Two days and one night remain in Larrikan’s allotted time to cast his Major Work. He slept a little after the rade, and eats a large mail. He goes out to the tree he is expanding, pockets and pouches full of tools, components for the spell, and snacks.
As the dawn breaks, he begins working, singing quietly to the tree, the Earth, the Sun, the Sky and to all of them together.
He has spent days building a set of strong power, and lashing them to one another or to the tree. Some of them have been working on the ground or the tree while others have just been gathered, and wait, pulled back tightly, for Larrikan to gather them back up and release them.
This last day that is what he does.
It takes a full day of preparing. He draws diagrams around the tree, and enchants parts of each of them. He gathers the power he has borrowed from all five corners of the world.
As the sun sets, he take all of these powers into himself, using some to guide the others, while they, in turn, move the first. It is not a set of Dominoes falling in the pattern he has laid, but balancing a heavily loaded bicycle along a complex path.
Coldwillow or Djarlee or both tends to hang around this last day. They are not there to help – not allowed for a first Major Work – but to watch, and perhaps clean up the wreckage should Larrikan’s control fail. They are both surprised and delighted when Larrikan keeps casting as the sun sets.
He does not pause to light fires or lanterns. The moon is close to full, and his night vision lets him keep going. His two supervisors have more trouble. Djarlee sends Coldwillow home, telling her to be back before dawn.
During the night, Larrikan moves five times around the tree. An observer would see little, but Djarlee can feel the great forces shifting slowly.
Coldwillow has returned, an hour before dawn. The night sky fades to twilight, and begins to pinken for dawn. Coldwillow has a pack, but sets it aside. She moves to Djarlee, who nods at her, then gestures for quiet.
Larrikan ignores them, if he knows they are there at all. He moves to a spot in front of the tree, marked out on the ground with complex sigils. He bows to the tree, then turns away, facing the rising sun.
Larrikan pulls a long, thin silver knife from his belt and presents it to the sun, holding it out resting on his flattened hands. He breathes in deeply, taking in the cool dawn air, and waiting patiently for the light to creep across the horizon and to fill the blade on his hands.
Once morning sunlight makes the blade sparkle in his hands he takes it in a two handed grip, turns to face the tree, and reaches up over his head, the blade pointing out at the tree.
He steps smoothly forwards – over his inscriptions, not on them – and wordlessly plunges the blade deep into the tree.