Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “I know,” his younger brother muttered, looking down at his feet.

  Ary put his hand on Jhevon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You know how to run it. You’ll be just fine. And don’t forget to check the ostriches for worms. Some of them didn’t look so good when we left.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep things running.”

  “And don’t let Gretla drive you to distraction.”

  “You’ll be safe, right, Ary?”

  “Course I will,” he grinned, flashing a glance at Chaylene. She could see the worry in his red eyes. “Chaylene and I’ll be back before you know it. I’m sure you’ll be married yourself when we return.”

  Jhevon shrugged his shoulders and shifted.

  “Myrian’s very pretty,” Ary said.

  “Shut up,” his young brother muttered, his brown face reddening.

  “His backside’s still sore from the whupping Myrian’s pa gave him,” laughed Gretla, pulling away from Chaylene and wiping her eyes. Then she flew over to Ary and hugged him. He wrapped his strong arms around his sister.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “Me, too, Gretla.”

  “I understand why you did it. You love her. I just wished . . .”

  “It’ll be okay. Chaylene and I’ll protect each other. They’ll train us to fight, and we’ll be a team. Nothing bad’ll happen.”

  “But the Intrepid . . .” Her voice quavered. “Everyone died.”

  “Cyclones are rare. They only happen every few decades, right?” He knelt down and looked into her tear-filled eyes. “You’ll need to help Ma and Jhevon with the farm.”

  She nodded her head.

  “And mind your brother.”

  “Do I have to?” she pouted.

  “Most of the time,” Ary grinned. “I doubt you’ll be able to behave all the time.”

  “She can’t behave any of the time,” Jhevon muttered.

  Gretla turned and gnashed her teeth at him. Chaylene couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s shifting moods. She’d always wanted brothers and sisters of her own, but the Zzuki warrior who killed her pa had robbed her of that experience. And now that she had a brother and a sister, circumstances were forcing her to leave. A simmering anger rose in her. Why did the Autonomy have to choose me? Why did they have to steal me away from the happiness I’ve always dreamed about? It’s not fair! And now, we’ll be gone for four years. She did the arithmetic in her head—1664 days stolen from them. The petty officer’s scarred and maimed appearance burned in her mind. Would she come out alive and unmaimed? And if she did, would her husband?

  “I’ll write you letters,” Ary promised his siblings. “And so will Chaylene.”

  “I will,” Chaylene smiled, and the thought of having a family to write to brought a small amount of comfort to her anger. “Once a week.”

  Chaylene walked over to Jhevon, the youth as tall as Ary but skinny as a post. She hugged him with sisterly warmth. He stiffened in her arms, then hugged her back awkwardly, his cheeks flooding crimson.

  “You take care, too, Jhevon,” she said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “He’s embarrassed,” giggled Gretla. “He’s not used to being hugged by pretty girls.”

  “Then what’s Myrian?” Jhevon demanded.

  “I don’t know. But she can’t be pretty if she’s hugging you.”

  “Gretla,” he sputtered while she dashed across the common room laughing as her brother gave chase. “I’m gonna tan your backside.”

  “You got to catch me first!”

  “Ary just told you to mind me.”

  “Most of the time.”

  Chaylene’s smile grew broad as she walked over to her new husband, slipped her arm around his waist, and leaned against his comfortable frame. Joyful warmth filled her as his hand rested on her hip. Happiness beat in her heart as she experienced what having a family was really like, even for only a morning.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ary watched his friends and family disappear down the road, heading home to Isfe with all the others who’d attended the Solstice Festival, his arm wrapped around his new wife. He liked holding her. She’d tucked the moonflower into her hair, her head resting on his shoulder.

  At the last rise before the road disappeared out of sight, a small figure turned on her ostrich, arms waving wildly. Ary smiled, sure he’d witnessed his little sister’s final, enthusiastic goodbye. Chaylene giggled next to him and, together, they waved back.

  I’ll see you again, he promised. Me and Chaylene both will, Gretla.

  Finally, the figure turned and disappeared. They stood there in silence for many heartbeats. Everything changed today. Yesterday felt like a dream. He woke up single, still a youth, planning to be a farmer and went to bed a different man. I’m a marine now.

