Louisa Shorney

Designed to resemble Central’s sigil, the aerodrome’s four broad esplanades cross each other encircled by a grand circuit. A runway for each quadrant, although one of them leads only to the Holding Hall, no flights go to the Northern Quadrant and the Whitelands beyond it. A sleek, silvern Teromaton stands on the turning table at the sigil’s centre, shimmering in the haze of heat rising from the oil sand esplanade. A late heatwave denies the falling of the year but for a chill on the wind. Gwern can not help but admire the metal bird’s elegant beauty even though his heart quakes with dread at the thought of traveling in her. Nervous perspiration dampens his skin as the loud speaker announces time to board for flight. Stepping out of the Holding Hall onto the circuit he is met by the refreshing breeze and breathes it in deeply to steady his nerves and find his calm centre. Soon he will be free of Jainus’ prying thought scans and able to relax his exhausting steel guards. Two hours trapped in a metal box, sandwiched between giant tanks of flammable liquid gas, hundreds of feet above the ground is a small price to pay for such freedom.

‘Nervous flyer are we Carpinus?’

Gwern spins on his heels startled by the familiar voice.

‘Jainus? Is there a problem? Has Her Lordship changed her mind?’

Jainus smirks triumphantly at Gwern’s bumbling loss of guard.

‘No minds are changed, Lamia only wishes to see your plans successfully executed and sends me to ensure that they are.’

Jainus’ lack of respectful address does not go unmarked. Such a display of arrogance is a weakness that Gwern will use to his advantage but for now he will not play that card. Instead he assumes his more usual unctuousness, straightens his back, clicks his heels and lightly doffs his head.

‘That is most gracious of Her Lordship. I am sure that your assistance will be invaluable, Jainus and I will be most grateful of the company. As you quite correctly surmised, I am a nervous flyer and your presence will lend me great strength I am sure.’

Steel doors locked and bared, walls of flame replace white marble. Perturbed by his inability to rattle a fissure in Gwern’s defences, Jainus slinks back into his shadow until another opportunity to breach a crack avails itself. They walk together, in stiffened silence, to the gathering group of delegates waiting to be ferried to the Teromaton. Four ambassadors, one from each quadrant, to broker a balanced peace. Wishing to warn them of the snake in their pit, Gwern announces their presence.

‘Gentlemen, please excuse our intrusion. The Lord High Commissioner has sent her personal guard to assist me in securing Queen Ashima’s safety. We will be joining you on this flight to avoid any unnecessary concerns from the public eye. Please be assured that we are in no way here to affect your balanced arbitration of peace.’

Gwern bows to the ambassadors who respectfully return the gesture. Turning to Jainus, steel shields raised, they politely offer the same. As he lifts his head, the Whiteland delegate looks Jainus in the eyes.

‘And you are?’

‘Jainus my Lord. And you are…?’

‘Lord Silvern’

‘Ah yes, Morus Silvern, the famous Whitelander. I should have recognised you from your hair.’

‘Indeed sir, not such a good camouflage in these snowless lands it is true.’

‘Oh I am no Sir, Morus, just Jainus.’

‘You do surprise me, Sir.’

Drunk on his own arrogant insolence Lord Silvern’s sarcastic whip leaves no mark on Jainus. The four ambassadors turn their backs as the lektron arrives to carry them to the boarding platform.

Gwern seats himself by the window so that he can maintain some kind of link with the ground below them as they fly by. Fear churns up a ball of panic in his gut as he clicks the safety belt into its locking mechanism. He never thought that there would be a day when he was glad to have Jainus fouling his ears with his contemptuous chattering. For once he does not have to worry about locking his thoughts behind steel doors as they are consumed by explosions and burning balls of flying metal. He tries to engage in small talk to keep the ball of panic from vomiting onto his lap.

‘Let me introduce you to the other Ambassadors Jainus.’

‘Oh there’s no need for that my dear Gwern, I have done my homework. Sitting next to Morus, is Fraximus Whirlwinder Ambassador to the People of the Isles, then there is the Sudran Ambassador Daniel Juglans with the carrot top and the pretty blonde Arborian is Brennan Fagus.’

