Chapter 23 Ìlú-Opọ, Third Ring, Kingdom of Oru #3
‘Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice, and sometimes, I wish I could do something to fix the damage he caused. But what authority does a mere prince have to fix his father’s legacy?
With no authority and no inheritance, born nothing more than a commoner.
I think that’s why I accepted the call. I thought maybe as a priest, I could do something good for this kingdom.
Anything at all. Even though I didn’t know what I agreed to when he made me commit to a fate I was too young even to understand.
I just … I don’t want his legacy following me all my life like a curse.
I mean, I loved him. He was my father after all.
My memories of him are fading with time, but I remember that he was tall, and when I looked up at him, his eyes always shone like the sun, and it was like looking into the eyes of a god.
I remember his laugh as he carried me in his arms and when he held my head close to his, I remember the smell of kola nut that I hated then but miss now.
But there are parts to him that I didn’t know and when I woke after the Red Stone trial, my grandfather told me some of what my father did in his final days and the life they had planned for me from the moment I was born, and I can’t reconcile what I remember with what I know.
With what people say about him, I am terrified of becoming him. ’
L’?r? moved closer to him. ‘Look at me.’ She held his chin and slowly dragged it to face her. ‘I’m still angry with you, and you’re still an idiot, but you’re nothing like your father. Do you hear me?’
Alawani never spoke about his father unless it came to honouring his wish to accept the call. So when the corner of his lips tilted into a smile, she mirrored his expression.
The room fell silent – only the sticky floorboards creaked beneath their weight as they shifted in place. L’?r? sighed and stared out the window, mulling over what to say, hating the tightness in her chest.
She turned to see Alawani looking at her.
Still fighting the mixed emotions in her guts, her lips twitched as she noticed the way the moonlight fell on his face, making his brown eyes shine brilliantly in the dim room.
She had more to say but something made her stop, her words hooked like an arrow pulled tight, waiting to be released.
He stretched out and touched her thigh. ‘I’m sorry for what I said back at the farm.
I know none of this is your fault, and I shouldn’t have said it was.
I am truly sorry.’ By this time, the drink had slowed his words.
She stared at his hand on her thigh. She liked the feeling, even though it made her heart nearly burst out of her chest. Her eyes met his, and he quickly removed his hand, and she smiled.
‘It’s fine. You say stupid things sometimes. I can’t blame you for having half a brain.’
He shoved her softly, and she fell off balance, landing on her back, giggling. Alawani shifted and lay down next to her, and they both stared at the ceiling. L’?r? pulled out her pouch and took out the cowrie shell that Baba-ìtàn had given her. ‘This belonged to my mother,’ she said.
‘Did Baba-ìtàn tell you about her?’
L’?r? nodded. ‘Not enough. I want to know everything about her and why she came here. She’s always felt like a fading memory, but with this,’ she said, holding out the cowrie shell, ‘I feel like she’s with me.
I wish I could put it in my hair or somewhere I could see it, not hide it away like a secret. ’
Alawani turned towards her and smiled. He slowly raised her top, revealing the beads strung in layers around her waist. L’?r?’s stomach nearly burst with the nerves that shivered in them as his hands found the end of the rope.
He untied a string with his teeth, and she felt every part of her body come alive under his touch.
He slid the cowrie shell in and tied it up.
‘There,’ he said, smiling up at her. ‘She’ll always be with you. ’
L’?r? was so flustered that she couldn’t think of what to say.
She just stared at him, smiling sheepishly.
As they lay on the floor together, Alawani lifted his hand and, using his agbára, dimmed the lantern and made dancing shadows with his fingers.
L’?r? smiled, and then a thought crossed her mind.
She sat up quickly and pulled him with her.
They faced each other again. She pulled off her gloves and moved her hand closer to him, filling the space between them. ‘Show me your agbára.’
He eyed her cautiously then slowly stretched out his hand and a warm glow filled the room.
