fold into the earth and the hole widened further. It began to struggle, pulling his hand back in. Rami used his free hand to support himself against the ground, suddenly afraid of losing his arm then, with one final tug, he pulled out a long root. It kept wrapping around his hand, like a snake, and it croaked and hissed.

Rami quickly stood on his feet and shook his hand, trying to get the–whatever it was–off his arm. It wriggled and shook violently, obviously much stronger than him. Rami saw the tooth-like tendrils which dug into his arm, he pried it with his fingers but it latched on hard.

He suddenly caught a movement from the side of his eyes and saw the small woman approaching him quickly, a sharp knife in her hand. Rami gasped and closed his eyes, as he heard a slashing sound. His hand suddenly felt lighter and the croaking sound reduced and then finally died down.

He opened his eyes slowly and saw the woman stuffing the roots, along with the tall grass into the basket. She was mumbling some words as she did so and the knife she'd used was stuck in the ground, beside her.

Rami breathed deeply and shook his hand. There were a few bite marks, eight in fact, in the spot where the thing had latched on to him. He watched the woman calmly pick up the basket and hang it around her shoulder. He walked up to her, angry.

"Why didn't you tell me about those...those things?"

Her eyes flashed as she turned to him, then she seemed to relax. "You didn't ask." With that she began a slow stroll towards the wooden house.

Rami remained rooted to the spot, his heart hammering. He suddenly felt it was a bad idea being around this woman. The way her eyes flashed warned him of a danger ahead, but he needed shelter.

"Are you coming?" She asked, already by the small door. Rami looked at the sky and then walked towards the house.

°°°°

The woman called herself Nne. She shut the door slowly as Rami stepped in. The room was pitch-black, but lit up the moment she snapped her fingers. Rami glanced first to his left, as a small lamp, fused into the wall, lit up with a bright flame. This was followed by another, and yet another, all lined up in the wall.

It was just like a regular house, Rami concluded: there was a central space, empty except for a huge mirror and six wooden stools, and then at a far corner was what he presumed was a dining room with six chairs and a long table.

Why so many chairs? Rami thought to himself.

"Because I like to have guests," the woman said, suddenly in front of him–he wondered when she got there.

"Can you tell what I'm thinking?" Rami asked, surprised and a bit worried by it.

She shrugged, "among other things." As if to demonstrate, she flicked her finger at a stool and it rolled towards her, she sat.

"Call me Nne," she said and sighed as if a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Rami nodded and sat on a stool, opposite Nne. He had so many questions and was about to dish them out.

"Later," she suddenly said.

"What?"

"I mean; you can ask your questions later."

Oh, he thought, the mind reading thing.

°°°°

Rami sat still in one corner and watched Nne work. She had strange powers, he concluded. If not how was he to explain how she had been able to light the room without a switch, and how had she sealed that basket with touching, and now, as he watched her, he couldn't explain how she'd carried the huge metal pot and placed it over a small hole dug in the middle of the room.

"Too many questions," Nne said and walked over to him, "you must be hungry."

Now that he thought of it, yes he was. So he nodded.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to work for it."

"I'm not lazy," Rami answered and began to look around the room–she'd been right in front of him a moment ago, now she wasn't there. He hadn't even realized when she'd vanished.

"Who said you were?" She asked, her voice echoing throughout the room.

"I...well, my father always said I was...I think." He was still looking around, then he caught something beside him.

"You have faint memories of your father," she said, suddenly beside him, with an intent look.

He turned to her; he felt drowsy and his head felt heavy. He could also hear her, in his head. "I don't know. I really don't like you in there....in my head."

She swung her head back, "Ah, yes. Don't you mind an old woman. But your mind is so...open." She had disappeared again, "let's get you to use."

"Okay." Rami said slowly, shaking his head of the cloudy feeling, "what do you want me to do?"

"A fire," she said and appeared out of a dark, shadowy corner. He'd have to get used to it, Rami thought. He squatted close to the small square hole, upon which the metal pot sat. He couldn't find any match, but there was a heap of dry firewood by the wall; he went for those first.

One after the other, he stuffed thin pieces of firewood beneath the pot. Once he was done with that, he looked around for a match box.

"You'll need a firefly for that," Nne said, sitting on one of the stools. She had the basket in front of her, and a thin knife.

