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‘From your farm?’ Sana’a clarified, still pondering the merchant’s words.
‘Indeed.’ The Kíkara stood prouder, her krest shimmering as the shikari took her first bite, and her eyes widened at the exquisite flavour.
‘Delicious! Sante!’
Sana’a wandered off with a smile and nod, mouth working around the sweet, peachy goodness.
Inspecting her commtab, she isolated her destination on the holo map.
It was up ahead across the river.
She came to a slow stop and stared.
A series of black marble facade columns loomed from an island at the centre of the waterway.
They floated above the mist, dancing on the water’s surface.
That made up the face of Kos’ immense central amphitheatre, which dominated the horizon.
A pair of twenty-foot giant sab?r koya sculptures loomed over its entrance.
They intersected over each other, forming an arch under which a stream of Katánians rushed.
The sculpted chrome feathers, so thin they fluttered in the wind, were stunning, reflecting the prismatic light of Kos.
Calling, entreating, and welcoming while at the same time warning of the lethal beauty that infused every aspect of this wild, savage land.
Chapter 7
Sana’a crossed a wide ebony bridge into a complex that was a city unto itself.
The Sab?r Arena was a massive and opulent edifice.
Sana’a spotted kondolars of revellers trawling its eye-popping canals that extended from the river into the colossal palatial setting.
She followed suit, her brow cocked as she took in the unreal decadence and unbelievable luxury.
The place was packed with Kakapo artisans and creatives whose krests of amaranth, a reddish-pink hue, and magenta bobbed between gambling tables. Their koya exuded humour, silliness, and cunning.
Amongst them were the Kwaaa sporting all colours of the rainbow.
Their garish clothes hinted at their professions as entertainers, comedians, and mockingbirds.
She’d read somewhere that their stage shows opened many bouts in the arena.
Smiling at their showmanship, Sana’a searched for and found signs to the íkhara office.
Sana’a shouldered past punters crowded over table games in the vast gaming hall, feathers bristling in the chase for schills, Pegasi’s galaxy-wide currency.
Ignoring the pandemonium, she made her way towards a nondescript door.
She pushed in to find a sparse room with a tall desk. On it sat a small sign placard that read, ‘Kavaliers Wanted.’
A lanky, statuesque female Katánian perched behind the bureau, lean and whip-thin with muscled athleticism.
She sported a jagged scar on the left side of her face and wore her tresses shorn close to her head.
Her koya feathers, styled into a mohawk replacing her hair, were striped, something Sana’a had not seen yet.
