Mariétou, heart heavy, answered, “You were deceived, my daughter. That money, that easy path—it was a trap. The man to whom you gave your bathwater sold you to dark forces.”
Weakly, Alima began to cry.
“I… I only wanted an easy life. I meant no harm.”
The priestess stepped forward and said in a grave voice:
“Easy money always attracts shadows. You touched something beyond mortals. But you still have a chance to rise again—if you accept facing the truth.”
Alima nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. For the first time, she seemed ready to face reality.
The priestess announced that a great ritual would take place under the moonlight. Mariétou and Alima had to fast until the ceremony. They spent the day praying, meditating, and asking the ancestors for forgiveness.
When evening came, the whole courtyard was lit by torches. The entire village, curious and anxious, had gathered around. Some whispered that it was dangerous; others said it was the only chance to save Alima.
The priestess drew symbols on the ground with ash, placed Alima in the center, and ordered everyone to stay back.
“Tonight, the spirit will speak. And it is up to her to show whether she deserves to be delivered.”
The drums began to beat softly, like a heartbeat. The air was heavy, charged with electricity.
Mariétou wrung her hands, breathless. She knew that this night would decide her daughter’s fate.
The sky had filled with thick clouds. Though the moon was full, it struggled to pierce the mist that covered the village. The drums echoed through the courtyard, deep and slow, as if each beat marked the approach of destiny.
At the center of the circle drawn by the priestess, Alima sat—weak, trembling, but still alive thanks to the necklace. Mariétou stood just behind her, hands clasped, eyes swollen from crying.
The priestess raised her staff to the sky and spoke guttural words. The flames of the torches flickered, and a strange silence fell over the gathering.
“Tonight, the spirit will be confronted. Tonight, your daughter must choose between shadow and light,” declared the old woman.
The villagers held their breath.
The priestess took the calabash of sacred water and poured a few drops onto the ground inside the circle. The moment the water touched the earth, Alima began to scream. Her body arched violently, and her eyes turned white.
A guttural voice, foreign to her own, came from her mouth:
“She is mine. She accepted. She belongs to me.”
The crowd stepped back in terror. Mariétou fell to her knees and pleaded, “No, she is my daughter. You will not have her.”
The priestess struck her staff against the ground.
“You lie, spirit. You do not choose. She must decide.”
Then she placed the calabash of water before Alima.
“Alima, if you want to be free, you must face the pain. Drink this water. Show that you reject the shadow.”
Tears streamed down Alima’s face. She knew what it meant. Every drop of water had been like fire on her skin. But she also understood that this was her only chance.
Weakly, she took the calabash. Her hands trembled so badly that the water nearly spilled.
The strange voice roared through her:
“If you drink, you will die!”
Mariétou cried out through her tears, “My daughter, be brave. You are not alone.”
Then Alima lifted the calabash to her lips.
The first swallow was torture. She screamed, her throat burning, but she did not let go. She drank again and again until the calabash was empty.
Her body convulsed. A black smoke rose from her mouth, lifting into the sky like a screaming shadow.
“Go!” the voice cried before vanishing into the night.
Alima collapsed to the ground.
A heavy silence followed. It seemed as if the whole world held its breath.
Then, slowly, Alima opened her eyes. Her irises, once again clear, shone with tears. She touched her face, her skin. For the first time in weeks, she felt no burning.
She put her hands to the earth, then asked for a calabash of water.
Mariétou brought it to her with trembling hands.
Alima drank.
No scream. No pain. Only cool, sweet water sliding down her thirsty throat.
The villagers burst into exclamations.
“She is delivered!”
