Page 75 of Firstborn of the Sun
Milúà hadn’t expected to learn that it was the boy’s own brother holding the seven-tailed whip that lashed across his back. And it surprised her even more that although the brother held and swung the whip, it was he who wept as flesh tore from Kyà’s broken skin. She could not remember the last time she cried for any of her sisters in the weeping chamber. Her mother would not stand for such senseless displays of weakness. She would instead really give her something to cry about.
Àlùfáà-Àgbà had not been able to control his anger during his interrogation. ‘You dared to come into my temple, to defy the gods, to defy me!’ He had held Kyà’s face in his hands in a short pause between the whippings, and the boy groaned. ‘Where is the girl?’ he shouted.
That was when Milúà knew she had to step in. The old man was wasting time. ‘I think it’s time to try something else,’ she said.
Àlùfáà-Àgbà shot her a dirty look when she ordered the whipping to stop.
‘He can’t speak if you keep torturing him,’ she said firmly.
The Elder Priest’s eyes burned with anger, but he conceded, stepping back as the palace guard cut off the ropes that held his brother’s arms up and guided him to the floor.
She observed as Kyà struggled to stand upright in her presence.A strong one, she thought.
Milúà bent down beside him and moved her lips to his ears. ‘Tell me where they went, and I promise the pain will stop. At least for today.’
He remained as he was, eyes closed and head hung in despair.
She leaned in closer. ‘You know they won’t stop at just you,’ she said, distancing herself from the people who inflicted pain on him. ‘They’ll kill your brother. They already know he helped you. That’s why he’s been made to do this. They’ll find your parents, parade them through the capital, and chop off their heads in front of everyone.’ She paused for a response, then sighed when he still didn’t move. ‘If you make Àlùfáà-Àgbà feel the need to use old magic, there’ll be no coming back from that.’ Nothing. Not even the soft whimpers from earlier. ‘They’ll kill the old man, too,’ she spat out, frustrated. ‘The girl’s father.’ If, after several light beads of torture, he still held his tongue, perhaps she could play on that sense of loyalty that often got people like him killed.
Nothing.
Milúà lost her patience and thrust her hand into his chest and squeezed against the bruised flesh. Her hand glowed with agbára, and Kyà screamed so loudly the walls seemed to echo after him. When she removed her hand, Kyà’s chest was bruised and bleeding but … not burnt.
Milúà blinked, unable to believe her eyes. His chest wasn’t any worse than before she’d touched him with her agbára. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
She glanced back at Àlùfáà-Àgbà, who took a brisk step closer. Then she again thrust her hand at Kyà’s chest, nearly breaking a rib, and allowed her agbára to shine bright and hot. Smoke oozed from the touch, simmering off the sweat from Kyà’s body, but when she removed her hand, there was no burn or blister. Just raw skin torn by the whip.
Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s eyes grew to double their size, and Milúà could see the whites of them for the first time. Nothing ever shocked the old priest. But this … this was impossible. Agbára oru burns all but the wielder.
‘What evil magic is this?’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà slapped Kyà across his face, and the boy groaned.
Milúà’s gaze shifted to the boy’s brother, whose eyes were red with tears. She moved fast and cornered him against the wall. Before he could speak, she slammed her palm against his chest and poured out her agbára. He screamed just as loud as his brother. Louder. When she removed her hand, flakes of burnt skin clung to her fingers. She brushed them off.So, it’s not a family thing.
She turned to Àlùfáà-Àgbà, ‘He’s immune to agbára oru. Did you know this?’
‘How can I know what isn’t possible?’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà shouted at her. ‘Burn him again. Burn his tongue! That way, he won’t whisper any incantations to the old gods.’
Milúà shook her head. ‘He didn’t speak a word. I would’ve heard if he did.’
‘Get out,’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà said. Kyà’s brother slowly and reluctantly walked out of the cell, hunched over in pain. Àlùfáà-Àgbà turned on Milúà, ‘You too.’
Milúà raised a questioning look to Àlùfáà-Àgbà. The fury that burned in the old priest’s eyes gave a glimpse of what he had planned for the boy.
Milúà knew pain as well as she knew how to breathe. So, it wasn’t often she felt pity for anyone who had to endure it. Even the stripping at the Red Stone, while agonizing, felt bearable. At least some of those boys survived. She shot one last glance at Kyà and, perhaps for the first time in her life, felt pity. This was why one didn’t have friends. It didn’t matter what brought Kyà to the Sun Temple. He wasnever getting out. Mercy wasn’t something Milúà was taught so it shocked her every time she even considered it, much less acted upon it. She shook all thoughts of Kyà from her mind, another thing she’d have to explain to her mother. She should’ve killed him.
Milúà slowed her battle rhino to a halt as she approached the border gates that led into Ìlú-p?, blocking off the memory of the boy held deep within the darkness of the earth beneath the Sun Temple. The mighty beast huffed, grunting as it slowed, its pin-sharp horn slicing the air before it.
‘Don’t be grumpy now. Just a bit longer,’ she said, patting its thick armour. ‘We’re almost there.’
She had got nothing from Kyà, but figured her first stop on the hunt should be the home of the boy who nearly escaped with them but got killed in the crossfire. Ma?ywa.
Before her, the people cleared out of her way, and she could hardly hide the smile that crept onto her face. People hadn’t moved nearly as fast when she was a red maiden. Her fingers trailed over the gold bracelets she wore. The gold was worth the wait. She wore golden sandals with thin straps that ran crisscrossed all the way to her thighs, where they met with the thick bands she had firmly secured around her upper thighs, one for a dagger and the other for her staff. Her solid gold bracelets were wide and long, covering half of each hand, and further up, she wore matching gold arm rings in layers.
The warrior’s statement outfit was the gold armour on top of the flowing white gown. It sat atop her chest and started from the top of her neck to her waist, moulded to fit every curve of her body. The white dress underneath had very high slits on each side for when she had to kick someone in the face, and she kept her long braids in a high ponytail, heldby a gold band; when the hair fell, it reached low, sweeping below her bottom. Everything a warrior maiden wore was a distraction. Behind every glittering accessory was a blade visible only when needed to kill. The ensemble’s last piece, perhaps the most important, was her retractable gold staff strapped firmly to her right thigh. When it blossomed on her command, it was almost twice her height with spears on both ends, and when she channelled her agbára through it, it lit aflame.
Milúà came to a stop a few yards from the main gate. She rubbed the inner part of her thighs, wishing she’d carried some ointment to help with the blisters that would no doubt sprout in a few days. As she rode through the gates, the people, even the guards, turned away from her as she moved. She could get used to this. As soon as she crossed the border, she quickened her pace, pushing the rhino back to full speed. It growled but obeyed and raced through the empty sparse lands towards the settlements.
It was easy to find the prince. She only needed to close her eyes, breathe and channel her agbára into her eyes.
