Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  Wriavia pushed the window open a little more. The window creaked. He froze, listening to Briaris. The man kept mumbling. Only a dream. The fear loosed its grip on Wriavia’s gizzard. He nudged the window open the fraction more he needed. He waited for the count of fifty, listening to Briaris. If he rose, the assassin would flee.

  He did not.

  Wriavia’s distal feathers worked the loose knot holding his satchel closed. He pulled out a waterskin. With his beak, he pried off the waterskin’s leather stopper then squeezed the bladder. Instead of water squirting out, whale oil splashed onto the curtains. The liquid dribbled down to pool on the floor beneath a small table. An oil lamp was set upon it. Wriavia squeezed until he’d emptied the waterskin and the air was thick with the oil’s greasy tang.

  “What are the foci?” mumbled Briaris. “Why won’t you just tell me? Why do you keep haunting my dreams?”

  What does he dream about? Foci? Riasruo had her reasons to desire this man’s death. Wriavia had yet to deduce the reason. Is it his dream? He’d never heard a Luastria talk so clear and coherent while sleeping.

  But I haven’t spent enough time with sleeping Humans. Perhaps this is normal.

  Briaris’s dream didn’t matter. The Bishriarch’s reasons for signing his death warrant didn’t matter. Wriavia belonged to the Skein of Adjudication. Riasruo desired Briaris’s death. He would carry out her will.

  Wriavia tucked the empty skin back into his satchel then pulled out his wooden box of matches. The sticks rattled about as he worked the wooden plug from the box’s end. He shook the box until a single match with a bright-red tip slid out. With a single swipe across the one rough side of the box, the match hissed alight.

  Sputtering flames danced on the end, consuming the thin sliver of wood. The assassin stared at the tiny glimmer, a manifestation of the Goddess’s purity. Every flame, even one as humble as this, kindled with her holy love. Burning Briaris wasn’t just an act of murder, but an act of worship. Like the wicker effigies thrown on the bonfire to be cleansed for inequities, Wriavia offered up Briaris to be cleansed directly.

  Redeemed.

  Wriavia touched the end of the match to the oil-soaked curtain. Flames whooshed and devoured the oil-soaked linen. Heat and light danced on Wriavia’s feathered face. He struck a second match and dropped it to the floor.

  Fire crackled, growling red. It licked at the wooden floor, following the puddle of oil, spreading towards the sleeping pair. Smoke billowed black out of the window. Wriavia stepped back, the heat growing uncomfortable on his feathers.

  Satisfied, he flapped his wings and rose into the night sky. The fire grew brighter, flames licking up the wall of the cabin. Smoke poured out of the eaves and sparks crackled in the quiet night. It would not be long. Fire spread with rapacious hunger.

  Wriavia only felt a pang of sadness for Chaylene, an innocent caught up by whatever sin her husband had committed. Riasruo would show the young female’s soul mercy. In moments, she’d rise to the sun to bathe in the Goddess’s love, redeemed along with Briaris of any earthly sins.

  “The fire cleanses us all,” he chirped.

  ~ * * ~

  “You’re dreaming again, Ary,” Chaylene muttered, shaking her husband as sleep cloyed at her mind. An exhilarating day spent in Whitesocks’s saddle left every muscle in her body sore and aching. “Ary.”

  “How did Iiwroa betray you?” he cried out, his skin clammy beneath her touch. He thrashed again.

  “Come on, Ary,” she groaned, not wanting to come fully awake. “You have to—” A choking cough wracked her body. Her lungs burned as she sucked in a breath. Her mouth tasted of smoke. She took a deep inhalation and coughed harder. Her lungs were rebelling against the air.

  Her eyes opened. An orange glow lit the room. Black smoke curled across the ceiling, pressing down on her and Ary. Fire crackled and popped. Heat washed over her. Panic seized her heart, crushing her struggling organ.

  “Ary!” she screamed, shaking him harder. “Fire!”

  She sucked in another breath. The air burned and dried out her throat. Her head spun as she coughed and choked. The smoke smothered their bed, wrapping them in grimy darkness. She shook Ary harder, desperate to rouse him.

  Ary coughed and sputtered. “Lena?”

