Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Killen narrowed his eyes at the shadows.

Then closed them to concentrate on the sounds of shy, tiny shrew-like mice, timid duikers and a solitary striped mammal darting through the undergrowth.

The creatures fled ahead of a fleet-footed charge and the glide of whisper-soft wings.

He froze midstep, the murmurs of the forest receding all around as his hereafter vision glimmered with what lay ahead.

Kalani, wedged close behind him, was quick to the draw. Five sentries. Two on foot, three in low flight.

He jerked his chin to his unseen companions and lifted a finger to halt their progress. I’ll meet them. You two leave me now.

Fare thee well, Kíríga. The new voice spoke into Killen’s mind.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement as a pair of stealthy figures rose into the air far behind him and vanished.

He and Kalani gazed at each other for a beat, his exhales forming small clouds that floated to join the fog hovering over the misty dale.

His companion did not breathe; they did not need to.

Killen turned away from them as his hawkstone flashed.

Between his silver-lined solid brows, on his forehead was a glowing jewel of such brilliance that it hurt to gaze into.

He sent a neural command, and his birthright, his very key to the throne, transmuted into a minor lode gem, dimming until it was barely visible.

His contoured rachís wings shimmered in the low light of the forest as he shook them out behind him, fanning them out to half size in part defensive measure.

He turned his gaze to the sinuous, lithe creature by his side. ‘You’ll have to return too. You did what you were tasked to, which was to bring me safely to Katánē. Now that I’m here, I must forge my path alone.’

‘Are you sure?’ Kalani asked, their energy thoughtful and reflective.

Their solemn nature had endeared them to Killen since they’d met, given he shared the same predilection for deep thinking.

‘As I’ll ever be. Go now,’ the silver-haired man told his sable-visaged companion. They won’t hurt me.’

‘If they do, your personal K’Chäwi will tear them apart from the shadows.’

Killen gave a wry laugh. ‘They have no clue you’re the ogre of their worst cursed nightmares.’

Kalani smiled. ‘Just because I’m a technological anomaly in this necromancy-infested Luddite world doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to attack anyone who comes for me or you. They’ve no idea what I can do.’

‘I’ve none either, and that terrifies me,’ Killen shot back with a smile. ‘If Riv worked with Mirage to produce you, I’m sure your secrets are beyond imagination. Now, please, get going.’

The creature inclined its head and shimmered into the ether. I’ll be on our ship if you need me. I’ll keep our neural link open.

Sante.

As Kalani’s presence ghosted away, Killen stood still in the tree-lined and shadowed glade, waiting.

His tongue pressed against the lump of klaw in his mouth, feeling its texture and weight as he rolled it around.

The slight grittiness of the leaves coated his lips, and he savoured the bitter tang that filled him with a sharp, earthy flavour.

Its potency hit his hawkstone, and he sighed, welcoming the kick of energy it delivered.

Moments later, Killen caught onto a rustle and flutter in the undergrowth.

With a whistle, a quiver of well-sized silver, serrated feathers sailed towards him, striking the ground at his feet in a perfect arc.

A voice snarled from the gloominess. ‘Hold it, stranger. Turn around and raise your arms. Or we’ll not hesitate to command our koya to slit your throat.’

He paused, then swivelled as commanded, sensing a presence behind him. It tagged his wrists and strapped them into an energised bond.

The creature tying him up shoved him forward, and Killen growled. ‘Oy! Gentle with my rachís.’

He sensed his captor’s eyes on him, sizing him, and jolted at Killen’s untapped power.

His detainer backed away, murmuring under his breath. ‘Face me, douche rider.’

Killen took an inhale and spun, hands behind his back.

He lifted a brow, tucking his klaw to the side of his inner cheek, eyes raking over the newcomers.

Before him stood five apparitions, with dawn’s light at their backs.

All eyes aimed square at him, even as more koya feathers quivered in the air between them.

Killen gazed over their massive wings, sharp-beaked, fierce eagle features, and colossal leonine musculature.

Their faces, human, ragged and scarred, told of scorched battlefields in their wake.

