The arrow soared through the air, its flight as silent and swift as a falcon's wings. Sunlight played upon its slender form, casting a shadow that flirted with the parched earth below. With the sort of accuracy that would make a cartographer weep, the arrow struck its mark, quivering in the very heart of the target.
"Gods!" exclaimed Basim, his hand migrating to his heart as if it needed company. "Yasmine's aim is…she’s amazing!”
Zeni nodded her agreement while admiring her friend's skill with the bow. It had been like this for the last several minutes: a mix of rapt attention and hushed awe, each successful loosing of arrows causing the crowd to hold its collective breath. The archers stood like statues, all furrowed brows and tensed muscles. And yet, there was something undeniably comical about the quietude that fell over the crowd, punctuated only by the occasional gasp of disbelief.
Yasmine's opponent, a tall, wiry man who looked like he'd been chewed up by the world and spat back out, had a sun-beaten face that seemed sculpted from the very desert sands themselves. His hair was a wild tangle of wind-whipped strands, the color of sun-bleached driftwood, which framed a set of intense, deep-set eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. A jagged, weathered scar ran down the side of his face, lending an air of seasoned grit to his visage. He sent his own arrow flying with a precision that mirrored Yasmine's, and grinned cruelly at her as the mark hit true. The crowd watched, their mouths agape like freshly caught fish, as the two archers matched each other shot for shot, their scores rising in perfect synchrony, a cosmic ballet of flying projectiles.
"Is he the vellum?" Zeni asked Basim, her eyes darting between Yasmine and the stranger.
Basim nodded, his gaze firmly locked on the unfolding drama.
"A vellum," he murmured, "is a professional competitor, my friend. They travel the length and breadth of the world, seeking out contests—even in remote villages like ours.”
“What? Why?” Zeni wondered.
“Well,” Basim said. “As my father puts it, ‘for the twin sirens of glory and coin.’"
Zeni rolled her eyes, but continued to watch. She noticed that the man seemed to exude a certain presence, a subtle shift in the air that was all too familiar. She felt the stirrings of Ka, the same energy that had wafted from some of the visitors earlier in the day. There was no doubt about it: this man was a Ka-sen.
However, there was something else. With each arrow he nocked, Zeni sensed a delicate manipulation of energy, and it took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t just bolstering his own visibility with Ka, but imbuing his arrows with it.
The hell, man! She thought. What an absolute jerk!
It rankled Zeni, knowing that Yasmine, as far as she knew, relied solely on her innate skill, unaided by the mystic force that swirled around the stranger.
The competition carried on, arrows flying in perfect harmony, each striking the target with a satisfying thud that was music to the crowd's ears. The spectators grew more and more restless, their whispers transforming into a symphony of anticipation. In their eyes, this was no longer a simple game but a duel of titans, a clash of wills, a battle for the very essence of destiny.
As Zeni watched, she found that, yes: each time the man drew back his bow, he tethered a bit of Ka into his arrow before releasing it. Her eyes narrowed. This must have been how he’d secured such a cushy position as a vellum. He cheated.
Even with her heart swelling with pride for her friend, Zeni couldn't help but feel a pang of injustice. Yasmine, unaided by Ka, was holding her own against a Ka-sen, her extraordinary skill and tireless training keeping her aloft in this contest. Zeni knew that her friend spent more time than most refining her craft, inventing new techniques, and pushing the limits of her abilities—all in pursuit of perfecting her art.
But, when facing an opponent who seemed to have done the same—but with Ka—would it be enough?
Zeni's frustration swelled like a tidal wave as the man shamelessly continued to rely on Ka to aid him. She saw Yasmine's exhaustion clawing at her friend like a ravenous beast. Her draw had become less fluid, and beads of sweat glistened on her brow like a string of misplaced jewels. Zeni, who knew Yasmine better than most watching the contest, recognized the signs of her friend's fatigue.
The injustice of the situation gnawed at Zeni, a burning ember in her chest that threatened to burst into an inferno. Her thoughts churned like the sandstorms that occasionally swept across the desert, threatening to obscure everything in their path. If she could sense the Ka flowing around the man, might it be possible for her to influence it as well?
Her mind cloudy with thought, Zeni's gaze drifted to the motley crew of Ka-sen she had spotted earlier. She could pick them out easily in the hubbub, as each had the noticeable air of presence indicating their connection to Ka.
The tall, dark-skinned man was there, wearing the overabundance of ostentatious feathers, making it impossible not to think of him as some sort of lost peacock king. His eyes, always searching, seemed to carry the weight of an empire. On the other side of the ring was the cat-like Meru woman, her eyes wandering along the length of the bow run, her tail flicking back and forth as if it had a mind of its own.
