Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “I’ll tell Vel when we return,” she said, her voice hoarse, looking up at her friends standing nearby. “I’ll be firm. Make him understand.”

  “So, what do you think Ary’s in trouble for?” Zori asked after long moments of silence, the slim woman shifting.

  Chaylene took a shuddering breath. Such relief filled her to know she wasn’t different from Zori or any other Vionese woman. They had the same blood. “I don’t know.” She swallowed, apprehension for Ary tensing her stomach. “It’s probably that sergeant-major causing problems. He has it out for Ary.”

  “What could he do wrong?” asked Ailsuimnae. “Your husband’s so spit-and-polish.”

  “That sergeant-major has it out for all of them,” hissed Zori. “You should hear the things Guts says about him. And Guts don’t even got a bad word for that hussy he almost married.”

  “Oh, I hear all about it,” Chaylene nodded. “The man should be lashed for the way he treats them.”

  “Ugh, imagine if Breston was like that. Back straight, boots polished, marching in step. Yes, Sergeant-Major.” Zori snapped to a mock attention. “No, Sergeant-Major. May I lick your boots clean, Sergeant-Major? Blegh!”

  Chaylene gave a little giggle. “What was that growl?” she exclaimed, her voice deep and gravelly. “Was that your stomach? Did I give you permission to be hungry?”

  “No, Sergeant-Major!” squeaked Zori and Ailsuimnae together.

  “And is that a speck of dust on your coat? Running on a dusty road is no excuse for having a dirty coat. Run around the camp twenty times, and Theisseg damn you if I find a single bit of dust on you when you finish.”

  Zori’s laughter exploded out of her, and she bent over and clutched her knees while Ailsuimnae covered her mouth as she giggled. Their mirth infected Chaylene, and she couldn’t hold onto her unease any longer. Her belly shook as she struggled to breathe amid peals of joy.

  A shadow fell on them.

  Zori straightened her back. “Sergeant-Major.”

  Chaylene winced. She turned, nodding to the fierce, black-bearded Agerzak marine. His uniform was immaculate, his red coat buttoned up, his bone sabre hanging from his leather belt, his blue trousers starched, his boots spit-polished.

  “You think I’m rough on your men?”

  “No, Sergeant-Major,” Chaylene squeaked. While not in her command structure, he still was a senior non-commissioned officer.

  “I’m not training guppies like you girls. I’m training sharks. Mean. Bloodthirsty. Ready to kill the moment they sense weakness. There ain’t no coddlin’ sharks. They need to be lean and hungry. And when we’re in the thick of it, you guppies’ll be glad there’s a frenzy of ‘em to protect you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant-Major,” the three women gasped together.

  His angular eyes bored into theirs and his mouth seemed so big, filled with a toothy grin that threatened to swallow both of them. “You’ll be wanting to congratulate Princess. I’m sure a word of praise from his prince will hearten his delicate emotions.”

  The hateful man stumped off.

  “Congratulate?” Zori asked.

  Chaylene looked at the stern deck. Ary stood with the other marines from his detachment. Guts grinned while Estan shook Ary’s hand. A bemused look stained Ary’s face. He ran his left hand through sandy-blond hair.

  Then Ahneil threw her arms around Ary’s neck in a fierce hug.

  “What’s that hussy doing?” Chaylene demanded, ugly anger swirling inside of her.

  “I think I see why her and Xoshia have been gusting the breeze lately,” Ailsuimnae muttered. “Look at her. She’s positively shining.”

  Chaylene’s anger gusted harder at the look of contented joy on Ahneil’s face. Ary, at least, had the decency to be caught off-guard by the hug. He patted her back awkwardly as Chaylene stalked across the deck. He grew even stiffer when he saw her, shoving his hands behind his back, his brown face twisting with apology.

  “What’s going on?” Chaylene asked in a sweet voice, trying to hide her anger at the Agerzak. She pushed Ahneil off her husband so she could hug him. Ary’s arms did not feel the least bit awkward around her. Ahneil and Chaylene eyed each other. It took all her self-control not to claw out the hussy’s eyes.