Gwern takes a sharp breath through gritted teeth, biting his lip against Jainus’ disrespectful taunts. At least it keeps his mind piqued whilst the metal bird accelerates up the esplanade lifting its nose into the air and rises into the sky, shaking as it does so.

‘Have you flown before Jainus? You seem to be quite at ease.’

‘I? No I have never had the privilege Gwern, it’s quite exhilarating isn’t it? Hanging here miles above the ground, slung between two highly explosive tanks, defying the very laws of nature.’

Gwern leans forward and retches into a paper bag. Jainus smirks with glee believing that he has finally found a fissure. Such hubris however gives Gwern the break that he needs. Retreating to the toilet closet he looks for a way to let the delegation know what is going on. Jainus will not bother to scan him now, he is free to focus on his task. Taking a fresh vomit bag he rips a small portion of the cerated edge off of its rim to mark it against the rest. He turns the bag inside out and writes:

“It is sad but the Lapwing is no more. The Doe must be freed to run in the forest. As the Dogs are brought to War.”

Smoothing out the wrinkles and re-creasing the folds, he returns the bag to the rear of the holder. Before leaving the closet he washes his hands and splashes some water on his face. He makes eye contact with Fraximus as he returns to his seat.

*

A small party of reporters wait on the dust covered oil sand to greet the Ambassadorial teromaton arriving from Central. Undercover of his media guise Brian is eager to inform Gwern of the preparations, the Assinians are ready to move as soon as they are signalled. As media liaison for the arbitration it is Brian’s task to keep control of the reporting rabble and ensure that they keep to the agreed protocols. To that end he moves to the parties edge and calls for their attention as the sleek silver bird glides to a stop upon the esplanade in front of them.

‘Now remember people there are to be no interrogations upon arrival, pictures only, all questions are to wait for the conference this evening. Anyone breaking protocol and I mean any one, will be bared from the proceedings and the capital for its duration. Is that understood everyone.’

A melee of voices confirm their acquiescence. Brian steps forward to greet the contingent as the Ambassadors descend the platform. Fraximus discreetly passes him a neatly folded vomit bag and signals with his eyes to look behind him at the last person to leave the teromaton. Seeing Jainus descending the platform behind Gwern, Brian understands why he has been met with steeled guards. A flutter of dismay escapes his chest before managing to guard himself, it tickles in his throat causing him to cough.

‘What have we got to be nervous about Quercus? Been up to something we shouldn’t?’

‘No not at all, Jainus isn’t it? Just the arid winds picking up the dust, catching in the back of my throat. Welcome to Belaria Sir.’

‘Oh, I’m not a Sir.’

‘Really?’

Jainus’ skin slithers uncomfortably not sure that he has just missed a nuance of something, he eyes Brian suspiciously. Gwern desperately needs to be free of Jainus, he is struggling to contain his grief. It has been too many years since he last stepped foot in his beloved homeland and now that he has finally been allowed to return his heart is torn asunder by the devastation that meets his eyes. An arboreal paradise reduced to nothing more than wind swept dust and hard baked cracked earth but for a few scattered palms. The air is no longer full of the myriad songs of birds, gone are the flamboyant dance of colours performed by the flowers that flourished beneath the protective canopy. With no trees left to call in the rains there is only wind and desert. His insides want to become outsides and he doubles over in pain, cradling his belly in his arms.

‘Oh dear, oh dear, if this is how badly you’re affected then no wonder you rarely bother to fly home, Carpinus.’

If only he could throw off his guise Gwern would rip the venom from his gloating throat, vile snake.

‘I’ll be alright once I’ve had a shower and can sit quietly for a moment. Brian could you show us to our rooms please.’

‘Of course, the aerodrome hotel “Palace de Belari” has been sequestered for the talks, so it shouldn’t be a problem to sort Jainus a room at such late notice. I will first see you to your room Lord Carpinus and then attend to your aide, you can rest assured that he will be in capable hands.’

‘Thank you Quercus, we would be most grateful.’

Noticing his over familiar slip in addressing Brian he hopes that Jainus was too enamoured by his own vicious spit to have realised. Either way they both follow in silence.

