Page 125 of Caressed By Sin
A Moonlit Feast
Fatou
I really wish they didn’t have a welcome feast. I don’t have time for this.
The celebration began.
On the ground, we all lounged on tons of soft pillows. My parents were the only ones who sat on low golden stools. They were positioned across from me with their various advisors resting on pillows on either side of them.
Zoe sat on my left with his legs spread out.
I leaned his way and whispered, “Cross your legs. It is considered rude to have your feet facing the food.”
“Aww. Okay.” He quickly folded them.
Jade was on my right.
A few times, I caught my mother lovingly watching her.
An oval mat, woven from river reeds and topped with the softest of grasses, lay in the center of our group. A man placed an entire roasted lamb on the mat. Several women carried over bowls of bread, fruits, and vegetables and put them on the mat. Next, another woman brought over a delectable assortment of oysters, mussels, and grilled fish.
For the Yumboe, meals tended to be single-dish communal affairs. Everyone grazed from one bowl or platter, using spoons or bare hands to scoop up meat and vegetables which was always supplemented with rice or couscous.
Our enchanted land bordered the Atlantic Ocean, so seafood was always plentiful. However, peanuts and millet served as our tribe’s primary crop. Many of our people traded products with unsuspecting humans for couscous, sweet potatoes, and black-eyed peas.
A horn blared.
We all turned to the front.
Towering over us, the tribe’s magic users raised their hands over their heads. A myriad of colors shot from their fingers and blazed the night sky, each different and unique in its own way. Once the magic sped high, it exploded with more light, crackling and popping, shimmering and sparkling.
I checked Jade’s reaction. She giggled. Her gaze dazzled by the magic.
At least she is enjoying herself.
I turned away from the show.
This must hurry so I can ask my father.
Impatience surged through me, but I had to wait it out. The Yumboe had a special way of welcoming guests. It was all drenched in customs and traditions. It would be rude of me to appear after years of absence and instantly begin asking for their help.
I had to honor their ways.
Damn it.
The clinking of silverware and the chatter of joyful conversation filled the air.
Tons of Yumboe sat in other groups all around us with their own food mats. Many cheersed their glasses of wine and laughed. Several jumped up and danced as the tribe’s drummers appeared and played.
Smoke rode the cool night breeze, carrying the scents of rose petals and lavender.
Everyone celebrated, but all I could think about was Azar and the many horrible things that could be happening to him. My imagination ran wild with possible scenarios of torture.
The thought of Azar suffering made my stomach knot and my soul break into bits and pieces. A cold hollowness carved through my insides like an icy knife, numbing me to the celebration. The sensation was worse than heartbreak and very close to mourning.
Azar has to be okay. Don’t think the worst.
Still, it was hard not to.