Their stares were imperious, and he met them with brazen insolence until one of them snarled in impatience.

‘What foolhardy scrub wren wanders the perimeter of the imperial kambí?’

While he spoke with force, wariness lurked in the depths of his eyes as they flicked over Killen like he’d captured a wild, unpredictable beast.

‘Greetings, Kärds of Krypós,’ Killen smirked.

His voice was like a thunderbolt, deep, calm, rasped.

It commanded attention, and the mammoth creatures bucked at it, exchanging glances.

Their lead stepped forward. ‘Who dares address us like you know our krests?’

Their quarry shrugged. ‘I go by the kína Killen. A humble kəst member of the ignoble Sable eyrie, a kíjí far, far, far from here.’

The winged sentries studied the giant, silver-haired man.

Their eyes flicked over his long locks, open robe, and dust-caked trews and boots. Over his lush hair that he’d caught into a rough bun, concealing his five chrome and brass feathers within it.

His muscled and hardy form was more extensive than theirs, and his oversized wings glimmered with metallic and opalescent menace, which had given them pause.

For Killen was shrouded with the potency of the ancients, the monarchs who’d gone before him.

This legacy leaked into every corner of his body, filling him with otherworldly strength and vitality.

In addition, his hawkstone amplified his abilities by the day, making him stronger and faster than ever.

Even now, an intense rush of energy coursed through him like a fire burning within his veins.

During his flight to Katánē, he noted that his endurance was also surging, allowing him to push himself further and harder.

His tolerance for larger loads also increased as his muscles enlarged and became more defined. The result was a jacked, powerful, and shredded physique that exuded masculinity to the core.

But it wasn’t just his physical appearance that was evolving.

Since leaving Devansi, Killen’s presence had become more imposing; his gravitas had tonnage, and it rolled off him like a tsunami, sweeping over all who chance on him.

He sensed the fear coursing through his new companions and sent a kusudi command to decrease their agitation.

In doing so, his meta eyes glowed silver, as did the now-small lodestone on his forehead.

On sighting the minor-sized jewel, the Kärds shared glances and sneers of derision.

‘They’re rumours of a similar piddling kəst on the outskirts of the Kākāwa Forests,’ one of the Krypós uttered with a curl of his lip.

The lead stirred his rachís, shaking them out. ‘By the Kamokau Plateau? Doesn’t the eyrie of the Kākāwahu soar that plain?’

Killen shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never come across them. We’re a much more obscure Kíjí, farther and smaller than all the great ones you speak of.’

The spokesman was unconvinced. ‘You’ve got some koya-covered balls to wander alone into the greatest kambí in all Katánē.’

As his companions sniggered, Killen took a breath. ‘I’m here at the invitation of one of your generals.’

The Krypós captain reared back its gold and black krested skull in surprise. ‘Who would that be?’

Killen braced himself, lifting his chin. ‘Kaxim, also called Sky Ash, interim Commander of the elite KaɪˈmɪərəSābər Hawks of the Kainôs Army.’

Stunned silence fell for a moment, followed by screeching and snickering howls.

‘Oh, you’re a fokkin’ laugh, stranger.’

‘He has no time for hawklings like yourself.’

The caterwauls of glee continued for a moment longer until Killen sent a command to his hawkstone.

The Kärds’ amusement died in an instant, and they exchanged looks, puzzled at the sudden change in their demeanour.

‘Take me to Sky Ash.’ Killen’s quiet rasp rang over the dale.

The sentry’s spokesman growled. ‘All reports are that he is away. You cannot meet with him.’

Killen tilted his head, his eyes alight with curiosity. ‘I have it good authority he is no more than a few hours away from the camp.’

The lead Kärd snapped his beak at him. ‘How can he be? He’s off planet. Hunting the usurper, the one they purport to have killed the Kíríga.’

Killen raised a brow, speaking in a wheedling tone. ‘I’ve heard of this self-appointed King. Any sighting yet? Maybe I can take him on in battle and save Katánē from all the flustered feathers and screeches of chagrin being fluffed up by his audacity?’

