coming home

He folded his wings and drifted, finally alighting on top of the highest building in the city. His landing was silent but the following rumble was not. The shaking of the earth, almost as if it would fall off. This was stronger than the other quake had been, and it was now because three were in the same place. He smiled, wide, sharp teeth. Let them know. Let them feel the fear that he was on their trail. As the game wore on, he became more solid. And with that, his hunger grew. He would feed soon. But for now, he would going to find them. He knew they weren’t in this city. Neither of them were. But if he had to come to the land of the pure, he wanted to land in this city first. Nowhere else could he go. It was here that he had grown up. It was here that he had learned how to manipulate and deceive. By watching them. He hadn’t turned these people evil. They had shown him how to turn others. Oh how he loved the smell of the city. The scent of sweat, the sight of the dirty canal, laden with waste, and on nice, hot summer days, strewn with shirtless boys playing around. The streets lined with trees, and dogs lying on their sides, sleeping or dead, none cared here. Posh houses, luxurious cars, on the same streets as skinny, sunburnt men driving rickshaws, others standing on top of wooden carts, whipping mercilessly the donkeys that were attached to them. He felt a nostalgia in his chest. A longing, an attachment. He had travelled many places. Many had been better. A rare few had been worse. But there was no place like home. His minions slithered all around him. A flick of the fingers, and he sent them off, some to find them. Others to feed. Soon they would alternate. He should go after them. A frown. A flicker. A ripple passing through the shadow rajah.

On the other side of the world, two old men sat playing chess. One moved one of his most important pieces into an indirect line of fire, spark in his eyes, the other day confused. There was no gambit here, none that he could see.

A ripple passed through him, and for a second, there was the birth of a scream. It caught itself in its throat and then it was gone. The frown remained. He shook his head, not remembering. He should go feed. He looked down at the city, seeing it perched from above, wings folded, arms spread over a wide chest, legs like tree trunks standing watch. There was the occupied land. The establishment. There was the old city with its twelve gates. Bustling as always. Even in these times. The new bridges, the replica Eiffel Tower. He smiled a little, as if a mother humoring the stupidity of her children. Where to some, where to dine. His wings flapped open in silence, and he dove down.