Page 19 of Firstborn of the Sun
The priest spat in the direction of the bound three. ‘Old magic is forbidden in this kingdom for a reason! The gods of the sun and sands have blessed us all with their agbára. No child of Oru is born without the magic of the sun. Yet, these people mock our gods and their blessings.’ He spun towards the crowd. ‘We priests of the Holy Order are permitted to use old magic as compensation for the sacrifice of giving up our agbára in service of this kingdom. If not for greed, why would you want even more power? When you take from that which is not yours, you mock our sacrifice! When you call upon the old gods for magic and spells, you defy the gods of the sun and sands that have blessed you with agbára.’
L’?r? eyed the three in chains. The man looked lost, a pained stare on his face. The young girl next to him was shivering right under the desert sun; she couldn’t have been any more than fifteen first suns. As for the older woman next to her, if she was as afraid as the others, she didn’t show it. Her face was like carved stone. She didn’t blink or move an inch the entire time L’?r? had her eyes on her.
L’?r? winced as the second priest slammed the staff in his hand on the platform to quiet the crowd. Her hands moved to her crescent necklace, something she always did instinctively when panicked, and she rubbed against its smooth bluesurface. Were they really so cruel as to kill a young girl? In truth, she didn’t expect anything less from the priests who’d ruined her father’s life. She glared at them with disdain, and tears stung her eyes as the man in chains walked forward.
‘Àw?n t’egún n b? l’orí w?n – these ones are cursed! They are a stain on our kingdom, weeds that need uprooting. We do this to cleanse our land and temper the anger of the gods, lest we all burn for their sin.’
The people murmured in agreement. They were the real cowards, not her or her father. Was no one even going to beg for them or try to help? They all swallowed the priest’s words like poison-laced wine. Their fear was replaced by apathy, and an uproar filled the air. Soon, the crowd shouted curses. They wanted the land cleansed and their families safe. They wanted the prisoners – the users of old magic – dead.
L’?r? had learned to use old magic since the moment she realized she had no agbára. Her father had taught her just enough to create the illusions she needed for her blades and time beads. And so, every time she spoke those words, she knew she risked being put on a platform like this, but she had no other choice. After many first suns of practice, L’?r? had realized that the old god she called upon needed only the smallest of whispers to awaken her blades. ?àngó’s fury was always on the tip of her tongue, needing no coaxing to come alive. But these people on trial weren’t like her. They didn’t need tricks to survive. They had agbára-ignited cores, yet they sought more power from the old gods. Was that not greed? She couldn’t help but wonder how easy it was for them to have avoided this fate.
She looked up at the sound of heavy boots climbing the platform. The masked executioner was nearly seven feet tall, his body at least twice the size of anyone else’s. He dragged his heavy axe across the wooden platform, and the clawing soundmade L’?r? realize just how real it all was. She should’ve never left home today. Behind him was a young girl who wore a white wrapper tied firmly to her chest. She had a clean-shaven head and white dots all over her skin, and in her hand was a brown calabash.
The events that followed happened so quickly that all L’?r? could do was stand with her hand over her mouth, eyes unable to move from the horror playing out before her. The man in chains walked up to the young girl in white and whispered into her ear. The girl, in turn, whispered into the calabash gourd and nodded, confirming his à?írí – his secrets would outlive him.
The man knew where to kneel. The axe knew where to fall. His head dropped like an orange from a tree and rolled to the feet of one of the maidens, who picked it up by his thick hair and tossed it into the fire pit.
Were they cheering? L’?r? looked around in disgust. They were. Of course they were. Most people in Ìlú-?ba didn’t know how to use old magic, so they never had to worry that it could be their sons or daughters up there on the platform.
The other young girl’s scream was cut short with the swift axe. L’?r? closed her eyes and placed a firm grip on her throat as if holding her neck in place. That could be her. One whisper too loud, one random stranger with a wolf’s hearing and that would be her up there. Her breaths came in short uneven bursts, and her sight blurred. Her fingers trembled as she lifted them to cover her mouth. Every part of her burned with hatred for the Holy Order. For their vile acts and for herding all who were out and about into the town square to witness their atrocities. If she’d known that there would be a reckoning today, she’d never have left her house. Why had she?
