A Call for Brighter Days: Aeriel Trilogy #2
Chapter 20

Shwaan’s feet sank into the thick carpeting that lined the stone floors of the cave. Beside him, Simani sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers digging into his forearm. He spared her a quick glance, hoping his expression conveyed the appropriate mix of nervousness and anticipation that she’d expect to see on Ashwin’s face, when infiltrating the Qawirsin’s stronghold in disguise.

One of the armed, black-clad men escorting them coughed impatiently, gesturing for them to keep moving. Simani stepped forward, pushing Shwaan behind her, as they began moving through the intricate cave system once again.

Her hair, dyed a bright red, was done up in a tight bun at the top of her head. A thin sheen of sweat covered what little was visible of her neck and shoulders. She wore a striped brown shirt and jeans under a set of fading overalls. Her eyebrows were thicker and her lips fuller than usual.

If he hadn’t spent the whole morning adding the finishing touches to her makeover, he mightn’t have recognized her himself.

After all, Lord Ashwin Kwan couldn’t enter the Qawirsin’s lair alone. And of the available options, Simani would be less recognizable than the infamous Ruban Kinoh, the Hunter who’d killed the Aeriel queen less than a year ago. No amount of makeup could offset that kind of notoriety.

Sparkling feather lamps ensconced within rocky alcoves illuminated the caves, casting prismatic shadows that danced across the stone walls. Sweet, pungent fumes drifted along the narrow passageways. Intricate artwork covered random patches of the moldy walls, as if some mad artist couldn’t decide on the perfect site for his magnum opus.

Humans and Aeriels alike wandered the passageways; sometimes smoking and laughing, sometimes drunk and fighting, and sometimes wrapped in amorous embrace, enfolded in each other’s arms and oblivious to the world.

The barriers between the species broken down, humans and Aeriels coexisting in an opulent, decadent, hedonistic haze – it was a twisted parody of the ideal world Zeifaa and her descendants had once envisioned, millennia ago.

Still, Aeriels lived for millennia. They remembered distant dreams.

And perhaps, this explained how Janak Nath had lured so many of the Exiles into his fold. By offering them a diluted reflection of the future that had slipped through their fingers, under Tauheen’s brutal reign.

By the time they reached what appeared to be the largest and most opulent cave in the system, they’d been walking for over twenty minutes. Here, the uneven stone walls were painted in shades of red, yellow, and green – the bright colors illuminated and accentuated by the iridescent light from the feather lamps.

At the center of the room, the stone floor had been cut into a set of wide, low stairs. On the raised platform beyond stood a squat wooden table surrounded by numerous colorful ottomans.

A large, swarthy man with a ring on each finger pushed himself off an ottoman and stepped forward to greet them.

“Ah, my lord Kwan, I presume.” He held out both his hands, putting his blackened teeth on display with a gigantic grin. “Welcome to our humble little retreat.”

Shwaan huffed, stepping out from Simani’s shadow. “Thanks, I guess.” He looked around the lair critically, taking the opportunity to catalog the positions of all the Aeriel and human guards within eyesight. “Your ‘retreat’ isn’t an easy place to reach. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking.”

The spoilt aristocrat act always did the trick.

“Yes, yes. I understand it must’ve been hard for you.” The man spoke Zainian with a thick Vandran accent. “But I can promise you, by the time you leave, you will admit to yourself that the journey was worth your while.”

They walked up the stairs, and the man gestured for them to take their seats at the table. Simani hesitated. Shwaan folded himself gracefully onto a bubblegum pink ottoman with purple embroidery, keeping the exit in his line of sight.

“And who’s the lovely lady with you?” The man leered at Simani before lowering himself to the ottoman opposite Shwaan.

“My bodyguard.” Shwaan pinned him with an irritated gaze. “Not that she can do me much good, since you’ve confiscated all our weapons.”

His companion laughed, watching Simani intently as she lowered herself to the seat beside Shwaan. “Standard protocol, you see.” He held up his hands. “Nothing personal. We trust all our clients implicitly.”

“I can see that. And where’s your boss? I was promised a meeting with Janak Nath if I came out to this godforsaken corner of nowhere. I’m not finalizing a deal worth half my fortune without meeting the seller in person.”

The other man nodded, his tone placating. “He’s out. Urgent business, you see.” He signaled impatiently to a young man standing near the back of the room. Soon, tall glasses of wine and plates heaped with frozen fruits appeared before them. “He’ll be back any moment now. You needn’t worry about it, my lord. Your time here will not be wasted, I assure you.”

Shwaan shook his head with a heavy, put-upon sigh. Under the table, he crossed his fingers – a signal to Simani that she could now contact Ruban. They’d reached as far into the Qawirsin’s stronghold as they were going to get. There was no point delaying the inevitable any longer.

The next thirty minutes passed in a haze of stilted conversation and watered-down alcohol. Ruban and his team wouldn’t initiate an attack until they saw Janak Nath re-enter the caves. In the meantime, Shwaan and Simani were stuck making small-talk with some of the Qawirsin’s lower-ranked commanders.

Aeriels flitted in and out of the caves. Among them, Shwaan spotted no more than two vankrai. All the others were feather-born. It made sense. Most of the Exiled vankrai had been his mother’s close associates. If they remained loyal to her vision, they wouldn’t join the feather mafia.

For if there was one thing Tauheen had believed in, it was the inherent superiority of Aeriels over humankind. Nothing would’ve been more abhorrent to her than the idea of collaborating – as equals – with humans. And for all its faults, the feather mafia was nothing if not egalitarian.

The sound of gunshots yanked him out of his musings. Screams permeated the arid, hilly air.

Between one minute and the next, Shwaan and Simani were fighting off a horde of furious, armed gangsters. Bullets ricocheted around the cavernous chamber. Somewhere in the distance, two energy shells detonated, one after the other.