Back then, Alawani didn’t know the implications of what his father demanded of him. His father had looked at him sternly with weak eyes. Alawani had trembled under the weight of his father’s words.
‘Say it with me, boy!’ his father had commanded.
Alawani had responded, tears in his eyes and fear in his voice – as was the case now, as Àlùfáà-Àgbà called his name from the altar.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alawani spotted a figure that hadn’t been there when the rituals began. As the shadows cleared, he recognized his oldest friend, the crown heir.
He found himself unable to move from his spot, his eyes fixed on Tofa. His familiar face felt like a sign that his old life was pulling him back from the one he was about to walk into. The hall fell quiet, and looking around him, Alawani realized he was the last of the chosen ones to be called to the Red Stone. Milúà pulled him by his arm and led him to the altar when the Àlùfáà called his name for the second time. Alawani ?mtádé Àkanní of Ìlú-?ba, chosen by the gods, a saint among many. ?mtádé – the child equal to the crown. That was what the name his father gave him meant, and as helay on the altar, he felt the loss of giving up his connection to the crown forever.
His stomach clenched as Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s hands moved over his body slowly. The stone was burning hot, and it took everything he had not to scream as his bare back sank into it. He wriggled until Àlùfáà-Àgbà pinned him down, with words that summoned the powers of the old gods. Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s hands didn’t glow and burn like everyone else’s in the kingdom. Like all other priests, he’d given up his powers and this ritual would make Alawani like him. The journey to the sun started with returning the heat energy – the agbára oru that the gods of the sun and sands had given them at birth. This was his destiny. Afterwards, he would learn the old tongue and the magic of the gods long forgotten by many. It was an honour and privilege, or at least that’s what he told himself, as fear threatened to consume him.
Somehow, Alawani found himself exactly where his father had promised he’d be. He was here now, and he was determined to survive. For what was destiny, if not the call of the gods?
The Elder Priest finally stopped, and nodded. ‘Àlùfáà.’
One of the priests whispered to another, ‘It’s a shame that the Lord Regent allowed this to happen. The gods can’t permit what they forbid. This is not right. A prince on the Red Stone. Abomination.’
‘Mhnnn,’ the priest next to him hummed in agreement.
Alawani didn’t see the man who spoke but heard every word. And if he did, his grandfather would have done too. The Elder Priest froze, and Alawani’s body tensed. Alawani realized what he’d been feeling in the moments before was not fear.Thiswas fear. Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s position and authority over all the priests in the Sun Temple was well known. A long time ago he had ruled over the entire kingdom. Now, theElder Priest ruled over nothing at all, officially. But within the Sun Temple, for as long as the reigning High Priest ruled from the palace as Lord Regent, the old man laid claim and exercised authority over everyone in the temple.
The room fell silent, and although Alawani couldn’t see the priest who had spoken out of turn, he saw the anger on Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s face.
‘Bídún, do you question the choice of our gods?’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà growled, calling the priest by his first name, stripping him of his official title of Àlùfáà. The words were a clear threat. ‘Now we all know that none chosen here will ever be a High Priest or be burdened to sire an heir, not while the crown heir lives. So unless Bídún knows a reason why our future king won’t live till old age, surviving many first suns and many stripping ceremonies, I can’t imagine why the prince cannot be here. Should his survival not be decided by the gods?’
Àlùfáà Bídún spat to the ground, ‘We cannot accept the son of an oath-breaker. Unlike those before him, the king did not fulfil a single promise he’d made to the rings of this kingdom. Even if he were to abandon the outer rings, how about we in the capital who support the stability of this kingdom? We can only thank the gods that, in his incompetence, he didn’t oblige the requests of the outer rings. Imagine if he had lifted the ban on old magic as he had foolishly promised, or reduced the food tax on the third ring. How long before we’d have starved to death? Every priest in this temple knows what we lost when the king broke his promise to give us official positions outside this temple and governing authority in our respective rings. Should we now reward such abhorrent behaviour by defiling our Order with a family that has no integrity? I say to you, my brothers, Prince Alawani is not an Àlùfáà.’
