Chapter 22 – Dengel All the Way

It felt strange to be stepping into a giant elevator to drop down to ground level rather than letting himself fall naturally. However, the city had beefed up its security, making the airspace around the lower levels restricted except for emergencies.

A random delivery to the surface hardly fit the bill, so they were forced to go through customs and take the elevator like No-Flyers did. It was that or taking the long way, outside the city limits before landing and hovering back along ground level. Frankly, Arwain saw no reason for the detour wasting precious time on a vacation day… until now.

“Psst, I’m not likely the glares around us, Boss.”

Arwain’s gaze followed Dingleberry’s. The group of No-Flyers watched the two of them with caution, like wild animals had sauntered in.

At this point, it was hard for anyone not to notice. The faces of Silver Stream’s members had been plastered all around the city. They were the city champions that protected people from Icarus bombs.

However, that wasn’t the vibe coming from those that were not affected by such weaponry. In fact, their eyes contained a bit of disdain, an unworthiness for something that didn’t matter to them. It was hard to acknowledge a savior of an ailment with no impact.

But that was exactly what Arwain wanted to understand.

Why were only Flyers being targeted? Why did No-Flyers look more rattled than the ones being attacked? He could clearly see that the Icarus bombings had created a shift for the whole city, not just those caught in the blast.

His sights had always been high to the sky, focused on the flight before him. But really, he had been ignoring what was below. Many like him were in such a hurry to cast away that time when wings weren’t upon their backs, afraid of what would be without them. But if he were to continue forward, that possibility could easily rear its head.

The elevator finally stopped, its passengers eager to filter out and away from the two unlike them. It drew a bitter feeling of being left out, just like he felt as a child when others got their wings before him.

The Dengel farms were a fair distance away from the city center, but it took less time to glide along the surface than it took for the elevator to bring them to the ground. Along the way, wheeled vehicles dominated the land, unlike the air traffic of people up above.

Arwain had read about times like these in history books. It was as if he had jumped back half a century in the past. The air felt less crisp and had an odor of burnt petrol. He had noticed it last time, but other worries in his mind took priority.

Dingleberry didn’t mind it though. He inhaled the fumes deeply like a bit of nostalgia overcame him. A hint of nerves traced his trembling jaw, but Arwain couldn’t tell if it was excitement or hesitation. Either way, he had strapped a giant package to his back, offerings to either appease or apologize to his folks.

It had been over six months since he last visited, after running away from home. Since then, he had almost fully adapted to life in the skies. With how things were spiraling out of control between Flyers and No-Flyers, it felt like this was the best chance to come to terms with a split-up family before things got more dire.

Soon, the crowd traffic of vehicles beeping around them gave way to lush green in checkered patterns. Arwain could tell they were getting close by how Dingleberry picked up the pace. Eventually, the boy tossed him the package before sprinting toward a complex of silos and barns, diving into a giant field that was occupied by a herd of cattle.

“Betsy! Come here, girl! I’ve missed you soooooo much!”

Arwain stifled a chuckle as he watched Dingleberry crash into the side of a black and white speckled cow, who mooed loudly from the impact. Dingleberry brushed his arms all across its back, before hopping on with a holler like he was ready to ride off into the sunset.

The cow suddenly protested, bucking him off and flipping him into the air. Arwain grew nervous as it suddenly made for a charge at the farm boy, until he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around its neck before tossing it backwards into a suplex.

Arwain stood slack-jawed, wondering just what the hell happened, until something hard jabbed him in the side.

“Visitors, huh. Don’t get many of them here. Especially featherbutts.”

Arwain spun around while nursing his side. An older man that was clearly related to Dingleberry was there, pitchfork in hand.

“I was about to pull out my rifle. But then, I heard ol’ Betsy tooting and stomping around, happy as can be. Only one thing can bring that outta her.”

Arwain looked back to the field, where Dingleberry and Betsy were wrestling on the grass. A guttural gaggle of cries, which sounded as close to laughter as a cow could do, echoed from the field as Dingleberry fought to rub her belly. He dove in and retreated to nimbly avoid its legs flailing all around.

