CHAPTER FOUR: WHEN THE SACRED FLAME TREMBLED.
THE FORBIDDEN TWINS
By Black Dove Five
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN THE SACRED FLAME TREMBLED
The first warning came from a dead man.
He arrived at the shrine shortly before midnight, when the moon had disappeared behind a wall of black clouds and the village of Umuezuna lay buried beneath the silence of sleep.
The priest heard no footsteps.
No voice announced the stranger's arrival.
Yet when he opened his eyes, a man stood before the sacred flame.
His clothes were torn. Mud covered his legs, and blood ran from a wound beneath his ribs. His head hung at an unnatural angle, while his fingers twitched as though his body had not yet understood that life had abandoned it.
The priest staggered backwards.
"Who are you?"
The stranger lifted his face.
His eyes were empty.
Not blind. Not closed.
Empty.
The priest had witnessed strange things in the service of Agu, but never had he seen a dead man standing upright, breathing without breath.
"Leave this place!" he commanded, reaching for the sacred staff beside the altar.
The stranger opened his mouth.
What emerged was not a human voice.
"The woman has been chosen."
The priest froze.
"Who sent you?"
The sacred flame shrank.
The stranger's neck twisted slowly until his head rested straight upon his shoulders.
"She must not bear the child."
The words struck the priest harder than a physical blow.
The child.
He had not told anyone what Agu had revealed to him. Not Okuwa. Not Nkechimka. Not even the elders who had served beside him for years.
How could this stranger know?
"Which child?" the priest demanded.
The stranger smiled.
A thin, terrible smile.
Then the sacred flame turned blue.
The priest felt a pressure against his chest, as though an invisible hand were attempting to crush the air from his lungs.
The stranger's body began to shake.
His skin darkened. His fingers lengthened, and the wound beneath his ribs opened wider. Something black spilled from it, spreading across the earth like ink.
The priest raised his staff.
"In the name of Agu, reveal yourself!"
For the first time, the stranger's expression changed.
Fear.
Not fear of the priest.
Fear of the name he had spoken.
The corpse fell to its knees.
And from somewhere beneath the shrine came a sound resembling a growl.
The ground trembled.
The sacred flame shot towards the roof, illuminating the walls with a light so fierce that the priest had to shield his eyes.
When he looked again, the stranger was gone.
Only a dark stain remained upon the earth.
And from within the sacred flame, Agu spoke.
"They have begun to move."
The priest fell to his knees.
"My lord, who has begun to move?"
The flame crackled.
"The ones who fear what is coming."
"Do they know of the woman?"
"They know enough to be dangerous."
The priest's heart pounded.
"Should I warn Okuwa?"
"No."
"Should I warn Adanna?"
"No."
"But, my lord—"
"Listen carefully."
The force behind Agu's voice made the priest bow his head.
"You were commanded to watch over the household. Do so. Do not mistake secrecy for helplessness, and do not mistake silence for the absence of protection."
The flame slowly returned to its ordinary colour.
"Remember this night," Agu said. "When the truth is finally revealed, you will understand why even the gods must sometimes conceal their hands."
Then the shrine fell silent.
The priest remained on his knees until the first birds began to call beyond the sacred grounds.
For the first time in his life, he feared not that Agu would abandon him.
He feared that the god's enemies had already entered Umuezuna.
And they knew the name of the woman chosen by heaven.
Adanna woke before dawn.
She could not explain what had disturbed her sleep.
Her body felt heavy, and a strange sensation moved through her stomach. She placed a hand against it, then sat quietly on the edge of her sleeping mat.
The compound was still.
Beyond the walls, the village had not yet awakened. No women called to one another across neighbouring compounds. No children ran through the narrow paths. Even the animals seemed reluctant to make a sound.
Adanna listened.
Nothing.
She stood and stepped outside.
The sky was pale, the earth cool beneath her feet. A thin mist clung to the ground, and the leaves of the nearby trees glistened with dew.
Then she saw it.
A black bird perched upon the compound wall.
It did not move when she approached.
