Shalla loved to chide me for being lazy and acted as if all I needed in order to become a powerful mage was to really apply myself, but I knew she took no end of pleasure in having more power than I did. Would she really risk giving that up? Or would she back out on the deal once she had what she wanted?
I tried copying her cross-legged pose, my arms in front of me, bent at the elbows, my right hand facing outwards with the ring and little finger touching the palm – the sign of reaching out. My left palm faced inwards with the second and third fingers touching, forming the sign of summoning. Using the silent breath that Master Osia’phest had taught us since childhood, I repeated the simple four-syllable incantation over and over. Te-me’en-ka. Te-me’en-ka.
I closed my eyes, not because the spell required it but because staring at the unsparked tattooed bands on my forearms wasn’t going to help my confidence any. Inside my mind and my heart I shaped my will and thought about falcons. You are summoned. We are meant to be together. We are meant to be soul-bonded. You are summoned. You will come.
I kept on, over and over, doing my best to ignore the growing pain in my head from the constant recitation of the spell, concentrating on the somatic forms, the silent verbal incantation and the inner shape of my will all at once. Te-me’en-ka. Te-me’en-ka.
I kept it up for what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two. The breeze rustled my hair, sending strands of it tickling my face. Drops of sweat stung my left eye. Blinking away the tears did nothing for the pain but broke my concentration completely. I wiped the sweat from my brow and realised I was nearly soaked in it. Nothing had changed. The fire still crackled, Shalla still sat in her circle thirty yards away from me. It was as if the entire world had ignored my efforts.
Oh ancestors, I’ll forgive you for every lousy thing you’ve ever done to me if you’ll just give me a power animal. I promise I’ll be good to it. I’ll feed it whatever it wants and keep it from harm. I’ll give it as long and happy a life as I possibly can. Just don’t leave me like this. Don’t leave me alone.
It was only then that I realised I’d mistaken the crunching of dried leaves for the crackling of the fire. Something had been hiding in the darkness, and it was coming for me.
15
The Masks
There was a brief instant where, in my dazed state, I managed to convince myself that somehow, despite the bands on my forearms and the weakness of my will, the spell had worked. A power animal was coming to me. Okay, so it was running along the ground, which meant it wasn’t a falcon, but still …
The fantasy was soon shattered. Not even the most ardent self-deception will let your brain miss the heavy footsteps of men approaching for long.
My first thought was that it would be Ra’fan and Ra’dir, but there was no way Ra’meth would risk having his family connected to a direct attack on the House of Ke. Three men were coming, obscured by the shadows of the trees. Their dark travelling clothes gave no clue as to who they were or even what country they might be from. As they crept forward I could make out the masks covering their faces. Black-and-red lacquer, shaped like grinning monsters, with assorted fangs and horns and tusks adorning their features. Mahdek, I thought, suddenly unable to breathe. They used to wear masks like these when performing their vile demonic rituals. I scrambled to my feet. They’ve come back. The Mahdek have come back.
‘You’ll stay away if you know what’s good for you!’ I shouted, trying to speak in the commanding tones of my father. The words sounded a lot more threatening in my head than they did carried into the night air on my trembling, high-pitched voice. ‘I have dark and terrible magics!’ I added, which managed to sound even more ridiculous. Ancestors, I thought, if you have to send the Mahdek to torment me, couldn’t you at least give me something clever to say? I looked over at Shalla for help but she was still lost in her spell, oblivious to the danger.
The men in their masks crept closer and my memory conjured up the shiny, metallic ink drawings on the old scrolls that the masters would sometimes pull out to frighten us. Terrifying images that would haunt our nightmares. ‘Who among you would fight the ancient enemy?’ Master Osia’phest would demand when we acted above ourselves. ‘Which of you would face the Mahdek wizard wearing his ritual death mask?’
Not me, that’s for sure.
The tallest of the three men stepped forward. His mask had two pairs of curved horns, one red, one black, on either side of his temples. ‘Take him,’ he said to the others.
A wide-set man whose mask had a third eye in the middle ran for me so quickly that in my rush to get away I backed into a tree. My head slammed against the hard bark and floating yellow lights filled my vision. My attacker would have got his arms around me were it not for my knees having already buckled, dropping me low to the forest floor where I scrambled around the tree.
Just as I got my feet under me I felt him grab at the back of my shirt. But now fear was replaced by something else: desperation. Desperation is a lot like fear only more useful. The big man spun me around and slammed me into the tree, but as he reached for me a second time I pulled out the metal card Ferius had given me the night before and slashed out with it, slicing the skin of his palm. His scream prompted me to attack again, this time at the other hand. I caught him on the wrist and the razor-sharp edge sent blood spitting into the air as he fell backwards out of the way.
A third man, this one with long, curved tusks extending up from the lower half of his mask, started towards me. I had a brief moment in which I could have escaped, but I hesitated. Even if I got away, then what? I was too far from town to get help. If my mother was scrying to watch over Shalla, then she and my father would be on their way already. But they wouldn’t get here in time to save my sister if I ran.
Not knowing what else to do, I braced myself against the tree behind me and kicked out at the second attacker. Too soon, damn it. He was still too far, so when my foot connected with his stomach it barely brushed him. In desperation I threw the card at his face. No, idiot! Not the face. Despite my poor throw the card lodged itself in the forehead of his mask and I heard him yelp in surprise. But it didn’t bite deep enough to wound him. Had I thrown it at any other part of his body I might have cut him, slowed him down. Instead he grabbed me by the neck with both hands, his grip so strong that I was instantly unable to breathe. ‘Nasty little bastard,’ he said, his voice a deep, guttural growl. He took one hand away and used it to pull the card out of his mask. ‘Let’s see how you like getting cut.’