The journey beyond the Obu Ukechi was eerily quiet. Even the birds seemed to hush their songs, as if they feared what lay ahead. The trail led downward into a lush valley where mist curled like fingers across the foliage, and the scent of earth was thick with river water.
Obim stopped by a fallen tree wrapped in thick vines and turned to the maidens.
"The River Oracle is near," he said, voice low. "But beware—Ọnụọha mmiri speaks in riddles. She shows truths in twisted forms. If your hearts are not ready, her waters will drown you, not in liquid, but in memory."
Uzoaru and Nwanne exchanged a look. The tension between them, once sharp and brittle, had softened—but not vanished.
They moved silently, the forest opening into a grove where water pooled in a perfect circle. At its center floated a large stone shaped like a calabash, glowing with a gentle blue light. The surface of the water was still—unnaturally so.
From its center, a figure rose.
A woman, draped in garments that shimmered like fish scales, her face veiled by strands of silver hair. Her eyes held no pupils—just deep whirlpools of light.
"I am Ọnụọha mmiri," she said, her voice a ripple across the air. "Why do you seek me?"
Uzoaru stepped forward. "We seek the herb that can cure Prince Nwabueze. The one known as nkume ndụ."
The Oracle tilted her head. "That root does not grow in soil. It grows in the cracks of spirit. If you want it, you must offer something in return."
"What do you ask?" Nwanne asked cautiously.
The Oracle turned her eyes to her.
"Memory."
Nwanne frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You must give me one memory. A precious one. I will drink it, and you will never recall it again."
A hush fell.
Then Uzoaru asked, "And what do we gain?"
"The path to the herb. And one answer each. About your journey. Or the prince. Or… yourselves."
The maidens hesitated.
Finally, Uzoaru stepped forward. "I accept."
The Oracle raised a hand, and water rose like mist around Uzoaru's head. She gasped as it touched her temple. A shiver ran through her, and suddenly—
She forgot.
The laughter of a warm evening. A child's face. Her father's voice singing her lullabies by the fire.
She could feel the absence but not name it.
The Oracle blinked. "Your memory was sweet. Here is your answer: The prince carries not only illness… but inheritance. What ails him is not of flesh alone—but of bloodline. He must choose between legacy and life."
Uzoaru's breath caught.
Nwanne stepped forward, her jaw tight. "I accept too."
The water curled around her head. She stiffened. Then gasped.
She forgot.
The moment the prince first smiled at her. The giddy rush of being chosen. The warmth of dancing beneath Abiriba moonlight.
Gone.
The Oracle spoke: "You walk with a curse in your bones. The darkness you carry will demand payment—either from you, or from another."
Nwanne staggered back. "That… that's not an answer, it's a threat."
"It is a truth," the Oracle replied calmly. "You both have what you came for. The nkume ndụ root lies north, beyond the Iyi Aja falls. But beware, its guardian has teeth. Many have died with the root in hand."
Obim stepped forward now, placing a calming hand on each maiden's shoulder. "We thank you, great one. We will honor your waters."
The Oracle sank back into the river, vanishing like steam.
The stillness returned.
Only the ripples remained—tiny, trembling memories fading into silence.
As they continued on, Uzoaru touched her chest.
"There's something missing in me," she whispered.
"I know," Nwanne said. "Me too."
And though they had lost a part of themselves in that river, they walked forward—not just closer to the prince, but to a fate neither could yet see.
The mountains behind them no longer loomed.Now, it was the falls ahead that roared.