Chapter 30

Chapter 30

At midnight, Kos was hushed, its obsidian architecture so dark it disappeared into the landscape.

Only the trails of golden íkan and a string of glinting lights from its street lamps, kantinas, and eyries remained, which appeared to be floating midair.

The clouds above were like delicate lace veils, kissed by the moon’s silver light and lined with threads of pure starlight.

Sana’a’s eyes flicked over the strange and beautiful view of the high-roosted residences of the city.

She perched like a sentinel overseeing the metropolis from the rocky outcrop she was crouched against, halfway up a hill looking down on the garden of a magnificent eyrie.

Her mark had not yet emerged from its depths.

So she waited in silence, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional snap of a twig beneath some nocturnal creature’s claw.

She shifted, uncomfortable, thighs burning from crouching for so long, but it was a price she was willing to pay, for time was of the essence.

She’d been waiting, watching, and chewing on some of Killen’s klaw for hours while keeping a distance, wary of the boundary curse surrounding the eyrie. Kamilla had warned her of the vines that ringed each homestead and looped around their sponsor’s eyries, except at their primary entrances.

They were mostly evident, strung between tree branches. Others ran them ostentatiously along the ground.

In Kos, the arokí hung them three feet above the surface. Diviners across the obsidian city ensured their tendrils touched a row of ritually prepared sculpted sābərs, linking and reinforcing their initial power.

Violators passing into the protected zone incurred an automatic curse. Physical symptoms were almost instant, starting with the visible ones, boils at the joints or sores on the skin, falling feathers and pinions, all painful and frightening.

The victim would be isolated from their eyrie and kəst as soon as the hex was apparent. Again, as with most curses, the condition could be removed only by a ritualist Kāugur diviner.

Sana’a caught the distant sound of wings flapping toward her.

Slipping out one of her blades, she studied the incoming movement, sharpening her vision as a flock of fierce and delphic creatures powered towards the garden. There, they set down into six forms draped in long robes with intricate designs that shimmered in the silver moonlight.

They gathered around an altar with baskets of twigs, herbs and tingents in bottles, signifying a ritual was about to take place.

Despite the moon’s luminescence, shadows clung to every corner, shrouding the lush greenery and delicate flowers in a foreboding cloak.

A figure emerged from the grand eyrie and stepped out from under the imposing house’s eaves, tracking fast to the waiting assembly.

Sana’a curled her lip as she spotted the sharp-faced, birdlike woman with cold, dark, tiny eyes and a slash of a mouth set within a pale face.

Above her bare skull was an impressive krest of feathers belonging to only one individual.

Kalila Khensu.

The intel Sana’a had been given was paying off.

She’d received a kwɪl message from Kamilla a few days ago at the kíota.

The letter, delivered by a kite runner, had warned of the event unfolding in the exquisite gardens below her now.

Given his recent attack and ongoing recovery, Kamilla had insisted Killen be not apprised of the intel.

She’d charged Sana’a with a mission one she could not complete herself.

The Shotelai woman narrowed her eyes as the waiting group welcomed Kalila with quick nods.

The four men and three women clustered in a circle at the apex of the extensive hilltop garden.

‘Let’s begin,’ the dead King’s sister urged.

Her voice, sharp and hoary, echoed around Sana’a.

The shikari jerked as one attendee stepped forward and pulled away his cowl, revealing himself.

Twas Keb, the combatant she’d first faced at the Sābər arena.

From her hidden perch, Sana’a stared at him with a brow lifted.

‘Extend your koya,’ the kavalier called to his companions. ‘Raise them high as one. We will summon kízakan.’

A filament rose from the tip of his thin, narrow sword. It lingered for a moment.

Before streaking across the gardens, gathering energy from the mystic power embedded in the flagstones and rocks. Rising, its filaments intertwined to form the shape of a mountain.

It was then Sana’a noted the colour of the íkan.

It was not the bright gold luminescence she’d become used to.

This version was dull, murky and smoky, as if infected or peccant.

Its essence was malevolent, dense in its viciousness.

Sana’a’s brows rose as she recognised the craggy ranges of Karth and how much of it was in thrall to the sinister magic.

She’d never seen anything like this before, and her eyes widened as the summit glowed with shadowed rancour, drawing even more dark and diseased runes into itself.

