The sky rumbled and darkened. The chanting broke off as everyone looked upward. Only once had Abeke seen a spirit animal called. Hano had done it, the grandnephew of the old Rain Dancer. Abeke had been six at the time, but she didn’t recall any thunder. A soft glow had appeared behind Hano, and an anteater had ambled out of the radiance.
There was nothing soft about this light. A dazzling column blazed into existence, more intense than a bonfire, casting long shadows around the village. Several people shrieked. When the light disappeared, a leopard remained.
Buzzing from head to toe, Abeke stared in wonder. The leopard was large and sleek, almost the size of a lion. Her glossy hide was flawless. Out in the wild, standing this close to such a cat would have been the last thing Abeke ever did.
Nobody spoke. Muscles churning under her pelt, the great leopard walked to Abeke with liquid grace, and nuzzled her leg. Upon contact, the charge throughout Abeke’s body vanished.
Acting on reflex, Abeke coiled slightly. The village suddenly seemed foreign and confining. She needed to get away! What if she jumped? She had the impression that if she desired, she could spring onto the nearest rooftop. She wanted to run free on the savannah, to prowl and hunt and climb.
The leopard rubbed against her hip and brought her back from the bewildering rush of instincts. Abeke straightened, hardly able to believe what was happening. The animal beside her could kill her with a single bite.
“It looks like Uraza,” a child said, breaking the silence.
The comment started a wave of murmurs. The leopard prowled a few paces away from Abeke, almost as if uninterested, but then looked back. The cat did look like Uraza! She even had those legendary violet eyes, flashy as amethysts. But that was impossible. People didn’t summon leopards. Cheetahs maybe, but never leopards or lions, let alone leopards with violet eyes.
Thunder grumbled overhead, and rain began to fall. What started gently soon became a downpour. People tilted their heads skyward, mouths open, arms extended. The crowd offered up laughter and joyful exclamations. A hand gripped Abeke’s wrist. It was Chinwe. She wore a rare smile. “I believe we have found our new Rain Dancer.”
The old Rain Dancer had died more than two years ago. Rain had not fallen on the village of Okaihee since. A few little storms had come close, but not a drop had landed within their walls. Several of the reliable wells had dried up. There had been much debate about how they would break the curse.
“A Rain Dancer?” Abeke marveled.
“It would be difficult to argue against it,” Chinwe said.
Abeke’s father approached, eyeing the leopard warily. “We should get indoors.”
Abeke squinted at him through the downpour. “Can you believe this?”
“Truly, I cannot.” He seemed distant. Was he still angry with her?
“Your daughter has ended our drought,” Chinwe said.
“So it would appear.”
“And she has summoned a leopard. Perhaps the leopard.”
Her father nodded pensively. “The lost guardian of Nilo. What does this mean, Chinwe?”
“I don’t know,” Chinwe said. “It goes against . . . I’ll have to consult someone who sees more deeply.”
Her father considered the leopard. “Is it safe?”
Chinwe shrugged. “As safe as any wild thing can be. It’s her spirit animal.”
Her father regarded Abeke, droplets bombarding his bald head. “The rain is making up for lost time. Come.”
Jogging after her father, her fancy wrap soaked, Abeke tried to understand why he seemed displeased. “Are you disappointed?” she ventured.
He stopped and gripped her shoulders, heedless of the rain. “I am confounded. I should be happy that you summoned an animal. But you have called a leopard! And not just any leopard — one that resembles our legendary guardian. In good ways and bad, you have always been different. And now this tops all of it! Will your beast bring good or evil upon you? Upon us? I don’t know what to think.”
The leopard gave a low growl, not terribly threatening, but not pleased either. Abeke’s father turned and led the way to their home. The leopard followed behind. When they reached the front door, they found a stranger waiting. He wore Euran clothing — boots, trousers, and a lavish blue cloak with the hood raised against the rain. The hood obscured his face.
Abeke’s father stopped near him. “Who are you?”
“I’m called Zerif,” the man replied in a lively voice. “I journeyed here from afar. Your daughter has accomplished the impossible, as was foretold weeks ago by Yumaris the Inscrutable, one of the wisest women in all of Erdas. What happened today will reshape the world. I’m here to help.”
“Then, enter,” her father said. “I am Pojalo.”
The three of them went through the doorway. The leopard followed smoothly.
Soama awaited them, her outfit damp but not soaked. She must have hurried indoors. “There it is,” she said, cautious eyes on the leopard. “Am I dreaming?”
“Isn’t she amazing?” Abeke said, hoping her sister would be impressed. The leopard briefly sniffed the room, then crouched beside Abeke. Stooping, Abeke stroked the damp fur, not minding the smell of it.
“I don’t feel safe,” Soama said. She looked to her father for help. “Must it be indoors with us?”
“She belongs with me,” Abeke replied immediately.
The stranger lowered his hood. He was middle-aged, with light brown skin and a neatly sculpted beard that only covered the end of his chin. “Perhaps I can help. This must all feel confusing. When you awoke today, Abeke, you could not have expected to alter the world’s destiny.”
“Where are you from, Zerif?” Pojalo asked.
“A traveler like me hails from all corners,” Zerif replied.
“Are you a Greencloak?” Abeke felt he had the confidence of a Greencloak, if not the garment.
“I am one of the Marked, but I do not wear the green cloak. I’m affiliated with them, but I concentrate on matters relating to the Great Beasts. Have you heard talk of the battles in southern Nilo?”
“Only rumors,” Pojalo said. “Foreign invaders. Our concerns of late have involved water and food.”
