The old man, Aminah decided, was entirely too pleased to die. After Zava’s elder son had run screaming into the village center, Banwu had quickly changed in order to welcome the village to their hut.

Well, he had quickly ordered her to help him change.

“If you anger me,” Banwu had said into his mirror, his hands smoothing over the cloth of his ceremonial robes, “I might come for you first.”

He preened in his costume and smirked towards Aminah’s reflection as she handed him a sash. All season he’d made this threat. All season Aminah had cursed the gods that her husband was the man they had chosen for TinVa.

Now the moment was finally here.

She would not shed tears. When Banwu was dead, she intended to dance. Dance over his grave. Dance in her empty house. Aminah would dance until the pounding of her steps made the bones of all the ancestors in the burying site burst through the earth. She’d dance until her feet bled and watered the trees that shaded the TinVa burial plots. She’d dance, finally free.

Aminah pulled herself away from her musings. Later, she assured herself. She had time to think of these things later. For now, the village was gathering for the Transfer. There were things she must do before she rested. Before freedom.

Banwu was playing big man by the door, making sure he could be seen and properly adored as everyone entered. Aminah’s job today was not to greet; it was to serve. She moved away from him, drawing the curtain around their sleeping pallet to keep prying eyes away from their, soon to be her, private space.

The village came, crowding into the space, pulling shodden shawls off their bodies. The wives handed Aminah dish after dish with precise serving instructions, which Aminah, sometimes sincerely, accepted to follow. She placed each on the table before gratefully ducking past the beaded curtain.

In the kitchen, attached to the main room of her hut, Aminah bent over the fire. Her back twinged as she stoked the flame under the pot. Typical that Banwu would abandon her to feed the whole village, she thought, stretching slightly as she pulled back from the flames. Though he was on the edge of divinity, Banwu was still as lazy as the day he’d been born. Gods, she couldn’t wait to be done. Let him die already. He’d drawn the drama out long enough.

Raucous laughter and conversation pulled her attention back to the main room of her home. Squinting through towards the main room, she could see the gathering village. Aminah took a moment to take in the entirety of the scene in front of her. Full to the brim, people heated the air as they pressed and bumped each other, trying to fit into too-little space. She strained to listen to the cacophony of voices. The chatter was deafening and repetitive. The same details shared over and over and over.

The Sisters were by the river. 

The shroud was being woven. 

The time had come. 

Banwu, who’d been preparing for this moment all Rain, was showing off. He’d made her clean his clothes every night all season, just in case. Rain had been so long this Cycle. Unusually long. Aminah, her knees beginning to show the strain of her 37 Cycles, had had to kneel and scour the fabric on the washing stone until it shone whiter than teeth. He preened now, the center of attention, accepting compliments on his clothing as though he’d embroidered them himself. Aminah rubbed her hands together, feeling the raw and cracked skin of her palms and fingers. She’d rub shea on them again after the ritual was over. 

When she would finally be alone.

“Sister,” Jebale greeted as she came through the back door, pushing it open with her hip. She balanced a pot against her other hip, heaving it onto the stove. Rivulets of water came off its lid. She pulled off her sodden scarf, laying it across the top of a chair. Aminah smiled as she peered over at the pot. She could smell the goat stew, the same recipe Mama used to make.

It was difficult to not think of Mama at the end of Rain.

“Thank—” Her voice caught and she tried again. “Thank you.” Aminah looked around, squinting as she looked at the long table of dishes in the main room. So much to do. There was so much still to do. 

Jebale brushed off the thanks. “Bah.” She glared at the door before turning to Aminah and taking her hands. “You will be a widow soon.”Her eyes glittered with giddy excitement.

Aminah nodded, squeezing Jebale’s hands. They grinned at each other, the Cycles falling away and, for a moment, Aminah felt that she and Jebale were children again, planning pranks or climbing the baobab behind their hut to hide from Mama.

Mama.

A tightness gripped her chest. Jebale’s hold on her tightened. Her younger sister must also be remembering. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and Aminah squeezed them shut.

The continued sounds of the men gathering in the other room came through the walls. Aminah breathed in slowly, listening instead to the pounding of the rain on the roof thatch. “I will leave,” she exhaled. “I will be free.”

Jebale’s beaming smile was the first thing she saw when she reopened her eyes. “I will join you.” 

