Taleo

THE FOREST OF EKPE IBOM — EPISODE 14

When the Forest Dreamed of Blood

The nights in Ekpe Ibom grew longer after the Seventh Shrine awakened.

Wind no longer sang through the trees — it whispered names.
And every dawn, the soil wept dew like sweat from a fever.

Something ancient had begun to stir beneath the roots.

Ekemini no longer slept. His eyes carried the ache of one who had seen too much.
The blossoms from Ukod Anwan, the tree that knew his name, had stopped glowing three days ago — a bad omen.

That morning, the old woman from the market, Mama Ndito, came to his hut with trembling hands.

“Child,” she said, “the river has turned black again. The fish are dying.
Even the birds refuse to cross the forest line. The gods are restless.”

Ekemini sighed. “When the roots of a tree begin to decay, it spreads death to the branches.”

She nodded, pressing her wrapper to her chest. “The elders want to perform cleansing rituals. But I know — it’s not the gods who are angry… it’s what you woke up.”

He looked toward the forest, where mist danced like ghosts.

“Then the forest must be answered,” he said quietly.

That night, Ekemini lit seven small fires before the old tree.
Each one represented a shrine. Each one flickered differently — one blue, one red, one gold, others pale as ghosts.

He began to chant the old tongue — not learned, but remembered from the blood that birthed him.

And the forest listened.

Then came the crack.

A sound that split the night like thunder splitting bone.

The earth trembled.

The fires went out.

And from the darkness, figures emerged — their eyes glowing amber, their skins carved with marks like roots.

The Keepers of the Old Soil.

Long ago, they swore to guard the balance between gods and men. But now, they bowed to no one.

Their leader stepped forward — tall, draped in bark and bone.

“Ekemini, son of the Awakened Tree,” he said, “you have broken the seal.
You have called us from the deep. Now you must choose your side.”

Ekemini gripped his staff. “I seek peace.”

The Keeper laughed — a sound like dry leaves snapping.
“Peace?” he echoed. “The forest remembers no peace. Only balance — and blood.”

The others beat their staffs against the ground.
Roots began to rise like serpents, twisting toward the sky.

And from the tree itself, a voice moaned — ancient and endless:

“The war beneath the roots… has begun.”

The moon dimmed.
The ground shook.
And in the distance, at the edge of Ekpe Ibom, a new light flared — crimson, cold, and hungry.

Something else had awakened.
Something not bound by the shrines… but by vengeance.

To be continued...

THE FOREST OF EKPE IBOM – EPISODE 13

The Tree That Knows Your Name

Ekemini returned to the village of his birth in silence.

He had left as a boy full of questions.
He returned as a man burdened with answers no one was ready to hear.

Children stared at him from behind their mothers.
Elders looked away, pretending not to know.

But the tree — that tree — did not pretend.

It stood at the edge of the village, twisted and wide, its roots like ancient fingers clawing into the earth. Some called it Ukod Anwan, “the tree of secrets.” Others whispered its true name only at night: Iban Idem — the tree that remembers faces.

It was under this tree that Ekemini had once wept as a child.

Where his mother had whispered, “Not all blood is a blessing, my son.”

Now, the wind around it no longer rustled. It trembled.

The staff in Ekemini’s hand pulsed.

This was it.

The Seventh Shrine.

Not a shrine of stone or fire, but of *origin*.

He knelt, placing the seven gifts from the forgotten gods in a circle:

The riddle
The name
The tear
The wound
The silence
The stone
The mirror

The earth responded.

The roots of the tree stirred, groaning as if waking from a long nightmare.

And then… it spoke.

Not aloud — but into every corner of the village. Into every ear. Into the bones of every living thing.

“The seal is broken.”

The ground cracked beneath Ekemini. From the roots, a shadow rose — not a spirit, but a memory too strong to die.

It had Ekemini’s face.

But its eyes were hollow.

It was the part of him the village had buried. The shame. The anger. The truth.

“You came back,” it said. “Why?”

Ekemini looked at the mirror in front of him. His reflection did not match his face.