Its eyes were fixed upon her.
Adanna frowned.
"Go away," she whispered.
The bird tilted its head.
A cold breeze passed through the compound.
The bird opened its beak.
And in a voice that sounded almost human, it said:
"Too late."
Adanna stumbled backwards.
Before she could scream, the bird spread its wings and disappeared into the morning mist.
She stood motionless, her heart racing.
A moment later, Nkechimka emerged from the adjoining part of the compound, adjusting the wrapper around her waist.
"Adanna? Why are you standing there like someone who has seen a ghost?"
Adanna turned towards her.
"There was a bird."
Nkechimka looked at the wall.
"What bird?"
"It was speaking."
For a moment, Nkechimka said nothing.
Then she burst into laughter.
"Ah! So now birds have become village elders? What did it say? Did it come to collect its bride price?"
Adanna tried to smile, but the expression would not settle upon her face.
"It said something strange."
Nkechimka's laughter faded when she noticed the fear in her friend's eyes.
"What did it say?"
Adanna swallowed.
"Too late."
The women stared at one another.
A distant sound of thunder rolled across the sky.
Nkechimka glanced upwards.
"The morning is clear."
Adanna looked towards the eastern horizon.
She could not shake the feeling that something had entered their compound without crossing its walls.
Something had watched her.
Something had spoken.
And whatever it wanted, it believed time was running out.
By midday, the village had returned to its familiar rhythm.
Women gathered at the market. Men discussed their farms and exchanged news. Children chased one another between the compounds, while the elders sat beneath the shade of the great tree near the village square.
Life continued.
That was the frightening thing about evil.
It did not always arrive with fire or the sound of war.
Sometimes it stood among ordinary people and waited.
Sometimes it wore a familiar face.
And sometimes it watched the woman whose name had been spoken in heaven.
At the shrine, Agu's priest performed his duties with an outward calm he did not feel.
Every unfamiliar voice made him turn.
Every shadow beneath the trees drew his attention.
He had examined the dark stain left by the dead stranger. He had poured sacred water upon it and recited the prayers taught to him by his predecessors.
The stain had not disappeared.
Instead, it had spread.
A thin black line now extended from the centre of the shrine towards the eastern wall.
The priest had covered it with fresh earth.
He knew it would not remain hidden forever.
That afternoon, an old woman approached the shrine.
Her back was bent, and she leaned upon a wooden walking stick. A cloth covered her head, and her face was almost entirely hidden beneath its folds.
She carried no offering.
The priest watched her approach.
"Mother, what brings you here?"
She stopped before the altar.
"I have come to ask a question."
"Then speak."
The woman raised her head.
Her eyes were completely white.
The priest's blood ran cold.
He recognised those eyes.
Not the woman herself, but the emptiness behind them.
They were the same eyes he had seen in the dead stranger.
"Who is the woman chosen by Agu?" she asked.
The priest tightened his grip upon his staff.
"I know no woman by that name."
The old woman smiled.
"Your lies are poor, priest."
The sacred flame flickered.
She leaned closer.
"Tell your god that the earth has not forgotten what heaven buried."
Then she turned and walked away.
The priest stood frozen until she disappeared beyond the trees.
He had not answered her question.
He had not needed to.
She had already known the answer.
And now he understood the terrible truth of the previous night.
The dead man had not come to deliver a warning.
He had come to announce that the war over the prophecy had already begun.
Far beyond Umuezuna, beyond the mountains that divided the known settlements, another sacred flame burned.
Its light was weak.
Its altar was cracked.
The shrine around it had been abandoned for generations, and weeds had swallowed the stones that once marked the boundaries of its sacred ground.
Yet beneath the ruined altar, something stirred.
A voice moved through the darkness.
"The first household has been marked."
Another voice answered.
"And the second?"
"Not yet."
A pause followed.
Then a third voice spoke.
"The children must never meet."
For a long moment, no one replied.
At last, the first voice whispered:
"They will."
The flame went out.
And somewhere beneath the earth, something ancient opened its eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED...