The trek is hard. Not because we’re tired and anxious, though we are. It’s hard because this soft, powdery sand was not made for walking in. Our feet sink with each step and it takes twice as much strength as usual to move forward. I feel like I’m on another planet with extra high gravity. After a while the muscles in my legs start to ache, and all I want to do is lie down and let the sand swallow me.

I fall behind a few times. Ranger Stranger moves at a steady pace and somehow Sam manages to keep up. Probably through plain stubbornness. Socca keeps looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m still there. If I’m too far behind he waits for me, then takes my arm and pulls me forward.

“We have to stay together,” he whispers. “Your rule, remember?”

I nod, too tired to reply.

“Can we stop?” Sam asks breathlessly.

“Not yet,” says Ranger. “Stay close. Don’t stop walking, or you’ll find it difficult to start again.”

Ja, well, it’s easy for him to talk. It’s not like the rest of us go hiking through Desert every Tuesday or something. I try my best to keep up with the others. Sam hasn’t stopped to rest once. Socca’s always been stronger than me so I’m not embarrassed about being a few steps behind him, but Sam? Another story.

Every time the pain in my legs screams for me to stop, I look up and see Sam soldiering on. She looks small, especially with all her hair gone and that big bag on her back. But she’s stronger than me, and that’s not OK. I’m older. I’m bigger. I’m the prince of the Kingdom of the Lion! I can’t be the one lagging behind, needing Socca to keep me on track. I should be at the front beside Ranger. I should be the strong one.
It doesn’t take long for the journey to get to me. It was kind of pleasant being on the river in the mokoro, and I didn’t mind riding in the 4×4, even during that crazy helicopter incident. But walking? Let’s just say I now have a lot of respect for the people who lived in the old days, before cars. I can’t imagine having to walk like this all the time to get from one place to another. I’m exhausted and we’re still in the middle of nowhere.

But the walking’s not the worst part. No one told me the desert was brutal. I mean I knew it was tough, harsh, dangerous; all that stuff, sure. But no one said anything about how it makes you feel. It’s quiet. Not like Capital City quiet, where you can lie awake at night and hear cars in the distance, and crickets, and the muffled noises people make in the dark. Not even bush quiet, where your body disappears into the noises of nature. Desert – at least this part of it – is proper quiet. Just wind and the sound of our feet rising and sinking in the sand.

The quiet gets to you, especially if you’re already tired and anxious, like I am. It comes in through your ears, looks for a nice little spot inside your head and makes itself at home. After that it does something that’s hard to explain. It’s like it slowly starts to scoop out parts of you, one by one, peeling things away. Like picking off a scab that hasn’t finished healing. Underneath the skin is still broken and bleeding, and it hurts.

My body is all exhaustion and aching now, but my mind is raw. I see things with my eyes, spots of light, shimmering sand that almost seems to move. But I see things in my head too, thoughts I never knew I was thinking. Like how much I envy Socca’s steady strength and Sam’s confidence. And how weak I am by comparison. I didn’t know I was weak before. I should have; I’m the only person I know who has a panic attack every five minutes. I walk a little further and another layer comes off, and then I see that it’s not just my body that’s weak. I’m a weak person. I’m a spoiled little rich kid who has everything, and I wanted to run from my kingdom instead of facing the truth.

I don’t deserve to be Rainmaker. That’s why I lost the power. I can’t even keep Sam in line! I let her take over all the time because it’s easier than fighting her. Is that what I’d do as Kgosi? Surrender because fighting is too hard? Let other kingdoms walk all over my people? Run away and hide when things got tough?

There are other thoughts that come up, thoughts so rotten and disloyal they make my stomach turn. I think my parents are weak, too. My mother cries too much and my father couldn’t keep himself sane. They let me down. They put me in this position. If Papa had been stronger… I hate myself for thinking like this. I’m lucky. I’m the luckiest kid in the kingdom. So why do I feel like a caged animal?

The familiar ache starts in my chest and my focus shifts from my thoughts to my surroundings. Well, I’m not caged anymore. I see the others up ahead. I’ve fallen behind again. I take a deep breath and push forward, forcing my legs to move faster.

And then I hear something. Another quiet sound, besides the wind and our footsteps. It’s like a rumble. Not thunder. Not a helicopter in the distance, either. More like someone’s stomach after a big meal. But it’s not my stomach, and the others are too far ahead.

I know what Ranger Stranger said: don’t stop walking. But suddenly I have the creepy feeling that someone is watching me, and my instinct is to freeze. So I break the rules. I stop walking. I stand very, very still, listening, my eyes rolling from one side to the other. Even with the moonlight there’s a lot I can’t see. Anyone – or anything – could be hiding in the sand, or behind that small dune on my left, or in that big dip up ahead on the right.

I almost miss it. My eyes skip over it, then go back. Something standing in the distance. From here it looks small, just a shape, a shadow, a trick of the moonlight or a dent in the sand. But I know it’s not a dent. It’s a body that almost blends in, and if it’s that big from a distance it must be huge up close.

What do I do? I can’t shout, but Socca’s too far for me to whisper. So I wait for him to turn around. I look at the shape, then at him, then at the shape, then at him. Come on, Socca. Turn around. Turn around! The shape doesn’t move. I’m starting to convince myself that maybe I made a mistake, maybe it is just a shadow or a trick of the light. Then it drops. Just a little, like it’s crouching closer to the ground. My whole body goes cold. I’m going to shout. I have to shout. I have to warn the others.

Before I open my mouth, Socca finally turns around. He sees me, stops and turns up his palms to ask what’s going on. Very slowly, I point at the strange shape. Socca’s head turns. He frowns. Then he starts walking towards me. No, no, no, no! I turn back to look at the shadowy shape. It’s moving, too. Slowly, crawling along the sand like some weird half-reptile, half-cat.

“Socca, run!”

He doesn’t. He freezes at the same time that Sam and Ranger turn around. The shadow animal stops. I guess it’s confused now; too many targets. So I do the only thing I can think of. I start running away from the others, in the general direction of Savannah.

If I needed any more proof that the thing is an animal and not a person, I just got it. It takes the bait and comes after me. No more stealth. When I look over my shoulder I see it sprinting behind me, sleek as a cheetah. It’s not a cheetah, though. I don’t know what it is. It’s big and thin with a narrow head like a wild dog, but it moves like a cat. With a long tail like a leopard, the animal is a sort of pale colour that matches the sand.

It occurs to me that maybe trying to distract it from the others wasn’t such a great idea. I run as fast as I can until my whole body burns. Suddenly I don’t feel so weak anymore. Fear has filled every cell in my body and turned me into a mutant. Now I can move through that thick, soft sand like a professional sprinter, gripping the Rain Stick like I’m about to pass it on to the next person in my relay team.

I don’t even have enough breath left to shout. All I can think about is not being eaten. But I don’t need to shout; there’s a lot of that going on around me. Sam and Socca’s voices sound like meaningless noise; I don’t waste time trying to figure out what they’re saying. I run, though I don’t know where I’m running to. I just have to get away.

And then – typical, at exactly the wrong moment – my feet betray me. One twists in the sand, the other buckles, and I fall over. My belly hits the sand hard. I roll over onto my back. The animal is so close I can see its yellow eyes and bared teeth. It’s even bigger than I thought, with long legs and a skinny frame, like a stray dog, like a boulder made of teeth and eyes and limbs, a boulder about to fall on top of me. I hold out the Rain Stick and swing it with the knob facing the animal, trying to scare it off. It just keeps coming, and I know straight away that there’s no way I’m getting out of this alive.

Hopelessness drops over me, heavy and horrible, and I can’t get up. I’m going to be mauled to death by a creature I can’t even identify, and all they’ll find of me is bits and pieces. The remains of Prince Kitso Sedibeng, the lion cub. You’d think the ancestors would rather let me be eaten by a lion. That would at least be fitting.

“Sorry, Mama and Papa,” I whisper. I’m not going to close my eyes. I’m going to face my fate and try to die with some dignity.

There’s a loud cracking sound, and the animal stops. For a moment confusion breaks through my fear, then I see Ranger aiming the rifle. Oh, ja. I forgot about the rifle. The animal hesitates, as if it’s not sure I’m worth the trouble. The warning shot has scared it, but not enough. It doesn’t back down or run away. It just stands there, staring at me with those yellow eyes and growling. The growl is deep and seems to make the ground tremble. Or maybe that’s just fear talking.