A second sentry guffawed. ‘Take him on, my ass plumes! You really do have plex steel testicles. As for the usurper, he’s in the wind. Evading the furious Kəˈnerē high society who lost entire Hawk Kəsts in the recent skirmish on Devansi. They’ve even set on him their hired arokí with their curses and hoodoo.’

The Kärds exchanged looks and shook their wings in fake fear before convulsing in more laughter.

When their amusement died down, the lead Kärd had a thought, raking his eyes over Killen. ‘Where did you chance on Kaxim? It is rare for a general of his standing to mingle with someone of your status.’

Killen hid a smile. ‘Let’s say he was acquainted with my grandfather and our eyrie. I don’t think he’d take it well if you blocked my passage.’

The lead eagle’s eyes narrowed. ‘Kaxim does not suffer fools at all. So if you speak in jest, your throat will soon be spliced open, and your innards ripped out by just one thought command to his koya.’

Killen sent another wave of kusudi intent from his mind, and the Krypós Kärds’ leader blinked in surprise at the words that tripped next from his mouth. ‘We’ll guide you into the kambí, but you may await the General’s return for some time.’

‘I have the patience of a saint. I’ll hold out as long as I need for Sky Ash,’ Killen insisted. ‘And I’ll speak well of your generous passage and escort if you allow it. Should you not, it might be your innards that are torn out.’

‘Your funeral,’ the Krypós warrior conceded. ‘Move,’ he added.

After easing off the restraints on Killen’s wrists, the unlikely aerie set off at a low flight, feet just above the surface, swishing past the undergrowth, ducking branches and scrubbing.

The senior Kärd led the party through the dense wild fig and podocarpus forest.

Killen, too, used his wings, flanked by two of his escorts while three took the rear.

They passed under a series of massive skulls floating off mid-air, overflowing with black, glimmering tendrils of vapour. ‘Watch out for the kíma.’

Killen glanced at the apparitions with interest.

One of the guards caught his curiosity and leaned in to whisper. ‘They’re the skoltr of chimeric eagles strung around the camp to protect those who live therein. If you cross them without permission, the miasma of their kízakan sprays on you and destroys one’s plume to the nub with no mercy.’

Killen’s brow rose, and he ducked well under the malodorous display.

On they marched into a scrubland, following the flow of a flooded river from the lowlands and flat, semi-desert bush as it cut its way through the hills.

As they slogged on, Killen caught snatches of the silent conversation between the Kärds.

Like this joker, every mini-peckered, small-time Kəst defender has descended on us for this ill-timed contest.

Not ill-timed, fool. We’ve no Kíríga on the throne. The court is frothing, and the arokí are stirring up their madness. If we don’t get a new Commander soon, and one who is a king, Katánē might well implode.

I hear Kaxim and Kione are hunting the usurper down. It’s a clusterfokknest.

The usurper, though. I can’t wait to set eyes on his Känˌdôr sized balls and see if he’s what we need to take down the facetious Kəˈnerē.

Why can’t Kaxim forget about the Král-In-Waiting, and take full command?

He doesn’t have the support of the Kubaí or the Kíama. Only a royal Kɛstrəl would. Rumour has it this usurper wears the ancient Hawkstone.

Hawkstone, my ass. The thing probably doesn’t exist. We haven’t seen one nigh-on twenty years.

Hotdamnfokkinhellandfeathers

Killen took it all in, musing at their telepathic debate, his jewel lode making short work of the convoluted Katánian dialects.

When the party reached the pinnacle of a small hill, the shadows below the trees were at half-length, and Killen got his first glimpse of the military camp, a vast site in the cool, green basin at the centre of an extensive plateau.

A whistle drew from between Killen’s slips, unbidden.

One of his escorts turned to him. ‘Never been here before?’

Killen shook his head, eyes taking in the raw glory of the view. ‘First time.’

‘There’s nothing like seeing the largest Kainôs encampment on the planet for the first time.’

Thousands of warriors scurried like flocks all over the area.

Some were engaged in mid-flight drills, their plumes, swords and koyas glinting like the facets of dancing diamonds in the sky.

