You awake to a rhythm of dull aches pounding across your body. But they are only the distant thuds of wounds that have been tended to. A fire dances in the center of the cavern. On the other side of the flames stands a robed woman.

“You’re up. Good.” The woman’s voice is both calming and reassuring. And familiar. The first thing that comes into view was her black robe, dusty and ragged. Red tail feathers have been woven into the base of her white hair, which has been shaved into a mohawk. Gold elekes rope her neck, bright against the sepia color of her skin. Her large brown eyes seem comfortable penetrating a person’s soul.

“Where am I?”

“My home.” The woman stokes the fire. Her hand wraps around a glass filled with a milky white liquid that smells of overripe fruit.

“You live in a cave.” You try to sit up, but muscles you didn’t know you possessed scream in protest.

“Wherever I am, I am home.” She smirks. You can’t tell if it is at your failed attempt to sit up or the cleverness of her answers.

“Who are you?”

“That is the nature of my journey. Constantly interrogating who I am. But you may call me Nehanda. Nehanda Jywanza.”

“Jywanza?” Despite the pain, you force yourself up. When you study her face, you see the family resemblance. Pain rips through your side. Tears well in your eyes, but you’re happy to feel anything. “Any relations to Selamault?”

“My sister. Your aunt.”

“I never…” You don’t know how best to finish that sentence. “It is good to meet you. Thank you for saving my life.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You face dark days ahead.”

You measure her words, searching them for any hint of threat. Her emi is closed off to you. She’s like reading a shadow. You reach for your chakrams.

“No need for weapons,” Nehanda says without looking at you. With a casual flick of her wrist, two chakrams form in the space between you and her. They spin about, crossing back and forth like the belted kraals of Muungano, except whirring like manic blades before evaporating. “That is, unless you are the weapon.”

“What … are you?”

“Ah, now there’s a better question. I am Iyami Aje.”

“One of the sacred mothers.”

“An elder of the night. You are to begin your training as an agoze, a disciple in the journey of becoming an ologun.” No one can choose to initiate the Iyami Aje. The witches choose whom they wish to initiate. “Only if you are interested in taking on your true role as a beacon of hope for your people if they are to weather the coming darkness.”

“I don’t know what I want or where I’m supposed to go next. I have no past, and in my present, I’ve given no thought to my future.”