Rami looked on quietly as she slowly opened the basket. The things she'd stuffed in there wriggled and shook the basket. She stuck the knife into the basket, making the wriggling stop. Rami glanced away as her gaze caught his.

"Where can I find a firefly?" He asked.

"It's not where, but how," Nne said, now scraping out the thin root with the sharp blade. He could barely see her as she was like a shadow, hunched on the stool; but he could make out the glistening blade and the movement it made against the roots in her hand. Rami waited for her to speak on, but she remained silent.

"How do I find a firefly?" He asked.

Nne looked up at him and slowly got up from the stool. She walked across the room, not making any sounds with her feet, and stood close to Rami. There was a tiny dripping sound as a strange, weird liquid, red in color, dripped from root in her hand.

"Catch," she said," how do you catch a firefly." She corrected him and clicked her tongue in annoyance, "you don't need to find a firefly, they're everywhere, out there. But the real task is catching one.

"So how do I catch one?" Rami asked.

"One...what?" Nne asked, feigning ignorance.

"One firefly," Rami said, keeping a clear mind. He wanted to be angry but this woman reads minds.

"Why would you need one firefly?" Nne asked.

"Because..." Rami paused and looked at her, "how many fireflies do I need?"

She nodded, "good." She waved her hand in the air and produced a small, glass jar, "Fill it up."

Rami took the jar and rubbed it with his fingers. It was completely smooth expect for a small indentation which he pushed with his thumb. Immediately the lid of the jar swished open. He pushed the indent again and the lid closed: it was a switch.

"Don't ruin it," Nne said to him, 'Now, catching a firefly is tricky, but it is also easy."

She waved her hand in the air and plucked out something which resembled a feather–it was in fact a feather, a thin, blue feather of some bird Rami didn't recognize, but one that had to be really large.

"It's simple, you see," Nne said and waved the blue feather which produced tiny yellow sparks together with a low crackling sound, like muffled firecrackers, "the sparks with attract the fire flies, then you catch them."

That still didn't tell him much; were the insects (he assumed they were insects) dangerous? He wanted to ask Nne but again she'd disappeared, leaving the blue feather floating down towards his feet. Rami squatted and opened his palm, allowing the feather to rest on it.

The wooden door squeaked open as he got close to it. Rami glanced over to a dark corner by the door and couldn't help but feel Nne was right there, watching him. He shook his head and stepped outside.

°°°°

"How hard can catching a fire fly be?" Rami muttered to himself and kicked off a cloud of dust with his feet. He'd been standing outside the house of wood for a while now, afraid to venture further. He held the feather tightly between his fingers and grunted at the annoying insects buzzing around his face. If he'd been searching for a beetle or a wasp then he could have gotten them in abundance because the place he was seemed infested by them.

Rami twisted the feather between his fingers and it sparked. He thought this was interesting –it had to be some sort of magic feather, or something. He ran his finger through the bristle edges of the feather, smiling as the sparks increased and added a tickling sensation.

"Cool," he said softly and kept up with it. A little distance from where he stood, the dark crevice of a hollow trunk, long fallen, lit up yellow. Something whizzed inside the log and soon the warm yellow glow became raging red. Whatever it was, this glowing thing, it crept out through the tiny crevice and checked the air for the what had awoken it. It chuckled lightly–or squeaked (it was a really tiny creature)– when it saw the source, and then it leapt out into the air.

Rami fanned the air with the feather and pursed his lips. He tried to imagine what sort of bird had such a large feather. Certainly not an ostrich–that was the biggest bird he knew of, and he'd actually not seen one in real life. The feather had yellow markings, thin stripes that lined the edge. It made for a good fan, or maybe a fancy thing to hold, but definitely not good for catching flies. Just then, Rami caught a movement through the side of his eyes. If it had been a couple of minutes ago he'd have turned to look, but this time he didn't: it was probably a wasp or some other insect; he'd seen enough of those. Rami wondered how Nne would react if he came back with an empty jar.

He touched the leather belt strapped around his waist, where the jar was fitted snugly. What sort of woman was she anyway? Reading someone's thoughts and vanishing as quickly as he blinked. Maybe, just maybe she was a.... His eyes caught the movement again, this time it came close to the side of his cheek and it felt...warm? Rami turned around but he saw nothing, no wasp, probably a warm draft of air carrying some leaves with it. His latest theory seemed probable so he took a step farther from the wooden house.