  Angry winds howling towards Vesche. Pale riders in metal armor. Fiery explosions. Hissing arrows. Arcing lightning—

  He flinched, not wanting to remember the agonizing pain and the strange, glowing Luastria who haunted his dreams.

  “What’s wrong?” Chaylene whispered, her hand stroking his back like his ma used to when nightmares woke him. When she’d still loved him.

  “Nothing. Just a muscle cramp.”

  A frown twisted Chaylene’s lips. “Are you sure, Ary?”

  He swallowed. She could never know about the lightning, the dreams. If she ever looked at him like his ma did . . . “Yeah.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. Her eyes danced when he broke their kiss, crackling with the same heat that filled him. Ary wanted to take her to their room and let their passions burn freely. But they’d already settled the inn’s bill.

  “What should we do?” Chaylene asked.

  Not much. They had a few sapphires, the lowest denomination of porcelain coins, between them. The Navy would provide food and board until they mustered out in four years.

  “Find some place . . . cozy.”

  “Ary,” she giggled.

  “We shouldn’t have settled the bill so soon.”

  “You are growing quite bold. You’ll have to wait until tonight.”

  “I think you’ve grown a little bold, too.”

  “It’s your thick arms.” She fingered his biceps through his faded shirt. “Come on. Let’s wander up onto the King’s Bluff. I bet the view is amazing.”

  They enjoyed a leisurely stroll with four hours before they had to report for muster. In a market square, full of wooden carts covered in all manner of foods and goods, Ary spent his last coins on a red daisy.

  “For my lady wife,” he said with an extravagant bow, feeling like a knight out of a story.

  Chaylene’s nose twitched as she inhaled the flower’s perfume, a smile growing on her lips. Tears misted cloudy eyes. “Ary!”

  Two sapphires was a tiny price to witness her joy.

  She clutched the flower in one hand, her other holding his, as they drifted through the bustling city. The city had returned to normality, the festival ended. Craftsmen and laborers strode about while wagons transported goods to and from the docks.

  They gawked at all the ships at the docks: triple-masted Vaarckthian merchantmen constructed of light brown wood with sails of deep crimson; double-masted Vionese whalers made of yellow-white wood; lean Ethinski ships with hulls of ebony and crewed by hulking lizardmen; gray-hulled Soweral merchants with their Luastria crew flying through the rigging.

  Ary blinked at a silvery ship belonging to the Zzuki Gezitziz docked at Ahly.

  Of course; we’re allies now. The Autonomy won the Zzuk Aggression War about thirteen years ago, defeating the savage hordes and subjugating them as a protectorate.

  Chaylene’s gray eyes fixed on the Zzuki sailors. A savage Zzuki warrior had battered her pa to death in the war. Ary put his arm around her and hurried them along. But her head kept snapping back to the silvery ship.

  “They’ll be serving with us, won’t they?” Chaylene muttered as they began the climb up the King’s Bluff, th
e northern of the two promontories guarding the narrow passage linking Ahly’s harbor to Jhey Strait.

  “Who?”

  “The lizards!” She spat.

  “I suppose so.” Part of the Treaty of Protection required the Tribes of Zzuk to provide warriors to serve in the Navy. She bristled, so he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But we’ll probably serve in the Skyland Defense Fleet, protecting some place like Vesche in the off chance of a Cyclone attack. The Intrepid didn’t have any Zzuk Auxiliaries.”

  “There are fleets?”

  “Yeah. The Navy’s divided into four fleets. The Skyland Defense Fleet, the Northern Fleet guarding the border with the Vaarckthian Empire, the Western Fleet guarding the border with the Tribes, and the Eastern Fleet that patrols the Fringe and fights the Agerzak pirates. Most of the ships are in the Defense Fleet. There’s at least one per skyland and some, like Les and Vion, have multiple ships stationed.”

  “Good,” she nodded.

  A tower made of gray granite rose at the apex of the bluff, manned by Ahly’s local militia in their brown coats. They stood, bored, atop their watchtower, not caring about Ary and his wife. The pair reached the bluff’s grassy edge and looked out upon the city.

  “Wow,” Chaylene whispered. “It’s so small from up here.”

