by JMD Reid
He kissed her a third time.
~ * * ~
“Knock that off,” Vel groused as he stomped over, his anger gusting fierce. First, he didn’t get the Blessing he’d wanted, and now he witnessed Ary mauling Chaylene’s delicate lips. He ached to lash out and tear Ary apart. The shark hungered for Ary’s blood. Fantasies of striking Ary in the face and scooping Chaylene into his arms lurked in turbulent skies of his mind. “You’re in public. Have some decency and consider those of us afflicted with Ary’s ugly face screwed up for a kiss.”
She giggled, such a sweet sound. “That’s why I close my eyes when we kiss. You should do the same.”
Big, disgusting boar. Ary’s brutishness struck Vel just then, a beast wearing clothing, groping radiance while she squirmed and giggled. Last night she was so confused and now . . . The draft hasn’t even happened, and she’s acting so in love.
Unless . . .
His skin prickled. The way Ary had his arm around her, staring at her with such possessiveness, confirmed the suspicion lurking in Vel’s heart. Chaylene must have spoken to Ary, told him her fears, and he’d trampled over them. Showed her the true beast rampaging in his soul.
Now she acted out of fear. Vel’s ma did that, feigning love when his pa argued with fists.
Monster! Vel slew his friendship. He had to. He loved Chaylene. He would protect her. Even from Ary. Their past didn’t matter. Not if he threatened her.
Vel leaned against the persimmon tree on the other side of Chaylene from the brute. “You must have a strong stomach, Chaylene.”
“Hey,” Ary protested. “At least I found a girl that can stomach kissing me.”
“There are plenty of girls that want to kiss me.” Vel fought to keep control of his love, treading with care. He didn’t want Ary becoming jealous and hurting Chaylene’s delicate blossoms. “All except the one I want.” Vel froze. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
Ary shrugged. “I find that hard to believe. Which girl doesn’t want to kiss you?”
Vel relaxed. Ary’s too stupid to understand anything that’s not waved right before his face.
“Well, there’s me,” Chaylene said with a playful tone, pressing tight against Ary. “Vel just doesn’t have a solid enough frame.”
Her words pierced Vel’s heart. She could cut him with such casual ease. It’s my own fault for letting Ary take her without a fight.
“Like Vel wants to kiss you,” Ary laughed.
“What does that mean, Briaris?” Chaylene demanded, her back straightening. Hope beat Vel’s heart. An opening?
“I, uh . . .” Ary faltered. “It means Vel’s my friend. So he wouldn’t want to . . . You know? Because you’re my girl. Right, Vel?”
“I would never try and steal you away from Ary,” Vel smiled, forcing himself to play along with the dumb boar. If they drafted Ary, Vel would have three months to convince Chaylene he could protect her while Ary was off training. “He’d break my face with his fist.”
“So if I wasn’t Ary’s girl, you’d want to kiss me?” Chaylene gave Vel a curious look.
He flashed a glance at Ary, swallowing in fear. He walked the skyland’s edge now. One misplaced step, and he’d fall. “Well, um, I would.” He took a deep breath, wanting to blurt out how she beat inside his heart, pumping life through him. “I would. If you weren’t Ary’s girl.”
He’d never come so close to admitting it.
“But she is,” Ary said, pulling her close, the pair snuggling in for another kiss. Chaylene pretended so well.
“Yeah, she is,” Vel sighed, bile burning his throat. The threat was plain in Ary’s words: “Touch her, and I’ll pound your face in.”
Why can’t I be stronger? Why did Ary have to grow to the size of a raging boar?
“So, which Blessings did you get?” Vel asked, wanting to lead the conversation away from the precipice. Before I blurt out my true feelings.
“Pressure and Minor Mist,” Chaylene sighed. “So I got your blessing.”
Vel shook his head. “I’ll trade you. I only got Moderate Wind. No second blessing.” Even Riasruo’s against me. Moderate Wind! I can be a fisherman. How Theisseg-damned useless.
“Wind’s not bad,” Ary laughed. “You’ll never be affected by a stiff breeze again. You’ll have the perfect hair Chaylene’s always wanted.”
She laughed, giving the brute another fond look.
