I felt it in my bones long before I saw it with my eyes – a subtle tremor in the ground, the uneasy hush of the wind. The world was holding its breath. Only three sunsets remained before the eclipse that would decide our fate. As we traveled across the savannah at dusk, the sky burned purple and red. I sensed the moon's shadow already reaching for the sun. It was as if the heavens were gathering an army of darkness. I walked on, each step heavy with the weight of unseen forces, each step a prayer that I would be strong enough for what lay ahead.
Amina and Jabari kept pace beside me. Their silhouettes were ink-black against the fading light. We moved in determined silence. We had to reach the Old Baobab by nightfall, where a wise elder awaited with guidance for the trials to come. My heart pounded like a distant drum – a rhythm of anxiety and resolve. I glanced at Amina; even in dimness her eyes shone with courage. She caught my gaze and offered a reassuring smile. "We are with you, Obasi," she whispered. Her words steadied me, reminding me I did not bear this burden alone.
Yet as the last sliver of sun vanished, doubt crept in like a chill. I was Earth's gravitational guardian, chosen to keep balance – but never had the responsibility felt so immense. What if I failed? What if Nyos, with all his malevolent power, proved stronger than us? I swallowed those fears and pressed on. The others could likely sense my unease, but they remained silent pillars of strength in the growing dark.
Night had settled by the time we reached the great baobab tree. Its gnarled roots twisted over cracked earth, branches spread wide. This place was sacred ground to many. To me it felt like coming home. I laid a hand on the rough bark and exhaled, releasing tension into the soil. Guide me, I prayed silently – whether to the tree or my ancestors, I did not know.
A small fire crackled at the base of the baobab. Beside it the elder, Nkiru, waited. She wore a cloak patterned with stars, and her face was lined with countless seasons of wisdom. She greeted us with a nod, her eyes reflecting the firelight like two galaxies. We sat around the flames, its light dancing on our weary faces.
Nkiru tossed a handful of crushed herbs into the fire. A fragrant smoke rose, twisting into shapes that looked almost alive. The elder hummed a low melody, the sound vibrating through my chest. In the glowing embers, images swirled: a ring of darkness devouring the sun; a towering figure of living shadow – Nyos; and a single star falling to earth and sprouting into a radiant young tree.
My eyes flew open. Nkiru watched me quietly. "Tell me, child—what do you see?" she asked. Amina's hand found mine beneath the night's chill. Haltingly, I described the vision. Jabari listened intently, his strong face tense with concern.
Nkiru nodded, stirring the fire with a stick. "The eclipse will bring Nyos to the height of his power. He will try to swallow the sun's light and cast the world into endless night." She pointed at the tiny ember that glowed like a star in the ashes. "But the star that fell to earth, taking root—that is hope. Life finding a way to stand against destruction." Her gaze lifted to me, piercing and kind. "Obasi, you are that star. When the sky goes dark, remember your roots. Remember who you are, and who stands with you."
Her words warmed me. I thought of my father's old lesson that gravity was not a chain, but an embrace. Here under the baobab, I felt that embrace around me – the presence of those who came before, holding me up.
From a carved gourd, Nkiru poured a warm, spiced draught for each of us. It filled me with comforting heat. "Close your eyes and listen," she murmured.
I let the night wash over my senses. At first I heard only the crackle of fire and whispering wind. Then, like echoes in a cavern, faint voices emerged: a lullaby hummed softly, a kind word in an ancient tongue I barely knew yet understood. The ancestors were speaking. Amina squeezed my hand; perhaps she heard them too.
Tears pricked my eyes – not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming sense of kinship. They are with me. The crushing weight of fear lightened. I was still afraid – how could I not be? – but I was no longer alone.
In time, the whispers faded. I opened my eyes to find Nkiru smiling gently. "Your forebears have heard you," she said. "They will guide you. But the struggle is yours, and your courage will shape the dawn after this night."
Jabari placed a fist over his heart. "By my ancestors, we will not falter," he vowed, echoing the resolve now burning inside me. Amina wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. I straightened, shoulders set with renewed determination. "We will stop Nyos," I said, quietly but firmly. Hearing the conviction in my voice made me believe it more.
That night, under the sheltering arms of the baobab, we took turns keeping watch. Jabari volunteered first, pacing the darkness on guard. Amina slept curled at my side while I leaned against the mighty trunk. My mind still churned with thoughts of what was coming. But as I listened to her steady breathing and felt the solid earth beneath me, I found a measure of peace. The distant cry of a jackal echoed across the plain – a lonely, defiant song. I closed my eyes, letting the night sounds and the memory of ancestral voices lull me toward rest.
In three days, the shadow would reach its peak. But we would meet it, braced by love and light. As the darkness gathered its forces, so did we.