Come on, Ranger. Take another shot! He doesn’t, though. For some reason he doesn’t want to hurt the animal, even though I’m pretty sure the animal has no problem hurting me.

It watches me, then suddenly stops growling. It takes a step towards me. Just one step, then its long tail swishes and it rests on its haunches. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was wagging its tail, like a puppy that has just seen its owner.

There’s another cracking noise. The animal flinches, a dog afraid of being kicked, then turns its head upwards and looks at the sky. That’s when I realise the second crack wasn’t gunfire. It was lightning. The sky rumbles and the stars vanish behind thick clouds that roll in out of nowhere. The animal turns around and runs. It moves even faster than when it was chasing me, streaking across the sand until it’s out of sight. And then it starts to drizzle.

I’m alive! I’m so relieved tears well up and spill over my face. Thank the ancestors it’s raining, so no one will see. Ranger runs towards me. I decide to stay on the ground for a bit, since my legs are shaking and I really don’t want Sam and Socca to notice.

Ranger’s eyes study me from head to toe. “Are you hurt?” he asks finally.

I shake my head. I’m breathing too hard to speak. My heart is still racing.

“I told you to stay close. I told you to be quiet. I told you not to stop.” His voice is calm, but his jaw is stiff with anger.

“Sorry,” I wheeze.

“What the hell was that?” gasps Sam, when she and Socca reach us. “Kitso, are you nuts? Did you get tired of living?”

I wait a moment, catching my breath. “I was trying to distract it.”

“Why? You could have just let Whatshisname take care of it.”

“Forgot he had the gun.”

“Forgot? How could you forget?”

“Drop it,” says Socca firmly, helping me up. “He was trying to help, OK?”

“We must get out of the rain,” says Ranger.

Me and Socca look at each other. Get out of the rain? How? There’s no shelter for kilometres and kilometres in all directions. What does he want us to do? Dig a tunnel?

Turns out that is pretty much what he wants. He walks a little way to a small dune, then starts scooping up sand with his bare hands. The rest of us wait a minute, confused, before going to help.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“Making shelter. It’s just a flash storm – it’s heavy but it won’t last long.”

We scoop and scoop until we’ve hollowed out a section under the dune big enough for all four of us. The rain comes down hard, soaking us. The sand is so fine that the rain just sinks right into it without forming puddles, which makes our work easier. When we’re done we huddle under the dune. It’s not much, but it does keep the worst of the rain away.

Sam wipes her hands on her jeans and looks at Ranger. “What was that animal?”

Ranger looks back in the direction the animal ran. “Desert dog.”

“Desert dog?” Socca frowns. “I’ve never heard of a desert dog.”

I shake my head. “It can’t be a dog. Did you see the size of it?”

“Bigger than any dog I’ve ever seen,” says Sam.

“Bigger than any lion I’ve ever seen,” says Socca. “It was as big as a kudu! How come no one knows monsters like that exist right here in Desert?”

“People know.” Ranger props the gun against the side of the dune. “They don’t tell.”

“That makes no sense at all,” says Sam. “It’s impossible that such a big animal lives out here and no one has documented it. It should be in books. Or on the internet. It should be somewhere. It’s not like people haven’t passed through this area before.”

Ranger sighs. “The desert dog is not like other animals.”

What does that mean? Of course he doesn’t bother to explain. We take advantage of our unexpected break to eat. Ranger monitors our water rations, and after a few minutes the rain stops.

“Let’s go,” he says. “Keep up this time.”

We start off again, me, Socca and Sam walking side by side behind him. We’re not taking any more chances.

“I don’t buy that desert dog story,” Sam whispers. “Something strange is going on.”

“Everything about this day has been strange,” says Socca.

He’s right, but it’s not just today. Ever since I found out there was another Rainmaker, things have been weird. A Rainmaker who lives in Desert, isn’t a royal and works without the Stick is bad enough, but on top of that a strange man appears to help us on our journey, and his only explanation is that it’s what “they” would want. We have no idea who “they” are. We have no idea who Ranger is. And now we’ve been attacked by an animal we’ve never heard of, an animal that runs away at the first sign of rain.

