Chapter 18

Chapter 18

‘Ihave to leave the kəthi íkhara.’

Kaniz shot Sana’a a searching look. ‘Why?’

The two women stood side by side in the communal showers of the Sābər Arena gymnasium, washing off sweat from a vigorous training session.

Steam hung like a thick veil, chatter and laughter echoing off the tiled walls. The rush of water provided a steady rhythmic backdrop to the symphony of kavaliers. Each voice and splash added to the lively cacophony after a day of battle and toil.

‘For a short while only,’ Sana’a qualified, letting the heated jets flow over her aching arm muscles.

‘How long is a short time?’

Sana’a shrugged, sticking her hair under the blast of liquid.

‘You can’t tarry,’ Kaniz sighed. The team requires you, and our sponsor needs you. She’s been making bank for weeks, and the profit has been sweet.’

Twas true. Sana’a’s bouts were surging in popularity.

Katánians were flooding the arena from around the planet to see the infamous Shotelai blade master.

She’d defeated every contender thrown against her since, leaving them humbled in the process. Her reputation was growing, and the coliseum roared with excitement each time she stepped into the ring.

Even a few kəthi kavaliers had begun shaping their koyas into shotels, convinced that the weapon’s design assured victory.

It wasn’t, which was why Sana’a cared not one iota about their misconstrued efforts.

‘Will you be back in time to face off with K’grona?’ Kaniz asked.

Sana’a gave a small smile. She’d spotted her upcoming opponent from afar one morning.

He was a towering figure, a hulking monster of a man with muscles bulging beneath his skin and a menacing glint in his eyes.

‘I will.’

Kaniz squinted closer, her expression intense. ‘Please don’t miss this one. The punters and bookmakers are frothing at the mouth. But be aware that K’grona is a stooge of Kalila. She’s put much on the line for him and may even jack him up on dark íkan to win the fight. He’s also got one of the most brutal reps in Katánē and beyond. Rumour is he once downed thirty Iccythrians in one night. He has no qualms drawing blood, too, but he knows the rules and won’t go for the kill.’

‘Unless she asks it of him or makes him.’

‘Fokk, she possibly will go that far,’ Kaniz murmured. ‘She’s anxious for a score, and desperate souls will do anything to survive.’

It was the same thing Kaniz repeated to Kesia after team training the next day, which their sponsor had joined, given her deep investment in the coming bout.

While the rest of the kəthi members headed off to a meal, Kesia pulled Kaniz and Sana’a into a huddle.

‘Be careful,’ Kesia urged. ‘Guard your six and find a way to close your ears off to dampen K’grona’s screeches. He’s a screaming píha who uses an ear-jarring high decibel shriek —louder than a forest of jackhammers, to discombobulate the enemy before he pounces.’

Sana’a shrugged. ‘Doesn’t he know that a screeching beast kills no game?’

Kesia exchanged glances with Kaniz, then shook her head. ‘Nothing phases you, Shotelai.’

‘Until it does,’ Sana’a countered, thinking of the one man disconcerting her day and night and whom she’d agreed to train for an indefinite period.

‘We need this win,’ the Katánian royal insisted. ‘my eyrie depends on our kəthi wins to keep gloating to Kalila.’

Sana’a acknowledged Kesia’s wily grin with one of her own. ‘I’ll keep that in mind when I return,’ she said.

Two nights later, four figures soared through the velvety night sky, their silhouettes illuminated by the moon’s soft glow.

They moved with grace and precision over Kos, secrecy and mystique in their wake.

Three of the figures had their giant wings unfurled as they sliced through the air.

Kaxim led them at the spearhead of their formation.

Sana’a flew between Killen and Kione, keeping up with their long, stroked flight with her powered metsai suit and crushers.

She glanced down at Kos far below.

It lay bathed in darkness, its buildings standing tall and proud against the backdrop of the starry sky.

The lights that dotted the streets created an eerie glow, casting long shadows that danced with the wind.

Her helmeted vision honed into the burg’s nooks and crannies, searching for any eyes that might have seen them leave.

