by JMD Reid
He held the wicker man in his hand, trembling as his heart thudded. The heat of the fire blazed stronger than Riasruo’s own afternoon sun. He approached the inferno, staring into the hungry tongues of orange and red reaching skyward.
“The fire cleanses us all!” a little girl cheered, throwing a small doll into the flames, joy bursting on her round, brown face. Twin braids chased her back to her parents where the father scooped her up in his arms.
Riasruo, he has to be burned. He’s a monster. He’s hurting her. Please, please, consume him. Let your fires cleanse my friend and free Chaylene from his grasp.
“The fire cleanses us all,” Vel said with more zeal than he had in all seventeen years of his life.
The wicker man fell into the flames. In his mind, Ary screamed as he burned. The fire attacked the effigy, red coals racing down the limbs, twine blackening and smoking away. Charred wicker bent and curled, falling apart as Riasruo devoured Ary’s evil.
Cleanse him, Riasruo.
His mind plotted as he marched away. His boots rang on cobblestones as he strutted. He’d have to show Chaylene the difference between him and Ary. Riasruo’s miracles were subtle. He’d still have to do his part. But he made his offering.
Every day, he’d show Chaylene love. He’d compliment her, gift her flowers, lure her away from the clenching grasp of Ary. A difficult task. The first obstacle: the training camps. Riasruo would have to ensure they went to the same one. Then he’d have three months, or longer if they served on the same ship, to free Chaylene from her husband’s domination.
“Vel,” Chaylene breathed in his imagination of future days, “thank you for rescuing me.”
Raucous laughter echoed around him, drawing him out of his daydreams of netting Chaylene’s heart. Women called out, their words bringing new rounds of obscene shouts and suggestions. A collection of sailors and rough dockworkers gathered on the street, all looking to the upper stories of a building painted a garish mix of orange and pink. Women lounged in the windows, dressed in flimsy cloth that did little to hide their bodies.
Vel’s eyes drank in their inappropriate garb, a smile crossing his lips.
His ma had always accused his pa of visiting whorehouses when he traveled to Ahly. Mostly Vionese girls beckoned the crowd, blonde and brown-skinned, laughing at the terrible words the rough men yelled at them. But one had skin black as coal, her hair golden as a field of barley. Her camisole had slipped down, exposing one round breast.
Only half as lovely as Chaylene.
The half-Vaarckthian noticed his gaze, her light eyes falling on him. Her smile burned with such promise. His ma would kill him for visiting a whorehouse. She’d thrash him and accuse him of being as terrible as his pa.
He didn’t have Chaylene yet, and until then . . .
Vel strode into the whorehouse. He didn’t ask for her name. She was Chaylene in his mind, soft and lithe in his arms. Her cries were lovely in his ears. He called out Chaylene’s name as his passion burned.
And Chaylene cried back in his mind, bucking in his arms, sharing her fires with him. “I love you, Vel!”
~ * * ~
Ary knelt in the Solar of Riasruo’s temple, facing Chaylene across a ceramic bowl filled with unlit oil. They clutched smaller bowls in their hands, each burning cedar-infused oil, filling the air with a heady, sweet scent. The bowl was barely warm—even if Ary spilled its contents on his skin, it would only tickle. The flames, happily dancing upon the liquid’s surface, did not burn hot enough to set even dry grass aflame.
His betrothed looked so beautiful, ebony skin framed by blonde hair, her gray eyes misting with tears, the dried moonflower tucked behind her left ear. A crown of wildflowers—red, orange, yellow, blue, purple—adorned her head, woven in haste by his little sister.
Gretla stood behind Chaylene, as her attendant. Jhevon stood at Ary’s back. He wanted Vel, but his friend couldn’t be found amid the celebration. A few others from Isfe sat on the pews, watching the ceremony. In the back of the Solar, crowds of other young couples waited to join their fires.
Ary thought it would be a chore to convince an acolyte to marry them, but it turned out they weren’t the only couple eloping. Two of the other draftees had knelt before Ary and Chaylene’s turn. And other young couples wanted to marry on the Summer Solstice.
