by Cheree Alsop
It was an understatement. Orion practically fled whenever to woman came in sight. It was reassuring in a strange way to Zyla that he didn’t fall for the redhead’s charms the way so many of the crew had. She had lost count of the hearts the woman had toyed with and broken. She bored of her playthings quickly.
“I’d recommend getting some food into him after patching him up. He looks like he could fall over at any moment,” Veldean said.
Zyla moved past her without another word. She didn’t know how she would pay the woman already.
“And Zyla?”
Zyla gave an inward sigh and turned around.
Veldean’s gaze was knowing in the electric light from the orbs. “That was for free,” she said with a wink. “We all owe him for rescuing this wreck. Consider this gratitude.”
Relief filled Zyla. “I will,” she said. “Thank you.”
She hurried away before Veldean could come up with something else. The fact that Zyla had gotten away without a debt amazed her. Crew members collected debts like others gathered bugs or flowers or the leaf pressing book Jeremiah kept under his mattress. Zyla had long ago realized that debts meant power. She wasn’t about to give anyone power over her if she could help it.
She hurried to the forecastle deck, then paused.
The sight of Orion, his back hunched, his chest bare and covered in bruises, and blood trickling from the wound in his shoulder, did something to her heart. She could take strong men and women. She had been surrounded by them her entire life. Even as a branded, examples of strength could be found in the darkest belly of a ship or on the topmost solar sail. Strength came in many shapes and sizes, from a woman who cut off her own thumb to keep gangrene from taking her life, to a man who broke his leg falling from the mizzen mast but refused treatment until he helped bring the sails in before they were destroyed in a windstorm.
Yet here on the deck before her, nursing his wounds in silence, sat a man she didn’t understand. He had risked his life countless times for her, and she was a mere stranger. He had done the same for the crew, and rescued them when it looked as though all was lost. He didn’t ask for recognition or the luxury of a doctor’s care, a bath, and his own bed. Instead, he slipped away to where he would bother no one, found the means to repair his own injuries, and sat up here in the silence she loved.
She could see the thread in the bowl off to his side. His shirt was next to it. It was easy to see where he had attempted to clean some of the blood with the edge of it. By the looks of the dark liquid that no doubt matched Veldean’s fabled tonic, it must have hurt a lot.
“Orion, can I help you?” she whispered.
She didn’t want to overstep if he needed his space. Everyone dealt with battle differently. Some of the crew played cards, others ate, and many put their energy into repairing the ship, but each needed an outlet. If his was being left alone, she would respect that.
Yet his lack of answer worried her. She stepped lightly around the mast he leaned against. His head was back and his eyes open, but they didn’t focus on her.
“Orion?” she said. When he didn’t respond, she touched his shoulder lightly.
He grabbed her hand with lighting speed. With a shove and a twist, her arm was pinned behind her back tight enough that a single jerk from him would dislocate her shoulder. His other hand was wrapped around her neck. The skin of his palm was rough where it had been worn raw in the fight. His fingers tightened on her jugular.
“Orion?” she squeaked.
Orion’s hands paused. She felt him become stock still behind her.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I-I came to help,” she said, her voice tight.
Orion spun her around so quickly to face him that she lost her balance. His sure hands caught her and righted her before she could hit the deck. She stared up into his goggles, his blue eyes just visible behind the dark lenses. His gaze was intense and his chest heaved as he stared down at her.
His eyes widened; he glanced around quickly and then looked back at her. His hands dropped from her arms and he took a step back against the mast.
“Zyla, I’m so sorry,” he told her with pain in his voice.
Zyla shook her head and willed her voice to be steady when she said, “You didn’t know what you were doing. I shouldn’t have woken you.” Her heart raced in her chest. He could have killed her. She had felt it in the strength of his hands and the way he had held her without mercy. One quick movement and she would be lying dead on the deck. She told herself he didn’t mean it, but how much did she really know about him?
