A Flight of Broken Wings, page 21
part #1 of The Aeriel Chronicles Series
The phone rang. “Ruban Kinoh speaking.”
“Ruban! How are you? How’re Hiya and Ashwin? Is he awake yet? Are you alright?” Simani’s anxious voice came through the line. “Didn’t I tell you to call me every few hours?”
Ruban cringed. Simani knew about Zikyang, of course. Everyone did. It would have been impossible to hide the fact that an entire forest had burned nearly to the ground overnight; or that Ruban’s car had been on the site of the incident, along with the charred corpses of four Aeriels. The media had attributed all the kills to him, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it helped cover up Ashwin’s role in the whole thing more easily than he had anticipated. And a curse because he had been inundated with requests for interviews and appearances from every reporter and producer in the city – not excluding the redoubtable Casia Washi, who now seemed to believe she had an exclusive copyright on any scrap of news that involved him or Ashwin.
“I’m fine, Sim. Stop worrying about me, will you? Ashwin’s still out but Hiya’s keeping him company with Black Beauty and whatnot. How’s the investigation coming along?”
She also knew about his injury – it wasn’t the sort of thing you could hide from your own partner, after all. He ached with the desire to tell her everything – about Ashwin and Reivaa and all the goddamned Aeriels and all their goddamned schemes. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. She was one of the only people alive – apart from his uncle – whom he would trust with his life without a second thought. But knowing the truth would put Simani at risk – both from the Aeriels and from within the IAW itself – and he wouldn’t allow that until he at least had an inkling of what was really going on. At the moment, nothing about this case made any sense to him, and things only got more complicated the more he thought about them. He needed more information before he could share the truth with Simani and Vikram.
Besides, if he was being honest with himself, Ruban wasn’t entirely sure how to tell his partner that there was an unconscious Aeriel on his bed with a wing ripped to shreds, who had rather casually killed his own kind to save him and Hiya. He hardly knew how to process that himself.
Simani sighed. “We hardly know what we’re looking for, Ruban. One of the Aeriels who attacked you at Zikyang was identified as Saekaa. It was one of Tauheen’s closest lieutenants and one of the Aeriels Ashwin had said could use flare-blasts. The rest we couldn’t identify. Might just be they’d never been in the system. Apart from that there was Reivaa, of course. But there was hardly enough left of her for an identification – not that she’d ever been in the system. I wish I could’ve seen her wings, though. Were they really like in the picture?”
“Yes, really.” Ruban could feel a headache coming on, and he pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, stifling a groan. “Look, Sim, I’ll call you later, alright? There’re some things I need to see to–”
“Don’t push yourself too much, Ruban. You should be resting right now. Your injury–“
“Is getting better, okay? I told you, Sim. Stop worrying about me. It’s just a little research. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s always just-a-little-something with you. Promise me you won’t do anything reckless, Ruban. Please. And promise me you’ll keep me posted. And give my love to Hiya. I’ll come around the flat as soon as I can.”
“I promise. And I will. See you ’round Sim.”
He needed some fresh air, Ruban decided. Not to mention some fresh perspective, if he could find it. And staying cooped up in the flat certainly wasn’t doing him any good. Talking to Simani had made him realise how far into his own head he had retreated. It wasn’t his strong suit – introspection. Ruban knew himself well enough to know that he was a doer, not a thinker. He was far more comfortable with action than with ideas, especially ones as vague as the things that currently crowded his mind.
He walked to the sink to rinse out his cup. The limp was getting better by the day; the doctors said he’d be back to normal by the end of the week. He barely even needed painkillers anymore.
Bracken, he decided. Bracken was where he would go. Dawad was the man he needed to talk to. He would know about the subject, certainly much more than Ruban did. Perhaps he would even be able to shed some light on the mystery that was Ashwin. Plus, he was a foreigner living in Vandram on a work visa – as far away from the IAW and any sort of classified information as it was humanly possible to be. In a strange way, this made him more trustworthy than any of Ruban’s compatriots at the moment.
His pulse quickened with the sense of newfound purpose. All this time, this was what he had needed – a direction, an opening. And now he had it.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, looking in on Hiya. The girl had abandoned the book and had now shifted her attention to a Rubik’s cube that looked like it was one forceful twist away from falling to pieces.
Her tongue stuck out between her teeth in singular absorption, Hiya nodded vaguely, not looking up at Ruban.
“There’re some snacks in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’ll make lunch after I get back. And call me immediately if Ashwin shows any signs of waking up, do you understand me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“This is not a joke, Hiya. And it’s not optional. I mean it. You call me if he so much as breathes funny, roger that?” he said, using the slang he knew would get the girl’s attention.
“Roger that!” Hiya said, looking up from her cube and nodding enthusiastically. “You’ll bring cake?”
“I always bring cake.”
“–And then they were all on fire, all three of them, before they just…fell out of the air, I suppose. They fell into the forest, and if there was anything left of them before that, well, the forest-fire took care of the rest. It was like a blazing abyss below us – I could barely believe we had survived it ourselves.” Ruban exhaled, sitting back in his chair. It felt good to finally talk about it, to simply say the whole thing out loud to someone who would not doubt his sanity for saying the things he did. He had no idea what Dawad thought of his story, but at least he believed him, even understood his dilemma, or at least part of it anyway.
