‘Are you sure?’ Alawani said.
L’?r? nodded furiously. ‘You can draw the design.’
‘You really don’t have to,’ Alawani said, smiling softly. ‘But if you’re sure,’ he added when she raised an eyebrow, ‘I know a place.’
‘Perfect, I’ll get paper and you can sketch something for us,’ she said as she walked towards her house.
She’d heard once that tattoos were a constant reminder of an oath. So even when she wasn’t with him, he’d see it and remember. At least this way, she’d keep him in her life. A blood oath was sacred and couldn’t be broken. Not even by the gods of the sun and sands.
In her mind, the crack in the pillar remained, but now it was sealed and held in place by blood.
?ni ejò bá ti bùj? rí, bó bá rí ekòló, yóò h?
Whoever had once been bitten by a snake, would flee at the sight of an earthworm
5
Ìlú-Ìm – The Home of Knowledge Second Ring, Kingdom of Oru
L’?R?
The next morning L’?r?’s muscles ached from the fight in the arena, and her palm stung every time she tried to make a fist. She quietly went about her work as her father’s apprentice, waiting for the perfect time to sneak out of the house. She hid the tattoo sketch that Alawani had drawn the night before inside her boot, and waited for the perfect opportunity to return to Ìlú-?ba.
The room her father worked in was both a library and a workshop – the largest room in their house. For making books while surrounded by books. The thought excited her when she was younger, but she was grown now, and she knew the truth. Bookbinding was a boring business. It was just the two of them, alone on the far edge of Ìlú-Ìm, living as outcasts.
Baba-Ìtàn called out instructions from his work table without raising his head, as he often did. ‘Wash your hands before touching the papers.’
L’?r? looked at the clean bowl of water he’d left and sighed. Her hands were already clean. But she didn’t say that. She quietly obeyed, turning her back to him so he didn’t see that she’d washed only one hand, keeping the bandaged hand dry.
Making and binding a book took forever, and the endless paper cuts only made her more irritable.
‘Make sure you measure correctly. We can’t afford to waste anything.’
She bit back her words and squinted to find the right point to mark the paper.
Measure, cut, fold and repeat.
‘Did you clean that bone folder before using it?’
Her back was turned to him, so he didn’t see her roll her eyes. She knew he wasn’t really expecting an answer. He just liked to go on and on about her work. It wasn’t like she made mistakes every day. In fact, she hadn’t ruined anything in two days. She was doing well.
L’?r? removed the papers she’d placed in the cast-iron press and placed a new set between boards before tightening the clamp.
‘Why are you grunting so much? Did you remember to put oil in that press?’
No. She’d forgotten. She brushed some used cooking oil on the joints and rubbed her hands on her apron before returning to her work table.
‘Wash those hands again.’
Curse the sun. He was insufferable sometimes. She’d already wiped them. There was no need to do it again. She peeked at him. He was working quickly and precisely, looping the needle and threading through the holes in the spine of the papers held firmly in the sewing frame. His head was still down. She was sure he hadn’t looked up even once.
‘It’s not like the people of this town care how the books turn out,’ L’?r? said.
‘If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well,’ Baba-Ìtàn said.
‘For what they pay us, it’s not worth doing at all. Some books take days, and we get what? Two sun coins for a whole book?’
‘It’s enough not to starve, and that’s all that matters.’