Confusion knotted Orion’s brow. “I was asleep?”
Zyla thought of the strange, blank stare that had been on his face. “Something like that.”
Orion lowered his gaze. “Then I attacked you.”
Zyla steeled her nerves and touched his arm. When he refused to look at her, she said, “You’ve been through so much. This isn’t exactly the peaceful life. It’s been hard on you.”
Orion shook his head. He looked down at her and said, “It’s been hard on you, and now this.”
Zyla gave him a tentative smile. “To be honest, I don’t know what’s happened to either of us.” She swept her hand to indicate the boat. “If you told me I’d be onboard the Circinus even a week ago, I would have said you were crazy.”
Orion’s voice was quiet when he said, “At least you can remember what you were doing a week ago.”
Zyla’s heart went out to him. He looked so lost standing there with his back against the mast, his eyes unreadable, and blood dripping from the wound in his shoulder. Empathy was dangerous for a branded to have; you couldn’t feel for another when you were busy just trying to protect your own hide. Yet Orion’s honesty was refreshing and heartbreaking at the same time. Never had she spoken to someone who laid himself bare without a care for what she thought of him. Orion was real all the way through. He was strong when he had to be, and yet now, when it was just the two of them, she saw how broken he really was.
“I don’t know how to help you with your memory, but I am handy with a needle.” She gave his shoulder a pointed look.
Orion glanced at the wound as if just remembering it was there. He watched her for a moment, his expression uncertain.
“Shouldn’t you be patching sails or decking or something?” he asked.
Zyla scoffed. “As if Uncle Demetri would let me.” At his questioning look, she explained, “One time I was supposed to be scrubbing the deck and thought Veldean’s brew would be a better cleaner than the one we usually used.” She fought back a smile at the memory. “By the time they realized what I had done, half the varnish was gone. He banned me from helping out.” She was rewarded by an answering smile from Orion when she said, “Granted, I was five years old at the time, but still, my uncle doesn’t forget anything.”
“So you’ve got nothing better to do?” Orion asked with a hint of teasing in his voice.
Zyla grinned. “Nothing at all. But I do need to practice my stitching.”
That brought a laugh from Orion. “I have a feeling I know just what you should practice on. May I be of service?”
“It’d be an honor,” Zyla replied.
Orion gave in and knelt on the deck so she could reach the wound easier. Dawn didn’t penetrate the clouds yet, but the glowing light of the orb lit them well enough.
Zyla dipped her hands in the tonic to sanitize them, then pulled out the needle and thread. She tried to thread the needle, but her hands began to shake at the implication of what she was going to do. Her gaze flickered from the tiny hole in the needle to Orion’s face. One of his brows was quirked questioningly.
“Are you losing faith in me?” she asked with a forced laugh. “I can’t even thread it.” She lowered her hands. “We should get Doc.”
Orion shook his head. “I’m not letting Doc do anything. I don’t trust her.” He pulled off his goggles and met Zyla’s gaze. “It’s you or me.”
When
Orion removed his goggles, it unsettled Zyla in a way she couldn’t explain. His gaze was so frank and open without the dark lenses. The blue of his eyes wasn’t so bright at the moment; instead, it flickered inside his irises like tiny flames waiting to ignite. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach with the directness of his stare.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered.
Orion nodded, but didn’t put the goggles back on. He toyed with them in his hands, running his fingers over the rivets and admiring the craftsmanship.
With his attention averted, Zyla found that she was able to thread the needle without much difficulty. She pulled the strands even, then tied a knot in the end the way Sundown had taught her. Her chest tightened in the same familiar way at the thought of the kindly old woman who had flown aboard the Vela and taught her to sew after she lost her mother. The woman had been a grandmother of sorts. When Zyla asked her father why Sundown still flew at her age instead of retiring on one of the Villager ships, his only reply had been, “To fly is to live.”
