A Walk to Greater Worlds: Aeriel Trilogy #3

Chapter 3

Something short and wiry crashed into him, thin arms twining vice-like around his abdomen.

With some effort, Ruban kept himself from striking the white-clad man who currently had him in a bear hug, his gaunt face buried in Ruban's jacket.

The other white-clad protestors gathered around them, clapping and cheering. So, it took Ruban a moment to realize that the man in his arms was actually weeping into his chest.

With a squawk of indignation, Ruban pulled the other man off his chest.

"What're you doing, man?" He demanded harshly. "I could've killed you."

The wiry protestor dabbed at his eyes with a long, white sleeve. "And it would have been an honor," he sniffed haughtily. "To die by your hands. If only I was so fortunate—"

"Stop babbling," Ruban snapped. "And tell me what exactly you lot are doing here. Did you have permission to organize this protest? Because I know for a fact that the East Ragah Division had warned the IAW weeks ago about potential Aeriel activity in this area—"

"But that's exactly why we needed to hold this protest!" The gaunt-faced man interrupted, his voice shrill with passion. "Don't you see? Our government is planning to sell this country to Vaan, with this alliance. It's why these Aeriels have been proliferating in our public spaces, in our neighborhoods."

"It's a travesty!" One of the white-clad figures piped up from the background. The others nodded gravely, making sounds of concurrence.

"If we don't fight for our rights, for our people," the wiry man continued, throwing an irate glance at his comrades. "Then do we even deserve to call ourselves human?"

"I don't give a flying fuck what you call yourselves," Ruban growled, stepping away from the overwrought man. "But I prefer not to create human corpses on my Hunts."

"If our corpses will draw the media's attention to the conspiracy between Vaan and our government–" The man spoke with a conviction that seemed too large for his short, bony frame. "If our blood will inspire the Hunter Corps to rise up against their masters at the IAW for the sake of humanity...then we consider it blood well spilt."

Ruban sighed, cursing the minty cocktail Vik had coaxed into him earlier that evening. He wasn't sober enough for this. "Fine. But next time, spill it somewhere that doesn't fall within my jurisdiction." He held up the reinforced sifblade he'd retrieved from the dying, white-clad man a few minutes ago. "Want to tell me how you lot got your hands on this?"

Murmurs passed across the group, and their gaunt-faced leader took a single step back.

"Speak up!" Ruban snarled, after a couple of minutes had passed with no concrete answer. "Do you idiots even know what this is? Do you have any idea how dangerous these can be?"

"Dangerous?" The gaunt-faced protestor laughed, his deep-set eyes sparkling with renewed fervor. "That it is. For those accursed Aeriels. It's our only chance against them, don't you see?

"For centuries, our ancestors dreamed of a weapon such as this," he continued heatedly. "A blade that could cut through invulnerable Aeriel skin like butter, a single laceration enough to sap them of their life energy. Even a few years ago, such a miracle would've been unimaginable..."

Ruban bit his tongue until the salty, metallic tang of blood suffused his senses. The protestor's impassioned tirade was lost on him. All he heard was the sizzle of burning, melting skin. All he saw was the macabre beauty of Janak Nath's intricate brand, etched forever onto Ashwin's skin with reinforced sif.

A few months ago, the chief of every Hunter Quarter in Ragah had been issued a reinforced sifblade, as part of the roll-out process.

Ruban carried it with him to every Hunt, as was protocol. He'd yet to use it, even once. The thought of doing so made his skin crawl. That gruesome brand, tattooed permanently an inch below Ashwin's collarbone, flashed before his eyes every time he drew his reinforced sifblade from its sheath.