The Secred Mission

The first rays of sunrise appeared over the horizon, turning the sky yellow and orange. In the town of Eziama The day always started gently, calmly, and with hope. Birds chirped in the distance, their sounds echoing over the rustling leaves of the huge trees that encircled the village. Women started sweeping their premises, children played about barefoot, while men readied for the day's labor in the fields or forests. Life in Eziama was basic, but filled with pleasure and purpose.

The Iroko tree stood in the center of this little village, towering above all other trees in the forest. It was more than a tree; it was a presence, a spirit, and a protector. For decades, the people of Eziama depended on the Iroko to protect them. The elders said that the Iroko contained the spirit of the land, preserving the crops, ensuring that the rains fell in their season, and warding off illness. Under its massive branches, the people gathered for festivals, rituals, and storytelling by the moon's light.

For Adanna, the Iroko had always provided comfort. She frequently sat under it, laying her back against its thick trunk, listening to the elders tell stories about the ghosts in the forest. Adanna was just sixteen years old, yet she exuded calm power. She wasn't the loudest or fastest of her pals to talk, but she was perceptive. She observed things that others did not-the way the wind shifted just before the rains arrived, or the subtle shift in the forest's hum when something was wrong.

Despite this, Adanna never believed she was exceptional. She regarded herself as just another girl in the village, assisting her mother with housework, getting water from the creek, and making baskets to sell at the market. She had never considered grandeur or a destiny related to the Iroko.

That morning, when Adanna headed to the brook for water, she observed something peculiar. The air seemed thicker than normal as if the forest was holding its breath. The birds that typically filled the trees with their melodies were quiet. The rustling leaves sounded muffled, and the village's once-bright vibrancy seemed subdued. She shook it off, believing it was all her imagination, and went on her way.

When she returned to the village, carrying her clay pot on her head, she spotted a gathering of elders gathered near the Iroko. Their looks were tense with fear, and their words were low and rushed. Adanna paused, her curiosity piqued, but she did not dare approach them. Instead, she observed from a distance while her heart rate increased.

Later that day, word traveled quickly that the Iroko had gone quiet.

The holy tree, which had always hummed with a gentle, calming vibration, was suddenly silent. Nobody could sense its presence. It seemed as if the soul that inhabited the tree had disappeared. Panic spread across the community. Mothers gripped their children close, elders mumbled prayers under their breath, and men collected their weapons, unsure of the adversary they were about to confront.

Adanna's mother, Ngozi, drew her aside. Stay close to me, nwa'm. "Something is not right."

Adanna nodded, but her thoughts were racing. How could the Iroko be gone? It has stood for millennia, unaffected by storms and droughts. The reason for its absence was unimaginable.

The village leader, Papa Chukwudi, summoned a gathering in the village square. Despite his age, his voice was authoritative. "My people," he started, "we are facing a tremendous challenge today. The Iroko, our holy protector, has been quiet. We are not sure why, but we must act quickly. Our town is at risk if it is not protected."

Murmurs permeated the air, along with sounds of dread and doubt. Someone said, "What should we do? "How can we bring it back?"

Papa Chukwudi lifted his hand to hush them. "Spirits must be contacted. Only a shaman can cross between our world and theirs. Only they can provide the answers we seek."

All eyes were drawn to Mama Ugo, the village shaman. She was an elderly lady with piercing eyes that seemed to see right into a person's soul. Her presence demanded respect, and her words were full of knowledge.

But Mama Ugo didn't glance at the audience. She was gazing straight at Adanna.

That night, Adanna found herself seated in Mama Ugo's little hut, her heart thumping against her breast. The elderly lady had summoned her after the meeting at the village square, and her voice left no space for refuse. Now, amid the flickering light of a solitary oil lamp, Adanna felt the shaman's stare.

"You are not here by chance," Mama Ugo said, her voice low and steady. "The Iroko's spirit has chosen you."

Adanna blinked with uncertainty. "Me? I do not understand."

"You have always felt linked to the trees and the rhythms of the earth. The Iroko has been watching you, and now, in its hour of need, it appeals to you."

Adanna shakes her head. "But I am only a girl. I know nothing about spirits or magic. I can't even communicate with the ancestors as you can."

Mama Ugo leaned forward, her countenance softening. "None of us were born ready, kid. But when the time comes, we must arise. The Iroko is more than a simple tree; it represents the heart of our community. If it's gone, we're lost. You must discover it, Adanna. "You must bring it back."

Adanna's eyes filled up with tears. She wanted to protest, scream no, and get away. But she knew deep down that Mama Ugo's statements were true. The weight she felt that morning, the eerie calm in the forest-it was all related.

"I don't know if I can do it," she said quietly.

Mama Ugo put a hand on her shoulder. "You're stronger than you realize. The forest (Ọhịa Eke) will challenge you while also guiding you. Trust in yourself and the spirits."

The following morning, as daylight rose over the village, Adanna stood at the forest's edge, a little bag draped over her shoulder. The people had come to watch her leave, their expressions a combination of hope and worry. Her mother grabbed her closely and whispered a prayer in her ear.

"You are my daughter," Ngozi said. "And you're courageous. Go, and return the Iroko to us."

Behind her, the village was silent. Her departure was not marked by fanfare; instead, the people observed in solemn silence as she prepared to go. Only her mother had spoken, and her voice was calm yet filled with fear.

"Adanna," her mother had called, wrapping a little charm around her neck, "this is the ọgwụike, a token of protection." Keep it near, and it will remind you that you are never alone.

Adanna nodded, unable to keep her voice from trembling. She embraced her mother warmly and turned to face the forest (Ọhịa Eke).

Adanna nodded and swallowed her fear's. She turned to face the trees, its shadows dark and menacing. She took a deep breath and walked forward, the weight of her responsibilities heavy on her shoulders.

As the forest closed around her, she muttered a secret prayer to the spirits: "Guide me." "Help me find my way."

The trip had started.