Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “Or it could have been something you ingested.”

  “What could I have eaten that would make me that sick?”

  “There are many compounds that can cause you to become very ill and even die.”

  “Like a poison?” Ary chuckled.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would anyone poison me?”

  “Yeah.” Guts agreed. “He’s a marine. And not a very good one.”

  “Hey! I’m better than you, Guts.”

  “I’m not a very good marine, either,” he laughed.

  “No, I can’t think of any reason someone would poison you. It was just an idea. But I recall reading about a poison that causes convulsions. It’s made from a flower called the purple kiss. It grows in the Theocracy. On Cwiina and some of the surrounding skylands.”

  “Why would a Luastria poison Ary?” Guts sounded even more dismissive. “They don’t kill nobody. The Theocracy doesn’t even have a navy. The Empire still defends them.”

  Estan’s gray eyes gave Ary a considering look.

  The Golden Luastria flashed through Ary’s mind, crying in pain. What happened to me that day? Maybe Estan’s heard about it. Slime twisted his stomach. He chose his words with care. “Hey, Estan, have you ever read up on Cyclones?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “What causes them?”

  “The leading theory states that they are created by a magical engine known as the Eye. At the heart of every Cyclone is a pulsing, golden object that, when destroyed, causes the Cyclone to dissipate almost immediately. It seems to power the Cyclone. Eyewitness who have fought them report that lightning discharges from the Eye into the Cyclone in regular pulses.”

  Ary’s blood chilled. Chains of lightning pulsed in his thoughts. “Like a heartbeat?”

  Estan nodded. “Many eyewitness use that very term. Why are you so curious?”

  “Well, um, when I was a kid, I saw a Cyclone, and I was dreaming about it when I was sick. That’s all.”

  “The Cyclone of 391?”

  “Yeah. I grew up right on Vesche’s eastern edge. Where it struck.”

  Guts whistled.

  “I believe it was the corvette Intrepid that stopped that Cyclone,” Estan said, his eyes curious.

  “I bet they had every pretty woman giving them kisses for a month,” Guts laughed. “Lucky hogs.”

  “They all died,” Ary muttered.

  “What?” grunted the big marine.

  “Yes,” nodded Estan. “The Intrepid was lost with all hands. It had sustained a great amount of damage fighting the Cyclone, and while it destroyed the Eye, the ship was no longer skyworthy and crashed upon Vesche.”

  “In an orange grove.” Twisted wood, smoke, and torn uniforms lurked in Ary’s memory. “I saw them fly out from Aldeyn Watch and fight the Stormriders.” The Riders galloped with ethereal beauty about the sky upon their strange, wingless pegasi made of storm clouds. “Have you ever heard of anyone seeing anything strange during a Cyclone?”

  “Not really. Though, there is one interesting regulation for the Autonomy Navy. Any officer, sailor, scout, marine, or auxiliary struck by lightning during a Cyclone needs to be evaluated immediately by a senior medical officer at the nearest Naval headquarters.”

  Ary blood ran cold. “Why?”

  Estan arched his sweat-glistening eyebrows. “It’s not in the regulation. I don’t think it happens all that often. But the person must be touched by Theisseg and, well, that cannot be a good thing. It does state that they are to be quarantined for life.”

  Just like Ma’s crazy rants claimed. Ary formed the sun, little finger to thumb, to ward off the evil that had touched him. I was tainted by the Storm Goddess. This is why my pa died. It’s why the choking plague attacked Isfe. Why I survived when Srias didn’t.

  The day passed in a blur. Ary dwelled upon Estan’s words that had confirmed his fears. Before, he could always push them back, shrug them off, but no longer. Theisseg had touched him. Poisoned him. That night, darkness plagued his dreams.

  “My husband was touched by the Storm Goddess,” Chaylene proclaimed in his nightmare. “I can’t stand to have his tainted body lying in my bed. You need to take him away. Evaluate him.”

  Hulking Gezitziz seized him with their cold, blue-scaled hands. They dragged him away while he tried to seize anything to stop them. He grabbed the bed, but they pried his fingers off the frame. He gripped the table, but they pulled it along with him, its feet scraping on the wooden floor until it caught in the narrow doorway.

