When The Wind Remembers

By Likyabeni Kikon

The forest was eerily silent, save for the dry crackle of fireflies flickering among the trees. A soft wind stirred the tall grass, and the moon glistened pale above the canopy like a forgotten eye. Deep within the woods of Dathi, a figure knelt beside a stone altar blackened with old smoke.

Ngu, once the cherished wife of the late Ngoe, trembled—not from fear, but from the crushing weight of despair. Her fingers shook as she traced the ancient sigils into the earth with crushed charcoal and blood from her own wrists. Around her, roots twisted like gnarled arms reaching toward the heavens, and the air was heavy with the metallic scent of sacrifice.

She had once been the bright jewel of Delong village—beloved, gentle, and gifted with a connection to the spirits that threaded through the land. Ngoe had adored her. His kindness had nourished her like rain to a blossom. But now, grief had calcified in her bones. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks hollow. Within weeks, she had lost everything—her husband, her unborn child, her dignity.

Nghen, the brother-in-law she trusted as kin, had robbed her not just of security, but of safety and innocence. In her most fragile state, he had forced himself upon her, his mask of love torn away to reveal the monster beneath. The child she carried—Ngoe’s legacy—was expelled from her body in agony, and when she stumbled bleeding to the ancestral home, Nghen greeted her with mockery.

“A childless widow has no place here,” he had said, sneering as he tossed her meager belongings into the dirt. “If you stay, I’ll say you seduced me.”

His eyes were cold. Calculating. Triumphant.

He had won.

Or so he thought.

That night, Ngu disappeared into the jungle. The villagers whispered she had gone mad with grief. But they were wrong. She was not broken—she was becoming.

Inside the cave, under the branches of the Kidong tree, she built the altar herself. Her blood painted the stones. Her voice sang the ancestral chants of her forgotten shamanic line. For days she fasted. For nights she dreamed of her husband’s warm embrace and the weight of their unborn child. Then she called—not to the ancestral spirits of the land, but to something older. Something darker. A wandering spirit, unmoored from time and place, who craved blood and retribution.

The wind howled as it arrived.

Eyes blinded by smoke, Ngu didn’t flinch. She bowed her head and bared her throat.

“I offer my soul. My life. My very name,” she whispered. “Take me. Make me your own. But curse his blood. Let his line rot in silence. Let no peace fall upon them. Not in this life. Not in any.”

The spirit did not speak—but it entered the flames. A black serpent of smoke wrapped around her as the fire engulfed her body. Her scream echoed through the trees, carrying the weight of generations.

Thus the curse was sealed.

Chapter 1: The WeddingThe sky was blushing with hues of gold and crimson, the trees humming with cicadas as Delong village gathered beneath the sacred Kidong tree to celebrate a union. Yan, draped in deep emerald silk, eyes lit like fireflies, stood beside her husband NgHen. He was known for his quiet charm and stoic grace. Their hands clasped, not just in ritual, but with genuine affection. She had come from Tilan village, a small, quiet place nestled deep in the woods, bringing warmth and laughter into the Delong household.

NgHen's smile was soft but genuine that day, as he looked upon his bride with something that resembled love. The village cheered. Mithuns were slaughtered, rice beer flowed like a stream, and the night ended with dancing under a clear sky that promised blessings.

Soon after, joy multiplied: Yan was pregnant. The entire village rejoiced. NgHen built a small nursery, and Poe, Yan's mother, visited from Tilan with herbal oils and lullabies.

But on the second moon, the winds shifted.

Chapter 2: The Cradle Never Rocked

Yan woke one night to a sharp pain that clawed through her belly like a beast. The child she had been carrying was gone by dawn. A miscarriage, the midwife said.

"It happens," they murmured. But Yan knew. That night, she had dreamed of a flame dancing in the wind, a lullaby hummed by a woman she couldn’t see, and hands cold as river stones tracing her belly.

NgHen was shaken but quiet. He did not speak of the loss.

Time healed only in fragments. A year later, Yan conceived again. This time she was cautious. She carried herbs from her mother, prayed at the Kidong tree, and sang lullabies herself. The child arrived early. Weak. Quiet.

"A boy," the midwife whispered, handing her the bundle. "But..."

