Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  They traded blows, the demon driving her farther and farther away from Ary’s bleeding form. Sweat poured down Chaylene’s brow as she channeled her Pressure, forming cushions to slow the streaking attacks of the demon. Every use of her power to compress the air tired her. These weren’t small bullets the size of an acorn, but melon-sized pillows. The air snapped and popped as the pressure increased and released.

  “Lena,” Ary croaked, still struggling to rise.

  I have to kill this thing. “Stormwall!” she screamed, lunging in for a desperate attack.

  The demon’s beak flashed. She formed her Pressure. The beak’s sharp tip knifed through the thickened air and pecked into her wrist. Sharp pain shot up her arm. Her fingers went numb, releasing the bone knife. The blade tumbled from her hand and the demon’s clawed foot lashed out, catching the hilt and throwing her dagger into the darkness.

  Screeching like a diving falcon, the demon attacked.

  ~ * * ~

  “Lena!” Fire burned across Ary’s back and legs. Fear hammered at his breast. He ripped at the grass as he struggled to rise, but his legs refused to work.

  Chaylene traded blows with the misty figure. The demon drove her back, its body fading into the darkness as she fought. Her dagger became a red blur. She fought with passion. With love. But it wasn’t enough.

  The demon disarmed her.

  “No. Come on, you storming legs. Work!” The fire burned hotter in his wounds as he pushed up with his arms. He forced the pain way, commanding his useless legs to work. “I don’t care how bad it hurts. Storming move!”

  Chaylene danced back, her blonde hair flying wild as the demon kicked and slashed at her. Ary did not understand how she held back the shadowy monster’s attacks. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t lie here bleeding while she died.

  “Work! Work! Work!” he roared at his stubborn legs.

  Molten pain consumed his wounds. He screamed as he forced his legs to move. His left leg throbbed in agony as he bent it beneath him. Ary didn’t care how much it hurt. He’d grasped Theisseg’s chain. He’d experienced true pain. He could withstand this agony.

  Ary heaved himself onto his knees, sliding his feet beneath him. Every heartbeat, his legs worked better. He roared at the heavens as his legs extended, lifting him up. His chest heaved as his knees wobbled. His legs wanted to fold up, to collapse beneath him.

  Ary forced himself to walk.

  His first step shot pain up and down his left leg. Ary’s teeth ground together as he took his second step. The pain lessened, the fire blazing. He drew the Stormrider sabre from its sheath, metal whisking on leather.

  A third step. His legs grew stronger.

  Fourth step. His strides longer.

  Fifth step. His pace faster.

  Chaylene still fought, screaming her battle cry as she punched and kicked at the demon, a cornered shark, ferocious and dangerous. She’d changed so much at Camp Chubris. Three months ago, she’d run from the draft.

  Now she stood and fought. For me.

  Ary raised his sword and charged. His legs were strong enough to run. The agony still burned. Every step added jarring pain. But Ary didn’t care. He was a Stormwall. He would defend his wife.

  Chaylene saw him, and a smile crossed her lips.

  Ary swung.

  The demon, warned by Chaylene, pivoted, screeching like a terrified bird. Ary’s blade gleamed red as it hurtled like a falling star towards the creature’s neck. It struck something hard. Stone cracked. Lightning sparked. Fragments of a black crystal exploded from the demon’s neck. The monster fell back, its body rippling. The smoky, wispy form became solid. A gray cloak billowed around brown wings. A Luastria hit the ground, rolling in a cloud of fabric and feathers. Crimson feathers circled the Luastria’s eyes, and more vibrant feathers peeked from beneath his gray robes.

  “You!” Chaylene gasped. “You’re the merchant!”

  The Luastria screeched in fury, his beak opened wide. Brown wings flapped, lifting him onto his taloned feet, shiny-red with Ary’s blood. With a bellow, Ary lunged forward, swinging his blade in a vicious arc.

  “Who are you?” he roared as the Luastria danced back, flapping his brown wings. “Why did you attack us?”

  The Luastria danced to Ary’s right, about to dart in for an attack, but was stopped by Ary’s sword. The Luastria eyed the gleaming metal, clucking his beak.

  “Answer me!” Ary thrust forward, right leg extended before him, arm snapping the sword at the Luastria.