  And it wasn’t just his wife who accused him of being polluted by the Goddess of Storms. His ma summoned the Zzuk Auxiliaries to drag him out of his sick bed as he struggled to touch dying Srias.

  “I need to save her, Ma!” he screamed as the cold hands grabbed him.

  His ma cackled, “He’s tainting her. She’ll live if he’s gone.”

  He screamed and fought, his arm outstretched, trying to touch his dying sister.

  But they pulled him away. Srias coughed her last breath. Vel summoned the Zzuki at Ary’s wedding in Ahly, wanting to save Chaylene from being polluted by his touch. Estan turned him in while lecturing him on the dangers of Theisseg’s powers. “Empirical evidence has shown just how vile the Storm Goddess’s touch is. Take the case of . . .”

  Ary abandoned sleep halfway through the night. He sat at the table, staring down at his hands. They didn’t look tainted by the vile Goddess. He didn’t feel tainted. He felt . . . tired.

  “Are you okay?” Chaylene asked, touching his arm and snapping him out of his dark thoughts. He blinked; sunlight flooded the room. He hadn’t noticed dawn’s arrival. Concern painted her dark, lovely face. He couldn’t ever lose her.

  He couldn’t ever tell her what happened to him. Her or anyone.

  “I’m fine.” He forced a smile.

  “Are you feeling ill again?” She sat on his lap.

  “I’m well. Just thinking.”

  Her hand touched his forehead. After a few heartbeats, she let out a sigh, her concern vanishing. “Was it your dreams last night?”

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “You were tossing and turning, muttering about being taken and not being tainted.”

  “Just some crazy nightmares.”

  “At least it wasn’t the . . . other dream.” She stared at him, her eyes inquiring. “Right? I didn’t hear you mumbling about the chains or freeing something.”

  “No,” he muttered. “These were just nightmares.”

  He braced for her questions, but she just kissed his forehead. “Then just forget about them. My ma always used to say that nightmares were scared of Riasruo’s light. That’s why the morning sun always banished them.”

  He enjoyed the feel of her on his lap. She wore the Abthuoprian perfume he’d bought her in Shon weeks back. The delicate bottle, tucked into the bottom of their chest of drawers, had survived the fire. He could never lose his moon nymph. He would do anything to keep her, to hold her tight. She was his family, his new beginning.

  But what if the taint destroys her, too?

  “Are you coming with me today?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “To brunch with Estan. Did you forget?”

  Ary forced out a chuckle as he stared at her face, the sleek lines, the shape of her chin, the contours of her cheekbones. He knew her face better than his own. Kissed every inch of her, loved every bit, even the pimple near her brow, the white dot standing out against her dark flesh. “Such a stupid name,” he said, trying to regain casual lightness. “Brunch. The wealthy sure do call things strange. It’s just a late breakfast.”

  “I know.” Every Dawnsday, at least the ones when Ary could leave the camp, he and Chaylene met with Estan at The Perfumed Leaf, one of Shon’s teahouses, to talk history. Well, they talked while Ary listened.

  “So, are you coming along, or are you still brooding about your dreams?” She licked her lips. “Maybe Estan could explain why you have that sam
e one over and over.”

  “I’ll go,” he said, cold muck racing down his spine. “But it’s just a dream. Nothing to tell Estan about.”

  Chaylene chewed on her lower lip. “One day, Ary, you are going to tell me about the dreams.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” he said with force, his heart hammering with fear. “They’re just dreams, okay?”

  “Fine,” she said with a frosty tone, flinging herself off his lap. “We should get going.” She stalked to the door and ripped it open.

  “Don’t be like that,” he grumbled, standing up and grabbing his new wide-brimmed, felt hat from a hook on the wall.

  “Like what?” she asked, arms folded. “Downyheaded?”

  “It’s just a dream,” he lied. “It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know why I have them.”

  “You do, Ary.” She fixed a pointed gaze at him. “And maybe talking about it will help.”

  “It won’t. Let’s go. Estan’s waiting.”

  Chaylene didn’t talk on the walk through camp. She stalked at his side, her back rigid. The normal bustle of camp was replaced by ease, the recruits lounging, dicing, laughing. A few played drums, fiddles, or pipes, and lively music spilled through the air.

