by J M D Reid
“Course not.” Guts slapped him on the back and pushed him into the quartermaster’s building.
Ary glanced at his other friend for confirmation. Estan’s forehead was furrowed. He’s shocked by it, thought Ary. He knows I love Chaylene. Can’t blame him for being puzzled.
“Estan, you won’t say anything, right?”
“Oh, yes, Ary. I would never break your confidence. I hope you would trust me with anything.”
“Of course I do.” Ary’s lie twisted in his guts. “You’re my friend.”
Estan’s furrow relaxed. “Good. I do mean it. If you ever have any problems, you can trust my discretion.”
Inside, the quartermaster’s warehouse stretched out of sight, its ceiling high overhead. Windows near the exposed rafters let in the morning sunlight. Riasruo’s warmth fell on boxes, crates, barrels, and sacks that formed jumbled stacks separated by narrow aisles. A desk sat near the door with an unlit oil lamp and a pile of papers resting upon it.
“Hello?” Ary called, his voice echoing through the building.
A door creaked open. The quartermaster’s small room lay behind his desk. A sailor stepped out, his white shirt untucked, his light-brown hair mussed. A bandage covered his right cheek and temple, tied in place by two strips of white-yellow linen.
“What?” Petty Officer Myar, acting quartermaster, grunted. Chief Cheme still lay wounded in the hospital, clinging to life while his assistant quartermaster, Petty Officer Chuven, had perished during the fight.
“I need a replacement jacket, shirt, and trousers,” Ary rumbled, staring at the scowling man. Ary was a corporal, the highest ranked marine to survive on the Dauntless, and equal to Myar’s position. “Right away, Petty Officer.”
“You don’t give me orders, hero,” Myar muttered, eyes flicking towards Ary’s Stormrider blade.
Heat touched Ary’s cheeks, his shoulders shifting. Many of the survivors made much of his charge onto the foredeck to save Windwarden Tharele despite the fact Guts and Estan rushed into danger with him. He just did his duty, like everyone else.
“I need it,” Ary continued.
“Why?”
“I tore my jacket, shirt, and trousers bad. So can I get replacements?”
“Does your commander sign off on it?” Myar asked, sitting down at his desk and shuffling through the stacks of papers.
“I’m the acting marine commander, so I give myself permission, Myar.”
“No can do, Corporal.” Myar gave a tight grin. “Acting commander ain’t the same as commander. I can’t be giving out Naval property without proper authorization. Why don’t you run along and speak to Captain Dhar? Tell her how you ruined your uniform. I bet it was so heroic.”
Oily dread sparked off the fires of Ary’s anger. Heat billowed through him. He leaned over the desk, eyed the acting quartermaster, and did the best impression of the gruff Sergeant-Major he could. “You listen to me, guppy. I’m the Stormin’ commander of the Marine Detachment on the Theisseg-damned Dauntless. I need a fresh jacket, shirt, and trousers for the ceremony this afternoon. So you’re gonna stop asking questions and do your Stormin’ job before I plant my boot so hard into your backside I kick you off the skyland.”
Ary became aware of Guts looming beside him. Even Estan’s slimmer form held a dangerous tension.
The acting quartermaster shrank back in his chair, glancing at the even larger Guts before gazing at Ary. “Well . . . I . . . but . . . regulations . . .”
“Article 23, paragraph 7 of the Autonomy Naval Regulations states: ‘a marine of the Autonomy of Les-Vion is required to be in uniform at all times while on duty,’” Estan recited. “‘This uniform shall include, but not be limited to: one set of leather boots, black; one pair of wool trousers, blue; one wool shirt, white; one wool overcoat, red; one leather sword belt; one sabre or appropriate sidearm.’ Now, Petty Officer Myar, you’re in violation of regulations if you do not procure Ary his replacement uniform.”
Myar gaped at Estan. Ary wanted to as well. He’d never thought Estan possessed such menace. The timber of his voice had an edge to it.
“Well, I guess,” Myar squeaked. “He does need it. And, um, he is the acting commander. So I guess I better . . .”
“Do your Stormin’ job?” Ary suggested.
“Yes, Corporal.” He grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a bill. He shoved it forward. “Sign at the bottom while I go fetch them.”
