The High Priestess
Chapter Two: The Whispering Moon
The sun rose sluggishly over Enugwu Ukwu, casting long shadows over the red earth and tired rooftops. Amaka sat on the back step of their house, hugging her knees to her chest. The water pot beside her lay forgotten. Her mother's words echoed in her ears like a haunting chorus. She had barely slept. The snakes had returned in her dreams again, but this time they didn't just bow. They danced around her, swaying in rhythm to drums that echoed from the heavens.
One massive serpent, white with eyes like molten gold, slithered up to her and placed its head on her lap. "You are the one," it whispered in a tongue she somehow understood. "Chosen."
Amaka jolted awake that night, gasping for breath, her night wrapper soaked with sweat. This was no ordinary dream. This was a summons.
She didn't go to the market that morning. She didn't speak much during breakfast either. Her parents noticed but said nothing, stealing glances at each other.
She wandered toward the stream that cut through the edge of the village. It was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds. She bent beside the water, staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked different, sharper, darker, older.
Tears welled up in them. "How can I live like this?" she asked the water, as if it held the answers. "I only wanted to go to school."
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it an eerie hum. She felt a strange presence behind her and turned swiftly. There was no one. But the ground nearby bore a winding pattern, like something had slithered by recently.
That night, dinner was a quiet affair. The air was thick with unspoken fears. As her siblings cleared the plates, Amaka sat with her parents. Her heart thudded in her chest.
"I need to ask you something," she said. Her parents looked up.
"If someone was being chosen by the gods, what would happen if they refused?"
Her father shifted in his seat. Her mother's face paled.
"They cannot refuse," her mother whispered. "The gods don't ask. They take."
Amaka's breath caught in her throat. Her father sighed, rubbing his temples.
"The last girl who tried to run, she vanished. Her mother said the gods dragged her into the forest. The snakes came and took her."
Amaka pushed back from the table and stormed outside. The walls were closing in. The dreams. The whispers. The festival. Two days. Just two days left.
She stood beneath the moonlight, its silver glow painting her face in ghostly hues. It looked full and watchful, as though it too waited.
Amaka trembled. Was there truly no way out? Was her future already sealed? And worst of all, a part of her, the part that bowed back to the snakes in her dreams, was beginning to feel drawn to it. To them. To the power.
She clenched her fists. "I am not yours," she hissed to the night. "I am Amaka. I am not a priestess. I am not!"
But the wind picked up again. And from the shadows, unseen eyes watched her. Waiting.
Only Joy Samson
Chapter Two: The Whispering Moon
The sun rose sluggishly over Enugwu Ukwu, casting long shadows over the red earth and tired rooftops. Amaka sat on the back step of their house, hugging her knees to her chest. The water pot beside her lay forgotten. Her mother's words echoed in her ears like a haunting chorus. She had barely slept. The snakes had returned in her dreams again, but this time they didn't just bow. They danced around her, swaying in rhythm to drums that echoed from the heavens.
One massive serpent, white with eyes like molten gold, slithered up to her and placed its head on her lap. "You are the one," it whispered in a tongue she somehow understood. "Chosen."
Amaka jolted awake that night, gasping for breath, her night wrapper soaked with sweat. This was no ordinary dream. This was a summons.
She didn't go to the market that morning. She didn't speak much during breakfast either. Her parents noticed but said nothing, stealing glances at each other.
She wandered toward the stream that cut through the edge of the village. It was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds. She bent beside the water, staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked different, sharper, darker, older.
Tears welled up in them. "How can I live like this?" she asked the water, as if it held the answers. "I only wanted to go to school."
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it an eerie hum. She felt a strange presence behind her and turned swiftly. There was no one. But the ground nearby bore a winding pattern, like something had slithered by recently.
That night, dinner was a quiet affair. The air was thick with unspoken fears. As her siblings cleared the plates, Amaka sat with her parents. Her heart thudded in her chest.
"I need to ask you something," she said. Her parents looked up.
"If someone was being chosen by the gods, what would happen if they refused?"
Her father shifted in his seat. Her mother's face paled.
"They cannot refuse," her mother whispered. "The gods don't ask. They take."
Amaka's breath caught in her throat. Her father sighed, rubbing his temples.
"The last girl who tried to run, she vanished. Her mother said the gods dragged her into the forest. The snakes came and took her."
Amaka pushed back from the table and stormed outside. The walls were closing in. The dreams. The whispers. The festival. Two days. Just two days left.
She stood beneath the moonlight, its silver glow painting her face in ghostly hues. It looked full and watchful, as though it too waited.
Amaka trembled. Was there truly no way out? Was her future already sealed? And worst of all, a part of her, the part that bowed back to the snakes in her dreams, was beginning to feel drawn to it. To them. To the power.
She clenched her fists. "I am not yours," she hissed to the night. "I am Amaka. I am not a priestess. I am not!"
But the wind picked up again. And from the shadows, unseen eyes watched her. Waiting.
Only Joy Samson
The High Priestess
Chapter Two: The Whispering Moon
The sun rose sluggishly over Enugwu Ukwu, casting long shadows over the red earth and tired rooftops. Amaka sat on the back step of their house, hugging her knees to her chest. The water pot beside her lay forgotten. Her mother's words echoed in her ears like a haunting chorus. She had barely slept. The snakes had returned in her dreams again, but this time they didn't just bow. They danced around her, swaying in rhythm to drums that echoed from the heavens.
One massive serpent, white with eyes like molten gold, slithered up to her and placed its head on her lap. "You are the one," it whispered in a tongue she somehow understood. "Chosen."
Amaka jolted awake that night, gasping for breath, her night wrapper soaked with sweat. This was no ordinary dream. This was a summons.
She didn't go to the market that morning. She didn't speak much during breakfast either. Her parents noticed but said nothing, stealing glances at each other.
She wandered toward the stream that cut through the edge of the village. It was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds. She bent beside the water, staring at her reflection. Her eyes looked different, sharper, darker, older.
Tears welled up in them. "How can I live like this?" she asked the water, as if it held the answers. "I only wanted to go to school."
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it an eerie hum. She felt a strange presence behind her and turned swiftly. There was no one. But the ground nearby bore a winding pattern, like something had slithered by recently.
That night, dinner was a quiet affair. The air was thick with unspoken fears. As her siblings cleared the plates, Amaka sat with her parents. Her heart thudded in her chest.
"I need to ask you something," she said. Her parents looked up.
"If someone was being chosen by the gods, what would happen if they refused?"
Her father shifted in his seat. Her mother's face paled.
"They cannot refuse," her mother whispered. "The gods don't ask. They take."
Amaka's breath caught in her throat. Her father sighed, rubbing his temples.
"The last girl who tried to run, she vanished. Her mother said the gods dragged her into the forest. The snakes came and took her."
Amaka pushed back from the table and stormed outside. The walls were closing in. The dreams. The whispers. The festival. Two days. Just two days left.
She stood beneath the moonlight, its silver glow painting her face in ghostly hues. It looked full and watchful, as though it too waited.
Amaka trembled. Was there truly no way out? Was her future already sealed? And worst of all, a part of her, the part that bowed back to the snakes in her dreams, was beginning to feel drawn to it. To them. To the power.
She clenched her fists. "I am not yours," she hissed to the night. "I am Amaka. I am not a priestess. I am not!"
But the wind picked up again. And from the shadows, unseen eyes watched her. Waiting.
Only Joy Samson
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