Few souls stirred in the winding alleyways, the bustling marketplaces, and the grand palaces.

She hoped they were blending into the shadowed clouds, unseen and unheard by any roaming gaze, as their mission was veiled in secrecy.

Soon, they were winging over the Desolation that began at the city’s edge.

They soared higher into the atmosphere until Kos was just a cluster of twinkling lights below.

The landscape transformed from the buzz of civilisation to the quiet solitude of nature. Below them, vast stretches of sand and rock stretched out as far as the eye could see.

In rhythm with the wind, the four figures ascended, where the air grew thinner and colder. Here, the stars shone brighter than usual in contrast to the dim expanse of the heavens, guiding their path like celestial beacons.

The moon bathed them in its ethereal glow, casting an otherworldly radiance upon their forms.

Kaxim raised his rachís as they approached a shadowed complex in the air, high up in the sky.

They’d reached their destination.

It was invisible to most eyes on the surface, blending against the dark firmament until one drew up close to it.

Sana’a slowed in the wake of the three mighty giant half-transmuted Sābər warriors.

Her eyes widened at the sight of otherworldly gold íkan filaments draped all over the hidden sanctuary, shrouding it with enchantment.

As the four drew closer to it, the kätu infused surface shimmered, revealing a magnificent edifice suspended high up in the sky.

The intricacy of the structure became apparent, its majestic architecture defying gravity and logic.

It was an architectural marvel with floating platforms and intricate walkways.

Trailing from its base were more golden tendrils that fell across the entire perimeter circumference, showering down into the sky’s expanse below.

Sana’a adjusted her metsai boots and sent them a command to land.

The moment she touched down on the buoyant complex, a surge of energy coursed through her.

The air around her crackled with kätu, creating a tangible presence that whispered secrets of forgotten realms. It was as if the building’s essence resonated with the power of the stars, infusing every inch of its architecture with an otherworldly aura.

Glowing paths wound and intertwined the surrounding magnificent garden like the mysteries of the universe itself.

The flagstones were made of translucent crystal, reflecting the moon’s pale rays and far-off starlight, casting colourful patterns across the walkways.

She heard a noise, the sound of mighty feathered strokes soaring in from the east.

A great eagle with massive wings whipped into the skies above them.

Sana’a stared at its sable plumes, white-spotted chest, and short erectile krest. Its feet were burnished emerald, and its talons were black with feathering over its tarsus. It was one of the largest and most powerful Sābər eagles she had seen.

Still, Killen, Kaxim, and Kione were larger when transmuted.

It swooped in and landed before them.

‘Kultur,’ Kione called out, jerking his chin at the newcomer.

Kaxim explained the new arrival to Killen and Sana’a. ‘Kultur is a Kāugur diviner and former kəthikoya master. He’s also our host here at the Kíota, the nesting place of Kings. He’s the keeper of this ancient location, built way before the Vth and Vlth Dynasties at Sa^karah. By Khiron the Great, so he and subsequent Kíríga’s could train, strategise and commune with their trusted advisors.’

The eagle transmuted into a short yet rangy older man, his hair fashioned into a compact erectile krest he wore with an angular slope on an otherwise flat head. His slight size belied his massive avifauna form, which fascinated Sana’a no end.

His face was lined and unremarkable, and his clothes were simple. When he turned his head and his rich yellow eyes fell on the party, his life force coursed through them.

The man approached Killen, studying him up close, ignoring everyone else. ‘Behold, he shall fly as the eagle and spread his rachís over Karth and Katanopolis. Under his wings will be our refuge, shield and rampart, and we will know fear no more.’

Killen cocked a brow. ‘Not sure whether you jest, drip with sarcasm or speak with innocent, meaningful intent.’

Sana’a caught the suspicion in his voice and instant whip of tension in the air.

The man reached out a hand. ‘Kultur Kəlcha, former senior Kāugur diviner to the Kíríga, his family and the chief Kaɪˈmɪərə command.’

‘Why are you not the present Kāugur seer?’ Killen asked, clasping the man’s fist and arm, staring into his unusual sarcoline eyes.

