Chapter 8 The Sun Temple, Royal Island, Kingdom of Oru
The Sun Temple, Royal Island, Kingdom of Oru
ALAWANI
Later that night, Alawani stood quietly in a straight line with the other boys chosen to represent each ring of Oru in the stripping ceremonies.
His terror rose with every breath, and he kept his eyes fixed on his feet as the temple maidens’ eerie songs filled the room.
The stripping chamber was deeper within the temple’s gilded halls than Alawani had ever dared venture before.
The cold air filled his nostrils with the smell of rain, and he inhaled deeply.
It didn’t rain very often, so he knew the sky wouldn’t weep that night, but still, he looked up.
The hole in the dome-shaped chamber let in the moon’s warm red light.
Every thirty days, the moon shed its silver glow for this reddish tinge, the same colour as the sand beneath his feet.
A few paces from him were members of the Holy Order.
Each priest of the Order stood alongside his assigned maiden.
The maidens wore blood-red garments similar to Milúà’s, with sheer veils covering them from head to waist like brides.
He looked at Milúà and noticed hers was different.
Her gown had gold-tipped sleeves that reached her heels, and she wore a gold belt across her waist – these signified she had not yet been bound to a priest. She was to be bound to him if he survived his journey – and she’d made it clear how she felt about that.
Earlier that evening, Milúà had prepared him for the ceremony.
‘I didn’t know the first stripping was tonight. I thought I’d have more time to prepare,’ he said when she broke the news.
She looked him dead in the eye. ‘You can never be prepared for a stripping ceremony. Keep your head down when you get in there, and for the love of all that burns, do not speak until spoken to.’ She fussed over him, making sure his robe was white, spotless, and perfectly arranged across his bare chest.
When he tried to ask her more about what to expect from the ceremony, she glared at him and said, ‘You have one job. Survive. That’s all you have to do.
When you feel like giving up, and death feels like a way out of your suffering, remember the sound of my voice and know that if you die, I’ll find whomever you care about most in this world, and I’ll send them to you in the life beyond. ’
Alawani didn’t doubt that she meant every word, but still, he had to ask, ‘Why do you care? Don’t you just get assigned to another chosen one if I die?’
She shot him a dirty look. ‘Let me make this clear. I do not want you, I do not want to be bound to you and you have no right to be here. When you climb that Red Stone and the gods see their mistake, they will burn out your core and leave you for dead. And I will be …’ She sighed.
‘Do you know what happens to a maiden whose àlùfáà dies? I curse the day the Order asked me to be your maiden but that does nothing to change my fate now. We may not yet be bound in flesh but our lives are linked forever now. So don’t die! ’
‘It’s that easy, is it?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
She placed a cup in his hands. ‘Here, drink this.’
He smelled it and squeezed his face. ‘Is this bitter leaf water?’
‘I don’t know, just drink it.’ When he didn’t move, she added, ‘àlùfáà-àgbà commands it. There’s no scenario in which you don’t and survive. Obey or die. Your choice.’
Alawani waited for more information, but Milúà remained still as a statue, eyes peering into him until he drank every last drop. When he was done, she took the cup and stormed out of the dressing room, leaving him with even more questions than he had had coming into the temple.
Now, in the stripping chamber, here she was, at his side, holding his hand.
‘Stop shaking. They can smell your fear,’ she whispered to him.
Bells rang in rhythmic sequences. Alawani tried not to jump as a ring of fire shot to life around them, and more temple maidens walked in and stood around the altar in a circle, dressed in white, holding fire lanterns and incense plates.
Then, his grandfather walked in slowly, wearing a white crown with strings of cowries like a curtain obstructing his face from view.
The old priest’s floor-length agbádá was made of white and gold a??-òkè with delicate embroideries around its edges.
àlùfáà-àgbà leaned on his golden staff, which stood taller than himself.
The top of it was shaped like a flame and adorned with gold and rubies.
When the priest reached the Red Stone, all the other priests and maidens fell to their knees.
Milúà yanked Alawani down to his knees. ‘Kneel.’