The representation of the looming summit above them showed the darkness rising fast, blanketing the top half until it stopped abruptly and was pushed back to the tip by an invisible force.

‘Why is it halting?’ Kalila hissed. ‘What’s diminishing it?’

‘You know what it is,’ Keb barked back. ‘The kσχύς íkan, the usurper’s potency, is too potent. It’s creating a barrier and fighting back even from wherever the fokk he’d hiding. I’m unable to seem to control it.’

‘Fokk!’ the royal Kíntí cried out. ‘Aren’t you all arokí? Haven’t you spent most of your life learning and studying the craft of u’rokí and the myriad of texts and books that specialised in the art of the curse? Fix this!’

Keb shook his head, his eyes flashing with frustration. ‘We cannot. The kσχύς is way dominant. Where is fokkin’ Kultur anyway? This is his kind of thing.’

Kalila twisted her lips. ‘He’s gone, disappeared, in seclusion until he can face me after his massive fail with the usurper. All along, he’s dangled the secret of where the infiltrator is hiding as leverage. But no more, my patience is running out.’

‘I’m not sure I can complete the íkan-casting as you need me to,’ Keb groused.’

Silence fell as Kalila glared at him. ‘Then why do I pay you so handsomely, Keb? You’re one of the most senior íkan masters of this kingdom. Yet you shiver like a sad, old, terrified, overweight albatross clinging to my neck?’

The verbal flogging resonated through the darkened garden, the air thick with the stink of shame festering in the shadows.

Even the flowers and greenery wilted somewhat, their once vibrant colours now muted and stagnant.

The man bristled. ‘All I can do is try. However, it proves the usurper is somewhere close, and his power is growing.’

‘Fine!’ Kalila whispered. ‘Which makes what we’re about to do even more urgent. Can you fokkin’ proceed?’

While the assembled group exchanged looks, a chastised Keb nodded and reached into a basket beside the altar.

He took a long, wire-thin, mistletoe-like vine from it.

‘Is it the best keiea possible?’ Kalila demanded.

He showed it to her. ‘’Tis the one that hangs from the kíthia tree.’

‘Good,’ she murmured. ‘It has to be the same used by the Imperial Sābər Hawks to create the hunter’s lure.’

The flagstones pulsed with energy as Keb chanted in an ancient language. He twisted the keiea in his hand, shredding it in his fingers, and then placed it in the traditional sealed clay vessel.

‘We need your -’

‘I know,’ Kalila sighed, pulling out one of her feather koya at the root and adding it to the pot.

Keb piled on a series of powders, seeds, and herbs, and then the cauldron was heated over a raging fire while his fellow ritualists sang under their breath.

The ground began to tremble as their lips moved in a silent, reverent chant.

Keb withdrew his koya and pointed it at the sky, drawing íkan from the air. It surged, drawn to the arrow-like weapon, coiling around like a serpent before bursting into flame.

He aimed the flames at the clay pot as the charred; then, with a touch of his koya, it transformed to powder.

The resulting product was placed into several tiny amulet-like containers, which glittered like diamonds against the dull wood of the tray.

Keb turned to Kalila. ‘Kíntí, the keiea lures are ready.’

‘About time! I’ll take over from here.’

She withdrew a long silver koya feather from her krest.

She touched it to the talismans, and the charm-like orbs grew wings.

Turning into miniature hummingbird-like forms with lengthy, thin beaks that extended in front of their diamond casing.

As one, they rose into the air as Kalila’s maligned face folded into a self-satisfied smile.

‘Fly, find the usurper and bring his location to me.’

The winged orbs took off into the night at great speed.

‘Here we go,’ Sana’a whispered under her breath, her eyes tracing their trajectory.

This was her mission.

Activating her metsai suit, she took to the sky, racing fast after the disappearing objects.

They were tracking so swiftly that following it with her eye was hopeless, so she withdrew her SHärd blades and flung them ahead.

The daggers tore away after the tiny menacing whistle of the speeding creatures up as they skyrocketed at speeds so stupefying Sana’a couldn’t keep up.

But her weapons had the thrust required. They raced with lethal aim, almost unseen in flashes of glimmer against the moonlit sky.

With dizzying precision, they cut down the orbs one by one. Each exploded in puffs of flames and smoke as they were sliced apart and incinerated by the blade’s energy.

