Gale & Hymn

by Wendy T Lyoness

  “They do. It didn’t occur to me earlier. I’ve been caught up in everything, and I guess I wanted to get outside, on the ground, after this long in the air. My people don’t belong in the sky. We’d sooner hunt every day than live in excessive luxury. Cherish time by doing what we love.”

  “We can raid the hold together,” Hymn said, bumped her shoulder into Iorvil’s arm when she reached for more meat, and faced her with a mischievous glint in her eye. “A drunk pirate once taught me where they stash all the precious goods on ships. I never had a chance to test if his theory holds water.”

  “I won’t need to protect you from anything, will I?”

  “No.”

  Iorvil hadn’t thought she’d be apart of a capable group anytime soon after she’d lost her friends, and while she sat and ate with three odd women, alive, guilt interrupted the happiness she experienced. When Gale burst into a melancholic ballad about some thief called Orchid Brave, Iorvil had to hide her eyes behind her hand.

  Tough

  The giant lead her back downstairs where bunks were attached to the deck with nails, and leather straps had been screwed to their frames. The lanterns had cracked at some point, and scattered glass shards, yet some of them shone with magical light nonetheless.

  Hymn had heard Iorvil weep during dinner, though she’d tried to hide it. She didn’t know what to make of it, part of her told her it was an act, but nothing about Iorvil seemed insincere. If anything, Iorvil was too honest for her own good.

  If Hymn had been a firm believer of her own goddess, she might have harmed Iorvil in the hopes it would get her into Furore’s good graces. After all, if Furore had one less god to compete with, wouldn’t she breathe easier? Or something. Hymn didn’t care enough about the goddess to listen to what her followers said. Hope came off as a tad crazy at times, even if she wouldn’t tell her mother that. Venviel would chew her ear off if she did.

  “This must be it,” Iorvil said, grabbed the round iron handle of a hatch built into the deck, and pulled.

  Hymn watched her struggle to get the hatch open. When she figured Iorvil would release the handle and make a renewed attempt, the wood under her feet creaked. The muscles in Iorvil’s arm strained, and budged, yet she still refused to use both her hands. She kept pulling with one hand until Hymn worried she’d sooner tear a hole in hull and let in water than get the hatch open. Then she remembered how the airship didn’t have to be seaworthy. They were on land.

  “There.” Iorvil forced the hatch open with sheer muscle and gestured for her to go first. “Guests first, or would you feel safer if I didn’t block your exit?”

  If the giant had been anyone else than Iorvil, Hymn would have sworn she was bragging to make her think indecent thoughts. If she’d been Gale, she might have asked Iorvil to ravish her with those arms of her, so thank god she wasn’t. In her tattered shirt, Iorvil appeared too tempting.

  “Hymn?” Iorvil stepped closer, looked down at her, and raised a hand to pat her on the shoulder. “How about you show me what that drunkard taught you? The pirate?”

  She lost herself in the blues of Iorvil’s eyes. Someone had brought down terrible luck on her, but if she didn’t stand a chance against love anyway, was there a point in resisting? She could have a fling with a woman or two before she married.

  Iorvil smiled at her, and she could have sworn she smelled lilies in the air while someone giggled in the background. She shivered, swallowed hard, and averted her gaze from the tender mountain in front of her to the open hatch.

  “Perhaps it’s best if you go first,” Hymn murmured. “Someone might hide down there, and I’m unarmed. I bet you could crush anyone with your limbs though.”

  “I do have my axe too…” Iorvil raised an eyebrow at her, laid a hand on her weapon. “I’m not about to crush someone with my thighs unless they ask for it.”

  “I…” Hymn blushed and stood frozen when she realized she might have been about to ask for it.

  Iorvil didn’t seem to notice, or at least she pretended like she hadn’t. She grabbed one of the lanterns off the deck, lowered it down into the hatch, and frowned.

  “I don’t think I’m going to fit down there. Their crates and barrels are packed very tight. It looks more like a job for someone of your lithe frame, Hymn.” Iorvil let her pretty eyes trail over her body, and for the first time, she felt completely naked while dressed. “Doubtful I’d even fit through the hatch. These ships weren’t made for my sisters to move around, even if Thotrix’s servants needed them to keep their ships in their precious sky.”