The High Priestess walked in next, dressed and veiled in gold garments similar to the other maidens’ but covered in stones and sparkle, and also wearing a golden crown designed with tongues of flames.
On the other side of the Elder Priest was his maiden and the former High Priestess of Oru.
She was much older than the priestess and wore a gilded gele that reached for the sky instead of a crown.
Alawani’s first guess was that this was the mother of maidens.
The hall was silent for a moment and as side looks and whispers filled the room, Alawani noticed what everyone was likely talking about.
The Lord Regent who was meant to take this ceremony was missing.
His absence was intentional and Alawani couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with his presence there.
‘Rise,’ àlùfáà-àgbà finally said, taking over the ceremony.
He lifted both arms into the air as if controlling them with strings.
‘The gods of the sun and sands have chosen from among us the ones who are pure of heart,’ he pointed at Alawani and the other boys who were now lined up before the Red Stone.
‘Each one of you represents the best of your state, the best of our good kingdom. And here on this stone carved by the gods, you will fulfil your destiny.’
‘à??!’ the priests and maidens replied in unison.
àlùfáà-àgbà’s voice seemed to fade, and all Alawani heard was the sound of his own heartbeat.
For the first time, he considered what would have happened to him if the gods truly hadn’t called him.
What if the Holy Order had made a mistake?
To be chosen, to be àlùfáà, meant the gods had searched your heart and found it pure – and this stripping ceremony was the true test. Alawani played back memories of his life in the blink of an eye.
He wouldn’t call himself a saint by any standard.
‘Every decade since the day of the First Sun, many like you have come to the Red Stone,’ àlùfáà-àgbà’s voice rose louder than Alawani’s thoughts and shocked him back to the present.
‘They return their agbára to the gods who bless them with great power and pure hearts so that they might have a greater purpose. Today you also become a conduit for the gods of the sun and sands, or you die a worthy death. Either way, the gods will decide.’
The priests started chanting in a low baritone. The temple maidens joined in a harmonious tune. And if he wasn’t terrified out of his mind, he might have enjoyed the melody, but at that moment, it felt more like a siren’s song that led only to death.
The first boy climbed the altar, led by his maiden. ‘I bring before you èyítáy of ìlú-òdì, chosen by the gods, a saint among many,’ the temple maiden called out as the boy climbed on the stone.
‘May the gods bless his journey to the sun,’ the room echoed.
àlùfáà-àgbà hovered his hands over the boy. ‘àlùfáà,’ he said, nodding to the priests.
All the priests nodded in agreement, ‘à??.’
Then came the scream. The guttural sound that erupted from the boy’s mouth was like nothing Alawani had ever heard before.
‘Don’t look,’ Milúà said, squeezing his hand.
Alawani’s gaze fell to the ground at her command.
He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes.
None of that blocked out the boy’s screams. Panic flooded his senses, and he tried to force back his agbára, but when he looked at his hands, a dull glow shone through.
He shook his trembling fingers and took in deep breaths.
Somehow his agbára knew he was about to destroy it.
He stared at his palms and forced the light to dim.
Soon his hands would never glow again, his eyes would never turn gold, and his core would burn to ash.
His royal blood made his agbára one of the most powerful in the kingdom.
How would he live without it? His powers were an extension of himself; his essence, his soul.
Alawani’s head shot up when the screams finally died out, and on the Red Stone was the limp body of the boy from ìlú-òdì. The gods had decided he wasn’t àlùfáà. èyítáy of ìlú-òdì was dead and the cries of his maiden filled the air. Alawani’s body went cold with dread, and he wanted to run.
The next boy climbed the Red Stone, and the screaming began again.
His maiden announced him as Bánkólé of ìlú-Oní?nà, chosen by the gods, a saint among many.
Alawani dared to watch this time, and his mouth fell open as flame-coloured smoke rose from the boy, and the screams of agony filled the night air.
The louder his voice, the louder the priests chanted until his voice was gone.
All that echoed were the whimpers and sobs of a broken boy.