They stood until Banwu began calling to be fed. Aminah felt a pull of exhaustion and stared at the ceiling, begging the gods for strength. They owed it to her. After all, they had put her in this predicament. 

“I guess it’s too late to starve him.” She grumbled. 

“Wouldn’t want him to feel faint before his death.” Jebale agreed. The sisters chuckled as they began gathering up the food. Pushing through the beaded curtain, Aminah surveyed the main room. It seemed as if the entire village was stuffed into her home, with many more outside, braving End of Rain to be witness. There had been many births this Cycle and the new mothers gratefully took shelter in the home. So did the many elderly. Aminah noted the whispers of the old men clustered around Banwu. The Elders seemed to be instructing him, which was odd. Aminah wondered what they could possibly hope to teach someone who would be a corpse before sunset. Putting it out of mind, she joined Jebale in putting the dishes on the main table. 

“How long till he gets here?” A man shouted from the crowd.

“So ready to get rid of me?” Banwu shouted back. 

Everyone laughed and crowded towards the table. Aminah pressed herself against the wall, watching people pass in front of her, plates heaping with food. The TinVa could not get here soon enough. Aminah winced as a cup spilled on her rug. Then shook herself. This was no longer her concern. Tomorrow she would be gone from this place. She leaned her head back, listening to the excited voices, buzzing, joking with Banwu. She arched an eyebrow, noting that the Elders had not left him. All of them were seated at the center of the room, being served by their wives. Women much younger than them. There was Jeru, who had lived 79 Cycles. And Nayo, 80. Some of their wives were nearly half Aminah’s age. 

As Jeru’s hand curled around his wife’s wrist, Aminah noted how tired the young woman looked. Tira’s brown skin lacked its usual shine, and her braids had been simply pulled back instead of elegantly styled. She stumbled slightly as she moved away from him. Aminah tapped Jebale on the shoulder. Her sister glanced up from the rice she was serving to look where Aminah indicated. Making her way across, she guided Tira towards the food table, gently making her sit beside them. Aminah gave her a cup of mango juice, hushing Tira’s protests.

“You look exhausted.” She smiled as Tira took the cup between her hands. Tira’s hands were shaking as she raised it to her lips, but she managed deep swallows. Aminah waited until Tira drained the entire contents of the cup and leaned against the wall before speaking again. “Stay here. If Jeru needs anything more, someone else can do it.” Tira seemed to want to complain, but when she looked into Aminah’s eyes, she just nodded.

“Yes, Auntie.” 

Aminah squeezed her shoulder before turning back to the center of the room. 

Mavi, Zava’s older boy, was sitting with Banwu and the Elders. His role in announcing the arrival of the Transfer had earned him a place of honor among them. He was dramatically retelling how he’d encountered the Sister goddesses. How he bravely had thanked them for the blessing they were bringing in allowing another man of their village to ascend to be guide of the dead. He complimented Banwu on the beauty of the shroud they were currently weaving for him, evidence of a noble life well lived.

Zava was across the room. She kept trying to move towards her son, but her husband held her back. His hand was pressed on her shoulder in a seemingly casual gesture, but Aminah saw how the force of Jobey’s hold was indenting the fabric of her wrap. He was clearly proud of his son and did not want his wife’s fussing to ruin this moment. Zava worried the end of her braids, her eyes flicking between the door and where Mavi sat. Ouse, the younger boy, was nowhere in sight.

There was tension in the air, broken occasionally by the Elders’ laughter and calls for more food and drink.

It had not been this way the day of Mama’s Transfer.

The memory came to her unbidden and so clear Aminah had to press her hand to her chest. Their hut had been too small to fit everyone, so tarps had been set over the market square. Mama had moved through the crowd, greeting everyone.

There had been laughter that day. Even when one of the tarps tore, soaking the people beneath. Mama had taken Aminah by the hand and carried little Jebale on her hip. Normally, at 14 Cycles, Aminah would have refused to be babied like that. But that day, the last day, she had accepted the touch. The ghost of Mama’s grip squeezed her left palm now. She could see her, smiling down at Aminah, then her eyes dimming slightly as she passed her sister to her.

Then Mama stepped away from them. Cuvo, the previous Cycle’s TinVa, was standing, his white robes glowing softly and his staff held out. He’d come to take her, to transfer the power to her.