"you don't need to find a firefly, they're everywhere, out there."

He was 'out there' now and still no fire fly. The next few seconds produced two things that both frightened and startled Rami, the first being a rising warmth behind his ear, a warmth that suddenly grew hotter as if someone had placed a candle close to his ears, and the second being the thing that produced the warmth.

Rami caught the glow beside him, just when he flicked his hand desperately over his ear, thinking the warmth had come from a wasp sting. There was no wasp, but something else. His fingers touched something round and solid, like a pebble, but with a hot exterior. Rami steeled himself and jumped to his side, shaking his head as he did so. That was when he saw it.

The boy stood still, and watched with a mixed feeling of dread and curiosity, at the hovering mass of yellow and orange, flickering and squeaking, and swaying from left to right. It was a fire, it had to be; the base of it, or the core, was a black pebble-sized ball. But it was not just any floating fire-pebble thingy, it was a floating fire-pebble thingy that was alive. At least it seemed alive what with its pair of what had to be yellow eyes, and that bizarre hole from which the tiny squeaking escaped.

The floating fire-pebble thingy watched the boy as much as he did. It moved closer each time the boy stepped backwards and backwards with each forward movement the boy made; that way they maintained a constant distance apart, until it saw the feather.

Rami tried to think of a next move. He could feel the warmth of the fire fly, and the yellow glow was steady. He fingered the jar slowly as he thought of leaping at it and caging it within the cylindrical glass. It couldn't be as hard as catching a dragonfly, not really.

He took a step towards the fire fly, his fingers caressing the jar, searching for the switch, while his second hand–the one with the feather–was deftly hidden behind his back. The fire fly seemed like a shy puppy: moving backwards each time he tried to approach. Rami, on the other hand, also had to step backwards when the flaming fire fly curiously approached him. He had to step backwards because he'd been wrong to assume that this thing was like a candle flame held close to him; it was more like a tiny sun, which was surprising considering how tiny this thing was.

Rami was so focused on the fire fly, sweat trickling down his rumpled forehead, that he failed to see the rock hidden partially by some creeping grasses. Literally!

His approach was slow, but steady and certainly not enough to throw you off your feet when you kicked a rock. But the rock had a mind of its own, childish though, but a mind nonetheless. As his feet got closer, the rock suddenly shifted and raised itself, making sure he fell, or at least trying. Rami didn't fall. He stumbled, but he didn't fall, but in the end it didn't matter, what mattered was the series of sparks that suddenly emitted from a large, blue feather in his hand. A series of sparks that infuriated the fire fly (it had woken it after all), and made its former soft yellow glow became a fiery red burst. The thing that Rami had concluded was its mouth, the small opening, widened and short flames flew out from it and fell on the floor, immediately extinguishing with a hiss, against the dew-soaked greens and leaving a trail of white steam.

Rami shielded his face with his arm as the fire fly vibrated angrily. He realized that it didn't move back as he approached, it was stunned, maybe. His hand quickly unhooked the jar from his belt and the cover swished open as he thumbed the switch. His face was brightly lit up now and strained as he got closer to it. The sweat beads around his forehead had linked now, and he was sweating profusely from the rising heat. Thinking only of–well, nothing, he was thinking of nothing when he threw the jar over the fire fly, which narrowed itself the moment the jar fell over it. The jar fell noiselessly to the ground and the cover swished shut. The firefly was trapped. This proved to be both a good and bad thing as Rami would learn shortly.

Sweat trickled down his nose as he knelt and reached for the jar. The jar was warm–soothing and warm, and the fire fly, which had once been yellow and then fiery red, was now a cowered blue, soft and whimpering. Rami stood on his feet and brought the glass to his face. The blue glow lit up his face and, as he peered at the jar closely, into the white eyes of this blue flame, he suddenly felt like he should set it free. In fact, he didn't feel it, he heard a tiny, especially squeaky, voice inside his head, softly asking him to open the jar.

Just like Nne's trick, he thought and shook the thought away. The moment he decided to ignore the voice the blue flame folded into a tiny ball, the black pebble clearly visible now, and then burst wide, filling the glass with a red-hot liquid. It was at that moment the other thing happened.

