Chapter 20: Whispers in the Wind
The monsoon had begun to settle over the village like a secret being slowly unfolded. Rain fell in soft spells, coating the paths with slick mud and sending steam into the air as the sun returned between bursts. Everything felt fresh, washed anew — the trees greener, the air cooler, and the silence between the raindrops deeper.
But something inside Avrielle wasn't so easily cleansed.
It began with a dream.
Not the usual ones filled with village songs, laughter, and the tiny warmth of Irene pressed between her and Ian. No, this one was sharp — voices echoing, flashes of light, a place that didn't smell like damp earth or jasmine, but of sterile walls, of metal and tile. A woman screaming. Herself?
She woke up breathless.
Ian stirred beside her, mumbling something, eyes still closed, and pulled her closer. But her body stayed tense. Even in his arms, something gnawed at her.
The dream wouldn't leave her.
That morning, while Ian was busy helping a few men clear out the fallen branches near the village edge, Avrielle stayed back with Irene. The toddler was content playing with pebbles outside their hut, arranging them into shapes only she understood. Her giggles should have soothed Avrielle, but she found herself watching her child too closely — not with fear, but with… unease.
She didn't understand why.
It wasn't that something was wrong with Rene. It was something else — a tight pull in her chest, like there was a word resting on the tip of her memory. Something she should know. Something she had forgotten.
Avrielle stepped inside and opened the small wooden chest where she kept Irene's clothes and little mementos. She ran her hand across the soft baby blankets, then froze.
There was a necklace — a delicate gold chain with a tiny charm at the center. A rose.
She didn't remember getting it here.
It felt… foreign.
She held it up, eyes narrowing. "This isn't from the villagers," she whispered to herself. "No one wears something like this here."
Then a flicker. A flash.
A memory. A voice.
"She's your daughter, Avrielle. And I know this isn't how we planned things, but she's ours."
Ian's voice.
But different. His tone had been tense, desperate. That version of Ian hadn't been the calm, smiling man who now helped carry rice sacks or make wooden toys for their daughter. That version sounded like he was pleading.
And she was crying.
The vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving behind only a rush of blood in her ears.
She dropped the necklace back into the chest and slammed it shut, her breath shaky.
What was going on?
---
Later that afternoon, Avrielle made her way to the far side of the village — toward the stream where she often went to wash clothes. But this time, she wasn't carrying anything. Her footsteps were slow, deliberate. Her mind racing.
As she passed a group of women, they greeted her cheerfully. She returned their smiles, her voice light, but it was all a mask. Inside, a storm was growing.
Sitting on a flat rock near the stream, she stared at her reflection in the moving water.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Her reflection rippled.
There were gaps. Holes in her memories. Days she couldn't recall in detail. The early days — after their so-called wedding. The beginning of their life together. It had always seemed like a blur, but she had never questioned it before. Never needed to.
But now…
Something was wrong.
Even the rituals — the ones the villagers performed so frequently — she hadn't thought much of them before. But recently, she had noticed the gaps between them. The strange silence that followed. The way Ian always seemed different afterward — more… docile. More agreeable.
She'd missed one of the rituals a few days ago. Irene had a fever, and the old healer had allowed her to stay behind. The next morning, things had felt off. Not in a way she could describe. Just… wrong.
And then the dream came.
It was like a thread had unraveled, and now she couldn't stop pulling.
She had to know the truth.
But Ian… No. Not yet.
If she told him now, and if he was still under whatever trance the villagers kept placing on them — he might not believe her. He might think she was sick, paranoid. Like before.
No. She needed proof first. Something real. Something undeniable.
She couldn't afford another ritual. She couldn't afford to be silenced again.
---
That night, Avrielle lay in bed with her back to Ian. His arm was draped loosely over her waist, his breath even and warm against her shoulder.
"Irene's lucky," he murmured sleepily. "She has your smile."
Avrielle gave a quiet hum in response, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
She had hidden the necklace in the hem of her dress.
Tomorrow, she would go back to the healer's hut. Not for advice. Not for blessings. But to search. To see if there was more.
And maybe… just maybe… she'd find the missing piece.
Behind her, Ian shifted, curling closer. He kissed her head.
"I love you," he mumbled.
She closed her eyes. "I love you too," she said softly.
And she meant it.
But love wasn't the problem.
The truth was.