Chapter 11

The village was a sea of noise and light when we stepped from the tree line. Torches blazed, drums throbbed, and voices rose in a wave of pure, exultant sound that washed over us. Hands reached for us, not to pull, but to guide, to celebrate. My brother’s hand was a firm anchor in mine as we were swept into the throng. Cheers echoed off the mud-brick walls, a cacophony of joy that vibrated in my chest.

Then, as if by silent command, the crowd parted. Nne stood there, her gnarled hands outstretched. She took my hand from Adunbi’s, her touch both gentle and unyielding. “The vessel must be purified for the final binding. The protector must harness his strength.” Her eyes, ancient and knowing, held ours. “One night apart, to gather the threads of your souls.”

Adunbi’s jaw tightened, but he gave a single, sharp nod. His eyes burned into me, a promise and a plea, before he was led away by a group of elders toward the sacred grove. I watched the broad line of his back disappear into the torchlight, a hollow opening in my gut.

Nne led me not to the bathing pool, but to a hidden cave behind a waterfall at the village’s edge. The air inside was cool, smelling of wet stone and sacred herbs. An ancient woman with skin like cracked leather and eyes that held the patience of mountains waited by a small, steaming spring. She said nothing, only gestured for me to undress.

The water was silken, infused with oils of myrrh and sage. The old woman’s hands were surprisingly strong as she washed me, her touch clinical yet reverent, scrubbing away the residue of the labyrinth, the sentinel’s mercury, the birth. Her voice, when it finally came, was the rustle of dry leaves. “Your bloodline was always meant for this. Your grandmother’s grandmother danced under the same moon, her womb a chalice for the old magic. You are not the first vessel, child. You are the fulfillment.”

The words settled in me, a deep, resonant truth. She anointed my skin with thick, fragrant oil that made my body gleam in the cave’s dim light. She fastened a girdle of cowrie shells and polished amber beads around my hips, the weight both foreign and right. Finally, she led me to a chamber where a great mirror of polished obsidian stood.

I saw myself. My skin, oiled and dark, shimmered. My belly, once rounded, now firmer, the promise undeniable. My breasts were fuller, the amber studs in my nipples catching the light. But behind my reflection, another image swam into focus—a woman radiant, her stomach massively rounded with life, her face a map of serene power. My future self.

My breath caught. I reached out, my fingertips brushing the cool stone.

The mirror’s surface rippled like water. The image shifted, and I saw the village square from above. Torches formed a circle. In the center stood Adunbi, naked and proud, his body oiled and gleaming, muscles coiled with a restrained, primal energy. The entire village surrounded him, their faces upturned, silent and expectant.

He must seal it. The ritual is not complete.

Understanding was a lightning strike. The portal in the mirror beckoned. Without hesitation, I stepped through.