by Leo Hull
Storm Unbound
Fallen Power 1
Leo Hull
Copyright © 2020 by Leo Hull
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter One
Tristan’s vision swam, his stomach rebelling so forcefully he feared losing even the meager food he’d choked down before starting this insane venture. Not for the first time today, he sagged against a tree and stared at the ground, wishing he had something to take the edge off and stop the world from rolling under his feet like the recently departed ship deck.
A man shouldn’t have to travel without a stiff drink, and he cursed the quartermaster that had rationed only enough of the strong, foul sailor’s rum for a man of normal appetites. In the city he wouldn’t have had to drink such swill.
And he wouldn’t have had to limit himself.
“Still? It’s been two days!” Annik’s voice grated on his ears, each word a clanging reminder of poor choices that left him wincing in regret.
Tristan looked up through eyes squinted against the sun. His expedition leader stood with arms crossed, staring back at him with pink lips pressed into a tight line of judgment. Even now he found it hard not to lose himself in her deep blue eyes set in a heart shaped face. Those eyes flashed with what Tristan hoped was amusement at his boyish behavior, but, given the set of her shoulders and jaw, seemed just as likely to be frustration.
Fallen, she was beautiful—even her impatient squint only made Tristan want to needle her more. He could make a game of getting her cheeks flushed with anger then twist that to laughter with antics that the Corp had failed to hammer out of him.
Tristan hadn’t wanted to come on this voyage. By the Fallen, he hadn’t even wanted to join the Corp in the first place. He’d failed the tests, so what was he doing on an expedition reserved for Aeol’s finest? He might be one of the Corp’s better drunks, but his skill at waking up in parts unknown with no memory of how he got there hardly seemed useful here in the wilderness of a foreign continent.
At least he’d been partnered with Annik, though she insisted on wearing the cumbersome armor that obscured a body Tristan thought might provide some distraction from this otherwise dull exercise. All the women of the Aeol Corp were built for performance, but the Corp insisted on uniforms and armor that made even the curviest soldier boxy. Now that they were off the ship and alone on their mission, Annik stuck to regulations like a tick to a dog, but perhaps Tristan could bring a smile to her face and get her to loosen up more than just her dedication to the rules.
He straightened, thrusting his chest out and putting on a disarming smile.
“A man has—” he began before doubling over and vomiting, his pack sliding over his head and sending him crashing to the ground in a heap of disappointment and failure that smelled suspiciously like the alley beside a tavern. Tristan pushed himself to the side, collapsing and looking up as the crunch of boots brought Annik into view.
“Feel better?” Annik asked, a look of disgust and pity on her face. Tristan preferred the angry look from days prior as he had finished off the final skin of what should have been a standard four-week supply for a sailor. It had lasted him the week it took their small skiff to find rapids, and then just two more days after they were forced ashore and Tristan realized just how damned heavy a pack full of liquid really was.
“No,” Tristan grumbled, squinting his eyes against the halo of light around Annik’s angelic face. His appreciation of this heavenly vision of beauty was ruined by her look of judgment, like she had stumbled upon a former compatriot reduced to begging in the street. “Leave me.”
“Two days? You’re still hungover after two days?!” Annik barked at him.
Tristan flinched with every word—not from the meaning behind them, but just because each syllable felt like a nail being driven through his skull.
“I had a lot to drink.”
“You’re Bolstered! What the fuck do you mean you had a lot to drink!? No wonder you failed the tests. I figured a drunk like you would have at least mastered cleansing in your sleep so you wouldn’t have to deal with the hangovers.” Annik stared at his unflinching face. “You do know how to cleanse, right?”
“Of course.” Tristan tried to rustle some righteous indignation at the accusation, but even he couldn’t be upset at the question. Perhaps some humor. “Why bother with cleansing when a morning sip is just as good? I find nothing helps with a hangover like another drink or ten. You don’t happen to have any of that foul rum hidden away, do you?” Tristan smiled, and this time managed to give the grin that had turned more than a few tirades about his behavior into the start of a good night.
Annik’s mouth fell open and she scowled at him before unslinging her pack and pulling out her spare waterskins. She tossed them next to him.
“Cleanse yourself,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no room for disagreement.
“Now?” Tristan blanched. The process of driving toxins from his body was never pleasant. He expected this hangover coming to roost after a month spent in a drunken stupor would be particularly hellish. He eyed the skins of water, wishing they were spirits.
“Yes, now. I’ll leave you to it and find a stream.” Annik shouldered her pack. “You remember how to follow the signs?” Tristan waved a hand at her, but she ignored him. Her face softened. “Tristan, this is serious. This isn’t some training exercise. We’re alone across the sea and if you get lost or can’t cut it, you’ll die.”