“The kid’s gotten better. Guess I was wrong that putting flappy things on his ass would make him green again.”

“Dingle-, I mean, Barry’s a hard worker. A cheerful one too. We’re happy to have him around. He brings a smile to everyone’s face.”

“I can see that. We have TV down here, ya know. His Ma can’t go a day without flipping into a channel with his sparkling mug. Catch her staring for minutes at a time. Can’t argue when results like that smack ya red in the face. Larry Dengel, by the way. I’m that boy’s father.”

“Where’s my manners? I’m-”

“Arwain Riot of Silver Stream. Of course, I know who ya are. Damn near everyone here does. Champion of Stratos, the news says, many times a day. You sure look like some overly excited chump with too big of shoes to fill. A bit wet behind the ears and smug as hell, but some proper work will do ya good.”

Arwain didn’t know how to respond to that. The way he looked like a goldfish caught in a net only made Larry sigh.

“Look. I didn’t mean no harm by it. We all tell each other we look stupid and careless. That’s how we keep ourselves in line. Stuff goes on at a slower pace down here. So what I’m trying to say is, you’d fit in alright if you didn’t have those wings.”

“I see… do people hate wings so much here? Enough that…”

“Don’t get me wrong. People here don’t all hate wings. The problem is keeping enough of them around rather than moving to that fancy schmacy promise in the sky. The folks down here are proud of not conforming at a drop of the hat. We have what we need, we grow plenty to live off of, and the community is happy that way. What right do some big shots in the sky have to tell us that our heritage, our way of living is outdated and dumb? Their fancy messages may draw the ambitious ones, but some of us folk just know what they want.”

Arwain looked over at Dingleberry, who was still having the time of his life wrestling a cow. He was a kid who had just reunited with an old friend after not seeing each other for a lifetime. And it was because of all that talk about Flyers versus No-Flyers in society that made things awkward.

“Anyways, guess I’ll call up Ma. Tell her more guests for dinner. I reckon you’ve been eating the grub we sent ya. There’s a lot more of that to go around.”

Dinner with the Dengel family was more hectic that Arwain ever imagined. The chaos started the moment when Dingleberry charged through the door, several of his siblings attached to him as he floated in. The yelps of childish argument over their new favorite toy/brother suddenly diverted when they saw Arwain’s wings. After that, the two of them were literally dogpiled by the seven younger siblings, while the three older ones and their parents looked on from across the room. Dingleberry’s mom was a homely woman of few words, content with keeping her hands busy wrangling the children with a glow on her face.

Arwain couldn’t recall what he ate at all in the whirlwind, only knowing that his belly was somehow stuffed amid people taking turns to hang on him. Eventually, Dingleberry had conked out in front of a fireplace, his younger siblings using his wings as a blanket loosely draped over them.

A mug of warm cider was handed out to Arwain as he settled in a comfy chair next to a crackling fireplace. It felt relaxing, like being cradled to sleep.

“You know, there was a reason why we didn’t want Barry to get wings. Care to listen?”

“Of course. You’ve let me care for him for this long.”

“The boy’s a bit too earnest for city life. That’s what we thought. He takes after his late uncle too much.”

“What happened to him?”

“Went up to the middle levels. Never saw him again. Got it in his head that featherbutts were somehow superior to us down here. We tried to get him to visit, talk some sense into him. But every time, he’d spew out some propaganda. It made us distant. Didn’t want the same for gullible little Barry. But it looks like he found people with good hearts first, and not feathers for brains.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Arwain laughed, taking a sip of his cider. A hint of cinnamon tickled his tongue, enhancing the flavor of honeycrisp. “Oh, before I forget, here’s the package that Barry meant to deliver.”

Lifting the seal tab, the contents expanded, spilling out on the floor. There were fancy teas, imported smoked salmon, and pre-packaged pastries – common souvenirs from the city shops.

Larry put it all aside with a quick ‘thanks’, much to Arwain’s disappointment. He had spent quite some time with Dingleberry picking out his parents’ favorites, hoping that they accept them with more than a passing glance.

“I guess my choices were a miss,” he sighed.

“Not at all. They’ll get used. We’re just far happier with your other gift.”

“What is that?”