Chapter Four
‘Deep even
breaths, Selah.’
‘Deep and even breaths.’
The inside
of her eyelids were a bright pink as daylight streamed through the windows of
her studio washing it in light.
Her legs,
exposed by her stone washed jean shorts, pressed against the cold-waxed wooden
floors. Making her skin prickle with goosebumps. Selah took another deep breath
as she tried to ignore the distractions and focus.
Her
thoughts began to fade with each breath. Her magic sparked and she felt an
internal warmth spread through the cells of her body. Selah head fell back as
her surroundings faded away.
The sound
of her music no longer pumped through her ears. The feel of the ground beneath
her legs disappeared. She was standing now. Her jeans were replaced by what
felt like a stiff type of leather.
Her eyes
drifted open. Her nose wrinkled as she looked around the room. Selah was in a
small hut surrounded by dirt and the scent of burning flesh. Poverty surrounded
her.
Sand and
dust covered every surface. Selah felt as if she was being suffocated by it.
She looked down at the grime on her skin in disgust. She hated being dirty. It
has always a pet peeve of hers.
“Jarita.”
Selah rubbed
a spot of dirt on her arm and looked around the tiny room. It was so bare.
Devoid of any personal touch.
Her scalp burned and itched. Her hair hung in
limp oily curls around her face. Everything was covered in dirt. It was
everywhere and coated her skin.
“Jarita.”
“Jarita!”
Selah
jumped at the name as she twisted around towards the voice. Reflections were
like an echo of the past. Witches watched their former lives looking for
lessons and truth. She could not move or talk.
Her
thoughts were not completely her own. It was like watching a film, she could
not fast-forward through. Selah was only an observer.
Facts echoed
through her mind. A woman dressed in a bark brown dress stood in the doorway.
Her face was painted with archaic symbols no one in their coven had used since
the late 1800s.
Thema. The
leader of their coven, and Jarita’s matron. She stood at the door. Tears
streamed down the older woman’s face. Her dark brown skin glistened with sweat
and her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Bring Ebunoluwa water.”
Jarita
nodded carefully.
“Hurry.”
Thema
turned and walked out of the room. She’d issued her orders and did not need to
see it carried out. Jariata picked up a jug as her resentment bubbled beneath
the surface.
She was a
servant in the eyes of the tribe. A slave because of her orphan status. They
treated her like a burden. Only worth carrying out their orders.
‘It is all
Ebunoluwa’s fault,’ whispered a familiar angry voice in the back of her mind.
The voice
had been murmuring in the back of her mind for months. Opening her eyes and showing
her the injustice of her position. Who she should blame?
Jarita
walked out of her hut and started down the path to the watering hole. The sounds
of drums could be heard through out the village.
It had
been a constant since Ebunoluwa had fallen sick. All prayed for their future
leader’s heath and recovery. All except Jariata.
Jariata
prayed for Ebunoluwa’s death. The hot sun made the sand burn beneath her feet.
Jariata lifted her face to take in the sunlight.
‘Her death will happen soon. Just one more dose.’
Jariata
said nothing as she continued to walk. Ebunoluwa was loved by most of the
village. Her supposed sweet nature and easy smile misled everyone.
She saw
past the thin veneer of kindness to the disaster beneath the surface. Ebunoluwa
would destroy the Yemoja clan if she lived to lead.
‘Two drops. Two drops in her water, and she will
not make it beyond the night. I promise.’
Jariata
arrived at the watering hole and dipped the jug into it. The water bubbled as the
jug filled. Once full she hefted it over her head and started down the path
back to the village.
What she
was doing was wrong.
Jariata
knew Ebunoluwa loss was the greater good. It was what was best for the good of
the clan. She looked innocent but Jariata could see what others in the clan
missed. Ebunoluwa was a poison. A blight on all that they were.
Selah started
to panic as she heard the dark thoughts filtering through her mind. This was
her past life? She used to be some schizophrenic murderer?
‘Two drops
in her water and you will save them all.’
A light
giggled filled her mind as she entered the village and turned towards the home
of Thema. Of course he was happy. This is what he wanted. What he had been
pushing her towards.
She pushed
the cloth covering the door to the side and walked into the main room. Men and
women sat through out the room praying. Jariata walked past them all to the
last room in the corner. A beaded cloth covered the door.
Jariata
entered Ebunoluwa’s sick room. To find Thema bent over the sick girl as she
chanted. Selah watched in horror as Jariata brought the jug to the small table beside.
She wanted
to do something to stop her. To change the past. She wanted to drop the jug but
instead her hands tipped the jug over and filled the cup partly.
Looking
around carefully she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled
with clear liquid.
Jariata
looked over her shoulder and opened the vial with her thumb. She watched Thema as she tipped the liquid into the cup.
‘Two drops. Two more drops and the threat would be
gone.’
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