Page 87 of Firstborn of the Sun
‘Your Baba-Ìtàn is not here! I’m not going to risk my life for you again.’
L’?r? quietened. Again? Her father had never even mentioned this woman’s name until he put that letter in her hands. L’?r? returned to her meal, not even looking at Alawani, who was still quiet the whole time. He was smarter than her. He knew not to poke the beast.
Once again, only the tearing of bread and the chewing of bones could be heard in the room. L’?r? silently mulled over the challenge of winning the woman’s trust, hopefully avoiding her short fuse. She opened her mouth to speak but then realized she didn’t know what to call the woman. Aunty Àdùk or Ìyá-Àdùk or Mama Àdùk. L’?r? figured the woman was younger than her father. Her satin turban kept her hair hidden, so L’?r? couldn’t tell by the number of grey hairs. But she looked like someone who’d seen nearly forty first suns.
‘Aunty Àdùk,’ L’?r? said in a soft whisper.
‘Call me Ìyá-Idán,’ the woman said plainly. ‘My oríkì is reserved for those who earn the right to say my name.’
Ìyá-Idán – mother of magic. L’?r? stifled a gulp and bowed her head. Ìyá-Idán nodded, accepting the unspoken apology.
Far into the passageway that led deeper into the mysterious house, L’?r? thought she could hear voices of girls chattering and laughing, but as soon as she tried to focus on them, they disappeared as fast as they came.
‘Ìyá-Idán,’ L’?r? started softly, ‘what did my father mean by you know who and what I am? Do you know about my agbára? Can you help me?’
‘Baba-Ìtàn, is that what he goes by now?’ Ìyá-Idán said, ignoring L’?r?’s questions.
L’?r? nodded. ‘He tells tales by moonlight under the tree in our compound. The children started calling him the father of stories. He tells the best ones in the entire city, maybe even the kingdom,’ L’?r? said with pride.
She thought she saw the hint of a smile on the woman’s face as she said, ‘Yes, he does.’
L’?r? hoped Ìyá-Idán would say more. She was dying to ask about her mother, to ask what connection she had with Baba-Ìtàn. To know more about where she’d come from and where she was running to. But she had to wait for the right moment. It didn’t seem like that moment would ever come. L’?r? considered what to say next, and just when she convinced herself she could wait until morning to ask, the question came tumbling out of her mouth.
‘How did you know my mother?’
Ìyá-Idán shot her a menacing look, her eyes growing dark and stormy.
L’?r? braced herself but continued, ‘It’s just that when wewere at the city wall, you called me Mremí’s child. How did you know? How did you know her?’
Ìyá-Idán slammed her fist onto the wooden table, rattling everything. The plates, the soup, and even some bones came flying off. ‘Let that be the last time you speak Mremí’s name under my roof.’
‘Why? What did she do?’
‘She brought darkness into my life. I owe you no explanations and I am not here to tell you midnight stories like your father. So stop asking.’
L’?r? finished the rest of her meal in silence.
Ìyá-Idán rose from the table. ‘You leave in two days.’
‘Two days?’ L’?r? said. ‘We don’t –’
‘If Àlùfáà-Àgbà knows who you are,’ Ìyá-Idán cut her off, ‘then he knows who your mother was, and that means he’ll know where you’ve gone. Because when he hunted her down all those first suns ago, this is where she ran to, and this is where he found and killed her.’
There are still those who call upon
rúnmìlà, the grand priest, sage and custodian of the oracle, the god of wisdom, knowledge and divination.
And still, some call upon Oba’lúayé, the god who heals with one hand and delivers sickness with the other.
Others yearn for the ocean and call upon the protective energy of the feminine force,
Yem?ja, the goddess of the seas and rivers.
And finally, those who seek chaos call upon È?ù, the trickster and divine messenger.
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Ìlú-Idán, Fourth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
