by JMD Reid
The way she stalked away from Ary, the angry huff about her, encouraged Vel. Ary hurt her. Just like Vel had promised. A smile spread his lips as he stopped before the door to her room, his britches tight with his eager desire. He raised his hand, poised to rap knuckles on hard oak.
Memories stayed him.
Boyish excitement echoed through his thoughts, pulling on a wooden pull to set the hook in a blue-stripped trout, fins fluttering. He sat, legs dangling over the skyland’s edge, sharp coral pricking his flesh through tough denim. Ary, sitting beside him, lunged out a hand and snagged Vel’s fishing line.
“That’s a big one, Vel!” Ary cried out, earnest joy resounding in his tone, hands pulling in the line.
“Bigger than the one you caught!” Vel laughed, sounding so young.
“Way bigger!”
Memories of splashing down the muddy Bluesnake chasing squawking ducks, mallards flashing blue wings. Water splashed, birthing twinkling day stars before their laughing faces. Of racing through the cool shadows of the Snakewood, ferns whipping at denim-clad legs. Heart pounding, thudding feet behind him. The goal ahead, a gnarled stump, promising safety from the “Storm wraith,” Ary. Chaylene ahead, beckoning Vel, her foot planted on rotting bark, screaming his name with exuberance.
Ary crashed behind him, a belligerent boar. Vel ran faster to reach her.
Chaylene beckoned in the present now. She lay on the other side of the door, and one thing stayed his knock. His stomach curdled, bile creeping up his throat. Friendship balanced against desire, that aching longing he tried to satisfy with a dozen different girls, and a goodwife or two. But none were her. None owned the radiance of her smile, the coal-dark beauty of her skin, the shimmering ripeness of her hair.
Why did you have to fall in love with her, Ary? Why couldn’t you have chosen Brelyn or Iatlisa? Why her?
By the time Vel had realized the beauty Chaylene blossomed into, come to recognize that she was more than the adventurous girl who played boys’ games, Ary had already set his hook and reeled her in.
Vel turned fists against friendship, gritting his teeth, dredging up other memories. How many times did I face Pa’s belt because Ary dragged me out of school to fish or chase ducks? How many times did he force me to be the pirate so he could rescue Chaylene and thump me atop the head? Always his games! Why does he get to decide?
Why does he get her? Why not me?
He knocked with the courage he’d lacked since that moonlit night. Beauty, painted by blue moonbeams, illuminated before his eyes.
“What?” Chaylene hissed from the room. The door ripped open. “Unless you’re . . .”
Her words trailed off. She blinked gray eyes, her blonde hair falling in a tousled mess about her ebony face. The loosened laces of her bodice exposed more of her skin than he’d ever seen. Hunger swirled through him.
Yes, tonight I’ll pluck her flower. Fists hammered back friendship. Seeing Chaylene made it so easy.
“Oh, Vel,” she said. “Sorry, thought you were Ary.”
“No, I’m a far more handsome than him.”
He meant it as a joke, but her face hardened. “Well, it’s late, and we’ll need to be up early for the Rosy Prayer.”
He caught her door as she tried to shut it. “Just making sure everything’s fine. You stormed out after the performance.”
“Just . . . Ary.”
“I saw. He made you sad again.”
“Who’re you talking to?” Gretla’s impish voice asked from inside the room.
His stomach lurched.
“Just Vel,” Chaylene answered. “Go to sleep, sharkling!”
“How? It’s the Summer Solstice tomorrow!” A bed creaked. “And you’re talking to Vel.”
Chaylene stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. She sighed, “That girl’s got more energy than a school of minnows trapped in my skirt.”
Vel chuckled, trying to hide his sour mood. No spreading sweaty thighs tonight. Unless . . . “We can go talk in my room. It’s quieter.”
Chaylene arched an eyebrow. “It’s not appropriate for me to visit Ary’s room, let alone yours. Besides, I imagine one of those sighing girls has smuggled herself into your bed.”
He liked her disapproving tone.
“Not as far as I know.” He held out his arm in invitation. “I just want to talk.”
Her eyes flicked to his arm. “About?”