‘Fokk yeah,’ Sana’a murmured.

Just then, a cry sounded behind her, and she turned.

A koya sped towards her, one pulsing with dark íkan, followed by six more.

Behind the streaking swords were seven figures in hot pursuit.

Sana’a took off, darting in a wild pattern across the sky to evade her attackers. She rolled to one side as the lead koya blitzed past her.

She soared fast and hard, her back tingling, expecting any of the sābərs speeding after her to smash through her spine without warning.

Her form was tight, so she raced ahead, but still, the group of winged chasers gained on her.

They soared through the air, the wind whipped past their faces, and the darkness grew thicker and denser with each passing moment. Sana’a’s heart pounded in her chest as she focused all her energy on maintaining her lead.

Her blades flew back into her hands, and she clutched them, breathing hard.

She glanced back and spotted her pursuers’ rachís beat with reckless abandon as they drew closer, their talons extended as if to rip her apart.

She gritted her teeth and tried for a burst of extra speed, but it was hopeless.

They were too fast.

Sana’a realised that her escape was futile. She only had one option left - to confront them head-on.

She slowed her flight and turned, her SHärd blades at the ready.

With a wheeling of their mighty dark pinions and a flurry of wiry feathers, the arokí circled her, their malice pulsing, glowing with hostility.

With a collective cry, they lunged at her.

She raised her translucent daggers and unleashed them.

Sana’a and the monstrous creatures engaged in a deadly ballet of weapons, their shapes and forms merging into a single, primal dance.

The wind howled and whipped around them, and the darkness coalesced into a thick, suffocating cloud.

Each sword strike sent shivers of energy through the air, radiating with fiery light.

Her eyes blazed, her heart beating in a wild pounding as she fought for her life.

Her swords danced and shimmered, their blades reflecting a brilliant, otherworldly light. The arokí roared with fury, their talons and beaks clashing against her daggers, but she held her ground, refusing to back down.

Sana’a found herself roaring in screams of pure ferociousness that echoed through the night as the atmosphere was filled with a fierce dance of steel and sorcery.

Her SHärds spun rapidly, their luminescence and shadow creating a dazzling display. Each slash was met with a gush of dark energy from the arokí’s necrotic reach, and they screeched as if they were fighting for their existence.

In this battle between light and darkness, the air grew thick with kätu, the gusts carrying the scent of blood and sweat.

Sana’a’s SHärd weapons darted so fast at the attacking witchers that it made their strikes look unwieldy.

The roar of the wind, now a furious tempest, whipped around the fighters.

Sana’a parried each attack, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Although she was no match for the seven creatures in terms of numbers, she was driven to fight to the bitter end.

But when a burst of pain went through her as her energy reserves dwindled, she cried out as her old agony erupted through her tiring muscles.

Her blades kept on, but she knew she couldn’t hold her assaulters back much longer.

A mighty thunderclap roared and broke over the skies, almost splitting the firmament.

It slowed the battle, and some of the arokí wheeled to a stop in shock.

That was when Sana’a sensed him.

Tracking to her at rapid speed.

He soared through the air, his hawkstone in full brilliance.

His eyes flashed with a fierce glow, his koya swords a blur of light and shadow as he flew head-first into the heart of the maelstrom.

He was a vision to behold.

Killen, magnificent in half-transmuted Sābər hawk mode, had morphed into a titanic winged predator.

His chrome wings fanned out. His eyes blazed with silver flames, and his limbs transformed into burnished bronze talons over six feet long.

His feathered and cromed krest and crown shook in the wind above his splendid skull.

His sābərs, also chromed, pierced the metallic armoured pinions of her pursuers, firing flamed arrows into their midst.

Sana’a still paused mid-blade swing, gazed at him in disbelief as he hovered like a glowing winged leviathan to her side. ‘How?’

‘I caught the sound, shall we say, your groaning,’ he murmured with a crooked smile, fending off the attackers in a rapid-fire of his koya. ‘Something I’ve come to incline my ear in recent days.’

‘Fokk you, Sable.’

‘Anytime, Shotelai, just say when.’

When she bristled at him, he sobered up and glanced at the frothing arokí milling around them, whose swords he flicked away one after the other. ‘Not a fair fight. Seven against one?’