This isn’t what I had in mind when we came up with the escape plan. There was running, ja, but not like this. There was supposed to be a bus. Another bus. Maybe a train or two. The plan did not involve trekking across Desert, dodging a helicopter, or being chased by a monster out of a horror film. Either someone’s playing a major joke on us, or the world has turned upside down.

“Rra?”

Ranger doesn’t answer.

“What did you mean when you said the desert dog isn’t like other animals? Where did it come from?”

Silence.

“Are there more of them?”

Silence.

I glance at Sam and Socca. “Why didn’t you shoot it?”

“There was no need.”

“If the rain hadn’t come, it would have killed me!”

“No. You’re the prince.”

I stare at him, completely lost. Is he trying to tell me that the desert dog knows the difference between a prince and a subject? Then I remember the way it behaved right before it ran off. It stopped growling and acted almost like a tame dog. Could it really have recognised me? Nah, what am I thinking? That’s nuts.

“What does that have to do with anything?” asks Sam.

Ranger Stranger sighs. “Enough. We still have a long way to go.”

“But – ”

“I said enough.” He stops and turns to look at us. He doesn’t raise his voice and his expression tells us nothing about what he’s thinking. He doesn’t seem angry, but something tells me we should let it go. For now, anyway.

Sam opens her mouth, probably to say something she shouldn’t. I pull her sleeve, and when she faces me I shake my head. Ranger has brought us this far. We can’t afford to upset him. Besides, he’s not going to tell us anything until he’s ready. Like he said earlier, it takes wisdom to understand. If we want to understand, we have to keep going.

And going.
And going, until the sand becomes coarser and a few shrubs appear. We’re almost out of the wilderness and moving towards life. Soon the silence of the desert is replaced by sounds of birds and the faint noise of cars in the distance.

By the time we reach the first tar road we’ve seen since leaving the Capital City, the sky is turning from black to blue. My throat is dry, my stomach is growling and I’m so tired I don’t even know how I’m still standing. There is a bus stop, and up ahead are the scattered buildings of one of the Desert towns. Civilization at last! I’ve never been so happy to see signs of life.

I drag myself to the bus stop, thinking we’re going to wait for the early bus heading to Oasis, but Ranger doesn’t stop. He crosses the road, so we follow. I reach into my bag for my third water bottle. There’s not much left. I drink every last drop, and Ranger doesn’t stop me.

We’re far from the Capital City and it’s early in the day. We could probably get away with taking a bus. We’re all filthy, anyway; sweaty, dressed in damp clothes and covered in dust. Socca’s tattoo has almost worn off, leaving splotches of ink on his cheek, and his fake dreads are brown from the sand. Sam’s hair has gone from yellow-brown to just plain brown, and it’s hard to tell how pale her skin is under all the dirt. No one would recognise us.

Ranger knows it. That’s why he has no problem walking along the main road in the almost-daylight instead of sneaking along the outskirts of town. We’re not walking because it’s safer. We’re walking because it’s convenient. The Rainmaker must live in this town.

My heart starts racing. Funny; I thought after the journey it wouldn’t have enough strength left. But there it goes, hammering away, making my chest tighten again. We’re close to the end of our trip. We’re close to meeting the person who’s stolen my power and ruined my life. I suddenly feel weird carrying the Rain Stick through town. It’s too big to be mistaken for a walking cane. Good thing it’s still early and there aren’t many people around.

The few people who are on the road give us funny looks and keep their distance. Sam starts talking, making annoying comments about the town and everything in it.

“Is that a supermarket? Why is it so small? Wow; have you ever seen such a skinny cow? Why would anyone keep cattle in a place like Desert, anyway? They’re just going to die. Do you think they have internet here? I haven’t checked my mail in ages, and my phone’s dead.”

Ranger turns into a side road, then another side road. The tarred part of the road ends halfway, and the rest is gravel. Then the gravel ends and it’s just dirt. We walk past the small houses with their wide yards, past a shop, a garage, a petrol station, and a few more houses. Then we seem to be back in the bush, leaving the houses behind us. The road slopes upwards. At the top is another small house. It’s a typical state-built matchbox; simple, tiny and ordinary.

Is this the place? Yes. Ranger stops at the door. I want to ask him to give me a minute to prepare myself, but he’s already knocking. I grip the Stick tighter.