“Ary. I told you he’d make you sad. I wouldn’t make you storm off. Ever.”
Her body stiffened. “What are you saying, Vel?”
“Just . . .” Say it. Tell her how you feel, you downyheaded fool. Molasses coated his tongue, holding back from saying those three words. “I’d treat you like you were special. I wouldn’t dismiss you. If you were my lady.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Looked like it.”
“I think . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m scared, Vel. What if he is drafted? I don’t want to be waiting in my hovel for word to come in that he’s been killed. Four years, Vel. Four! It’s an eternity.”
Instincts guided Vel. “Sounds like you’re not sure if you love him.”
She recoiled from his words. “Of course I love him. I’ve always loved him. He’s gentle and sweet. He’s my friend and more.”
His heart beat so fast. He stepped closer, felt the heat of her body separated by only a few fingerswidths of air. “But if you loved him, you wouldn’t have doubts, right? Love’s a bonfire burning between two people. There are no doubts when a bonfire’s blazing.”
“I shouldn’t have doubts. But . . .” A haunted look flashed across her face, a tightening of grief and embarrassment, echoes of how Chaylene looked herding her drunk mother through Isfe, shoulders hunched as the goodwives muttered.
“Woman has no propriety.” Vel’s ma would often say about Chaylene’s. “Vaarckthian hussy, selling her fires to those dirty sailors at the Watch to keep ‘em warm.”
“But who wants to be a widow at twenty, right?” he asked. I have her. “Especially in Isfe. But my offer stands.” He flashed her his dazzling smile. His hand touched hers, finger stroking, letting her get used to the feel of him.
Her face changed for a moment, something bright blazing through her ebony skin. His heart beat faster. She leaned in to capture her lips in his. His body moved to pin her to the door, to show her how passion truly blazed between people who actually loved each other.
He’d show her the bonfire Ary had failed to stoke in her. Else he’d have plucked your flower already. That realization justified Vel’s actions. Proved that she did not want Ary.
But instead of the kiss on the lips he expected, she hugged him, her face swerving past his. And it wasn’t the hug of lovers, but one his sister would bestow. Her lips touched his cheek, hot but brief, enough to ignite an inferno in his trousers but not promise any satisfaction.
“Thanks, Vel.” She broke the embrace, stepping back and grabbing her door’s bone handle. “Let’s just pretend tomorrow’s going to be fine. I don’t think I can sleep any other way.”
Patience. She’s not a flowering ragweed, but a blossoming rose. You don’t find a beauty like that growing in the ditch. “Of course. Everything will work out.”
Her doubt and fear gave him hope. She fought her desires for him. He could see it in her eyes as she smiled. But she clung to Ary. Maybe she fears him. She’s seen him fight. How will he react when she rejects his marriage proposal? A winter’s gale howled down his spine. Has he ever threatened her? She has to be afraid of that. That’s why she brought him up when I offered to take her to my room.
Riasruo, please let him get drafted. Then Chaylene and I can be happy. He can meet another girl in the Navy. Find his own happiness.
Four years would be plenty of time for Ary’s hurts to heal.
Chapter Seven
“Wake up!”
Ary groaned.
“Come on, Ary.”
Something heavy lan
ded on the straw mattress beside him. Then something narrow and hard poked him in the ribs. He groaned, forcing his eyes open. Gretla looked down at him, a toothy grin spreading across her face. She jabbed her finger hard into his ribs again.
He flinched.
“Stop that,” he muttered, his voice sleepy.
“Come on.” She bounced, her blonde hair flying loose about her shoulders. “We can’t miss the Rosy Prayer.”
For the second night this week, he’d dreamed of the golden Luastria.
Please! End the pain!
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shake the memory out of his mind like a goodwife shaking the dust out of her curtains. Today was too important to worry about dreams.
“Get dressed!” Gretla poked him in the ribs again, a sharp nail digging into his meaty side.
“Yeah, yeah,” he winced. He sat up, his stomach roiling with nerves. Today, he would receive his Blessing and enter the draft. His entire future balanced precariously: conscripted into the Navy and lose Chaylene, or stay a farmer and start his new life with her. He wanted to believe she would marry him if the Navy drafted him, but he saw fear lurking in her eyes.
