Chapter 9: Divided Flames
The market was usually the heart of the village—alive with chatter, bargaining, and the smells of roasted maize and dried fish. But today the air was tense, brittle, like a cord drawn too tight.
Jabari felt every eye on him as he walked with Musa between the stalls. Merchants muttered under their breath, customers pulled their children closer, and a group of youths stopped their game to glare. The news of the healer's hut had spread faster than fire through dry grass.
Some whispered blessings as he passed. Others spat on the ground, warding off what they believed was a curse.
"He saved Njoroge," one woman said, clutching her basket.
"He nearly killed him first," another hissed.
"No—he prayed. I heard it. The man breathed again because of him."
"Or because the stone allowed it."
The words pressed against Jabari's chest, each accusation heavier than the last. He wanted to shout that it wasn't him, that it was something greater, brighter, beyond himself. But would they even believe?
At the butcher's stall, Kioni's shadow loomed. The blacksmith stood with arms folded, his broad frame blocking the light. His voice was iron, cold and sharp. "Do not be deceived. Every miracle comes with a price. Ask yourselves—who pays it?"
The crowd quieted. Even Musa paused, his jaw tightening.
Kioni's eyes bore into Jabari. "You think your prayers freed Njoroge? Perhaps. But for how long? What shadow now clings to him because of you?"
A murmur rippled through the market. Njoroge himself stood nearby, pale but upright, leaning on his wife's shoulder. His eyes darted uneasily, as if he could still feel the shadow clinging.
"I… I live," he whispered, voice trembling. "But the dreams… they haven't left."
Gasps rose. Fear spread through the crowd like dry leaves catching flame.
Jabari's mouth went dry. The stone pulsed in his pocket, alive with the fear around him. He clenched his fist, desperate to silence it. "I didn't cause this," he said, louder than he meant. His voice cracked, raw. "The shadow was here before me. I fought it. I fight it still."
Kioni stepped closer, towering. "And how long until it swallows you? How long until your fight becomes our ruin?"
The villagers stirred, divided—some nodding in agreement, others frowning at Kioni's harshness.
Before the tension could snap, a small voice cut through. "He saved me too."
Nyasha, the baker's daughter, stepped forward, her small hands clutching her dress. Her mother reached to pull her back, but she stood firm. "When the bad dream came, he prayed. The light was real. I saw it."
The market hushed. Dozens of eyes turned toward the child, their suspicion faltering for just a moment.
Kioni's jaw worked, but he said nothing. His gaze lingered on Jabari before he turned, muttering, "A child's vision is no proof." He walked away, the crowd parting before him.
The silence he left behind was heavier than his words. Some villagers looked at Jabari with hope. Others with fear. The division had cracked wide open, and he stood in the center of it, heart hammering.
Musa leaned close, voice low. "The village teeters on a blade's edge. You cannot silence their doubts with strength. Only with faith—and faith tested."
Jabari's gaze swept the market. Faith tested. He felt the truth in Musa's words, but the stone throbbed harder, whispering its venom: They will never trust you. Every act of faith feeds me. Soon they will see you for what you are—not a shepherd, but a wolf.
He shut his eyes against it, but the whispers lingered. And when he opened them again, he saw not just fear in the villagers' faces—but something worse. Expectation.
They wanted him to prove himself again. And again. Until he broke. By evening, the market's whispers had become a storm. The village's footpaths carried news faster than fire. Some swore Jabari's words at the market rang with truth, others said Kioni's warning was the only wisdom worth heeding. Families clustered by their hearths, debating in hushed voices.
Jabari heard it all through the walls of his hut. Shadows stretched across the room as the sun set, long and twisting. The stone sat on the table, its faint glow barely masked beneath a folded cloth. Each pulse was a reminder that even when the world went silent, it still whispered.
Musa paced the room. "They are dividing," he said. "One side sees you as chosen. The other sees you as cursed. Both sides want proof." He stopped, his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on Jabari. "If you stumble now, the entire village may fall."
Jabari pressed his palms to his temples. His mind throbbed like the stone itself. "I don't want their faith in me. I want them to see beyond me."
Musa's expression softened, but his voice stayed firm. "That is exactly why you were given this trial." He glanced at the cloth-covered stone. "Do not forget—the Enemy tests with gifts as much as with chains."
A knock at the door startled them both. It wasn't sharp, but cautious.
When Jabari opened it, he found Njoroge's wife, Achieng, standing in the dusk. Her eyes were swollen, as if from sleepless nights. She bowed her head. "Please… my husband suffers still. The dreams will not leave. Some say he is cursed because of you. Others… say you can help again."