  “There’s a fire, Ary!” She coughed. Her head spun, her lungs burned. She breathed in only smoke.

  “I can’t see!” Ary clutched her, his head scanning the room, the white of his eyes as red as his pupils.

  The smoke curled like thick, ephemeral vines about them. Chaylene peered through it with her Blessing of Minor Mist. The fire crackled across the floor, the entire back wall of their cottage danced with flames, and the roof burned above them. The fire ate the floor towards their bed, a hungry shark flying in to devour them.

  “We need to get—” her voice rasped, coughs cutting off her words. “Out!”

  “Where?” Ary shouted over the fire’s roar. His hands held her waist with a desperate grip. “There’s only . . . smoke!”

  She pried his hand off her waist and held it before slipping out of the bed. “Follow . . . me . . .”

  The wood groaned. Heat billowed across her body. She held her free hand up to shield her face. Ary stumbled out of bed behind her and crashed to the floor. The iron grip on her hand dragged her down. The smoke lessened. Cool air billowed along the floor, gusting from the door. Everything swam about her, dancing like the yellow flames.

  “We have to . . . crawl . . . Ary . . .” she cried out, pulling herself forward with her elbows and knees.

  “Lena!” Loud, barking coughs choked his words. His hand slipped from hers. The door lay ahead, the fire burning to cut off their escape.

  She crawled faster, her heart beating with desperation, urging her to keep moving. She had to move, no time for thought or consideration. Her lungs screamed for air and her muscles burned. She had nothing pure to inhale. Every breath was toxic, smothering her body. A great weight crushed her lungs, trying to pin her to the floor. But she kept crawling. She would not die.

  “I . . . can’t see . . . Lena. . . .”

  Her hands reached the threshold, the cool, fresh air gusting beneath the door. She had to open the door to escape. Her hand scrabbled up the rough surface, searching for the bone door handle.

  “Where . . . are . . . you . . . Lena . . .?” Ary cried out, his voice thick with fear. “I can’t . . . see . . .”

  Her hand froze on the door handle. She looked back over her shoulder. The fire licked at their bed, the sheets crackling. Ary lay on his belly, his hands sweeping out to reach for her. But in the wrong direction. She could see through the smoke. He couldn’t.

  I’m going to die, she realized. If I don’t get out now, I’m dead. Ary would want me to live.

  Her hand trembled on the handle. All she had to do was yank it down. Be weak.

  Chaylene couldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t leave him.

  She released the handle and turned, forcing herself to crawl back across the rough floor. She gripped the gaps between the planks with her fingernails, hauling herself forward. She ignored the pain in her lungs, at the tips of her fingers, and along her breasts and belly as the wood scraped at her naked form. She kept crawling, her hands reaching for him.

  “Ary . . .” she choked as his strong hand seized hers.

  Ary pulled her to him, his arms wrapping about her. Her vision swam. His face filled her gaze and burned with hope, with awe. She memorized this moment of love, ready to carry the vision of his face up to Riasruo’s sun.

  Our smoky essences will rise together, mingled like our fires.

  “How do . . . we get . . . out . . .?” Ary yelled.

  Chaylene tried to speak, but it was too hard. She had only smoke in her lungs. Wood groaned above, creaked, and crashed down in a fiery burst.

  ~ * * ~

  The roof of the cottage collapsed. Fiery heat washed over Ary. He pulled Chaylene tight, covering her with his body. Searing
sparks pelted his back, kisses of pain. His lungs screamed and burned as he sucked in fiery air.

  He couldn’t see anything but smoke. Chaylene’s face was barely visible through the choking air. The smoke smothered his lungs. He tried to breathe as he cast his gaze around. He was lost. He did not know where the door lay. He couldn’t see. But she could.

  “How . . . do . . . we get . . . out . . .?” he rasped. “Lena . . .?”

  Coughs choked off her words. She couldn’t breathe. She needed fresh air. There had to be a little left in his lungs. Ary planted his lips on hers and breathed what pure air remained in him. He kept breathing as the fire’s heat attacked his body. She shuddered in his arms, coughing and gasping when he pulled away.

  “How do . . . we . . . escape . . .?” he panted.

  “Ary . . .” She looked about, her eyes coming into focus. “We . . . don’t . . . The door’s . . . gone . . . Roof . . . collapsed . . .”

