by J M D Reid
“But . . . but . . . he’s staring at me.”
“The sailor?”
She nodded. “I see him all the time.” Her words had a peculiar cadence, like her words came from a great distance. “In my dreams. When I close my eyes. He asks me why I missed the pirate, but not him.”
Ary’s throat tightened as the pain spilled across his wife’s face.
“Why I murdered him, but not that filthy pirate.” A dark emotion animated her face, twisting it into something full of loathing.
“Lena . . .” What could he do for her? He felt even more helpless than he had at the infirmary. But he couldn’t run away from his wife like he’d the Bosun and Ienchie. He could help her. If he could find the words to say. “The sailor was attacking the Dauntless. You were protecting the crew, like you protected me. He didn’t have a choice. You’re not a murderer. You’re a—”
“I am!” He watched wild pain flash across her face. “I aimed at him. I fired. I killed the sailor. I shot him in the head. The pirates made him, but . . . but I had to kill him. And . . . and how can you love someone who would do that?” She cupped her hands out before her, fingers trembling. “How? I formed the bullet with my powers. I sent it hurtling through the air. I watched it strike him in the face. He fell dead to the ground. I murdered him, Ary!” She buried her face into his chest. “I murder him over and over in my dreams. Then I couldn’t kill the one man who deserved it.”
He rocked her in his arms, held her tight. “You’re not a murderer. You’re a sailor. A soldier. Just like me. Neither of us are murderers.”
Her shuddering slowed as she stared at him. “Ary . . .?”
“I keep thinking that,” Ary said, his words slowing. “After . . . the docks . . . There were so many of them. They just kept attacking us. They wanted to kill us. With the bombs falling through the town and . . . they saw us. They hated us, and they didn’t care how many died. They just wanted to rip us apart. I had to keep swinging my sword. It was like chopping firewood. Muscles burning from use. Sweat pouring down my face. Only it wasn’t sweat. It was too sticky, too—
“But that doesn’t make me a murderer. Right?”
“No!” Her words were fierce. Her head raised up to look at him.
“So why does killing the sailor make you a murderer? Because you had to—deserved to—survive.”
Her forehead creased. “I . . . does it make it right?”
“It makes it necessary,” Ary said. “I don’t think ‘right’ survives in battle. Was it right when I killed . . .?” The memory of those amber eyes staring up at the blue sky filled his thoughts. “When I killed that Stormrider while she was gazing at the heavens? Will what we did ever be right? How can it? If it was, I wouldn’t feel ripped to bloody pieces inside of me. It makes me feel like . . . I’m a monster. That beast who beat Sharthamen—”
“You’re not a beast!” She cupped his face, staring at him. “You’re a good person. Because you hate yourself for what you did. You want to be better.”
“Good person . . .” He stared into her eyes and . . . flashes of her gray irises glossy with fever stared at him. A sickly hand beckoned as she swung on her hammock, throat swollen. “I . . . I almost let you die.” It was his turn to share his regret.
“Die?” It was her turn to be confused.
“When you were sick.”
“You healed me.” She shook her head. “Ary, how did you almost let me die?”
“I fled from you. It took Vel, of all people, to make me see reason.” Ary’s brow tightened, a new pain joining the shame.
“I don’t understand . . .” Her eyes widened. “I thought that was just hallucinations, you walking away. I was feverish, drifting in and out of dreams and regrets, but . . . it was real? Why, Ary?”
The pain in his wife’s question ripped at Ary’s soul.
“Why would you abandon me?” He witnessed agony swimming in the depths of her cloud-gray eyes. “I was dying and . . . you fled?”
“I was scared.” A massive fist seized his entire body, squeezing hard. The words exploded from him. “I was so terrified that you’d die. That I’d have to watch the life choke out of you. I couldn’t face that again. Not after Srias. Not after I failed to save her.”
“Scared?” she whispered. The pain retreated, her eyebrows furrowing.
