That was when Koffi noticed the crack.
The old women of Lapazza said the village was born from a single tear. Not a tear of sorrow, but of exhaustion—dropped by the first mother, Yema, as she collapsed after walking for three moons with a child on her back and another in her belly. Where the tear hit the cracked earth, a spring burst forth. Where the spring flowed, the baobab grew. And where the baobab cast its shade, Lapazza took root.
A voice. Not the whisper of ancestors or the creak of old magic. A woman’s voice, clear as a bell, saying: “The first mother didn’t weep from exhaustion. She wept because she had to leave one behind.” mother village chapter 1
The Old Wall was higher than he remembered. Or maybe he was smaller. He climbed it anyway, scraping his knees on stones that felt warm, almost feverish. At the top, he paused.
Koffi looked back at Lapazza. From here, it looked peaceful: round huts with thatched roofs, smoke curling from cooking pits, children chasing a lame goat. But he saw what others didn’t. The wells were shrinking. The goats gave sour milk. The babies were born with gray eyes that turned brown after three days—except now, they stayed gray. That was when Koffi noticed the crack
“That is Mother’s Blood,” Tebo whispered. “And it only flows when the village is dying.”
It was small, running along the base of the baobab’s eastern root—the root that pointed toward the Ashen Grove. He had never seen it before. But when he knelt and pressed his ear to the bark, he heard something that made his blood hum. Where the tear hit the cracked earth, a spring burst forth
And she smiled.