The dimming light in Mama’s eyes went out. She fell to the ground as Cuvo vanished. Jebale, four but still so small, sobbed into Aminah’s shoulder, small fists clutching her dress so hard the fabric tore.

Mama didn’t move again.

There was an increase in the noise from the center of the men, jerking Aminah back to the present. She felt before she saw Banwu’s gaze turn away from the people clustered around him to her. Aminah knew that look, flattening her palms against the wall, the earthen brick scratched her. She tried to shrink herself, hoping the line of people getting food would be enough to obscure her.

It wasn’t.

“AMINAH,” Banwu roared, his mouth smiling. His eyes not. The heat of the whole room’s attention turned to her. Banwu beckoned, his hand parting the pipe smoke around him, the men, and Mavi. Aminah kept her head high, but her blood burned. It wasn’t enough that this whole drama centered him. He needed her humiliation to complete it. His mouth twisted as he beckoned her again. Her hesitation had made him summon her twice, an insult he was clearly relishing the opportunity to punish. 

“She’s just getting used to missing you,” Jebale spoke up. The roar of laughter from the crowd covered for Jebale’s insolence. Banwu jolted as his shoulder was slapped and the men around him joked. 

Mabili, her white widow’s clothes immaculate, crossed the room and ducked next to Jebale. “Are you insane?” she hissed. “If you anger him, you’ll be the first soul he guides to the Land Beyond.” 

“That’s not how it works and you know it.” Jebale hissed back. 

“Maybe not while my Abajou was TinVa.” Mabili glanced around them to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Banwu is a different man.” She jerked her chin towards the gathered men encircling Banwu. They’d been in this house almost every night of Rain. Aminah couldn’t wait for Banwu’s death to signal the end of their visit. 

“They’re bargaining with him.” Mabili looked at them with disgust. “They tried with Abajou.”

Tira, who had kept silent up until now, spoke up. “Jeru says that Banwu will ensure that things are kept in balance.” She shrank as the older women turned their attention towards her. “I … he says Banwu will continue to make sure the Elders’ wisdom guides us.” She looked down at the cup. 

Mabili gave her a small smile and put her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “You’re very observant, child.” 

Tira smiled, though she kept her gaze down. Aminah wondered how many compliments she had heard in her home.

“Aminah.” The call this time came from Noye. “The new TinVa needs a drink.” 

Mabili gave her a grimace as Aminah shrugged. “As you said. It would be best not to anger the next TinVa.” Mabili sucked her teeth, but nodded. It had been a long Cycle for Mabili, her husband having been the last chosen. She’d been kind to Aminah, offering her experience when she thought that Aminah would miss her husband. Offering her safety when she realized exactly why Aminah would not.

Aminah smiled over at Jebale, a warning. Whatever Banwu tried, Jebale must not react. They were so close to the end.

Her sister crossed her arms, but gave a curt nod.

As she walked over to Banwu, Aminah inclined her head in the proper deference. There were approving hums from the men she passed.

“This one knows.” Noye grinned. “She has an understanding of the correct protocol.” He directed these “compliments” to Banwu — as if her good behavior were from his grace.

“The younger women,” Noye continued. “They have such foolishness in their minds. They need strong boundaries and the wisdom of the Elders to guide them.” He paused before adding: “It is a shame she could never give you children.”

Banwu’s fingers around his cup flexed slightly, but he nodded before holding it out to be filled. Aminah poured, careful to keep her hands steady. At the last second, Banwu’s hand jerked and the liquid spilled. Aminah watched in horror as it splashed onto his arm and his pant leg, the red liquid staining the white fabric. There was a lull as everyone looked at the two of them. Aminah shook, staring at Banwu’s leg as the red spots expanded, almost like blood. Her head was heavy and she felt sweat trickle down her neck and back. When she finally managed to raise herself to meet her husband’s eyes, a flash of triumph entered them.

“Foolish woman,” one of the old men spoke, the voice loud in the silence. “He is supposed to be pure when he enters the Land Beyond.”

A hand grabbed her roughly, pulling her away from Banwu. She stumbled back, falling to the ground, the damp of the carpet soaked into her wrap.

