Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  The maid walked up and set a small tumbler in front of Vel. He downed the amber liquid.

  “Another.” He shoved the glass into her hand.

  “You don’t need to be—”

  “Get me another!”

  The friendly maid shot Vel a most unfriendly look then flounced off. Vel didn’t even pay attention to the interesting way her mammaries bounced in her low-cut dress. He was hurting and desperate. Wriavia’s feathers stood up on his belly—there was one variation of this plan he might salvage, after all.

  “She was just resisting to protect her modesty,” Vel continued. He grinned. “Gave me a taste of her fire. But I would have worn her down. A few more kisses, a caress in the right spot, and she’d have blazed for me. Only for me.” His fists clenched. “I had her, Wriavia. She would have stayed. They’re drifting apart, and I was guiding her down the path. Like you said.”

  “So what happened? You said Ary—”

  “That downyheaded fool came barreling in and caught us!” Something ugly twisted his expression. “The look on his face, like a poleaxed boar. Shocked that his wife and his friend could even betray him, like we weren’t our own persons.” Vel laughed. “But then Chaylene denied it all, said I kissed her and she was trying to stop it. I had to show her I wasn’t a coward. I had to beat her husband. I had love on my side.”

  He stared down at his empty shot glass.

  “But he’s a beast. He shrugged off all my blows. I was furious, hitting him over and over. He’s not Human. He’s a Theisseg-spawned monster. He almost broke my wrist. He wanted to kill me, but Chaylene talked him out of it. She’s always trying to protect me. I should be protecting her.”

  The friendly maid arrived, practically spilling his whiskey as she slammed the tumbler onto the table. He downed it, his face full of pathetic pain.

  “She had to pretend she didn’t want me to keep Ary from hurting her.”

  He’s delusional, Wriavia thought. The female had fought from the very beginning. She’d tried to keep Vel on the other side of the fence. She’d gone to break off their tryst. But Wriavia sensed an opportunity.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He stretched his wing across the table and touched Vel’s arm.

  “She’s never going to drift from him. They’re tied together. I can see the fire I lit burning inside her, but she just won’t abandon him.” Vel let out a sobbing laugh. “Ary always gets what he wants, and I’m just dragged in his wake. As long as he’s around, I’ll never have her.” He fixed desperate eyes on Wriavia. “How did you win your wife from her mate? What was it that finally did it?”

  “He died.” Wriavia leaned over the table. “You said it. What if Ary wasn’t around?”

  Vel swallowed then looked up at the Luastria. Then he hunched over, whispering, “Are you saying . . .?”

  “Accidents happen every day,” Wriavia said casually, his gizzard tightening. Vel neared the precipice. Discussing murder paled to the reality of committing it, but with burning anger to devour judgment . . .

  The young male swallowed, his eyes nervous. He leaned back, chewing his lip. Wriavia didn’t say anything more, but let Vel work through it on his own. It was better that way. He merely dipped his beak into his beer, drinking the sour liquid. His black tongue licked up the foam stuck to his yellow beak.

  “Accidents do happen,” Vel whispered. “But . . .”

  “Sometimes they need a little help. I was ready to comfort my Nwiuasria, and she welcomed me with downy cheeks.”

  Vel gave a slow nod.

  “The whore’s looking at you, Vel. Why don’t you enjoy some companionship? It’ll help you think clearly.”

  Feeling celebratory, Wriavia ordered a second beer as Vel vanished upstairs with the whore. The night wasn’t a complete disaster, after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The revelry horns woke up Chaylene. She groaned, reaching for her husband, and found his side of the bed empty. Panic flared through her. Last night, she’d hurt him. He’d forgiven her, believed her, but a new distance yawned between them.

  Why was I so stupid?

  “Morning,” Ary muttered. He sat dressed in his marine uniform at their small table, a scrap of parchment before him.

  “Hi,” she smiled, trembling, a school of fish writhing in her belly.

  She took a breath and stood, letting the blanket fall to expose her naked body. He barely gave her a glance instead of ogling her. She hunched her arms across her breasts, feeling suddenly exposed by his lack of interest. Cheeks burning, she hurried to find a clean camisole in the chest-of-drawers. She pulled it on, and the hem fell down to her thighs.

