Chapter 27 Ìlú-Idán, Fourth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
ìlú-Idán, Fourth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
L’?R?
àdùk looked at the ice that covered the exit, which now seemed to have grown a few inches climbing up the wall. She turned to L’?r? and said, ‘?m? Mremí. Mremí’s child.’
àdùk said those words as fact. Not a question. Nothing about her firm gaze made L’?r? think the woman was asking if she really was Mremí’s child. So she nodded in agreement – too stunned to speak.
L’?r? couldn’t take her eyes off the woman, who walked slowly and confidently before them. Step by step, she led them through the city of ìlú-Idán, walking past soldiers and guards who didn’t seem to recognize any of them.
The woman spoke softly without turning back to them, ‘Keep close, and my shadow will hide you from their eyes.’
L’?r?, Alawani and Márùn picked up their pace.
àdùk – loved by many. That’s what the woman’s name meant.
She considered àdùk’s small figure and brisk steps as she paced through the town, each step hardly touching the ground.
Over the woman’s hair was a finely wrapped satin head tie the colour of blood, and over her silk gown, across her waist, was a single row of cowrie beads.
A woman who wanted the world to know how many people had died by her hand.
As they moved through the busy streets with buildings almost as tall as those back at ìlú-ìm, L’?r? noticed the men they passed tilt their heads in the briefest of nods, and the women bend their knees ever so slightly, neither actually uttering a word as they breezed by.
Who was this woman Baba-ìtàn had sent them to?
They walked through the sandy streets of the home of old magic, passing by residents whose ancestors were the first to join the new kingdom of Oru all those first suns ago.
Although L’?r? had never been to this ring before, it was just as Baba-ìtàn’s stories had described: there was a visible drag in their steps, a solemness familiar to anyone scorned by the kingdom.
The people whose execution she’d watched back in the capital city were all from this ring.
The home of old magic. Descendants of the old Idán tribe, filled with the innate strength of old magic but forced to turn away from their old ways.
L’?r? wondered when the tides had turned.
At what point in their history the magic that made these people special had turned into something outlawed by the Order?
Many of them prisoners awaiting death. Those who believed in the gods of old, the myths and tales of their scions.
Those who still knew the old dialect that was now restricted to be spoken only as incantations.
Incantations only to be uttered by priests of the Holy Order.
There were more soldiers in ìlú-Idán than L’?r? had ever seen in any other state.
They clustered in a large group, all on edge, ready to pounce, their hands on their blades.
Some even kept the warm glow of their agbára permanently on for others to see.
The air around the city was thick with tension.
L’?r? stilled and gasped at a figure in the distance, a woman amid a group of soldiers a few yards from them.
àdùk stopped, glared at L’?r?, then turned and continued walking after L’?r? sheepishly whispered, ‘Sorry.’
L’?r? peered through the crowd to catch the face again, but it was gone. Had she seen Command? No. It couldn’t be. Not this far from home. Not coming after her.
L’?r? was just about to look away when she noticed the familiar glitter of gold, and there Milúà was, her white dress stained with blood, her gold armour scorched with flame, and her face an angry scowl. L’?r? froze and pulled Alawani to a stop next to her.
àdùk turned on them. ‘What is it?’
‘We know that maiden. She’s trying to kill us,’ L’?r? replied frantically.
àdùk held her hand in a firm grip. ‘As long as you are with me, they cannot see you. Even if the gods open the skies to look for you, they will find the face of another. Follow me and keep your head down.’
àdùk stopped walking when she noticed L’?r? hadn’t moved from her spot.
‘Enough of this foolishness,’ she sighed as she waved her hand in a flowing motion, as if controlling something.
L’?r? soon noticed as loose sand from the ground rose, swaying in the same direction as the woman’s hand, back and forth repeatedly.
àdùk pointed a finger and spun it. And what had first felt like a bit of wind was now a raging cyclone spinning through the town.
People rushed indoors. Others hid their faces under their scarves.
Even Milúà and the soldiers choked inside the storm.
The heavy wind ended abruptly, but thick dust filled the air, making it hard to see.
The commotion that ensued was the perfect distraction. The entire street corner was in a frenzy.
‘Hold this and follow me,’ àdùk said, handing L’?r? a long piece of cloth that was attached to her waist. Alawani held on to L’?r?’s other hand and Márùn’s, and with noses and mouths covered, they walked into the storm, past Milúà and further into this strange land her father had sent her to.