‘You have to appoint me, Storm Pale, the soon-to-be consort, the Kíríga of Katánē.’

The Král-In-Waiting shook his head. ‘Call me Killen, please.’

Kultur grimaced, his eyes hardening. ‘I cannot disrespect you this way. I insist on using your official kína, Kíríga.’

Killen huffed. ‘I’ve little time for pomp and glory.’

Kultur took umbrage, his krest stiffening. ‘As the consort, you’ll need to show some acceptance for the traditions of our people.’

Killen’s jaw ticked, but he relented. ‘I apologise if I offended you, Kultur. I’m just not used to titles.’

Kaxim stepped in. ‘Don’t mind Kultur. He holds onto past rituals and is a stickler for duty and convention. Which is a good thing, as we cannot move into the future without understanding the past.’

Kultur shot him a cool smile, his eyes sweeping the quartet, stopping for a fleeting moment at Sana’a before flicking his gaze back to Killen. ‘Welcome to the Kíota, Kíríga. It is for your use whenever you need it. The only ones here will be yourselves. It has been abandoned since your grandfather passed. No one will know of your presence here, for its shields and ramparts are solid, and it remains unseen from the surface as it has remained for eons. Let me lead you to the training hall, which is what you’re here for.’

He spun on his heel and marched forward.

It didn’t go unnoticed to Sana’a that the older man ignored her and had extended no such welcome.

She sucked her cheek, ignoring the slight annoyance that washed over her, letting it dissipate to nothing. She’d no time for those who’d none for her.

The group exchanged glances, and when Killen jerked his chin, they followed.

Stalking through the kíota’s ethereal halls, Sana’a could sense the presence of age-old kings who had once called this place their den. The air was thick with their memories, a tapestry woven with centuries of knowledge and wisdom.

The complex was made of glistening crystal and opalescent gems that radiated with a soft, gilded glow.

Intricate carvings depicting celestial winged beings and constellations adored its walls, their beauty captivating the senses.

Between the stones and on the marble columns were ancient runes, spells and incantations, the íkan power dense and rich throughout.

They tracked past a garden where vibrant flowers bloomed in impossible hues, their petals shimmering like precious gemstones. The air above the stunning kíota crackled with otherworldly energy, carrying a sense of archaic potency.

It was clear that Kaxim and Kione had been here before.

The pair moved with purpose and speed ahead while Killen and Sana’a strayed behind.

Sana’a lingered, entranced by the kíota’s beauty and the surrounding celestial mysticism.

She caught Killen’s eye. He smiled, and her lips curled up in response.

At that moment, all that was around them disappeared. It was as if time itself stood still in this gossamer-like sanctuary.

She shook her head from their shared gaze and strode off.

He followed with a small smile as they walked into an open space surrounded by more of the kíota’s crystalline architecture.

‘Welcome to the Kíríga’síkhara,’ Kultur announced. ‘The fight house, the core of flight, the place of blades and wings. A dedicated venue for immersive sābər koya learning, experiential training and meditation.’

As Sana’a stepped inside, the air was imbued with a delicate, floral scent, as if the very essence of nature had been captured within.

The facility was equipped with fight cages and rings crafted from a blend of krustallos and metal in harmony with their surroundings.

It was like being enclosed in a giant crystal, with light streaming in from all directions and reflecting off the polished floors. The space was open, expansive, focused, and purposeful, making it the perfect setting for honing one’s skills.

Sana’a approached a set of daggers made of krustallos, their smooth surfaces glinting with an otherworldly luminescence.

A surge of energy coursed through her fingertips as she reached out to grip the handles. The latent power channelled the potency of the crystalline environment around her.

She looked up and met Killen’s eyes.

‘Will this do?’ he rasped.

‘It’s not bad,’ she said, withdrawing her two curved shotels from her waist scabbard and storing them on hooks alongside the other weapons on the expansive walls.

‘Do we have a deal?’

She nodded. ‘Kaxim provided a contract that includes the clauses I requested, so naam, we have an agreement.’

Kultur drew close, studying Sana’a with a chilly gaze. ‘You’re the Shotelai everyone in Kos is speaking about.’