“The way I see it, Ruban,” Dawad said from his seat across the table, taking a gentle sip of his tea. “You should be thankful for the whole thing. You got all that you wanted, did you not? Hiya is alive and safe, as are you, and four Aeriels dead, all of it credited to you. I must confess I fail to see the reason for your agitation.”
“Don’t play games with me prof. Not now. You know exactly what’s bothering me. He killed four Aeriels – four of his own kind – and for what? He had no reason for it but to save us, to save a couple of humans. And this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that either. He did the same thing at Ghorib, though I couldn’t tell you that at the time.
“Why would an Aeriel do that, do any of it? What could he possibly have had to gain by saving us? What is he doing here anyway, pretending to be a Zainian delegate? From what I’ve observed so far, he seems to be working at cross-purposes with Tauheen. But why? Why would an Aeriel defy its queen? I didn’t even know that was possible. And how the hell do we come into this convoluted fucking picture? Help me out here, prof. You know more about this stuff than anybody else I could think of. What am I missing here? Because from where I am standing, none of this makes any kind of sense.”
Dawad’s green eyes twinkled, the laugh-lines around them crinkling his ebony skin. “That’s a lot of questions, my dear boy. Let me answer them with a question of my own. Had it been a human, instead of an Aeriel, that had kidnapped Hiya, had threatened her life, what would you have done to them?”
“I’d shoot the son of a bitch, of course.”
“And yet you cannot fathom why an Aeriel would attack its own kind under the same circumstances?”
Ruban stifled a groan of frustration. “Stop talking in circles, prof. You know that analogy doesn’t mean a thing. Aeriels aren’t…people. They don’t feel things like human beings. You’re trying to tell me an Aeriel turned on its own kind just because it couldn’t stand to see a human child being murdered? I suppose the next thing you’ll say is that the creature has finally rediscovered its hidden maternal instincts and is ready to let go of its evil ways all for the love of a human kid.”
Dawad sighed, setting his empty cup softly down on the table. Belatedly, Ruban reached for his own tea. It had gone cold.
“If you are raised in a prison, my boy, you will grow up thinking all men are criminals. That does not mean that that is the truth, however. Not everything that seems apparent is really so.”
Ruban glared at his old teacher. “Was that supposed to convey some profound philosophical truth? Because if it was, I’ve got to tell you prof, you’re not very good at this.”
Dawad laughed, a deep, rumbling sound of unsuppressed mirth. “As impatient as ever, aren’t we? I see you haven’t changed much since the days you roamed the halls of this hallowed institution spreading havoc and mayhem.”
“To be fair, most of that was courtesy of Simani and her gang of psychopaths. They just dragged me along for the kicks most of the time.”
“As you say,” Dawad agreed easily enough, pouring himself another cup of tea. “Let me ask you this, Ruban. Six hundred years ago, humanity rebelled against the Aeriels, defeated them and drove them from the earth and into Vaan. Well, most of them, anyway. A few of the stubborn ones stayed behind, and have been causing trouble for us humans ever since – mostly with acts of terrorism and sporadic violence, though these do sometimes escalate into more coordinated battles between the races. Although there hasn’t been a proper pitched battle between humans and Aeriels in almost a century – mostly due to the technological advancements achieved by humanity in that time – there has been a noticeable uptick in terrorist attacks in recent years, especially the last couple of decades.”
Ruban nodded. He didn’t know what else he was expected to do. None of what Dawad had just said constituted a question, and most of it was general knowledge. He just hoped the old man was actually leading somewhere useful with all of this. But then, for all that Dawad could be convoluted, Ruban had never known the man to be pointless. That thought, if nothing else, kept him in his chair as Dawad took his time finishing off his second cup of tea.
“So six hundred years ago – in a war that spanned the globe but culminated right here in the city of Ragah, which then housed the Aeriel monarchy – the human race defeated their Aeriel rulers and freed the planet of their tyranny. Freed the planet of a race a hundred times stronger and faster and more resilient than themselves. An immortal race of godlike beings that could absorb and manipulate the energy of the sun itself. Now ask yourself, Ruban. How exactly did we manage a thing like that?”
“Because the humans invented sifblades, of course. They discovered the only substance on earth that could sap the energy of an Aeriel faster than it could be replenished. Humans got hold of the only thing that could kill an Aeriel and made it into a lethal weapon. After that, the outcome of the war was a foregone conclusion.” It came out almost like a piece of recitation, a ballad that had been drilled into their memories since they were old enough to walk, since the first day of school. “Is there a point to this?”
“There are multiple points to this, the first being one of common sense, which we seem to have traded for an ego boost somewhere along the way. After centuries of research in thousands of laboratories around the world, the modern sifblade still cannot kill an X-class Aeriel with a single stroke. Which is why Hunters fight in teams of four, as I’m sure you’d know. You need multiple hits to take down a single X-class with state-of-the-art sifblades – the product of six centuries of technological development. Now imagine the sifblades used by the human armies who fought during the Rebellion – if you can at all call such a ragtag bunch an army. Those things were nothing like modern sifblades. They were cruder than the toys they hand civilians in those ridiculous ‘self-defence’ classes – nothing any self-respecting Hunter would be caught dead with.
