A Call for Brighter Days: Aeriel Trilogy #2
Chapter 9

The sifkren nicked his ear as it flew past him.

Ruban leapt back, avoiding Simani by less than an inch as she lunged at him, her sifblade extended.

Recovering her balance, she aimed a kick at his chest. Ruban blocked it with one hand, only for her to use his hold as leverage to deliver another kick to his gut.

A second later, he was on his back, Simani’s knee digging into his belly and her sifblade at his throat.

“You’re worse than Ashwin.” She tapped him on the head with the hilt before rising gracefully to her feet.

“Only because you’re vicious,” Ashwin laughed, stepping forward to offer Ruban his hand. “My heart breaks for the poor Aeriel that has to face you when you’re actually going in for the kill.”

Slapping Ashwin’s hand away, Ruban clambered to his feet. “This is war,” he hissed, meeting Ashwin’s gaze through narrowed eyes. “Those who refuse to kill end up getting killed.”

“By friendly fire more often than not, if this training session is anything to go by.” Ashwin threw a towel at Simani, smiling. “Not that Ruban’s been doing much firing, lately.”

Ruban raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“I wouldn’t want to tax your already frayed nerves.”

Ruban lunged at him. Ashwin sidestepped him just in time to avoid the boot about to slam into his chest. Ruban pivoted on the spot, planting a fist into his opponent’s gut, before using the momentum to slam him against the nearest wall.

Ashwin kicked Ruban’s feet out from under him. He faltered, momentarily. Ashwin grabbed the opportunity to plant a knee in his gut.

Ruban groaned and fell back. His fingers grabbed uselessly at the sheathed sifblade at his belt – the one weapon that might give him an edge in this fight; the one weapon he couldn’t use.

“Play nice, boys,” Simani said, wiping perspiration from her face. “I’ll go check if my husband has burned the dessert. We can’t all cohabit with Zainian master-chefs.” She stepped through the casement doors back into her house, leaving Ruban and Ashwin alone in the Vazs’ courtyard.

Before the doors had clicked shut behind her, Ruban was upon his opponent once again. Ashwin parried his attacks, his movements fluid, yet hesitant.

“What’s gotten into you?” he frowned. “Did I put too much sugar in your tea this morning?”

“You let it escape,” Ruban hissed, throwing the Aeriel back into a wall. He spared a glance at the door. It was shut, and through the glass, he could see that the room beyond was empty. “That Aeriel killed four Hunters. Four of my colleagues, blown to bits in front of my eyes! You had it in that field, trapped and alone, and you let that monster escape.”

“Look, she caught me off-guard, okay?” Ashwin ducked, then sidestepped another attack. Ruban’s fist slammed painfully into the wall, blood welling around his knuckles. “I was distracted. It wasn’t intentional, I swear.”

Ruban laughed, extending a foot to trip Ashwin. “You really expect me to believe that?”

Ashwin leapt into the air, and Ruban landed a solid blow to his throat. It would have killed a human.

Without his wings, he couldn’t maneuver in the air – a fact that Ashwin never seemed to remember when dueling with the Hunters in human guise. “That Aeriel was outclassed, Ashwin. I’ve been Hunting since I was twenty; you thought I wouldn’t notice? You could have killed it with less than a thought. The question is, why didn’t you?”

“You’re imagining things­–” A forceful kick to the midsection cut him off.

“After what it did to those Hunters, how could you let it live? How dare you?”

Ashwin blocked another kick and punched Ruban in the jaw. “I didn’t. I was exhausted and injured. And she just­ blindsided me–”

“With what? Or should I ask whom?”

Ashwin stilled. Ruban sank to his knees, unable to support his own weight any longer.

“Who’s Maya, Ashwin?” he asked, gazing up at the wide-eyed Aeriel. “What did that thing say to you, that you let it flee? Let it go free after all the lives it’d taken? What hold does that creature have on you?”

“It’s not – you’re wrong.” Ashwin looked away, but the fleeting expression of helpless guilt on his face told Ruban all he needed to know. “It’s not what you think…Kaheen has no power over me. And Maya is dead.” His throat worked, hands clenching into fists. “Has been, for years now. Centuries. She’d never have wanted this. Hatred and bloodshed… We’d thought the retreat would put an end to it all, but­–”

“Who wants it, then?” Ruban demanded, struggling upright on shaky legs. “Safaa? Is she the one who wants that Aeriel alive? Kaheen, you called it? Is this a part of some grand plan–”

Ashwin’s head whipped around to face him. “There are no grand plans, Ruban. And Safaa has no sympathies with the Exiles, much less this one. She doesn’t even know Kaheen is alive.”

“I’d much rather it weren’t.”

“I know. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I should’ve­…” he closed his eyes. “But I couldn’t. I just–”

“We need to talk to Dawad,” Simani said, stepping into the courtyard with Vikram in tow. They both carried a tray with a jug and two glasses each. “We can’t keep fighting blind like this. We’ll need more information about Janak Nath before we can proceed with this investigation.”

The four of them walked over to the rickety benches in one corner of the courtyard. This part of the house was old, with damp walls, cracked floors, and chipping furniture. The sprawling bungalow had once belonged to the renowned Kirin clan, known for producing some of the most successful Hunters in the history of Vandram. Simani had spent the first decade of her life here as part of a large joint family.

Over the years, the older generations had passed away, and Simani’s cousins had scattered throughout the continent in search of work and professional advancement. Now, Simani and her family of three were the only people left in a house that was far too big for them, and annoyingly expensive to maintain.

Once they had all settled down, glasses of lemonade were passed around and Simani spent some time patching up Ruban’s mutilated knuckles. As Vikram and Simani clucked at him disapprovingly for his carelessness, Ruban closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the sweet, cool liquid on his parched tongue.

“Why would Dawad know anything about Janak Nath?” he asked at length, swallowing the last of his lemonade. “The man hasn’t set foot out of the campus in years. He’s got nothing to do with the feather mafia.”

“Maybe not,” Vikram agreed, emptying his own glass. “But Janak Nath has set foot in the campus. He was one of Dawad’s students.”

Ruban swallowed the expletive that rose unbidden to his lips. “What?”

Simani nodded. “Vikram dug up the records at Bracken. They tried to bury it, but it’s true. Janak Nath was a Hunter. He was one of Dawad’s students about twenty years ago. Hell, he even worked with your uncle at one point, before he was dismissed from the Hunter Corps.”

“Why was he dismissed? Do you know?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Like I said, the Academy isn’t exactly going out of its way to publicize this; nor is the IAW. I’d never have thought to look into it if it weren’t for Vik.” She interlaced her fingers with his, smiling. “But Dawad knew Janak personally, so he may remember something that’ll be useful to us. Anyway, it’s worth a try. He likes you, Ruban. So if anybody’s going to tell us about Janak Nath’s connection with the Hunter Corps, it’ll be him.”

Vikram hummed his agreement, stroking Simani’s knuckles with his thumb. “Plus, the records I found suggested that Janak was fired from his position in the Hunter Corps less than a week after your aunt Misri died.” He met Ruban’s eyes, his expression somber. “Of course, it might just be a coincidence–”

“Reivaa,” Ruban muttered, the blood thrumming in his veins. “Reivaa killed Aunt Misri. And Janak Nath is looking for Reivaa… He thinks she’s still alive.”

Ignoring his friends’ questions and exclamations, he rose to his feet, one hand pressed to a cracked wall for support. “You’re right, Sim. We need to talk to Dawad. And now!”