The sun rose over the Inner City not with warmth, but with a harsh, golden glare that bounced off the white stone walls. Before the first cock crowed, the iron doors to their chambers groaned open. Four handmaidens entered in absolute silence. They wore light fabric veils and carried basins of water scented with bitter herbs. They didn't look at Soren; they moved around him as if he were a statue of a vengeful deity.
"The Initiation begins at the third hour," one whispered, her voice trembling as she approached Amara. They stripped Amara of her faded Ankara dress and draped her in translucent and beautiful white silk. They braided gold thread into her hair and did her makeup. She looked like a queen after the makeup, but inside she felt like a goat being groomed for the knife.
Across the room, Soren refused to let the male servants touch him. He dressed himself in a simple, black pants and a sleeveless vest of dark leather. He wore no gold. He needed no jewelry.
As they were led out of the suite, the Head Priest, a man named wachuku with a face full of wrinkles , stopped them in the hallway. He looked at Amara, then leaned in close, his breath smelling of palm wine and dry earth. "Little bird," he whispered. "Remember that you are the Ground. If Soren does not perform the Ritual of the Rains today, the drought will be blamed on your 'impurity.' Do you understand? The people will want a sacrifice to appease the dust. Make sure he obeys." .Amara looked at Soren, but his face was a mask of stone. He didn't even look at wachuku . He just walked past, the air rippling behind him
The Great Temple of Idoto
The Temple was an amphitheatre of ancient stone, packed with thousands of citizens. In the centre was a raised platform surrounding a deep, dry well, often refer to as the Mouth of Idoto.
The King sat on a high ivory throne, his face hidden behind a beaded fringe. The heat was unbearable. The earth was cracked, gasping for the rain that had been withheld for months as a sign of the Oracle's displeasure.
Soren and Amara were led to the centre of the platform. The crowd went silent.
"Soren of Umudi!" wachuku's voice boomed, echoing against the stone. "The Great Oracle has named you the Voice. Command the clouds! Call the blood of the sky to fill the Mouth of Idoto, or prove yourself a false messenger!"....when soren heard the word a false messenger he became alerted and decided to keep quiet, if that would buy his freedom...if being false would buy his freedom then he would not say anything or move an inch. Soren stood still, at the edge of the well not moving an inch. He looked up at the sky, blue, empty, and mocking. He did nothing.
Some minutes passed. The crowd began to murmur. "He is a fraud," someone shouted. "He is just a village boy!" Wachuku's face darkened. He turned to the guards. "The Vessel is blocked. Clear the Ground."
Before Amara could react or scream, a guard grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees at the very edge of the deep well. Wachuku stepped forward, raising a ceremonial bronze whip "Every second you remain silent, Soren, the girl pays for your pride," Wachuku hissed....Soren would have reacted but he did not, he wanted her to know she was bound to him and unless he protect her, she would be maltreated...she even had the guts to mention another man over and over again in front of him, he don't know why, but he is still angry, "let him come save her" soren thought
Crack! The whip lashed across Amara's back. The white silk tore, and a line of crimson bloomed. Because of the bond, Soren didn't just hear her scream but he felt the sting on his own flesh. He doubled over, his eyes flashing a violent, blinding amber.
"Stop," Soren whispered. It wasn't a plea. It was a low vibration that made the water in the priests' ritual bowls ripple.
"Call the rain!" Wachuku screamed, raising the whip again.
" touch her again and die", Soren said calmly before looking at Amara again. Her eyes were filled with tears, her blood staining the white silk. Something inside Soren, the cold, controlled part of him snapped.
He didn't look at the sky. He looked at the earth. "I do not take orders from men who wear masks," Soren said, his voice now a roar that didn't come from his throat, but from the ground itself.
He slammed his bare foot onto the stone platform. The sky didn't change. But the deep well, the Mouth of Idoto began to groan. A sound like grinding teeth rose from the depths. Suddenly, the dry earth beneath the Temple didn't give water. It gave power.
The shadows of the thousands of people in the stands suddenly detached from their feet. They rose like dark smoke, swirling into a massive, terrifying vortex around the platform. All the Priests fell back, screaming. The King's beaded veil was blown aside, revealing a face of pure terror.
Soren walked through the swirling darkness toward Wachuku. The shadows parted for him like subjects for a King. He reached out and grabbed the bronze whip. As his hand touched the metal, it turned to grey ash.
"The rain will come when I tell it to," Soren said, his voice sounding like a thousand ancestors speaking at once. "And the first thing it will wash away is your temple and you, i won't kill you today, but u might not be lucky to live next time."
He turned to Amara. The shadows immediately softened, wrapping around her like a protective cloak. He picked her up in his arms, ignoring the thousands of witnesses.
"The ritual is over," he announced to the silent, terrified city.
As he carried her out, the first drop of rain fell. It wasn't clear. It was a deep, bruised purple, smelling of ozone and ancient vengeance.