Acolyte Vriicuou stood over them, facing the audience. “We are here today to unite the flames of two of Riasruo’s beloved children. From this day, until the end of time, their flames shall be one, feeding each other love, compassion, and joy. Their warmth sustaining each other through grief, pain, and hardship.”
Ary smiled at Chaylene, ready to sustain her through the coming years, and knowing she would buttress him against the fear dwelling in his soul. The prospect of serving as a marine terrified him. He didn’t want to face the pain and hardship and death the crew of the Intrepid had experienced.
But he would for her.
“Separate, your flames are small,” Vriicuou continued, chirping musically. “Just as your lives are small, but joined together they will create a greater flame, as together your lives shall be greater than apart.”
A tear trickled down his bride’s smiling face. Emotion brimmed in his own eyes.
“Stare into your flames. Take this last moment to decide if you truly want to join your fires. For once your flames are mixed, they can never again be separated.”
Ary looked into the orange and yellow flames dancing in the bowl he held. He had no doubts or hesitation. He’d loved Chaylene for years, his dream. He could face anything, any terror, with her at his side.
Even a Cyclone.
He looked across at his bride. Chaylene gave him a slight nod, her smile as beautiful as the purple light of the twin moons. His Eyia. Though he doubted a moon-nymph was as radiant as Chaylene. Her face burned into his mind, seared like a charcoal brand against the hide of a hog.
“Briaris Jayne, will you mix your flame with Chaylene Brech’s, taking her as your wife and companion? To share the joys and the sorrows of your life. To face with her the abundant times and the lean. To comfort her in health and sickness. To be her support in times of hardship. And to, above all, cherish her with every beat of your heart, every breath of your lungs, and every moment of your existence?”
“I do.” Emotion overcame him. A tear trickled down his cheek. More flowed down Chaylene’s.
“Chaylene Brech, will you mix your flame with Briaris Jayne’s, taking him as your husband and companion? To share the joys and the sorrows of your life. To face with him the abundant times and the lean. To comfort him in health and sickness. To be his support in times of hardship. And to, above all, cherish him with every beat of your heart, every breath of your lungs, and every moment of your existence?”
A sob escaped her lips. “I do, Ary.” Somehow, her smile grew more radiant.
“Then mix your flames together and join your lives and souls,” Vriicuou sang, “under the watchful and loving gaze of our Goddess Above.”
Together, they tipped their bowls and poured their flaming oil into the larger container. Fire spread across the oil’s surface, pungent smoke rising between them. For Ary, it made Chaylene indistinct and hazy, like a dream. But he knew that with her Blessing of Minor Mist, she peered through the smoke like it didn’t exist. The acolyte produced a red-stained dowel, thin as his little finger and as long as his arm. She pushed the end into the oil, gathering the burning liquid before drawing Riasruo’s sun on his forehead then on Chaylene’s. The burning oil tickled, warming him with the Goddess’s love.
“In Riasruo’s name, you are joined as wife and husband from now until the end of time. You may kiss each other.”
Ary leaned over the burning brazier, the aromatic smoke pouring around him. Chaylene’s dark face appeared, the sun burning on her forehead. He caught her mouth in a kiss as the Solar erupted in cheers and applause. Her lips tasted sweet. The heady smoke and the warmth of her kiss left Ary lightheaded.
When Jhevon snickered behind Ary, he broke the kiss, a foolish grin on his face. The burning sun on her forehead had gone out, the oil consumed. He stood and held out his hands to his wife. She rose with grace, pressing against him.
“I love you,” he whispered. She smiled. And then, not caring that everyone was watching, Ary kissed his wife a second time.
“Ugh, get some privacy,” his brother groaned then yelped in pain. “Gretla! Oh, you’re going to regret that.”
His little sister brushed past, chased by his brother. Ary didn’t intervene. She and Jhevon would have to take care of each other now. His new life started today.
