NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6: Uncertainty
Fanta returned to her mother's hut, arms trembling under the jug's weight. Anayara, sensing her daughter's distress, quickly ushered her inside, her expression tight with worry. The small hut, dimly illuminated by faint sunlight filtering through a solitary window, felt like a fragile sanctuary against the hostility outside. Aromatic bottles lined the shelves, each carefully crafted blend masking Fanta's alluring natural fragrance—an ironic reminder of the very beauty that endangered her.
Anayara's concerned eyes searched Fanta's face, her gentle hands checking for injuries. "Child, are you hurt?" she whispered softly, voice laced with sorrow.
Fanta shook her head slightly, her voice barely audible. "They threw insults, nothing more," she replied quietly, fighting to keep her composure. Her mother's tender fingers combed gently through Fanta's violet hair, inspecting it out of habit, hiding the reality of its ethereal hue from prying eyes.
Later, as the oppressive heat subsided slightly, Fanta reluctantly ventured back into the village to gather herbs. The air thickened with tension, villagers clustered in tight groups, exchanging wary whispers about Mojono's accusations. When Fanta approached an elderly trader who had previously exchanged seeds for perfume, he swiftly turned away, muttering fearful incantations against evil.
Across the market, Handuza stood surrounded by her friends, eyes glinting maliciously as they whispered conspiratorially, occasionally shooting scornful glances her way. Fanta's heart raced; Handuza's hostility was becoming openly aggressive.
By afternoon, at her mother's hesitant request, she returned to the river. Though less crowded, tension lingered. A group of children boldly blocked her path, hurling accusations of witchcraft. Their young faces twisted in fear and cruelty, pressing forward until Fanta firmly asserted herself, filling the jug quickly despite the shaking in her hands.
Heading back home, Fanta encountered Nabunjo and her friends blocking her path, eyes glittering with cruel delight. Nabunjo mocked her openly, warning darkly about Handuza's plans, sending icy fear down Fanta's spine. Though physically unharmed, the menace in their words pierced deeply.
Back home, Fanta collapsed, emotionally drained. Her mother, sensing her distress, comforted her softly but bore troubling news—the elders, spurred by Mojono's whispers, had called a dawn meeting to decide her fate.
As darkness fell, Fanta sat awake by the dying glow of an oil lamp, sleepless, anxious. A dreadful decision loomed, one that threatened banishment or worse. Outside, murmurs grew, restless and accusatory. Fear intertwined with hope as she whispered silent vows of courage. She knew dawn would bring judgment—but also, perhaps, her first real chance at freedom.