  “What are you writing?” she asked, smoothing her undergarment.

  “I’m trying to figure out what to say to my ma. It’s hard to find the right words. She did such terrible things to me.”

  “I know.” She walked over to the table and sat across from him. Her hand reached out to touch his arm. He pulled away to write. A bruise ached her heart. “I . . . love you, Ary.”

  He scratched a few more words. “I love you, Lena.” He didn’t even lift his face to look at her.

  Part of her wanted to cry. I tore down our house with my foolishness. I just need to be patient.

  “We don’t want to be late, Ary.”

  He snarled, his face twisting with anger. “Why can’t they give us a free day?”

  The Dauntless had returned late yesterday on Dawnsday, their normal free day. So now they’d have to go through four days of training before receiving a break. And that’s assuming we don’t sail off on another training flight.

  “I know.” She reached out again, fearful, and took his free hand. He didn’t pull away, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “The letter will be waiting for you.”

  “Theisseg curse it!”

  Such pain burned in his red eyes, shining through the exhaustion. “We’ll get through this together.”

  He squeezed her hand back. “Yeah.”

  His eyes never left the letter.

  ~ * * ~

  Aernoa 25th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  “Princess! What in Theisseg’s black feathers are you doing?”

  “Sergeant-Major?” Ary stood to attention from where he crouched behind the bale of hay.

  Two days after catching his wife with Vel, the marines were assaulting a barn, practicing using cover to fire and advance upon a fixed fortification. The structure was one of many scattered across the grassy plains outside camp used for various training scenarios.

  “Why did you send Mudguppy up the right flank and give her no support? Did you think her ugly face would scare the enemy?”

  Heat flushed Ary’s cheeks. Ahneil, standing behind the Sergeant-Major, flashed a rude gesture.

  “I needed her to provide a base of fire so Estan and Guts could advance—”

  “But you needed to give her support as she maneuvered, Princess.” The Sergeant-Major stepped right up to Ary, slanted eyes narrowed to intense slits. “This ain’t some Storm-cursed ball. Mudguppy can’t just dance her way across the battlefield. You need to give her covering fire. Has some lordly prince driven all the sense out of the boil swelling out of your neck?”

  “Sorry, Sergeant-Major. It was a mistake.”

  “Mistake? People die when their commanders make mistakes!” Slanted, amber eyes bored into Ary’s. “Captain Dhar expects better out of you, Princess! So get your head out of whatever perfumed cloud you’re lost in and focus on the Theisseg-damned maneuver!”

  “Yes, Sergeant-Major.”

  “Start again. And this time, Princess, no mistakes, or I’ll have you practice latrine digging for the next month.”

  “Yes, Sergeant-Major.”

  Ary grit his teeth, fighting to stay focused. He touched his breast pocket and heard the paper crinkle. He was on his third day laboring on the letter to his ma, writing a few more words whenever he could as he struggled to come to grips with his emotions.

  A shadow
fell over him. He glanced to the sky. The scouts winged overhead, passing by on a training mission. Unease filled him. Chaylene maintained she’d only ever talked with Vel and didn’t kiss him back, but Ahneil’s words echoed in his mind. Ary replayed his memories of the voyage on the Xorlar over and over through his thoughts, wondering what Chaylene was doing when she hadn’t been with him.

  Xoshia claimed Vel bedded her in the Xorlar’s hold.

  And that didn’t count the month’s worth of evening walks. Ary’s fists clenched as tight as his stomach knotted.

  Chaylene hadn’t gone on any walks since. Had she stopped because he’d caught her? Was her claim that she was ending it that night just a lie to cover their infidelity? Had he come upon them before Vel opened her shirt and pulled down her trousers? Love begged him to believe his wife.

  Please, Riasruo, please let her be telling the truth.

  Gut’s hand clapped on Ary’s shoulder. “What’s the plan, Corporal?”

  Ary blinked out of his thoughts. He sank into his worries without warning, pulling his mind away from what he should be doing. He beat his fears away with a heavy fist. She had to be telling the truth. He’d joined the Navy for her. She couldn’t repay that with betrayal.

