Chapter 27
Chapter 27
Dawn was peaking under the horizon when hand in hand, they winged into the kíota hours later, wrecked with passion, famished and searching for food.
Killen was so absorbed by the woman in his arms that he failed to hear a flurry of wings over and behind the couple.
He’d just milliseconds to react as a creature fell on him.
A giant snapping and taloned leviathan with crimson cinnabar skin and similar hued rachís.
It scrabbled at him.
Killen kicked out, and it lost purchase.
The Kíríga roared, hurling Sana’a away from the fray, not even seeing when she ended up.
At the same time, he unsheathed his sābər koya in the nick of time.
The interloper’s pinions created a storm, whipping up small bushes and plants as Killen landed with a heavy thud on the courtyard of the floating palatial platform high above the city.
With a growl, he unfurled his wings and leapt away from the swiping claws and into the air.
He lunged at the monstrous being, his sābər sword slashing at it.
As the Kíríga grappled with the creature, his training kicked in.
He exploded into a wild, unrelenting series of strikes.
But it was like fighting with a monstrous maestro, for the creature moved so fast and with such cunning speed that it was a blur.
The monster’s claws tore at Killen’s flesh, one swipe leaving a deep gash that seeped blood onto the grass of the kíota’s gardens beneath them.
A long, thick koya arced from its tail like a bow.
It zinged into the sky and, with great agility, changed course, aiming for Killen’s heart.
He leapt aside in time, using his koya to hack it.
By now, Sana’a had joined the fray, unsheathing her two SHärd blades and rushing towards the grappling pair.
Ice-cold precision and adrenaline-laced ferocity fuelled her movements.
As her eyes met Killen’s, a silent communication passed between the couple.
While their attacker was almost flawless, he was outnumbered.
Killen wheeled away, giving Sana’a the opening to engage the beast.
Her weapons clashed against the creature’s scaled wings, sparks flying with each strike.
When the predator swiped at her with a leer, the Shotelai woman snarled at him. ‘Don’t keep testing me! I’m going to fokk your shit up!’
The creature roared back, its razor-sharp appendages clawing at her.
She danced out of its way as Killen soared into play.
Killen, wheeling around, made another strike; this time, his koya sliced their attacker’s lower thorax.
He screeched and tumbled mid-air for a second.
The couple shared a second look.
With a synchronised burst, they struck in an unceasing blaze of fury, their blades penetrating its defences.
The beast howled in rage, stumbling back before regaining its footing. Its eyes glowed with an eerie intensity as it lunged forward again, its claws slashing in wild abandon.
But Killen and Sana’a were in tandem, moving with coordinated grace, avoiding the worst of its onslaughts.
With a swift hook of her SHärd blade, Sana’a managed to sever the chromed tip of one of the being’s wings. Causing it to screech in pain and lose its balance for a moment.
Killen took advantage of the distraction, balling his talons to deliver a decisive blow to the creature’s head.
It flung it back, and he followed with a swipe of the creature’s krest, almost severing it. The strike was so hard-hitting that it was knocked to the ground, blood flowing from the gaping wound in the head.
Panting, Killen rushed to its side and toed its giant form, which lay unresponsive. ‘It’s out. For now.’
Sana’a joined him as they stared at the monstrous fiend, both panting from the intense struggle. She glanced up, and their eyes met.
Killen lifted a hand to draw her in, and she fell into his arms.
They stood, eyes closed, shivering as the adrenalin from their battle seeped away.
‘Apologies for the friendly fire,’ a voice called out.
They whirled around, eyes wide.
Their eyes fell on a man standing where the monster had fallen.
His face was hawk-like, with skin as crimson as cinnabar.
Despite the human-like face, Killen spotted his three rows of ferocious teeth between his hoary lips.
His extended koya were braided into an impossibly regenerated black and red threaded krest that extended to his back and was made of feathers almost a cubit long.
Even more surprising was the utter lack of any wounds on his body.
Shocked, the couple stared for a beat.
Killen stepped in front of Sana’a, shielding her. ‘Friendly? Fokk, you’re a khōra. A dark Kaɪˈmɪərə hunter.’
Killen had encountered one on Devansi and had witnessed how their sābərs almost always dealt a fatal blow.
Which meant it had chosen not to kill them.
The newcomer lifted his hands in surrender. ‘Don’t panic. I’m on your side,’ the man smiled. ‘I’m both a Känon and Kāugur and can transmute into many things. A khōra, a Kärd, even a Kəˈnerē, all at will.’
Killen double-checked the man’s body for any evidence of his injuries. There were none. He sensed a powerful web of íkan dancing around the stranger.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded in a snarl. ‘What was this song and dance about?’