  A jumble of gray buildings followed the curve of the harbor. Almost a hundred ships crowded the docks, their masts making a strange forest. The docks bustled as the longshoremen loaded the citrus harvest onto ships. The lemons and oranges grown across Vesche would sail across the skies. The Temple of Riasruo stood out like a bonfire against a dark sky, built on the slope of the Queen’s Bluff. Beyond the temple lay the Governor’s palace, a collection of granite buildings occupying more than half of the slope.

  “Wonder what Queen the bluff was named for?”

  Chaylene laughed. “Really, Ary? Did you ever pay attention in school?”

  He shrugged.

  “Let’s see. What King and Queen do we celebrate every year on Marriage Day?”

  “King Fubert ay Jhayne and Queen Xorlia,” he answered then groaned. “That makes sense.”

  “Their marriage did unite the Duchy of Vesche and the Kingdom of Arxo. You really should know our skyland’s history.”

  Ary grinned. “Why? You know it so well.”

  She beamed then pointed at the governor’s palace. “That was King Fubert and Queen Xorlia’s summer palace. They moved to the court to Vesche from Rhion for a few months in the year.”

  “How do you remember all that?” he asked, amazed at his wife’s memory. It all felt so pointless to Ary.

  “It’s fascinating.” She threw out her arms, her face alive. “Great people walked down there, Ary. People who shaped our skies. And it’s just interesting to learn about their stories. That’s what history is—stories. Like the ones that you used to love listening to at the Jolly Farmer. What those old sailors were telling you was history.”

  He laughed. “If you say so, Lena.”

  “I do,” she declared, turning to face him. He smiled at her. She’s so achingly beautiful.

  They sat on the edge of the bluff, and he listened as she told him stories of history, but the sun kept rising, and they could tarry no longer. They had to join the Navy and do their duty for the Autonomy.

  ~ * * ~

  Chaylene trudged beside her new husband as they headed to the temple of Ahly to report for muster. Ary carried their saddlebags. The innkeeper at the Solar Blessing Public House had held onto their luggage for them. Chaylene had offered to carry her own bag, but Ary would have none of it, just smiling like a pleased boy and throwing them over his shoulders, showing off his prowess.

  She had enjoyed the feel of his strength last night. She’d often imagined her wedding night. It was messier than she’d pictured, but the heat they created still burned in her and made her giddy whenever she let her thoughts wander.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Is it too hot out?”

  She couldn’t help giggling. “Just thinking . . .” She blushed. Modesty tangled her tongue, but he was her husband, so she could tell him anything. “About last night. And tonight . . .”

  He laughed, trying to act manly, but scarlet touched his cheeks. “Well, I’m looking forward to tonight.”

  Her flush deepened. Will I ever stop blushing? He’s my husband.

  The temple rose like a flame ahead. The fear returned, a red-breasted crow picking her bones clean. She wanted to run and hide. Ary believes in me. I can do this. I am strong. She tried so hard to believe it, but if Ary wasn’t marching beside her, consigned to the same fate, she’d flee. But she couldn’t abandon him. Not after he’d joined up for her. Not after last night. She forced herself to keep walking and ignored the crow pecking at her innards.

  The awning remained set up in the courtyard behind the temple, the petty officer manning the desk. A big grin split his lips, twisting the jagged scar running down his cheek. A mocking light gleamed in his red eyes. He chuckled and spat.

  “Briaris and Chaylene Jayne reporting,” Ary said.

  “So you married her, sonny.” Not a question, but almost a condemnation. Chaylene wanted to frown at him, but his scars . . .

  “Yeah,” Ary rummaged around in his saddlebag and produced a piece of parchment. “Our marriage license.”

  The petty officer scanned it and grunted, “Scribes’ll need to make a copy of it.”

  He stood up and walked to the back table where a fussy-looking man sat. He scrawled on a fresh parchment. The petty officer returned their license, then pulled out two sheets of paper, scratched out Chaylene’s last name on one and inked in her married name.

  “Sign,” he barked, pushing the pen and parchment at them.

  It was a receipt for uniform and, after signing, the petty officer handed them each a canvas-wrapped bundle. “Should fit. But if they’re too big or small, you’ll need to do your own tailorin’.”

  “Okay,” Chaylene nodded, hugging her bundle to her chest.