  With a frustrated caw, the Luastria’s wings unfurled. With three mighty flaps, he lifted into the air. Ary swiped at the fleeing attacker, but his blade missed tail feathers by a fingerswidth. The Luastria disappeared into the twilight murk.

  “No!” Ary screamed in rage. The pain in his legs burned. He swayed.

  “Ary.” Chaylene caught him and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. She half-supported his weight. “I’ve got you.”

  He leaned on his wife, sucking in breath as he stared at the sky in disbelief. What just happened?

  “Why would one of the Goddess’s chosen attack us?” Chaylene gasped. “What is going on?”

  One of the Goddess’s . . . He stared at his wife, his thoughts whirling.

  “Is this part of your secret, Ary?” Her eyes were wild. “Is this what you’ve been hiding?”

  He almost said no. Unless the assassin knew I’ve been touched by Theisseg. But how?

  “Ary? Why would that merchant try to kill us?”

  “Merchant?”

  “He sold me the candied fruit.”

  “That I ate before getting sick?”

  She nodded.

  Estan mentioned a poison that comes from the Theocracy. Is the Church trying to kill me? But how could they . . .? The realization punched him in the guts. The coal test when I received my Blessing. The acolyte was shocked when it burst into flames. Did it detect Theisseg’s touch on me?

  “Ary, please talk to me,” Chaylene whispered. “What is going on?”

  “Help me back to our cottage,” he muttered.

  “No, you need Lieutenant Jhoch.”

  “No!”

  Chaylene flinched at his outburst.

  “Our cottage. I’ll tell you everything, but not out here. Someone . . .” He looked around, wondering what else lurked in the shadows. “I’ll tell you in private.”

  “Okay.”

  His legs grew stronger as they walked, the pain fading with each step. He limped along with her help, glad to feel her lithe figure by his side.

  “You were amazing,” he grunted as they neared their cottage.

  “What?”

  “In the fight. You were like the Shieldmaiden.”

  Chaylene smiled. “I guess my ma named me well.”

  “Uh-huh. How’d you keep him from gutting you?”

  “Pressure. I guess it’s my shield.”

  Ary laughed and Chaylene joined him. It was wonderful hear the music of her mirth again. Minutes later, they reached their cottage, and Chaylene opened the door. Ary stumbled in, crossed to their bed and sprawled on his back. She knelt down next to him, helping him remove his torn coat.

  “Oh, Ary,” she gasped. “Your shirt’s soaked with blood.” Chaylene knelt beside him, tearing open his shirt to expose his wounded back. Her hand stroked his burning flesh, brushing along his wounds. He winced. “Ary . . .” Her voice was low, almost in awe.

  “What?” he groaned, the torn flesh burning.

  “Your flesh is healing.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Your wounds are knitting back together. It’s slow, but I can see them closing.”

  He looked at her stunned face. “That’s not possible, Lena.”

  “What are you, Ary?” Her gray eyes pleaded with him.

  What am I? Did Theisseg give me healing powers? Riasruo has her Blessings, and Estan speculated that the Stormriders and the Agerzaks had their own from Theisseg. Ary reached out and grasped her trembling
hand. “I trust you, Lena. I’ve never told a soul this.”

  She nodded, her hand tight on his.

  “You’re going to hate me.”

  Chaylene squeezed his hand. “I won’t hate you, Ary.”

  Ary took a deep breath, fear pleading with him to remain silent. But things had grown so cold between them. It had been so easy to let suspicion dampen their shared fire. Never again. He would trust her. He had to trust her. They had joined their lives together. If they let that fire die, they would have only ashes to fill their souls.

  Cold, bitter ashes.

  “When we were kids, and the Cyclone attacked Vesche, I was struck by lightning.” He took another deep breath, nervous winds gusting through his body, trembling his soul. “I was touched by Theisseg.”

  ~ * * ~

  Chaylene stiffened. Her eyes widened. Captain Dhar’s words as they sailed into port after the Cyclone resounded through her mind: “Any sailor, regardless or rank, gender, position, or privilege who is struck by lightning during a Cyclone must surrender immediately and be placed in quarantine for the remainder of their natural life. For the good of the skies and the Autonomy, none tainted by Theisseg, Goddess of Storms, can be allowed freedom to advance her chaos.”