Rami let out a grunt and let go of the jar. His hand was scalded mildly. He winced and rubbed the blisters, then he started to suck on his finger as he stared at the jar which was rapidly cooling from its red hot state. That wasn't all he saw: somewhere behind him, something bright and red shot up into the air, followed by another and about ten more. Rami saw it from the side of his eyes and this time he turned to see.

He felt his jaw drop as he watched the swarm approach him. A swarm of bees was dangerous, he knew that, but a swarm of fiery red, angry hot fire flies had to be worse. The jar was a few feet before him and the trapped blue flame jumped weakly, but eagerly as the swarm approached. Tens of thoughts scampered around in his head: should he run back? Should he pick the jar? Should he leave this place? Where the hell was this place?

At the last moment, he chose to bring out the blue feather. He waved it before him, creating agitated sparks, and then reached for the jar. It worked, in a way. In literally one way, being he bought himself time to grab the jar and run, which he did. Apart from that the feather only made the flames redder and angrier. The swarm slowly fused together, forming a fluid ball of fire. A big one, at that.

Rami ran, breathing fast and trying to ignore the rising heat behind him, and the roaring flame which was more intense now. A lone fire fly tore out from the swarm and flew past Rami, grazing his cheek and leaving a dark charcoal-like mark that burned like hell. Rami winced and shook his head, it hurt...bad.

He kept running, the house now close but still not close enough.

_How far did I wander?_ He asked himself.

Another fire fly, obviously liking the first's idea, broke off and painfully brushed past his arm. Soon the fireball began to decrease in size as each one took a shot at the fleeing boy. The blue flame in the jar whizzed, apparently not pleased with the idea. By the time Rami reached the house made of wood, the swarm was no more.

He tossed the jar at the door and fell down flat. His breathing was slow as he took in the wet earth. His shirt was torn now, in various places and his shorts had a scorched mark along the edge. His vision became blurred, of the door opening and a woman picking up the glowing jar, and then off him floating in the air, towards the door at the woman's sharp command. He closed his eyes and it all became dark.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sinister

The black bird circled across the sky. The wind flapped against its worn feathers, patched roughly, as it glided down towards a hut sitting deep within the greens of the forest. The hut was moldy and the white striped patterns along the walls looked faded. An old man of pale skin sat inside, by a fire, nursing his wounds and resting.

He heard the bird approach, he heard everything. His glassy eyes reflected the flames, the useless beads sitting inside his skull, doing nothing but remind him of a time when his hold on death would be released. His attention turned to the open door as the black bird flapped in.

The bird flapped noisily, black feathers shriveling off its body and creating more uneven patches of feathers, exposing a deep pink dotted skin. The bent pole on which it perched shook unsteadily but remained standing. The bird began to blab.

"I saw it, I did...I really did," it shook its wings as it blabbed, its voice thin and forced, like a man choking from a tight grip around his throat.

The old man remained fixed in his position. A stained white rapa (a sort of cloak) was draped around his back, covering most of his frame except his pale arms, which showed yellow bones beneath a peeled, charred flesh. His breathing was weak, but improving. His heaving of his body was slow, but constant. The charred flesh around his arms crunched, like dry paper, as it repaired itself, tissue mending and a fresher, paler flesh replacing the faded ones falling off.

The bird was still all the while blabbing, but suddenly fell silent, gagging, as the old man held up his hand in a fist.

"Follow," the old man said and spread his fist wide, freeing the bird.

"Yes..yes...Yes." The bird mumbled, its voice even more choked now. It held out its wings, oddly shaped like a hand, over its tiny neck and massaged it. Then out the door it went.

The old man focused on the flames again, this time with a thin smile forming across his face. It was just a matter of time.
Chapter eight: A gathering of witches

There was a voice. A familiar voice–familiar, yet unknown. It woke him up.

Rami opened his eyes and turned his head to his side. He was in a brightly, flame-lit room. His body hurt; his back especially. The room was small, and the mat he lay on took up half the space. Rami winced as he tried to sit up. The pain was a peppery sort, burning and itchy. His arms strained against the dark green raffia mat, as he slowly pushed himself up.