  “I see your husband’s keeping you on a short hawser today.”

  His wife’s face grew even harder. Zeirie, from Detachment Two, leaned against the infirmary, a disgusted sneer on her face. Ary’s eyes narrowed at the woman. He hated the dung the women tossed at his wife for being half-Vaarckthian.

  Ary opened his mouth, anger bubbling through him.

  “Forget it,” his wife muttered, seizing his arm. “She’s just a sow.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed and they kept on walking. “That’s why she’s stuck in camp. Couldn’t do her drill properly. Even Grech did it, though the Sergeant-Major sure was looking for a reason to gig him.”

  Zeirie spat before stalking off.

  Chaylene had a satisfied grin on her face.

  No clouds darkened the skies, the weather controllers promising another two days of blue before the crops needed another shower. Ary enjoyed the stroll, Chaylene’s arm wrapped around his. Their mutual disdain for Zeirie had driven away her anger. They admired the scenery, chatting pleasantly about nothing important. A school of goldmouth carp burst out of a barley field. Chaylene yelped as the fish flashed across the road. A farmer’s bald eagle chased off the school. One unfortunate fish didn’t escape. The eagle soared to its perch, its reward clutched in its talons. Ary smiled, remembering the flight of ospreys that kept his family’s field free of hungry fish. A large tangle of kelp drifted over the skyland from the deep sky, swarming with silvery fish flying through the waving, leathery-green fronds of kelp. A few boys fished, using fishes’ gas sacs to buoy their hooks up into the sky near the kelp, bone hooks baited with squirming, pink worms.

  The fields gave way to the wooden buildings of Shon, cobblestone streets replacing hard-packed dirt. Wagons pulled by big bristleback boars trundled towards Camp Chubris. The Perfumed Leaf lay in the market almost across from the Friendly Maid. Those friendly women sat in windows, wearing scandalous dresses, and calling out to the men passing on the street. Ary kept his eyes firmly ahead—he’d learned not to gawk at what those women shared.

  At least, not with his wife next to him.

  “Don’t look at those hussies, Estan,” Chaylene admonished.

  “I assure you my interest is purely academic,” Estan said from where he lounged against the Perfumed Leaf.

  “Right. Comparing fruit sizes?”

  “Exactly. It is fascinating the way mammaries come in different sizes and shapes. Along with—”

  “Estan!” Chaylene gasped. “Really? Is this what we’re talking about this morning?”

  “You’re right. This is probably a conversation to have with your husband in a more private setting.”

  Ary winced.

  “Probably,” she nodded, her fingers digging into Ary’s arm.

  “Yes, not at all appropriate, Estan,” Ary said, his voice almost a growl. “We shouldn’t talk about such things.”

  “But we have had . . .” Estan glanced at Chaylene. “Oh, right, right. Not appropriate at all.”

  Chaylene’s gray eyes grew cold. “So, whose mammaries have you been talking about?”

  “What’s that, Lena?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Briaris.”

  He swallowed, his mind gusting like a squall. “Um, well, it’s . . . Let’s go in. Brunch sounds great. I’m starving.”

  She gave him a studious look, and the heat rose in his cheeks. He couldn’t help admiring other women’s bosoms, especially when they were on such display. But there were a few female sailors whose shirts couldn’t hide the ripeness of their fruit, and even with her jacket buttoned up, Ahneil possessed a certain, feminine curve about her.

  But his wife didn’t need to know that. He would never do anything with these other women. So he gave his wife an innocent look. “Just idle chat.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  Estan nodded. “You should be flattered to know your husband thinks most highly of yours.”

  Ary felt his stomach sink. It was clear his friend thought he was being helpful. But instead of the stony look he expected on Chaylene’s face, a smile cracked the disapproval. She fought it, but it turned the corners of her mouth upward.

  Sensing an opening, he pounced, “Most highly.”

  She stopped fighting her smile, her eyes twinkling brighter than the stars. She leaned in, whispering to him. “Mine better be the best.”

  The teahouse had a few women lounging inside, sipping tea and eating small scones with various fruit fillings. The trio found a table in the corner, and Ary sat next to his wife. Madam Hion—a stout woman with green, friendly eyes—waddled up to their table.