“These rumors are the groans of a dam about to burst,” Zerif said. “War will soon overtake not only all of Nilo, but all of Erdas. The Fallen Beasts are returning. Your daughter summoned one of them. This places her at the center of the conflict.”
There was nothing soft about this light. A dazzling column blazed into existence, more intense than a bonfire, casting long shadows around the village. Several people shrieked. When the light disappeared, a leopard remained.
Buzzing from head to toe, Abeke stared in wonder. The leopard was large and sleek, almost the size of a lion. Her glossy hide was flawless. Out in the wild, standing this close to such a cat would have been the last thing Abeke ever did.
Nobody spoke. Muscles churning under her pelt, the great leopard walked to Abeke with liquid grace, and nuzzled her leg. Upon contact, the charge throughout Abeke’s body vanished.
Acting on reflex, Abeke coiled slightly. The village suddenly seemed foreign and confining. She needed to get away! What if she jumped? She had the impression that if she desired, she could spring onto the nearest rooftop. She wanted to run free on the savannah, to prowl and hunt and climb.
The leopard rubbed against her hip and brought her back from the bewildering rush of instincts. Abeke straightened, hardly able to believe what was happening. The animal beside her could kill her with a single bite.
“It looks like Uraza,” a child said, breaking the silence.
The comment started a wave of murmurs. The leopard prowled a few paces away from Abeke, almost as if uninterested, but then looked back. The cat did look like Uraza! She even had those legendary violet eyes, flashy as amethysts. But that was impossible. People didn’t summon leopards. Cheetahs maybe, but never leopards or lions, let alone leopards with violet eyes.
Thunder grumbled overhead, and rain began to fall. What started gently soon became a downpour. People tilted their heads skyward, mouths open, arms extended. The crowd offered up laughter and joyful exclamations. A hand gripped Abeke’s wrist. It was Chinwe. She wore a rare smile. “I believe we have found our new Rain Dancer.”
The old Rain Dancer had died more than two years ago. Rain had not fallen on the village of Okaihee since. A few little storms had come close, but not a drop had landed within their walls. Several of the reliable wells had dried up. There had been much debate about how they would break the curse.
“A Rain Dancer?” Abeke marveled.
“It would be difficult to argue against it,” Chinwe said.
Abeke’s father approached, eyeing the leopard warily. “We should get indoors.”
Abeke squinted at him through the downpour. “Can you believe this?”
“Truly, I cannot.” He seemed distant. Was he still angry with her?
“Your daughter has ended our drought,” Chinwe said.
“So it would appear.”
“And she has summoned a leopard. Perhaps the leopard.”
Her father nodded pensively. “The lost guardian of Nilo. What does this mean, Chinwe?”
“I don’t know,” Chinwe said. “It goes against . . . I’ll have to consult someone who sees more deeply.”
Her father considered the leopard. “Is it safe?”
Chinwe shrugged. “As safe as any wild thing can be. It’s her spirit animal.”
Her father regarded Abeke, droplets bombarding his bald head. “The rain is making up for lost time. Come.”
Jogging after her father, her fancy wrap soaked, Abeke tried to understand why he seemed displeased. “Are you disappointed?” she ventured.
He stopped and gripped her shoulders, heedless of the rain. “I am confounded. I should be happy that you summoned an animal. But you have called a leopard! And not just any leopard — one that resembles our legendary guardian. In good ways and bad, you have always been different. And now this tops all of it! Will your beast bring good or evil upon you? Upon us? I don’t know what to think.”
The leopard gave a low growl, not terribly threatening, but not pleased either. Abeke’s father turned and led the way to their home. The leopard followed behind. When they reached the front door, they found a stranger waiting. He wore Euran clothing — boots, trousers, and a lavish blue cloak with the hood raised against the rain. The hood obscured his face.
Abeke’s father stopped near him. “Who are you?”
“I’m called Zerif,” the man replied in a lively voice. “I journeyed here from afar. Your daughter has accomplished the impossible, as was foretold weeks ago by Yumaris the Inscrutable, one of the wisest women in all of Erdas. What happened today will reshape the world. I’m here to help.”
“Then, enter,” her father said. “I am Pojalo.”
The three of them went through the doorway. The leopard followed smoothly.
Soama awaited them, her outfit damp but not soaked. She must have hurried indoors. “There it is,” she said, cautious eyes on the leopard. “Am I dreaming?”
“Isn’t she amazing?” Abeke said, hoping her sister would be impressed. The leopard briefly sniffed the room, then crouched beside Abeke. Stooping, Abeke stroked the damp fur, not minding the smell of it.
“I don’t feel safe,” Soama said. She looked to her father for help. “Must it be indoors with us?”
“She belongs with me,” Abeke replied immediately.
The stranger lowered his hood. He was middle-aged, with light brown skin and a neatly sculpted beard that only covered the end of his chin. “Perhaps I can help. This must all feel confusing. When you awoke today, Abeke, you could not have expected to alter the world’s destiny.”
“Where are you from, Zerif?” Pojalo asked.
“A traveler like me hails from all corners,” Zerif replied.
“Are you a Greencloak?” Abeke felt he had the confidence of a Greencloak, if not the garment.
“I am one of the Marked, but I do not wear the green cloak. I’m affiliated with them, but I concentrate on matters relating to the Great Beasts. Have you heard talk of the battles in southern Nilo?”
“Only rumors,” Pojalo said. “Foreign invaders. Our concerns of late have involved water and food.”
“These rumors are the groans of a dam about to burst,” Zerif said. “War will soon overtake not only all of Nilo, but all of Erdas. The Fallen Beasts are returning. Your daughter summoned one of them. This places her at the center of the conflict.”
