Crowned (Beholder #4)(35)

Closing my eyes, I practiced one of my old meditations for calm. By the time I’d reached the round platform, I felt in control once again.

Mrefu stood at the platform’s edge. Nan and I followed suit. After that, Mrefu raised his arms and began a series of low growls. The sounds repeated, his voice rising every time. Now, I couldn’t remember any words to a spell, but I still knew the rules of how to cast them. And what Mrefu was doing? It was the classic format for an incantation of summoning.

The realization sent a pang of grief through my soul. How I wished I could cast again, myself.

A puff of wind spun around the circular platform, setting my Necromancer robes slapping against my legs. The breeze soon picked up, carrying along larger bits of moss and black vine. Within seconds, the wind had grown into a small vortex that was whipping around the center of the stone disc. The rough outlines of a figure appeared within the column of air. No question who this was.

Kila Kitu.

When the gusts stopped, a Zaidi man stood at the platform’s center. Just like Mrefu, his face was shaped with bone and horn. Only unlike Mrefu, this figure was actually made completely from moss and black leaves.

Not a living person, then. I’d learned of this in the Cloister. Some people gained such incredible levels of magick while alive, that once they died, they could still take a physical form. Sometimes their spirit-selves possessed humans or, in this case, they took a shape made from leaves, bark, and moss.

I straightened my back and spoke in my calmest voice. “Greetings, Kila Kitu.”

“Well met, Elea of Braddock.” The mage’s voice was a deep and gentle whisper.

“You speak.” I hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but after Mrefu’s unintelligible language, I’d expected the same from Kila Kitu.

“I do whatever is required.” The mage grinned, showing off a mouth of impossibly sharp teeth. I shivered. Those definitely weren’t made of moss. And there was a malevolent spark in Kila Kitu’s eyes that set my nerves on edge. I’d already been toyed with by Mlinzi and Walinzi, and this mage had the same dark glee in his soul.

In other words, the quicker all this was over with, the better.

“If you know that I’m Elea of Braddock, then you must also be aware of why I’m here. I need the hilt of the Sword of Theodora. I also need to know how to heal the gateways with hybrid magick. Your magick has violet light. It’s hybrid, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Then, how do I cast a hybrid spell to heal the gateways?”

“That will be evident once you find the Sword of Theodora.”

My shoulders slumped. “So I’ve been told.”

By trickster gods. Which isn’t comforting.

“And I may give you the Sword hilt,” said Kila Kitu. “But only after I determine if you are worthy. Are you strong enough to know the truth?” Kila Kitu’s voice became so melodious it was almost a song. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. Friend? Enemy?

I lifted my chin. It didn’t matter what Kila Kitu was. He had answers. “Yes, I’m strong enough. How can I prove that to you?”

“Give me your wrist. Then, you can see the past through my magick, so long as your blood flows.” Kila Kitu bared his teeth, and again, I couldn’t miss how the mage had a mouthful of glistening fangs.

On reflex, I turned to Nan. My onetime friend stared at me with her right brow arched. I remembered that face. It was her way of wondering if I had the mettle to go through with this thing. My focus moved onto Mrefu. He gave me the barest of nods.

Go on, Mrefu seemed to be saying. This is the way.

I crossed the raised platform to stand beside Kila Kitu. Little by little, I lifted my arm, holding it out toward the mysterious Seer. Kila Kitu’s moss-dark eyes glared at me. His mouth opened wide. The invitation was clear.

Set your hand in here.

I took one step closer.

Two.

Three.

Fast as a heartbeat, Kila Kitu latched his teeth into my wrist. A blast of hurt shot up my arm. Blood dripped from my skin, landing on the platform with a pit-pat. I gasped with shock.

The next thing I knew, the stone room disappeared. The pain vanished as well. The surprise I’d felt before morphed into curiosity. What spell had Kila Kitu cast? Purple smoke surrounded me, cutting off my vision. A charge of magick filled the air, reminding me of the promise of lightning before a storm.

Kila Kitu was casting a spell and without using an incantation.

Now that was powerful magick indeed.

The violet mists faded away, revealing the fact that I no longer stood in the underground chamber of stone. Now, I waited at the edge of a great field whose grass was formed into red and blue squares. The pattern reminded me of the chess games I used to play with Petra back at the Zelle Cloister. Lining the edges of the field were gateways. Some were made of gemstones; others were simple gray bricks. I recognized the one I’d passed through to see Mlinzi and Walinzi. All of them were empty arches whose hollow insides looked out over the vast checkerboard fields. I was the sole figure to be seen.

I looked down at myself for the first time. My body was a translucent as a ghost, while my right hand was torn up at the wrist. Blood dripped onto the earth, leaving no stain behind.

Clearly, I was a lone pawn in this game of gods and gateways. I didn’t like that at all.

A ghostly version of Kila Kitu appeared beside me. Unlike back at the stone chamber, he looked like the rest of the Zaidi, only his fur was pure white. “You’ve made it through my casting. I’m impressed.”