They moved in regular intervals, like the hands of a clock. After freeing themselves from the sorcerer, the women took their positions to execute some plan. One of them was lighting the fuses surrounding the platform, while another brought a ram to slaughter, collecting its blood in a vessel to give to the hands of Umm Haroon. As for Qamasha, she was cleaning the platform from the remains of the boy’s body.
When Umm Haroon drew a large star on the ground using the ram’s blood in the vessel, chanting a kind of strange hymn with her followers repeating after her, I knew that my turn had come. There was no escape at that moment. Umm Haroon did not want to waste time taking me to the village, fearing that I might slip away from her grasp like the first time.