Episode 1:
The Horn that Did Not Blow
The hills of Mangu were unusually silent.
Dark clouds hung over the village of Panyam, not with the weight of rain, but of grief. Elders from Kerang, Ampang, Pushit, and even distant Jipal had gathered for the burial of Da Dakyen, the revered custodian of the sacred 'lu kum' — keeper of chants, secrets, and bones.
Muutfwang Dakyen stepped off the dusty Hilux from Jos, his eyes scanning the familiar but estranged faces. He hadn’t returned home in six years — not since he left for the university. The scent of wet woodsmoke, fermented sorghum, and dust overwhelmed him.
An old woman brushed past him, whispering, "Rii met sum ki po'on..." (He was more than just a father...).
At the center of the compound stood the “Ngwan kum” — the ancestral horn carved from the horn of a black antelope during colonial times. It had been blown only five times in living memory: to announce war, a plague, the death of a chief, or the crowning of a new one.
Now, for Da Dakyen’s burial, the horn was to be blown one last time — signaling the passing of a true custodian and the search for another.
Elder Katmang Guyil, bent but fierce, raised the horn to his lips. Every eye turned toward the high rocks above the compound, where the sound should echo back fivefold — an omen of rightful burial and acceptance by the ancestors.
He blew.
Silence.!!!
He blew again. Nothing.
A low murmur swept through the crowd. The horn had never failed.
Women began to murmur: “Ngul nji mu kwar ri?” (Did the spirits reject him?)
Muutfwang looked at the horn. His grandfather had told him stories about it — how it would only sound if the one being buried had died with truth in his heart and no blood on his hands.
But what if... Da Dakyen had kept something back?
That night, the storm came — but not with rain.
Lightning struck the old spirit tree, “Nting Nji”, outside the compound. It fell across the path that led to the sacred cave where elders once gathered. As villagers rushed to the site the next morning, they found something strange at the tree’s roots: a small, carved stone box, sealed with a cloth bearing the symbol of Kam Mishkagham Kum — the long-forgotten priesthood.
Muutfwang picked it up. He had no memory of it, but the moment he touched it, he felt heat on his fingers — then cold.
Inside was a faded parchment and a broken piece of a traditional Mwaghavul chant stick. Inscribed on the inside were just four Mwaghavul words:
“Nji Mo Sam kas.”
(The spirit never sleeps.)
Muutfwang stered at it, heart pounding.
This was no ordinary burial.
And this was no ordinary inheritance.
He had only come to bury a man…
But the Mwaghavul Hills had been waiting for him.
🔚 End of Episode 1
> Next Episode: “The Spirit Tree of Nting Nji”
a fictional story...
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