by J M D Reid
“What are you doing?” Zori asked, her voice raw from her sobs. “What are you doing to him, Ary? He feels warm. So warm . . . You’re . . . Riasruo Above, you’re healing him?”
Chaylene knelt down beside Zori. She had to explain this in the right way to her friend. “Ary has . . . extra Gifts.”
“Extra . . . Gifts?” Zori’s eyes furrowed. “You don’t mean . . .” The young woman swallowed. “Like what that investigator was hunting for?”
Ary shot Zori a sharp look.
“No one can know,” Chaylene said, her voice little more than a whisper. She seized Zori’s shoulders and turned her. “No one.”
“Riasruo’s golden feathers,” Zori gasped. “Is he one of them? Did . . . did She touch him?”
“Theisseg’s Gift saved Guts,” Chaylene hissed, a new fear swirling through her. “Do you understand that? Ary’s not evil. He’s not a threat. He doesn’t need to be quarantined.”
Guts’s hand moved. He grasped Zori’s. “She’s right,” Guts choked, his voice thick with blood. He coughed again and a dark flood poured out of his mouth. “Saving . . . me . . .”
“I’m going to heal you just enough to explain the tears in your clothing,” Ary said. “There’ll be scratches. You’ll be hurting for a few days. We both will be.”
Chaylene shivered. Her body felt torn and ragged just staring at her husband’s tattered coat.
“Better than dying,” grinned Guts. Then he laughed, a sound that was deep and full of life. “That’s why so few of us died during the plague. Riasruo Above, but you saved the ship, Ary. And no one knows?”
“Estan does,” Ary said. “And his, eh, friend. Esty.”
“The whore knows?” Zori gaped. “Before me? I thought we were close, Chaylene.”
“She’s an Agerzak.” Chaylene swallowed. “She . . . has Her Blessings, too. She knows about Ary’s new powers.”
“How long?” Zori swallowed. “Was it during the Cyclone?”
“Not the one at Camp Chubris. It was over seven years ago.”
“So you were tainted the entire time I knew you.” Zori’s eyes closed.
Chaylene held her breath, staring at her friend, begging with her eyes.
“Well, you saved my Guts, so I won’t tell anyone.”
Chaylene slumped forward in relief and slid her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Thank you.”
Zori squirmed in the embrace. “I wouldn’t have told. You’re my friends. I’ve never had those before, and I’m not ‘bout to give them up now.”
“Is that all I am?” Guts asked as he sat up. “A friend?”
Zori threw her arms around him and kissed him. She instantly broke away, spluttering, her face blanching. “Too much blood.”
Guts grinned. “I’ll have to remember to wipe my lips the next time I’m dying. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Big, dumb boar,” Zori whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. She buried her face into Guts’s neck. “If you’re going to keep getting hurt, you need to stick near Ary.”
“Probably a good idea,” Guts said. He wrapped his thick arms around the slim woman, cradling her with a gentle touch.
Ary leaned back, his teeth gritting. Chaylene moved to him, holding her husband as he healed himself. Out on the balcony, the final assassin went still. Chaylene stared at his plump corpse. I didn’t hesitate to kill him.
Because you’re a killer, the Vionese sailor whispered.
Then Ary gasped, “Vel!”
*
Ary hurt. Scratches raked his arms and legs, each throbbing with a different dull ache. Despite the radiating heat of his Healing Blessing radiating, a cold chill settled in the pit of his stomach, the heart of winter spreading fear through his body.
Chaylene shot him a look, her eyebrows furrowing.
“He’s dying,” groaned Ary, a complex tempest of emotions crashing through his mind. Memories of his friendship with Vel—a dozen or more summers spent romping through grass fields and dappled forests, autumns spent fishing off the edge of Vesche during the harvest, winters daring the thin ice over Grech’s Pond—slammed into the slimy rumors Vel had whispered about his wife, his hot declaration that Chaylene loved him, and those last words, his confession, that had sent Ary reeling.
“I . . . I was about to heal him, then . . . he told me about Wriavia. What he did.” Did that matter? Did Vel deserve to die because he’d stood there and let Chaylene eat the poisoned stew?
Maybe.