Chapter Eleven
Yruoujoa 2nd, 399 VF (1960 SR)
Bishopress Traouhwiai pressed the letter into Captain Nwaionii’s wing, her blood racing hot. He was far too beautiful a drake to captain a trading vessel. He should lounge in Sowerese silks, serenading a beautiful hen with his trilling voice. Vivid-red feathers surrounded his eyes, and a mix of crimson, vermilion, and rose graced his throat, reminding Traouhwiai of her long-dead nestmate in his breathtaking youth. The captain wore his maroon robe half-open, showing off his pristine chest and belly feathers, light brown speckled with fetching, white spots. And the hem fell scandalously short, showing off so much purple-scaled leg.
If I was younger . . .
They stood on the docks of Ahly, dozens of wooden piers jutting out from the skyland’s edge, the Storm Below churning dark and ominous. Blue coral grew up the diagonal supports of the docks, slowly swallowing the wood. Nwaionii’s ship, Riasruo’s Glory, floated behind them, swarming with Jwauahwiian Luastria preparing the ship to sail. She’d wanted to send the letter yesterday, but the Summer Solstice festival made that impossible. The vessel’s lean form promised speed, made of reddish-wood, sun-yellow sails hanging from its two masts.
“Neither I nor my crew shall delay, Bishopress,” Captain Nwaionii promised. “We shall sail nonstop to Ianwoa to deliver your letter.”
“It must be placed directly into Archbishopress Uarioa’s feathers,” Traouhwiai impressed with all the force of her office. “No one else.”
“I will see it done,” he chirped, touching wing to heart than lifting it up and pointing at Riasruo’s rising sun.
“How long will it take?”
“I have the fastest ship in the skies!” In her experience, every captain claimed the same. “Sailing night and day, I shall reach Ianwoa in a week and a half. My Windwardens will give us driving winds the entire trip.”
“Good.” She used her distal wing feathers to untie the pouch, clinking with Vaarckthian coin, from her robe’s belt. “One hundred emeralds now, and another hundred when you deliver.”
“I do this not for the reward, but for the service of our loving Goddess,” he said with great piety, bowing and snatching the pouch with one fluid motion. He tucked it and the letter into his robe.
“May Riasruo’s loving gaze be upon you on your voyage, protecting you from dangers,” she sang.
“My thanks, Bishopress.” Then he turned and, with a graceful flap of his wings, launched into the air, soaring to the deck of his ship. His red feathers flashed in the morning sun. Envy soured her gizzard. Her twisted, stunted wing—a defect marring her since hatching—forever denied her the joy of flight, and Riasruo had not seen fit to gift her Major Wind, only Moderate.
She watched as the crew slipped the thick hawsers and witnessed the breeze summoned by the Windwarden, pushing the ship from the dock with an almost lazy wallow. Doubts clutched her gizzard. Had the captain lied about his ship’s skyworthiness? Then the sails billowed. The ship soared with speed and grace from the dock, turning towards the passage between the two bluffs that led out to the open skies of Jhey Strait, the passage separating the skylands of Vesche and its neighbor, Oname, to the west.
She watched the ship until it passed through the bluffs and turned north to round the skyland and sail for the Esti Sky. Hopefully, he’d avoid Agerzak pirates raiding from their fractured kingdoms in that lawless sky. After skirting through the Empire, he’d reach the Theocracy. Soon, he’d arrive at the great Skyland of Ulanii and the holy city of Ianwoa.
Then the letter would reach her archbishopress. Briaris Jayne, and Theisseg’s taint upon him, would be the Synod’s problem. The weight in her gizzard vanished. She’d done her duty.
Trilling a song, she walked back through Ahly to her temple.
~ * * ~
Ary watched his wife’s face as she slept, a single ray of morning sunlight falling on her ebony forehead. He brushed aside the blonde curl spilling across her cheek. He even found the little drool leaking out of her half-open mouth to be beautiful. The blanket covering them had slipped down, and his gaze admired other, rounder parts of his new wife.
They lay in their room in the Solar Blessing Public House. Jhevon had complained about having to share a room with their sister. Ary wondered if they’d survived the night without killing each other. Another glance at his wife’s beauty drove that consideration out of his head.
Chaylene shifted as his hand touched her naked shoulder, caressing her skin—Ary never knew flesh could be so smooth until last night. A smile blossomed on her lips. Her gray eyes fluttered open. Her own hand found his chest, reigniting the fires that had burned so hot last night.