  He would not let her die. “Where’s the . . . nearest wall?”

  “There . . .” She pointed, head lolling. “But . . . I can’t . . .”

  Ary forced them across the floor, pushing with his legs, thrusting Chaylene’s body before him. She groaned in pain. He didn’t care. If bumps and bruises were all the injures she’d take, then he could live with that. He pushed her again. She wouldn’t go forward. He found the wall. He turned his body, his lungs burning. A great weight sat on his chest, crushing all the air out of him. But he couldn’t let her die.

  “Riasruo . . . please . . .” he groaned, drawing back his leg. With a mighty heave, he slammed the bare sole of his foot against the planks between the studs. Wood groaned. “Please . . .” He slammed his foot into the wall again.

  Desperation kept his leg kicking. He held Chaylene in his arms, her body limp, her coughs weak. His head swam, his blood screaming in pain. He wanted to give up and let the fire consume them.

  His leg kicked again, muscles heaving. Wood splintered. Cool air rushed across his feet, whipping up his body and rustling his hair. Hope bloomed. New energy spilled through him. He kicked again.

  Voices shouted. Wood snapped. Hands seized his legs. Help pulled him through the hole. He held on tight to Chaylene.

  ~ * * ~

  Wriavia watched in satisfaction.

  Half the cottage had collapsed. The entire structure was consumed by dancing flames. Certainty tickled his gizzard. Briaris would not escape the inferno alive. Wriavia circled about the column of smoke, watching the deaths of two Humans with a detached calm. Help came too late to put out the fire and save the occupants, their souls cleansed by holy flame. He only stayed to witness the charred bodies being plucked from the smoldering ruins.

  He needed confirmation.

  And then Briaris kicked through the north wall. Wriavia shook his head, his beak clucking in shock. Hands seized him and hauled out Briaris and his wife, their bodies stained with soot. They coughed and shook before the burning building as sailors threw buckets of dirt to smother the flames.

  A hot impulse seized Wriavia to dive, land, and tear Briaris’s throat out with a sharp jab of his beak.

  The assassin smothered that impulse. That would engender suspicion upon the Church. More important than killing Briaris was protecting Riasruo’s reputation. His gizzard churned with disappointment. Nothing was ever certain in the field. No plan ever sailed calm skies. The fire had failed. A second arson would be . . . suspicious. He would devise other methods of adjudication.

  He gnashed his beak one last time before winging north back to Shon.

  ~ * * ~

  Chaylene stared at the blaze as sailors threw buckets of dirt to smother the inferno. It felt so unreal to her. The fire had transformed her home, turned it from a place of safety and rest into death and chaos. Wood groaned, then more timbers collapsed. Fiery sparks burst into the dark sky, rising in a smoky holocaust.

  That was almost us, Chaylene thought. She shivered in her husband’s embrace, his right arm draped over her shoulders, a blanket wrapped about them both. We came close to becoming smoke rising to Riasruo’s sun.

  Ary came closer.

  That moment, watching Ary cry out in the choking smoke, was branded across her thoughts. He was right about me. I can be strong.

  She followed a spark rising up into the sky, a little soul dancing on the hot air, racing up for Riasruo’s embrace. It winked out. Swallowed by the darkness. She pressed tighter against Ary and knew she’d make the same choice every time.

  Part Three

  Ashes

  Bonds of pain,

  anchors to the sky.

  Chains of slavery,

  anchors to the Storm.

  —Fragment of Towers of Chains

  by Nzuuth sze Hyesk

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dawn found Chaylene shifting aside a charred piece of lumber as she dug through the remains of the cottage. Smoke still drifted from blackened rubble as the dawn sun rose. Even after washing her face and hair, the scent of smoke clung to her. When she breathed, her lungs still burned. Bouts of dizziness washed over her.

  “I found our chest of drawers!” Ary heaved a piece of blackened timber to the side. His bare torso, streaked with soot, rippled as his muscles flexed. With a crash, the beam clattered into the rubble. He uncovered the half-burned chest of drawers. He ripped open the top drawer and pulled out her favorite dress. Flames charred half of it, and most of the bodice was gone.