Zyla had thought his answer was in reference to the fact that water held all the danger, but now she knew there was much more to it than that. Sundown could easily have retired on some Class Five Dweller where her needs were tended to and she could live the rest of her life without worry or effort; but now she understood Sundown’s choice. To fly was truly to live. The work required, the comradery, the unknown, and change were all a part of life. Sundown had thrived on board even with her long gray-white hair and paper-thin skin. Zyla knew that if she was given the choice, she would also choose to fly.
She put the needle to Orion’s skin and was glad to see that her hands only shook slightly.
“I’ve never actually done this before,” she said, her words just above a whisper.
“Me, neither,” Orion replied in a voice that steadied her. “We’re both learning something new.”
Zyla’s breath caught in her throat. “If it hurts too bad, promise me you’ll let me get Doc.”
Orion was quiet for a moment before he said, “I promise.”
Zyla knew she couldn’t stall any longer. The sooner the wound was closed up, the better Orion’s health would be. He had gone through enough to send most men to bed for weeks, yet he knelt on the deck with his gaze on the clouds and his hands resting loosely on his knees. She could smell the tonic on his skin and hoped that Veldean’s brew was potent enough to at least numb some of the pain.
She pushed the needle through his skin. A slight intake of breath was all the sign Orion gave that he felt it. Zyla eased the needle through the skin on the other side and pulled the thread along. The feeling of it sliding through unsettled her stomach, but she kept the nauseous sensation down with a determined shove.
Orion hadn’t made a sound. Emboldened, she made the next stitch.
By the time the gash at the top of his shoulder was closed, Zyla’s hands worked with steady efficiency. A sheen of sweat that beaded along Orion’s back and chest was the only outward sign he gave of the control it took to hold completely still. Zyla swiftly tied off the thread and used the end of her knife to cut it short enough that it wouldn’t snag.
She lowered her hands, but he didn’t move.
“I’m done,” she whispered.
Orion’s head rose slowly and he looked at her. The light in his eyes appeared lower than she had ever seen it. Exhaustion showed in every line of his body.
He gave her a weary smile. “Thank you. I think I’ll survive now.”
She shook her head worriedly. “Not if you don’t eat something and get some sleep. I’ll go see if TK has your room ready and stop by the galley to grab you some food.”
Orion settled against the mast and leaned his head back. “I’d rather be under the stars,” he told her. A sheepish look crossed his features and he said, “It feels more like home that way. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
Zyla watched him for a moment. His eyes were heavily lidded with the need for sleep, and yet he fought it to watch the stars that filled the heavens. Her gaze followed his to the empty spot she could have pointed out without looking.
“I think I need to tell you my dream,” Zyla said quietly.
Orion’s expression was unreadable when he said, “Alright.”
She hesitated, then sighed and lowered to sit on the deck near him. She searched for ways to start, but none of them would make her sound less crazy.
She finally gave up and went with, “Do you know of the prophecy?”
Orion shook his head without speaking.
Zyla’s voice was a quiet cadence as she recited, “In the heavens stars align, to bring us freedom in their time. With faith in foe and sea divine, the fates change footsteps with the nine. Orion’s fall and freedom’s rise bring independence to the skies.”
Orion’s brow was furrowed in concentration when she stopped speaking. When he recited, “Orion’s fall and freedom’s rise bring independence to the skies,” it was with a reluctance she had never heard from him before. “Who said it?” he asked.
“The Oracle Frizon,” Zyla replied. “She said them before she died years ago.” She thought of her own faith in the words and gave her head a hard shake. “Revolters always thought that Orion meant the Citadel Airship. It’s the home of the two ruling bodies of the world, the Lunarians,” she held out her hand to show him the brand, “And the Solariats. Volter scholars thought that when the alignment of the nine took place, the Orion would fall from the sky.” Her voice lowered. “We were ready to attack when it fell and claim back our freedom, but it didn’t work out that way.”
