Page 3 of Firstborn of the Sun
for my soul lingers only until the last of my à?írí is given to you.
I am sorry for this burden that you will bear. Whatever you do, remember to tell another before death comes for you. Eternity is unkind to those who go down to the grave with secrets meant for the living.
So here’s the truth:
Agbára oru is a curse that blinded our kind to what the gods truly were.
Cursed are those born of the sun and sands. Cursed are we all who wield the power of the sun. Cursed are the sands that bury our bones. Cursed are the gods that made us so.
1
Ìlú-?ba – The Capital City First Ring, Kingdom of Oru
1330 FS
L’?R?
L’?r?’s first sin was to be born in the dark of night when the gods were asleep. She often wondered if her mother, a maiden of the Sun Temple, knew when she birthed her that she’d wronged the gods. If she hadn’t known the moment L’?r? was born, surely she knew the moment the Holy Order’s axe severed her head from her neck.
L’?r? peeled off the hood of her cloak and inhaled deeply, taking in the cold desert air. The night was clear, the moon shone like a pearl in the sky, and the icy winds howled as they hovered over the tall buildings that formed the capital city of Ìlú-?ba. The city was built with the whitest of limestone, bleached bright enough that the sun made the high points sparkle, and at night, the moon’s light gave the city an other-worldly glow. In the distance, she could see the twin pillars that marked the entrance to Gbàgede, the arena, and she quickened her pace. The man trailing behind her moved faster.
L’?r? had known he was following her from the moment she locked eyes with him while crossing the city gates. If she’d listened to her father and kept her gaze glued to theground when venturing outside of her home ring, the man wouldn’t have recognized her. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen him before. He knew her. He knew her father. They all did. Everyone in Oru could spot them from a distance so they could either avoid, mock or spit on them. But L’?r? couldn’t back down from a fight – especially not when anyone called her a coward.
So, when the man now raging towards her awakened his powers – his agbára, turning his palms golden in the sun’s light – she took a deep breath and whispered the words that even the wind must never hear. The words that made it possible to fool everyone into thinking she was like them; that she had agbára oru.Dìde. Fún mi ní agbára r?.Her crescent blades came alive with the same yellow glow that filled the man’s hands, creating a mirage of the magic that refused to light up her skin. A spell her father had taught her to mimic agbára oru. A gift from the old gods.
The man lifted his chin and met her eyes. ‘You’re a disgrace, and a coward,’ he spat. ‘Just like your father.’
She knew what her father would have done, what he begged her to do every time something like this happened. Yet, the word rang in her ears like the echoes of a gong.Coward.The word that hung close to her like a shadow. Impossible to leave behind no matter how fast she ran.
She felt the heat of her blades sting against her skin as she roared towards the outraged man and leapt off the ground. L’?r? kicked at his face, and a trail of sand followed and stung his eyes. Her assailant screamed and dropped to his knees, rubbing his eyes. If the agbára glowing in his palms could have burnt him the way it would another, he’d have blinded himself.
L’?r? dropped to the ground and rolled onto her knees. Taking advantage of the man’s frenzy, with a single swipe,her blades burned deep into his forearms. The glow in his palms faded as quickly as it had come on.
The man let out an anguished howl. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he screamed, pressing his hands to his forearms, trying to hold back the blood that poured out of them.
People crowded the street quicker than L’?r? thought possible at this time of night. Whispers became shouts, and finally, the words that threw her into a rage hummed in the air around her. ?m?bìnrin Olójo y?n mà ni – it’s the coward’s child. She raised her hood, planning to slip into the shadows, but three men emerged from the crowd. Their palms were bright and aglow with agbára as they leered at her. She was in for it now. The odds, as always, were against her. Where the hell was Alawani? L’?r? turned and looked for her best friend, peering into alleyways and behind the shadows of palm trees, but he was nowhere to be seen. She turned on her heels and ran towards the arena, seeking refuge in the pit of death.
Gbàgede was as mysterious as it was frightening to most people in Oru. They only visited when the gods called for Ogun: a battle where the strongest warriors not born of royal blood came together to fight and show off their strength, celebrating the powers granted to them by the gods. The victor of Ogun – the battle of honour – would have the privilege of joining the royal guard. And the loser would grieve their loss from their grave. Some people claimed that even when Ogun was over, they could still hear the screams of the fallen being burned alive and the victorious cries of the winners. Being in the sunken pit that was the arena felt like you were descending into the underworld. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air, but L’?r? had become used to everything the arena offered.
Step by step, L’?r? ran further down, her lungs burning for air as she skipped through the white stones that led tothe training grounds far beneath ground level. The hexagon-shaped pit was surrounded by rows of stairs on all sides, with dark covers at each edge, held up by large pillars with intricate carvings and stained with the blood of the fallen. Rows of torches lit the lowest level, and the moon’s light dimly illuminated the rest of the arena.
At first, L’?r? hoped they’d be too afraid to wander into the pit of death with her, but a few heartbeats later, she heard a voice.
‘What have you done?’
It came from the shadows, and L’?r? swung around. She knew that voice, but that didn’t make her any less afraid. Command stepped out of the shadows, and her six-foot frame made L’?r? feel small in her presence as she knelt to greet the woman.
Command’s steel armour glistened from beneath her cloak and the cowries in her thick locs danced with each step she took from behind the pillars. The cowries signified the number of people she’d killed. It was custom in Oru to wear the souls of those who died by your hands in cowries so that whenever the wind blew, you’d hear their voices and remember them. Most people hid theirs; they were sometimes even sewn into clothes – obeying the customs but keeping their secrets hidden – but not her. Command wore hundreds of cowries in her hair, and L’?r? wasn’t sure, but it seemed like they grew in number by the year.
The men chasing L’?r? finally reached the top of the arena and began their descent down the hundreds of stairs leading to the pit.
L’?r? cast a fearful gaze at Command, who looked at the raging men and frowned. ‘What happened?’ she asked, her voice a low husk that made every word she spoke reverberate.
‘They started it,’ L’?r? said quickly.
Command cast her a sidelong look. ‘Who threw the first strike?’
L’?r? lowered her gaze like a child being scolded. ‘He called me a –’