‘I was holding it together,’ she snarled.

‘Barely. Now stop fussin’, k’hanys, eyes on your blades,’ he commanded.

She sucked her teeth as her own words were thrown in her face.

He ignored her disdain. With a roar, he withdrew two of his koyas and, using íkan levitation, flung them at Keb.

So fast that the kavalier didn’t even register the move.

They slashed at him before the diviner had a chance to react.

Keb’s krest was sliced in half, and he screeched in pain.

With a snarl, he sent his koya to meet Killen’s in a deadly dance.

But Killen was unstoppable.

His sābərs slicked through the darkness, the glint of ancient runes shimmering with the force of the kätu they wielded.

Infuriated, Kalila’s koven roared with fury, their wings beating with ferocity, sending shivers down the couple’s spines. Their talons and beaks slashed out at the two fighters, their dark energy pulsing.

Energised by Killen’s presence, Sana’a blades danced with renewed vigour.

The battle raged on, the sky crackling with intense íkan, the wind swirling around them like a storm. In minutes, Sana’a sensed that Killen’s and her combined might was beginning to weaken their attackers.

Killen drew íkan from their own, manipulating the elements to increase his dominance.

It crackled with a fierce intensity, and with each strike of their swords, the kíza receded, corroding the koven’s effectiveness.

With a final roar of defiance, Killen summoned the forces coiled encircling his koya and unleashed it with a shockwave that sent the chasing creatures reeling. They howled in pain and confusion, their feathers wheeling midair.

He called upon the elemental power brewing in the shadows.

A crack of thunder and burst of lightning lit up the heavens. An unexpected storm of wind and rain tore through the sky, whipping the air into a frenzy as the storm churned.

The pursuing arokí abandoned the fight, their rachís struggling to keep them in the air as the gale battered them with hailstones and lightning.

Sana’a took advantage of their disarray, slashing out with her blades as the gale raged on, aiming them at a newcomer who screeched into the fray.

Kalila.

In complete Khārpi form, she was a terrifying sight to behold, her eyes glinting with malice.

Her body was a fusion of Katánian and falcon. Her wings stretched behind her, adorned with sharp black feathers that glimmered in the faint light.

Her skin glistened with a shifting sheen caused by ancient runes etched onto its pale surface.

With a howl, she lurched mid-air as the power of the SHärd blades hit her in the sternum; with such force, she reeled away in the gale.

Then, one of Killen’s koyas sliced away her left wing, cutting through chrome and brass.

Kalila shrieked in agony, her kíza energy pulsating in a wild frenzy as her feathers scattered in the wind.

Unperturbed, Sana’a continued her assault, her daggers a blur of motion. She struck again, this time severing one of Kalila’s talons.

The creature’s cries echoed through the storm but continued after her, its dark force pulsing. ‘How dare you? How fokkin’ dare you?’

Sana’a didn’t hear a word.

Only the roaring of her fury filled her ears.

She aimed, ready to send her blades to sever Kalila’s throat, when a giant chrome wing thrust itself in front of her.

Sana’a wheeled to face Killen, rage contorting her face. ‘Damn you, Killen! Don’t stand in the way of my oath.’

‘Enough,’ he murmured with surprising gentleness. ‘She’s wounded.’

‘That’s the whole point,’ Sana’a hissed.

A voice broke through her tirade. ‘It is you. You’re not just a myth.’

The couple rotated around.

Kalila floated before them, only one appendage keeping her in the air. Bloodied and beaten, she stared at Killen with disbelief.

He let out a muffled grunt. ‘Naam, Kíntí. I’m real, and I am here. To stay. I can’t wait to get to know you. We’re family, after all.’

Kalila gawped, her mouth working in outrage. ‘You’re no kəst member of mine. You’re not even of the right blood. You’re tainted, and I will summon all manner of power after you should you continue this charade. You cannot and will not take the crown—not if I’ve anything to do with it.’

With a roar, wind and rain grew even more vital, the darkness coiling around the wounded creature. She flung a koya in Killen’s direction.

Killen’s hawkstone blazed for a moment, then he feinted to the side, and it whistled past him.

Still, Kalila persisted, pulling out more koya with her free arm and flinging their deadly barbs at him.

