The poison of the roots

Name: The poison of the roots
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gbehouin Reine

Adventure | Ongoing

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The poison of the roots in the village of Obélé, a silent jealousy grew up between two brothers, Assane and Malik. Assane, the eldest, prosperous and respected, suspects his wife, Awa, to experience feelings for his younger. Rada by jealousy, he poisons Malik, who falls seriously ill. Thanks to the care of a healer, Malik survives but understands that his brother seeks to eliminate him. When Awa falls mysteriously in turn, Malik understands that Assane punishes her for her hidden feelings. Desperate, he consults a witch who gives him a drink capable of overthrowing the fate. Assane is drinking without being wary and begins to dive, haunted by nightmarish visions. As he agonizes, he realizes that he has lost much more than a fight: his wife, his honor and his life. But while Malik believes he has triumphed, he in turn feels a shadow invaded him ... The poison never disappears, he only changes carrier.

Family Fantasy Revenge Mafia Queen Revenge

Chapter 5 The snake game

The day before yesterday 23:58

Chapter 1 The roots of evil

Chapter 1: The roots of evil

Awa

I can't find sleep.

Lying on the mat, eyes open in the dark, I listen to the calm breathing of Assane next to me. He sleeps. Or at least, it pretends. His breath is too regular, too controlled. It is awake. He may observe me, as he has been doing for several days, with this heavy look, loaded with doubts and suspicions.

I feel it. He knows.

But what exactly does he know?

I close my eyes, trying to soothe the beats of my heart. There was nothing. Nothing tangible, nothing that can be named. Only looks exchanged. A fleeting tension, suspended between two silences.

Malik.

His name is imposed on my mind, and I hate the way my belly tightens this thought. I shouldn't. I shouldn't even think about it.

He is his brother. He is my brother-in-law.

And yet ...

I straighten up slowly, making sure not to make noise. The night air is heavy, loaded with humidity and a scent of wet earth. An irrepressible desire pushes me out of the box. I get up, barefoot on fresh earth, and I slip outside.

The moon is high, lights up the village with a pale light. Everything is silent, as if the night herself held her breath.

I stop right in front of the box.

I'm waiting.

I don't even know why. I repeat myself that I went out to breathe, to think. But deep down, another truth is essential.

I'm waiting for Malik.

The achievement, a thrill travels my spine. It's insane. I should go back to bed, slip under the mat, pretend to sleep.

But my feet remain anchored on the ground.

The seconds stretch. The air becomes heavier.

If it appears now ...

I remember my breath. I listen, but there is nothing. No shadow is emerging, no step disturbed silence.

Finally, I close my eyes and push a long sigh before turning around.

When I get into the box, I immediately feel something strange.

Assane does not move, but her breath has changed.

It is awake.

And he knows I got out.

Assane

Sleep flees me.

I am lying on the mat, my eyes riveted on the ceiling of the box, my hands placed on my belly in a deceptive calm. Awa returned, slipped under the blanket without a noise, as if nothing had happened. But I know.

She came out.

She waited.

I heard his breath restored, felt the hesitation in his steps. She hoped to see him.

My own brother.

A bitter taste invades my mouth. The idea eats away from the inside, like a blade planted in my flesh and that is stirred with cruel slowness. Malik and I grew up together, shared the same children's games, the same blood, the same education. He knows what Awa represents for me.

And yet he dares.

I clench my fists, but I remain motionless. Not a muscle moves. The instinct tells me not to show anything, not to reveal what I understood. Not yet.

Silence is a more sharp weapon than anger.

Awa breathes peacefully by my side, but I know that his sleep is pretended. I guess his thoughts, his torments. She is aware of my gaze, the weight of my suspicions. And yet she says nothing.

His silence is an admission.

I close my eyes for a moment, swallowing the rage that rises in me. If I speak now, if I accuse her, she will deny. She would lie to me without wounding.

So I'm going to be silent.

I'll wait. Observe.

And hit at the right time.

---

In the morning, Awa gets up before me, as always. I hear it prepare the watershed, readjust the jars near the home. His gestures are precise, mechanical. She avoids looking at me.

I take my time before leaving the mat, stretching my body slowly, pretending to be fatigue.

- Did you sleep badly? She asks in a soft voice.

His tone is neutral, almost natural. But I detect a shadow of concern in his eyes.

- Like every night it is too hot, I simply answer.

She nods and turns away to pour water into a bowl. She is badly.

I take my time to sit and observe it. She tied her hair in a long braid that falls on her shoulder, and an end veil covers part of her head. Beautiful. Too beautiful.

Anger goes back in me, but I repress it immediately.

- You have to see your mother today, right?

She freezes a fraction of a second before resuming her movement.

- Yes. She needs market help.

A lie.

I know she will go to the market, but not just to help her mother.

I also know who she hopes to come across.

-So I will accompany you, I said calmly.

She suddenly raises her head, her lips slightly ajar. The surprise in his gaze lasts only a second, quickly replaced by a tender smile.

- Do you want to help me wear the baskets?

- Why not ? It's been a long time since I worked with you to the market.

She laughs slowly, but her smile sounds wrong.

She doesn't want me to come.

I get up and grab a loincloth that I tie around my size.

-Let's go.

Awa nods and turns around to take the basket. His shoulders are tense.

I hide my smile.

---

The market is noisy, alive, a mixture of spices, dried fish and fresh fruit. Under the big tree in the center, women discuss by preparing their stalls, while men carry bags of millet and corn.

I walk near Awa, my gaze sweeping the crowd.

And then, I see it.

Malik.

He is supported against a earth wall, his arms crossed, in full discussion with an old man from the village. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are looking for something. Or someone.

A grin deforms my lips.

He hasn't seen me yet.

But Awa, she spotted it.

I feel his breath block a second, perceive the tiny slowdown in his step. It is not a coincidence.