  “Joining up for a girl is the worst reason in the world,” rattled the words of Petty Officer Shefe through Ary’s mind. “I’m doin’ you a favor. You’ll regret it.”

  “I thought you did fine,” Ahneil smiled, placing a hand on his arm.

  “Thanks.” He nodded at her. She had a lovely smile. A promising smile. I could go on my own walks with her . . .

  Another shadow flew across the ground. Overhead, Chaylene banked on Whitesocks, waving as she circled. She had to care. She wouldn’t wave like that if she didn’t. He raised his arm and waved back.

  Unless it’s all an act. What if she’s just minding her nest until she has the chance to sneak off with Vel?

  His hand froze as Chaylene turned her mount towards the camp. He had to stop thinking these thoughts. He had to trust her. He wanted to trust her. If I didn’t go after her, I’d have told her Theisseg tainted me. She would have told Vel, told the camp. They’d arrest me, and she’d have clear sailing to be with him.

  The thought slashed through his soul, leaving him bleeding every time. His feeble, but she loves me, couldn’t shield him.

  Ahneil’s hand tightened on his arm. He had to talk to her, find out what she had seen. She claimed Chaylene and Vel were lovers. He had to know why she thought that.

  “Okay, new plan,” Ary said. “Ahneil and I will hold a bale of hay in the middle while Guts advances on the right flank.”

  “So Grech and I will take the left flank?” Estan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’re sending me to die,” chuckled Guts.

  “Ahneil and I will provide supporting fire. We’ll do fire and maneuver properly this time. Guts will advance first while the four of us lay down fire. Then Estan and Grech.”

  “Gotcha, Corporal,” Grech nodded.

  “Estan and Grech, when you reach the right side of the barn, go around to the rear. Guts, you will have a nice angle of fire from the three hay bales. You give us cover as Ahneil and I charge the front. Estan and Grech will take them from the rear. We’ll use sabres for the assault.”

  “Sounds good, Corporal,” Ahneil smiled, her hand tightening on him while her smile dazzled.

  “Thanks,” he smiled back. “Everyone understand?”

  Grech, Guts, and Estan nodded. “We’ll make you proud,” laughed Guts. “For the glory of the Autonomy. Stormwalls!”

  “Stormwalls!” whooped Grech.

  “Covering fire,” Ary commanded, leaning over the hay bale and yelling “lightning” to simulate discharging his thunderbuss. Guts dashed to the right, hunching low then falling down behind cover. He rose. “Estan and Grech, go. Covering fire!”

  Ary, Guts, and Ahneil roared, “Lightning!”

  Estan and Grech ran to the left and dove behind bales of hay. When they were ready, Ary and Ahneil darted from cover. They dived behind a closer pile of hay. In real life, the enemy would fire crossbows or pressure rifles at them—but not thunderbusses. A Minor Blessing of Lightning or greater gave a person immunity to any lightning strikes.

  Aiming his thunderbuss at the barn, he asked, “Hey, uh, Ahneil?”

  “Yeah?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

  He swallowed, his stomach tightening. “You said that, um, Chaylene and Vel were . . .”

  “Lovers. I’m sorry, Ary. I know she means the skies to you.”

  The knots tightened. “Estan, Grech, get ready. Covering fire!”

  After simulating his shots, he asked, “Why do you think that? Did you ever see anything?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “But why else was she sneaking off to see him at night?”

  “To talk. Get ready. We’re up.” He drew in a breath. “Covering fire!”

  Estan, Grech, and Guts yelled, “Lightning!”

  Ary burst over the hay bale and raced for a closer one. Three steps and he fell to the dusty grass behind it. Ahneil dropped beside him, an excited flush to her creamy skin. They rose, aiming at the target.

  “You don’t sneak off to just talk,” she panted, beads of sweat running down her brow.

  “Yeah,” he admitted, stomach twisting.

  “Estan, Grech.” He flashed a hand signal at them—assault. Estan flashed a thumbs up. “Covering fire!”