“I came,” he said, “because what an elder sees sitting down, a child cannot see even from the top of a tree. But I am no longer a child.”

The shadow snarled.

The wind howled.

The villagers began to gather, drawn by the rumble in the earth.

One of the elders stepped forward. “What have you done, boy?”

Ekemini stood. “You buried a shrine beneath a lie. You sealed a god in the roots of your shame. And now the forest demands truth.”

“But it will tear us apart!”

Ekemini nodded slowly. “A house divided against itself cannot stand. But truth… truth rebuilds.”

He lifted the staff. The mirror shattered.

And with it, the shadow vanished.

The tree stilled.

Then, something impossible happened.

The roots began to bloom.

Out of bark and darkness, blossoms of white and red emerged — the colors of death and rebirth.

And the wind finally whispered his name — not in warning, but in welcome.

“Ekemini.”

The villagers fell silent.

The old tree, once twisted with secrets, now stood straight. Whole.

Seven shrines had awakened.

The balance was shifting.

But far away — beyond Ekpe Ibom, beyond even the forest — others were watching.

And Season 3 would not begin with questions.

It would begin… with a war.

(To be continued…)

THE FOREST OF EKPE IBOM – EPISODE 12

The Shrine of the Forgotten Gods

For three days, Ekemini wandered.

No path. No direction.

The staff he had received at Idim Mmuo hummed faintly, pulling him toward something unseen — something older than language and lonelier than time.

He was not in the forest he knew.

He was somewhere… before it.

Here, trees bent backwards. The sky blinked like an eye. The earth whispered names not spoken in a hundred lifetimes.

And in the silence, he heard them.

The Forgotten Gods.

Once worshipped. Then buried.

Not because they died — but because men stopped remembering.

He came upon a hill shaped like a question mark.

At its peak stood a gate — broken, twisted, blackened by fire.

Behind it: the Sixth Shrine.

Ibok Nkere, they once called it.

The Shrine of the Forgotten Gods.

Built not with stone, but with stories.

Each pillar whispered a name — names scratched out of history.

Names that still hung in the wind like smoke.

The moment Ekemini stepped through the gate, his body went still.

But his soul moved forward.

Suddenly, he was a boy again — watching his mother sing over a pot of bitterleaf. Then a teenager — fists bloody from a fight he didn’t start. Then older — sitting at the edge of the forest, staring at a village that never accepted him.

And through it all, the voices came:

“You cannot carry what you do not honor.”
“A tree does not make a forest.”
“If a lizard falls from a high tree and no one praises it, it will praise itself.”

Then came the final voice.

Deep. Like thunder wrapped in regret.

“You are not the first. But you may be the last.”

A figure emerged — tall, robed in the skins of forgotten beasts. Its face was a mask of shifting mouths.

“Why do you awaken us?” it asked.

“Because the seal on Ekpe Ibom weakens,” Ekemini said. “And only the old gods remember how it was bound.”

The figure moved closer. “Do you seek knowledge… or power?”

“Neither. I seek balance.”

It paused, then raised a hand.

And from the mist behind it, seven shadows emerged — each holding a piece of a forgotten truth.

One gave him a riddle.

One gave him a name.

One gave him a tear.

One gave him a wound.

One gave him silence.

One gave him a stone.

And the last gave him a mirror.

“Carry these,” the god said, “and when the seventh shrine awakens, choose which to break.”

Ekemini nodded.

Then the sky tore open — not with light, but with memory.

And the god whispered:

“The final shrine is not hidden… it is buried. Beneath the village that betrayed you. Beneath the tree that knows your name. Return home, Ekemini. The forest is watching.”

He blinked.

He was back at the foot of a familiar hill.

The staff still in his hand.

But now, his shadow moved *before* him.

And somewhere, not far, the wind whispered: “The seal… is cracking.”

(To be continued…)

Our next episode of THE FOREST OF EKPE IBOM will drop by 6pm today.

It's been a while everyone, so sorry for taking long to continue our story.

It has been a busy months and couldn't have the chance to continue the story at that moment but I am back now.