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“Priest of Lilies” by Kayodé Lycaon (part 2 of 2)
5th February 2024 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:19:44

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Akachi’s brother has a plan but it’s a dangerous one. The spirit Monsoon is not forgiving. Will this ritual save the valley… or destroy it.

Today’s story is the second and final part of “Priest of Lilies” by Kayodé Lycaon, one of fourteen stories featured in the award-winning prehistoric furry anthology “When The World Was Young.” Excavate more information at fhfs.ink.

Last time, Akachi the warrior priest and his brother Chima the Shaman, painted wolf refugees among a jackal village, concocted a risky plan to invoke Monsoon, a powerful spirit, for protection. But first they must persuade the village council.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/priest-of-lilies-by-kayode-lycaon-part-2-of-2

Transcripts

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is the second and final part of

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“Priest of Lilies”

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by Kayodé Lycaon,

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one of fourteen stories featured in the award-winning prehistoric furry anthology

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“When The World Was Young.”

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Excavate more information at

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fhfs.ink. Last time,

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Akachi the warrior priest

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and his brother Chima the Shaman,

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painted wolf refugees among a jackal village,

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concocted a risky plan to invoke Monsoon,

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a powerful spirit, for protection.

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But first they must persuade the village council.

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Please enjoy “Priest of

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Lilies” by Kayodé Lycaon,

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Part 2 of 2 “Absolutely not!” Tahir shouted. His lapis necklace rattled with his fury.

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There was only the faint red light from the stones glowing in the brass bowl in the center of the circular room.

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Akachi’s white markings stood out from his nearly invisible markings of orange and black.

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He hoped no one could see his ears pinned back.

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“I would like to hear him speak,”

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Awiti said calmly. Awiti was one of the newest members of the council but, as a spearmaster, she had considerable influence among many of the younger jackals.

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In addition, she was also one of the few in the village who could

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commune with spirits as Chima did.

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A general rumble of agreement rose from the other elders.

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No one else supported the eldest jackal’s objection.

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“Continue,” Awiti prompted.

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Akachi laid out his plan to find a suitable jackal in the tribe

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who was willing to take the risk.

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He downplayed the possible consequences of a failed summoning.

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The floods would prevent a second harvest this season.

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Everyone should be safe enough in their homes for the few hours he needed.

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The risk was manageable for the possible benefit of hiding the valley from would-be invaders.

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The arguments continued deep into the night.

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In the end, Tahir was outvoted by the other elders and

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Akachi breathed a sigh of relief.

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But when he left the council chamber, Awiti came out to stand beside him.

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“Would you walk with me?”

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she asked. “I would like to see where the flooding will be worst.”

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With the moonless, overcast sky, it was far too dark to see much in the valley. The painted wolf agreed and followed her down the steps and onto the stone-paved road.

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When no one else could overhear them, the jackal clasped her paws behind her back.

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“You haven’t been fully honest with

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us.” Akachi didn’t reply.

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“And furthermore, not everyone will approve of you taking a man as a consort,”

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Awiti said evenly.

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“Oh?” “Everyone knows of your dalliances with the younger men,”

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Awiti snorted. “It is inappropriate.

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Boys fucking boys is a thing

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puppies do when they are still exploring the world and themselves.

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Not a proper thing for a man to do when he grows up

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and knows who he is.”

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“Then why hasn’t anyone objected?” Akachi asked. “You’re a warrior and a priest, which is rare in these lands.” Awiti turned towards him. “And I have

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seen the spirits that surround you.

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You wield great magics.

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For that alone, even Tahir is willing to forgive many of the

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flaws you might have.”

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“I see.” “I don’t think you do,”

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she said reasonably.

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“People are swayed by power.

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Your power is such that people ignore

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that you murder lions and attract men to yourself.

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And tonight, you used your influence

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to ends that we don’t fully understand,

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for promises we trust are not empty.

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I see this but I fear the others don’t.