“Well?” Jeru’s face was suddenly in front of hers, his breath stank of pipe smoke and a sweetness from the cane he regularly munched on. Aminah knew she should drop her eyes. Swallowing her pride, she did as was expected of her. Gathering herself, she moved into a kneeling position.

“I am sorry my clumsiness sullied you, husband.” She lowered her head, to show the correct deference. “I will pray for the gods to punish me accordingly so that you may pass untainted by my mistake.” She braced herself, her eyes closed as she waited.

No blow came.

A murmur was starting from the door. An excited buzzing that swelled through the crowd and reached where the men sat. People turned away from the domestic squabble, refocusing on the real reason they were here.

The TinVa was approaching.

The whispers hushed as everyone listened. Over the sound of the rain, a dull thud of a walking stick could be heard. Every thud reverberated in the silence. The shadows deepened as a pocket opened. This was the Land Beyond bending itself into their world. Aminah straightened up, feeling small air currents. There were muffled whispers. A warmth encircled her shoulders and a peace she had not felt for many Cycles settled around her. She pressed her hand to her chest.

Mama?

She did not rise to her feet, continuing to kneel as she leaned into the feeling the spirits brought. Former TinVas could touch the world of the living during Transfer. A familiar but long unfelt grip took hold of her hand and pressed it firmer against her chest.

Mama was here.

There was a choking sound from above her. Aminah turned her head up towards her husband.

Banwu looked terrified. His fingers were twitching and his eyes flicked around the room, searching for a way out. An escape. Now that the celebration was over and the bill had come due, he showed his true face. It was a shame everyone was focused on the door and couldn’t see Banwu for what he was. A scared, old, cruel man. Not so big and important now that the gods were asking their due.

The thuds stopped, the final one coming down on their doorstep. There was a moment of pause, everyone leaning forward. In the gloom, two figures were silhouetted in the entrance of the door. Aminah didn’t dare breathe. In life, Abajou had been a kind, welcoming man. It had been a great comfort, especially in these last strange Cycles, to have him as their TinVa. Before he’d passed, he’d been the first to whittle toys for the children. His joy and willingness to give to others had been a pillar of the village and, even a Cycle after his passing, people still spoke of his laughter at feasts and festivals.

That man was different from the being before them. His shroud wrapped around him, glittering as it blended with the shadows. Its deep crimson and bronze patterns began playing the story from last Cycle’s Rain. Abajou’s life story. Bathed in the magic of the spirits and his power, he glowed. The lights served to show new wrinkles that Aminah had never known on his face. The gaunt hollowness of his eyes made her shiver. Whispers of spirits and the Ancestors thickened around him. Aminah strained to hear a particular voice, but it was impossible to hear Mama through all the noise.

Abajou reached behind him and beckoned forward the second figure.

Out of the strangeness of the TinVa’s presence stepped Ouse, Zava’s younger boy. He was holding the new shroud, his face glowing as it barely peeked out above the folds of the shimmering cloth. Aminah wanted to snatch it from him. He was a child, too young to come so close to the mysteries and cruelties of the Land Beyond. She was reminded of Jebale at Mama’s Transfer. How she’d reached for the TinVa’s cloth then, pulling in Aminah’s arms. How she’d cried when Aminah refused to let her get close.

Across the room, Zava was shaking, Jobey's grip on her the only thing holding her back from running to her son. A quick glance towards the center of the room showed Aminah that Mavi, her other boy, was scowling at his younger brother. He must have been with him when he’d seen the Sisters weaving the shroud.

Strange that Mavi hadn’t mentioned it.

Abajou stopped his walk towards them and smiled at Zava.

“I am old.” His voice sighed, moving through the air though his mouth had not opened. “Older now than before last Rain. Your son was kind enough to aid me on my last mission.” He fixed Jobey with a look as he added. “He has great respect for our ways. The Sisters have blessed him.”

Ouse blinked, turning to look at Abajou in surprise. Everyone looked towards Mavi. He shrunk into himself, trying to disappear behind the men he’d placed himself at the center of.

Whispers filled the room as people craned to get a better view of him. He’d lied, taken credit for something his little brother had done. Mavi hunkered down, avoiding his father’s glare. Ouse meanwhile was staring rapt at Aminah. She smiled, uncertain why his attention was on her. He lowered his gaze, inclining his head slightly and he disappeared in the folds of the shroud. Strange, but he had always been a reserved child, more in his own head than social, unlike his brother. Aminah had always found him to be quite respectful and kind.