Her voice broke. "I beg you—come."
Jabari looked to Musa, who gave a slow nod. They followed Achieng through the quiet paths, every step echoing the villagers' stares from behind woven mats and shuttered doors. The night air was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken fears.
Inside Njoroge's hut, the smell of herbs and smoke lingered. The man lay on his mat, chest rising shallowly. His eyes darted beneath closed lids, trapped in some unseen torment. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.
When Jabari knelt beside him, the stone pulsed harder, as if eager. Its voice slithered into his mind: Say the word. Lay me upon him. I will silence the dreams. You need only let me feed.
His stomach churned. He pressed his fists to his knees, refusing to reach for it. Instead, he bowed his head. His voice trembled, but he forced the words out. "Lord, if You hear… let Your light drive out this shadow."
The room was silent except for Njoroge's uneven breaths. Achieng's sobs filled the corners. For a long moment, nothing changed. Then, with a shudder, Njoroge gasped and sat upright. His eyes, wild with terror moments ago, now blinked clear and steady.
"I… I saw fire," he whispered hoarsely. "It chased the darkness away."
Achieng cried out, clasping his hands. "He is free! You did it again!"
Jabari felt no triumph, only dread. The stone pulsed harder, furious, as if robbed. The villagers who had followed Achieng to watch through the open doorway began to murmur.
"He has power."
"Twice now."
"Is it God—or the stone?"
The words pricked at Jabari's heart. Even in deliverance, doubt grew.
Kioni's voice rang from the crowd. He had followed too, silent until now. "Look well! If it is God, why is it always he who holds the answer? Why not our priest, our elders, our prayers? Why only Jabari?"
The crowd turned, unease swirling.
Musa stepped forward, raising his voice. "God chooses His vessels as He wills. Do not measure His ways by your suspicion."
But Kioni's eyes burned with conviction. "Or perhaps the vessel is no more than a mask for what clings to him. The light you see may yet be a fire that devours."
A murmur of agreement swept through part of the crowd. Others glared at Kioni, torn between fear and gratitude.
Jabari felt the weight of every eye. He wished the ground would open and swallow him. He had prayed, not wielded. Yet still, the question hung in the air like smoke: was it his faith—or the stone's hunger—that broke the shadow's hold?
That night, as he returned home, the whispers followed him like footsteps. When he reached his hut, he found a small bundle at the gate. He unwrapped it and froze. Inside lay a charcoal drawing: his figure, with fire in one hand and chains in the other. A single word was scrawled beneath—DECIDE.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of smoke from distant hearths. Jabari's hands shook as he clutched the drawing. Somewhere in the darkness, unseen eyes watched. And in his pocket, the stone beat like a second heart. The bundle with the drawing lay heavy in Jabari's lap long after Musa had gone to rest. Decide. The word carved itself into his mind like a blade. He couldn't escape the truth—every prayer, every victory, was sharpening the divide.
That night, he dreamt again. The village was burning, not with fire but with shadows that writhed like smoke. Families screamed, torn between two paths—one leading toward a cross that shone faintly in the distance, the other toward the red-eyed figure, who stretched out his arms like a shepherd calling sheep.
Jabari stood in the middle, the stone glowing in one hand, a wooden cross in the other. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. The villagers stared at him, waiting. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came.
The red-eyed figure leaned close, breath hot against Jabari's ear. Choose, boy. Chain or flame. You cannot wield both.
Jabari woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The hut was still dark, but outside came the sound of feet shuffling, voices hushed. He crawled to the door and peered out. A group of villagers stood at his gate, torches flickering, faces grim. Kioni was at the front.
"Jabari," he called, voice carrying like a verdict. "We've decided. At dawn, the council will meet. Your place among us will be judged."
The group murmured, their shadows stretching long across the earth. Some looked away, ashamed. Others glared, fear etched into their features. Jabari's chest tightened. They weren't merely questioning him now—they were preparing to cast their verdict.
When the villagers left, Musa found Jabari still frozen at the doorway. "This is it," Musa said quietly. "The hour that decides whether they see you as chosen or condemned. But remember—faith is not decided by councils. It is proven in fire."
Jabari looked at the bundle still resting on his mat. The drawing's warning seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the stone. His fate would be tested, and with it, the fate of everyone he loved.
He clenched his fists. The whispers of the stone rose like a chant: Decide. Decide. Decide.
By dawn, the entire village would gather. And for the first time, Jabari wasn't sure what would emerge—their trust in him, their fear of him… or the shadow that stalked his every prayer.
The stone's final whisper before the sun broke chilled him to the marrow: Even if you choose the cross, Jabari, remember—I am already inside.