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don’t.” Akachi rested a paw on the jackal’s shoulder and looked into her eyes.

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His voice was barely above a whisper.

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“If you don’t approve of me,

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why did you back me in the council?”

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“I trust you, and they trust me,”

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Awiti replied, “but I want honest answers before you do this thing.”

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“What would you like to know?”

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“I want to know which one of our men you are going to take.

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Then you’re going to tell me the truth about this ritual.”

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“Okori,” Akachi said quietly.

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“We are close and he is one of many warriors. The village

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can afford to lose him.”

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The jackal crossed her arms.

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“He is young and will do anything you ask, simply because you ask it of him.”

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“I know,” Akachi agreed, his ears pinned back. “Chima and I will make sure he knows the risks.

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Say what you will about other people overlooking my flaws, I am not a monster

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who sacrifices his family for a spirit’s blessing.”

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“And what about the lion pelts you collect?”

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The jackal’s tone was

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sour. “The Avoniya have always done so.

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We take those who stray into the mists and

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offer their bodies to Monsoon, she leaves us their pelts in return.

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Our shamans and priests have many uses for them.” Awiti huffed out her nose and furrowed her brow.

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“That’s not much of an answer.”

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“Did you want me to explain the rituals? They aren’t secret.”

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She frowned for a moment.

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“I think I’m happier not knowing.”

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Akachi shrugged. Awiti turned to continue walking down the road.

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“So tell me the true risks of this ritual.

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ritual.” Again, Akachi followed the drone of his brother’s flute across the village’s highest level. His ears relaxed at the sight of a small flame flickering from the oil lamp in the workshop. “How did it go?” Chima asked.

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“They agreed.” “That easily?”

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“Not quite.” Akachi sat on the bench beside his brother. “Awiti twisted Tahir’s arm and no one else knows what to do about the lion clans.”

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“Literally twisted his arm?”

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“I wish,” Akachi said with a shake of his head.

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“After the meeting, she followed me out.”

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He sighed. “I told her how bad it could go.”

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“And?” “She trusts me.”

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The painted wolf’s tail flicked.

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“And she’s worried for Okori.”

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“I figured you would choose him.”

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“He wasn’t my first choice.”

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Chima looked down and folded his ears back.

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“I know. He’s young.”

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Chima looked up. “But so were you.”

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“I was.” Akachi scratched behind an ear.

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“Any ideas how we’re going to do this?

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I know too much and keep worrying I’ll get it wrong.

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wrong.” Chima leaned back against the wall.

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“As a shaman, I know most of the stories.

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In some of them Monsoon is pleased by a warrior’s audacity to stand against

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her.” “There’s a very thin and deadly line between audacity and disrespect.” Akachi’s ears folded back and he stared at his brother.

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“Just how many of those stories don’t end badly?”

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“Two or three.” Chima rubbed his chin.

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“No, it’s definitely three.”

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“Not exactly a promising solution.”

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“More than you think.

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We are Avoniya—the ’People of the Lily’.

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Lilies don’t grovel.

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Furthermore, if we want her greatest magics, we should demand it.

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Monsoon isn’t going to respect anyone who whines like a hungry pup.”

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Akachi’s tail flicked.

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“You make it sound simple.”

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“It is.” Chima placed his fingers on his flute.

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“Besides, I already made war paint and I’d hate for that to go to waste.

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waste.” Three days later,

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the sun rose and painted the sky a bright, ominous red.

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Even though the rains were months away, dark blue clouds grew to the south.

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Furious lightning strikes flashed a blinding white.

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Distant thunder rumbled and Akachi’s tail flicked nervously back and forth as he watched from the balcony.

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The scent of rain was heavy in the air

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and the hot, wet wind

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washed over his unclothed body.

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“Weather looks promising,”

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Chima said, coming over with two necklaces of lion teeth.

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Akachi nodded and took one of the necklaces.

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He looked over the valley.

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There was not a spirit in sight and most of the jackals in the valley had taken shelter in their huts.

