A Flight of Broken Wings: Aeriel Trilogy #1

Chapter 141

Camera flashes blinded him as he walked up to the dais. Every fibre of his being screaming at him to fight-run-fire-attack, it took everything he had to maintain his composure, the illusion of solemn gravity, when memories mingled with nightmares and all he really wanted to do was to duck under the nearest piece of furniture and curl up into himself.

Adjusting the mic, he cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time. At his approach, the press corps had gathered around the dais like bees surrounding a pot of honey. They practically buzzed with anticipation, setting up tripods, readying recorders and notepads. Their excitement had stirred the rest of the gathering, and even those few who had not previously known or cared who he was were now whispering and speculating with animation, grabbing their phones to snap pictures over the heads of their peers.

Ruban opened his mouth to speak, but something heavy caught in his throat and he swallowed. Tried again.

An expectant silence descended upon the crowd before him and Ruban felt a vice crushing the air out of his lungs. He didn't know what he had expected, but somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought – had hoped – that he would have peace after this was all over. After she was dead. After he had had his revenge.

He did not think this was what peace felt like.

"He was a great man, my uncle," he said at last, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, to turn his face away from the cameras. "Subhas Kinoh. Perhaps one of the greatest men of his generation, as I am sure everyone gathered here would agree."

Murmurs of assent went up into the night air and Ruban heard himself continue. "A great Hunter, a visionary administrator and an exemplary patriot; he was good at everything he did, and exceptional at most. He was an inspiration and a role model to all those around him, and a great mentor and friend to all those whom he was charged to guide."

Ruban swallowed, looking out over the sea of faces before him. At this point, he didn't even know if he was lying or telling the truth, or perhaps grasping for some tenuous balance between the two. He pressed on: "Perhaps more important than his numerous talents and achievements, however, were his intentions. Gifts are easy. After all, they are given. It is our choices that make us who we are.

"And above all that can be said of Subhas Kinoh – both good and evil – it can be said, with absolute honesty, that he was a loving man. He was, more than anything, a man who loved his family, his country, his daughter. Everything he did in life, right up to his last breath, could be attributed to that fierce, unbending love for those that he considered his own. And to his tireless devotion to that love."

His vision blurred and something warm trickled down his face, past the corners of his mouth and into the hollow of his neck. Flashes of hazy light went off somewhere in the distance, but what did it matter? It wasn't like there was much they hadn't already written about him. For once, he might as well give them something true to write about. Something that mattered.

"He wasn't perfect. Perhaps not even close. But whatever he did, even the mistakes he made, were born of love, and of an unceasing commitment to those whom he loved. A commitment that led him to sacrifice his own life for his country, his people. For the hope of a better future, and the promise of a vindicated past.

"If we remember nothing of the man who died to protect us all, I pray that we shall remember that love which led him to do it, and cherish it wherever it can be found."

Later, he had a vague memory of thunderous applause, and the cheers that rang through the venue. Ashwin told him his address had been well received, extraordinarily so.

Butall he really remembered was the press of charred flesh against his fingers andpain-dazed eyes gazing into his own. The taste of copper on his tongue and thebitterness in his throat as his uncle gasped out his broken apologies. And allRuban could do was to hold him and pray for it to be over – too selfish toforgive the man he was too weak to condemn.