He moved with such speed he was a blur as he dodged each blow. The storm raged on, its fury unabated. The air was filled with the crackle of lightning and the roar of thunder. The sand whipped up by the wind created chaos around them.

As Kalila fought Killen, the koven came for Sana’a, and she matched them strike for strike.

Her swords, a whirlwind of light and shadow, carved through the darkness, cutting down two of the koven and giving her a direct path to Kalila.

Sana’a advanced and flicked her daggers, rotating them in her hand.

Just as she was about to cut her last kill in half, the remaining five attackers surrounded their damaged leader, lifted their wings, and stilled their koyas midair.

‘We surrender,’ Keb said through a voice tainted with weary anger. ‘Let us take her away. She is wounded. Have mercy.’

‘No mercy,’ Sana’a snarled, flinging herself forward to finish her mortal enemy.

Suddenly, the air was rent with the high-pitched whistle of more swords coming their way.

Not just one, two or ten.

A multitude.

Time slowed as Sana’a and Killen whirled around, sighting the white-hot koyas slicing through the sky towards them.

With just seconds to spare, Killen pulled her into the safe folds of his rachís.

In seconds, he transmuted into his giant eagle chrome form that arched its body over hers, even as the bladed missiles struck.

His metallic wings were a shield and rampart against which the weapons clattered as their íkan power was drained from them and absorbed into Killen.

When Killen’s grasp finally eased away, Sana’a lifted her head out. To the view of a multitude of Kɛstrəl hawks surrounding them.

These were not warriors from the army of Kainôs but a rabble of mercenaries.

Her eyes widened as she recognised a few faces in the half-transmuted quorum, from Kiho to Kysin. Most of them were kəthi fighters—cohorts in Kalila’s employ and many she’d defeated in the Sābər Arena.

They glowered at her, their loathing for her contorting their semi-transformed features.

Mid-air between the opposing groups was a phalanx of quivering chrome and gold sābərs that belonged to Killen. They vibrated with an energy far more lethal than their adversaries.

But what the attackers lacked in style, they made up for in numbers, with over a hundred Kɛstrəl koyas facing Killen and Sana’a blades.

‘Give it up, usurper and your Switchblade whore. We have you surrounded,’ Kalila hissed.

Braced on either side of her by her koven members, she leaned toward the pair, her half-shorn off wing leaking blood trails through the air. ‘You have no place here on Katánē, neither of you. Not now, not ever.’

With that, she sunk back into the grasp of her companions. ‘Keb, make sure they are nothing but tiny, pulverised bones when you’re done with them.’

Sana’a surged towards Kalila with a snarl.

Moving so fast, she was a blur until she fell against a solid mass.

Killen’s wings came around her, banding over her as he pulled her to the side to let the koven pass. ‘Khany’s, don’t.’

Infuriated, Sana’a whisper-raged at him. ‘This is a mistake. Get out of my way. Don’t stand in between me and my rightful kill.’

‘You can’t fight them all,’ he whispered. ‘They’re too many and will rip you to shreds if you try. I won’t let that happen.’

Sana’a struggled in his wing grip, watching with disbelief as Kalila was carried off, her retinue disappearing in the night storm.

The air vibrated as the hundred-fold kɛstrəls approached, their dark energy pulsing through the elemental tempest.

Sana’a stiffened herself, readying for the worst, as Killen’s grasp on her tightened.

‘Take it easy,’ he rasped.

‘You telling me to fokkin’ relax? You just told me we’re no match for them.’

Killen smiled. ‘Should have clarified. They’re no match for me.’

Then his hawkstone blazed.

A blinding radiance erupted from his forehead, engulfing the sky. It pulsed and resonated with a power that shook the core of Katánē.

As the light faded, Sana’a opened her eyes and slow-blinked as Killen freed her of his tight hold.

Where once hovered a firmament full of menacing enemies now floated a multitude of insensate Kɛstrəl warriors. They wheeled about midair, knocked out; the only sound was the wind howling around them.

Sana’a cocked her head at the smug man by her side, sliding from his winged grasp. ‘What just happened?’

‘The hawkstone happened,’ he said, gesturing to their now motionless foes. ‘It gathered all the íkan in the air and created a shockwave that’ll have them out for a few hours.’