Sana’a matched his gaze with a steady, calm, undaunted stare. ‘Tis me.’

He angled his eyes to Killen. ‘You’re sure you want her as your kísímí?’

Kultur spoke as if Sana’a wasn’t there, but she only smiled at the older man’s rankling.

Killen pursed his lips, his eyes flashing at the disrespect. ‘I’ve witnessed her fight. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I need to learn from the best.’

Kultur grunted. ‘Remains to be seen.’

‘Perhaps you and I can cross blades to prove the point,’ Sana’a murmured, giving him a pointed look.

The kāugur’s strange eyes narrowed at her challenge. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I’ll take on blade training, but who will oversee the íkan side of things?’ Sana’a asked, roaming around the room.

‘I’ll do it,’ Kultur confirmed. ‘The Kíríga’s Kāugur is the royal divination seer, and it’s my duty to pass on the íkan secrets to the King. As such, we shall begin with the sābər warrior’s meditation. Now.’

Killen turned slowly. ‘Nada downtime, nor chow?’

‘Nada rest until we pray.’

Again, Sana’a sensed a battle of wills between the older Katánian and Killen, whom she saw contemplating whether to continue with it.

Instead, he shrugged. ‘So be it.’

At Kultur’s gesture, they all sat on the sand, arms outstretched and feet tucked in, kneeling.

The Kāugur closed his eyes and began to murmur under his breath.

In time, his words parsed into song.

Kagṣān, who is ever patient.

Kagṣān, who is all-knowing.

Kagṣān, whose eye rests on Katánē.

He who raises us in the morning

and rouses us to new life.

He who spreads out his arms

the right and the left.

He who stands by his children,

he lets them soar.

He who provides for us

From the Immense granary of the sky.

Old eagle with the strength of eaglet,

you rest in the sky like a flock of swallows.

Have mercy on us.

He fell into silence as did the rest of the group, eyes closed, heads down, arms out, sensing the íkan-infused air around them crackle with energy.

Just as Sana’a’s mind was about to fall into a white crevasse of meditative sopor, Kultur murmured, ‘You may rise now.’

They did, feeling the power of íkan course through them.

‘I’ll take you to your rooms now and show you where to eat.’

Kultur led the quartet through hallways adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of Katánē’s past Kings and their feats in sky battles that spanned eons.

They finally arrived at a set of large double doors, where he turned to them with a cool glance.

‘These are your rooms,’ he said, easing through the entryway to reveal a corridor.

It opened towards a series of chambers filled with twin beds, simple furniture, and generous windows that offered a view of the heavens beyond.

‘There is one room each, and you can pick whichever you like. There’s plenty of room in the kíota.’

They individually found their chambers, throwing their packs and gear inside before Kultur took off again, and they strode after him.

Into a dining hall and kitchen, which, although empty, was clean and tidy, furnished with long tables and sculpted chairs.

‘We have no resident cooks or chefs, so you’ll need to help yourselves to the produce in the cold room and whip up a meal on your own.’

Kultur turned to leave. ‘When you’re done, return to the íkhara and set it up how you want. I’ll be in my chamber. Call out if you require anything further.’

Killen nodded to the older man. ‘Sante.’

‘We’ll be ready to start as soon as possible,’ Sana’a added.

Kultur shrugged and stalked away.

Sana’a tracked his departure with a creased brow. ‘Is it just me, or does he seem annoyed at our presence here? I get the feeling he thinks I’m an outsider and should not have been allowed in the kíota.

Killen’s hawkstone flashed, and Sana’a caught onto it. ‘You feel it too, as does your lodestone.’

‘He’s an old cantankerous man,’ Killen drawled. ‘Ignore him.’

‘You can discount him,’ Sana’a murmured back. ‘I won’t. I never disregard my SHärd senses, and they freak out right every time he glances my way. Something tells me he’s not what he says he is.’

‘Only time will tell.’

Sana’a gave a mock roll of her eyes. ‘Can’t wait til I say I told you so.’

Killen raised a brow. ‘I’m sure you can’t. As long as when in the íkhara, you’ll have my back.’