“Will he be TinVa one day?” Jobey’s question pulled her attention back to the scene at hand. Abajou’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. Jobey’s eagerness melted and he hurriedly inclined his head.

“Only a fool,” The voice rumbled through the room, the noise vibrating inside Aminah’s chest, “would wish that fate for his child.”

Banwu shifted uncomfortably. Aminah understood the unspoken admonition. Only a fool would want that fate for himself.

“To become TinVa is to assume the responsibility of divinity.” Abajou’s voice curled around them. Aminah’s knees ached as she stayed in her kneeling position. “That power should not be wielded without the humility to know its cost and the reverence to keep balance.” 

Abajou raised his staff and struck the floor with it. Aminah braced herself against the floor as the reverberations buzzed up from the ground. The entire hut came alive with spirits. The whispers Aminah had heard became a chorus. A drumming began.

“I,” Abajou’s voice rolled like thunder, “am the TinVa. I have traveled from the Land Beyond the sunset to name my successor.”

The shroud Ouse held began to glow in earnest, the spirits around them darkening the room so they could better see the life story it would share.

“The power of the TinVa is that of a borrowed divinity. They shepherd those who die to the Land Beyond. They are the first and last to die in a Cycle. Then they are led by the new TinVa to their rest.”

Aminah felt that warmth again. This time the presence of her mother was strong; she wanted to cry out and call her forth. Her head spun and she pressed her hand to the floor to keep from swooning.

“This is as it should be.” Abajou’s voice was hushed. There was a pause as the spirits began moving faster. Aminah’s teeth chattered as the air became cold.

“The Cycle has been thrown into chaos.” Abajou continued. “Men have dared to interfere in gods’ business.” The Elders quaked as he lifted his staff and brought it down again. Plates rattled. A baby cried. Outside, the rain was replaced by wind. “I have tried this Cycle to right the things that were set wrong. I have tried.” He paused. His eyes were sunken, his shoulders stooped. Though he was not Abajou’s body, the strain of being TinVa had been so much, it had worn and aged his spirit. “I have failed.”

There was a small gasp. Mabili, usually so strong, was staring at the shade of her husband, pain written plain on her face. That he had suffered this past Cycle was clear. That those responsible for his suffering were standing in this room also became clear from the guilty looks the Elders shared amongst themselves.

What had they done?

“The next TinVa will continue my work.” Abajou looked towards the group standing before him. Aminah turned, looking at the soon-to-be corpse of her husband. Banwu? The great restorer of balance? Were the gods toying with them?

Behind her another thud sounded, reverberating around the room as Abajou struck his staff again. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. Abajou held out his arm. Ouse handed him the cloak, draping it across the outstretched limb. Backing away, Ouse raised his chin, putting his hands behind his back. Zava wrenched free of Jobey and pulled him into her arms, holding him close as Abajou commenced the Transfer ritual.

“All things.” Abajou lifted his arm. “Have a story.”

“It is true.” The words from the villagers assembled seemed hesitant.

“All stories,” Abajou said, “have an end.”

“It is true.”

“My story as Abajou ended last Rain so that my story as TinVa could begin.” He walked towards them, holding out the staff and shroud. Aminah had not been this close to the Transfer since Mama. She felt a pull through her as she dared to lean closer. Abajou would have to pass in front of her to get to Banwu. She would be able to see everything. It was such a gorgeous shroud. Aminah wondered at the pattern and color. Her eyes were drawn to the reds, purples, the bronze. Warm colors that reminded her of time spent making colored baskets with Mama. She followed the pattern of—

The symbol of Aminah’s mother’s line.

She blinked.

It couldn’t be.

But when Abajou knelt it was not before Banwu, but before her.

“This Rain is the end of your story as Aminah.” He held out the staff and shroud and inclined his head slightly. “So that your story as TinVa might begin.”

The room was silent. 

No one uttered the traditional response. All held their breath, not believing what they were seeing.

It wasn’t possible.

Aminah dug her nails into the mat beneath her, trying to steady herself. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

It couldn’t be.