Then there was the man and girl pair sitting directly across from her and Basim on the other side of the stands. The man in his flamboyant indigo robes, who appeared to be wearing the night sky on his body, complete with constellations that seemed to rearrange themselves as he shifted in his seat; while the young girl accompanying him clapped her hands and laughed, her hair the color of a thousand sunsets and eyes reminiscent of golden-hour skies.
Zeni noticed that each time Yasmine's opponent nocked an arrow, the feather-adorned man expressed his disapproval with a wrinkling of his nose, as if he had just caught a whiff of a particularly pungent odor. Zeni speculated that he might also sense the manipulation of Ka by Yasmine's rival, and perhaps the peacock king shared her indignation.
This notion that others might be on her side bolstered Zeni's resolve. If these Ka-sen could perceive the unsportsmanlike conduct of Yasmine's opponent, then surely her own interference wouldn't be entirely out of line. And so, as the arrows flew and the crowd cheered, Zeni's determination to help her friend only grew stronger.
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Basim suddenly released a snort of disapproval as the man landed another perfect shot, the blacksmith’s apprentice clearly biased toward his friend in this contest.
Zeni leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Basim, the man is cheating. He's using Ka."
Basim furrowed his brow.
"Using Ka, you say? Well, that's hardly chariot racing. Or archery. Whatever this is,” he joked.
Zeni nodded.
"Exactly. It's not fair to Yasmine."
His eyes widened.
“Wait, you’re serious? I assumed you were just making the typical comments a spectator makes when they have a lot riding on a competition.”
Zeni shook her head.
“I’m not messing around. I can sense him gathering the energy before he takes his shot.”
Basim scratched his chin, pondering the moral implications of such a move.
"You know, I'm not entirely sure if it's cheating per se, but it's certainly not sporting."
Zeni's eyes narrowed.
"Well, if nothing else, it’s a dick move—that's for sure. It’s not fair."
Basim's expression hardened, sympathy for Yasmine evident in his eyes.
"No, it's not. Poor Yas is giving it her all, and this… this charlatan is using mystical forces to get ahead. It's like playing senet with a manual of your opponent's moves."
"Or a third leg in a two-legged race," Zeni added.
"Exactly," Basim agreed, warming to the theme. "You know, I wouldn't mind if he stepped on a particularly pointy pebble on his way home."
Zeni smirked.
"Or if he found out that his favorite hat had been eaten by a hungry moth."
"Or if he woke up one morning to discover that he'd grown a truly spectacular pimple on the tip of his nose," Basim continued, his voice gleeful with imagined schadenfreude.
Zeni nodded.
"Or if his shoes mysteriously shrank, leaving him with no choice but to walk around barefoot."
Basim chortled.
"Yes, that would serve him right, the dastardly ass."
“Or…” Zeni said, testing the waters. “Maybe if someone were to, I dunno…use their own control of Ka to disrupt the flow of his energy and teach him a lesson?”
Basim’s devil-may-care demeanor suddenly melted, and he became much more serious.
“Zen, can you do that?” He asked.
Zeni bit her lip.
“Maybe?” She said, “I mean, I think so. It’s something I’ve never tried, but it should be possible. There can’t be much of a difference between grasping control of natural Ka to manipulate it, and someone else’s, right?”
Basim shrugged.
“You’d be the expert there, Zen. I am woefully out of my depth in matters of energy and…cosmic goo and the like. Either way, the vellum’s an underhanded cheat, and if there’s a possibility of it working, I say go for it. It beats the hell out of begging the universe to bring the weight of its woes down on him.”
“But, would that also be cheating?” She wondered.
“I say, eye for an eye in matters like this,” Basim said thoughtfully. “If he’s doing it, he can’t exactly get mad if someone does it right back.”
Zeni nodded.
“Okay then,” she resolutely.
However, her heart still wavered, torn between the desire to help her friend and the fear of meddling with the natural order of the contest. But as she reasoned with herself, Basim’s rationale reinforced the wall separating her from her doubts. She came to the conclusion that her initial instinct was right, she would not be cheating, but merely restoring equilibrium.
She focused her mind, reaching out with her Ka. As happened whenever she’d set to it during Neith’s training, she could feel the energy flowing around her like a river, gentle currents that ebbed and swirled in a cosmic dance. This She traced the man's Ka back to its source, her spirit reaching out to grasp the very essence of his power. Zeni felt herself connecting to the flow of his Ka, the vibrations of the energy intertwining with her own, like threads of silk being woven together.