But did Ary have to let him die? All he had to do was touch Vel, spill some of his heat into him, and give him a chance to recover. The assassin had used Vel, twisted him, driven him to be the loathsome vulture’s proxy.
Let him die, the rage growled through Ary. The storm rumbled.
But those screams . . . Vel’s piteous, moaning agony resounded through Ary’s mind. They rang back and forth. Did anyone deserve such pain? Theisseg didn’t. Ary found pity for Her. And Vel . . . they had been friends. Once.
Ary struggled to stand.
“Ary!” Chaylene gasped. She grasped his shoulders, steadying him as he growled through his clenched teeth. Agony wracked his body. Everywhere hurt despite the soothing heat. A dozen rends marred skin and muscles. “What are you doing?”
“Vel’s dying,” he growled.
“You’re dying! Look at you.” Horror filled her face as her eyes flicked up and down.
“I’m surviving. I have to do this. Despite it all, he was our friend . . .”
Chaylene’s brow furrowed. “I know. It’s just . . . Remember the ship? You pushed yourself so hard.”
Vel’s screams beckoned Ary.
“I don’t want you to die,” Chaylene whispered, her voice breaking. She grasped his blood-smeared hands, squeezing.
“I’m fine,” Ary lied. A shiver rippled through him, his heat depleting as he mended more of his wounds. “But Vel’s not. I can fix that.” Desperation surged through him. New memories assaulted him, a tide of blood and fear, his greatsword hacking into a wall of bodies, their life bathing him . . . he gripped her hands. “I have to make it right.”
“Right?” Her brow furrowed.
“What about the bodies?” Guts asked, then grunted as he gained his feet, clutching at his torn belly, wounds oozing.
“Stop moving!” gasped Zori. “You’re still bleeding! You need bandages, you dundering boar.”
Irritation flared through Ary. How long did Vel have? But he couldn’t let Guts march around without his wounds tended to. Nor his own. And they couldn’t leave the bodies. He ground his teeth, nodding. “We’ll carry them back. Just hurry with the bandaging.”
“Abdominal wounds take time to kill,” Chaylene said. She threw her gaze around the room then darted to the nests. “Vel has time.”
Ary grated through being bandaged. Chaylene worked fast, cutting off his shirt and jacket. She wrapped rags about the wounds, crisscrossing his torso and arms. He slowed the Healing to the scratches, repairing them enough to explain his clothing’s tattered state. Zori worked equally as fast on Guts while in the doorway, Madam Feitsa watched, shaking her head in stunned shock.
As Chaylene worked, the anger Ary had felt towards Wriavia died into coals. He studied the vulture’s broken body. He had longed to kill Wriavia. He’d thought about it, imagined crushing the bird’s thin neck between his fingers. He remembered the popping snap of vertebrae and . . . He didn’t feel satiated. Wriavia’s death only left him feeling weary.
“More will come if I fail,” Wriavia had crowed. “We are Riasruo’s burning judgment! None can escape her gaze forever!”
Something else to worry about. The threat to Chaylene, and the rest of his friends, wasn’t over. Would never be over . . .
He shoved that aside, letting it drown in the worry for Vel. It would be so much easier to just hate him. The slimy eel tried to murder me, Ary reminded himself. But the knots of worry only intensified. My friend tried to murder me . . . Did I fail him? I nev
er knew he liked Chaylene.
Would it have mattered? another part of him wondered. You wouldn’t have stopped courting her.
“Ary?” Guts grunted, his arm lifting to let Zori bandage his chest.
“Yeah?”
“Why?” He gave a leveled look. “You didn’t want to tell me before and . . . I think I know why, but . . . who are these Luastria?”
“They’re skeins,” Ary answered, not seeing the point in lying. Guts and Zori had accepted that he was Stormtouched. They didn’t see him as cursed or evil.
“Skeins?” Guts asked. “Monks of Riasruo?”
“From the Skein of Adjudication,” Chaylene said.
“The what?” Zori asked. “Never heard of that one.”
The story spilled out of his mouth with Chaylene chiming in to add clarification they’d learned from Estan. It felt . . . amazing to spread the burden further. To not have to lie or be afraid of his friends.
“They really were sent by Riasruo to . . . to kill you,” Guts said at the end, his head shaking from side to side.