The outsider raked his eyes over the pair. ‘To ascertain what you’re made of, whether you’re worthy.’
Killen raised a brow. ‘Of what?’
‘Of the mantle about to be placed on your shoulders. Of the call on your life, Kíríga.’
Killen cocked his head. ‘What makes you think I’m the usurper?.’
The older man’s lips twisted. ‘Don’t toy with me. Your hawkstone energy gives you away. Let’s not waste time on frivolities. I’m here because you high íkan wisdom and the axillae to fight off the frothing arokí and their quest to permeate this land in darkness. Rumours are they’ve found the nýkhta lance, an ancient shadow-infused pike. One that unfailingly reaches its target. Because it’s been bathed in kízakan and necrotic miasmic entrails of a sacrificed black ilki. We can’t let them resurrect the night spear. Nor Khiron, who can wrest the hawkstone from your temple if they do. We’ll need to destroy it, or Katánē will be lost.’
Killen’s lodestone flashed, and his eyes narrowed, fixing them on the shapeshifting khōra. ‘You’re Koreau, the peace giver.’
The man inclined his head with a slight bow. ‘I am he.’
‘A khōra. King’s killer or a kings-man?’
‘Always the latter; I only seek the ultimate kirḗnē - peace - for the throne.’
Sana’a circled him, her blades still drawn. ‘Kultur spoke of you. Doesn’t mean we trust you.’
The känon smirked. ‘He did, did he? I’ve missed my old friend; he deserves a visit.’
He turned on his heel and strode into the íkan infused building. ‘With me. We’ve much to discuss.’
When they hesitated, he gave a small laugh. ‘I was once a keeper of this place. Only a foolish Kaɪˈmɪərə fouls its own nest. So get the fokk up here and follow me.’
Koreau led them to the kíota’s central courtyard.
They found Kultur standing on the spacious open terrace, staring at the trio as they marched in, hands crossed over his chest.
‘What did you two hapless and noisy friarbirds drag in?’ he growled, looking not in the least pleased. ‘A demonic nightjar from the looks of it.’
‘Oh Kagṣān, it speaks,’ Koreau threw back. ‘When we were young, all Kultur could do was mumble gibberish and turn bright red during any small interaction. Now here he is, a Kāugur and keeper of the King’s den, stringing together words like a monarch in the land of the witless.’
‘You should come with a warning label,’ Kultur shot back. ‘Isn’t there a koya floating somewhere close you ought to be jumping in front of?’
Despite the vitriol dripping from their mouths, the two unlikely acquaintances greeted each other with some wariness, clapping hands on the other’s backs.
Kultur turned to Sana’a and Killen. ‘Do you know who this fine creature truly is?’ he said, pointing a finger at Koreau.
‘We’ve been appraised, in bits and pieces,’ Killen murmured.
Kultur continued as if the Kíríga had not spoken. ‘He heads the S’kiə council, a secret group of powerful Kä’avi who support your right to the throne. They refused to align themselves with his grandfather, hid their libraries from the Luddite arokí and have been fighting their dark kätu for eons now. With sharp, quick intuition, there’s no finer man you want by your side in such a time as this.’
Killen’s eyes flicked over Koreau. ‘We are honoured with your presence then.’
Kultur’s forehead fell into severe furrows as he turned to his visitor. ‘You inclined your ear to the call of íkan?’
‘I did. But first things first,’ Koreau said, stepping to Killen. ‘Let me re-acquaint myself with the hawkstone, if I may.’
Killen pursed his lips, his eyes cutting in warning.
‘Please.’
Koreau’s tone, laced with sincere urgency, softened Killen, and he obliged.
Lifting his chin, the Kíríga sent a silent command.
In seconds, the jewel on his temple transmuted into its full size, the orb within illuminating.
It shone so bright that the trio before him raised their hands to shield their eyes.
Killen stood still for a long moment as Koreau approached and reached out a hand. ‘May I?’
The Kíríga nodded, lowering his head.
The Känon ran his fingers over his brow, touching around the hawkstone, muttering under his breath. The gemstone flashed in warning, and with a laugh, he pulled back.
‘Hello, old friend, it’s been a long time. Still have your talons,’ the older man spoke to it.
He glanced down at Killen with a wry smile. ‘It is happy with you. Hawkstones and lodestones can sometimes get so unhappy that they can regress completely into one’s skoltr and never be seen again. The hawkstone brilliance also indicates how much íkan power it has contained. The larger and more powerful your stone, the more íkan you carry within you. That’s why it’s a status symbol - lesser lodestones or none at all mean one only carries trace amounts of potency.’
Sana’a spoke up. ‘You speak to it like it is its own entity.’