  Estan and Grech charged to the barn while Ary, Ahneil, and Guts shouted “Lightning!” Grech reached the barn first, followed a heartbeat later by Estan. They pressed their backs against the whitewashed building. Estan led, slinging his thunderbuss and drawing his bone sabre, stalking down to the corner of the building and out of sight.

  “Listen, Ary. Sometimes these things happen. You develop feelings for someone without realizing it.” She touched his arm. “She wouldn’t be sneaking out to just talk to him.”

  “But you never actually saw her.” Ary clung to that. He had no choice. He loved Chaylene.

  “No. But I’m telling you that something must be going on between them. I know you don’t want to hear that.” Her hand squeezed him and she leaned in closer. “I’m here for you, okay? If you ever need to talk. Maybe on a . . . walk.”

  “I don’t think that’s right.”

  “You’re a better person than she is.”

  Ary swallowed, his cheeks warm. He cleared his throat. “Okay, it’s our turn. Ready?”

  She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “For luck.”

  Ary blinked in surprised then choked out, “Covering fire!”

  They sprinted to the barn, slinging their thunderbusses and drawing bone sabres. She crashed against the right side of the door and he took the left. Guts had a clear shot inside the barn. He roared, “lightning!” and Ary and Ahneil charged into the dusty barn. Estan and Grech came in from the other side.

  “Passable,” the Sergeant-Major grunted as he strode into the barn. “But you didn’t have any actual resistance. This isn’t nearly as easy when crossbow bolts are flying at your head.”

  ~ * * ~

  “How was your day?” Chaylene asked, forcing herself to smile as she sat down next to her husband in the mess hall for their evening meal. She set a steaming bowl of stew before her, a large hunk of brown bread soaking up the savory mix.

  “Fine,” he muttered. His stew bowl sat untouched as he worked on his letter to his ma.

  Ahneil smiled. “More than fine. Ary was brilliant today. We ran a perfect exercise assaulting that barn.”

  “Is that why you kissed him?” laughed Guts.

  “What?” Chaylene’s insides went icy.

  “On my cheek,” Ary muttered, still writing. “For luck.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the Agerzak woman and did not like the way Ahneil’s amber eyes gazed at Ary. Chaylene leaned in and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. “Good job, dear. I saw your exercise. You loo
ked very impressive.”

  He grunted.

  She suppressed a sigh. He was slipping away from her, drifting out into isolated skies. He claimed to have forgiven her, but the hurt still lurked in his eyes. Zori and Ailsuimnae were right; she’d wronged Ary by seeing Vel behind his back. She’d lost his trust.

  She wanted to cry so badly. Goddess Above, I made a mess of things.

  She took a bite of her stew, willing herself not to break down in the mess hall. Especially not in front of Ahneil. Anger tempted Chaylene to seize Ahneil’s stupid braid wrapped around her temple and give it a good yank. Casting sow eyes at my husband!

  Ary set down his pen and capped the small inkwell. He took a deep breath, pushed the letter to the side to dry, then shoveled a big spoon of stew into his mouth. The tension melted from his body. Maybe he only needed to finish this letter and put his ma out of his mind?

  “So, what sort of training were you doing?” she asked, maintaining her smile.

  “Assaulting a fixed position.” Ary looked at her. She rested her hand on his wrist, a light touch. He didn’t pull away. Relief gusted through her.

  “And you did it perfectly?” She so wanted to mend their rift. To show her husband she supported him.

  “Not perfectly,” laughed Grech. “He was watching the clouds so much the first time he bungled the assault.”

  “I was thinking about . . . things.”

  She gave his wrist a comforting squeeze.

  “The Sergeant-Major wanted to turn his backside into leather,” Grech continued.

  “Like you would’ve done better,” Ahneil said. “He led us perfectly. Stop hacking the pineapples.”

  “Now, now,” Estan said. “Ary executed the second time with skill. But he did make a critical error on the first attempt.”

  “Yeah,” Ary agreed.

  Guts shrugged. “No point in bickering over it. That’s why we train.”

  Ahneil nodded. “Mistakes happen. Ary learned from it. He did it better than you could have.”

  “Sow,” Grech hissed.

  “Hey!” Ary barked. “There is no need to throw insults!”

  “And who are—”

  “I’m your storming corporal! So apologize, Private!”