A Flight of Broken Wings: Aeriel Trilogy #1

Chapter 5

The grounds were decorated – rather tastefully, Ruban had to admit – with colourful festoons, banners and artful tapestries, technicolour string-lights already twinkling across the length and breadth of the lawn despite the early hour. Exquisitely dressed dignitaries milled about the grounds, occasionally trying the treats on offer in the stalls being set up for the evening's celebrations. The press was already there, setting up their cameras and equipment, trying to get interviews and sound-bites from any foreign official who happened to stray from the protective shelter of the main building.

As he passed one particular cluster of some of the better known media personalities, some of whom even he could recognize, Ruban was stopped in his tracks by what appeared to be a minor ruckus breaking out in the middle of the gathering. He thought he spied Casia Washi of World News Now somewhere in the crowd. She had interviewed him after the Hunt that had killed two of the Parliament attackers last year, and despite his knee-jerk dislike of most reporters, she had actually been quite tolerable, interesting even. She had asked some intelligent, surprisingly pertinent questions about the political ramifications of the Justifiable Homicide Bill. That bill was what had triggered the Parliament attack – a forty-eight hour siege of the Parliament building by a group of Aeriels – that had resulted in the deaths of two MPs, the main proponents of the bill, as well as the death and dismemberment of several security officials and other staff on duty at the time.

The Hunter Corps would be the ones most directly affected by the bill, and personally, Ruban was all for it. Aeriels were a threat to the human race itself and needed to be eliminated by any means possible, as far as he was concerned. But he understood that there were concerns about possible terrorist retaliations against civilian targets if executions without trial of dangerous Aeriel suspects were legalised, and he was perfectly willing to address those concerns. As long as he wasn't being inundated by sensational phone calls from teary viewers calling into the studio to talk about their personal opinions on a subject, the intricacies of which they could not begin to understand. And on one memorable occasion even to propose marriage to him. Casia had entertained none of that nonsense, asking straight-forward, meaningful questions and encouraging informative answers without ever giving the slightest impression of undue nosiness; and Ruban had appreciated her professional competence, if nothing else.

"Oh but we'll break it tonight!" Casia's voice drifted out to him, high-pitched with glee and what he suspected to be some hard partying the night before. The only thing that beat Emancipation Day celebrations in uptown Ragah was the Emancipation Eve celebrations that started the night before in the downtown clubs. And the media weren't exactly known for their ascetic restraint in matters celebratory. "We have the exclusive on this one. It'll put us at the top of every chart in the country. You'll see."

"But that's so not fair Cas!" a male voice piped up from somewhere amidst the melee. "You're taking undue advantage of an unsuspecting foreigner. I'm sure he wants to talk to the rest of us too. Of course you found him, so you can have the first go but–"

"Back off Raj. He's mine!" Casia barked, advancing on the former with a predatory glint that reminded Ruban of her expression when asking him a particularly piercing question. He smiled. The woman sure knew what she was doing, and Ruban appreciated competence, even in his professional adversaries.

"There there, ladies...and gentlemen," the foreigner in question intervened, his voice somehow bringing to Ruban's mind the incredibly clichéd impression of bells tingling. "You'll all get your turns, don't worry. Miss Casia is just being protective of her source, I'm sure. Which is very kind of you, Miss Casia," he continued, turning to the fiery reporter. All of her anger seemed to melt away at the sound of the youngster's voice, and she smiled at him with what Ruban could only call the fondness of a mother duck for her favourite duckling. "I really do appreciate all your help."

The foreigner, probably Zainian, if his pale skin and long, dark hair braided to one side were anything to go by, could not have been a day older than twenty, twenty-one at the most. Not that much younger than Ruban, or Casia herself, for that matter, but he could sort of see what had inspired the latter's fierce protectiveness. The boy (and Ruban couldn't really bring himself to think of the petite, wide-eyed stranger as a man) couldn't have been more than five-six, if that. He looked like he had just walked out of a school-bus, dropped into the real world for the first time and simultaneously bewildered and amazed by it. He gazed wide-eyed at everything around him, drinking in the sights and sounds of the area as if he had never seen anything like it before. He smiled like he was genuinely ecstatic to simply exist, surrounded though he was by a bunch of raucous reporters fighting over his person for some unknown reason. Overall, he gave the impression of someone who would be robbed blind by a five-year-old if left alone for even a moment.

Probably some form of Zainian nobility, Ruban assumed, drawn to the unusual scene before him, though he didn't really understand what was going on. The purple ribbon woven into the stranger's braid certainly spoke for some form of aristocratic heritage. Ruban didn't know all that much about foreign customs, but even he had watched the highlights of the seven-day spectacle that had been the new Zainian King's coronation last summer. It had been all over the news; you couldn't have escaped it if you wanted to. Obsolete as they were, Kings and Queens, or at least the idea of them, seemed to hold an almost visceral appeal for the masses. And Zaini being the only nation on earth that still retained anything resembling a monarchy, albeit one purely ceremonial in nature, every time a Zainian royal so much as pooped funny, it made it to the international news section of almost every paper and TV channel. Ruban groaned internally. He supposed this was another spoilt, minor nobleman with some inane scoop about the eye-colour of the next royal baby, or some nonsense like that.

"Come, let me show you around the grounds some more," cooed one of the younger reporters, leaning into the foreigner's personal space, ostensibly to make herself heard in the midst of all the commotion. Ruban would bet half his salary, though, that she was at least halfway in love with the exotic aristocrat already. "It really is quite an amazing place; the pride of our city!"

"Ohyes," replied the foreigner, eyes bright with what Ruban thought (with somesurprise) was genuine interest. "It isa fantastic place!" He looked up abruptly, dark, foreign eyes roaming thegrounds before settling suddenly on the exact spot where Ruban stood. Takenaback, the Hunter gazed back at the young man questioningly, only to realise alittle too late that the latter wasn't looking at him at all. Rather, thatexotic gaze went right through him, as if looking upon a scene entirelydifferent from the one they currently inhabited. "There used to be a statuethere," he murmured in that strange, melodious voice, eyes flashingpreternaturally silver for a moment. Ruban's own eyes snapped up, confused,Hunter instincts flaring uncomfortably at the sight. A trick of the light, hesupposed, trying to get his racing heart back under control. "I used to climbonto it whenever I was bored. Really had the most marvellous view!" heexplained with a grin, at the girl's bewildered stare. "I wonder what happenedto it..."