“I guess,” Vel muttered, his insides twisting at Ary’s dismissive jest. “Though it’s weird, I can see the pattern of the breeze eddying around us.” It rippled like heat, swirling around the trees and people, caressing the grass and splitting into myriad, snaking paths through the maze of leaves and branches of the persimmon tree. He could feel the ripples and reached out to those touching his skin with . . . Wind. He stopped them and no longer felt the breeze on his face. His hair no longer rustled.
“So, what did you get, Ary?” Vel muttered without thought, lost for a moment as he used his Blessing for the first time.
“Lightning and Minor Wind.”
Hope burst in Vel. “So Ary got what he wanted. Isn’t Minor Wind the best secondary Blessing for a marine?” Maybe he even enlisted.
“No, that’s Minor Mist,” Ary answered. “Seeing through cloud banks and fog is more useful than falling slow. Course, Minor Pressure is probably the most useless Blessing a marine could receive.”
“So you must have enlisted, right?” Vel tried so hard to keep the hope out of his voice. Join up and leave. Go play marine like you always wanted. His stomach clenched, waiting for Ary’s answer.
I won’t let you harm Chaylene!
~ * * ~
Vel’s words dredged up memories. Raging clouds. Flashing swords. Fiery explosions. Splintered wood. Twisted bodies.
“I don’t want that!” With a startled chirp, a flock of gray jays took flight from the persimmon tree.
Chaylene yelped. “Ary, not so tight.”
He relaxed his hand on her shoulder. “Goddess Above, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Her eyes widened as they studied him. She opened her mouth, then shut it.
Vel’s stony face faced him, fists clenched.
Frowning, Ary asked, “What?”
“Your face. You looked like you were about to punch me.”
Sheepishness flushed Ary’s cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Well, good odds you’ll be drafted,” Vel said, standing wary. “Lightning’s one of the rarer blessings. Everyone gets Wind or Mist, so there are fewer people with Lightning in the draft. And they always need marines, those poor bastards—”
“Enough, Vel,” Chaylene snapped. “Just because you didn’t get Pressure, don’t inflict your sour oranges on us.”
Vel flushed. “Sorry. It’s been a disappointing day.”
Not for all of us. Ary didn’t say that. His friend wore his disappointment like a mud-smeared jacket. “We have to accept whatever direction the wind blows and hope it carries us to better skies.”
Chaylene nodded her head in agreement. “I’ll even give you a ride on my pegasus.”
“How gracious of you.” Vel inclined his head as his too pretty smile returned.
A man shouldn’t have a smile that pretty, Ary decided.
“So Ary will be the farmer immune to lightning strikes,” Vel continued, “and you’ll work as a courier?”
“I guess so.” Chaylene blinked in realization. “It does pay well. And it lets you travel.”
Pressure was the rarest of all the Blessings. Ary didn’t know why Mist and Wind were so common while Lightning and Pressure were not. Maybe Riasruo knew what were the most useful: Major Mist for the Weathertowers and Major Wind to power and control sailing ships.
Chaylene nudged Ary in the ribs. “Would you like to fly on my pegasus?”
“I’d love that.”
“Something’s happening,” Vel said.
The petty officer and a c
lerk lugged a wooden platform and set it in the middle of the courtyard. Straightening, the petty officer turned to the crowd of over a hundred youths and bellowed, “Attention! Fall in and prepare to be addressed by Lieutenant-Captain Myxo.”
A buzz passed through the group as they all, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped forward. Chaylene took Ary’s hand, her face paling. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be all right.”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
They joined the huddled mass before the wooden platform. The petty officer scowled at them all, his scarred face twisting into an intimidating glower, silencing the crowd. Striding from the back of the awning came a short, stocky woman, her blonde hair tied back at her nape, a serious looked painted on her sharp face. She cut an impressive figure in her starched uniform. Her white britches bloused into gleaming, black boots, a linen shirt held closed by painted-yellow buttons, and a dark-blue overcoat. The knots stitched on her epaulets identified her as a lieutenant-captain. A black, tricorne hat perched upon her head, partially shadowing her eyes.
She clutched a rolled parchment in her right hand—the draft. Ary’s skin tightened.