  It’s my duty to report him. He’s entrusting me with his life, she realized. His read eyes pleaded with her for understanding. She should be revolted. Horrified. Theisseg touched him! The Dark Goddess stained everything she encountered with shadowed ash.

  But this was Ary. She’d known him her entire life, spent seven years watching him suffer at the hands of his ma. She’d experienced his gentle compassion, his caring love. This man was no monster. He wasn’t something to be feared. He wasn’t someone that had to be imprisoned for the rest of his life. Theisseg hadn’t cursed him.

  Fear tensed his body. He braced himself for her rejection. It stung her heart that he could believe she would betray him, yet she understood why he could. I haven’t given him much cause to trust me. She would now. He would have no doubts. She pulled her hands from his and embraced him.

  He hugged her back, the tension melting from his body. The painful wreckage of their marriage mended by that simple gift of trust. I will protect you, Ary. We’ll both survive our enlistment and return home together.

  “They Cyclone was terrible,” Ary said, his stubbled cheek rubbing on hers. “I stood in the ruined watchtower witnessing the Intrepid’s battle against the Stormriders.”

  A chill shuddered through Chaylene. She pictured Ary as a boy, his blond hair longer, his frame skinnier, but still promising the broad-shoulder and solid girth of his adulthood. Chaylene could hear the howl of last week’s Cyclone. It was imprinted upon her mind. Dark, hungry clouds swirling, racing towards the Dauntless to batter the ship from the sky. The Stormriders charged through the chaos on their mounts made of black, angry clouds, clad all in near-indestructible metal, wielding their cruel swords.

  “I remember crying out to Riasruo,” Ary whispered, his voice growing small, becoming that boy again. “Praying so fervently for Her to shine Her love down upon the Intrepid. The ship was faltering. My skin tingled like . . . like when I gather my charge. All the hairs on my arms stood up. And then the lightning flashed out of the Cyclone and struck me.”

  Chaylene hugged her husband tighter, picturing the white-yellow evil sizzling down from the black clouds.

  “I appeared in this void.” Ary was so quiet. “Nothing except Theisseg and these chains of lightning.”

  “Chains?” Chaylene had heard Ary mention the strange word before.

  “Restraints made of looped coils. She called them her chains. They flashed like lightning. She’s wrapped in them.” Her husband shuddered. “I grabbed one. I tried to free her. But the agony . . . Goddess Above, the pain was overwhelming. It consumed me. I thought my body was melting. I had to let go.”

  Chaylene swallowed. “You . . . you tried to free . . . Theisseg?”

  “She’s in so much pain, Chaylene. She begs to be freed. She screams in agony, ranting about the foci and her betrayer. Two thousand years of torment . . .” Ary’s jaw trembled. “I realized it during the last Cyclone. When the Eye pulsed, I was taken back to the void. She’s a prisoner.”

  Fear squeezed Chaylene’s heart. “What are you saying, Ary?”

  “Theisseg didn’t create the Storm.” He took a deep breath. Chaylene realized he had one more secret to share. One more act of trust to commit. “She is the power that fuels it. It draws on her . . . essence. It exists because of her. She needs to be freed.”

  It was monstrous. Horrifying to contemplate, and yet Ary . . . She could see the compassion in his eyes, the same she’d witnessed the day of her ma’s funeral. No wonder the Luastria merchant wanted Ary dead. She should tell everyone what he planned, reveal it to the world so he could be stopped, but . . .

  She knew Ary. Trusted him.

  “So you want to . . . free her . . . because you think it will end the Storm?”

  “It’s what the Stormriders want.” Ary spoke with granite certainty. “She told me. They want to end the Storm. That’s why they attack us. The foci that binds Theisseg are above the Storm.”

  “Where?”

  Ary opened his mouth and then let out a helpless sigh. “I have no storming clue. I promised I would free her, but how?”

  Chaylene had no idea. “We’ll figure it out.”

