The Weight Of Gold

The journey from the burial clearing led Iyi down a winding trail toward the river—a river unlike any he had known before. This was the River Ìyànlà, whose waters were said to hold memories of all who had crossed its banks and whispers of futures yet to come. But what made this river unique was not just its history; it was the bend, the curve in its flow where the river seemed to fold back upon itself like a secret being guarded from the world.

As Iyi approached the riverbank, the air grew cooler, scented with fresh water and the faint aroma of lotus blossoms. The water shimmered with silver light under the setting sun, flowing gently, yet with an undercurrent of unseen power.

He knelt by the river's edge, dipping his hands into the cool liquid. The water was smooth, almost alive, as if it carried a pulse of its own—a heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of his spirit.

Legends spoke of this bend as a place of reckoning, where the river's flow reversed briefly, mirroring the twists of fate and the turning points of the soul. Here, travelers faced their pasts reflected in the waters, forced to confront the choices that shaped them.

Iyi's reflection rippled, fragmented by the gentle waves. But it was not just his face staring back—it was a kaleidoscope of images from his journey: the hungry boy in Lagos, the spider's web of lies, the drum that spoke in silence, and the palm lines carved into his skin.

A voice whispered in the rustle of leaves—a spirit guide, known among the villagers as Ẹ̀kúnrẹ́rẹ́, the Watcher of Currents. Dressed in garments woven from river reeds and adorned with cowrie shells, Ẹ̀kúnrẹ́rẹ́ emerged from the shadows, her eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge.

"You come to the bend," she said softly, "where the river flows backward and the soul faces itself."

Iyi stood, meeting her gaze.

"What must I do?" he asked.

Ẹ̀kúnrẹ́rẹ́ smiled, gesturing to the river.

"To cross the bend is to face the currents of your past. To see where you turned away, where you faltered, and where you found strength. Only by embracing the full flow of your story can you move forward."

Iyi took a deep breath, stepping into the river's cool embrace. The water lapped gently at his ankles, rising steadily as he waded deeper. The current tugged softly, a reminder that the river was alive, aware.

As he reached the bend, the flow shifted—the water reversed its course momentarily, swirling around him like a living mirror.

Suddenly, visions flooded his mind.

He saw himself in Lagos, the boy desperate and hungry, chasing illusions of wealth and power. He saw the faces of those he had deceived, the shadows of lies cast long and dark. He saw the sponge, heavy and soaked with pain, the burial that freed him yet left its mark.

But alongside the darkness were flashes of light—the moments of kindness, the lessons learned, the courage to face the unknown.

The river's bend was not just a place of judgment but of reconciliation.

Iyi felt the weight of his past settle into a new shape—no longer a burden but a foundation.

The water's current gently pushed him forward, carrying him through the bend and into a stretch of river bathed in golden light.

He emerged from the water, soaked and trembling but renewed.

Ẹ̀kúnrẹ́rẹ́ stood on the bank, her smile warm.

"You have crossed the bend," she said. "The river flows now with your full story—past and future entwined."

Iyi looked back once more at the bend, its swirling waters calm again.

He felt whole.

The journey was far from over, but here, at the river's turning, he had found a moment of peace.

As the sun set behind the palms, casting a fiery glow across the sky, Iyi stepped forward, ready for whatever awaited.