‘Even him?’ Sana’a asked, pointing to an unconscious figure wheeling through the sky. It was Keb, the kavalier and Kalila’s arokí witcher.

‘Him too. He’s lucky I’ve yet to master pulverisation.’

Sana’a shook her head in exasperation. ‘I think you need to let them down easy.’

Killen smirked as he summoned two of his chrome koya back into his hands and flicked íkan out of them.

It washed over the insensate spinning horde.

The pair observed in silence as the warriors floated to the planet’s surface—most of them landing on fields and fruit orchards at the base of the majestic mountain of Karth.

As the last, they disappeared lost amongst grass and groves, just as the storm began to subside.

Sana’a inhaled, turning slowly to glare at her lover. ‘You knew you’d be able to take them out with your hawkstone, so I can only conclude that you let Kalila go.’

‘I did. I had to.’

She studied his face, raking her eyes over him. ‘Why?’

He had no answer for her and avoided her eyes. Gazing instead at the horizon.

She pulled closer to him. ‘You’re hiding something from me, Killen. Why won’t you allow me to complete my vow? Why do you persecute me so?’

Silence fell between them. Dawn’s weak light seeped in as the darkness around them receded, the wind dying down to a soft breeze, the maelstrom dissipating to stillness.

He gave her a long look, one that cut through her ferocity. ‘I don’t intend for you to suffer, khany’s, but when it comes to Kalila, it isn’t all about you and your oath.’

She huffed. ‘Oh, I know my needs are unimportant to you and that your purpose supersedes mine.’

Killen’s eyes clouded as Sana’a’s words pierced him to his core. ‘The first part is untrue,’ he countered.

‘And the second?’

He chose silence, and she scoffed. ‘I have my answer.’

He shut his eyes for a beat, and a flash of vision crossed his mind—a girl racing across a desert, sending blades after him.

He snapped them open.

The nightmares demand deciphering,he thought to himself, before his heart was free to love this complicated, badass, fierce woman.

Still, he needed her. He had a war to wage, which would be much more effective with her by his side.

Was he being selfish? Perhaps.

As if reading his thoughts, the iciness of her glare chilled further.

He shivered, turning to face her wrath. ‘Khany’s Kalila is complicated. I need to learn a lot more from her about this darkness we face. Until then, I’d love you by my side. Let’s battle this war together, and once it is won, she’ll be all yours.’

She jolted. ‘I’ve listened a lot about what you need. What about what I need? What have I worked so hard for so many years to achieve? You might have harnessed your hawkstone and let me get to her today.’

‘Would that have been a kill you’d have wanted? That I had incapacitated her so, you’d slice her throat? Where’s the honour in that?’

She turned away from him, hands crossing over her chest as she hovered alongside him, contemplating his words.

‘Your time will come, Sana’a. This I can promise you,’ he rumbled in due time. ‘I was also not prepared to see you sacrifice yourself, like some form of divine wind hashashin, so that you’d weapon her. I perceived too many variables, and even though I have the hawkstone, my multi-defensive proficiencies are still nascent.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’ve yet to explore all I can do with my freakish lodestone. I had no assurance I’d have what it took to protect you if you killed Kalila and unleashed an even worse manifestation of kízakan from within her as a result.’

Sana’a stared at him for a beat. ‘While I appreciate the chivalry, am I meant to sit and wait for you to tell me when to blade her? Like a good little girl?’

He gave her a cool look. ‘Naam. Trying to end Kalila at the wrong time, before her purpose on Katánē is fulfilled, could upset the balance of things, sending this entire planet ablaze and alight. I promise once her intentions are revealed, she’s all yours.’

Sana’a ground her teeth. ‘Fokk this shit.’

They fell into silence.

Clouds tracked past them, and life began to stir in the villages below them.

He let her ire flame over him until he sensed it simmering down into a distant pulse.

Only then did the knot in his chest ease.

With a lurch, he noticed masses of Kä’avi on the surface below, milling about in groups, gazing up at the skies where he and Sana’a hovered, gesturing at them.

He realised his hawkstone was still shining over the firmament and dimmed it with a sigh.

‘We’ve been rumbled,’ he rasped. ‘Let’s go.’

Still, he discerned Sana’a’s fury bubbling under her skin, throbbing away as they soared into mist, fog and barrenness.