Her boots rang as she stepped onto the platform. She surveyed the crowd, flicking her gaze past each of them. Ary shivered when her intense, red eyes fell upon him. Her expression never changed. When she finished her survey, she unfurled the parchment.
“On this day, the First of Yruoujoa, in the Year of Vaarck’s Founding 399, I, Lieutenant-Captain Chesha Myxo, swear that the Vesche Draft was conducted to the letter of the Les-Vion Articles of Service, Section 3, Paragraph 9: all able-bodied men and women, who have reached the age of majority and have received their Blessings, shall be immediately entered into a lottery, twice for men, once for women, and names shall be drawn to meet the expected needs of the Navy of the Autonomy of Les-Vion as determined by the Admiralty Board. Each skyland shall provide, either through volunteers or draft, the required number of individuals who shall serve for a period of no less than four years. Failure to report to muster after volunteering or being drafted shall result in a sentence of four years’ hard labor.”
She paused, taking a deep breath, and again her hard eyes surveyed the crowd, letting the words gust through their minds. She nodded, then looked down at her parchment and read, “For Vesche, the Admiralty board has required one person who possesses a Major Blessing of Wind.”
Only someone with Major Wind could become a Windwarden, the necessary man or woman who charged the crystal engine of a ship and directed the winds to propel it through the skies. Every warship had at least two Windwardens, and the larger classes of ships—Brigantines and Dreadnoughts—carried more.
“Two persons who possess a Moderate or Major Blessing of Lightning.”
Marines. Ary shivered—someone like him.
“One person who possess a Moderate or Major Blessing of Pressure.”
Scouts.
“And seven persons who possess any other Minor, Moderate, or Major Blessing not noted.”
Sailors.
“We have had two volunteers: Grev, Shafe of Myis, Windwarden, and Ishame, Rliach of Ahly, sailor.”
A Windwarden enlisting didn’t surprise Ary. Most volunteered since it was the safest post in the Navy and came with an officer’s commission. No one expected Windwardens to do the dangerous stuff; they were too vital to the ship’s operation.
“The following have been selected by random drawing to serve as sailors: Dhevene, Grechia of Tlay; Huon, Srion of Ahly; Rhame, Aybrin of Ione; Sharth, Onthun of Xofe; Tloay, Veldon of Isfe; and Xohly, Hurhel of Xofe.”
“Goddess Above, why me?” Vel groaned next to Ary. He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. Other gasps and outcries echoed through the crowd. “Can this day get any worse?”
“Quiet in the ranks,” bellowed the scarred petty officer, his voice booming like a thunderstorm over the entire crowd.
The youths fell silent.
“Thank you, Shefe,” Lieutenant-Captain Myxo nodded. She glanced at her parchment. “The following have been selected by random drawing to serve as marines.” Ary tensed. Chaylene squeezed his hand hard. “Elen, Chioth of Ahly, and . . .”
Ary’s entire body felt like it would explode under the pressure.
“. . . Sroat, Thamen of Ahly.”
His breath burst out of him. I didn’t get drafted. All the stress and fear of the last few days fell away from him, leaving him as light as a puffer fish drifting on a summer breeze. Chaylene gave a squeal of excitement, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him, her lips wonderfully sweet.
He could have kissed her forever.
“Quiet in the storming ranks!”
Ary and Chaylene broke their kiss, but he didn’t let her go.
“And finally, the following person was selected by random drawing to serve as a scout: Brech, Chaylene of Isfe.”
Chaylene stiffened in his arms. Horror seized Ary’s thoughts. No. That can’t be what she said. I prayed that I would pay any price if . . . His eyes widened. If I wasn’t drafted. He staggered. Oh, Goddess, you answered my selfish wish.
Chaylene pulled away from him, the color draining from her dark face. Her lower lip shivered, her eyes widening. “I can’t . . . Oh, Goddess Above, I can’t.”
“All volunteers and draftees must report here for muster by midday tomorrow. You are dismissed. Enjoy the rest of the festival.”
“I can’t, Ary.”