The door opens and a girl steps out. She’s about my age, a year older, tops, with long hair plaited in thin cornrows. Her button-down shirt is wrinkled and she’s folded the sleeves several times. Her jeans are faded and don’t fit properly. They seem stiff, like the kind of jeans old people wear, the kind made from that ancient denim that lasts forever.
“Morning,” says Ranger Stranger.

She turns to him with a smile. “Baba. It’s good to see you.” She looks at the rest of us. When she gets to me, her face lights up and she smiles, a big smile that seems to take up half her face. “Taunyana! You’re here!”

She called Ranger “Father”. That could mean anything, though. It’s a common way of addressing an elder, especially in Desert. He could be related to her, or he could just be an acquaintance. I look over my shoulder at Ranger Stranger, but he offers no explanation.

“Who are you?” asks Sam, frowning at the girl.

“My name’s Dudu.” She’s still smiling. “It’s such an honour to have the prince at my house. Please, come in.” She steps aside to let us into the small house.

Inside there is some old wooden furniture. There’s no sofa, just two wooden chairs, a table, and three reed mats. Dudu rolls out the mats and offers one chair to me and one to Ranger, then rushes out of the room. I lay the Stick on the floor beside my chair. It feels like years since the last time I was inside a building, but it’s only been twenty-four hours. It’s so weird. It’s like I’ve time-travelled and my body is still adjusting.

Dudu returns with a tray of glasses filled with cold water and kneels to serve us. Then she drops to the floor in front of my chair, sitting with her feet under her in the traditional way. I’ve seen older women sit like that in front of their husbands or men in authority, but no one has ever done it for me. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Hey, he’s not Kgosi yet,” says Sam, who is sitting cross-legged on one of the mats.

Dudu stares at her in surprise. She’s probably never heard someone speak like that about a royal.

“She’s a foreigner,” says Socca, like that explains all of Sam’s habits. “You can call her Brat.”

Sam snorts.

Dudu raises her eyebrows, but is too polite to comment. “You’ve come a long way; you must be hungry. There is food – ”

“Forget that.” Sam gulps down her water and sets the glass down on the floor. “We can eat later. Where’s your father?”

“My father?” Dudu looks at Sam, then at me. “I’m an orphan.”

“Your grandfather, then,” says Sam impatiently. “Or uncle, or master, or whatever. Whoever lives in this house with you.”

Dudu lowers her gaze and bites her lip, then looks at Ranger Stranger. “You didn’t tell them?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not for me to tell.”

Ag, no. A horrible feeling of dread comes over me. We’re too late. Something has gone wrong and the Rainmaker is gone. Maybe he’s dead. Or he went on a trip. Or he ran away because he heard we were coming. Or…

Dudu turns to look at me. Her eyes are big and expressive, like a small child who hasn’t learned how to hide things yet. The truth is right there on her face for the whole world to see. Now I know what Ranger Stranger didn’t tell us. My mouth drops open. The person we’ve travelled so far to see isn’t gone. She’s sitting at my feet.

For the first time in the history of the kingdom, the Rainmaker is a girl.

“You,” I gasp.

Dudu nods. “I’m sorry. I thought Baba would explain everything to you on the way. I thought you knew.”

“But…” My mouth has gone dry. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. “That’s impossible.”

“Oh,” says Sam, catching on. “But wait…”

“What are you saying?” asks Socca. “Where’s the Rainmaker?”

Dudu looks at him. “I’m the Rainmaker.”

It’s even worse when she says it out loud. It sounds stupid, like something Sam would say to annoy me. I shake my head.

“It’s true,” says Ranger.

“No, it’s not.” I pick up the Rain Stick and point it at Dudu. “It’s impossible.”

“She can’t be the Rainmaker,” says Socca. “Rainmakers are male. They’ve always been male.”

Dudu nods apologetically, as if it hurts her to disappoint us. “I know.”

“More importantly, they’ve always been of royal blood.” Sam peers into the other girl’s face. “Are you a secret Sedibeng? Maybe someone in the family had an affair and didn’t want anyone to find out, so they shipped you off to Desert to hide you.”

Dudu shakes her head with a small smile. “I can trace my bloodline back five generations. I have been claimed by my father’s ancestors. My family has lived in Desert forever; my parents never even went as far as Savannah.”