  “Why hello, Estan,” she smiled. “And the pretty Chaylene and her big, strong husband.”

  “Good morning, Madam Hion,” Chaylene smiled as the shop’s proprietor gave Ary bold looks.

  He shifted. He always felt like a fish about to be scaled and gutted around the woman. “Madam Hion.”

  “And why don’t you ever bring in a pretty girl, my sweet Estan?” She pinched his coal-black cheek.

  He shifted. “Er, I just haven’t met a . . . you know, a nice enough girl.”

  “You need to be a little less of a perfect gentleman, young man. Live a little. If my Shoni was a proper girl, I’d introduce you.”

  Estan gave a polite smile. “I will think about it.”

  Madam Hion laughed, leaning over and pinching his cheek again. “Maybe I should introduce you to Shoni. She’d make a man out of you and give you some confidence.”

  “Doesn’t your daughter work at the Friendly Maid?” Chaylene asked.

  “Yes, she’s a lively gal. She drove my poor Grubert into the ashery with her antics, Riasruo care for his soul in her fiery bosom.”

  “Maybe you should meet Shoni,” Ary said. “You did spend a good deal of time studying their . . .”

  Chaylene cleared her throat.

  “Faces,” Ary finished. “Because we’re not supposed to talk about those anymore.”

  Madam Hion let out a wicked laugh. “Let me go get your tea so you can have your little talk.”

  She bustled off and quickly returned with a teakettle made of delicate porcelain painted with blue flowers and red fish swimming among them. “It’s new,” she beamed. “Ethinski made. Who would have thought a beastly Gezitziz could make something so beautiful?”

  “The Ethinsk Union is a bastion of culture and education,” Estan said. “Unlike their barbaric cousins in the Tribes of Zzuk, the Ethinski have a long tradition of pioneering new discoveries in the field of ceramics.”

  “How fascinating,” Madam Hion smiled. “You are always full of the most interesting knowledge. If I was younger . . .” She gave a wicked laugh and waddled off.

  Estan blinked, then cleared his throat. “
So, um, what shall our topic of discussion be today?”

  “Cyclones,” Ary said without thinking.

  “Ah, a fascinating subject. I take it our conversation yesterday left you with a curiosity for more?”

  “I guess.” Ary shifted. Fear soured his stomach. This was a dangerous subject, but he had to know more.

  “Why do they attack us?” Chaylene asked. “Are they really just demons who hate us?”

  “Probably not. They are men like you and me. Flesh and blood.”

  “If they’re flesh and blood, how did they survive Kaltein summoning the Storm?” Ary asked. “The Stormriders are the Wrackthar, right?”

  “Undoubtedly. All the stories describe the Wrackthar as pale-skinned and black-haired Humans. As to how they survived once Kaltein conspired with Theisseg to create the Storm, I can scarcely imagine. They were a beaten race at the end of the Wrackthar War. With Riasruo’s Blessings, the Desperate Alliance drove them back to the center of their power at Romeich.”

  “Is it their powers?” Chaylene asked. “Is that how they survived? I mean, they summon the Cyclones and ride the sky on beasts made of clouds.”

  “Yes, they ride on horses shaped out of the Storm.”

  “What’s a horse?” Ary asked.

  “It’s a wingless pegasus. They are found among the Agerzak.” Estan grinned. “Now that is a fascinating side-topic. Little is known about the strange Blessings the Agerzaks possess. They do not worship Riasruo except those that live in the Fringe who converted in exchange for citizenship in the Autonomy. The Agerzaks in the Petty Kingdoms worship nothing but their own strength.”

  “Yet you said they had Blessings,” Chaylene frowned, sipping at her tea. “Where do they come from?”

  “There are a lot of theories. But the leading one is Theisseg.”

  “How horrible to be touched by that foul Goddess,” Chaylene grimaced.

  Her disgust chilled Ary. I can never tell her what the dreams are about.

  “Yes,” Estan nodded. “The most widely known of their Blessings is Skydancing, as it is sometimes called. It mimics what we see of the Stormriders. With their horses, Agerzaks can gallop across the skies like it were solid ground. That is how their pirates raid ships.”