  “Quarter hour to muster. You can wait around. Almost all here. Only that other boy from your village is missin’.”

  “Vel?” Ary asked, concern painting his face.

  No one from Isfe had seen Vel since Ary had proposed. It worried Ary, and hurt him, that his best friend missed their wedding. Chaylene felt relief. Vel’s stolen kiss and passionate confession had stirred a shocking fire inside her.

  I should tell Ary about the kiss.

  But she couldn’t. It would break Ary’s heart. She hoped their friendship would continue. That Vel could, in time, put his love aside. There are other women who’d make him a wonderful wife. Maybe he’ll meet someone in the Navy.

  “Vel!” Ary’s shout burst with excitement.

  Vel’s looked disheveled, his clothes rumpled like he’d slept in them. His eyes found hers, burning with intensity. He strode across the courtyard. Chaylene swallowed, her cheeks flushing as he moved with such confidence, her lips remembering their kiss.

  Theisseg-cursed Vaarckthian blood.

  “We’re married now,” Ary proclaimed, striding towards Vel, hand extended. “We looked everywhere for you.”

  Chaylene tensed as Vel licked his lips. Don’t ruin your friendship, Vel!

  ~ * * ~

  Vel clasped Ary’s hand. With a powerful yank, Ary pulled his friend to him, engulfing him in an enthusiastic hug. Such joy burst in his heart to share this news with his friend. Vel grunted, ribs cracking beneath Ary’s arms.

  “Sorry,” he said, grin spreading on his lips. “Got carried away.”

  “Not the first time,” Vel said, shaking his head. “May your flames burn bright.”

  Chaylene let out a held breath. “Where did you disappear to?”

  He shrugged, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “Enjoying the festival.”

  “I wanted you to stand behind me during the ceremony,” Ary added.

  “I’m afraid the beer in Ahly’s stronger than the pi
nts we snuck from the Jolly Farmer.”

  “Let me guess, a pretty face was serving the beer.”

  A laugh bubbled through Vel’s voice, slightly embarrassed. “An ebony Eyia.” He swept Chaylene up in a brotherly embrace. “Congratulations. I’m sure Ary was the best choice.”

  For a moment, Ary thought his new bride stiffened. But then she hugged Vel back. “I’m sure, Vel. This is the best for all of us.”

  Vel broke the embrace, nodding his head. “I mean, Ary’s enlisted. You couldn’t let him down after that.”

  Ary’s brow furrowed, Petty Officer Shefe’s words whispering: “Joining up for a girl is the worst reason in the world.” He shook his head, ignoring them.

  “That’s not why I chose him, Vel,” Chaylene said. She took Ary’s arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her hand stroked up his arm. “Your jokes need work.”

  Vel still grinned, scratching at the back of his neck. “That beer was potent.”

  “I still think it was the girl that served it,” Ary said, aching to ask for more, wondering what she looked like. But prudence kept his mouth shut.

  Vel laughed louder. Ary joined him.

  The three trilling notes of a reed flute cut across the trio’s mirth, hurting ears worse than the cries of an injured ostrich. Ary winced and Chaylene clapped hands over her ears. Petty Officer Shefe faced the milling group, glowering at them as he lowered his instrument. “Attention! Stand up front, backs straight, eyes forward, you dung-headed southern minnows!”

  Everyone jumped, including Ary. Then the eleven draftees and volunteers hurried to fall in before Shefe. They juggled their luggage and uniform bundles. Ary clutched at his belongings, heart pounding. It had begun.

  The scarred man scowled and shook his head, spitting in the dirt before them. “Drop your kits!” He marched down the lines, eyes hard on each face. He lifted a woman’s chin. “I said eyes forward!” He kicked the next person in line’s shin. “Feet together. And get your Theisseg-damned backs straight. You’re in the sun-blessed Autonomy Navy now. So try and have some Storm-cursed pride.”

  Ary groaned as Shefe smacked him in the stomach. “Get those Theisseg-damned shoulders straight!”

  Spittle rained across Ary’s face. Chaylene stiffened like a rod beside him, earning only a contemptuous grunt from Shefe. Vel, on Chaylene’s other side, trembled, face pale as Shefe leaned in with boring eyes.