Every word that he said drove a knife deeper into L’?r?’s heart. She could hear the words he spoke and understand them, but she couldn’t believe them. They sounded like the stories told by the moonlight with the kids from the village. Like some far-away legend for them to gasp and laugh at but not to live, not reality.
Tears filled her eyes again and they stung. Every revelation filled her with rage. After staring at him blankly for what felt like forever, she said, ‘You lied to me.’
Baba-Ìtàn moved closer to her, but she stepped out of his reach. He raised his sleeve to show a deep cut in his upper arm. ‘I swore a blood oath to your mother. To keep you alive.So no, I didn’t tell you the truth about your mother or your agbára because I wanted to keep you safe.’
‘I could have protected myself with the truth,’ L’?r? said, her eyes burning with tears.
‘Your mother came to Oru to change the will of the gods. Defying everyone in her life who tried to convince her otherwise,’ he smiled bitterly, ‘much like you tried to last night. And like her, you found the enemy there much greater than you imagined. And I’m trying to keep you from meeting the same fate she did.’
‘What did she want from the gods? How did she defy anyone?’
Baba-Ìtàn shook his head, ‘That’s not important now. What matters is what needs to happen next.’
L’?r? looked at this man she’d known her whole life. He was different too. The pillar in her mind’s eye that she saw whenever she thought of her father shook furiously, spitting out sand and dust. Not even the ground beneath her feet felt solid enough to stand on.
‘Where did my mother come from?’
‘The north. From the snow mountains deep in the north.’
L’?r? pulled out a rolled piece of parchment from the wall of scrolls that surrounded them and spread out a map. ‘Show me.’
The map of Oru was similar to the target board L’?r? used when training to throw knives. Seven concentric circles from small to large, each ring a different state, with the royal island as the dot in the centre of the kingdom.
‘The kingdom of Òtútù is far past the borders of Oru.’ Baba-Ìtàn pulled out a smaller piece of parchment from a hidden corner. He put his map over hers and pointed to a cluster of mountains at the top side of the map. ‘I drew this map myself; this is where your mother was from, where you’re from.’
L’?r? slammed her fists down on the table. ‘I am a child of Oru. You’ve said this to me my entire life.’
‘L’?r?, if I sat here to tell you everything, it would take an entire lifetime.’
‘You had an entire lifetime to tell me! That is exactly what I am saying.’
‘Maybe. But teaching you anything about agbára was a risk I was not willing to take. I may not be an Àlùfáà of the Holy Order anymore but I know them, and to them, L’?r?, you are a threat. A threat to our kingdom, our agbára and our lives. And there is nothing but death waiting for you now that they know of you.’ Baba-Ìtàn straightened, confident he’d made the right decision. ‘Time is running out. Those they will send after you won’t hunt in the chaos of daylight. But I assure you, they’re coming. You must leave, journey north and find your people. Only there will you be safe.’
‘You are my people, Bàbá,’ L’?r? said. The reality of his words hit her like a rock to the head.
She looked into Baba-Ìtàn’s glassy eyes, which had filled with tears, and all her anger seemed to melt away into a part of her she kept hidden. On the surface, all she wanted to do was hug the man she called father, so she did.
‘Come with me,’ L’?r? said. He hadn’t said that he wouldn’t, but somehow, in her heart, she knew that her father would not leave his home.
Baba-Ìtàn held her tight in his arms, allowing the tears to roll down his face. ‘Take Kyà.’
‘And Alawani?’ L’?r? said. It was something between a question and a statement.
Baba-Ìtàn shook his head. ‘His grandfather killed your mother. I can’t entrust your life into his hands.’
The pit that now lived inside L’?r?’s stomach sunk even deeper. The truth about Àlùfáà-Àgbà giving the order thattook her mother from her was something she’d done her best to keep far from her consciousness. If she allowed herself to fully understand what that meant, there would be no saving whatever she and Alawani had. There would be no saving her from the brink of madness that would no doubt consume her.
As though Baba-Ìtàn knew what she was thinking, he said, ‘Àlùfáà-Àgbà didn’t just give the order. He killed her himself! I watched it happen,’ his voice broke. ‘After hiding for three blood moons, we made it all the way to the fourth ring before the Order caught up with us. I watched him cut down the woman I loved, unable to do anything but hold you close as you cried in my arms.’
L’?r?’s fingers scraped at her bare chest, instinctively feeling for the necklace her mother had given her as panic flooded her mind and her heart began to ache. Images of Àlùfáà-Àgbà’s raging face at the temple replayed in her mind, distorted through the dark ice of her creation. He threw those fireballs with such fervour, such anger. She still couldn’t believe all his efforts had done nothing to break down her wall.
Her best friend’s grandfather had killed her mother. L’?r? shook her head, scrambling the next thoughts that formed. She couldn’t dwell on that, or she’d never return from that dark place. She focused on the truth she knew, which was that Alawani wasn’t his father or grandfather. He wasn’t an oathbreaker. He was her friend, and he’d proven himself to her more times than she could count. But she couldn’t help but ask herself, did Alawani know what his grandfather had done?
No, she shook her head. ‘He’s coming, Bàbá. All of this has been to save him. I won’t leave him now.’
The door slammed open, and a young boy ran in, holding his chest and struggling to speak. L’?r? recognized him asone of the children who came to listen to the stories Baba-Ìtàn told beneath the tree in their compound.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Baba-Ìtàn asked, startled.
