The forest path had given way to stone—jagged, blistered rock that jutted from the earth like broken teeth. Obim stepped lightly, his staff glowing faintly with the oil of ogirisi leaves, smeared during their morning prayers. The air here was heavier, thick with smoke and secrets.
Ahead loomed the Obu Ukechi—the Forbidden Hills. Known to the Abiriba elders as the "Womb of Trials," these mountains were said to be home to Agha-nsụ, the ancient spirit of conflict, who tested the hearts of all who dared walk through its belly.
Nwanne was unusually quiet, her once confident steps faltering.
Uzoaru noticed and slowed down to walk beside her. "Your leg…?"
"No," Nwanne replied quickly. "Not my leg. My spirit. Something is clawing at it."
Obim stopped. "We are approaching the place where your deepest rival becomes your only shield."
Nwanne scoffed but said nothing. A silence stretched between the three.
Soon, the trail disappeared altogether, replaced by a mouth in the mountain, its entrance guarded by two massive stone statues—warriors whose spears pointed inward.
Etched at their feet was an inscription in worn Nsibidi:"Only the bearers of truth may pass. Speak your truth, or remain outside forever."
Obim turned to the maidens. "You must enter alone. I will wait here. Each of you must face your own path inside."
Uzoaru nodded. She approached first, hand resting on the carved spear of the left warrior. The stone warmed beneath her palm, and a door opened, swallowing her into darkness.
Nwanne waited.
"Are you afraid?" Obim asked gently.
"I am not afraid of darkness," she answered. "Only of what I might find within it."
And she, too, entered.
Inside the Mountain
The air was thick with silence. Uzoaru stepped forward, every sound of her breath amplified by the hollow stone walls. Then suddenly—light.
She stood before a fire that danced without smoke. Beside it, a figure emerged.
Her mother.
But her mother had died years ago.
"Mama…?"
The spirit smiled, but her eyes were hollow. "You carry burdens that are not yours, child."
"I carry my fate," Uzoaru replied. "And the fate of someone I love."
The spirit circled her. "But do you love him enough to lose yourself?"
The question struck her like a drumbeat.
She remembered the days when her life had meaning beyond the prince. Her childhood games by the river. Her dream of becoming a healer. Her laughter under moonlight.
Could she still be that person if all she became was the prince's savior?
The fire pulsed.
"No," she whispered. "I will not lose myself. I love him… but I also love who I am becoming."
The spirit bowed and vanished.
The path ahead lit with a new flame.
Elsewhere in the Mountain
Nwanne stepped into a chamber filled with mirrors—each showing a different version of herself.
One wept beside the prince.One stood atop a throne, victorious.One knelt alone, covered in ash.
She turned away.
"I do not need these tricks."
But a voice replied—one that sounded like hers, only older, wearier.
"Then who are you, Nwanne? The one who left when love grew weak? The one who chased power because she feared being forgotten?"
"I… I just wanted to matter."
"And so you chose the darker road."
"I did what I had to do!"
The mirrors cracked.
In the silence, her reflection whispered, "Will you still do what you have to, even if it means destroying the one who remained?"
She sank to her knees.
"I don't know…"
The walls around her shook, then slowly faded. A new door opened—smaller than before.
She stepped through it, eyes wet with something she hadn't felt in moons: regret.
Outside the Mountain
Obim waited as twilight fell. Then, the mountain groaned.
Uzoaru stepped out first, her aura calmer, her spirit grounded.
Minutes later, Nwanne emerged, shaken but alive.
They looked at one another. Not as rivals. But as two women walking different roads toward the same storm.
"Let's keep going," Uzoaru said softly.
This time, Nwanne nodded.
They descended the mountain together, the fires of the trial flickering behind them, but not forgotten.
Far below, in the valley of Eze Mmiri, the next trial awaited.
And somewhere, far away, Prince Nwabueze stirred in his fevered sleep—his dreams haunted by shadows of war, and the women walking to reach him.