But unlike the Ka of nature she so often interacted with, or her own Ka, which felt like a cool and refreshing spring, the man's Ka gave her the sense of something more base or unrefined. It reminded her of a brackish pond, tainted with the stench of stagnation and desperation.
As her concentration deepened, she began to nudge the man's Ka, ever so gently, hoping to disrupt his focus enough to force a change. The strain of trying to get it just right consumed her, a tightrope walker performing a delicate dance of control. Her every sense was honed to the task, the world around her fading away as she focused solely on the subtle manipulation of the man's Ka.
Zeni's body trembled under the weight of the strain, sweat trickling down her brow like tiny rivers, threatening to erode her resolve. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she fought to maintain her connection to the Ka, her consciousness teetering on the edge of a precipice.
In that crucial moment, as she strained to maintain control, Basim suddenly hissed her name. "Zeni!"
His voice was laced with concern, noticing her trembling and the ghostly pallor that had taken over her face. "What is that? Are you—"
The sudden interruption shattered Zeni's focus, sending a surge of energy into the man's Ka. The delicate balance she had been maintaining collapsed, and the energy she had been carefully manipulating rushed forth like a tidal wave.
The effect was instantaneous – the bowstring snapped just as his arrow was released. The arrow flipped awkwardly through the air, its flight path erratic and unpredictable. The crowd held its breath, the air thick with anticipation as the final result hung in the balance. It was as if the very earth beneath their feet trembled with the weight of the moment, the atmosphere charged with the energy of countless heartbeats, all synchronized in their collective wait as they watched to see where the arrow would land.
The arrow didn't even come close.
Instead, it plunked unceremoniously onto the ground several feet away, as if even the arrow itself were ashamed of its performance. The crowd, which had been waiting with bated breath, erupted into a cacophony of cheers and whoops. Their voices blended together into a symphony of celebration, the sound rippling through the air like a wave of triumph.
Yasmine practically collapsed with relief, her exhaustion evident on her face. Every muscle in her body seemed to uncoil all at once, her posture drooping as the tension of the competition left her. And yet, her eyes still shone with the light of victory, reflecting the pride that swelled within her. Her chest heaved, drawing in deep breaths that filled her lungs with the sweet taste of success. Likewise, Zeni as though she might be just as drained, if not more so.
With each cheer, each clap, each shout of triumph, the tension that had gripped the onlookers throughout the competition seemed to dissipate, replaced by a contagion of exuberance. The joy of Yasmine's victory rippled through the crowd, uniting strangers and friends alike in a shared moment of pure, unadulterated happiness.
And yet, amidst this whirlwind of celebration, Zeni felt a gnawing unease, a shadow that crept over her heart like a dark cloud.
Basim screamed his head off right in Zeni's ear, the words a blur in the roaring storm of joy.
"You did it!" he shouted, though she couldn't be sure if he was talking about Yasmine or her.
Zeni’s exhaustion was bone-deep, as though she had just run an uphill marathon through wet cement. It was more than she had ever experienced before using Ka, and she felt sluggish, as if her limbs were encased in iron. Her thoughts swam in a bleary haze, the weight of her actions sinking into her stomach like a stone.
The crowd continued to lose their minds over Yasmine's apparent victory, and Zeni's heart should have swelled with pride for her friend. Instead, it was tangled in a web of unease, the threads of her meddling tightening around her chest.
As Yasmine pushed her way through the jubilant throng, their cheers and applause washing over her like a tidal wave, Zeni's eyes were drawn to her opponent. There, amidst the sea of celebrating faces, he stood, a dark island of anger and indignation in stark contrast to the joy surrounding him.
He had already strung a new bowstring, his hands moving with a cold, calculated efficiency that sent a chill down Zeni's spine. His eyes, once filled with the intensity of competition, now burned with a fury that seemed to smolder like hot coals beneath a thin veil of restraint. His gaze, as sharp and lethal as the arrow he now nocked, locked onto Zeni with a ferocity that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.
The air around them seemed to thicken with tension, as if the very atmosphere itself were holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. The contrast between the crowd's exuberance and the archer's rage was almost surreal, like two separate worlds colliding in a single, electric moment.
With deliberate intent, the man raised his bow, its arc cutting a menacing silhouette against the sky. The sun glinted off the arrow's tip, a deadly glimmer of light that seemed to mock Zeni with the promise of impending doom. As he drew back the bowstring, the muscles in his arm tensed, each sinew standing out like a coiled snake ready to strike.
"You!" he bellowed and released the arrow.