Chapter 42 Ìlú-Òdì, Sixth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
ìlú-òdì, Sixth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
ALAWANI
Alawani and Milúà rode back into the city with Tofa nearly passed out in between them as they raced to the Lord General’s keep.
The battle rhino thundered through the graveyard, its heavy steps slowed by gusts of strong wind.
The sandstorm had worsened and it blocked their vision, and grated against their skin, filling every part of their clothes with sand.
Curse you, oath-breaker. The wind carried L’?r?’s last words as Alawani raced away from the wall.
Tears stung his sand-filled eyes, and he wanted to go back and hold her, and tell her he loved her.
Had he really done the right thing? His heart broke as he remembered his grandfather’s words: Remember the son of whom you are.
He knew he was bound never to forget the destiny he was born for.
àlùfáà-àgbà. The man who changed his life. The Elder Priest who called him àlùfáà. His father’s father. The one with a plan to change the world. Alawani wished more than anything that his grandfather had devised a plan that didn’t include him. But fate was never so kind.
He’d only seen four first suns when he met his grandfather for the first time.
It was shortly after his father’s death.
He’d been in the king’s chambers crying at the foot of his father’s bed when a tall man dressed in white linen came and sat beside him.
Alawani recalled those words he’d put out of his head: ‘Wipe your tears, my child. The king is gone, but you will be greater than he ever was.’
He had done his best to block those words, mostly because as he grew to understand his true insignificance as a prince in the kingdom of Oru, it felt like a cruel thing to say to a grieving child.
So, while he had been unaware of the true nature of his grandfather’s plans, the moment he had seen L’?r? in the temple of the gods, he had determined to rescue her.
He knew that if he did not go with her, if he didn’t keep her safe from the wrath she’d unleashed for such an unthinkable crime, she would not see the following dawn.
For the àlùfáà-àgbà of the Order of the Sun Temple was not a kind or forgiving man.
So it was not a surprise when the Elder Priest plagued his dreams every time he lay to sleep.
àlùfáà-àgbà invaded his mind in a storm of rage, instructing him to return, revealing the plans he and his father had made.
Alawani had considered telling L’?r? some of the things his grandfather said to him as they raced towards the edge of the kingdom.
But how would she have trusted him to lead her to safety, if he did?
On the first night after their escape, àlùfáà-àgbà had come to him at the farm inn with a story Alawani could not have imagined in his wildest dreams. ‘A long time ago,’ the old man had begun, ‘there was a young boy from ìlú-Oní?nà – home to the weak and poor, the fifth ring of servitude – who thought his entire world would begin and end in the thatched mud pile he called home.’ àlùfáà-àgbà had smiled down at Alawani as his image cleared to show his true form.
Alawani knew he was dreaming, but it felt so real – his grandfather’s face and voice were as clear as if Alawani truly stood in the old man’s presence.
Terror kept him frozen, listening, and unable to escape whatever magic the Elder Priest used to tether him to the realm.
‘The gods called that boy àlùfáà. I was that boy,’ his grandfather said proudly.
‘The greatest day of my life was when your father, my son and your king, was born. The kingdom rejoiced. We threw a party like never before. The people did not sleep for seven days, and the talking drums didn’t stop beating.
A new king, a new era, a new kingdom. I had great plans for this kingdom and for my people, and as Lord Regent, I wanted to fulfil them all.
But like every regent, I had to yield the throne to my son.
’ He sighed. ‘Your father started well, but he had his demons. Then the gods gave me a vision. He wasn’t the son to bring glory to our kingdom.
That son would be you and every subsequent son born to our family. ’
Alawani hadn’t understood what his grandfather was talking about.
That wasn’t the way the throne of Oru worked – the crown did not pass from father to son, as it once had before the day of the First Sun.
It always went to the firstborn child of the next High Priest. A new child born of a gods-chosen àlùfáà.
He wanted to ask, but he could not – when he tried to speak, pain jolted through him, as if the priest was holding him down, keeping him silent.