The child did not respond. He cried, but not with force. His gaze often wandered, and his limbs did not move like others. He was slow to grow, speechless even at three. Still, Yan loved him fiercely, with a mother’s stubborn devotion.

They named him nothing. He was simply, 'the baby.'

Chapter 3: The Whispers Begin

When 'baby' turned four, Yan found herself pregnant again. Joy returned, if cautiously. But the dreams did too.

This time, the woman was clearer: back arched, hair singed, humming a lullaby that Yan could almost remember. She would wake drenched in sweat, feeling a touch on her belly that was not her own.

The pregnancy was hard. Pain pulsed even in stillness. The baby—a girl this time—was born under a red moon, with a cry sharp as broken glass. They named her Kiie.

But Yan had no more strength left to bear another child. The midwife confirmed her womb had closed forever.

Two years later, as the monsoon rose, 'baby' drowned.

One moment he was playing by the riverside, the next, he was gone. The villagers found his small body caught in roots, eyes open, mouth filled with mud.

Yan broke. She held his cold body in her arms and screamed until her throat cracked.

Chapter 4: Something Watches

After his funeral, Kiie changed.

She no longer played. Her laughter faded. She cried at night, pointing to corners and muttering, "Lady burn... lady sing."

The priest Atton came and blessed the house. He burned sage and muttered prayers, placing tokens near Kiie’s cradle. But the shadows remained.

Yan started dreaming more. Now, she heard the whispers even when awake. Lullabies hummed through bamboo walls. Ash footprints appeared on the doorstep. Mirrors cracked in silence.

She confronted NgHen. "Who is she?"

He looked up from his rice. "Who?"

"The woman. The one who hums. The one who mourns."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Don’t listen to wind songs. They mean nothing."

But Yan felt the lie tighten around his voice.

Chapter 5: Threads Unravel

Panic led her to the shaman, Zung.

The old woman barely touched Kiie before recoiling. "The blood is stained. The curse is deep. This is the vengeance of the dead. A Shaman woman has marked your line."

Yan fled with Kiie to Tilan. Her mother Poe, now old and frail, took one look at them and said, "It’s come, hasn’t it?"

They visited another shaman, deeper in the woods. She performed a cleansing: three chickens sacrificed, a midnight chant under crescent moon. But the spirits did not yield.

That night, she saw it all: Ngu, delicate and broken, forced out from her home by NgHen after he took what was not his to take. Her unborn child—murdered in the womb.

Ngu wandered the woods for days before invoking her ancestral rite, summoning an ancient spirit in exchange for her soul. She walked naked into fire, promising her vengeance: "No child of his shall prosper. Blood for blood, pain for pain."

Chapter 6: The Mother’s Price

Yan returned, hollow and raging. She looked at NgHen and saw the monster beneath the smile. That night, she brewed a drink laced with silence and handed him his last breakfast.

When he collapsed, she dragged him to the underground cellar beneath their home—an old sacrificial altar no longer used. She whispered a prayer. And she offered his life.

The air thickened. Candles flickered. Shadows crawled.

Still, Kiie did not recover.

Yan, trembling, knelt before the forest and spoke, "Take me. Spare her."

And then, the winds shifted.

A shadow emerged—Ngu’s spirit, her face both furious and broken. She looked at the mother who had sacrificed everything.

"You would give yourself?"

"Yes."

Silence.

Then, a nod. The deal was made.

Yan held Kiie one last time. She kissed her brow and whispered apologies she couldn’t voice before. She sent her daughter away with a letter.

That night, the flames danced again—this time not in vengeance, but in mercy.

Epilogue: When the Wind Remembers

Poe sat beside the fire in Tilan when the little girl arrived, clinging to the elder's hand.

"Kiie," she called softly.

The child turned.

Laughter—soft, uncertain, then bright.

From somewhere in the trees, the wind carried a lullaby.

And this time, it sang of peace.

Short Synopsis:

In a remote village where spirits dwell and secrets fester, Yan’s joyful marriage soon descends into shadows. When tragedy strikes and her daughter falls ill under an unseen force, she begins to unravel a curse buried deep in blood and silence.Some sins don’t rest. Some love demands everything.