Alawani bowed as low as his body would allow, which wasn’t very low at all. ‘Forgive me, High Priestess, my body is –’
‘Tales of your incompetence don’t interest me, boy,’ she said in a voice so stern even the temple maidens behind her flinched.
High Priestess À?á turned to Milúà. She turned on her agbára, and a warm dull light flowed through her palms. She placed her hands on the maiden’s face and lifted her off the floor. Milúà didn’t flinch, but Alawani saw how her nails dug into her palms behind her. The High Priestess’s nails traced the edges of Milúà’s face, and still, she didn’t flinch. High Priestess À?á was careful not to burn her skin, but Alawani knew from experience the pain that would be simmering inside Milúà. But he dared not speak. Whatever this was, it was maiden politics, and he’d only make it worse for her.
‘Where is it?’ High Priestess À?á finally asked, dragging her words.
‘Where is what, High Priestess?’ Milúà asked, her voice as soft as the early morning breeze.
High Priestess À?á smiled and nodded. Then took a step back. The maidens searched Milúà thoroughly. From inside her thick hair to beneath the soles of her feet, touching everything and everywhere. Alawani looked away, understanding why Milúà’s fierce resolve seemed to melt away at the sight of the High Priestess.
The maidens found nothing. High Priestess À?á stepped forward one more time and slid her hand into Milúà’s cleavage. The whole time Milúà did not shift from her spot on theground. After what felt like too long a moment, her hand came out empty. She raised her eyebrow as if impressed. She knew Milúà was hiding something.
‘Follow me,’ High Priestess À?á commanded as she walked away from them, a trail of gold lace and temple maidens behind her.
Milúà started to follow but slumped into Alawani as though she missed her step. He quickly caught her with both hands. She straightened and followed behind the High Priestess and her entourage, not once looking back at him. When he checked his trouser pocket, the key was gone.
The sound of the temple bells startled him, and he had a choice to make. He could go to his room, or he could join the rest of his group in the prayer chamber. He turned to look at the wall Milúà disappeared behind towards the Àlùfáà tower. Then sighed and started walking in the opposite direction.
He’d reached the top of the stairs when he met Máywá, one of the remaining chosen. He was from Ìlú-p? – the food basket of the kingdom. Máywá was tall – taller than Alawani – and the six short horizontal dashes on his cheeks revealed his home state even before he spoke. And the boy had a lot to say.
‘I was looking for you. Where did you go? Are you okay?’ Máywá said with a deep bass that made his words echo off the high ceilings in the stairway.
Alawani smiled and nodded slowly. They both limped down the stairs towards the prayer chamber. He didn’t mind that Máywá talked like he had hot yams in his mouth, words pouring and tumbling over themselves. Máywá’s was the only friendly face. It wasn’t often that people lived up to their names, but Máywá definitely did. In the mere hours that Alawani had shared with him, he could tell that the boy truly was a bringer of joy. No matter how fleeting.
As they walked through the hallways, Máywá briefed him on all he could remember from the lessons earlier in the day. He then started telling Alawani about his plans to move his family from their village farm to the Ìlú-?ba – capital city.
He lifted his calloused hands to Alawani’s face. ‘See these hands, they’ve worked hard, but they’d never have earned even half of what we will get once we get inducted as priests. If you’d seen how my mother danced when I got the call. The whole state heard before my father got home that night,’ he chuckled.
Alawani forced a smile. His call to the Order had ruined the life he’d hoped to have. When it came, no one danced. They knew better.
Máywá went on. He wanted it all. The riches and glory but none of the killing. It shocked Alawani to know that the boy had built his dreams on such fickle grounds. There was no planning or dictating how their lives would turn out. There was only the will of the Holy Order. It seemed reckless, stupid even, to plan for such an uncertain future. Despite that, Alawani listened as Máywá spoke of the world he was sure he’d live long enough to see.
‘Did you know our first stripping would be last night?’ Alawani asked when Máywá finally stopped talking.
Máywá paused, then shook his head. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be for a few weeks. Only the priests know the timeline and days for all three ceremonies and I think they intentionally keep it secret too. However, I suppose it makes sense that they’d use the blood moon.’
‘But why this one? Why not the next one? Why the rush?’
Máywá shrugged. ‘I suppose it makes no difference.’
‘But it does. If we don’t know what’s coming and when, then we’ll never be prepared.’
Máywá laughed, ‘I don’t think we could ever be prepared.’
Alawani sighed. ‘Aren’t you scared?’
Máywá shrugged again. ‘I was. Before. But my mother said the gods don’t lie. If they say I am Àlùfáà, then I am, and the Red Stone will prove that. I’m still here, so I suppose there must be some truth in it.’
Alawani didn’t want to burst his friend’s bubble but surviving the first stripping meant nothing when they had two more to go. Each one worse than the one before.
The temple bells rang again, and Alawani watched Máywá head towards the prayer chambers but didn’t follow. The sun had set, and the dark skies revealed the stars that hid behind them. He walked further along the corridors, and the heavy perfume of prayer incense filled the open air. The maidens’ voices echoed as they sang in an ancient dialect. He turned the corner and made his way to the back of the temple, towards the old ruins. The pain had only intensified in the time he’d spent on his feet. A sharp, nauseating ache pierced through his stomach and his arms wrapped tightly around it. It was all he could do not to collapse and wither in misery on the floor. Every part of his being ached for an end to the agony, but this was only the beginning.
Agbára oru is a curse that blinded our kind to the truth of what the gods truly were.
Cursed are those born of the sun and sands.
Cursed are we all who wield the power of the sun.