“I couldn’t save her, Lena.” The world swam around him. It was all too much, admitting how weak he was. How pathetic of a man he was. His wife had lain dying, and he’d ran. How could he claim he loved her? “I didn’t know I could save you. I thought you would die. I didn’t want that . . . I was such a coward! A little boy too frightened to face the world. To face it without you.”
He hugged his knees to his chest. It all poured out of him, the shame, the helpless impotence, the terror. His entire body shook, chest heaving as it sobbed out of him. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness.
But how could she forgive him? How could anyone forgive that?
Her arms went around him. “But you saved me, Ary. You . . . You came back . . .”
“And?” he croaked. “Does that change what I did?”
“I can’t change what I did either . . .” Her arms tightened around his shoulders. “I can’t change my failures. But . . . but . . . you overcame yours.”
He lifted his face and stared at her through bleary eyes. Her face swam before him, dark but haloed by golden hair. Shining light. “Lena?”
“Do you know what I see when I look at you, Ary?”
“What?”
“A good man. Someone that has struggled and fought against so much pain in his life and is still able to smile. Someone that might make bad mistakes, but corrects them. You inspire me. You give me hope, Ary. Hope that I can be like you.”
“Like me?” His forehead furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“That you’re a good person!” Her face twisted again. Her body shook. It was her turn to collapse. Her arms slipped about him while her wet face buried into the nape of his neck. Another shudder wracked her body.
“And you’re not?” He asked, holding her tight. “You didn’t murder that sailor, the pirates did! They put him in that situation. Him and all the others. Just like . . .” Flashes of the men he’d helped press-gang to serve on the Dauntless filled his mind. Men he’d dragged onto a doomed ship. “It’s not your fault. You’re not to blame!”
“I was supposed to protect you and keep you safe, Ary!”
“You did. I’m safe.” He kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her pain. “I’m right here.”
She lifted her head and shook it. “But not whole. I promised your sister I’d bring you home whole. How can I tell her I failed?”
“Is this because of the letter?”
Chaylene nodded.
Ary snagged it off the table and read:
My dear sister Chaylene,
I hope you and my downyheaded big brother are doing fine. I know you are. I’m not afraid about the rumors of these nasty pirates. I know you and Ary will drive them from the sky, and that you’ll keep my big brother safe. Sometimes he doesn’t have much sense in his head. I suspect it’s too full of ostrich down, but you’ll be there to keep him out of trouble.
Me and Jhevon will keep the farm running until you get back. Then we can finally be a family again. I’m so looking forward to having my big sister back. I can’t wait to hear all the stories and adventures you and Ary are having.
Your loving sister
Gretla
I was about to mail the letter when I caught Jhevon and Myrian kissing in the barn. They were so angry when I burst in on them. Myrian covered her face with her apron while Jhevon tried to catch me. But he’s too slow.
“How will I tell her I didn’t protect you?” Chaylene asked, her voice sounding dead. “How do I tell her about Offnrieth? She won’t understand that I had to kill that sailor. How can I make her understand?”
“I don’t know.”
Chaylene clung to him. �
��How do I tell her about Whitesocks? I can still hear him neighing in pain. He was such a beautiful creature. He didn’t deserve to die. I made him fly into that battle. He didn’t have a choice.”
Ary didn’t know how to answer his wife. He just held her as she sobbed. Ary had no idea how he would tell his little sister about the men and women he’d butchered to stay alive at Offnrieth. He hacked them to pieces with the greatsword. They were just defending their town. How could Gretla ever understand the simple truth of war: you kill or you die. Right or wrong was quickly lost in the mire of blood and guts.
When his siblings had pestered him for descriptions, he’d had no answers for them then. Only . . .
“We’ll lie,” Ary said. It wasn’t the right answer; maybe there weren’t any right answers.
She looked up at him. “What?”
“Gretla never has to know the things we’ve done. How can she possibly understand? She’s still innocent.” Ary caressed Chaylene’s cheek with his left thumb. “At least we have each other. And Zori, Guts, and Estan. We all understand, Lena. You’re not a murderer. You’re a sailor who did her duty for the Autonomy. You scarred your soul so Gretla, and others like her, could remain unharmed.
