The river swallowed Amaka and Chike, its cold grip a living thing, pulling them deeper into a world where light twisted and sound warped. The water was no mere current—it pulsed with intent, Mami Wata's will woven into every ripple. Amaka's amulet burned against her chest, its spiral glowing faintly, a beacon in the murky depths. Chike's hand clung to hers, his fingers strong despite the current's pull, their bond a lifeline against the goddess's claim.
They tumbled through the water, lungs burning, until the pressure eased. The river opened into a vast, shimmering cavern, its walls studded with cowrie shells that glowed like stars. The floor was smooth stone, etched with symbols that pulsed in time with their heartbeats. Air filled the space, though no sky hung above. In the center stood Nneka, her eyes wide, her torn wrapper clinging to her trembling frame. She floated just above the ground, her feet brushing a pool that mirrored the river above.
"Nneka!" Amaka cried, surging forward, but an invisible force stopped her, like a hand pressing against her chest. Chike steadied her, his arm around her waist, his breath ragged but warm against her neck. The intimacy of his touch grounded her, a reminder of their kiss under the mango tree, of his promise to face this with her.
Mami Wata emerged from the pool, her form fluid yet solid, her hair flowing like black water, her eyes twin moons. Cowries clinked at her wrists, and her scale-draped cloth shimmered with every hue of the river. She tilted her head, her gaze sliding between Amaka and Chike, lingering on their joined hands.
"You come," she said, her voice a melody that echoed in their minds. "Daughter of the river. Son of iron. You carry my mark, and Ogun's. Yet you defy my law."
Amaka's voice trembled but held firm. "You take Nneka. She no part of this. Let her go."
Mami Wata's lips curved, not cruel but knowing. "The river takes what is owed. Your mother broke the law, daughter. She wore my amulet, yet loved another above me. Now you walk her path."
Chike stepped forward, his hand tightening around Amaka's. "And me? Why am I here?"
The goddess's eyes gleamed. "Iron runs in your blood, stranger. Ogun forged you, though you know it not. Your heart chose her"—she nodded at Amaka—"and now your fates are bound. But love is no shield unless tested."
Nneka whimpered, her small form shaking. "Amaka, I sorry. I only come to warn you…"
Amaka's heart twisted. "No be your fault, Nneka." She turned to Mami Wata, her chin high. "Test us, then. But no touch her."
The goddess laughed, a sound like water over stones. "Bold, like your mother. Very well. A trial for three lives—yours, his, the child's. Prove your bond, or the river keeps you all."
The cavern shifted, the walls rippling like liquid. The pool at its center widened, and three paths emerged, each leading into a tunnel of swirling water. Above each, a symbol glowed: a spiral for Mami Wata, a hammer for Ogun, a lightning bolt for Sango. The air crackled, heavy with the scent of iron and ozone.
Mami Wata raised a hand. "Choose a path. One leads to freedom, one to truth, one to death. Your bond will guide you—or break you."
Chike's eyes met Amaka's, his gaze steady, filled with a warmth that made her chest ache. "We do this together," he said, his voice low, meant only for her. He brushed a thumb across her knuckles, a silent promise that sent a shiver through her, not from fear but from the depth of his care. In that moment, she saw not the city farmer, but a man who'd chosen her over safety, over reason.
She nodded, her heart swelling. "Together."
They stepped toward the paths, Nneka trailing behind, her small hand clutching Amaka's wrapper. Amaka studied the symbols, her amulet pulsing in rhythm with the spiral. "This one," she whispered, pointing to Mami Wata's path. "It call me."
Chike hesitated, his hand tightening on hers. "You sure?"
"No," she admitted, a faint smile breaking through her fear. "But I trust you to pull me back if I wrong."
His lips twitched, a spark of humor in his eyes. "Always." He leaned in, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to her forehead, the warmth of it steadying her like iron. Nneka watched, her fear easing slightly at their closeness.
They entered the spiral tunnel, the water parting around them like a curtain. The air grew thick, scented with salt and secrets. The path twisted, and visions flickered in the walls—Amaka's mother, laughing by the river; a young Chike, hammering nails in a Lagos workshop; Nneka, running through the village with a basket of yams. Each image felt like a memory, but not their own, as if the river held their pasts in its depths.
At the tunnel's end, a stone platform rose, holding a single cowrie shell, glowing brighter than any star. Mami Wata's voice echoed: "Take it, and name your bond. Speak true, or the river claims you."
Amaka reached for the shell, but Chike stopped her, his hand gentle but firm. "Wait," he said, his eyes searching hers. "What's our bond, Amaka? Not what the gods want—what we want."
Her throat tightened, tears pricking her eyes. She thought of their kiss, of his hand in hers, of the way he'd stood between her and the river's pull. "You see me," she said softly. "Not the curse, not the mark. Just me. And I see you—not the stranger, but the man who stay when he could run."
Chike's face softened, his hand cupping her cheek. "I choose you, Amaka. Not for balance, not for gods. For you." He kissed her then, slow and deep, a vow sealed in the river's heart. The warmth of it spread through her, stronger than the amulet's burn, stronger than fear.
Nneka's small voice broke the moment. "Amaka… the shell."
Amaka turned, her hand steady now, and took the cowrie shell. It pulsed in her palm, warm as Chike's touch. "Our bond is love," she said, her voice ringing clear. "Not for you, Mami Wata, but for us. For Nneka. For life."
The cavern trembled. The water walls shimmered, then parted, revealing a path back to the riverbank. Mami Wata appeared one last time, her eyes unreadable. "You speak true," she said. "For now, the river release you. But my mark remain."
The goddess sank into the pool, and the cavern dissolved. They stumbled onto the riverbank, gasping, the night air cool against their wet skin. Nneka clung to Amaka, sobbing with relief. Chike pulled them both close, his arms a shield against the dark.
The village was silent as they returned, Nneka between them, her small hand in Amaka's. Okeke stood at the shrine, his staff still, his face unreadable. The crowd watched, their fear replaced by awe. Mama Kika rushed forward, falling to her knees before Nneka, tears streaming.
"The gods pause," Okeke said, his voice heavy. "But the balance no complete. The oracle will speak again."
Amaka met his gaze, her hand still in Chike's. "Let it speak. We ready."
He nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Go. Rest. The gods no sleep."
That night, in the quiet of Amaka's compound, she and Chike sat under the mango tree, Nneka asleep inside. The stars burned bright, the river silent. Chike traced circles on Amaka's palm, his touch a quiet promise. "I'm not leaving," he said. "Not Umuaka. Not you."
She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, the amulet cool for the first time. "Good," she whispered. "Because I no let you go."
Their lips met again, softer this time, a seal on a future unwritten but chosen.
As they kissed, a distant flute note sounded, sharp and fleeting. The air shifted, carrying the scent of iron. In the village, Okeke's chalk symbols flared, and the iron blade on the altar trembled.
In Lagos, a new clock in the boardroom stopped, its hands frozen at midnight.
And beneath the river, a cowrie shell pulsed, its glow brighter than before, as if waiting for the next test.