‘That’s because it is,’ Koreau murmured, still keeping his eyes on it. ‘The gems, which imitate the eye to the soul, have a mind of their own. They’ve been known to appear on a xkénos’ forehead if the recipient’s enlightenment and power are deemed worthy. Or if they come into a celestial connection with a lodestone so potent, it can awaken their own. As is the íkan kätu we toy with without any idea of just how much power both elements have. They’re connected too, different manifestations of the same thing. No one knows just how mighty they are.’
Killen nodded. ‘I’ve seen visions of the hawkstone levelling cities and breaking apart planets in the past.’
Koreau agreed. ‘Tis true; it can annihilate entire universes if it drew enough íkan into it. Should its bearer know to pull in the íkan tendrils threaded throughout all aspects of Katánē, they’d be powerful beyond measure. For íkan is found in every home, marketplace, rock, stone and hearth. It’s vast, like a network under the surface, with trillions of offshoots. However, some tendrils are being transplanted elsewhere with kízakan, infused with darkness. The íkantations to make such a thing happen can only be wielded by a few.’
As he spoke, he turned his eyes to Kultur. ‘Isn’t that right, my friend?’
After a beat, Kultur curled his lip and lifted a hand. ‘I must go to bed. Conversations like these about endless conspiracies and hoaxes conversation tire me.’
He swivelled and exited with an abrupt stride, and the group was left staring after him.
Koreau shrugged, but his eyes were a narrowed, focused beam on the departing man. ‘Must have been something I said. Where was I? Ah naam, the arokí sponsored by Kalila, have been working on a vicious íkan kätu. Tis the thing we need to stop - not just the armies of Kassian for they are the first attack wing of this hidden uprising. We must face the darkness, the nýkhta lance and the horror they plan to unleash. And we must do it with the three axillae koyas of Khiron.’
‘What about Kalila?’ Sana’a asked.
‘She’s just a puppet,’ Koreau said. ‘One filled with miasma, but she’s just a means to an end.’
Killen started. ‘Who’s pulling her strings?’
‘The kízakan itself,’ Koreau stated. ‘It lives, breathes, has a mind of its own and wants to take over Katánē. I know this because it is just history repeating itself. The three threads of íkan always fight for dominance, as they have done over the centuries. But for the first time since Khiron, perhaps, kíza is winning. You, Killen Sable, are our hope to fight it. Which is why the S’kiə council reached out to the hawkstone, all the way in Devansi and coaxed you home.’
Sana’a raised a brow in disbelief. ‘You spoke to Killen in Devansi?’
Koreau nodded. ‘We did. We were desperate. Tempest Light marginalised, robbed and bullied our people and our neighbouring planets, dashing their hopes for a safe, quiet existence. He squatted in Kós for years, ineffective, irrelevant, past his time. He only listened to the kírorerô, the omens of potent power and prophecy as told to him by the witchers and curse placers. He hamstrung our future by blocking the efforts of Katánians’ younger, more energetic generation. He wielded vanity, control and cruelty, which, along with fear, kept him on the throne. Obsessed with dominance and marauding, he and the ruling elders lurched us backward. Ignorant that his actions were fuelling the darkness, he remained prideful. Distracted by his fixation with the hawkstone, he missed all signs of our coming rebellion. This is why the Tempest Light’s attempts to locate the great lodestone intensified; he needed it to fend off any rebels and cement his power. We had to find you, update you on his plans and explore how we could get you home and ready to rule in his place.’
‘You spoke words so ancient and in voices so mysterious that intuited of a hereafter beyond even my hawkstone’s understanding. But I understood enough to know I was being summoned. So I came,’ Killen murmured.
He said it with such reticence that Sana’a’s eyes narrowed. ‘With great reluctance, it seems. We all bear burdens we care not to.’
Her lover gave her a humourless smile. ‘True, I did not ask for the hawkstone. I did not ask for this quest.’
He turned to the older man. ‘It was shoved at me, Koreau. As a teen, when the SHärd Eye was causing me extreme agony, I fought my mother, angry at her for passing it on. Even at twenty, I raged against its coaxing to return. Years later, though, I resigned myself. What else could I do? To forcibly remove the hawkstone without the proper íkan master guiding me would have been to choose death. Embracing the hawkstone and the hereafter shows me means also accepting the battles that are to come, the senseless killing and -’
Killen was unable to finish. Instead, he let out a string of curses, striding through the hallway and out through the flowing curtains on the rim of the terrace.
He stalked to the edge of the floating platform, looking down at Kos, so far below, hidden in part behind slow-moving clouds.
The kíota glade fell silent as Killen’s frustration flowed out.