Guts let out a bellowing laugh as the petty officer scurried off into the warehouse. “So, Ary, how did you ruin a whole set of uniforms?”
Ary shifted. “It’s embarrassing.”
Guts leaned in. “Maybe Chaylene was a little . . . emotional when you told her about Ahneil. They say Vaarckthians have that hot—”
Ary pushed Guts hard in the shoulder. “Don’t say that about my wife!”
All her life, Chaylene had heard that same talk from the goodwives of Isfe. Ary’s own ma had accused both Chaylene and her dead ma of being hussies. “That’s why their skin’s so dark,” the women would titter, “because Vaarckthian blood burns so hot it blackens the skin.”
“Sorry, Ary,” Guts said, raising hands open-palm before him. “Didn’t mean nothin’. Just making a joke. I know Chaylene ain’t like that.”
Ary swallowed. His anger lashed out before he could even control it. “Yeah, all right. Sorry for the push. It’s been a stressful few days.”
“I can tell,” Guts muttered.
*
“Course I’ll wash this up for ya,” the laundress said, a young woman with a gap between her two front teeth. “Be pure as blue sky. Give me a good quarter hour to scrub it fresh.”
Chaylene nodded her head as she handed over her jacket. She took a moment to remove the book she kept in the inner pocket, her fingers sliding over the leather cover. She kept two flowers, gifts from Ary, pressed between the pages.
“Thank you,” she said to the laundress.
“My pleasure, dearie,” the woman said and gave Chaylene a motherly pat on the cheek like more than a year separated their ages.
Blinking, Chaylene picked up the bundle of Ary’s ruined clothing and left the laundress to her work. She marched to the boardwalk running along the skyland’s edge. It wasn’t uncommon for garbage to be thrown off a skyland into Theisseg’s Storm. Many people took pleasure in tossing their refuse into the Dark Goddess’s domain. She tossed the bundle off Les, startling a school of small, orange fish. They darted into the craggy purple coral, hiding amid the small canyons and crevasses. The cloth fluttered into the boiling clouds of the Storm Below. Theisseg lurked in there, writhing in pain. It sent a dizzy rush through Chaylene.
I’m helping to free Theisseg! The Dark Goddess. It baffled her. But Ary . . . She trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t make up something so terrible if it wasn’t true.
The Storm’s chaotic surface proved too terrifying to gaze upon, the immensity of their task yawning open before her like the jaws of a red kisser shark. She wrenched her gaze to the Dauntless moored at the nearby dock. The ship hovered next to a pier thrusting out over the skyland’s edge and supported by thick pilings driven at sharp angles into the coral-coated side of Les. The carpenters had replaced the ship’s gunwale, the fortified railing ringing the decks, damaged by the metal-tipped arrows of the Stormriders. Fresh planks, a purer yellow-white instead of leached to a dull cream by the sun, striped the hull.
The wind gusted around her, fluttering her blonde hair. Her blood chilled, a shiver shaking her flesh. The Cyclone roared in her memory louder than a panicked flock of ostriches. A sound so powerful it vibrated through her. The maelstrom’s winds slammed against the Dauntless, the two Windwardens fighting against the storm to keep the ship from being ripped to pieces.
Chaylene wanted to forget, but every time the wind blew, her blood froze. Metal flashed, reflecting brilliant lightning. Sailors screamed in maimed agony. The salty, tangy scent of blood stained the air. She ground her teeth against the shouts, r
ubbing her arms and—
“Here you are!”
Chaylene whirled to battle Stormriders; cold exhilaration surged through her as she gathered Pressure to blunt an arrow streaking at her—
The laundress smiled at her. “Didn’t mean to startle you, dearie. Your coat.”
A surge of foolishness rushed to Chaylene’s cheeks as the laundress shook her wet jacket. She’d felt so certain death came for her. “I . . . I was . . .”
“Gathering clouds,” the woman nodded. “I do it to from time to time. Ain’t no harm in it.”
A powerful blast of wind surged out from the deep sky, whipping Chaylene’s ponytail past her face. Dread curdled her stomach. Her shoulder blades itched.
She glanced behind her.
Saw blue skies and Riasruo’s rising sun.
