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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 kσχ?ς 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 kσχ?ς 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 Sab?r 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.