  “I’ve been promoted!” Ary grinned. “I’m a corporal. In command of Detachment One!.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.” Hurt strained his tone.

  “Not surprised, just . . . startled. I thought the captain was tanning your backside into leather.”

  “So did I. The Sergeant-Major was there, standing to the captain’s left. I sweated through my wool shirt and coat. Thought I was really in for it and couldn’t figure out what Storm-cursed thing I’d done.”

  “Clearly, the Storm has scrambled the captain’s mind,” Guts rumbled, a big smile on his face. “Why else pick Ary as our corporal? Everyone knows I’m a much better marine.”

  “Better at eating,” Ahneil said. “That’s ‘bout it.”

  Guts laughed, slapping his broad frame. “Exactly. That’s why I should be corporal. I will always have the energy to stay on top of things.”

  “I’ve seen you after you eat,” Zori commented, slipping up to her fellow. “You’re so sleepy, I’m amazed you don’t start snoring in the mess hall.”

  “See. It takes a lot of energy to resist sleeping at the table. Proof that I should be corporal.”

  Chaylene laughed with the rest and gave her husband a squeeze. “Congrats.” Then, with a loud whisper, her eyes locked on Ahneil, she added, “I love you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aernoa 23rd, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  “Where are you going?” Ary asked as Chaylene slipped out of their bed in their cottage.

  “I need to take a walk and move about after being crammed on the ship that long,” she said, stretching.

  After seven days flying in the skies, the Dauntless had returned to camp an hour ago at sunset. The captain had run the crew so ragged the last few weeks, Ary had lacked the mental energy to ponder the Dawnspire and Estan’s poem. So he could understand why she wanted to stretch her legs.

  “Maybe I’ll come,” he said, admiring her form as she dressed, her skin creamy-black in the lamp light.

  Things felt different between them. The gulf between them, widened by the fear lurking in his guts, had vanished. The truce they silently declared on the ship persisted. Instead of taking the first opportunity to pry at his dreams in the privacy of their cottage, she kissed him. Held him. She loved him with such openness. Like the night before they left when she’d returned from her walk.

  As he sat there, watching the shock on her face at his offer to come along, his heart asked a simple question: What if she’ll still love me when she knows I’m tainted?

  It was an impossible hope. But he yearned to share one final burden with her.

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “I’ll join you.”

  “That’s all right.” She smiled. “They worked you marines hard. Get some rest.”

  “They did.” He yawned. “Why don’t you come back to bed and rest with me?”

  “After my walk, if you’re still conscious, maybe we can rest some more.”

  It would be easier to tell her in our cottage’s privacy. “I’ll stay up,” he grinned, suppressing another yawn. “Promise.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t think I’ll take as long a walk as usual.”

  “Good.” He failed to suppress his next yawn, his mouth stretching so wide he thought his jaw would unhinge.

  He plopped his head on the pillow, admiring the graceful curve of her neck as she walked to the door. She gave him a smile then slid outside, her blonde hair trailing behind her. He inhaled deeply, breathing in their lingering passion. He fought off his sleep, forcing his eyes to roam the room, to find distraction.

  But his lids were so heavy and sleep beckoned him with its sweet song. His eyes drifted closed a
nd—

  He shook his head, blinking, forcing himself back awake and set his eyes back to roam the room, staring at all the familiar items: the small table, their washing bowl sitting next to the water pitcher, their chest of drawers, the piece of parchment sticking out from beneath it, the windows that—

  Parchment?

  An envelope lay beneath the chest of drawers. His exhausted mind puzzled over what it could be. He kicked off the blankets, rolled out of bed, and walked naked across the room, the stone floor cool on his bare feet. He snagged the envelope and turned it over in his hand.

  Shock squeezed Ary’s heart.

  He’d forgotten all about his ma’s letter. His first fight with Chaylene had happened that night, driving it out of his mind. Between Chaylene pestering him about his dreams and the constant drills, he hadn’t had the energy to think about his ma. Pain and guilt flooded him, realizing a month had passed. His ma had so badly wanted his forgiveness on Ahly’s docks, but he’d refused.

  She deserves that pain, he reminded himself. For all she did to me.