Chaylene took her damp coat from the laundress, the powerful scent of lye tickling her nose, and fled. The wind chased her back to the Dauntless’s section. Memories assaulted her. She stood in the crow’s nest forming bullet after bullet with her Pressure, aiming through the scope of her rifle, and killing.
Over and over, her compressed bullets of air punched through armor and—
“Chaylene!”
She started, almost dropping her coat.
“There you are,” an energetic voice called out.
Zori limped across the parade ground, leaning against Guts’s broad frame. She wore a simple white dressing gown, the wind fluttering it about her legs. Short, blonde hair framed her round face. At the best of times, her diminutive frame gave her a childlike appearance, but next to the looming Guts, she seemed a toddler. A wince crossed her face, her hand clutching her side.
“Should you be out of bed yet?” Chaylene gasped, rushing to her friend.
“I’m getting better,” Zori said, smiling like her forehead wasn’t tight with suppressed pain. “I got this big boar to lean on. He can be quite useful.”
Guts’s hand squeezed Zori’s slim shoulder. “I do have my moments.”
“If only those moments could last a little longer.” Zori giggled. “Then you’d be perfect.”
Guts laughed deep and loud while Chaylene’s cheeks burned. Zori’s green eyes flashed up at Guts, her smile impish. While Zori’s forwardness didn’t shock Chaylene any longer, it still made her squirm with embarrassment. Zori had grown up an orphan on the streets of Sey, dodging pimps and the workhouses as she’d struggled to survive. She joined the Navy to escape. And to get three meals a day.
“It’s wonderful to see you up,” Chaylene said before giving her friend a ginger hug.
“It’ll take more than an arrow to keep me down!” Zori exclaimed as she hugged Chaylene back. Then the wounded girl sucked in a sharp breath. “Theisseg’s cursed Storm, that hurts!”
“My advice: don’t get shot by arrows,” Guts said sagely.
“Instead I should use my face to block sword stokes like you?” Zori arched her eyebrows.
“It worked.” Guts’s smiled despite the bandage across his face.
Zori rolled her eyes. “At least I still have a pretty face. Your way left you hideous.”
“It’s all part of my plan.”
“How?”
“Why, to scare away the Autonomy’s enemies.” He thumped his chest. “They’ll take one look at my ravaged face, blanch in horror, and flee.”
“I guess that’s a bonus.” Zori let out an exaggerated sigh. “It is a shame. You were handsome before. I guess I’ll have to put up with your disfigurement.”
“So, will you be sailing with us when we leave?” Chaylene asked.
“Yes!” Zori hissed, nodding fiercely.
“Nope,” Guts contradicted.
Zori glared at him. “I didn’t spill half my blood on the Dauntless only to get left behind! I’m not being drummed out of the Navy.”
“Which is why she’s sailing on a civilian ship with the others who’ll recover,” Guts said. “Not on the Dauntless when we leave.”
Zori’s face fell. “Lieutenant Jhoch insists. Says I won’t be fit for duty for a while longer.” She gave Chaylene a hard look. “So it’s up to you and Velegrin to do all the scouting.”
“We’re in so much trouble,” lamented Guts.
He grunted as Zori planted her elbow in his side.
“I meant because of Velegrin. Chaylene is an excellent scout. Second only to your magnificence.”
“I knew I kept you around for a reason.” Zori stood up on her tiptoes and barely managed to brush Guts’s chin with her lips.
Guts’s grin widened as his eyes turned to Chaylene. “So, Ary won’t tell me what happened to his uniform. What did you do to him last night?”
Zori’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, what happened?”
“Nothing,” Chaylene lied, shifting.
“It must have been something. Your wrist is hurt,” Guts said, nodding to the bandage peeking out of her shirt sleeve.
“Oh, that. I was just clumsy,” she said, hoping the words came out natural. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as last night nor looked as bad as she remembered. “It had nothing to do with my husband and our . . . discussion.”
“Come on, you can tell me about your conversation,” Zori said, arching her eyebrows.
Chaylene glanced up at Guts, biting her lip.
“I need to talk to my friend. Do you mind, Guts?”
Guts glanced down at Zori. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”
She nodded. “Chaylene can help me.”