“What happened?” Orion asked. His voice was gentle as if he felt the heartbreak in her words.
Zyla closed her eyes and replied, “When the alignment happened, thousands of us were ready to attack. Revolters, which are branded who have escaped and wanted to fight back to protect their families, were positioned in Haulers, Skirmishers, Traders, you name it, they were there. The plan was to cut down the ruling class in one swift blow to end the terror they have caused.” She looked up at the stars. “But we were wrong. The ship didn’t fall, and instead, the constellation of Orion vanished from the sky.” She pointed to the empty space where it had been. “No one understood how that could happen, and mass chaos erupted.”
Orion must have read by her expression that her story wasn’t over, because he sat quietly and waited for her to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again, her tone was haunted with the emotions she couldn’t conceal.
“Many of the Volters took advantage of the chaos to attack anyway. My father took me with him. Because of his knowledge of the ship, he got the closest to the royal chambers. His friends were cut down left and right, but he refused to go back. When he threw open the doors and ran inside, his guns raised to end their reign of terror, he found that we had been betrayed. Instead of the royal Lunarian King, armed branded stood to greet us.” A tear slipped free from her closed eyes and trailed slowly down her cheek. “They shot him in front of me, and then branded me in that room.”
A shudder ran across her skin. She wiped her cheek and turned her gaze on Orion. “I was sold to the highest bidder, a captain named Holland whose enforcer, Miga, was known as the cruelest on any ship. King Tolier agreed that it was appropriate punishment, and so I was sent away.” Her faced paled. “I had the first dream that night.”
“What was it?” Orion asked quietly.
Zyla pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She felt like a small child telling her parents about a nightmare, yet she knew it was something else, as she had known then.
“I was aboard the Orion again, only it was different this time. Thick, black sludge covered the halls and the ceiling. Everywhere I looked, people were moaning and dying. The darkness fed on everything and everyone. I ran, but my feet refused to move fast enough. Each step took effort, and I knew I was losing, but I also knew that if I gave in and let the darkness take me, the hope of the world was gone.”
; She closed her eyes and let the memory carry her. “I reached a set of tall golden doors that I hadn’t seen when I was there with my father. I put a hand to them and they opened. The chamber inside was beautiful. Huge windows showed the world below and the entire floor was made of glass. It would have felt like standing in the clouds, except when I looked down, there were no clouds and no sea. Instead, the thick sludge had taken over everything. Creatures with gaping mouths and jagged teeth lunged from where the Unified Sea should have been and up at the ship, but they couldn’t reach it. They fell back only to try again.”
Her voice quieted. “That is where the dream ended the first time. I didn’t know what to make of it, and didn’t tell anyone, but the next night, the dream continued.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “This time, when I stared down at the creatures that had taken over the sea, a laugh sounded, and then another. I turned around to find that the door had vanished. In its place stood a raised dais made of gold. On top, in colors so bright it hurt my eyes to see them, stood Empress Evangeline and King Tolier.”
She opened her eyes and looked at Orion. “Empress Evangeline is the granddaughter of Breckthall, founder of the Solariats, while King Tolier is the grandson of Mangelia, the first Lunarian. They’re supposed to be separate ruling heads to keep the balance, at least, that was the idea.”
Orion gave her a searching look. “How were they supposed to keep balance if they were separated?”
She toyed with the cuff of her pant leg as she replied, “When the Unified Seas joined, the monsters rose, and the world took to the skies. Order was created by separating into two classes, the Lunarians and Solariats. In order to keep one party from growing too strong, they were supposed to rotate every 3 years.” She drew her knife and cut off a thread that hung from the seam of her cuff. “But on the night the constellation vanished, the Solariats refused to give up the throne and fortified the Orion. My father’s death was the first command Tolier gave as the self-proclaimed King.”
Her throat tightened, cutting off her words. Zyla was surprised when Orion brushed her shoulder with his fingers. Her heart slowed at the reassurance of his touch.