“You’re not getting dressed,” huffed Gretla. “Do I need to shark you?” She gnashed her front teeth at him.
He couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, no. So terrifying. The Little Gretla Shark, the most harmless shark known to hunt the skies.”
“I am not harmless!”
“Your teeth are dull and your bite is small. Hardly a threat to a big, strong man like me.”
She gnashed her teeth. “I’ll bite you, Briaris. Now get dressed.”
“Fine,” he groused. “You want to leave?”
She scampered off the bed, her blonde tresses trailing behind her like the plumage of a bird. She paused at the door, “I’m counting to a hundred, then I’m coming back in! And if you’re not dressed . . .”
“You’ll bite me?”
She nodded. The wooden door crashed shut behind her. “I am not missing the Rosy Prayer because you wanted a lie in this morning!”
End the pain!
“How?” Ary muttered to his memory of the Luastria as he grabbed his saddlebag. He fished out his best shirt, mended only once, and pulled on a pair of dark brown denim overalls. He splashed water from a bowl Jhevon had left out on small table, then ran his fingers a few times through his blond hair. Last, he pulled on a pair of socks and his heavy, ostrich-leather boots.
“You better be dressed,” Gretla shouted, bursting into the room. “Because, I’m . . . Oh, good. Let’s go.”
His sister grabbed his hand and jerked him out of his room, down the stairs, and into the inn’s common room. There, the rest of their party from Isfe gathered at the tables. Everyone ate a simple meal of barley bread, bacon, and sow’s cheese.
“Where’s Jhevon?” Ary asked. “Why didn’t he wake me up?”
“Oh, he snuck out to kiss Myrian Xogrly,” Gretla giggled. “Only her pa caught them. Jhevon is getting his backside tanned.”
“And how did Master Xogrly know to catch them?”
“A little shark told him.”
Ary chuckled while peering around for Chaylene. He should have apologized last night, and hated the cowardice that kept him away. So long as she didn’t press on the why, he could keep his fear a secret. I might not be cursed. He didn’t spot her ebony skin among the brown of the pure-blooded Vionese.
“Since when do you sleep in?” Vel asked, sidling up to Ary. “I thought you were up before dawn all the time.”
He shrugged. “Nervous, I guess. Didn’t sleep well.”
“I can tell. You look as pale as a Stormrider.” Vel mockingly made the sun to ward off evil with his thumb and little finger.
Ary stiffened.
“Relax, relax.” Vel raised his hands, a friendly smile on his lips. “You are out of sorts this morning.”
“Yes, you are,” Chaylene said. Her dark face stared at him with concern as she approached.
“Sorry about last night,” he said, all too aware of Vel watching.
“So what was that about last night?” Vel asked. “Poor Chaylene fled.”
“Just a long day.” Ary stood and brushed an errant, blonde curl off her sleek neck. “I’m sorry I was short with you. Just . . . bad memories of . . .” His tongue twisted as he tried to explain, but fear clogged his mouth. Why did I bring that up? Lightning-deaf idiot! “You know.”
A pained smile crossed her face. She embraced him with a tender fierceness. His eyes closed, wanting to lean on her, to tell her the secret.
“You can talk to me about it,” she whispered.
How could he admit Theisseg’s lightning struck him? Maybe tainted him?
“It wasn’t your fault he died.” Her arms tightened, her words soft and soothing. “You have to let it go. You didn’t cause the Cyclone.”
He seized on that. “But if I wasn’t out in it . . .”
She touched his face with her slim fingers, opened her mouth to speak.
“Ooh, are you two gonna kiss?” Gretla asked, butting between them.
“No,” Chaylene said and scooped up Gretla. “Look what I caught.”
Gretla thrashed in Chaylene’s arms. “Put me down! I’ll bite you.”
“She’s a shark,” Ary smiled. “But her bite’s not that bad. Look at those teeth.”
“Hmm,” Chaylene considered. “Those are the dullest teeth I’ve ever seen on a shark. Maybe she’s a harmless minnow?”