  Hymn approached Iorvil, looked down into the hold, and saw that it was indeed packed full. She might have trouble slipping between the crates and barrels herself. It would be impossible for someone bigger.

  “I’ll be here for you.” Iorvil caressed her back with her large hand and made her feel tiny. “If someone hides down there, I’ll chop through this deck and cut them in half. I don’t need to see a rat to kill it.”

  “I trust you.” Hymn steeled her nerves, took the lantern from Iorvil, and breathed. If anyone could protect her from ruffians, or worse, the bad luck of love, it would be Iorvil.

  She dropped into the hold, fell against a crate, but held on tight to the lantern lest she lose it. Since the ship hadn’t caught fire during their last wild ride, she didn’t think she had to worry about that at least, but she didn’t like darkness. She hated it. Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d thought she’d seen faces in the cellar under The Amiciers’ Rest.

  “You made it.” Iorvil teased her with the sound of her confident, soothing voice.

  “I did.”

  “See any labels on the crates or barrels? A list of what they brought with them?” Iorvil sat on her knees and watched Hymn and her surroundings with great interest. “Any nice surprises?”

  “Yes...” Hymn allowed herself to forget the darkness around her and focus on Iorvil’s scarred face.

  The warrior might have killed thousands before they’d met, she didn’t know. She only felt safe when they looked at each other. She could be swept up in the wake of her storm, torn asunder, and reborn. Neither darkness nor deity would dare touch her while Iorvil did.

  “Down there.” Iorvil pointed behind her and a coy smile played across her lips before it settled into a warm, loving grin aimed straight into her soul. “Not up here, Hymn.”

  Hymn turned away from Iorvil, yet she could feel her eyes on her back, trailing down her shoulders, and staring where they shouldn’t stare. She would kill Gale for bringing this fate down on her head.

  “Lots of beds up here,” Iorvil said.

  Hymn balled her free hand into a fist at her side. She would not be cajoled to stray from her path in life, simply because lust made a claim at her loins after another long, tiresome day. She didn’t trust love.

  “It might take a few hours for me to count everything!” She called up to Iorvil, stepped between two barrels, and disappeared out of sight of the hatch. “I want to check for secret compartments too.”

  “I’ll wait around, so you don’t get trapped down there.”

  Iorvil would wait for her for hours? Somehow, she knew it to be true for no other reason than that the giant said so. Time should be worshipped, according to her, and maybe this moment was just another altar.

  Skin & Bone

  “Would you like for me to show you a secret?” Phoxene rose from her seat at the end of the table, ran the tip of her fingers along Gale’s horn, and bent next to her to whisper. “A marvellous secret of the Gustfin. Adventure past closed doors, for you and I.”

  “Don’t know if we should,” Gale said. No one had cleaned up after their dinner yet, the dirty plates remained on the table, and while she usually skipped every chore, she didn’t want to leave everything to Hymn. “What if my twin wants to see it too?”

  Phoxene gripped her horn, caressed her cheek, and twisted her head to the side, so they came face to face. Before Gale could protest against the rough
treatment, Phoxene kissed her with such ferocity she suspected she hadn’t needed to spend as much time cosying up to the clicking doll as she had.

  “Are you feeling up to it now?” Phoxene ended their kiss, a trail of saliva lingered between their lips. She wiped it off, sucked her finger clean, and tugged on Gale’s horn to get her to rise to her feet. “I am.”

  “I…” Gale gulped. Even if she liked to sing suggestive songs, she hadn’t been with anyone in the past. She’d not saved herself for someone special like Hymn, but she hadn’t rushed into it either. She’d heeded Hope’s warnings. A broken heart sounded awful, especially if it inspired the kind of dreary, horrible ballads others forced her to sing. “Don’t know you that well, Phoxene, and the goddess might have someone else in mind for me. Love is—“

  “Daft girl, I’m not asking you to love me.” Phoxene tugged harder on her horn. “I’m letting you seduce me. If you don’t get off your ass, and come with me to the lounge, I’m tossing you off my ship.”

