The morning after the failed horn ritual, a strange calm hung over Panyam.
Birds avoided the usual trees. Even the goats bleated as though unsure of their footing. But all eyes — and whispers — were on the tree that had fallen: Nting Nji.
For generations, Nting Nji stood untouched by axe or storm. It was said to have grown from the very spot where Mishkagham Ngau, the first spirit custodian, once knelt to offer his soul to lu kum.
Now, it lay broken.
Its roots, exposed and wounded, revealed something more than earth.
Muutfwang stood over the site with Da Katmang Guyil and other elders. The air carried the thick scent of burnt bark and ancestral warning. At the center of the crater, where roots once clutched soil, was a shallow tunnel, half-collapsed, but clearly man-made.
The elder placed a hand on Muutfwang’s shoulder.
"Ta ki bi'si a bi ah'poo."
(This is no ordinary fall — the land speaks through this.)
Muutfwang took a lantern and crawled in.
🔦 Beneath the Spirit Tree
Inside the shallow cavern beneath Nting Nji, Muutfwang found more remnants — bones of small animals wrapped in blackened cloth, a circle of flat stones etched with ancient Mwaghavul symbols, and a single wooden staff, cracked at the top.
It matched the missing headpiece from Da Dakyen’s shrine.
But the most chilling discovery was a faded scroll, buried under a mound of ash. Muutfwang wiped the surface clean.
It read:
> “Mishkagham kum di'i sa’an-ri’in Nji ki mu’ut ka.”
(The priesthood of silence lives — the spirit is not gone, it watches.)
Suddenly, the wind inside the tunnel shifted. A low hum began to vibrate through the stone.
Muutfwang backed away.
⚠️ Warning Signs
As he emerged from the tunnel, thunder cracked in a clear blue sky. The villagers gasped.
The sun turned red.
All over Panyam, sacred pots in households began to crack. Chickens fled their coops, and one of the elderly women collapsed by the lu kum shrine, crying out in tongues no one had heard in over fifty years.
“Kam Mishkagham Kum... Kam Mishkagham Kum!”
The words rang across the compound.
The forbidden priesthood — the secret society banished after the 1932 cleansing — was being named again.
🪶 The Ancestors Demand Justice
Later that evening, during a hurried gathering under the surviving shade of Nting Nji, Da Katmang Guyil addressed the people:
> “The spirit tree has fallen not just in body, but in truth. Our past is no longer buried. If we silence it, we curse the hills. If we speak it, we risk tearing apart the land.”
All eyes turned to Muutfwang.
He was not only Da Dakyen’s grandson now.
He was the bearer of the broken staff.
And the Mwaghavul Hills had declared:
“Nji mo sam kas.”
The spirit never sleeps.
🔚 End of Episode 2
> Next Episode: “The Daughter of Jipal”
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