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Okori came up to rest on the low stone wall of the balcony,

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undressed like Akachi.

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His ears were folded back and he frowned.

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“I’ve never seen a storm like this out of season.”

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“Definitely eery,”

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Chima said and held out the other necklace. Okori took it tentatively.

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“Are these lion teeth?”

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“Of course.” Akachi ignored the discussion.

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He turned his ears forward,

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hoping to hear a voice in the winds.

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Instead of a voice, a light

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drizzle—almost a mist

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—started to fall. He swallowed and stepped back under the relative shelter of the overhanging stone. In the sitting room open to the balcony Chima had laid out a straw mat on the floor and

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covered it with a white pelt

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edged with tassels of small bone

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beads. Okori was sprinkling lily water from a wooden cup. His brother

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looked up. “Ready?”

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“We have her attention.”

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“Oh good. That was kind of important.” Akachi huffed but didn’t reply as his brother picked up a small clay pot.

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Chima held the pot out to Okori

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and both of them dipped their fingers in the turquoise paint it contained. Chima started drawing forked lines of lightning

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on his brother’s chest

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while instructing Okori on how to draw small rain drops.

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It was a pattern neither

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painted wolf had used before.

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As they were painting

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Akachi’s arms, Okori paused.

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The jackal pressed his fingers together with curiosity.

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The paint was drying into a sticky film that was stubbornly clinging to paw pads and fur.

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“What is this?” “Huki,”

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Chima said. “It’s a plant resin mixed with crushed rock.

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It dries pretty fast once you take the lid off.” Okori’s tail flicked and he looked out towards the growing storm. “Um—” He cleared his throat.

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“What’s it used for?”

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“We paint ourselves with it before going out to make war,” Akachi said,

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allowing himself a smile as the jackal started painting his legs.

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“Wouldn’t you use

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blood for that?” “Well, like my brother said, not every ritual uses blood.

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We mostly use blood for rituals of

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offering. Huki is used for blessings.”

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“Right.” Chima clamped Okori on the shoulder.

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“Don’t worry, we’ll teach you all about this later.

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later.” Akachi’s ear swiveled. His brother’s tone was almost jovial, but he could hear the strain under it. He hoped Chima would remember to show proper respect or at least stay out of the way when Monsoon arrived. When his markings were finished, he and Chima started painting Okori.

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Instead of war paint,

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they covered him in black, white, and orange.

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If this ritual worked, they should become the jackal’s new colors.

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The rain started to fall harder

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and Akachi looked into Okori’s eyes.

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The jackal had difficulty returning the gaze.

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“Are you ready?” Akachi asked.

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“Yes. I’m not afraid,”

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the jackal stated firmly.

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“Yes you are,” he countered. “And

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you should be.” He softened his voice.

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“There is no shame in fear. You are a

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warrior. Fear should be your companion.

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Embrace it, because without it, there is no courage,

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only ignorance.”

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“Okay,” Okori swallowed.

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“I’m terrified.”

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“Good.” Akachi nosed Okori’s muzzle.

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“Remember you are brave and you are strong.”

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Then he looked into the jackal’s eyes.

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“Stand beside me and everything will turn out well.” Okroi folded his ears back.

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“Do you really believe that?”

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Akachi nodded as he finished painting.

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Then he shrugged.

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“What’s my other option?”

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“Death,” Chima said flatly.

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Akachi looked up to glare at his brother.

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“Ready when you are.” Chima said with a force smile.

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Akachi shook his head before looking around.

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On the floor, the beads of lily water seemed to glow against the white fur of the pelt.

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There was nothing left to prepare.

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He took a deep breath and turned towards the balcony with Okori trailing behind.

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“Let’s do this.” The rain was falling harder now and the clouds were almost black.

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He couldn’t see the valley.

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His fur started to prickle and then a resounding crack shattered the air as lightning stuck the mesa above.

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Through the afterimages, he could see the full fury of the storm

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standing before him.

