A Walk to Greater Worlds: Aeriel Trilogy #3

Chapter 18

Shwaan savored the sensation of the wind tousling his feathers.

Wings outstretched, he navigated the ever-shifting currents effortlessly, until the buildings, highways, and vehicles below were no more than a blur of indistinct colors and shapes.

It was a few minutes before he spotted his target.

With a subtle adjustment of his wings and an almost imperceptible shift in trajectory, Shwaan began his descent. As he drew closer to the weathered, moss-covered building that was his destination, the tall and broad-shouldered figure standing alone on the rooftop came into sharper focus.

Shwaan alighted beside him, folding his wings along well-worn joints until the feathers interlocked and nestled compactly at his back.

"It's a disaster," Ruban said grimly, his gaze fixed on a trio of firearm-wielding teenagers on the crowded street below. One of the boys brandished a sifblade, shouting profanities, while his mate fired a flurry of bullets into the air.

This inflamed the crowd, who let loose another series of gunshots, bellowing anti-government, anti-Vaan slogans all the while.

A few of the rioters waved placards displaying Aeriel corpses – or, to be more precise, the mutilated corpses of the Aeriels killed in some of the recent lynchings. At the front of the gathering, some others were burning effigies of the prime minister, the defence minister, the Chief Hunter, and of Shwaan himself.

Police personnel, as well as a few Hunters, meandered uncertainly at the edges of the gathering. But the rioters were packed so closely together that it was almost impossible to breach the horde without using violence. And it was clear that neither the police nor the Hunters had the slightest will to do that.

"They'd just as soon join the rioters," Ruban scoffed, hands clenching into fists on the parapet. "If it wasn't for the fear of losing their jobs."

Shwaan patted one clenched fist, commiserating. "A couple of years ago, you'd have done the same thing." His lips quirked into a slight smile. "And I daresay the threat of unemployment wouldn't have held you back. But coming to the point, I thought they had permission from the IAW for this protest. How did it come to this?"

"They did. And things were peaceful enough until the demonstration got taken over by HAVA thugs. They've spent the last hour goading the crowd with inflammatory nonsense, stoking their anger and resentment over the alliance." Ruban exhaled sharply. "They're demanding that all Aeriels currently in custody be publicly executed. And I have a feeling this is not going to end well."

"Well, I suppose it's as good a time as any," Shwaan shook his head. "Before they start killing each other. Or, Zeifaa forbid, turn on the Hunters or the police."

Ruban frowned, turning slightly to look at Shwaan.

Whatever he'd been about to say was lost to the sudden, indignant cries from the rioters below.

Ruban jerked around, and Shwaan raised his eyes just in time to see a tiny white speck at the horizon – growing larger by the second as it hurtled towards them with remarkable speed.

Its relentless approach continued. And eventually, Shwaan could make out its massive, crimson-tipped wings and the flowing, silvery feather cloak.

Below, the cacophony of terror-stricken screams intensified. For all their sifblade-waving bravado, most of the people in that crowd were civilians, the occasional brawl outside the local bar being the extent of their combat experience.

Beside him, Ruban sucked in a sharp breath. "Damn it all! It's an X-class. How the hell—"

Before he could finish that thought, the X-class raised a hand, energy cackling at her fingertips. By this point, she was hovering directly above the gathered protestors. Shwaan could finally make out her features against the setting sun.