Guts kissed Zori’s forehead before strolling off towards the barracks. Zori shifted as Chaylene wrapped her arm around the slim woman’s shoulders, pulling her close. Zori’s grin became impish. “So?”
“Ary and I . . . worked out our problems last night.”
“So he told you his great secret about his dreams?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And Ary knows I love him. He trusts me. Everything is wonderful.” Mostly. The dark, cold anger that demanded Wriavia’s death swelled in her.
“So, what was up with his dreams?”
“I can’t tell you. I promised to keep it a secret.”
Zori fixed Chaylene with a piercing stare. “Of course you can. It’s not breaking your promise with me.”
Chaylene blinked. “How is it not?”
“Because I’m your friend. And friends don’t have secrets between them.”
“Zori . . .”
“Come on, Chaylene,” Zori whined. “You were so unhappy yesterday. You didn’t . . . with Vel?”
“No! Never. He’s a liar.”
“So what were the dreams about?”
Chaylene hesitated. Zori would keep prying. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll be as closed-mouth as a bass.”
Chaylene’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“You know, basses never open their mouths. So I won’t either.”
“Sure they do. How else do they eat?”
Zori opened her mouth, then frowned. “Huh? I don’t know, but that’s what people say in Sey. Means they won’t snitch.”
“Okay. When we were kids, Ary witnessed a Cyclone. He’s been afraid of one happening ever since he joined up.”
“Really? I didn’t think Ary was scared of nothing. I heard he once threw a punch at the Sergeant-Major.”
“He gets scared. When the Cyclone came, he was petrified. He didn’t want to go and fight. But he did it to protect me.” Chaylene swallowed. “So, he finally just admitted it to me. He was afraid I’d think him weak and not a man.”
Zori rolled her eyes. “You should hear Guts boast about his wound. ‘Didn’t hurt a bit. After that Theisseg-damned rider cut me, I smashed my fist into his head and caved in his helmet. Kept right on fighting. Wasn’t ‘bout to let some little scratch stop me.’ Can you believe that? Half his face cut off, and he calls it a scratch.”
Chaylene giggled.
Before Zori could continue, Ary called out, “Hey, Lena!”
Her husband strode across the parade grounds wearing a brand new jacket. “I need to get you back to the medical wing,” Chaylene said. “Ary and I need to head into Shon.”
“You sneaking out of camp?”
“It’s Dawnsday. And no would care anyways. We’re free until noon.”
Zori’s face fell. “Yeah. Okay. I’m feeling winded anyways and—”
“Scout Jayne,” a voice boomed behind her. “And Corporal Jayne.”
“Yes, Lieutenant-Captain?” Ary said, stopping a few paces from Chaylene.
She turned. Lieutenant-Captain Pthuigsigk, the Dauntless’s first officer, stood behind her, his dark-blue jacket brushed and buttoned, his copious medals and awards dangling across his chest in even rows. His blue eyes, so light compared to the ebony of his Vaarckthian skin, fixed on her, his face hard as cold stone. The only time Chaylene had ever heard passion in his voice was the morning of the Cyclone. Rumor gusted that a thick scar ran across his chest from a Stormrider’s blade.
She snapped a salute. It was awkward while trying to hold up Zori.
“The both of you are to report to Captain Dhar’s office by third arc.”
“Yes, Lieutenant-Captain,” Chaylene answered, her husband echoing her.
The first officer nodded and strode off.
“What did you two do last night?” Zori asked, her eyes wide. “It must have been wild. Did you two get caught watching some stars?”
“No!” gasped Chaylene, mortification and dread rippling through her, contrasting waves of heat and cold.
“Nothing? You went as pale as an Agerzak.”
“Let’s get you back to the medical building,” Chaylene said, voice breathy. “Ary, can you help?”
“Yeah, Lena.” Ary put his arm around Zori’s waist. “Hey, good to see you up and about.”
“What are you two hiding?” Zori asked. “It’s not fair to keep secrets from me.”
“We, um, reconciled last night and it was . . . public . . .” Ary muttered.
“So you were star-watching!”
Chaylene’s cheeks grew warmer at the euphemism for activities best kept to her marital bed. But it was also a lie she could survive. “Yes. Okay, Zori?”