Chapter 19 The Home of Maidens, The Capital City, First Ring, Kingdom of Oru
The Home of Maidens, The Capital City, First Ring, Kingdom of Oru
MILúà
Milúà and Bùnmi woke before the first light, so they could leave before the priests awoke and the first bell rang.
The walk was far, but neither complained nor suggested a faster means of travel.
They weren’t in a hurry to meet whatever awaited them at home.
The home of the maidens that raised those discarded by fate, orphans and the poor alike.
No one knew why the mother of maidens said yes to some and no to others but with every passing first sun, more and more orphans strolled in seeking refuge, more mothers brought their girls seeking favour from the gods.
Milúà often wondered about those who gifted their children – did they know what it truly meant to join the Order?
When Milúà was younger, it had been easier to believe her birth mother was dead rather than somewhere in the kingdom living a life without her.
She couldn’t bear the thought of it. Perhaps Bùnmi was stronger than she gave her credit for.
Bùnmi knew exactly where her mother was.
She knew the face of the woman who abandoned her, and to Milúà’s surprise, Bùnmi had let the woman live.
The kingdom discarded its unwanted girls in Milúà’s home and while it nurtured, trained and turned them into the fiercest warriors in the kingdom, it also watched them cry, bleed and break.
This was the house where their mother still lived and to which they now returned.
ìyá-Ayé was every maiden’s worst nightmare.
She may have been called ‘the mother of life’, but ìyá-Ayé couldn’t be further from it, Milúà thought to herself as they walked the open grounds that led out of the temple.
Two light beads later, the girls turned the corner onto the long road that led to their home.
Milúà’s shoulders drooped, and she walked even more slowly.
Temple maidens, good maidens, maidens who didn’t lose or get their priests killed, never returned home alive.
They served the temple and died, and returned to their mother as ashes in urns.
When Milúà left home a few blood moons ago, she’d sworn that only her charred bones would return to be consecrated with her sisters who’d passed on before her.
Now, all that seemed like the dreams of a na?ve young girl.
Milúà looked sideways at Bùnmi, who bit her lips to keep them from trembling.
She was walking towards a life sentence, and Milúà admired the girl’s courage, however much she quivered.
In all her life, she hadn’t heard, seen or read of any maidens who lost their priests to death at the hands of strangers.
At least her chosen one was alive; poor Bùnmi’s was dead.
The horror of what awaited her sister made Milúà’s blood run cold.
Milúà had seen only five first suns when she realized she had the true sight.
She could see agbára oru within a person as tangibly as she could see the sun.
It wasn’t something she could explain, so she told no one about it, especially not ìyá-Ayé.
The first thing she learned with this ability was to know who was worth fighting and who wasn’t.
While other people blindly went to battle, not knowing how much agbára their opponent had been blessed with, she was never caught off guard.
But it wasn’t often that she met someone whose agbára threatened her.
When she looked at a person with her true sight, a blur of colours and webs of glowing threads filled her vision.
Their agbára appeared to her in tendrils of gold, leading to the shining orb in their chests.
It pained Milúà to know that she could have stopped the escape.
If she had known the girl was in the temple, she’d have found her before she could reach the gates.
If the girl really was on the stairs when Milúà passed by as the priests say, she saw nothing at the time that made her feel the need to use her powers to see. She saw nothing at all.
Back at the temple, as Milúà had watched Bùnmi scream ash from her insides, choking the maiden that killed Máywá, she had known her sister was not long for this world.
And looking into her core now, Milúà confirmed that Bùnmi’s act of rage had in fact ignited the burn within her.
The first thing they learned from their mother was to never give in to rage.
Rage meant carelessness, and carelessness with one’s core could mean triggering the disease that consumed all who pushed their agbára past its limit.
It would be many blood moons before Bùnmi would see the first patch of charred skin appear on her flesh, but by then, it’d be too late.
Her core was already dimming, her light fading, and with it, her life.
‘I should run away,’ Bùnmi said in a flat tone.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Milúà said, meaning every word. ‘She’ll only send me to kill you, and I’m too tired to chase you.’
Bùnmi smiled bitterly. ‘I’m faster than you.’
‘Sure you are.’ Milúà tried to return her smile, but it faltered, and the corners of her lips fell. ‘Don’t worry, she can’t be angry forever.’