“I am not a minnow!” Gretla bristled. “Come on and eat, Ary. We can’t miss the Rosy Prayer. And put me down!”
“Fine. Go, hunt, scary shark.”
Ary and Chaylene sat on a trestle, eating and watching Gretla and a few of the other kids scamper about the common room. None of the adults cared about the boisterous children. Not on the Summer Solstice, the day Riasruo’s love shined longest. A day to enjoy life. Ary felt much improved after eating despite the hard barley bread, burned bacon, and sour sow’s cheese. It fed the guppies flitting around his stomach.
Ary knew what he’d pray for as the sun rose.
~ * * ~
An excited energy filled the large square before the Temple of Riasruo as the throngs of Vionese, peppered with a few Vaarckthian and Luastrian traders, awaited their Goddess’s rising. The twin moons set fast behind the red, sandstone tower rising like a column of fire above the temple. The crowds pressed in, packing Chaylene against Ary.
The Church built Ahly’s Temple of Riasruo out of a rare, red sandstone brought across the skies to Vesche. The other buildings used the gray granite native to the skyland, making the city appear washed out even under the full light of the sun. In the twilight of dawn, only Riasruo’s temple felt substantial, the rest of Ahly ephemeral mist.
The bishopress appeared at the tower’s crenellations. A hush fell over the crowd. She appeared small and indistinct from the ground, covered in yellow robes that made her brown feathering almost black where her wings and head peeked out of the colorful cloth. Chaylene’s heart thudded as she turned with the crowd to face east.
Chaylene realized she’d never seen the sun rise over the skyland before. Isfe lay on Vesche’s eastern edge. The sun always rose out of the Storm Below. The land grew darker and darker as the horizon blushed pink, driving away night.
Ary’s hand found hers and squeezed tight. The doubts of last night vanished, her love coming so easy. The treacherous thoughts were banished by the warmth of his touch. She could only envision a future with him.
I love him. Vel’s wrong.
Then pink suffused into red. Yellows added their warm countenance, along with fiery oranges. Her breath quickened as awe trembled through her. The entire crowd tensed as they awaited the first glimpse of their Goddess.
A sliver of liquid gold breached the horizon. Warmth fell on Chaylene’s face.
The bishopress’s wordless song—the Rosy Prayer—filled the air. An offering of praise and thanks to Riasruo fo
r raising her unworthy children from the darkened earth to the beauty of the skies above. Chaylene let the power of the Rosy Prayer wash over her. She prayed: Riasruo, Goddess Above, I beg of you, do not let Ary be drafted today. I’m not strong enough to bear that. The Autonomy has already stolen my pa; please do not let them steal my love. I will do anything, bear any burden, great Radiance, if you would just answer my prayer.
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to withstand the intensity of her Goddess’s shining love any longer. The Rosy Prayer sang louder, trilling with the grace only a Luastria could perform. Certainty and hope filled her. The Goddess’s warmth on her cheeks promised hope.
He will not be drafted.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. Her tension melted away. The Goddess loved her and wished for her happiness. She let the Rosy Prayer and the sun’s warmth shine upon her soul. Nothing could possibly go wrong on a day this perfect.
Today, she and Ary would start their lives together. We’ll escape this horrid skyland.
~ * * ~
All the youths who turned seventeen in the last year on the Skyland of Vesche crowded the temple’s Solar. Ary rubbed clammy hands together, breathing in deeply, exhaling slowly.
Will I be drafted? Will Chaylene say yes?
He sat on a wooden pew, stained fiery orange, between Chaylene and Vel in the circular room. A dome of stained glass windows, depicting the events the Talesinger had sung about the night before, let in the morning sunlight. Braziers burned along the red stone walls, filling the room with the heady, sweet scent of cedar and sandalwood. The smoke’s bluish vapors rose, escaping out of a small hole at the center of the glass dome, reaching up to the Goddess Above. Six spots broke apart the circular wall; the first led to the foyer and entrance to the temple. Across lay the hallway to the Sanctum where Ary and the others would receive their blessings. Transepts, two on either side, held monuments to the notable dead of Vesche adorned with marble statues and crimson candles.