Koreau walked over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
‘At one point, you will realise that the journey to peace is paved with violence. Once you become comfortable with that fact and that of death itself—the root terror, the underlying anxiety motivating all of life’s frivolous ambitions—you will be able to embrace your purpose, unrestrained by the illogical quest for immortality and free from guilt.’
‘What of those who want to blade me and wipe me off the surface of Katánē?’
Koreau gave the younger man a long, considerate look. ‘They fear not you, the usurper, but your entire Hawkstone lineage, the power of your ancestral kings and queens who ruled before you. After years of darkness, they’re terrified of the unknown. Of the Kíríga in you—the kσχύς, the majesty, power, and wisdom that’s harder to embrace than giving in to evil.’
Killen scoffed, his eyes bleak. ‘I don’t care much for the majesty or the power. Or any of it’s prestige.’
‘That’s because you’re a humble man, Killen Sable,’ the känon said. ‘However, this age is not for humility; it is for hawkstone ferocity. To wipe out the darkness that enshrouds us, we need you to fight with savagery for us.’
When Killen turned his head, and his silver eyes flashed at the känon, Koreau reached a hand to cap his shoulder with passion. ‘Remind Katánē of the power of your lineage. They have forgotten and have relegated it to the past as an old wives tale, an ancient rumour. Some don’t even know it exists. Remind them. Remind us all.’
The trio stayed up late into the night chatting and communing over a light supper and generous glasses of wine.
Koreau revealed himself as an astute thinker with a wicked sense of humour.
Sana’a found herself liking the man.
He shared stories of his travels and adventures, regaling the couple with tales of his encounters with mythical creatures and powerful beings.
It was evident that he’d faced many dangers and overcame them with his wit and fighting skills.
His tales were captivating, and he had a way of making even the most mundane events seem thrilling. However, though he shared his adventures, Sana’a sensed a cloak of secrecy and mystery around him.
Still, as the evening wore on, Sana’a began to warm to him.
Even when his face fell into severe lines as he laid out his plans for them to capture the axillae.
‘I’ll be back when I’ve located Khiron’s koya so we can hunt them down,’ Koreau promised.
‘I thought you knew where they were?’ Killen said.
‘I know the forests they flit in, but the exact location is hard to find. They hide themselves well.’
There was something about his rough exterior and no-nonsense attitude that was endearing, and Sana’a instinctively knew she trusted him.
At one point, she sensed someone’s keen gaze falling on her.
She turned her head just in time to glimpse a shadow shifting away into the gloom.
Only the sarcoline glow of their eyes remained.
She drew a deep breath.
The kāugur was going to be a fokkin’ problem.
She made up her mind to keep an even closer eye on him.
Koreau must have sensed the same, for he wandered up to her later.
‘Shikari, keep an eye on the old man and my even older friend, now will you?’
Sana’a raised an eyebrow. ‘I will, as I’ve already worked out he’s as shady as fokk,’ she murmured.
Koreau chuckled, the corners of his weathered eyes crinkling. ‘You’re right about his shadow self, my dear,’ he agreed. ‘He’s got a past as long as the mountain; who knows what he’s keeping hidden from us.’
‘And what about you, Koreau?’ Sana’a asked, her voice brimming with curiosity. ‘You’ve got a history that’s just as mysterious as his. Don’t tell me you’re not carrying any secrets of your own.’
He smiled with a sardonic twist to his mouth, the lines of his face barely shifting. ‘Ah, Sana’a, ever the perceptive one. But let’s say I’ve had my fair share of hardships and perhaps even a confidential hit list of all those who wronged me. So maybe some things are better left unsaid, and some secrets are never shared. You know?’
His eyes twinkled as if he saw right through her, and she pressed her lips, understanding his unspoken words.
‘Perhaps we can share more when we meet next, very soon,’ the känon drawled.
‘You staying the night, Koreau?’ Killen asked, strolling towards the pair from the kitchen where he’d been packing up the leftover meal.
‘Nada’,’ said the peace giver. ‘I have a wife to return to. I just wanted to meet you; now my heart is at rest. Yet because you are the rightful bearer, I also worry for you.’
Killen’s smile faded, a shadow of concern crossing his features. ‘We can take care of ourselves,’ he said, glancing at Sana’a.
Koreau leaned in. ‘Friend, let’s put it this way: she’ll take care of you.’
When Killen arched his eyes in mock warning, the older man laughed. ‘Regardless, be careful out there. This world is dangerous, and its shadows can hide many things.’
Sana’a nodded, her gaze lingering on Killen for a moment before she turned back to Koreau. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘I hope we’ll meet again soon.’
With a chin dip, the peace giver turned and leapt into the air, moving so fast that he disappeared into the night as if he’d never been there at all.