  Emotion stung Chaylene’s eyes. She wore that dress when they got married. She stumbled to him in her ill-fitting boots. She took the ruined garment and buried her face into the linen fabric. Sobs shook her body.

  “It’s just a dress,” Ary whispered, engulfing her in his strong arms. “I’ll buy you another.”

  It was more than a dress. It was her life before the military. It didn’t matter that another girl owned this dress before her, that it was given to her out of charity. Now it was gone, taken from her. She opened her mouth to explain this, but only more sobs poured out. He squeezed her tighter, clinging to her.

  Chaylene didn’t understand how they’d survived the inferno other than Riasruo had shone on them. Somehow, Ary had found the strength to keep going. When he’d held her as the fire raged, after she’d returned for him, she felt it. His drive to live, his desperate need to protect her, had sustained her through the nightmare of smoke. She would have perished if he hadn’t held on so tight to her.

  And he’d have died, alone in the smoke, if she hadn’t gone back for him. When the roof collapsed, and she’d believe they’d perish, she didn’t regret her decision. She’d rather have died with him than abandon her husband to save herself.

  “I found it,” Zori exclaimed. “I found your jacket, Chaylene. It’s singed, but I think the book’s fine.”

  Chaylene turned from her husband, smiling as Zori pulled her light-blue jacket out of the rubble. Black soot streaked the fabric. Brown sand from the fire buckets tumbled off as Zori shook it. Hope beat in Chaylene’s chest as her friend scampered through the ruins.

  She snatched the jacket out of her friend’s hands, her hands squeezing along the fabric as she searched for the book. Relief blew through her like a cooling breeze—the book was in the breast pocket. She pulled it out and opened the blank pages to the two flowers pressed inside—the moonflower and the red daisy. Fresh tears tumbled from her eyes, dripping like rain on the parchment.

  “We didn’t lose everything,” Ary said from behind her, squeezing her shoulders. The heat of his love warmed her, soothing away the aches.

  “Nope.” She smiled, holding the book tight against the shirt Ailsuimnae had lent her.

  Ailsuimnae and the marines of Detachment One still dug through the ruins of the cottage, searching for any pieces of their lives.

  “Thank you for finding it.” Chaylene said through tears. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You all are such good friends.”

  “I think you’ll want this, Ary,” Ahneil said, crossing the rubble
. The Agerzak woman had a big grin on her face as she handed Ary a leather pouch. “Feels like most of your pay’s in here.”

  The pouch clinked with porcelain. Then she hugged him tight. Ary stiffened. Chaylene blinked when the friendliness of the embrace went on a few heartbeats longer than felt right.

  Was it too friendly? she wondered.

  “I’m glad you survived, Ary,” Ahneil breathed before letting him go. “The both of you.”

  “Me, too,” Ary said.

  “Yes, it was quite the blaze.” Estan studied the pattern of char rippling like scales on the remnants of the back wall. “Any idea what unfortunate incident could have triggered this tragedy to occur?”

  Ary shrugged. “I guess the oil lamp started it. Not sure what else could have.”

  Estan nodded. “I would hazard a guess and speculate that the fire started here. Beneath your rear window.”

  “That’s where the oil lamp sits. Sat.” Chaylene frowned. “I really thought we snuffed it out before going to bed. Ary?”

  Her husband rubbed a thick finger across his strong chin. “We must have forgot. You were telling me all about your flight and how exciting it was and that led to . . .” He let out a cough.

  “What?” Zori asked with a sly smile. “Where did all this exciting talk lead to?”

  “Well, uh, anyways, afterwards we fell right to sleep.”

  “That’s gotta be some talking,” laughed Zori.

  “Definitely,” Ailsuimnae agreed. “It must be so nice to have a private room to hold such vigorous talks.”

  Zori nodded, giving Guts heated looks. The big marine grinned, his back straightening. “Yep. I could only imagine the things me and Zori would talk about in private.”

  “Guts,” she giggled. “I’m not sure you could handle that conversation.”

  He laughed louder. “I’m willing to find out.”

  Estan still peered at the wreckage, his back stiff. Ahneil’s fair cheeks blushed bright red, looking as hot as Chaylene’s felt. Ary cleared his throat, his brown cheeks tinged with red. “I think we’ve discussed this enough.”