“That’s another reason you can’t be the Rainmaker,” says Socca. “Rainmakers are from Delta. There has never been a Desert Rainmaker. It doesn’t even make sense. Why would there be a Rainmaker in a place that doesn’t need rain?”

“All places need rain, stupid,” says Sam.

“Desert needs less.”

Their words sink into my mind, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. My head is too full of confusing thoughts. It’s like someone stuck a whisk in my brain and beat everything together.

I look at Dudu. I take her face feature by feature, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Eyes first. Then nose. Then mouth. Then hair. Then old-people clothes. Then I add the word Rainmaker, and everything falls apart. Whisk, whisk, whisk! Back to square one. My brain can’t process this. It’s impossible. The only logical conclusion is that Dudu is lying.

The minute my mind grabs hold of that thought, the confusion drifts away. Of course! That makes perfect sense. She’s lying to protect the real Rainmaker. So who is it? My eyes roll in the direction of Ranger Stranger. Could it be? No; it rained while we were travelling and there was no sign that he had anything to do with it. But I already know this new Rainmaker doesn’t need the Stick. For all I know, he can make it rain just by thinking about it.

“If you’re really the Rainmaker, why don’t you follow the schedule?” asks Socca. “You can’t just make it rain whenever you feel like it.”

“It’s not like that,” says Dudu. “I don’t make it rain when I feel like it. When the gods are ready, they tell me. I’m just an instrument.”

Socca looks at me. I raise my eyebrows. The rain, like everything else that nourishes and protects us, is a gift from the ancestors. I’ve never heard of the ancestors telling the Rainmaker how to do his job. That’s what the schedule is for.

“The gods?” Sam’s eyes narrow. “You mean the ancestors?”

Dudu shakes her head. “The rain gods. They live inside us, inside all of us. And when it’s time for things to happen, they tell us.”

“If they live inside all of us, shouldn’t we all be Rainmakers?” asks Sam, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dudu shrugs. “Some of us feel them more than others.”

Great. As if things aren’t messy enough, now it’s obvious the girl is insane. If she is the Rainmaker (she isn’t, but let’s pretend for a second) she’s already guilty of stealing the Rainmaker power and causing illegal precipitation. If she’s covering for someone she’s still an accessory to the crimes. Only a crazy person would try to steal the Rainmaker power, and only a really crazy person would succeed. Whoever this girl is, she’s dangerous.

“There has to be a logical explanation,” Sam is saying.

“Witchcraft,” hisses Socca, and I nod.

For sure. Witchcraft is the best explanation. Why didn’t I think of that?

Dudu’s eyes widen in horror. “No! I would never!”

“Then how?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask for it. It just came to me! I’m not a witch, Taunyana. I swear!”

I look at Ranger. As usual he has nothing to say, not even to defend his daughter, or niece, or whatever she is to him.
“Look, there are only two possibilities here,” I tell Dudu. “Either you’re lying about being the Rainmaker or you’ve used some kind of evil trick to get the power.”

“I never wanted this,” she protests. “If I could give the power to you, I would! I am a good subject, Taunyana. My family has always been loyal to the Kgosi.”

I don’t respond. What am I supposed to say? She seems like a nice girl. In any other situation I’d believe her. But this time I can’t. She’s basically telling me cows lay eggs, chickens give milk and lions are scared of beetles.

“You don’t believe me.” There’s sadness in her voice, and I feel threads of guilt build up and form a knot inside me.

Hey! Why am I the one feeling guilty? She’s the liar. There’s no way any of the things she has told us are true. And as for Ranger Stranger… I don’t know what the old man’s game is. Maybe he’s in on the scam or maybe he really believes her, but either way I’m not falling for it. I may not be Kgosi yet, but I’ve been preparing for that job my whole life. While other kids had sports and clubs after school, I had instruction in the history and customs of my people. I take Advanced History and I’ve been tutored in the laws and traditions of the kingdom since I started school. A girl from Desert without a drop of royal blood in her veins cannot be Rainmaker, just like one plus one can’t equal seven. Simple. There’s some kind of trick involved here. Some kind of plot.

“If you will give me permission, Taunyana, I’ll show you.” She’s still sitting, waiting for my word, but there is a flash of anger in her eyes. She might be old-school, but maybe not a total pushover.