His mind was foggy, but he still remembered the strange woman, and the fire flies. It made him angry thinking of it. Rami placed his hand on his head, his hair was a bit rough and over grown now, with scattered curls that begged to be combed. He really did feel dizzy and his head felt light; invaded. He remembered Nne and how she'd invaded his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but the thought of being unconscious and helpless with a strange woman who could enter his mind made him uneasy.

It was at that uneasy moment that Rami realized he was not wearing his shirt, and...

"The charm!" Rami gasped and touched his bare chest. He got up and searched around the room which seemed to creak and shift, and readjust in size. The raffia mat folded up on its own accord and rested by the wall, the moment Rami stood up from it.

He paused, listening to the uneven sound of his breath and appreciating the fire's warmth, then he resumed searching. That explained the pain he felt on his back. He stared at the marks on his arm and stretched to feel the ones on his back; it felt dry, probably from the healing process, but it also felt raw and it hurt.

After a few futile minutes, Rami stood up straight and rested his back, carefully, against the wall. His body maintained the transparent glow, on and off and not steady again.

"...I think he is," a soft voice came.

Rami paused in his noisy breathing and listened. It was Nne's voice; maybe she was in his head again, but he doubted it for he heard another voice, and then more voices building up a conversation of strange voices. Voices that made his skin crawl.

°°°°

Nne was a witch. This was more of a title she'd learned to accept ever since she came into the world she lived in now. A title which still managed to spark fear in a strange world full of fearful beings. Her house was a coven, one of six, which made up the order of blacks; a gathering of witches. The sisters almighty, they called themselves.

Their order had mastered dark magic in the early days of its inception, and have sought hard for a way to cross the long road, and leave the land in which they dwelled. Although they were very powerful, they knew it was only a matter of time before they got subdued.

When NNE saw the glowing fire fly, subdued, in the jar, she'd felt a surge of admiration for the young spirit boy. He had somehow managed to catch the queen fire fly, and surprisingly, survived their attack, which she thought was curious.

The boy was wounded, she observed as he lay unconscious in front of her house. She picked up the jar, feeling its warmth, and then turned back to stare at the boy. She'd gotten what she needed and she could just leave the boy there but there was something strange about this boy; he was unlike the other spirits and beings she'd come across. Her lips began to move quickly as she mumbled ancient verses, her eyes fixed on the boy, picturing the command she was lashing out. Immediately, he began to rise, softly in the air like a puppet being lifted by a bunch of strings. She turned and entered into her house and the levitating body followed her.

The wounds on his skin were not as serious as she thought it to be. The boy was unconscious, but his skin had barely been grazed. Strange, she thought. What was it about this boy? she wondered and left, with the jar in her hand.

"What a beauty." Nne said as the jar swished open. It'd been long she caught a queen fire fly, in fact she'd never done so, but rather had watched as a witch struggled with the bursting flames. That was a long time ago, yet this strange boy had captured one. She turned to stare at him, where he lay. Beginners luck, maybe.

She wriggled her fingers over the jar, as if prepping them for a task, the rings on each finger giving off a low gleam, and then placed two fingers just an inch into the jar. The fire fly, a kaleidoscope of red, yellow and blue, plastered itself to the wall of the jar, away from the two fingers stretching towards it.

The light gave her beautiful face a grim shade, and she stuck out her tongue as her fingers stretched beyond what would have been termed normal, and closed on the tiny pebble, the core of the firefly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A Gathering Of Witches

There was a voice. A familiar voice–familiar, yet unknown. It woke him up.

Rami opened his eyes and turned his head to his side. He was in a brightly, flame-lit room. His body hurt; his back especially. The room was small, and the mat he lay on took up half the space. Rami winced as he tried to sit up. The pain was a peppery sort, burning and itchy. His arms strained against the dark green raffia mat, as he slowly pushed himself up.

His mind was foggy, but he still remembered the strange woman, and the fire flies. It made him angry thinking of it. Rami placed his hand on his head, his hair was a bit rough and over grown now, with scattered curls that begged to be combed. He really did feel dizzy and his head felt light; invaded. He remembered Nne and how she'd invaded his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but the thought of being unconscious and helpless with a strange woman who could enter his mind made him uneasy.

It was at that uneasy moment that Rami realized he was not wearing his shirt, and...

