Chapter 20 Ìlú-Opọ, Third Ring, Kingdom of Oru #2
Alawani shifted and motioned for her to join him. She stooped low and saw it. On the tree’s trunk was a carving: àlùfáà.
‘Máywá told me he wrote this on the day he got the call,’ Alawani said with a sad smile as he rubbed the carving.
‘He wanted to mark the very spot he was in when the gods looked upon him with favour and granted him a destiny so great his name would forever be remembered.’ Alawani sobbed as he pressed his fingers into the tree, feeling out every letter. ‘Now, no one will know his name.’
L’?r? reached for Alawani’s hand. ‘We know his name. We won’t ever forget it.’
A drop of water landed on L’?r?’s forehead, and as she moved to wipe it, another one dropped.
Then another. L’?r? hadn’t felt rain in many first suns, and she wished it hadn’t picked this moment to fall.
Soon, the rain was pouring down on them.
Alawani remained crouched at the tree, staring at the word, rubbing at it as if he was trying to scratch it off.
L’?r? didn’t know what to do or say. She’d gone to the temple to save a life but had caused the death of another.
She should never have taken Máywá out of the tower.
That was her greatest mistake, and she knew she’d never forgive herself.
L’?r? placed her hand on Alawani’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
L’?r? frowned, but when she saw his face taut with grief, she sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have forced him to find you.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’
‘I know, I thought –’
‘Why did you lie to them?’ Alawani said, his voice loud in the downpour.
‘He was àlùfáà, you know. After the stripping, he was first to recover, moving around as if nothing had happened. We all knew it. They knew it. If anyone were to survive the Red Stone, it would have been him,’ Alawani pointed at Máywá’s house, ‘And you lied to them!’
‘Máywá asked me to. This is what he wanted. You know that,’ L’?r? seethed.
Alawani scoffed. ‘What he wanted was to live!’
‘Do you think they won’t turn us over to the Holy Order if we tell them the truth?’ L’?r? asked.
‘You have all the answers, don’t you? You know everything.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘What’s not fair is Máywá dying.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? Do you think I don’t think about him every single moment?
I know this is my fault. I don’t need you to remind me,’ L’?r? shouted back at him.
The rain had now soaked through her clothes, and the shiver she felt only enraged her.
Frost pricked at her fingers, and she formed tight fists at her side.
‘You talk about not wanting to be a coward. You were being a coward, walking into a fate that you knew wasn’t yours.
The gods didn’t call you, your grandfather did.
I shouldn’t have had to save you. You should’ve had the sense to never give in to something you don’t even believe in! ’
‘You don’t know what I believe in,’ Alawani said coldly. ‘I didn’t ask you to save me! All of this! You did all of this on your own. And of course I had to come with you; I couldn’t let my grandfather kill you the way he did your mother.’
L’?r?’s words caught in her throat. Her face fell, and her open mouth refused to speak or shut.
This was her greatest fear. She could handle anything else, but what she couldn’t deal with was him telling her that all this was a mistake.
Like a statue, she stood still, allowing the rain to pour over her.
She raised her hand to her neck, looking for her pendant out of habit.
The bare skin sent a rush of panic over her as she watched him walk away.
She fell to her knees and wrapped her hands around herself, desperately wishing for her father’s arms to be holding her.
She placed her hands on the wet ground to steady herself, and the cold from the grass seeped into her body, chilling her bones.
Around her, she could feel every drop of rain even before it touched her.
This was how she’d felt before – when she’d killed the rhino, when she was frozen in the staircase.
She squeezed against the ground, forcing down the agbára fighting its way to the surface.
Not now. She gritted her teeth, fighting the pain of keeping down this thing inside her.
L’?r? flinched as someone’s arms touched her, and for a moment, she thought she’d conjured her father, but when she looked up, she met Alawani’s wet eyes, looking at her remorsefully.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that,’ he said, wiping her tears despite the rain.
‘I wish more than anything that the Order did not know my name.’
Rain seeped through the leaves of the tree, soaking through her clothes to her bones.
Thunder exploded in the air around them, and L’?r? flinched as lightning streaked through the sky.
They stood quietly in each other’s embrace, shivering under the tree until the rain subsided.
L’?r? felt her anger seep away as she held on to her best friend and wished with all her mind that things were different.
By the time the rain cleared, L’?r? and Alawani were seated by the tree, quietly leaning on each other. L’?r? sprang up at the sound of muddy footsteps behind her. She walked to meet Máywá’s mother a few feet from the tree, leaving Alawani behind.
The woman regarded them both, then sighed softly. ‘Thank you for bringing news of my son. You’re kind to have come all this way.’
‘Mama, I’m so sorry to have had to bring you bad news. Your son was an amazing person, and I knew him only briefly, but I know he loved you so much,’ L’?r? said. This wasn’t a lie. Only someone who loved their parents would use their dying breaths to send a final word to them.
‘Thank you,’ Máywá’s mother said plainly. ‘When Máywá was chosen, we knew what it meant. We prayed and hoped that the gods who chose him once would do so again, but it seems …’ her voice trailed off. She picked up again, ‘It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done.’
L’?r? bit her tongue.
‘I have his last words. He gave me his secrets to pass on to you. His à?írí.’
The woman’s eyes lit up, and L’?r? smiled faintly, knowing that this was a consolation in some ways.
L’?r? leaned close to Máywá’s mother and repeated the words Máywá had said to her so quietly that the wind couldn’t carry them away.
The woman smiled, and she closed her eyes in gratitude.
Máywá’s last words revealed precisely the person he was, and it was exactly what his mother needed to hear.
L’?r? had done her duty and would never again utter those words in her lifetime.
They were now for another to carry. With any luck, she’d forget them altogether.
‘My son rests peacefully in the afterlife because of you. Thank you, L’?r?,’ Máywá’s mother said, embracing L’?r? in her arms and kissing her cheek. ‘You should go before the Holy Order comes for you. You and the prince aren’t safe here.’
‘Ma?’ L’?r? asked, stunned.
The woman eyed Alawani in the distance. ‘The entire kingdom knows the prince was called too, and that boy looks too much like his father to go around thinking he won’t be recognized.
The town criers did not stop talking about him for days since the call.
So if he is here, then something is wrong.
I’m old, but I’m not foolish. My son did not die on the Red Stone.
Whatever it was, my Máywá is gone, may his soul find the city of light. ’
‘May his soul find the city of light,’ L’?r? responded grimly. ‘He was too good for the Holy Order; they did not deserve someone like him.’
The woman smiled and continued, ‘You have brought my son’s à?írí to me, so I am grateful. But if the prince is here, he’s broken his oath, and soon, the Holy Order will come to claim what is theirs. You can’t stay here.’ Máywá’s mother pointed at a shed in the distance. ‘Take our horse and leave.’
L’?r? stood before her, too shocked to speak.
‘I –’ she tried to explain, but she didn’t even know where to start.
‘Child.’ The older woman leaned closer. ‘I don’t know how you got yourself in the middle of this. Or how you were at my son’s side in his dying moment. But this journey with the prince can’t end well. The Called cannot be Uncalled. For as the gods have spoken –’
‘So their will must be done.’ L’?r? wasn’t a believer, but even she knew those words.
‘May the gods of the sun and sands guide your path,’ Máywá’s mother said and walked back into the house.
L’?r? led Alawani to the shed and saddled the horse. The rain started drizzling again as they rode away, leaving behind the ghost of their friend.