  ~ * * ~

  “We?” Ary croaked, staring at his wife. For a moment, he feared this entire night was a dream. That he’d slept and dreamed the whole thing. She didn’t flinch from the truth. She didn’t denounce him or demand that he be dragged from her bed. She didn’t hate him for being cursed. This couldn’t be a dream because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d witnessed something so good. Something wonderful. He’d placed his life into her hands.

  And she didn’t crush it. She didn’t fail him. Instead, she loved him.

  “We, Ary.” Such strength shone in her gray eyes. “Somehow, we’ll figure out how to free Theisseg and end the Storm.”

  He clutched his wife to his chest, her arms squeezing about him. He didn’t care about the pain burning in his back and legs, the assassin who’d tried to kill them tonight, or the enormity of the promise he’d made to the Dark Goddess. The weight he’d carried all these months, these years, was finally shared with someone else.

  He wasn’t alone any longer.

  Epilogue

  A tremble of excitement ran through Estan as he read through the letter he’d written, the black ink drying on the parchment.

  Salutations Master Rlarim,

  I hope your health continues to flourish in your exile from Amion, and I further hope that the measly remittance I send helps ease your hardship.

  Estan skipped past the paragraphs of inane prose detailing the highlights of his life since the last letter, reading the important part one more time.

  I am more certain than ever that he is a Stormtouched. His behavior since the Cyclone has been most suspicious. Undoubtedly, some of the stress he is under is of a more domestic nature, but today he mentioned “foci” with regards to the Cyclone and the motivations of the Stormriders. There is so much we do not understand about those touched by Theisseg and the behavior of her followers. I do not know what vagary of chance led me to him, but I am eager to pry out all his secrets.

  Yours in fellowship,

  Estan Bthoovzigk

  It was such a dangerous letter. What his tutor researched was blasphemous, the knowledge forbidden by the Church. Estan’s father had been livid when he discovered what Fehun Rlarim was teaching his son. But scholarship was far more important than dogmatic censorship. To defeat the Stormriders, they needed to be understood.

  Estan sanded the letter, folded it, and headed for the quartermasters to mail it to Thunely.

  ~ * * ~

  Skein Wriavia looked over the small apartment he’d rented, making sure he’d packed every item that could lead back to the Skein of Adj
udication and the Church. His gizzard churned in agitated fear. Never had Wriavia failed.

  And he had more than failed this evening. He’d been exposed. Briaris’s sword had shattered the engine powering his shader. It was only by chance that his blade hadn’t parted the assassin’s head from his neck. His throat still ached. He wheezed with every breath.

  He had to withdraw. To regroup. The Dauntless would sail for the port of Onhur on the skyland of Tlele within the day. Already, the assassin planned his next step. He would fly up Les’s coast to Selech and find transport.

  Footsteps crashed up the stairs. Wriavia’s gizzard tightened.

  So soon? How did the Navy arrive so swiftly?

  His door burst open. Wriavia readied to kick and . . .

  Relaxed.

  “Wriavia!” Vel panted.

  “It did not go well?” Wriavia asked, slipping into his role as Vel’s confidant with the same ease he changed his robes.

  “Why should it?” Self-loathing wracked Vel’s face. “Ary always gets what he wants. Nothing bad ever happens to him. The only marine that didn’t take a wound in the entire fight. She’ll never leave him. No matter how hard I try.”

  “You just need to have patience. I’m sure she’ll come around.” Wriavia needed to get Vel to leave. He did not have time to coddle the deluded fool. Chaylene had made herself quite clear tonight—she did not want him.

  “She chose him tonight. She’ll always choose him!” Rage mottled the young male’s face. “So long as Ary lives, she’ll never be mine.”

  Wriavia cocked his head, studying Vel. Maybe something can be salvaged this night. “Then it would be so much better if he wasn’t even around.”

  A cold smile crossed Vel’s lips. “You once mentioned there was . . . another path.”

  Wriavia clucked, pleased. He snagged his rucksack with his clawed foot and opened it with his nimble toes. His distal feathers pulled out a small, yellow pouch made of Sowerese silk tied with a drawstring.

  An outbreak of the choking plague would seem perfectly natural. Ary would infect others, and no one could even suspect the Church had assassinated him. He tossed the pouch to Vel with a flick of his wing. Vel caught it, frowning, and his fingers opened the bag to peer at its contents.