"The charm!" Rami gasped and touched his bare chest. He got up and searched around the room which seemed to creak and shift, and readjust in size. The raffia mat folded up on its own accord and rested by the wall, the moment Rami stood up from it.

He paused, listening to the uneven sound of his breath and appreciating the fire's warmth, then he resumed searching. That explained the pain he felt on his back. He stared at the marks on his arm and stretched to feel the ones on his back; it felt dry, probably from the healing process, but it also felt raw and it hurt.

After a few futile minutes, Rami stood up straight and rested his back, carefully, against the wall. His body maintained the transparent glow, on and off and not steady again.

"...I think he is," a soft voice came.

Rami paused in his noisy breathing and listened. It was Nne's voice; maybe she was in his head again, but he doubted it for he heard another voice, and then more voices building up a conversation of strange voices. Voices that made his skin crawl.

°°°°

Nne was a witch. This was more of a title she'd learned to accept ever since she came into the world she lived in now. A title which still managed to spark fear in a strange world full of fearful beings. Her house was a coven, one of six, which made up the order of blacks; a gathering of witches. The sisters almighty, they called themselves.

Their order had mastered dark magic in the early days of its inception, and have sought hard for a way to cross the long road, and leave the land in which they dwelled. Although they were very powerful, they knew it was only a matter of time before they got subdued.

When NNE saw the glowing fire fly, subdued, in the jar, she'd felt a surge of admiration for the young spirit boy. He had somehow managed to catch the queen fire fly, and surprisingly, survived their attack, which she thought was curious.

The boy was wounded, she observed as he lay unconscious in front of her house. She picked up the jar, feeling its warmth, and then turned back to stare at the boy. She'd gotten what she needed and she could just leave the boy there but there was something strange about this boy; he was unlike the other spirits and beings she'd come across. Her lips began to move quickly as she mumbled ancient verses, her eyes fixed on the boy, picturing the command she was lashing out. Immediately, he began to rise, softly in the air like a puppet being lifted by a bunch of strings. She turned and entered into her house and the levitating body followed her.

The wounds on his skin were not as serious as she thought it to be. The boy was unconscious, but his skin had barely been grazed. Strange, she thought. What was it about this boy? she wondered and left, with the jar in her hand.

"What a beauty." Nne said as the jar swished open. It'd been long she caught a queen fire fly, in fact she'd never done so, but rather had watched as a witch struggled with the bursting flames. That was a long time ago, yet this strange boy had captured one. She turned to stare at him, where he lay. Beginners luck, maybe.

She wriggled her fingers over the jar, as if prepping them for a task, the rings on each finger giving off a low gleam, and then placed two fingers just an inch into the jar. The fire fly, a kaleidoscope of red, yellow and blue, plastered itself to the wall of the jar, away from the two fingers stretching towards it.

The light gave her beautiful face a grim shade, and she stuck out her tongue as her fingers stretched beyond what would have been termed normal, and closed on the tiny pebble, the core of the firefly.
CHAPTER NINE

Paranoia

THE flames burned brightly as the witching hour approached. Outside the house of wood, darkness fell. The trees rustled as a rowdy wind blew against them, scattering their dried leaves about. Inside the house, he big metal pot hissed gently, its cover shaking slightly as steam escaped through the small openings. It sat over the mild flame, the liquid it held bubbling, ready to receive its strange ingredients.

Nne hummed under her breath an old song- sung back in her early witching days. The song spoke of an ancient tale about a stupid girl who'd insulted a witch and had consequently gotten her family eaten on the next witching hour. It was a form of joke in various covens, highlighting the delight of tasting human flesh, especially that of the stubborn ones. It soon became stale and barbaric, but obviously Nne still found it amusing.

Her fingers worked skillfully, breaking the twigs on the woven tray balanced on her lap and shedding it of its leaves. Still humming, she separated the leaves, tiny greens, from the equally tiny podded seeds. The leaves were poisonous, not in themselves, but when used in making a poisonous brew. The black podded seeds were medicinal, and what she needed now.

