CHAPTER EIGHT † BREATHETHE DRUMMING STOPS. The night becomes eerily quiet. Not a cricket song in the air. The women clasp each other’s arms and sway from side to side,
their legs spread wide apart, bent at the knee. They roll their heads, still chanting. I twist and writhe on the ground, yet no matter how forceful my movements, I never shift from my spot on the
ground. The old woman joins the chanting now. She closes both her hands over the dagger’s hilt and raises the blade above her head. The electricity in the air surges, clinging to my skin like
invisible sparks.
Delirium swallows me whole. I no longer know what’s happening beyond the convulsions of my body. The lacerating pain in my abdomen reaches a peak that arches my back off the ground so high
I fear I’m about to be folded in