They reached the woman’s house, and L’?r? couldn’t help but think it was the ugliest house she had ever seen.
The outside of it smelled like medicinal herbs, the rotten kind.
The walls were filled with dried vines and sharp thorns.
They walked inside and met a dark hallway.
Why would anyone live like this? She instinctively gripped Alawani’s hand, and he held on tight, matching her wariness of the stranger.
She only let go when she walked into the light, and the darkness gave way to a stunning room – filled with flowers and colours she’d only ever seen streaked across the sky at the first light of dawn.
It felt as though the sun had chosen this room to display all the hues of its golden shine.
Her eyes widened in awe as she slowly paced around the space, which seemed to come alive with each step she took.
‘Make yourself at home,’ àdùk said plainly.
Inside, the house was much bigger than L’?r? could have imagined.
There were desks, chairs and shelves of books.
If not for the glowing flowers, L’?r? would’ve thought she’d been transported back home.
Above her the flowers formed chandeliers and lines of lower hanging lights that swung from wall to wall.
L’?r? brought out the letter Baba-ìtàn had given her and handed it over to àdùk, who raised her brows in curiosity.
She took it from her and opened it. The next moment, the letter burned in the woman’s palm, and the ashes fell to the ground in a slow puff of cloud.
It happened so quickly that L’?r? almost missed the light of àdùk’s agbára as it came on and off in seconds.
Did she even read the letter? L’?r? remembered the look in her father’s eyes, the earnest desperation with which he spoke when he gave the letter to her.
She did not know what was in it, but it was important.
It had to be. And this woman just burned it?
The woman didn’t even look at where the ashes fell.
The three of them lined up before àdùk and L’?r? stared in disbelief, mouth open as her father’s words swayed to the ground like burnt feathers off a message bird.
‘Who are you?’ asked àdùk, pointing at Márùn.
Márùn removed her hood.
‘I am Márùn. Five of Twelve,’ she said, standing upright.
What does that mean? L’?r? thought.
In the third ring, the man who nearly killed them all was Mfà. That name meant number four. Four and Five. Who was this woman really?
‘Liar,’ àdùk said firmly.
Márùn removed her scarf and unbuttoned her shirt to reveal five short vertical lines across her chest, then hit her palm against her chest five times. ‘I am Márùn,’ she said again.
‘She saved our life,’ L’?r? added.
àdùk frowned, ‘Márùn is dead.’
‘And I am Márùn,’ Márùn said sternly.
àdùk paused and, after an awkwardly long moment, she hit her palm against her chest just as Márùn had done but instead she did it seven times.
L’?r? looked from one to the other and then at Alawani, who shrugged. He was as clueless as she was.
àdùk observed L’?r? and Alawani as though seeing them for the first time.
‘You’re wounded,’ she said, looking at the bruises on L’?r?’s stomach and arms, the cut on her brow and the muddy state of her wrapper.
Alawani wasn’t any better. His trousers were torn and his shirt was scorched where the maiden had burned him, leaving behind a hole and blistered skin.
àdùk brought out a vial from her turban and placed it in L’?r?’s hands. ‘Drink.’
L’?r? frowned. ‘What is this?’
‘Do you think I brought you to my house just to poison you? Drink.’
L’?r? drank the liquid, slowly and apprehensively. If her father trusted àdùk, then so would she. It smelled and tasted like fermented sap from an old tree bark. She bent over and heaved loudly.
‘Don’t you dare throw up on my floor,’ àdùk said firmly.
L’?r? forced the liquid down and it felt like something exploded inside of her.
Making her body so heavy, she could hardly stand.
Her ears rang and for a moment, a flash of white crossed her vision, blinding her, and then it was gone.
Her senses dulled. Even the putrid taste disappeared from her lips.
She felt stronger, her aches eased, the gash on her forehead hadn’t healed but it no longer stung and for the first time in a long time she stood upright without pain.
‘Give it to him,’ àdùk said, pointing at Alawani, who looked even more worried than L’?r? had been.
‘It’s fine, take it,’ L’?r? said, handing the vial over to him.
Alawani drank it in a single gulp and didn’t as much as flinch.
àdùk raised a brow. ‘You’ve had this before then.’
Alawani didn’t respond, he only nodded and returned the empty vial to the woman. Where had he ever taken anything like this?