Yet the shade was in front of her. Abajou’s white and grey locs, once familiar, glowed slightly blue with the aura of the spirits. The power was curling around his arms, moving towards her. She shook, not sure what she was supposed to do. What the next move was. She knew what was expected. What was traditional. She needed to accept the power he was transferring. The balance was kept by doing the will of the gods. All she needed to do was grasp him and it would be hers. 

It wasn’t possible. 

She’d been there the day Banwu was chosen. She’d felt the thinning of the world, delineating that he would be the first to die this Cycle. She had stood behind him as it happened. It had been an overwhelming experience. The heat of the split of the worlds. The briefest sliver of spirit as the rain parted around them, the glowing symbol of the god of death surrounding them. 

She’d barely recovered from it. 

Banwu had been in front of her. 

In front. 

Of her.

Suddenly, the entire moment became clear. Banwu had strutted around, loudly claiming the title so that all might witness. Everyone crowded around him and no one had seen to her. 

Not even when she’d fainted.

She’d fainted.

What dutiful wife wouldn’t when given the knowledge that her husband was soon to die? It had been spoken of with hushed reverence. A mark of her love for her husband.

She had been ill for two days. She’d thought it was the shock of hope, but now—

Aminah looked over at Banwu. Surely he would have realized if something was wrong? Surely he would have known if it wasn’t meant to be him. Or had he been so selfish, so vain, as to think that death wouldn’t be painful? That the gods choosing him for this gruesome, necessary task would be easy?

His face was blank. He was shaking, his hands seeming to want to wrench the staff from Abajou, but he did not move.

The power curled around Abajou’s arms, building and calling out to her. Whispers sounded in her ears and there was a voice there. One she hadn’t heard for many Cycles. It urged her gaze to the shroud.

The shroud.

The shroud did not lie. It was never meant to be him. She had prayed and pleaded with the gods to find a way to escape him and they had answered. The pressure of Mama’s hand from long ago came back, squeezing her palm, pulling it forth. She knew what she must do.

She lifted her hands.

“NO.” Jebale lurched across the room. Mabili grabbed her, hugging her against her. Jebale let out a wail, falling. Mabili bent and lowered the two of them to the floor, holding onto Jebale as she sobbed. “No. No, no.” Jebale covered her face as she slumped on the ground.

Aminah stopped, Jebale’s sobs threatening to break her. She’d had so much hope at the beginning of this celebration. This was supposed to be their beginning. Had she truly thought it would be easy to be free? That the gods would grant this without some sacrifice?

Abajou was patient. He was waiting, his form shimmering and blue as he held out the items that would make her TinVa.

The room became colder, the spirits waiting for her to complete the ritual. The gods demanded their instructions be followed. The village needed a TinVa, and here she was. It did not matter that she wasn’t ready.

It hadn’t mattered that Mama wasn’t ready.

There was no time to think of the injustice of it. No time to mourn her future.

She just needed to reach out and it would be over.

She would be free.

Aminah’s fingers shook as they closed around the wood of the staff. The grain was smooth and warm. The shroud was soft, the fabric sliding in her hold like water. The coiling blue glow around Abajou’s arms rushed over her, sinking into her skin. The voices of the ancestors rose from a whisper to a roar. Aminah shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden surge within her.

She rose, feeling herself fall away, her outer shell crumbling to the ground as her essence remained. The room around them grew heavy with a solidity she and Abajou no longer possessed. The shroud slipped from her grasp and wrapped itself around her. Abajou pulled her up, moving so they were both standing.

There were gasps. The truth finally being understood in a way too public, too obvious to ignore. Banwu shrunk within himself, shivering in his stained clothing and shame in view of the whole village.

She could not even savor the victory.

“It isn’t fair,” she protested. Abajou’s expression was grave. The sound of her voice was dull and, while the power of the words was true, the feeling behind them was leaving. She tried again, “This isn’t fair.” Her voice was soft as she walked towards Jebale. Her sister could no longer see her; Jebale’s eyes were fixed on the floor where Aminah’s body lay. She was clutching Mabili, rocking back and forth. Behind her were other people that Aminah loved. Zava and her little boy, Ouse. All of them were crying.