Still, I wish she’d stop acting like the coronation has already happened. What’s wrong with her? No one our age behaves this way.

“You don’t need my permission.”

She rises. “Please come with me. All of you. I’ll show you that I’m telling the truth.”

I get up and follow her outside, and Sam and Socca hurry after us. Dudu doesn’t walk far. She stops a few steps from the door, standing barefoot in the damp sand.

Sam snorts. “I thought you had to wait for the gods to tell you it’s time.”

Dudu looks at her. There’s no annoyance in her expression. She just looks puzzled, as if she can’t figure Sam out. She’s not the only one.

“There is still rain in the air. If you are quiet and still, you will feel it. The gods move in your blood, and you can taste the rain on your tongue. That’s how you know it’s ready.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Shut up.” It sounds harsher than I meant it to, but Sam is annoying me and I want to focus on Dudu. I want to see how she plans to lie her way out of this.

“Do you feel it, Taunyana?”

“No. The sky is clear.”

“Don’t look for it in the sky,” says Dudu gently. “You feel it first, and then you see it. Baba understands.”

I turn around. Ranger stands in the doorway, smiling and nodding. I turn back to Dudu. “Stop stalling. Make it rain. Now.”

She raises her head to the sky. Her eyes close slowly, as though she’s falling asleep. Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen. Nothing will… I gulp. Dark clouds come rolling in, rushing across the sky until all the blue is hidden. Fear grabs hold of me, filling my lungs and making it hard to breathe. She can’t do that. It’s not real. It’s a trick!

I look down at her face. It’s peaceful, calm. She stands perfectly still, her hands at her sides. Her lips part and she whispers one word, so soft that I can barely hear it.

“Rain.”

And it does. With a single rumble of warning, the sky opens up and the water comes down. I stand there, frozen, heart pounding. I feel like someone just threw a bucket of ice in my face. Then, slowly, my mind begins to accept what my senses are telling it. It’s raining. A Desert girl called Dudu has made it rain, and she didn’t use the Stick. She just…did it.

This is not a storm, but it’s not a light drizzle, either. It’s the steady precipitation that soaks the earth, making the soil ready for planting. The sort of rain that has fallen throughout the first weeks of the rainy season in Delta for generations. The sort of rain that hardly ever falls in Desert.
We stand there letting it soak through our clothes for what feels like ages. Then she opens her eyes. I expect the rain to stop, but it doesn’t. I don’t understand. None of this makes sense.

“How do you make it stop?”

She looks at me, blinking water out of her eyes. “I don’t. It stops when its work is done.”

“But how does it know when its work is done? It’s the Rainmaker’s job to tell it!”

“Not anymore.” She holds out her hands, palms up, to gather the drops, then turns her hands so the water drips out. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Beautiful? No. It’s wrong. It’s backwards. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. I hand her the Rain Stick, and she looks at me as if she doesn’t know what it is.

“Hold it,” I tell her. “Let’s see what happens.”

She reaches out and grabs the Stick, just below my hand. I wait, expecting to feel something, but nothing happens. It feels the way it has always felt. A little heavy and a lot ordinary.

“I’m sorry,” she says, letting go. “I don’t think it works anymore.”

I don’t even know how to respond to that. The Rain Stick, not working? How does it stop working without any warning? Is that possible? Well, of course it’s possible. It looks like anything is possible these days.

“Taunyana, stop thinking. Just close your eyes and enjoy the rain.”

Though I’m scared and sceptical, I try. I close my eyes and raise my head so the water runs over my face. Rain runs into my nose, making me splutter. I open my eyes. I can’t do it. I can’t stand here and let the illegal rain wash over me like nothing’s wrong. Every time she makes it rain she breaks the rules. She’s slowly chipping away at everything that holds the kingdom together, and she doesn’t even care. How am I supposed to be OK with that?

“Taunyana, if you just – ”

“I’m going inside.” I turn away and walk quickly, eager to be out of the rain. The others have already gone in, leaving the door open for us.

“Taunyana, wait. Please!”

I run the rest of the way and slam the door shut behind me. Three faces are turned towards me, all of them expectant. They’re waiting for the prince to make the next big decision.

I hold out my hand. “Someone give me a phone. I’m calling the Council.”