‘No,’ Ìyá-Idán said. ‘Because agbára oru creates energy.’ Ìyá-Idán spread open her palms. A glowing orb buzzing with energy formed in her hands, filling the room with her light. ‘Agbára oru creates light and heat. I create this energy from my own being. Of course, the downside of that is that if I use more than the gods have blessed me with or stretch beyond the boundaries of my own powers, my agbára will burn me from the inside out until I turn to ash. Your agbára is the opposite. Agbára òtútù is the power of darkness, cold, void and shadow. You cannot create energy. Your agbára manipulates everything around it to provide the energy it needs. In your case,’ Ìyá-Idán said, holding L’?r?’s hands, ‘you’ve been taking energy from your own body. Killing yourself every time you use it.’
‘Curse the sun!’ L’?r? blurted out. Ìyá-Idán eyed her, and she sighed. ‘Is that what happened with the rhino?’
Ìyá-Idán nodded. ‘You said Alawani’s light also dimmed when you touched him?’
L’?r? nodded.
‘You were siphoning his energy. That’s why the next morning, the black marks on your skin were gone,’ Ìyá-Idán said. ‘I suppose this means you can take someone’s agbára as well as their life force.’
L’?r?’s eyes widened.
‘If you keep using your own energy, you’ll die. It’s that simple.’
‘Help me, please?’
‘I don’t know enough about your agbára to help you survive having it. I can only show what I know based on agbára oru, which might be the wrong way to go about this.’
L’?r? clenched her fists. ‘Then I don’t want this agbára.’
‘It’s not about what you want. It’s about dealing with what you already have. It’s who you are. You can’t change it, the same way you can’t decide to be a tree.’
L’?r? eyed her curiously. ‘Back at the temple, I created a wall of ice crystals, and Àlùfáà-Àgbà used old magic to make fireballs, but they didn’t melt the wall. They didn’t do anything.’
‘He’s not as smart as he thinks,’ Ìyá-Idán said casually. ‘Old magic is as delicate as it is versatile. Say the wrong word or the right word with the wrong accent, and the spell fails. The tongue of our ancestors is sacred, and the incantations are as complicated as they are exquisite. One must build upon simple phrases like the one that wakes your blades in order to see the full strength of the old gods. Àlùfáà-Àgbà has spent most of his life learning the old tongue, and even then, he cannot know it like the direct descendants of this land. In the days before the day of the First Sun, the king who formed this kingdom did not understand the old dialect. Much like the priests now, he wanted power he could wield without spells or rituals. It was his disdain for our tongue that birthed agbára on the day of the First Sun.’
L’?r? thought about every time she’d panicked when her blades or time beads didn’t obey her and glow when she summoned the power in them. How many times had she had to whisper the same phrase over and over in a fight before they finally listened? It made sense now. The incantation had to be perfect.
‘Why can I do old magic if I’m not born of the sands like you?’
‘It’s true that you’re of Òtútù, but the history your Baba-Ìtàn should’ve told you is that your mother’s line dates back to when Òtútù was still part of Oru, and in those days, her family hailed from Ìlú-Idán – the home of the old gods and their magic,’ Ìyá-Idán said plainly. ‘Come here, I’ll teach you how to use the energy around you, so you don’t kill yourself on my watch. Now close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice.’
L’?r? frowned but did as Ìyá-Idán asked.
‘Take deep breaths. With every exhale, I want you to push out your agbára,’ Ìyá-Idán said. ‘As it rises, feel the heat in this room, feel the energy in the air, everything that has life. Your agbára will look for something to pull on before it looks inwards, so give it something else.’
L’?r? did as she said, breathing deeply and slowly. She could feel a warmth deep inside her core. It spread to every part of her body. She felt a prickly feeling against her skin, coming from the inside of her. She could feel the hairs on her body stand at attention. Her fingers tingled as they did when she’d slept on her arm and the blood was rushing back into it. She felt like life was rushing inside her, filling up every part of her body. It was such an intense euphoria; she struggled to keep her balance.
‘Keep your eyes closed and focus. What can you see? What can you hear and feel?’
L’?r? frowned, concentrating on Ìyá-Idán’s voice. When her words died down, L’?r? could hear something. Water – the splashing of water.
She opened her eyes and couldn’t believe what was happening around her. It looked like she had pulled all the light from the moon and trapped it inside her hands. The cool white lightfilled every corner of the room. Dark mist danced around her fingers, and she looked at Ìyá-Idán, who seemed to shiver and smile at her. Around her were specks of white ash floating in the air. L’?r? smiled at the view and threw her head back, allowing it to fall on her face. Each tiny piece sent a cold shiver through her, making her feel even more alive than ever. She could feel the burning sensation at the back of her eyes.
‘Enough, or you will freeze me to death,’ Ìyá-Idán said through chattering teeth.
L’?r? dropped her hands, but the light didn’t fade. The cold didn’t stop growing. Even she could feel it seeping into her skin now. What felt like a calm flow moments ago was now choking her. The light tingling feeling she welcomed turned to what felt like knives piercing her skin from the inside. She screamed in panic, ‘I can’t turn it off!’
‘You can, Mremí!’ Ìyá-Idán said, then quickly corrected herself. ‘L’?r?, just breathe, breathe.’
L’?r? only screamed more, ‘It hurts. Help me!’ She felt her throat closing up. With her hands clutching her throat, she felt her lungs tighten as she struggled for air, and the darkness crept in around her vision. She could feel Ìyá-Idán’s warm hands on her face and see pieces of her through the spots, but soon the darkness grew, and she felt her legs give way under her. Around them the cold fell away like a spell.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ L’?r? wheezed.
‘I have told you, child. You couldn’t hurt me even if you tried,’ Ìyá-Idán smiled. ‘We’ll try again.’
L’?r? smiled back faintly. Too exhausted to keep her head up, she allowed it to fall slowly to the ground. She had so much more to learn about her agbára, but she’d also learned more than she thought possible. She knew exactly what Alawani’s grandfather was afraid of, and he was right.
She would become his worst nightmare.