‘If you have mine.’

‘Always.’

Fire and embers ignited the tension between them; they held their burning gaze until Killen sliced his silver eyes away, breaking their flaming connection. ‘I’m starving,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll whip us all something to eat. Tis the least I can do.’

Unfazed by the challenge of rustling up a meal, he strode to the cold room. He examined the various ingredients available while Sana’a, Kaxim and Kione followed.

‘Not quite the kingly welcome,’ Kione noted. ‘I expected at least a chef to help out.’

‘The fewer eyes we have, the better,’ Kaxim said. But please, Killen, let us cook. We can’t allow you to serve us.’

Killen shook his head. ‘De nada, I’m no pampered consort. I grew up fighting the elements with just my mother and me. We built our home of rocks and cooked, cleaned, and raised gardens in a fissured desert surrounded by marauding tribesmen. Tis not a hardship, believe me.’

‘You’re decent in the kitchen then?’ Sana’a said with a dry smile.

‘I’m not too bad,’ Killen rasped, his eyes lighting up. ‘Sit back, relax and let me.’

At his urging, the trio sat at one long table.

Killen tossed over three bottles. ‘Resembles brew.’

‘If it ain’t, we’ll soon find out,’ Kaxim growled.

They popped the corks, and Kione shrugged, taking a drag. ‘Decent. Tis a strong beer with crazy hops. It’ll do.’

Next, Killen went through all the ingredients in the cold room, pulling out bundles of fresh herbs and some greens.

He turned the krustallos powered stove on, chopped vegetables, and threw them into a pot. A medley of spices followed, and before long, the vessel was bubbling merrily while the trio laid out bowls and cutlery.

As they prepped, the mood shifted between Sana’a and the three Katánian men.

The tension that had been present since they’d all met earlier that day melted away.

It helped that Sana’a had a wealth of coarse Shotelai jokes to share.

‘There’s always a wild side to an innocent face,’ she confirmed when Kione’s eyes widened at one spicy riddle she shared.

‘You don’t say,’ Kione murmured.

‘Bad bitches like me can do things you can never imagine,’ she shot back with a smile. ‘Like Killen always grouses on about, guard your back.’

Before long, the delicious aroma of a thick casserole filled the kitchen as it simmered on the stove. Killen rolled out flour dough and assembled a flat, crusty bread. He also whipped up a simple but flavourful herb butter as an accompaniment.

When everything was ready, they crowded the table.

As soon as they took their first sample of the stew, Kaxim grunted and slurped an entire serving in one go.

Kione sighed into his bowl. ‘Delectable.’

Sana’a gave a little less swoon. Instead, she bestowed Killen a nod of approval accompanied by a salute of her beer bottle. ‘Not bad, Kíríga. You’re a natural in the kitchen.’

Killen’s eyes smouldered. ‘I’m a natural at a hella lot of things.’

Sana’a leaned into the moment. ‘I bet you are.’

Killen’s brow rose, and his hawkstone flashed. ‘Want to find out?’

Kaxim made out a strangled noise. ‘Are you two ‘bout to get it on and then pass out in intense post-coital ecstasy? Because nada, not here, now now. I’m eating.’

Kione guffawed, slapping his friend on the back. ‘Let lovers lie, Xim, don’t ride them. Unless you’re green-gilled and in need of some lovin’ yourself.’

‘Fokk off,’ the gruff Krypós warrior growled.

Killen and Sana’a’s gazes slid and clashed with each other.

Her breath hitched as she took in Killen’s seductive smile, filling her more than his food.

Her core heated up. Fokk.

‘I’ve had enough,’ Sana’a murmured, her voice husky and low as she rose.

He nailed her with a look and dragged a hand through his hair. ‘Training now?’

‘Naam, follow me,’ she clipped to the three men, leaning up and away from the table with her bowl in hand. She rinsed it in the sink before making her way to the íkhara.

Her sudden abruptness was more about her annoyance with herself than with Killen.

Tracking as fast as she could from the kitchen, she rejected their heated exchange and forced their growing attraction out of her mind.