The uncomfortable silence that filled the room extended awkwardly as the Elder Priest walked off the altar to wherethe other priests were gathered. The quiet was finally broken by the sound of the slap that fell upon the priest’s face and rang through the air. ‘How dare you sully my son’s name in my presence?’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà roared. ‘Even in death, he is your king! Is your lust for power so great that you forget the low-born ill-bred pit the gods pulled you out from?’
Alawani was used to being called the oath-breaker’s son. He’d never had anyone defend him before. Most of what he knew about his father was from the whispers of the townspeople. That tainted legacy alone made him unable to break the vows he made both to his father and the Order long before L’?r? found a place in his heart.
All Alawani heard was the sound of his grandfather’s heavy breathing, and he guessed that terror gripped the younger priest’s voice. Only when Àlùfáà Bídún fell to the floor before Àlùfáà-Àgbà did Alawani see his face. The priest’s eyes darted from left to right, and as panic seemed to overwhelm him, he tugged at Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s garments, grunting. Àlùfáà Bídún opened his mouth, but no words came out. His fingers interlocked and folded inwards, touching his chest – the sign of deep regret and begging forgiveness.
Alawani’s eyes widened. Oh, gods, Àlùfáà-Àgbà had seized the priest’s voice with his magic – old magic.
Àlùfáà-Àgbà was unmoved. The old man looked silently at the others who stood around him as if passing on a warning. They all bowed their heads deeply, avoiding his gaze, pretending they did not even know the man who begged on the floor. Àlùfáà-Àgbà then placed his hands on the flailing priest, who begged at his feet, whispering words that Alawani couldn’t understand.
Tension filled the air, and Alawani wanted it all to be over.
‘Speak the truth and the gods will loosen your tongue,’ Àlùfáà-Àgbà said finally to the priest.
Àlùfáà Bídún nodded and rose to his feet, still trembling. He coughed then tried speaking. Panic filled his eyes when no sound came out. Finally, Àlùfáà-Àgbà whispered a spell and nodded slowly, giving him permission to speak. Standing over Alawani, the priest declared with a trembling voice, ‘The prince is Àlùfáà.’ The priest’s voice had returned in a whisper, and Àlùfáà Bídún must have known it was not nearly loud enough to please Àlùfáà-Àgbà, so he spoke louder, ‘The prince is Àlùfáà.’
The room replied in unison, ‘À??,’ agreeing with the priest’s declarations.
Àlùfáà-Àgbà led the group in the ceremonial chant. The older man’s bold features were wrinkled, and his voice sounded like an echo from a gong. His stern look convinced Alawani that if he were to hit Àlùfáà-Àgbà across the face with a rock, the rock would crack and crumble, leaving the old man’s face unscathed. He felt like he was looking at himself through time. Was this what he would become? An old priest, staring down at another young boy who had been called and wondering how a lifetime had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. Would he become just another priest beheading people for using magic meant only for the few? Would he lose himself to this dream he’d been pulled into? Or would he die today?
But when he looked into Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s eyes, what he saw wasn’t his future but his past. He saw himself and his father in him. He knew the voice and the face of the man who wore the cowrie crown because, since the day of his father’s death, he’d feared that Àlùfáà-Àgbà, his grandfather, would one day bring him to this altar as Àlùfáà. Now, for the first time in over ten first suns, he was looking into those eyes, scared that the gods would reject him as they had so many before him.
The chanting stopped, and Alawani didn’t recognize thesound of his own screams. Pain surged through him, and he clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might shatter in his mouth. He felt like he was engulfed in flames; blisters blossomed over his hands and his muscles felt like strings in a tight rope snapping off as the fire within consumed every inch of his body and mind. At that moment, he held on to a single thought. He’d promised her that he’d survive. His Tèmi. This was the time to hold on to that promise. Of all the vows he’d made, this was one he knew he couldn’t break. So, he fought desperately to keep his essence in as his agbára was ripped out of him.
But in the end, he lost the fight.
Tí iná bá n jó l’óko, màjàlá á ?e òfófó
When a farm goes aflame, the flakes fly home to bear the tale.
9