‘What do you call this place?’ Killen murmured.

‘This the Desolation of Karth, due south of the capital under the shadow of the Mountain of the same name. These are the summer training grounds, on the low plains where the Sābər Hawks gather during the dry season.’

Further back at the camp’s perimeter, a hovering phalanx of more winged Krypós spectres streaked towards the incoming party and came to a flurried stop above and around them.

They studied the Kärds accompanying Killen before resting their eyes on him, their irises widening as they sensed his unusual presence.

Killen met their steady, unwavering gaze with one of his own as their stony-faced, eagle eyes darted in alert mode.

His lead escort raised his talons. ‘Oy fokkers, we’ve been in the forests on undercover patrol for days now. Any word of Kaxim and Kione? Are their krests back in the kambí? We hear there might be a possibility?’ he snarled, glancing at Killen.

‘The Kogun has been sighted not more than five minutes away. He returns from their hunt. Given the early hour, not many know of their coming yet.’

The lead escort’s expression slipped into momentary awe before he rearranged it. He gave Killen a dirty look. ‘Funny that. Someone did know. The question is how?’

Nods and grunts were exchanged between the heads of both parties as the encircling sentries let the group pass.

They headed towards the centre of the grand encampment, which stretched for at least one hour’s walk in each direction.

Killen’s eyes took in the little he could see of the dust-whipped panorama.

The sky above the plain below was packed with infantry, winged warriors immersed in various drills and koya training regimens.

Warriors jumped under and over torturous obstacles on the ground, carrying massive logs on their bruised backs. More practised a series of standard attack formations.

Killen floated past more combatants, this time a more superior ilk.

His brow rose at the vast krests of the imperial hawk hunters and the golden leonine-like locks of the Krypós elite guards, which flowed behind them like banners in the wind while they soared across the sky.

They were entangled in mid-air wrestling matches, their supine, grappling bodies and giant wings caught in interlocked throws, their throats grunting harshly. At the same time, they pinned their opponent’s rachís in fast and furious submission holds and takedowns.

To Killen, the sinewy, soaring and well-muscled warriors were an almost-too-perfect fighting machine.

Their aero dynamism was impressive as they swooped at each other with their sābər koyas, dodging and weaving, perfecting their descents and dives, thrusting and sparring to the barks of their superiors, and sweat poured down their backs.

Just then, a giant roar sounded over the valley.

‘Incoming,’ the lead Kärd called.

The small group paused midstep, watching as a single gargantuan warship blasted into view, its exhaust kicking up a mighty dust storm.

‘The Kogun always fokkin’ swirls the earth like the tail end of the planet-wide khaboob,’ the head escort growled.

His second in charge shook his krested feathers. ‘Nada. A khamsim that obscures most vision. Phase on your avi mask, stranger; the tiny flying rocks will scratch your eyes out. We Krypós have inbuilt hoods for this purpose.’

Killen’s silent command caused his cloak to form into a Katánian-styled beaked hood and eye shield. Complete with a mouthguard that tracked over his orifices.

The mighty ship touched down like a beast lashing dust and sand about and whipped up to join the larger bloom it had created high above.

Moments later, a door rippled open on the grand ship’s hull, and Killen spotted two figures soar from inside. Their winged departure was followed by most eyes in the encampment.

They flew into the vast training grounds and landed, stalking away towards the camp’s centre.

The giant craft roared back into the sky and roared away towards the north.

‘Where’s it going?’ Killen rasped out loud, for neither of his former companions had shared.

‘To its perch in the mountains surrounding Kos and Karth. As decreed by our laws, we keep any tekhnē high above, away from the sacred land below.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re a curious magpie. Why would we need anything but our wings, wichawi, and wit on Katánē? Or don’t they teach that in the backwaters of wherever thebumfokk you’re from?’

While the Kärds sniggered at his expense, Killen huffed. Still wrapping his mind around the mystic-leaning hearts and minds of these unusual beings that he needed to conquer.

Not with brute force but with a wily cunning fused with sterling truth.

Game on.

They threw him into an incarceration káján at the edge of the camp.

