The Witness of Usehjiki

Eleven

The screaming rose.

Kuwin climbed the ladder leading up to the bed of the truck. He fumbled on the last wrung and nearly fell back, earning a chastising look from Enechi.

"You had better be careful," Enechi hissed. "If this container falls, and the contents spill, we're all in trouble."

He got to the edge of the container as Osa disappeared beneath the blood and oil. Kuwin wanted to puke his guts out and scream. He held the side of the cage to keep himself upright. This was so wrong. And yet, he couldn't refute Enechi's logic. His family needed protection. God wouldn't fault him for trying to provide, right? Even Osa, herself, had said Kuwin should look for other signs and wonders. This was what 'other' looked like. God didn't usually speak to him through murderous men with questionable ethics, but Kuwin was flying blind here.

All day, he'd fed on nothing but oil. He'd been laid bare, anointed by priests, fed by wandering dancing children, and bathed in the combined spit of strangers. To say that Kuwin was deeply disgusted would be an understatement.

"It's all good," Enechi had explained to them. They needed to be cleansed or else the ritual wouldn't accept them. The creation of a witness required clans-blood who were without other incantations and spells and totems. Whatever protection they'd ever had, had to be washed away till they stood, defenseless in the shadow of a new and greater being.

Which sounded murky and uncomfortable, already. But it turned out to be even worse when Enechi asked Kuwin not to pray till the ritual was done and the witness was created.

"Excuse me," Kuwin had said, about to pop a vein in his forehead.

"No incantations, no protection," Enechi replied. "Your god is premium protection, from what I hear. If you keep beseeching him, the ritual won't work."

Kuwin had cried the rest of the day. He'd cried throughout the cleansing and cried every time he had to drink oil. He was grimy and disgusting and hungry and lost and, honestly, Kuwin was starting to hate everybody on the planet.

One of the attendants handed him a small pocket knife, just as Enechi and Ahimad took up their places around the container where Osa's body had disappeared into. On one side of the container, an attendant stood, holding the bottle with Osa's extracted blood. He opened the bottle, just as Enechi and Ahimad slit their palms and their blood dripped into the container.

Kuwin shook as he brought the knife to his palm. Closing his eyes, he pressed the blade into his flesh and cut as deep as he could before he held out the hand over the container.

His blood dropped into the container, the same as everyone else'. Reminding himself not to pray, Kuwin kept his eyes open, watching the chanters all around them work themselves into a frenzy. As they moved, the fires lit all around, as well as the large one in the field pulsed in unison, ebbing and flowing in tandem with the chants.

Every once in a while, Kuwin's vision would blur, and he'd have to shake his head. He needed a clear head to get through this. Enechi and Ahimad had stopped moving a while back, stuck straight in some daze as their hands continued to drip. Kuwin was probably supposed to be in a similar state, but he couldn't be. It was second nature for him to call upon God. If he lost consciousness, Kuwin was going to pray.

His feet ached, after standing in the same spot for a while. Still, Kuwin waited. He stood for so long that he lost track of time. But he continued to wait. It was bound to be over eventually. Right? It wasn't as if they were going to drip blood till morning. Was it?

Suddenly, around them, the chanting began to pick up again. Slowly, it intensified, and the fire bellowed in the background as the container trembled beneath them. Kuwin held the cage again, to keep steady, but Enechi and Ahimad remained, standing firm on their respective sides of the container.