‘Yes she can,’ Bùnmi said. ‘And it’s not just that …’ She paused, and her voice dropped. ‘I’ve lost my chance to be High Priestess.’
Milúà didn’t mean to laugh but the chuckle burst out of her.
‘You were never going to be High Priestess.’ Bùnmi scowled but Milúà continued before she could interject.
‘I mean, none of us were ever going to be High Priestess. You know that. Even if Máywá hadn’t died, no àlùfáà from this set of chosen ones is going to be a High Priest. The king is young; in fact, the king hasn’t even ascended the throne.
There’s no need for a new High Priest and so no need for a new High Priestess. Not for many first suns to come.’
‘I suppose that’s true,’ Bùnmi said. ‘But didn’t you ever think about it? Having all that power?’
‘No,’ Milúà said plainly. ‘Best to think of more important things, like surviving each day.’
Bùnmi rolled her eyes.
‘Do you know how many people have to die before a new High Priest is chosen? Many people, including the crown heir and the Lord Regent. So no. I don’t think about being bound to a High Priest who may not be chosen until we’re both dead from old age. I want something more and I want it now.’
‘So, it’s true that ìyá-Ayé is grooming you to replace her.’
Milúà knew that her sisters all thought this.
And although she’d never dare bring it up with their mother, she’d once considered what life with all the power and authority of the name ìyá-Ayé would mean for her.
But that wasn’t what she wanted. She hadn’t decided yet how to get the power she needed but it definitely wasn’t anything that would keep her stuck in that house.
‘No, she’s not,’ Milúà said. ‘At least I don’t think so.’
‘But you’ll take it if she offers,’ Bùnmi said.
Milúà thought back to the boys who gave up their agbára to join the Holy Order and wondered what she’d give up for power.
‘I just wish she’d let me die,’ Bùnmi said defeatedly.
‘She won’t,’ Milúà said plainly. For reasons such as this, Milúà had found it difficult to extend pity to the boys who died on the Red Stone.
They got to die. Dying was easy; living with their mother after such a blunder was a fate worse than death.
Even as she watched the stripping ceremony, which filled her ears with shouts and cries, all she could think of was how it wasn’t much different to the screams and cries she heard growing up.
Sometimes, from her very own mouth. So even though Bùnmi hid her fear of their mother in an angry and stern face, Milúà knew that beneath the maiden’s blood-red exterior was a young, terrified child.
She supposed Bùnmi had been fortunate to have known a mother other than ìyá-Ayé.
At least her birth mother had wanted her – if only for a little while.
Milúà, meanwhile, had been born into ìyá-Ayé’s hands, that much the woman had told her.
Milúà knew nothing about her parents, so she’d assumed she was an orphan, and no one ever told her otherwise.
Until now, after the records she’d found in the library had given her the truth she’d searched for her whole life.
Her mother was a maiden.
Milúà hadn’t seen a death record, or any order for execution, and she hated the hope that bloomed inside her. What if her mother was still alive?
Another light bead later, they arrived at the entrance to the House. The maidens’ home was a collection of single-floored bungalows spread across the large compound.
Bùnmi’s legs nearly buckled at the sight and Milúà moved to hold her up.
‘Don’t let her know your thoughts. Protect yourself.
Protect your mind,’ Milúà said in a low voice.
‘Don’t give her the satisfaction of breaking you, sister.
Remember your training.’ Bùnmi nodded briskly and blinked away her tears.
Inside, Milúà and Bùnmi fell to their knees in unison before their mother, who sat in the centre of the room, waiting.
The room smelled of smoke and crushed herbs, which meant someone had been burned and healed and burned again.
Milúà kept her head down, but every single corner of the room was a fixed image in her mind.
She knew exactly how many paces their mother was from her seat on the elevated dais.
And the feel of the carpet she knelt on.
Many of her childhood tears had soaked deep into its depths.
Milúà even knew how hard the granite walls were.
Her fingers instinctively moved to the scar on her head, remembering where her mother had crashed her head into it.
ìyá-Ayé had said then that since Milúà was as stubborn as a rock, it was worth testing which would break first. Milúà dared a glance at the stone and was proud of its crack.