  But she had seemed so scared for him on the docks, crushed by her own pain. His hands shook as he held the letter, staring at her handwriting. A faint discoloration marred the second letter of his name. A smudge. Like a drop of water had fallen on it.

  A hot tear fell, landing on his mother’s name, Ionie, smearing the last two letters.

  Ary ripped open the letter.

  My dear son, Briaris,

  I have been a terrible mother. When Gretla told me you’d joined the Navy, I felt like I’d awakened from a nightmare into an even worse one. You were going off to serve, possibly to die, thinking I hated you. And maybe I did, but I also loved you. Ever since your pa’s passing, a darkness has strangled my thoughts, hiding everything but fear and hatred. I tried to tell you my true feelings, but the words never came. Only my bitterness.

  And maybe words could never be enough. I cannot blame you for hating me. It was all I fed you for years. I can only pray to Riasruo Above that you will begin to forgive me because I cannot forgive myself. Where once I suffocated in darkness, I now suffocate in guilt. I have failed you in every way a mother could fail her child.

  I know I haven’t earned your forgiveness, but I would like to. I pray to the Sun that we could be a family again. But I understand if you do not want that. All I ask, all I beg, is for you to try and work past your anger and let me be your mother again. I await your response with hope.

  Your sorrowful mother.

  Another tear fell, landing on the letter. He didn’t know what to think. For so long, he’d hated the way madness had twisted her. When he joined the Navy, he’d put her deranged rantings behind him. What was he supposed to do about it now? Should he forgive her to ease her heart?

  “What about my heart?” he muttered aloud.

  His eyes fell on the letter again as childhood anguish afflicted him. All her pointed barbs ripped at his soul again. How could he ever forgive her for the misery she’d made of his life? She had all but wished him dead.

  “I was finally free of you!”

  He wanted to hate her for all she did to him. To throw her letter upon Riasruo’s cleansing fire. Let her wait forever for his response and drown in the same guilt and misery she’d heaped on him. His hands clenched about the letter, prepared to destroy it.

  He froze.

  . . . let me be you mother again.

  Another wracking sob shook his body as guilt surged through him. If he’d never watched the Cyclone, his pa would never have died. Then madness would never have twisted and broken his ma. It was his fault that the heart of their family had been torn out, leaving only bitter hatred poisoning the leftovers.

  Theisseg touched me. Tainted me. Bile burned his throat. It is my fault Pa’s dead.

  Ary needed Chaylene. He had to talk to her, to pour out his pain. He grabbed his trousers from the floor and hauled them on without bothering with breeches. He yanked on his wool shirt before grabbing the letter and shoving it into his breast pocket. He burst out of the house barefoot, barely feeling the small, sharp stones as he stumbled down the camp’s graveled paths.

  He didn’t know where Chaylene was. Where does she go on her walks?

  “Are you all right, Corporal?”

  Ahneil walked towards him, her steps a little wobbly, her pale cheeks flushed. She smiled at him, pushing back her loose, black hair from her shoulders, falling in a frizzy mess about her face. Normally, she braided and wrapped her hair in a circle around her head like a crown.

  “Have you seen Chaylene?”

  Her face twisted as she moved closer, stopping before him. “I have,” she carefully answered, her breath sour with beer.

  “Where is she?”

  She touched his arm through his wool shirt. “You don’t want to find her.”

  “Of course I do.”

  She stepped closer, almost pressing against him. She stared down, and her slanted eyes swam in front of his. “No, you don’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, stepping back as a sudden heat flushed him.

  “She’s with . . . someone.”

  “Who?” A sudden unease replaced the heat. Why is she being so coy? “Who is she with? I need to speak to her.”

  “She’s with her lover.”

  Her words slapped him. “What?” That can’t be possible.

  “That’s who she sees on her walks.”

  “You’re wrong.” His chest tightened, his veins constricting across his skull, brain aching against the terrible pressure.

  “I’m not. I was told.”

  “By whom?” he demanded, clenching his fist, paper crumpling. “Xoshia? Chaylene loves me, Ahneil. You and Xoshia and her drove of sows need to stop throwing dung at her.”