“By the Church,” Ary said, his own heart laboring beneath the thought that the Goddess he’d worshiped all his life wanted him dead.
“Theisseg’s tail feathers,” Guts said. “It’s just . . .”
Ary nodded. What could be said?
“The Church must be mistaken,” Guts said, his voice thick. “Must be.”
“Must be,” Ary echoed, swallowing his own thoughts on Riasruo. Did she truly shine with benevolence upon the world?
“Riasruo loves us all,” Zori said, her words firm. “One right thing my ma ever said. It’s the Church, not Her. Priestesses have done bad things. Right?”
“Right,” Chaylene nodded. “They’ve led rebellions, ruled with dictatorial power, made mistakes.”
Zori nodded her head.
Ary swallowed his thoughts. If Theisseg could talk to him, Riasruo might be able to talk to the Bishriarch.
“There,” Chaylene said as she secured a bandage about his left wrist. “Now go, save him. Zori and I’ll search the place and meet you back at camp.”
“You could fly me,” Ary said, seizing on that hope. He would get back faster and . . . he saw the way she looked away from him. “You don’t have the right saddle. You can’t fly me.”
“Sorry.”
He nodded. “Good thing marines can run.” He marched to Wriavia’s corpse and threw it over his shoulder. “Guts?”
Through a mask of suppressed pain, Guts nodded, the other dead Luastria thrown over his shoulder. They collected their weapons. Madam Feitsa, lurking at the end of the hallway, lurched forward at the sight of them. They brushed past her and ignored her protested over ruin to her room. He marched with purpose. He rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time. He crashed through the first floor and burst onto the streets. Pedestrians recoiled at the sight of the two bloody men, bare-chested and bandaged, dead Luastria and weapons slung over their shoulders. They melted out of Ary’s path as he barreled forward as fast as his scratched legs could handle.
Every step sent new agony through Ary. He husbanded his Healing powers, corralling the fires deep inside of him, letting the wounds throb across his body. Sweat broke out across his face and shoulders. He shifted the weight of the greatsword and thunderbuss on one shoulder, Wriavia on the other.
The Luastria felt lighter.
His teeth clenched, fear whipping at his heels, he marched on. A rhythm entered his steps, the cadence from hundreds of jogs at Camp Chubris. The familiarity set his mind free to drift through problems.
What was he to do about Wriavia’s threat? The second assassin validated it. More would come. He couldn’t tell Captain Dhar the real reason Wriavia had attacked Vel. Even if he could convince her that him being Stormtouched wasn’t a threat, who would believe that the Bishriarch, Riasruo’s skybound representative, would order someone to be assassinated?
Would kill not only a Stormtouched, but the entire crew of the Dauntless?
Ary’s thoughts sank into those dark mists. He never knew when they would rise out of his soul. They swallowed his mind, making the world feel distant and shadowed. Did Riasruo truly hate him? And even if she didn’t, what could he do about the assassins?
They wouldn’t stop. And . . . how long before someone else died? Eleven had already perished. His wife had almost died three times. Would everyone around Ary suffer because of Theisseg’s touch?
At the entrance to the Rheyion Naval Port, a pair of marines on duty, stationed at the base, gasped, their shock dragging Ary’s thoughts out of their numbed drifting. His awareness felt every burning slash ribboning his body.
“Adjutant-Lieutenant,” one choked off and managed a salute.
Arms full, Ary nodded as he passed.
“He’s a butcher,” Ary heard the other whisper. “Heard he killed a hundred Agerzaks at Offnrieth with that big blade of his.”
Did I? Blood and offal smeared across his frenzied memories of Offnrieth. His stomach tightened. He had to get to Vel.
Captain Dhar waited before the medical building. Her face tightened at the sight of them. “Two of them?”
Ary swallowed his urge to get in there and heal Vel, but the captain would expect a report. He threw the corpse down at her feet. “They put up a fight. Guts and I sustained wounds.”
“I see that.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks, Captain. They scratched us up. Most of the blood is theirs.” Ary peered past her. “If you would excuse me, I need to see to my friend.”
The shift in her expression presaged her words. Ary’s stomach clenched as she said, “Vel passed a half-hour ago.”