“You sacrificed for them. You were put into the mire and had no good options on how to save yourself, to protect the ship. To protect me.”
“Ary,” she croaked, staring at him. “See.” A tremulous smile crossed her lips. “You’re a good man. You can love even me.”
“It’s not hard.” But this next part was. He didn’t want to broach it, but he had to get it out there. He could see the strength in her. She would survive this pain. She’d endured her mother’s drinking, the vitriol of their hateful neighbors, gained confidence in the Navy. “You know what I see when I look at you?”
“What?”
“The strength to endure all the pains of life. To stand tall. To still smile. To still love and care. I know I can be weak around you because I know you’ll support me. That I can lean on you. You’re trustworthy.”
“Ary . . .” She looked down, squirming. “You know I’m not.”
“You made a mistake with Vel. Will you make it again?”
A fierce look answered him. “Never!”
“I believe you. I trust you. I put my life in your hands, and you protected me.”
She pressed her forehead against his. “I don’t know what to say, Ary.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know the pride I feel when I see you advise the captain. At how much you’ve blossomed. We’ve left childhood behind. It was painful, it left us battered. We hurt each other, but we both survived. We came out better people. So I know you’ll be strong while I’m gone.”
“Gone?”
His shoulders tightened as he braced. “I might be . . . leaving.”
She jerked her head back. “What?”
“My time in the Navy is over. Estan and I . . . we’re going to figure out Theisseg and the dreams.”
“What about me?”
“I would love for you to come with us, but . . .”
Her face hardened. “The Navy.”
“I haven’t decided, but I know if I go, you’ll be fine. You’ll have Zori and Velegrin. And it won’t be forever. We’ll write letters, and who knows? Estan’s tutor is smart. We might crack this fast.”
Chaylene sighed, her eyes closing. “I think I drank too much, Ary. I’m an idiot.”
“I think so,” he nodded.
“That I’m an idiot? Or that I drank too much?” Her tone held a lightness.
“There’s only one safe answer,” Ary said, a smile touching his lips.
“You do what you believe is right,” she said, voice strong. “You’re the better person. I trust you. I love you.”
“Thank you,” Ary whispered.
“Love you,” she muttered, her words growing more slurred as her eyes closed.
Ary held her until she fell asleep. Then he carried her to their bed, undressed her, and covered her with a blanket. He watched her sleep as he pondered Estan’s request. He knew she was strong. She would survive while he was gone. Ary glanced at his hand.
I can’t protect her any longer. I need to find a way to free Theisseg. The Church will never stop hunting me. Chaylene will always be in danger from them.
But his heart ached. He didn’t want to leave her behind.
Epilogue
Qopraa, the Skyland of Vaarck
Satrap Qozhnui Uulvigk, Master of Secrets for the Emperor of the Skies, tucked the mist gem into his pocket where it clinked against the other four. The gems were an amazing discovery. Instant communication between linked pairs so long as both users possessed at least Moderate Mist. For two years, he had kept them secret. Qozhnui knew one day the rest of the skies would learn of the gems, but until then, his spies could whisper all their secrets to him.
A smile crossed his lips. His Majesty would be pleased with the news from his spy aboard the Adventurous. His gambit with the pirates had changed the pieces upon the board.
Qozhnui stepped out of the antechamber and back into the Privy Council. The heart of the government of the Vaarckthian Empire was an ornate room in the Imperial Palace. A heavy table, draped in crimson damask threaded with highlights of spun gold, dominated the room. Emperor Veukni I Aepriqoigk sat at its head upon a carved chair adorned with the wyvern of the Empire rearing above him. The Emperor’s advisers flanked down the table’s long edges. Appointments to the Privy Council were the subject of endless maneuvering by the various factions of the Empire. Qozhnui reveled in the intrigue brimming in the room.
All eyes lay upon Qozhnui as he returned to his chair.
“My humblest apologies, Your Majesty, but my secrets could not wait.” Qozhnui lifted his glass of Bzeupthin brandy, savoring his sip of the amber liquid.