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“She’s here,” he whispered,

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as much to himself as to Okori standing beside him.

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He didn’t wait for the jackal to reply.

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It was time. “Monsoon!”

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he yelled with all his might.

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Lightning flashed, making his fur prickle again.

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“Every rain, my knees quaked in awe of your power.

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Every rain, I’ve done my part in remaking your world.

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I have hunted my enemies in your name. I have given your servants their share while I have taken my due.

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There is not one kill I haven’t given you respect.” The wind

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swirled around him. He felt small

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and insignificant.

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He imagined himself as a lily in a storm

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—petal fluttering—but not breaking. He looked up into the torrent, refusing to blink.

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“As you remade this world, I demand you remake

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this jackal.” The crashing drops stung his eyes.

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He felt the paint burning hot against his fur.

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“He will be my consort as I am yours,”

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Akachi screamed. “If you find me worthy, I deserve no less!” The world shattered with a crack and then the thunder died away to become distant rumbles. Akachi gasped as his sight returned and

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his paws burned with blinding light.

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He looked down to see his fur crackling with static.

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The house was still standing,

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its stone unmarked. “I’m worthy,”

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he whispered. “I’m worthy.”

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Okori shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.

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There was only one thing left to do. Akachi grabbed the jackal by the shoulders and shouted.

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“Will you be the Lily’s priest?”

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“Yes!” Okori yelled.

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The painted wolf pulled the jackal close.

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He grabbed the jackal’s head and turned it

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to fiercely kiss him

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muzzle to muzzle.

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Lightning cracked and they stumbled onto the now soaked pelt on the floor.

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Okori was still a jackal,

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but the white and orange paint on his fur glowed. Akachi rolled Okori face down on the pelt and whispered in the jackal’s ear.

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“And you will be my consort.”

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Thunder roared. Akachi woke to the

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soft patter of gentle rain.

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Soft, wet leaves brushed his muzzle and he inhaled the sweet, sacred scent

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of blue lilies. Everything around him felt young

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and vital as if the world was new,

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unspoiled by other’s paws.

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The world as it was meant to be.

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A lily spirit gently fluttered past his ears and Akachi opened his eyes to

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see a ghostly blue dragonfly.

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The spirit dipped its head in respect before it flew on.

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The painted wolf smiled and stared up at the overcast sky,

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only blinking when raindrops fell into his eyes.

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Eventually, his restless heart forced him to sit up and look around.

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He was in a field

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planted high on the valley’s southern wall.

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The red mesa stood tall and proud to his right.

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Smoke rose from cooking fires.

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Joy blossomed in his heart as he saw the village intact.

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Tears blurred his vision.

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Only then did he notice the rest of the valley.

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The lowest fields had completely flooded

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up to the carved stone banks that protected the road.

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Everywhere the river had touched,

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lilies bloomed; the entire valley was covered with their sacred blue.

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Then his ears flicked as he heard the rustle of someone approaching in the grass.

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He turned to look and saw Chima,

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and another painted

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wolf. “Okori?” he asked tentatively

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despite recognizing the former jackal’s colors.

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“Yes!” The painted wolf ran to embrace Akachi.

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They held each other closely

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and Akachi wept and wagged his tail. “You’re

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more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.”

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Chima limped over

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and wrapped his arms around the other two and nuzzled them.

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“We did it. The lilies agreed to raise the mists around the valley.”

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“Already?” Akachi asked. Okori smiled. “Chima helped me.” Akachi looked at his brother and sighed. “You two couldn’t wait to do it properly?”

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“Of course not.” Chima nuzzled his brother.

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“Our family is safe. Isn’t that what’s really important?”

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Akachi looked around the valley

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and sniffed against sudden tears.

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For a second time,

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he could let go of tradition and simply agree.

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“Yes. Yes it is.” This was the second and final part of

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“Priest of Lilies”

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by Kayodé Lycaon,

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read for you by Rob MacWolf,

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werewolf hitchhiker.

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As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog.

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