With the tap of a finger on the tray, the tiny leaves rose up a few inches above the tray, collecting themselves one at a time and moved, to the left side of the tray, away from the podded seeds which also rose and shifted to the right side of the tray. NNE sighed and glanced beyond the fire, at a small room, where the boy lay. He was still unconscious. As she dealt with the leaves and the seeds, she kept wondering about him. It wasn't especially curious to have a spirit wander into her domain; while this did not happen often, it did happen. There was something about this spirit-boy, something that reminded her of herself, before she became a witch and found herself in the world she lived in.

She still found it very impressive that he'd caught the fire fly. She'd heal him even if it was just for that single feat. A jar rattled on a black shelf behind Nne, one fused to the wall by some strange magic. She watched absentmindedly as the leaves rose even higher and circled in the air, in a single file and flew, as if by their own free will, into the jar on the shelf. It was Nne's doing; a simple mind trick she'd learned many years ago. She could will any object to move, and it would. She'd simply told the leaves to separate themselves from the seeds and store themselves in the jar sitting on the shelf, and the leaves had obeyed. It was basic witchcraft; one she could do in her sleep.

The woven tray gently floated in the air as she stood up from her stool. It followed her, floating by her side, as she walked slowly towards the bristling pot. There was a mirror, large and brown, hanging by the wall, suspended by nothing but a spell. Nne paused before this mirror and hesitated. It hung by her left. Her breathing was rasp and dry, as it had always been. The mirror seemed to wait for her, as she hesitated.

"Just one look," she whispered to herself, her soft hands shaking, the silver bangles around her wrist jingling.

The mirror had no reflection because it was no ordinary mirror; its face was plain as if covered by a thin white sheet.

She drew in a quick breath and turned sharply, her eyes darting all over the mirror face.

It was just as she'd thought. The plain face of the mirror cracked slowly and a frosty haze slowly crept over it, branching from each edge. The frosty haze soon cleared, revealing a reflection; Nne's. She watched in worry as the wrinkled old woman with pure white hair, folded skin with dark spots and dull eyes, stared back at her. That was her real self, hundreds of years old. She gasped and looked away from the mirror. Her hand subconsciously ran over her smooth skin, relieved that it was still young and fresh, and soft and glowing. But the mirror had shown her the truth; she was aging fast and dying, and although her spell was doing a great job at masking this she feared the end of her days drew near. A solution was needed, but a solution was impossible. The mirror was plain again.

The tiny black seeds hissed as they dropped into the boiling liquid. Nne watched intently as the liquid, once a light brown, slowly thinned and darkened. The steam, with its rancid odor, drifted past her face, making her squint. She watched still, waiting for the last of the seeds to give off its dark essence. When this happened, signified by a continuous popping sound, she took out a thin ladle and stared the mix, the middle of which was dark with a tint of green at the edge. The medicine was ready.

The boy lay still on a mat in the small room. He hadn't moved an inch since she'd dropped him there an hour ago. She wasn't concerned though, the liquid in the bowl she held would do the trick. The room was warm, lit by a soft yellow flame. She mumbled to herself as she squatted close to the unconscious boy. The words she said, the incantations, soon became muted as only her lips moved. She lowered the bowl close to the boy's face such that the thin edge touched his lips. His lips parted slightly as the dark liquid gathered into his mouth.

"Swallow now." She said tenderly as she rubbed two of her fingers against his throat. He gulped and the liquid found its way down his throat. She watched the red glow around his cheek move down his throat and towards his chest; the medicine was circulating. The glow ceased its movement just below his clavicle, Nne frowned; his shirt was hindering the medicine's path.

She laid the bowl down by his side, meticulous in all her movements, and picked at the buttons of his shirt. One by one, she slowly unclasped the buttons. She hummed as she did this, somewhat enjoying her task. It has been long she had a patient after all, or a visitor that wasn't a member of her coven.

Halfway into loosening his shirt, her fingers suddenly stopped their picking and her humming ceased. She moved her head closer and gently pulled the shirt apart. The warm glow in her eyes became hazy and soon a certain maleficence seeped into it as her fingers wrapped around the snail charm. She tightened her lips and yanked out the charm, the boy's body jerking up a bit as the string snapped off his neck.

"Impossible!" She gasped and got up quickly, the charm emitting a soft glow in her then. A glow which immediately died down the moment she closed her palm. Her eyes settled on the boy, his flickering glow becoming eminent. This boy was no SPIRIT.