“I remember,” Tristan grumbled. “But why do you have to bring that shit up? I should be back drinking myself out of the Corp, not stumbling my way into the wilderness like one of Aeol’s best and brightest. Why am I even here?”
“Because I asked for you,” Annik answered, her voice choked with sadness. She turned and walked away, leaving Tristan with only the visage of Annik’s disillusionment with him.
Tristan lay there stunned at the admission.
She had asked for him?
The two were from the same class, but he’d never been friends with her. Outside of training he must have interacted with her only half a dozen times over the years it took to make it, or in his case fail, as a Bolstered in the Corp. Tristan had always been the type to do just enough to avoid scrutiny, definitely not the type that the achievers like Annik associated with.
Tristan wracked his brain, trying to recall if perhaps their families had some dealings. It would be j
ust like his father to try and pull some backroom maneuvering without informing him, and Tristan making it into the Corp would certainly benefit the family company.
But Annik’s disappointment seemed more personal and less a reaction to a mission failure.
The worst part was that for the first time in years, that disappointment hurt Tristan, worming its way through the shell of indifference he’d carefully erected.
Tristan muttered, shrugging his shoulders so he could free himself from the straps of his pack. He sat up, staring after his classmate turned expedition leader as she disappeared uphill following the game trail. He hadn’t believed in himself for years and didn’t know what gave her the right to see him as anything other than the drunk that he was.
His pack contained a communication crystal that would signal the ship that it was time to pick them up and leave this foreign soil. This whole farce of a venture only delayed his inevitable return to the familiar bars and brothels of Aeol. He considered calling the ship. Not only would this save him from weeks or months wandering like an idiot through the forest, but once safe on the ship he could drink himself into oblivion rather than face Annik’s disappointment.
How long did he have to get to the rendezvous once he signaled for their return ride? Did he meet them at the impassable rapids where they’d been dropped off, or would he have to make the trek to the mouth of the river through the bug-infested marshlands that they’d thankfully passed through on the skiff?
Tristan remembered none of these details, nor even any helpful bits about the first two days of their hiking thanks to the drunken stupor he’d spent them in. He mainly recalled the laughing admiration of the sailors and how it had turned to disbelief, and then anger, as he used his Bolstered status to requisition more than his fair share of their ever-dwindling supply of alcohol. The officer had barely been able to contain his men as Tristan packed away the last of the skiff’s spirts and it was sure to be an unpleasantly sober trip back to the coast for the crew.
Without any idea where to meet the ship, let alone how to get there, Tristan’s head filled with a disturbing vision of him wandering alone and lost, the crystal blinking away with meaningless instructions. He’d have to face Annik and whatever unspoken promise she saw in him, but that was a far cry better than dying alone—especially given he’d have to face his end, and all the regrets he’d drowned over the years, sober.
Chapter Two
Tristan dropped his bag and pulled out his shirt, finally dried from the gallons of sweat that had pushed the toxins through his skin. The pack chafed and while he could heal the rash well enough with his Bolstered Gift, the discomfort was ever-present. He wanted to take a break, but he’d already spent hours—an embarrassingly long time for a Bolstered of his age and training—cleansing himself, and the sun had long ago passed its zenith.
The signs Annik had left were easy to follow, though Tristan felt embarrassed that he still hadn’t caught her considering she bore the dual burdens of both navigating and marking the path for him. He had to be getting close, though. Already one tiny brook at the bottom of a valley lay behind him, but after he filled a skin with more grit than water, he saw why she had forged ahead.
He had to admit, though he knew he would never give Annik the satisfaction of voicing it aloud, that he did feel better. He was no stranger to drink and the months since his failure during the Corp tests had seen him spend more time in the bars and brothels of Aeol than out. Even that paled next to the bender of drinking with the sailors during the voyage overseas. Despite his newfound appreciation for a clear mind, Tristan couldn’t help but smile at the memories of sitting drunk on deck leading the crew in shanties.
Even Annik had joined in, her crystal-clear voice piercing over the organ-like harmonies of the men’s rumbling baritones. She’d blushed as the men watched her, but Tristan had seen the smile on her face when she turned to look at him, her blonde hair blown out behind her in the ocean breeze, clumped together by the salt spray but no less enchanting. Now that had been the type of view he longed for this whole expedition. The spray off the ship’s bow had plastered her shirt against her breasts and left nothing of her taut curves obscured.
Like most Bolstered, she had the body of a marble statue carved by a master’s hand, though hers had been sculpted by years of training beyond what any ordinary man could tolerate. The soft curves of breasts gave way to abs and rippling muscles that promised a far more spirited challenge in bed than the soft whores Tristan was well acquainted with. Annik had seemed to invite his gaze, leaning back on her arms with her chest thrust out and the slightest smile as he stared hungrily at her.