The Belari’s opulence is deserving of its name. Cool white marble floors and colonnades surrounding courtyard gardens with ponds and fountains, sumptuous soft furnishings and brightly coloured chiffon drapes billowing in the wind weave an illusion of the famous Arborian verdure. All the while a desert clamours at the outer walls of the Palace. Gwern is grateful for the facade, the reminiscence soothes his seething soul. His rooms are on the ground floor opening onto an herbaceous, aromatic lounging space bordered with fruit trees masking the arid emptiness beyond the walls, he is relieved not to have an upper room with a balcony and a view. Alone, he finally collapses with exhaustion, embraced by soft down wrapped in smooth silk. Safe in the knowledge that the snake is held fast by the oak his dreams are unfettered by iron and steel.

The soft but incessant trill of an unfamiliar song bird slowly draws Gwern from a luxuriantly deep and relaxing sleep. He brings his arms up above his pillows and arches his spine to fully stretch himself awake. It is no rare and exotic song bird trilling in his ear but the demands of the hotel receiver, by his bed, insisting that it be answered. He rolls across himself, pulls the receiver onto his ear and croaks through a sleep drenched voice.

‘Hello.’

‘Lord Carpinus?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Benham, Sir, from reception. I’m sorry to disturb you but Mr Quercus asked me to give you a wake up call.’

‘That’s alright Benham, thank you. What time is it?’

‘Four hours passed noon Sir.’

‘Could you have a pot of fresh arabica and some pastries sent to my room please.’

‘Oh course, straight away Sir. Mr Quercus asked me to tell you that he has booked a table for yourself and Mr Jainus for seven passed noon Sir and that Mr Jainus will be unattended from six passed. Mr Quercus says that he will try to meet you after the media conference Sir.’

‘I see. Thank you Benham. Is there anything else?’

‘No Sir, that was the entire message.’

‘Ok thank you.’

Gwern resets the receiver, rolls onto his back and lets out a deep breath whilst considering the best way to spend his last two sybaritic hours. Languidly staring up at the chiffon canopy lightly billowing over his bed his eyes begin to swell with tears. His mind drifts back to the last time he saw his sweet Ilinedd and their baby girl Roshan. It’s Roshan’s fourth birthday, she has a pink rose cake and four flickering candles to blow out, her golden ringlets bouncing around her delighted little face. Gwern gently holds his heart careful not to let it break, tears roll down his checks soaking into the pillow, he allows himself a moment to cherish this memory for it maybe his last. With a ‘tap tap’ on the door he takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes with the back of his hands before getting up and holding the door open for the room server arriving with his arabica.

‘Just leave it on the table by the window. Thank you, Navid is it?’

He glances at the name badge on the room server’s breast pocket, all beings deserve the respect of a proper address.

‘Yes Sir it is. Thank you Sir.’

Navid bows his head with respect and places the silver tray upon the table by the window.

‘Will there be any thing else Sir.’

‘No Navid that will be all thank you. Here.’

Gwern presses a five fiat note into the young mans palm before signalling that he can leave.

“Thank you Sir.’

Navid bows and leaves the room shutting the door behind him. Gwern pours himself a cup of arabica, takes a pastry from the tray and sits amongst the aromatic herbs in his courtyard lounge, allowing their healing scent to lift his heart and mind. He can not afford to let Jainus’ presence undermine their plan nor his determination, he has to believe that both Ashima and Ilinedd will be saved and that his daughter will not be left an orphan growing up under the influence of that female Azrial, Lamia. A sharp pain stabs in his chest at this last thought. Quercus is a genius he will find a way Gwern can trust to that at least, as long as he does not foul things up by making foolish mistakes as he did earlier. He has been given breathing space and time to rest, now he must gather his strength to him, for he can not afford to make a single slip. His mind must be iron bound and sword blade sharp. He finishes a second cup of arabica before washing off the heat and the dust in a long pummelling shower. He coiffures his hair and beard, polishes his nails and dons a well cut dress suit for diner. He checks himself in the long mirror, raises his chin, stiffens his back and clicks his heals, brightly coloured chiffon billows through his mind. Sharp and strong Gwern leaves his room and heads for the hotel bar to charm the snake.