Abajou’s hand came down on Aminah’s shoulder. “There is much work for you to do, child.” He turned his gaze towards where Banwu and the other Elders cowered. In the space in between the living and the dead, Aminah could see what Abajou meant and she shrank back 

The bodies of the men seemed covered in twisting, glowing green threads. One from around Banwu reached out and rushed hissing towards her. Aminah put her hand up, holding her staff aloft. It burned as it hit the staff and disappeared from the protective cage around Banwu. A small gap appeared in its place. Aminah struck the ground with the staff, swaying as she felt power draining from her.

“What?” 

Abajou looked back at her, his hollow eyes peering out from skin stretched tight. Threads from the Elders wound their way towards him, seeming to relish his newfound vulnerability. Aminah readied herself to strike again, when he grabbed her arm. 

“Let them.” His voice barely louder than a sigh. “I have nothing left to give.” 

The threads circled him and hesitated before retreating. 

“I failed.” Abajou continued. “I wasn’t strong enough to undo the wicked deal they made.” 

Aminah looked back at the older men. “Those...” she motioned to the twisting threads. “Things?” 

“Prevent the natural balance of life and death. Fix them in this realm and halt their passage into the next by taking from others.” Abajou said. “A younger TinVa was needed. Someone who had much life to live balanced with the drive for justice.” 

Aminah watched as the tendrils brushed over the people around the older men. One brushed against Mabili and her hold on Jebale shifted as she seemed to sway slightly. The green tendril flashed and retreated, feeding the protection around the old men. Abajou’s eyes closed. 

“My love.” He reached, his fingers passing through Mabili’s body. The thread, sensing Abajou’s absence of life force, pulled back. Mabili shivered slightly, her distress easing somewhat.

“What would you have me do?” Aminah gripped the staff. She wanted to swing. To stand between Jebale and these vultures. To fight, to protect her and anyone else they were feeding off of. She could see it now, the way they drained the people around them. She noted in horror the beginnings of threads around Mavi. She turned, sagging in relief to see that Ouse remained free, though the tendrils that were curling around Mavi seemed to be reaching towards him. The young boy pressed himself closer to his mother, scared, his large brown eyes flicking around the room.

He could see them too. This was the blessing Abajou had spoken of. The goddesses had gifted him this terrible truth. He might escape forming a cage, but he would never escape the knowledge of their presence and how they hurt others. 

“There is much you must learn before you will be ready for this task.” Abajou reached his hand out and the tableau flickered slightly. The landscape across the threshold changed, its texture and strangeness rippling. As Aminah gazed upon the Land Beyond for the first time, she felt the first tears come. She hadn’t thought to cry today. She hadn’t realized she would have a reason to.

It would be a Cycle before she could make her journey there, and hopefully it would be many before Jebale joined her.

“Aminah.” Abajou’s voice was hushed, his eyes still on Mabili, drinking in every detail. “It is time.” He held out his hand. He needed her to begin his journey. Aminah hesitated. Wouldn’t it be a kindness to let him look on Mabili a bit longer? Give him this time before he passed?

Couldn’t she have just a little more time?

As the thought formed, a slight green haze entered her vision. It was that easy, she realized, to believe that she had the right to bend reality to her will. To counter the balance of the will of the gods. She couldn’t ask for more, and to take it would make her no better than the men at the center of the hut. She already had all the time she had been given.

The green faded and Abajou’s face came into focus. He smiled, pride evident as he offered her his hand. “We have no more business among the living.”

Aminah took it.

Together they made their way through the house, Aminah leaving behind all she’d ever known. As she stepped, the shroud around her glowed.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds, no longer heavy and low, were beginning to break up, the large gray and black rolling away to make way for the blue. Sunlight broke through in rays. Aminah tilted her head, but the light did not warm her. The rays came through, making her form transparent. Looking back over her shoulder, she took in the hut she’d shared with her husband. She looked at the village of people she’d lived with, and finally her eyes fell to her sister. Jebale turned and looked towards the door, squinting.

For a moment, it almost seemed as though her sister could see Aminah. Her eyes were directly on her and Aminah almost raised a hand to wave. Then Jebale’s gaze swept past her. She turned inward, towards what Aminah had left behind.

Abajou squeezed her hand as Mama had done so many Cycles before. A tugging feeling turned her attention back to the spirit world before her. She would see Jebale again. A voice, Mama's, was calling her, pulling her towards her purpose.

Jebale had life to live.

And Aminah had work to do.