“Morning,” she murmured, shifting closer to him, her warm body adding more fuel to his passion. Her hands roamed his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, her smile deepening. “And how is my strong husband?”
“Admiring my beautiful wife,” he grinned, his hand sliding from her shoulder to more interesting places.
Her smile smoldered and desire danced in her eyes. “What should we do today? Breakfast?” Her fingers danced playful on his chest, her eyebrows arching.
“I think our fires need to unite.” He pulled her tight.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Ary enjoyed sharing his flames with Chaylene that morning as much as he had last night, his new wife finding equal pleasure in the press of flesh. Afterward, they lay together in the tangle of their blankets, her head pillowed on his chest, draping him in yellow.
A shiver passed through Chaylene.
“What?” Ary whispered, stroking her hair.
“When we leave here, it’s all going to change. We’ll officially be in the Navy. Sent off to the far corner of Les-Vion to serve on some moldy ship.”
The pleasant glow suffusing Ary vanished. “There’s not much we can do about that. But we’ll be together.”
Pain filled her expression. “And what if something happens to you?”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No,” he sighed. “But there are no wars, and Cyclone attacks are rare. We’re probably in for a boring four years serving on some tiny skyland like Vesche.” He gave a chuckle. “It’ll be like farming, only better.”
She bristled. “This isn’t funny, Briaris! What will I do if you die?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. Relax, Lena.”
“Why can’t you take this seriously?”
“You’ll go on living.” He cupped her face. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“I’m weak.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I ran yesterday.”
“You didn’t look like you were running when I found you.”
She bit her lip. “I’m just scared, Ary. I’m glad I have you. I wouldn’t give that up, even if it was you that was drafted. But I’m still terrified. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You weren’t weak when your ma passed on to Riasruo’s sun last year. You held a steady course. You’re strong, Lena. Believe in that. If I die, you’ll live on, and one day we’ll meet again in the loving fires of Riasruo’s sun.”
“I don’t want you to die.” She shuddered against him. “I don’t want to go into the Navy. Why did Riasruo curse us? Why couldn’t she let us be happy?”
“Then let’s make our own happiness
.” Ary stroked her cheek.
She sniffed, a smile broadening her lips. “Is that all you want to do in my arms? Share my happiness?”
“Isn’t that what we just did?” Ary grinned.
Chaylene laughed, the most beautiful music. He kissed her on the lips. And what will I do if you die? The heat of her lips drove away that thought. As long as I hold on to her, she’ll never be hurt.
They shared their warmth and happiness, ignoring everything else, even the incessant knocking and shouts from Gretla.
~ * * ~
“Take care of my brother,” Gretla exclaimed, throwing her arms around Chaylene’s waist. The girl buried her tear-stained face against Chaylene’s stomach. They stood in the common room of the Solar Blessing Public House. Those from Isfe were preparing to head back home; the work would be piling up at their farms or crofts.
Chaylene stroked Gretla’s blonde tresses, looking down at her new, sobbing sister. “I will.”
“You better. You’ll have to protect him from the pirates and the Stormriders and the Zzuki and all the other threats.”
The girl’s words sent a chill through Chaylene. All the things she feared would happen to Ary if he ever joined the Navy flashed through her mind: killed fighting Agerzak pirates, his ship lost defending a skyland from a Cyclone, a war breaking out between the Autonomy and the subjugated Tribes of Zzuk or the Vaarckthian Empire, his ship damaged and lost to the Storm Below. So many ways for him to die.
You’re strong, Lena. Believe in that.
“I promise you, Gretla, I’ll protect your brother, and we’ll return home whole and hale in four years.” I won’t let any harm come to my husband. I’ll be strong for him and protect him.
“Good! Because if he doesn’t come home, I’ll hate you forever. I’ll bite you and hate you.”
Chaylene smiled at the young girl staring fiercely up at her. “I love your brother just as much as you do.” Then she bent down, hugged Gretla, and kissed her tear-salted cheek.
“The farm’ll be your responsibility,” Ary was saying to Jhevon.