Mwita and I looked closely at my hand. The branded symbol was black as ever but now there were tiny filaments growing from the edges. “What about agu root and penicillin mold?” Mwita asked. “If it behaves like an infection maybe…”

“You know better, Mwita,” Ting said. “This is juju.” She paused. “Onye, try to change yourself.”

Even with all my injuries, the idea was enticing. I could feel it. I wouldn’t be able to change into more creatures than I could before, but I could become, for example, a vulture and never risk losing myself no matter how long I stayed one. Shifted myself. It came smoothly, easy… until I got to the hand marked with the symbol. It wouldn’t change. I tried harder. How I must have looked to Diti and Luyu, especially Luyu who had never seen me change.

I hopped around my fallen bandages, all vulture except for a wing that was a hand. I squawked angrily, jumping out of my clothes. I couldn’t fly with one hand. I fought a claustrophobic panic and tried another shape, a snake. My tail was a hand. I couldn’t even turn myself partly into a mouse. I tried an owl, a hawk, a desert fox. The more shapes I tried, the hotter my hand grew. I gave up, changing back to myself. My hand gave off a foul smelling smoke. I covered myself with my rapa

“Don’t try anything else,” Ting said quickly. “We don’t know the consequences. We have twenty-four hours, I suspect. Give me two to consult with Ssaiku.” She got up.

“Twenty-four hours before what?” I asked.

“Before it kills you,” Ting said, hurrying away.

I shuddered with hatred. “Whether I live or die, I’ll destroy that man.” You will fail again, the voice in my head whispered.

“Look what happened to you when you tried,” Mwita reminded me.

“I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “Next time, I…”

“You’re right. You weren’t thinking,” he said. “Luyu, Diti, go and bring her something to eat.”

They jumped up, glad to have something to do.

“Don’t mix anything together,” he said.

“We know,” Luyu said. “You’re not her only friend.”

“How come I can do it?” I asked Mwita, once they’d left. “Aro never mentioned anything like this traveling ability.”

Mwita sighed, letting go of his anger at me. “I think I know why,” Mwita surprised me by saying.

“Huh?” I said. “Really?”

“It’s not the time,” he said.

“I have twenty-four hours to live,” I said angrily. “When do you plan to tell me?”

“In twenty-five,” he said.

CHAPTER 48

TING TOOK THREE HOURS TO RETURN. In this time, the poison lines lengthened by three inches and my hand had begun to itch horribly. Chief Usson and Chieftess Sessa stopped in with their daughter Eyess. Eyess jumped into my lap. I hid my pain and let her plant a big kiss on my lips. “You will never die!” she exclaimed.

Other people came to wish me well, bringing food and oils. They gave me tight hugs and shook my hand, the one without the symbol, of course. Yes, now that I had “released” whatever had built up in me, yet was slowly being poisoned by something my biological father had inflicted on me, I was no longer untouchable. They also brought tiny human figurines made from sand. If you held these to your ear, you heard soft sweet music.

What had happened when I first died was starting to really set in. The world around me was more vibrant. Whenever Mwita touched me, I shivered. And when people hugged me, I could hear their hearts beating. An old man hugged me and his heart sounded full of wind. I had a strong urge to touch him. I could heal him without suffering much, but I heeded Ting’s warnings to not try anything. It was so hard to sit still. Yet even with all these tools, Daib still lives and I am dying, I thought.

“Give it a few more hours,” Mwita said. “If you get up now, you won’t be doing yourself any good.”

“Well, we’ll have to risk that,” Ssaiku said, walking in. Behind him, Ting entered followed by, judging from their attire, the town’s Ani priestess and priest.

“I may be able to stop the poison,” Ting said.

Mwita and I grabbed hands. Then he yanked his away. “Ah, I hate that thing,” he said glaring at my symboled hand.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It won’t be easy,” Ting said. “And whatever happens will be permanent.”

Suddenly, I wanted to scream with laughter. When she said permanent, it clicked. I understood a part of the puzzle. When I had been my future self in that concrete jail cell awaiting execution, I’d looked down at my hands. They’d been covered with tribal symbols… Nsibidi.

“You’ll be the one to do it, no?” I asked Ting.

She nodded. “I’ll be overseen by Ssaiku. The priest and priestess will pray during the process. Words to battle words.” She paused. “Your father is very powerful.”

“He’s not my father,” I said.

She patted my shoulder. “He is. But he could not have raised you.”

To prepare for the process, I had to take a cleansing bath. Mwita procured a large palm fiber bathtub. It was treated with weather gel and was thus as good as any metal or stone tub. Mwita and several others gathered capture station water, boiled it, and poured it into the bath for me. My wounds stung as I slowly got into the steaming water. The symbol on my hand itched so vigorously that I had to fight the urge to tear at my hand’s skin.

“How long do I have to stay in here?” I moaned. The water smelled sweet with the herbs Ting had given me.

“Thirty more minutes,” Mwita said.

When I got out of the bath, my body was red with heat. I looked down at the three deep scratches on my chest. Right between my breasts. As if Daib had wanted to remind Mwita of his presence. If I survive, I thought.

I hated Daib.

When Mwita and I returned to Ssaiku’s tent, everyone was ready. The priest and priestess were already begging Ani. I felt annoyed, thinking about the Creator who’d recreated me and the fact that Ani was a weak human idea. I held my tongue remembering the Golden Rule of Bushcraft: Let the eagle and the hawk perch. Ssaiku closed the tent flap behind us and ran his hand over it. Instantly, all noise from outside ceased. Ting sat on a mat, a bowl of very black paste beside her. There were two mats with symbols drawn on them.

“Sit there,” Ting said. “Onye, you are not to get up until it is done.”

It was like sitting on hot skittering metal spiders. I wanted to scream and if it weren’t for Mwita, I would have.

“It’s the symbols. They’re alive as anything else,” Ting said. “Give me your hand.” She looked closely. “It spreads. Ogasse, I need two hours of protection.”

“You will have it,” Ssaiku replied.

“Protection from what?” I asked.

“Infection,” Ting said. “When I mark you.”

“If I can’t do it any longer, I will speak up,” Ssaiku said. “I’ve warned everyone already. I think some of them will welcome the time to explore a bit without the storm.”

Ssaiku couldn’t protect me and maintain the sandstorm at the same time.

“This will hurt,” Ting said. She paused, looking nervous. “If it works, you’ll never be able to heal with your right hand again.”

“What?” I screeched.

“You’ll have to always use your left hand to heal,” Ting said. “I-I don’t know what will happen if you use your right. It’s full of his hate.” She took Mwita’s hand. “Hold her,” she said.

Mwita put his left arm around my waist and put his right hand on my shoulder. He kissed my ear. I braced myself. I’d already been through so much. But I held steady. Ting took my right hand and poked the back of my hand using her long sharp thumbnail. There was a fiery eruption of pain. I cried out, at the same time, forcing myself to focus on her face. She dipped her nail in the paste and started drawing.

It was as if Ting fell into a trance and was taken over by someone else. She smiled as she worked, enjoying every loop and swirl, every line, ignoring my grunts and heavy breathing. Sweat beaded and fell down her forehead. The tent began to smell like burned flowers as smoke rose from my hand. Then there was the itching. The symbol was fighting back.