Alawani. She’d completely forgotten about him betweenthe chaos and the bloodshed. She looked around, stretching and standing on her toes. Was he here? She hoped he wasn’t caught somewhere in the crowd. After leaving hers the night before, they’d planned to meet at the tattoo salon not far from where she was now, but even as she stretched, there was no sign of the prince.
The last woman still stood defiantly, refusing to move from her spot. One of the maidens moved closer, shouting at her, but the woman didn’t budge. The young girl dotted in white walked over to the older woman, offering her a chance to say her à?írí, but she refused. A silent plea for her to offer up her secrets, but the woman was unyielding. The maiden got impatient and put her hand firmly against the woman’s neck and squeezed. Still, the woman didn’t move, clearly choking but refusing to speak.
‘If she wants to forsake the afterlife as she’s forsaken her gods, so be it,’ the maiden said.
L’?r? thought she saw the hint of a smile right before the maiden awakened her agbára. They all heard the scream before they saw the glow in her palm. The scream didn’t last long as the maiden burned her way through the woman’s throat, sending her into a world of pain and keeping her secrets lost forever.
The smell of burnt flesh filled the air.
The maiden took the axe from the executioner, grunting under its weight. She chopped off the woman’s burnt head and tossed it into the fire.
The priest gave a slow, approving nod. ‘I don’t need to remind you all of the laws of the land, yet I will so no one can say they didn’t know. Only those called by the gods, those who’ve sacrificed their agbára to the gods, may use the old magic. I hope that this here today burns into your minds the laws you must live by. I hope this is the last dayof judgement we’ll ever see. As you return to your homes, remember that our eyes are everywhere. The gods’ eyes are in the sands. They see everything. If we discover that you are hiding anyone using old magic, you’ll burn together with them. May the gods bless the sands beneath your feet.’
‘And the sun above!’ replied the crowd in unison.
All but L’?r?, who was too stunned to speak. This wasn’t the first day of judgement she’d been forced to watch, but she’d never seen anything like what the maiden just did – the pure cruelty of burning that woman’s throat. She felt a chill as the warm breeze blew across her sweat-drenched skin.
Her mother had been a maiden. Did she also send people to their death with a smile on her face? L’?r? imagined herself lying headless on the platform. And as the maiden yelled out the sacred prayers, L’?r? imagined her mother standing there, holding her own severed head, leading the crowd to chant, ‘Abomination,’ before tossing it into the fire.
L’?r? shut her eyes and covered her ears from the noise of the crowd. No way her mother was anything like these maidens. If she had been, the Order wouldn’t have killed her for breaking their laws by birthing a child. A maiden with a child was a dead maiden, Baba-Ìtàn often said when he recalled the story of her mother’s end. Without him protecting and hiding her from the Order, L’?r? would have met the same fate her mother did. Was this how they killed her? Did her mother die refusing to bow to their will or did she crumble and fall, headless, into a fiery pit?
L’?r? fought her way out of the crowd, forcing the hot desert air into her lungs. No longer able to fight the urge to throw up, she bent over and lurched onto the ground. She eyed a woman who acted like that was the worst thing she’d seen today while standing mere yards from the headless bodies still on the platform. Her throat burned, and thesour taste in her mouth only made her feel even sicker. She wanted to go home. Baba-Ìtàn was right, she shouldn’t have gotten so used to going to the capital. If she was ever caught, it’d no doubt be here.
Alawani.She had to find him. She had to remind him of their oath. The Holy Order took her mother from her and ruined her father’s life; she wouldn’t let them take Alawani’s life too. If she told him what she’d seen today, there was no way he’d ever want to be a priest for the gods of the sun and sands. Not while she lived.
Behind closed doors and in the whispers of night the gods gaze down upon the kingdom through the warm gaze of the blood moon.
The gods make their choice from within the six rings of Oru.
A boy is culled from each ring surrounding the Sun Temple.
These chosen ones are called Àlùfáà – priests.
Those who survive the journey to the sun will be called to be priests of the Holy Order.
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