****

The first sign of their arrival was the flutter of wings on the roof of the house. Mami came in first. She was the leader of the coven and just like Nne, she was very beautiful with thin white hair that draped over her shoulders, chocolate dark skin, glistening and smooth, and a face that beheld both mystery and wonder. She was just as small as Nne, a little over five feet. A black feather stuck out of the band wrapped around her hair; the feather of a Raven, her spirit bird. The sisters almighty had an unspoken rule about animal transformation: it was advised but not completely necessary. Birds were the animals of choice; they were easy to master and traveled far. With thousands of species of birds, it was possible for all the witches of the south–a larger division of the sisters almighty–to each have a unique transformation. Although it wasn't surprising to spot two eagles or kites in the same meeting. Most would argue that they hadn't much idea of the rarer species of birds except the common eagle and hawks, and sparrows and vultures.

Nne had been sitting on her stool, the second to the right, among the five other stools now encircled around a fire pit. She had looked up when the first thud came from her roof, she'd heard the flutter. Now her eyes were fixed on the door, waiting.

She came in slowly with her back, as the door opened. The gown around her back, made entirely of black feathers, shrunk in size; first cape-like and sweeping the floor but soon as small as a scarf, wrapped around her neck. Nne watched, patiently waiting. She watched Mani stand up straight, her white hair sparkling, and clear her throat.

"Am I welcome here?" Her voice was hoarse, like an old woman's. Her words were deep and resounding.

Nne bowed her head and rose from her stool.

"Oooh," she screeched, the flames in the fire pit rising, casting a long shadow over the visitor; the shadow of a large bird.

"Aye, Mami. You are welcome," Nne answered and patted the high stool beside her ceremoniously and waited for her.

Mani nodded and flicked her hair. She then turned around slowly, her eyes taking up the room and everything in it, as if for the first time. She locked gazes with Nne, their minds engaged in a mental arm wrestle. It was said that during this process, this mental duel, if the leader succumbs she would immediately be dethroned from the coven. This was a rarity though, with loyalty being a pillar with the sisters, only happening in covens with ambitious second in commands. Nne was not ambitious and she liked Mami. Their eyes darkened as the light around them faded and their gaze locked tighter. Nne wrinkled her face, mustering up energy, but then she gasped and succumbed.

Mami nodded, pleased. She glanced at the high stool and immediately whooshed over to it, raising a cloud of dark smoke and feathers as she did. She was seated now.

"Nne, old friend," she giggled and turned to Nne who was just settling on her stool. "That was very easy, are you alright?"

" I have just been busy, I am alright." But she had other things on her mind, other things more important than playing mental arm wrestling.

"Let us wait for the others. Sisters almighty," Mami said and stared into the flames.

"Sisters almighty," Nne responded. Just then a squawk was heard from outside, followed by flutters and the scraping of the roof. The others were arriving.

They came into the room following the order of their ranks. Nana, third in command, her spirit bird a white heron, strutted into the room. She glanced sharply at the other two seated by the fire and, without wasting much time, whooshed over to her stool in a white haze. Nana was thin and white, with honey black hair and red eyes. She was also beautiful, but in a fierce manner. She despised both number two and number because, in her words, Nne is just too weak and Mami is just too old. She kept her opinions to herself.

"Welcome," Nne said and patted her lap. Nana grunted and stared at the hand, then she nodded, obliged to accept this gesture. She glanced up with the others at the door as a parrot, blue with spotted yellow feathers, flew into the room. It circled around, it's wing flapping and then flew back to the door.

Mami shook her head, Nne smiled and Nana grunted as the parrot squawked and went silent. A thin blue haze rose up above the bird. Its feathers shook off its body as the haze thickened. The others watched silently, the crackling of the fire constant, as the haze lost its thickness and began to fade. A woman squatted in the spot where the parrot had been. A woman dressed in a blue gown, beautiful as a dark night, her blue hair held together by a yellow pin. She was Sabi, known for her often dramatic entrances. She walked over to the circle, a strut in her steps, and lowered herself on a stool. Number five and six, Uni and Unu, twins and the youngest of the sisters, came in without much drama. The coven was now complete.

****

Thanks for reading this preview. Your feedback will be highly appreciated. For more info on the book and its release date, like my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/chukswritesStuffs/