She backed away, panic stitched across her face. Then she turned and fled from the square, pushing past the marines who guarded the exit. He wanted to chase after her, but he knew what he had to do first. Sweat broke out on his skin as clammy fear seized his stomach. He pushed down the memories of the Cyclone.
Chaylene was his dream, and he wouldn’t let his fears stop him from being with her.
“Stop her, Vel,” he snarled at his friend. “Don’t let her get far.”
“What are you going to do?” Vel demanded, a smile crossing his lips. Ary couldn’t care why.
“Just stop her.” Please, please don’t let me be too late, he prayed to Riasruo. “I need to hurry. Just storming do it, Vel!”
Part Two
Fires
Wrapped in light
Chained with pain
Bound to chaos
Tied to life
—Fragment of Bondage
by Nzuuth sze Hyesk
Chapter Ten
Panic seized Chaylene. She couldn’t think. She wasn’t prepared for this. Never in a thousand lifetimes had she even considered that they’d draft her. She’d only entered her name once, and when she received Moderate Pressure, the least needed Blessing in the Navy, she’d foolishly seen clear skies before her. I was so scared of Ary joining, I didn’t even realize I was walking the skyland’s edge.
The walls of the courtyard crushed in on her, funneling her to the fate which had stolen her pa. I can’t do this. I can’t serve in the Navy. I’m not strong enough.
Thought became impossible. Terror’s roots choked her mind. Chaylene bolted for the marines guarding the small gate leading to her freedom. She didn’t care that they could discharge stunning lightning from their hands and overpower her. She charged towards them like a fierce boar.
They parted.
Chaylene didn’t care why. Her skirt flapped about her legs as she ran, slowing her down. So she hiked them, not caring about immodesty, flashing stocking-clad ankles. Beyond the gate waited all the family and friends who’d journeyed to Ahly to learn which Blessings their daughters and sons had received.
And to learn who was sacrificed to the Navy.
I can’t do this. Goddess Above, why did you inflict this on me?
“Chaylene?” Gretla called.
Chaylene raced down the side of the temple, her leather shoes smacking on the gray paving stones. Why, Riasruo? I prayed so hard that Ary and I could have a happy life after this. Why didn’t you answer me?
“Goddess Above,” she gasped, stumbling to a halt and leaning against a granite building. She panted in an alley, the ground hard packed mud laced with a sour reek. She startled a school of ash-dark flounders feasting on the detritus. “I didn’t think.” Tears fell hot down her face. “How could I have been such a thunder-deaf sow?”
She leaned against a stone wall. A giddy laugh burst out of her throat. Here I go, thinking I’m strong, and what do I do? I run. It was so easy. She’d abandoned Ary, just like she had when the Cyclone came. Treacherous skies loomed before her. She wanted to hide in the cellar.
She had a choice. Be strong or be weak?
Strong.
“Chaylene,” a man called, barely audible over the noise of the crowded street.
“Ary?”
Vel stepped out of the crowd into the alley’s mouth, sweat dotting his tan face. Relief swept over his face. “Riasruo be praised.”
Why hasn’t Ary followed? Disappointment curdled her stomach, threatening to empty its contents. Shameful thoughts gusted through her mind, assailing her love, crumbling determination. Ary doesn’t want to marry me now. I’m in the Navy. He’ll find a better port to dock his ship.
More tears fell.
No! Strength!
“Chaylene.” Vel walked down the alley to her, flashing his pretty smile. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she craned her neck for Ary, hoping he’d followed.
“I was drafted, too, Lena,” Vel whispered, his voice soft and full of warmth. “I’ll be there, watching out for you.”
“No, you won’t! They split up draftees from the same village.”
His hand cupped her cheek. A warmth flushed through her. His eyes smoldered. Like that night they’d danced.
“Not if we marry.” His face moved closer. “They can’t split apart married couples. It’s the law.”
“I love Ary,” she said, but hated that doubt pecked at her feelings. Why didn’t he follow? Doesn’t he love me?
“I’ve always loved you.” Vel’s lips were so close to hers. “You are the most beautiful girl in all of Vesche. In all the skies. I should have told you the truth, but . . . I was scared. I tried to fight this, to avoid it, but every day . . . I just want you. Marry me, and I’ll be with you, watching out for you . . . Loving you.”