Page 77 of Firstborn of the Sun
Milúà rose to her feet.
‘Wait!’ the woman shouted. ‘Take our à?írí please, maiden, I beg you. Don’t send us into the darkness.’
Milúà considered mercy. Then she thought of how she’d explain to her mother that she let people who knew the secrets of the Order live. Without fail, Ìyá-Ayé would appear to her in her sleep tonight as she did to every maiden on assignment to know their progress. As images of the weeping chamber flashed before her, Milúà made her decision. ‘The things I know will take many blood moons to pass on. I can’t take on another,’ she said flatly.
They couldn’t live. They knew their son didn’t die on the Red Stone, they knew the prince was gone from the Sun Temple. They simply knew too much to be allowed to see the next day. She was still a maiden of the Holy Order, and mercy was a privilege she didn’t have to spare.
‘Please,’ the old man croaked, and Milúà wasn’t sure if it was the tears that flowed from his eyes or the way he held on tightly to his wife’s trembling hands, but something made her say, ‘Fine. Write it down, and I’ll make sure someone reads it.’
The following moments were memories Milúà hoped to the gods of the sun and sands that she’d forget the way she did the others. The couple handed her a crumpled piece ofpaper, heavy with words that would keep them from the city of light if not passed on, and then held on to each other in a tight embrace. The next time lightning flashed outside the window, Milúà summoned her agbára to life. Drawing on her core energy, she pulled the lightning from outside into her hands. Sparks danced along her fingertips as she formed orbs of energy. In the moment between breaths, she shot firebolts into their beating hearts. Another shot at the raffia baskets in the corner, and they sparked a fire. Milúà filled the room with heat energy, holding her ground until the fire engulfed the house. Then walked out of it, watching the fire roar even as the rain poured in streams down her face.
Milúà stood before the blazing house, watching the fire blossom and spread into the farm. Moments later, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and a young woman came running towards the burning building but fell to her knees at the sight of Milúà. Trembling, she tried to run away, but Milúà called out after her, ‘Take another step, and you’ll meet the gods tonight.’
The woman stopped in her tracks, going still as a statue.
Milúà went to meet her and handed her the piece of paper with the couple’s last words. ‘Read it.’
The young woman peeled it open and started to speak when Milúà said, ‘No! Read it in your mind. I don’t want to hear it.’
The young woman nodded, trembling where she stood. Her eyes went back and forth until she was done.
‘This is your à?írí now,’ Milúà said.
The woman nodded, still shaking with fear.
‘Go,’ Milúà said, taking the paper from her and burning it with her agbára.
Milúà rubbed her forehead, and her hands moved along her braids. She stopped and counted the cowries hangingfrom them – one, two, five. What were two more? She pulled two cowries from her cleavage and attached them to her wet hair as she whispered the last words the dead hear, ‘May your souls find the city of light.’ And with that, she turned away from the house towards her rhino, summoning her agbára. Blinking hard to awaken her true sight, she waited for the thread that led to Alawani to reveal itself again.
Bí ó ti lè wù kí oòrùn mú gangan tó, bó p bó yá, ó n b wá fi àyè síl fún ò?ùpá
No matter how hot the sun is up above, eventually it will leave room for the moon
25
The Royal Palace, Royal Island, Kingdom of Oru
TOFA
Every morning at four light beads past midnight, all who lived in the Aláàfin’s palace journeyed from their beds to the gilded throne to bow before the crown. The Lord Regent didn’t need to be present for this ritual. Tofa couldn’t remember the last time his father was on the throne when the entire court came out to bow before him. But now, as Tofa bowed before the throne, his forehead gently touched his father’s feet, and he knew something was wrong.
‘As long as the sun remains in the sky, so long shall the crown live,’ Tofa said quietly, allowing the voices of others crouched behind him to echo the prayers.
Tofa lifted his head and glanced back when he heard a familiar voice. A voice he hadn’t heard at the morning gatherings since the last time his father attended one.
Ìyá-Ayé rose to her feet, dusting off her hands and raising her voice above others. She recited the old praise names for the throne, the Lord Regent, and even Tofa as crown heir. Pausing every other sentence for the room to say, ‘À??.’
What was she up to? How did she know the Lord Regent would sit on the throne this morning when he hadn’t for many blood moons? Tofa returned his gaze to his father,who waved over the crowd three times, accepting their greetings and sending them off to start their days. Slowly, the hall emptied. Even his mother and sisters left at the Lord Regent’s request, all bowing out one by one until only Tofa, K?ni, High Priestess À?á, Àlùfáà-Àgbà and Ìyá-Ayé remained before the throne.
They all sat quietly at the bottom of the dais, waiting for someone to speak first. Tofa noticed his father’s slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and at first, he’d thought it was because of the time of day, but as the silence stretched on, the Lord Regent’s gaze narrowed on Àlùfáà-Àgbà. Something was very, very wrong.
The sound of the hall doors cracking open broke the silence. A palace guard marched in, and then another and another. The last guard walked in with a long iron chain in his hand, leading in a man who, by the change in countenance on his father’s face, was someone the Lord Regent recognized. Many first suns ago, Tofa had seen the man’s face on sand portraits hung all around the kingdom, reminding everyone who the coward was. Still, the matted grey hair and bloody, bruised face did not disguise the only Àlùfáà to have left the Holy Order and live to tell the tale: ?niìtàn – the one born with history on his lips.
Àlùfáà ?niìtàn, as the man was once called, had done the impossible. The rest of the council didn’t know, but Àlùfáà-Àgbà had once, in a bout of anger, mentioned to Tofa that after surviving the Red Stone, the man had been his choice for High Priest but he’d turned it down, rejecting the Elder Priest and their gods. All priests would risk death to be chosen as High Priest and Lord Regent, but somehow, for some mysterious reason, this man chose a life of shame and humiliation instead. That decision had put Tofa’s father on the throne and him in line to inherit the crown. This man’ssingle decision was why Tofa would one day be the Aláàfin of Oru. Tofa didn’t know if he was grateful or not.
Unfortunately, ?niìtàn’s actions helping this L’?r? of Òtútù had given Àlùfáà-Àgbà reason to throw him into the dungeons, as he had wanted to for a very long time.
The Lord Regent’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade, ‘?niìtàn.’