  “Don’t—“

  Phoxene kissed her again, slid her tongue along her lips, and smiled into Gale. “Famous musicians have women and men fawning over them where I’m from, so let me be your first. No love. Give me a taste of what you’ve offered all night, a dose of disappointing reality, and I’ll do my best to make it memorable.”

  “You want a song written about you, don’t you?”

  “No.” Phoxene removed her hand from her horn and offered it to her by holding it in front of her instead. Old scars had left deep intricacies in her palm. “I don’t want a song written about me. I want to leave a mark on your heart, so you never forget me. Whenever you’re with someone new, you’ll think back to us and sulk because they’re not like me. I want every song you write in your life to be about us, even though everyone else you meet would make a better partner.”

  Gale hadn’t heard anything quite as devious in her life. “Cruel.”

  “Love isn’t for me, girl. The god who claimed me for their worshippers wouldn’t tolerate it.” Phoxene sighed. “But you’ll enjoy this, I promise.”

  Gale took her hand, rose to her feet, and let herself be lead toward a corner in the dining hall. She didn’t know if anyone would approve of what they were about to do, but she couldn’t claim she didn’t want to try what Phoxene flaunted.

  She may reek of soot and ash, and click, but she was nearly as tall as Iorvil. If Furore had someone else in mind for her, she should have thrown them together already. Gale couldn’t wait decades for love. Someone else would tempt and seduce her, if Phoxene didn’t.

  Phoxene pulled on a candlestick. The wall in the corner opened, moved to the side, and revealed a room bathed in luxury untouched by the movements of the ship. A thick, red carpet covered the deck inside while a couple of maroon armchairs stood by a window, paintings of a gloomy city hung on the walls, and a bookcase with a glass door had been built into the hull.

  “Fancy.” Gale whistled. “Doesn’t have a bed though.”

  “We won’t need a bed.” Phoxene dragged her inside the cramped room, pulled on another candlestick, and laid her arms around her neck while the hidden door locked them inside. “I’ll make you quiver and shake, standing upright, until you fall in a sweaty heap.”

  Gale raised her hands to Phoxene’s hips, rested one of them on her waist, and brought the other up toward her chest. “Will you click louder if I bring you to your knees first?”

  Phoxene slapped her so it stung, bit her lip in a hateful kiss, and forced her to turn around and place her hands on the wall. Gale would have apologized for her crude joke, but the fact that her pants ended up on the carpet a second later distracted her somewhat.

  “I won’t click louder unless I intend to kill you,” Phoxene whispered, kissed her ear, and chewed on it as she smacked her butt. “You won’t bring me to my knees. Daft girl, you’ll beg me to end you today.”

  Gale reached around to lift Phoxene’s gown, caught a glimpse of a scarred pale thigh, and slid her tail up along it until she heard Phoxene gasp. She’d not expected that.

  “Who can tell if it can swell?” Gale sang. “You might as well, let it inside to dwell, before you yell.”

  “If it’s a competition you want, I’ll break you in half.” Phoxene shook her leg to free it of Gale’s tail, placed a hand on top of her stomach, and dragged sharp nails along her sensitive skin. “Why would you think you could best someone who was forced to obey every command of her masters? I won’t enjoy this unless I choose to.”

  “Belle, this injustice I smell, I’ll break with a spell.”

  Gale removed her hands from the wall, spun around to confront her newfound lover, and welcomed her into an overeager hug when they collided. She wrapped her legs around her waist, shut her eyes. They kissed, tore at each other, unsure if they fought or made love.

  Phoxene stumbled backwards, landed in one of the armchairs, and exhaled in anger when she noticed how Gale straddled her lap. The tumble had ruffled her red hair so it framed her face and exposed the top of her breasts and forearms. She appeared wild, untameable, yet she grew sullen and pulled the gown back over disturbing contraptions buried in her arms.

  “Are you done playing games?” Phoxene snarled. “Can you do what I tell you to?”

  Gale pouted. She didn’t like being told what to do. Besides, why should she surrender when she’d landed on top? She ought to claim her victory and reward.

