The night came alive with singing and stomping feet and the unravelling power inside billowed faster. I wanted to get up. I wanted to dance. I wanted to forget who I was and let go.
This was an experience of a lifetime and my lifetime was almost over. My mother was here. My grandmother was here. Every ancestor had somehow come to life and existed in the flames of the enchanted fire.
We all lived the same path...and failed. I was supposed to be the last Weaver taken but time no longer held sway on my plans. It charged forward, dragging me with hardship, hurtling me toward a conclusion I didn’t know how to stop.
A woman appeared in front of me. Coconut beads and crocodile teeth decorated her neck, draping between naked breasts. “You. Drink.” Shoving a crudely made bowl beneath my chin, she tipped the milky substance toward my lips.
I reared back, shaking my head. “No, thank you.”
Cut tugged on the rope, his face alive with power. “Drink.”
I pursed my lips.
“You must.” The woman tried again.
I turned my face away. The liquid smelled rank and rotten.
“You will drink, Nila.” Lashing out, Cut fisted my hair, keeping my head in place as the woman once again held the bowl to my mouth.
I scrunched my face, protesting. The silty liquid splashed against my lips.
I didn’t know what it was, but it was powerful—the otherworldly smellwarned me I wouldn’t be the same if I ingested it. I wouldn’t like the results if I gave in.
Stop! Please, stop.
The woman tried again, bruising my mouth with the rim of the bowl. Crushed up leaves and smashed up roots lingered on the bottom, splashing with her attempts. The woman cursed in Swahili, looking at Cut for help. “She won’t.”
“She will.” Still holding my hair, he reached with his free hand and captured my bleeding palm. “Open.” With ferocity, he dug his fingernail into the fresh wound. I did my best to prevent drinking, but his hold was agonising.
The heat and pain wrenched my mouth open, and a gulp of disgusting liquid shot down my throat.
My eyes watered.
My stomach retched.
I spluttered.
The woman nodded with satisfaction. “Good.” She stood, slipping back to her fellow dancers.
Alone, Cut hugged me, kissing my cheek. “Good girl.” His tongue slipped out, licking a droplet off my lower lip like a lover would his bride. “Let it transform you. Let it own you.”
I shuddered, fighting his embrace. “Let go of me.”
Cut chuckled, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Don’t fight it. Youcan’tfight it.”
“I’ll fight whatever you do to me.” Our eyes clashed. My heart roared with hatred.
But then...
Something mellowed.
Something simmered.
Tiptoeing through my blood, stealing rationality and sanity and coherence.
“What...what did yo—you give m—me?” My ability to speak in correct dialect fumbled as the drink merged faster with my thoughts.
Cut beamed wide; his face rollicked as my vision washed in and out. “Give it another moment. You’ll see how useless fighting is.” His lips caressed mine again. Softly, teasingly, coaxing me to react.
