Epilogue
ìlú-Idán, Fourth Ring, Kingdom of Oru
MREMí
Nine blood moons and a night.
That was how long Mremí hung in the balance between life and death.
As she watched the dark spots grow and the light faded from her vision, she heard the voice of everyone she’d ever loved.
She heard ?niìtàn’s voice echoing through her mind, beckoning her.
She heard her sister’s soft voice singing to her.
She heard her baby’s cry. There were no words when L’?r? called to her, just the hiccupping sound of a child that knows its mother will never return.
In those final moments, as the voices of the soldiers faded, and she could no longer feel the pain in her body as it was dragged from the streets, she heard a thunderous voice filled with bitterness and pain.
Even at the point of death, she recognized her dear mother’s voice.
She could not pick out the words that boomed in her mind, but she knew that her mother would raze this kingdom to the ground for taking her daughter from her.
Nothing will survive the destruction that the kingdom of òtútù will bring.
Nothing will survive the death that comes – not even her mother who brings it.
A war was coming, the north was awakening, and try as she might, Mremí had not brought salvation to Oru. She remained as she was called at home – the one who brings death.