  A sad smile graced her lips. “I wish I was wrong. Your wife shouldn’t be doing it. It’s not right to step out on your man.” Her other hand touched his shoulder, her smile turning smoky. “I wouldn’t treat you that way if we were to go on a walk.”

  He couldn’t think. Her words couldn’t be true.

  Her hand rested on his bare chest, swelling desire inside him. “I’m sorry you had to find out about your wife and her lover.”

  He seized her hand on his shoulder in a crushing grip. “Where is she?”

  “I saw her heading to the east fence behind the armory. After she breaks your heart, come find me. I’ll put it back together.”

  Ary whirled and hurried away, his stomach tying in knots. Ahneil has to be mistaken. Chaylene would never take a lover. She loves me. Hadn’t she just proved it?

  Hope cracked in his heart.

  Joining up for a girl is the worst reason in the world, Shefe growled through his thoughts. I’m doin’ you a favor. You’ll regret it.

  His steps became a jog. He didn’t register the pain of stones stabbing into his bare feet. Worry whipped at him, driving him to go faster and faster, his arms pumping as he raced to the armory. Terrible visions filled his mind. Chaylene in a passionate embrace, lying with her phantom lover.

  No! She loves me. Ahneil has to be mistaken.

  He clung to that thought, scrabbling to hold onto it as his fears tried to drag him off the side of the skyland. Hope became a blade of grass he clutched, straining to hold his weight, threatening to snap and plunge his life into chaos. But he clutched at it anyway. What else could he do? He was desperate.

  He reached the armory and raced around the small, wooden building. The perimeter fence loomed ahead. He could hear voices, muffled by the wind. A man’s and a woman’s. Ary slowed, his skin itching, his heart racing. He felt sick. He didn’t want to round the corner and witness her betrayal.

  Ary wanted to run.

  The sick twist in his stomach wouldn’t let him flee. He stepped around the corner.

  ~ * * ~

  Vel gripped the slats of the fence, staring at the armory’s rear wall, wondering if Chaylene would appear tonight for their talk. No one had business v
isiting the armory at night. No weapons needed for training. It lay remote by the fence. The perfect spot to hide from gossiping eyes.

  The Dauntless had returned from its seven-day training flight a few hours ago. Chaylene said she might come tonight. Imagining her ebony face was the only thing that had kept Vel sane during the four days his own ship spent plying the Xoar Sky. He had less than a month to win her over before training ended.

  Twenty-five days.

  If she showed up tonight, he would kiss her, love her. He couldn’t wait any longer. Once his lips were on hers, she’d melt and be his. He knew it.

  He had hated every heartbeat of being trapped on the cramped ship away from her, forced to spend his time cooking fish stew for the crew. With three watches, the crew ate at all hours of the day. He’d spent his shift cooking in the tiny galley, boiling in the heat. He’d stirred the stew; gut and diced fish; chopped up endless carrots, potatoes, and fresh kelp; then dumped the ingredients into the ceramic cookpot. It never emptied. The cooks added more fish, vegetables, water, and barley flour whenever it ran low. A constant, churning cauldron of brown.

  Chaylene had kept him sane, his promise of release. He replayed their last meeting over and over in his mind, savoring the gentle touch of her hand on his, the way she caressed him back, promising the warmth she would share with him once he claimed her heart from the beast.

  A tremble passed through his body. Where is she? Maybe she’s too tired to come tonight?

  Maybe he won’t let her come. He’s probably satiating his bestial desires, forcing her to submit while she yearns to come see me.

  “Vel.”

  Her voice startled him out of his disgusting thoughts, banishing away the horrible image of Ary thrashing atop her like a shark killing its prey. She walked up, dressed in her wrinkled uniform, the white linen glowing in the red light of Jwiaswo with tinges of blue from the waxing crescent of his brother.

  Joy beat in Vel’s heart. “You came.”

  He seized the slats, preparing to climb over and join her.

  “No, don’t, Vel. We . . . need to talk.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s why I’m here.” He flashed her a grin as he climbed the fence. He couldn’t wait any longer. Over a week. Seven days without seeing the lines of her face, her cloud-gray eyes, the shimmer of her hair beneath the night sky. In moments, he reached the top.