The forest breathed.
Adewunmi stood at the edge of the Whispering Forest, her bare toes curling into the damp soil where the village's cultivated yam fields gave way to tangled undergrowth. Dawn had not yet broken, but the sky bled indigo at the horizon, silhouetting trees that loomed like ancient sentinels. Their gnarled branches clawed at the air, leaves shivering in a wind that carried no sound. No birdsong, no rustle of creatures—only the low, resonant hum of voices that were not quite voices.
Ancestors, her mother had once called them. They guard the threshold between worlds. Only the desperate or the damned dare enter.
She adjusted the leather satchel slung across her shoulder, its weight heavy with dried plantain, a gourd of palm wine, and the coral bracelet Yemoja had gifted her days earlier. The bracelet's smooth, pink surface glinted faintly in the half-light, a reminder of the Orisha's warning: "This power will burn through you like fire through parchment."
Adewunmi glanced back at the sleeping village. Smoke curled lazily from a few hearths, and the distant cry of a baby split the stillness. Her mother's hut, with its thatched roof sagging like a weary spine, stood dark and silent. She had left no note. Words would only sharpen the blade of her leaving.
I will not let fear choose for me, she told herself, stepping into the forest.
The air thickened instantly. Bioluminescent fungi glowed faintly along the path, their blue-green light pooling like spilled ink. The trees here were different—smooth bark the color of weathered bronze, their trunks etched with symbols Adewunmi could not read. She trailed her fingers over one, and the carvings pulsed faintly, warm to the touch.
"You're trespassing, little thief."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, honeyed and sharp as a blade. Adewunmi froze. A boy emerged from the shadows, no older than twelve, his skin the deep brown of mahogany and his eyes glinting gold. He wore a necklace of cowrie shells and bones, and his legs… Goat legs, cloven hooves tapping rhythmically against the roots.
Esu.
The trickster Orisha grinned, teeth too white, too sharp. "You know my name. Clever girl. But names won't pay your toll."
"Toll?" Her voice trembled.
He circled her, hooves crunching dried leaves. "The forest doesn't suffer mortal feet. Not unless they leave something behind." His gaze lingered on the coral bracelet. "A memory. Your favorite one."
She stiffened. "I have nothing to give."
"Liar." Esu's finger flicked her forehead, and the world dissolved.
She was seven, trailing her father through the cassava fields. His laugh boomed as he swung her onto his shoulders, the sun warming her cheeks. "See how the stalks bow to us, Ade? We are giants here!"
Then the leopard came.
It moved like liquid shadow, eyes burning amber. Her father shoved her behind him, his machete raised. "Run!"
She didn't. She watched. Watched the leopard's claws rake his chest, watched him crumple, heard his last wet gasp—
Adewunmi stumbled, bile rising in her throat. Esu stood before her, holding a shimmering thread of light—the memory. "A fair trade," he said, swallowing it whole. His eyes flashed. "Now, little thief, run. The forest hates lingering guests."
She ran.
The trees tightened around her, roots snaking across the path. Voices hissed: "Prideful child… You'll drown in blood…" She clutched the coral bracelet, its heat searing her wrist. Ahead, a dilapidated treehouse sagged between two massive iroko trees, its ladder dangling like a broken spine.
"Who comes?" A woman's voice, raspy as wind through reeds.
Adewunmi climbed, her palms slick with sweat. The diviner sat cross-legged in the shadows, her face a patchwork of scars. A single eye, milky and blind, fixed on Adewunmi. The other was pure black, pupil-less.
"Ayodele," the woman said. "And you're the girl who swallowed a star."
"What?"
Ayodele snorted. "Oshun's essence. It's burning you from the inside. Sit. Before you faint and crack your skull."
Adewunmi sank onto a frayed mat. The diviner lit a pipe, the smoke smelling of burnt sage and regret. "You seek Ogboni. The thief who killed your priestess."
"You know him?"
"He was my student. Before the darkness took him." Ayodele's voice hardened. "He believes the amulet can resurrect Iku—Death itself. To what end, even the Orishas dare not guess."
Adewunmi's hands curled into fists. "Where is he?"
"Patience, firefly." Ayodele leaned forward. "First, you must understand the price of your power. That bracelet—"
A deafening crack split the air. The treehouse shuddered. Outside, spectral hounds howled, their eyes glowing crimson through the gloom.
"Erinlẹ's hunters," Ayodele hissed. "Your little lightshow called them."
"I didn't—"
"No time!" The diviner yanked a hidden trapdoor open. "Go! Follow the river north. And girl?" Her scarred face softened. "Don't trust the water."