‘How do you do that?’ she said, eyes wide, reaching for his palm.
He pulled away from her. ‘No. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t,’ she said. ‘If you teach me how you do that, maybe I’ll be able to do the same? I want to know how to use this agbára. I want to know how to summon it without facing certain death.’
Alawani hesitated but slowly moved his hands closer to hers and gently touched her fingers with his glowing hand.
As his fingers touched hers, a spark burst out from where they met, and L’?r? flinched and pulled back.
Alawani withdrew his agbára immediately.
‘I told you!’ he said. ‘Are you okay? Let me see,’ he asked, leaning over and pulling her hand from her back where she hid it.
He touched her arm, and she immediately let go, allowing him to move her fingers to his lips.
He kissed them. Her racing heart seemed to stop at that moment, skipping many beats before restarting, taking the air out of her lungs.
The shock of his agbára had stung, but this felt like something wild dancing in her guts. She forced out a breath and smiled.
‘Let’s try again,’ she said, hoping the right spark would trigger her magic.
‘No,’ Alawani said. ‘I won’t hurt you again.’
He was talking about his powers. But that treacherous little heart took it to mean more, and she let it.
‘I’ve always wanted agbára in the same way you have it. Now I have this, I’m terrified and I don’t know what to do with it. What I’d do to have nothing at all again.’
He frowned. ‘But … you didn’t ever have nothing. I saw you use the blades Baba-ìtàn gave you. I’ve seen you wield agbára oru in those blades better than most soldiers I know.’
‘Old magic,’ she said quietly, shame filling her voice as she spoke.
‘What?’
‘Baba-ìtàn taught me how to use my blades when I started training at Gbàgede. The power is in the blades and the words, not in me.’
‘Old magic,’ Alawani said, shocked. ‘That’s so reckless. Anyone could’ve caught you. My goodness, they’d have chopped off your head.’
‘It was better than not having anything at all. You don’t know what it was like to be the only one beneath the sun to have no agbára,’ L’?r? said.
She felt the edge in her voice and the anger she’d forced down threatening to spark up again.
She took a deep breath. ‘I just don’t want to hurt anyone.
I want to control this without hurting myself, either. ’
L’?r? folded up her sleeves and revealed her arm. Streaks of black lines ran the length of her forearms. Again.
‘What happened?’ Alawani asked in shock, moving closer.
‘I feel it all the time. Ever since the temple, I feel it buzzing beneath my skin, just waiting for the slightest trigger. It hurts keeping it down, and I’m always trying to keep it down. These appeared at the temple; they disappeared for a while and returned last night. I’m scared, Alawani.’
Alawani raised her hand to his eye level and softly rubbed against the marks. He shook his head. ‘I only know how to use agbára oru – but I can try to teach you that, in case it helps. What did Baba-ìtàn teach you?’
L’?r? shook her head, ‘Nothing. He taught me a few lines of old magic and that’s it. Tell me everything.’
Alawani smiled. ‘Well, the first thing we teach children is that agbára oru is the magic of the sun, and there are so many incredible things we can do with it. We all try to explore them but the most important thing to remember is, don’t push too far.
In the days of the First Sun when people first got agbára from the gods, they were reckless with this gift.
Every other person died from the burn because they kept burning out their cores exploring new ways to use their agbára. ’
L’?r?’s heart ached at how little she knew about these powers she’d been desperate for all her life.
She’d have asked him about this much earlier if she hadn’t been terrified of exposing herself.
After all, these are all things people learn from their parents but if her last conversation with Baba-ìtàn was anything to go by, he was proud of his decision to keep everything agbára-related from her.
Surely knowing the history of the world she was forced to live in would have helped prepare her more than anything else but it was too late for what should or could have been now.
She had to carve out her own path now. Starting with understanding this magic of the gods.
She lifted her gaze, ‘I’ve seen you do crazy things with your agbára. Aren’t you afraid of the burn?’