  “Let me worship you,” Gale said, licked Phoxene’s neck, and tugged the gown down off her ample chest with excited hands. “How am I supposed to write hundreds of songs about this work of art in front of me if you don’t let me view it in its full glory?”

  Phoxene grabbed her horn again to press her face downward along her torso, to make her kneel at the foot of the armchair, and in turn, Gale dragged a wet line with her tongue across her pale chest.

  “You’re going to end up famous because no one could possibly tire of your wit. Isn’t that correct, demon?” Phoxene snorted. “But I tire quickly. And if you don’t prove worth my time, I might tell Rhabour how you wasted my day.”

  “You’re only giving me a day?” Gale looked up at Phoxene’s face, and winked, but soon found her gaze drifting towards the peaks of her breasts. “I would have asked for a year or two. I could get used to the sights from this airship.”

  Phoxene pushed her face down. “Eat me.”

  Merry

  “I found this,” Hymn said and stretched an aged, brown bottle up toward her. “Hidden behind a plank in the hull, so that drunk pirate was right. My bad for assuming he meant gold or gems.”

  “Alcohol is a great treasure to some.” Iorvil took the bottle in one hand, pulled Hymn up from the hold with her other, and sat with her back against the hull. It was difficult to read the faded label on the bottle. If she had to guess, she’d say it read Cog Rum, but that name seemed to lack the usual finesse of the empire. “Do you want to share?”

  “I suppose, if you don’t mind me getting drunk.” Hymn twirled her fingers into the fabric of her dress and sat next to her. Closer than she’d expected the woman would dare sit.

  “Not at all.” Iorvil uncorked the bottle, so a spicy scent wafted out of it. “I haven’t drunk in the company of friends in… weeks? Forget how long it’s been since the warriors I travelled with last had a chance to feast. Though, they’re bound to liven up their next lifetimes.”

  “Rhabour doesn’t believe in the afterlife? A realm where all the dead goes?” Hymn smelled the bottle, scrunched her face up, and withdrew.

  “Rhabour teaches us mortals are reborn in endless circles to experience everything the world has to offer. Does…” Iorvil trailed off, since she understood she shouldn’t bring up the goddess of love, and drank.

  When the harsh, relentless taste of unknown spices assailed her tongue, she coughed and almost spat the rum out. She may get used to it, in time, if she didn’t care whether the alcohol ruined her sense of taste for life or not. But for now, she mig
ht have had enough. It hadn’t aged well. Who knew how long it had lain in the hold?

  Hymn grabbed the bottle and grazed her fingers. “Let me taste.”

  “Don’t think you want to.” Iorvil held onto it. “It’s vile.”

  “Unless you’ve suddenly become my wife, I don’t believe you get a say in anything I do, Iorvil.”

  “Suit yourself.” Iorvil relinquished the bottle to Hymn and watched her drink and contort her face in disgust, yet the woman went for a second and third sip anyway. “What would someone do if they wished to marry you?”

  Hymn spat the rum out along the deck without concern for decorum. “Why do you ask!”

  “You asked me about my god, and while I’m happy to teach you about Rhabour, I’m doing most of the talking. I’m not getting to know you.” Iorvil smiled and stroked the moon around her neck. “I don’t know what form the new beginning I seek will take. I’d like to think it would come in a friendly face. You may have green skin, but your face—”

  “You’re one to talk!” Hymn slammed the bottle down on the deck with a loud clink. “Half of your face is messed up by scars. My face—“

  “It is.” Iorvil agreed and poked at the scars she’d gotten while attempting to free another machine like Phoxene of their shackles. “So your face has a much greater appeal than mine. It’s smoother, undamaged. Softer too, I’d bet.”

  Hymn blushed, raised her hands to her face, and touched her nose and cheeks as if she’d never touched them herself. Iorvil couldn’t deny she longed to do the same and investigate what Hymn felt like under her calloused fingers.

  Their eyes met. Hymn refused to break eye contact first. She was too proud, too immovable, to bend to Iorvil. While she suspected she might bring bad luck down on Hymn’s cute, bald head, she still lifted her hand to her face and caressed her cheek.