The library of the IAW really was awe-inspiring, Shwaan would gladly grant them that. Like in the rest of the building, the chambers were old and cavernous, the walls scarred, dented and chipping at the edges from age and the vendettas of centuries past. Shwaan supposed it was fitting that the humans had turned his mother’s old armoury into an archive of Aeriel atrocities on mankind, past and present. Because really, to a great extent that was what the library was; its walls covered with shelves reaching the high ceiling, filled with stack upon stack of old leather-bound volumes, treatises and documents. And they all recounted, in painstaking detail, the unending tyrannies and atrocities visited upon humankind by Aeriels over the past centuries, reaching back over a thousand years or more.
Now of course, Shwaan would have no problem with an accurate portrayal of history, however unflattering to his own race. And he was pretty sure that over the last six hundred years or so, the records were fairly accurate, albeit a little exaggerated. But the thing was, Shwaan remembered his grandmother. She had been around for quite a few years after he was born – the good years. Then she had winged it to some faraway island to take up with a strapping young sailor she’d encountered on one of her journeys, leaving her vankrai daughter to manage the throne and casually throwing the world into utter chaos.
And while flighty and impulsive she had definitely been – like most Aeriels – she had most certainly not been anybody’s idea of a tyrant. Unless spacing out during court meetings was your idea of tyranny. Neither, so far as he could remember, had he or his sister ever indulged in any village-plundering, farm-burning activities during their time on earth, as asserted by quite a few of the volumes. Not to brag or anything, of course, but Shwaan could distinctly remember that the humans of his time had considered him a singularly cute child. The maids certainly never tired of trying to pull his cheeks and ruffle his wings, much to his youthful indignation.
“My lord.” The Hunter named Simani walked up behind him, with a rather lost-looking, bespectacled man with unruly reddish-brown hair in tow. “This is my husband, Vikram,” she said, indicating her companion. “Vik, this is Lord Ashwin Kwan from Zaini.”
“Just Ashwin, please,” Shwaan said automatically, noticing that the newcomer was clutching a large tome entitled ‘Aeriel Influences in Pre-Rebellion Architecture’ to his chest.
“Hello Ashwin,” said the other man, smiling with more genuine friendliness than Shwaan had seen on anyone that day. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I…uh…got a little engrossed.” Holding up his book, he gave an embarrassed little laugh.
“A little indeed,” said Simani fondly, rolling her eyes.
“Oh no,” said Ashwin, reassuringly. “Don’t be sorry. Personally, I think roofless galleries were a nifty idea, if a little ahead of their time. They should’ve waited for water-proofing to get invented before implementing it wholesale in the capital.”
Vikram’s eyes lit up like a boy whose birthday had come early. “I know right? And the sun-soaking roofs were basically the ancient version of modern solar panels. If only we can recover the lost Aeriel technology, half of our energy issues will be solved overnight! Not that they’d ever grant funds for the research, but I always wondered how they connected the energy absorbents to the interior panelling of the chambers…”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Shwaan was sure he would have said more, if the library doors had not flown open at that moment to admit a very flustered-looking Ruban Kinoh, who marched through the dim, draughty chambers of the library, his coat flaring out behind him, until he reached the trio standing in one of the inner sections. He looked at Simani and the two Hunters seemed to have some kind of unspoken communication between them, Simani’s eyes flicking momentarily to Shwaan before she sighed, shaking her head. Ruban was more demonstrative of his displeasure, and threw a glare his way that could have rivalled Safaa’s on a good day. “We have to go,” he growled, still glowering at Shwaan.
Shwaan had heard of Ruban before he met him, of course. It was impossible not to hear of him if one was spending any time in Vandram, but even more so in Ragah. The Parliament attack – another ridiculous and over-the-top venture orchestrated by his mother – had made the Hunter a household name. From what Shwaan could tell, though, Ruban had been well-known in military and enforcement circles long before any of that, if not so much in civilian ones.
The best Aeriel Hunter in the country, they called him, and if his record was anything to go by, Shwaan knew that the epithet was well deserved. He could feel his wings twitching with something that bordered on anxiety, and tamped down brutally on the urge to stretch them. The human had no way of knowing who he really was, and as long as he didn’t, he had no reason to want him dead, no matter how much Ashwin Kwan annoyed him.
Besides, Ruban was a Hunter, and by all reports, an exceptionally good one. It couldn’t hurt to get to observe one from such close quarters, just in case he ever needed the experience; though he did of course plan to avoid any conflict with humans so far as possible. Safaa would have his head if he got into any unnecessary squabbles on earth and ruined their reputation even more than their mother already had. Not that Tauheen had left much for him to do in that direction, so far as he could see.
“We need to go,” Ruban repeated, jerking his head at the door, a distinct snappishness to his tone.
“You go ahead with Ashwin, Ruban,” Simani said with a smile, putting a friendly hand on the other Hunter’s shoulder. “Vik and I need to go to the school to pick Sri up. I’ll see you at the office in an hour.”
Ruban frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Sri has school on Emancipation Day?”
“Well, not school school,” Vikram piped up, flailing his hands in a rather futile attempt to explain himself nonverbally. “Like, y’know, the Emancipation Day Parade. It’s compulsory, so all the kids have to attend it.”
“We dropped him off before we got here,” Simani nodded.
Ruban smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. “The Parade,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Miki used to be so good at that.” The next moment, he seemed to realise what he had done, and the colour drained from his face. Simani looked away, her eyes pained and Vikram seemed suddenly to find the fading patterns on the ragged old library carpet profoundly fascinating.
“We need to go,” Ruban snapped for the third time, his voice rough. This time, the command was directed solely at Shwaan. And before he could come up with a response, the Hunter was already halfway across the library, reaching for the door handle. Shwaan ran after him, not wanting to be left behind in the sudden awkwardness of the library.