Despite the words, her slumped posture, Ary shook his head. “I just need to go in there and. . . and . . .”
“I’m sorry, Ary,” she said. He had never heard her use his diminutive. Her hand touched his bandaged arm. “Lieutenant Jhoch said he stopped fighting after you left. He went peacefully. No pain.”
Ary shook his head. He was here to heal Vel. To save him. Why didn’t I do it earlier?
“I . . . I . . .” He stared at the door to the medical building. “I was going to . . . to help him, Captain. We were friends once, you know. And . . .”
Captain Dhar nodded her head. “He’s in there, if you want to say goodbye to him.”
A tightness strangled Ary’s throat. He trembled, staring at the door. How could Vel be dead? He was alive an hour ago. In pain, screaming, but he lived. Abdominal wounds didn’t kill right away. Maybe . . . maybe he’s not dead dead. I burned through Chaylene’s barrier.
He ignored that voice whispering how he’d failed to burn through Lieutenant Chemy’s.
He wrenched open the door. Lieutenant Jhoch rose from a chair and said something to Ary. He didn’t hear, his gaze focused on the bed. On the form covered in a sheet. Ary crossed the distance in a few long strides. He wrenched back the blanket.
Vel appeared asleep, his face pale-tan, his eyes closed. The bitter hatred, the sneering contempt filling his expression the last few months, was gone. The boy Ary had played with as a child, his good friend, shone through.
Ary seized Vel’s hand.
Felt only death’s chill. He didn’t even try to send his fires.
Ary’s legs buckled. He sank to his knees by the bed, staring at his friend. “I’m sorry,” Ary whispered. “I should have saved you. Taken away that pain.”
“Nothing anyone could have done, son,” the medical officer said, his voice tight.
I could have saved him.
“Let me check your wounds. Riasruo Above, did you roll through a blackberry patch?”
“Fought a Luastria,” Ary answered.
“Ah . . . yes. Well, still.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out flat. Ary rose. With care, he placed Vel’s hand back on his chest. Ary grabbed the sheet and began drawing it over his friend before pausing. “I don’t know if we could have mended our friendship, but . . . I wish I’d let yo
u try. I did it again, Vel. Just like with my ma. I pushed you away and now . . . now it’s too late.”
Ary took a final moment to study his friend’s peaceful face before he draped the cloth over him.
Guts waited outside for Ary. The bodies were gone, along with Captain Dhar. Night deepened. Stars twinkled with all their happy brilliance, unconcerned that another Human had died. The cold air numbed his aching wounds. He still held back the fire.
“You okay?” Guts asked.
“No,” Ary said, words flat.
Guts nodded his head and clapped a hand on Ary’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. They stood in silence for a few moments. Wind gusted from the harbor. The cold sank deeper into Ary. He couldn’t believe Vel was gone. The last month he’d hated Vel so much, wished to never see his friend again, wanted to batter his face in and now . . .
Now he just wanted to sit on the edge of Vesche, fishing pole in hand and Vel beside him.
“Thanks again for saving me,” Guts said.
“You’re my friend.” Ary straightened. Out of his pain, a certainty swelled. He would never let another friend die. No matter what it might cost him.
“Yeah, but you’re risking your freedom trusting me and Zori.”
“You’re my friend,” Ary repeated.
Guts squeezed Ary’s shoulder again. “I’m going to go find Zori and get drunk.” He paused, shaking his head. “And hold her.”
“Good idea. Night, Guts.”
Ary marched back to his house. Chaylene waited outside for him. Her eyes studied him. A tremble raced through her body, eyebrows arching.
Ary shook his head.
Emotion flickered across her face. She bowed her head for a moment, her entire body almost contracting in on itself before she straightened. Breath exploded from her as she nodded, hands washing before her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I . . . I thought there’d be time . . .”
He took the two steps up the porch to her. She took his hand and led him inside. He didn’t know what to say. Vel was so entwined in his life. Despite all the pain of the last few months, he felt something torn from his chest.
Ary slumped to a seat at their dinner table, a fly buzzing away from the cold, half-eaten fish. He poured himself a large glass and drank half of the sour-sweet wine in a long swallow. Chaylene poured her own.