A smile crossed the Emperor’s lips. He retained his youthful handsomeness as middle years crept up on him and still possessed his military bearing: straight back, lean frame, hard face. Qozhnui always thought the Emperor cut a dashing, even stirring, form in the red coat of a Vaarckthian Naval officer.
“And what is your secret?” the Emperor asked, fixing hard, gray eyes upon the spymaster.
“The Bluefin Raiders have been destroyed. Three days ago, the Autonomy assaulted their fortress and rid the skies of the vermin.”
The Emperor’s brow tightened. “You promised they would cause months more of economic damage while keeping the Eastern Fleet occupied.”
Qozhnui shrugged. “Not every plan proceeds the way we expect, Your Majesty. Especially not a plan over two years in its execution. But never fear; the pirates have done their job. The Eastern Fleet stands at two ships. The Dauntless was destroyed.”
The Emperor glanced at Grand Admiral Uickthio Rnuilsick. The bold-nosed woman with rust-gray hair pulled into a bun gave the Emperor a tight nod, her face hard. “That gives us a seven ship advantage if the Autonomy brings in their Eastern and Western Fleets.”
“More than enough, Your Majesty,” Qozhnui added. “Our mighty Navy shall sweep the Autonomy’s fleet from the skies with ease. Admiral Rnuilsick always speaks highly of our forces’ prowess.”
The admiral fixed Qozhnui with a hard stare then said, “It is only seven if they do not pull any of their ships from defending their skylands. We would have to respond in kind, and given the rise of Cyclones, that might be precipitous. The Autonomy has well-trained crews and well-equipped fleets. Seven is not enough.”
“What is enough?” the Emperor asked. “We finally have a noticeable advantage. We have built five warships in secret. Their shipyards are only now constructing new vessels against our aggressive posture. If we do not act soon, we will lose this fair wind.”
“And if we doom the Empire?” the admiral asked.
“My mother failed to act at the right time.” The Emperor’s face hardened. “Her regret poisoned her. All she wanted was to regain the Empire’s lost territory, but she
listened to her frightened advisers. Are you a carp hiding in the coral while the shark swims by?”
The admiral stiffened. “No, Your Majesty. I am merely advising you on the situation. War has unexpected consequences. Like Satrap Qozhnui’s plan, nothing proceeds as expected.”
“And what does the Church think of my ambition?” The Emperor glanced at the only non-Vaarckthian in the room.
Archbishopress Puoupyi ruffled her dun feathers, her head cocking to the side. Tradition always gave a member of the Church a seat on the Privy Council. Usually it was the Bishopress of Vaarck, but the archbishopress had arrived four days ago with missives from the new Bishriarch. “The Church fully supports this course,” she sang. “The Vionese have grown far too independent from Riasruo’s Church. The Empire has always been her most fervent defender, and Riasruo believes Your Majesty will make an excellent steward of the skies.”
The Emperor smiled. “Admiral, ready the fleet. It is time to end the Autonomy. We are at war.”
Qozhnui sipped at his brandy as a smile crossed his pudgy face.
*
The University of Rlarshon, the Skyland of Rhogre
Investigator Archene Thugris’s cane thumped hard upon the stone floor of the College of Material Philosophy’s basement. She limped with an angry step, dragging her crippled leg as fast as she could. She had been enjoying her daughter’s recital with her husband. Shuthaye possessed a beautiful voice, and it had almost been time for her solo when the runner from Philosopher Duthan arrived with a simple message: “You are needed.”
Myathun Chone sobbed in his cell as she passed, his muffled grief bleeding through the stout door. The investigator refused to dwell on the “interrogations” the young sailor had endured for the last month.
The Stormtouched need to be studied. The secrets to defeating the Cyclones must be learned. Archene repeated the mantra, whipping it against the guilt. Philosopher Duthan’s techniques had stolen all the promise of Chone’s life.
Archene reached the door to the Duthan’s study and threw it open without so much as a knock. The grandfatherly man sat at his desk, his bushy-white eyebrows raising in shock at her entrance.