‘Allow me to explain,’ àlùfáà-àgbà had said.
‘Our family line must continue. Our seed must always be on the throne of Oru. The gods have declared it. Only then will our kingdom be safe from the hands of our enemies in the north. Our family will wage war on this continent, and bring under the command of the gods of the sun and sands all who have scorned their names. Your father understood this.’ He nodded.
‘Yes, yes, he did. So we did what had to be done. My child, we had to make it so that the call for àlùfáà would be within the same sun cycle as the ascension to the throne.’ He choked on his words, and Alawani thought he saw tears form in his eyes.
Everything stilled around them, and Alawani could hear the loud drumming of his own racing heart. He had thought the timing meant that he could never be selected as High Priest.
àlùfáà-àgbà’s gruff voice broke through his thoughts.
‘Using the temple records and going back as far as the day of the First Sun, we worked out the timelines for the next few cycles of stripping ceremonies. Our calculations led us here. Where you, a prince of Oru, can become part of the Holy Order. It had to be the gods’ will to give us such a wondrous moment as this.
The Order allowed your entry because of how young the crown heir is and how many more first suns and stripping ceremonies they expect him to see.
But they did not consider that kings die all the time.
Most of all, they did not consider the real threat of their decision and expected you to die long before your final stripping.
But this moment is one we created knowing they would want to test you with the Red Stone first, and once you passed, our plans could begin.
’ He laughed. ‘I suppose I cannot blame them for underestimating you, but in doing so they underestimated me and my ability to keep you from the brink of death. I may have yielded my position of High Priest to Babátúndé, but the gods have taken their power from me.’
Alawani found the voice that had been stuck in his throat. Despite the throbbing pain, the need to get his words out was stronger. ‘How?’
‘The àgbo that Milúà gave to you. What did you think it was for? Did you not feel its effects as it pulled your soul back into your body?’
The realization struck Alawani like thunder, and he remembered.
He had felt it. He knew that with every sip, his breaths came easier, and the pain dulled, but he never would have imagined that he was cheating death.
That he had cheated. With this thought came another.
L’?r? did all she did for nothing. His life was never in danger.
‘How could you?’ Alawani’s strained voice croaked with fury.
‘Your self-righteousness serves no one. The Red Stone will not claim you. Not after all we have sacrificed for you. Not when my son sacrificed his life for you. If he had not left the throne when he did, you would never have had the chance to be a part of this cycle of chosen ones. As your fate had decided before I intervened, you would have been nothing.’
‘What do you mean leave the throne?’ Alawani’s anger fuelled his core. ‘Did you kill my father?’
‘No! Never. The king took his own life. I only provided the means.’
‘The means?’
‘The king chose poison. May his soul find the city of light.’
Alawani’s voice was raw, ‘You killed him!’
‘Your father knew and understood our family’s purpose.
His sacrifice made it so that you could be the right age to join the Order, just as Tofa approaches his coronation.
Another ten first suns on the throne, and you’d have been too old to be called.
But this way, you are where you need to be – young enough to be called to the stripping ceremony that is close enough to a king’s coronation to make our plans work.
Moments like these are not coincidences; the gods placed this plan in my heart many first suns before even your father was old enough to walk.
My son sacrificed his life because he understood that we cannot continue this system of kings, regents, priests and heirs.
We need a stable throne, a true line blessed and chosen by the gods.
The crown must return to our bloodline. We are the true heirs of Oru, and we must occupy the throne until the day the sun falls from the sky. ’
Alawani’s heart had raced as he tried to absorb the shock of the news.
His tears poured as he remembered his father’s words, the ones he made him repeatedly chant, even on his deathbed.
Death may come for us, but our line will never end.
So this was what he truly meant. This was what he’d agreed to.
As if his grandfather could hear his thoughts, he said those exact words himself.
‘Your plan can’t work. The order can’t choose a High Priest until the death of a king. Tofa is young and will ascend the throne in a few blood moons. He won’t die. Your plan depends on the death of a healthy boy you trained yourself and you can’t kill him.’