Never one to content herself with idleness, Annik had insisted on lending her considerable strength to tasks that could use it. The men were grateful to have it, at first only to enjoy the view of her powerful curves and unencumbered breasts swinging beneath her wet top as she hauled on ropes, but they quickly grew to love the way she could replace two or three of them on a line with her Bolstered strength. She didn’t need breaks and delighted in outworking even the most experienced of the crew.
Tristan had laughed at the suggestion he join her. He was better suited to leading song and serving as a sort of mascot for the ship—a beloved fool that the crew plied with food and drink.
Now that had been a life to consider, Tristan thought. Maybe as a mate of some sort, with an extra helping of the swill that he’d never deign to drink on land but got him drunk all the same. If it weren’t for the storms and the thought of long voyages without the companionship of a woman, seafaring certainly seemed a good match. No one batted an eye at drinking, and no one expected you to do more than your job.
A man’s belligerent bellow and a woman’s scream echoed through the forest, breaking Tristan out of his reverie. His head snapped around in time to catch a flash midway across the valley that left streaks of white across his vision even in the daylight. A low rumble of thunder reverberated in his chest. The sky was clear, yet there had been no mistaking that noise.
Tristan blinked his eyes, trying to clear the holes in his vision as he focused on the valley from his perch along a ridge. At least he wasn’t hungover still or the pain from the sudden flash of light would likely have set him on his rear and tumbling down the steep incline. He could see the bristling tops of evergreens below him, already growing thinner than they had been at the start of the day’s hike.
Tristan took a deep breath and concentrated on his Gift. He felt whatever had been bound to him those years ago shift upwards, driving away the spots in his eyes and returning his vision and hearing to the sensitivity of a child’s. Colors popped and the flap of birds fleeing the area filled his ears. A whiff of smoke rose a few hundred yards into the valley, not terribly far from where he thought the yell had come from.
Aeolian ships had scouted the coast on multiple voyages, searching for rivers to ease the inland passage. Unlike other lands explored and colonized by the Corp, here they’d never once reported any sign of people. The woman’s yell might have been Annik’s, but the man’s voice could only be from unexpected company and it hadn’t sounded welcoming.
Tristan noted the direction and rough placement of his target. Once he plunged among the trees it would be easy to lose his way. He inspected the slope down the hill, steep but certainly within the scope of what a Bolstered should be able to handle.
He stepped to the edge then began a careful slide down the hill. Dirt, rock, and the forest’s litter slid with him, tumbling down around him in a cacophony that he prayed didn’t carry into the trees. He picked up speed as he went, the dirt crumbling and preventing attempts to slow his descent.
His foot caught a root, and with a strangled yelp Tristan rolled down the hill, the world spinning as he flipped end over end. It was all he could do to shield his face and head and he didn’t try to arrest his fall. The load in his pack shifted and clanged, sounding his approach until he felt it snag and tear away.
Tristan sprawled at t
he bottom of the hill, bruised but otherwise unharmed. Dust rose around him. His pack had been ripped away during his fall, but he didn’t have time to try and find it. If Annik was in trouble and moved he might never find her, and then he’d be well and truly fucked. If he needed his armor or sword he could come back after locating Annik’s trail.
Checking that his knife was still strapped to his belt, Tristan stood and oriented himself, found the sun, and started a careful approach towards the source of noise and light. The trees pressed together here in the valley, but the forest grew with enough space for him to pass without needing to fight his way through undergrowth. He kept his eye on any glimpse of the sun through the canopy to orient himself. The ridgeline soon disappeared from view, and he slowed as his ability to gauge progress towards the whiff of smoke lessened.
The forest closed in on him, the trees growing closer and increasingly obscuring the sun. He felt drained from cleansing his hangover but pressed away the guilt he felt that his bender might be the cause of both his and Annik’s troubles. He could drink the shame away later once this sham mission was aborted.
A soft voice drifted in from the woods, not too terribly far off the line he had taken. Tristan froze. Annik was close, she had to be. Or maybe whoever Annik ran into. Tristan couldn’t imagine anyone standing against her, even if they had flashy pyrotechnics.
Tristan crept closer, his pace slower than he’d like but he had no other choice. His muscles strained at the effort, and he could feel exhaustion creeping in—not surprising given his lifestyle the past few months but still a reminder that even a Bolstered couldn’t rely on his Gift alone. By the time he peered through a bush’s foliage at Annik, his thighs screamed in protest. He squatted and took in the scene, rubbing life back into his legs.