“The humans outnumbered the Aeriels, yes. But not by half the numbers we have now. Most of the Aeriels fled to Vaan and the human population has multiplied by leaps and bounds over the centuries. And despite all of this, with all our numbers and all our technology, we are still unable to conquer the few Aeriels that stayed behind on earth. So you tell me, my boy: how did a bunch of untrained revolutionaries overthrow an empire of tyrannical demigods, wielding weapons scarcely more powerful than modern toys?”
Ruban shifted in his chair, his mouth drawing into a line as he narrowed his eyes at the professor. He didn’t know why, but Dawad’s questions were making him uncomfortable. “What’re you saying then, prof? How did the Founding Fathers drive the Aeriels from earth?”
A corner of Dawad’s mouth quirked up into the ghost of a smile. “That’s the point, my lad. They didn’t. The Aeriels just left.”
Ruban gaped at him. “What?”
“Well, most of them, anyway. As you can see, there are always a few exceptions.”
Ruban couldn’t help it, he laughed. “So…what? You’re saying the Rebellion never happened? That everything we know of human history today is one elaborate lie? Some kind of super-detailed, globe-spanning long con pulled on us by…who? Our forefathers?”
Dawad frowned at him as though he were a particularly dim-witted child. So he was the one being childish here, was he?
“Of course not, Ruban. Obviously there was a Rebellion. One in which the humans, led by the Founding Fathers, fought very valiantly. It was a war which they won. All I’m saying is that the Rebellion wasn’t a war between humans and Aeriels. It was a war between the humans and Tauheen, backed by a few of her close associates. Nobody else gave a damn.”
“Are you even trying to make sense at this point?”
Dawad drew in a deep breath, as if bracing himself to deliver a long lecture. Ruban recognised the gesture from the numerous hours spent taking notes in the various classrooms of Bracken, trying vainly to keep up with the seemingly endless volley of random thoughts interwoven with obscure trivia that comprised most of the Kanbarian academic’s discourses. He had to link his fingers together to keep them from reaching for a notebook.
“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, my boy. And considering the experiences you’ve had – that we’ve all had, to one extent or another – I don’t blame you. But I’ve spent my life studying Aeriel history and culture, and here’s the thing. Aeriels as a race are not predisposed to aggression. Or violence.
“Evolutionarily speaking, they never needed to be. I mean, it’s not like they ever had anything to compete for. They were born with immortality – with all the resources they needed to survive and then some.
“They originated in Vaan. You know what it was called back in the day when humans were allowed access to it? Don’t look so surprised, Ruban,” the old man laughed. “There was a time when humans and Aeriels didn’t hate each other, you know. It was called ‘The Realm of Eternal Sunshine’. Not some fanciful description thought up by a poet, either. That’s literally what it was – what it is – a dimension where the sun never sets.
“On earth, Aeriels were stronger, faster and more resilient than any other being in creation, including humanity. What predator did they have to fear, to fight off? They needed neither food nor water to survive. The only resource they did require – sunlight – was available in abundance in both the realms. They were literally born with the problem of plenty.
“What I’m trying to say is this. Aeriels were created stronger, faster, cleverer than humans; better than us in every way but one. The one thing that gave humanity an edge over the Aeriels. Can you guess what it was?”
Ruban shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could have spoken if he had wanted to. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed.
“Ambition. Drive, passion, desire – whatever you choose to call it. The motivation to better ourselves, to improve our lot in life. The thing that drives all innovation, all technological and social development, and all conflict. The want for more: more than what we were given, the hand we were dealt by nature.
“The Aeriels…they were dealt a better hand than any other species in existence, so they never really developed those traits. They were born with everything, so they never learned to want for more, to want to improve themselves or their lot. They had no drive, no ambition; no real passion beyond the fulfilment of immediate hedonistic desires or aesthetic fancies.
“They weren’t tyrannical rulers, Ruban. They were barely rulers at all,” Dawad laughed, as if remembering an old joke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruban asked, trying to keep his spiralling thoughts under control.
“Aeriels appeared on earth shortly before the dawn of the agricultural age. In fact, much of the archaeological evidence we have from that time would suggest that the agricultural revolution – which ended the age of nomadic hunter-gatherers – was brought about largely with the help of the Aeriels. Being energy manipulators, they could to an extent affect the local weather conditions to facilitate cultivation. Now of course, it was the humans that did all the actual sowing and harvesting; no Aeriel would have the patience for that. During those days the Aeriels just sort of…floated in and out of the scene, I suppose. Lending a hand here and there when asked but staying largely out of human affairs.
“Then Zeifaa came to earth. She was the current queen of Vaan – the Aeriels being a matrilineal race – and the most powerful Aeriel humanity had seen up till that point. According to pre-rebellion folklore, she had the power to control the tides of the ocean. Now apparently, she really liked the earth when she got here and decided to settle down for a while. And ‘for a while’ by Aeriel standards can be quite a long while indeed.
