Alawani had just stepped off the bridge connecting the capital city to the royal island when a figure approached him. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he felt the weight of their eyes upon him. He looked at his time beads. Three past midnight. Nothing good happened this late at night, so he ducked into an alleyway, quiet and empty, lit only by the moon, hoping the figure hadn’t noticed him disappearing. The footsteps got quicker, and he snaked through the alley until he reached a dead end. Trapped by high walls, he ignited his agbára and waited until the person walked into the light from his glowing palms. A maiden. A temple maiden. His heart stopped.
Before him was a young woman as beautiful as the night itself. When she looked at him, it felt like he was looking into the depth of the river he had just crossed. She wore the familiar blood-red ensemble, a fitted embroidered bodice that revealed her curves, while a flowing skirt of iridescent silk trailed behind her. Her hair was so dark that only the threads of gold in each braid allowed him to see where they started and stopped. And when she spoke, chills ran down his spine, and he could feel his heart failing.
‘Prince Alawani, son of our late king Aláàfin ?látúnjí.’
Together, Alawani and the maiden echoed, ‘May his soul find the city of light,’ as was customary to proclaim after the name of the dead was mentioned. The words had poured out of him without a second thought.
The maiden continued, not acknowledging his participation, ‘And son of our Royal Mother, Ìyáàfin Olorì Atinu?k. The gods of the sun and sands call you to fulfil your destiny. They have spoken, and the High Priest of the Holy Order of the Sun Temple has confirmed the call. You are to be chosen from among many, blessed to be one of the Called, a priest of the Order.’
The maiden pulled out a string of white coral beads and stepped closer to him. Alawani backed away from her.
‘No,’ he burst out.
She tilted her head, and somehow, the deep frown lines creased across her face did not make her any less beautiful. She exhaled slowly, as though running out of patience with him, and repeated her words again.
‘No,’ Alawani said, interrupting her.
She snapped, ‘The gods do not ask your permission. They command, and you obey. You have been called,’ she said, holding up the beads. ‘Come here and take this. This is your fate.’
‘No one of royal blood has ever been called to be a priest of the Holy Order. Not since the day of the First Sun. It is forbidden.’
‘Who are you to tell the gods what is forbidden?’
‘Does your Order not claim that the gods forbid the crown to pass down from generation to generation within the same family lines? Is cutting off all connection to past royals not the reason why the Holy Order picks a new High Priest to sire a new heir every time a sovereign dies? I may not know much about what goes on within that temple, but I know that this should not be possible. A prince in the Holy Order? It has never been done.’
‘The gods decide what is forbidden, and they have called you.’
‘I said no,’ Alawani said, moving further away from her. ‘Tell the gods, the High Priest, and my grandfather.’ Alawani’s grandfather no longer held the titles of High Priest and Lord Regent – which he gained after the gods called him nearly seventy-six first suns ago – but remained a force to be reckoned with in the temple. ‘Tell them you asked, and I said no.’
‘Lord Regent Babátúndé confirmed your call, Prince of Oru. Your grandfather had nothing to do with it.’
Alawani scoffed, ‘You want me to believe that the former High Priest of the Sun Temple had no influence over those called to join his Order?’
The maiden sighed again, and this time, when she spoke, she did so in a low, even tone as those recalling the words of another. ‘Every decade since the day of the First Sun, many like you have been called to the Red Stone to return their agbára to the gods so that they might have a greater purpose. Today, you have been called to become a conduit for the gods of the sun and sands.’
‘I will not die for your gods.’
The maiden tossed the beads at his chest. ‘Do you know how many boys would give their lives for the honour of being called? How many will drop everything they have ever known or loved to even be considered worthy of the Order? You’re right. No one as ungrateful and ignorant as you are deserves to be an Àlùfáà of the Holy Order, yet here we are.’
‘If you don’t think I should do this, then why are you here?’ Alawani said, watching as the poise and grace with which the maiden had walked up to him faded with every word she spoke in anger.
‘It is not my place to question the will of the gods, nor is it yours, no matter how unprecedented their decisions may seem.’
‘Who are you?’ Alawani asked cautiously.
‘I am Milúà, daughter of Ìyá-Ayé, sword of the Sun Temple and spear of the crown. And I am your maiden.’ Then she added quietly, ‘Unfortunately.’
‘Unfortunately?’ he said, closing the gap between them.
She reached out in a quick move and cut him with a sharp blade. He didn’t see where she pulled the blade from or where she returned it to, but a thin line of blood blossomed on his arms, and he flinched away from her.
‘Curse the sun, what have you done?’
She stood silent before him, and within a few heartbeats, he could no longer feel his body, and the world swayed as he fell. He braced for impact, but it never came. Instead, Milúà caught him, put him to rest against a wall, and knelt before him.
‘You poisoned me,’ he managed to say as she blurred in and out of his vision. His body was still stiff and out of his control.
‘Listen to me,’ she said as she knelt before him. ‘Earlier tonight, the priests of the Holy Order gathered to witness the names of the people who were called by the gods for the trials. Six blood moons ago, the High Priest sent out his Àlùfáà in pairs to live among the six rings of Oru, collecting the names of those they believed the gods wanted in the trials. Tonight, six gourds were placed before the Lord Regent, containing stones with those names inscribed upon them. A stone was pulled from the darkness of each gourd, and the one representing the capital city had your name on it. Prince Alawani.’