The synth-steel woven shelter already housed several detainees.

From rake-thin spectres with the remains of tattered plumage on their backs to a few drunk Katánian warriors who hissed and snapped in his direction.

They gave him long, sly looks as if waiting to pounce on him.

Eyes like flames, fierce and fiery, burning into his skin as they devoured the sight of him, ready to strike and strip him of his belongings.

The musty scent of dirt and sweat wafted off their bodies.

The metallic tang of fear and anticipation was mixed with the shuffling of feet and clanking of chains, adding to the tense, savage atmosphere.

One detainee, a female with dirty, torn gold and white rachís, one of which was broken into two and trailing on the ground, leered at him and bared her talons.

He leaned into her with a half smile. ‘If you touch me, I’ll crush your bird bones into pieces.’

‘Chicken shit.’

His chest rumbled with amusement at her sucked-teeth response. But when he unfurled his vast wings, she ducked away as he strolled past, her eyes shining with apprehension and disdain.

He found a spot against a column on the far side of the tent, away from prying ears and lecherous hands.

He longed to be alone, a state he much preferred most times.

When he could immerse himself in his thoughts and flow and, by Khiron’s grace, nab a few hours of rest.

Fokk, it’d been a long couple of weeks.

He was exhausted.

He contemplated the patch of dirt he was to sleep on and sighed.

Before settling in, he retrieved a pouch from the folds of his cloak.

Pinching the dried leaves into a ball, he slipped one into his mouth. The klaw injected stamina into his flagging soul, numbing thirst and hunger.

With precision, he plucked and placed his koya sābərs in a circle around him. He activated the metanoids within them, and in seconds, they bristled with energy.

He’d every right to be cautious.

He’d a planet full of Katánians frothing to kill him.

One woman had even made the attempt.

Speaking of.

Sana’a.

His thoughts lingered on the assassin and her effort to blade him.

Fokk,how her brazenness had abraded his mind.

When she’d stalked into The BirdKage, her audacious strut had knocked the air from his lungs.

He’d had to force an enormous amount of hawkstone control even to breathe.

Then, there was her hidden beauty in plain sight.

Every atom of her body was out of this world incandescent.

Since their encounter, he’d spent the rest of his time on Eden II in flux.

He’d struggled to stay focused on his role as his mother’s best man. All the while, his soul longed to find her once more, his hawkstone crawling the ionosphere for a hint of her presence.

He recalled with glass-like clarity how her expression and passion for her cause had leant her strength, evident in the ruthless glint of her stunning silver-flecked eyes.

She was relentless, which he appreciated, as he was pushing himself with a similar, persistent drive.

She’d also more steel in her balls than many.

On the night he’d met her on Eden II, Sana’a had needled and challenged him, called him an aether sorcerer. Her doggedness had almost made him lose his shit with her.

Yet she was fokkin’ seductive.

A wild star, a burst of light in the darkness. A runaway comet soaring through the vast expanse of the universe.

Her energy was untameable, her beauty mesmerising, and her radiance captivating all those who crossed her path.

He knew without a doubt that her soul was untethered by the universe’s constraints.

Her luminescence burned bright with an intensity that could not be contained.

She was an abstraction he needed to avoid like all hell because he had no time for stargazing.

He’d a battle on his hands as old as time, a tug-of-war between darkness and light. His hawkstone, unasked for but now his life’s calling, bid him to prevent the scales from tipping too far in either direction.

His duty was to face the encroaching shadows and protect the planet’s fragile knife’s edge balance.

At all costs.

‘Fokk!’ he grated. Oh, to be back in Devansi, eking out his former existence as a farmer and trader.

His mind played with the concept of winging away from it all. But only for a moment before he discarded it as pure fantasy.

He glanced at the gimlet-eyed prisoners who’d been watching him with intense ferocity, like the hawks that they were.

When they snarled at him, he gifted them with a one-fingered salute.

Making a pillow with his cloak, he slid onto the floor.

He stared up at the dusty, cobweb-riddled ceiling, sighed, and, in seconds, drifted to sleep.