Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “I know,” Ary said, voice flat. “I just . . .” He let out a growling snort. Her hand flinched away. “Riasruo Above, I just wanted to do something. To be in control of something. To fight back.”

  “Against what?” She shook her head. “Grabin? He’s not the first sow to make a move on me. You never tried to kill the others.”

  “I never stood on the bow of a ship, did I?”

  “Ary.” His name came out pained. She struggled to ignore the swirling dread in her stomach. She wouldn’t fear her husband.

  The ship tilted a few degrees as the Xorlar made the turn into the busy harbor, forcing Chaylene to adjust her balance. The ship tacked for the many docks that jutted out over the skyland’s edge. The sailors crowded the left side of the ship as they neared, hawsers held in their hands, ready to toss thick cables of braided rope to the dockworkers.

  “He was someone I could hurt.” The words poured out of him. “I could fight back.”

  “You mean someone other than your ma?” She trembled, waiting for his answer.

  Wood groaned beneath Ary’s strong fingers, the gunwale twisting and warping. “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t hurt him.” Chaylene paused. “Much. And he deserved that much.”

  “Because you stopped me.”

  She smiled at him, pressing closer. “I didn’t stop you. You have twice my strength.”

  “Your words were stronger.” He looked at her, his face bleak. A question formed on his lips, mouth opening. Then his face tightened. He gazed at the Storm.

  “What, Ary?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, shoulders slumping.

  Her fingers scratched his back. Floundering with what to say to help him, she looked around and spotted the new recruits waiting to board. “Come on, we can meet the newcomers. You didn’t hurt Grabin. So brooding won’t do anything.”

  “I’m not brooding,” he muttered.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  He shrugged.

  “It looks like you’re brooding.” She tugged on his arm. “I hate it when you’re like this.”

  “Contemplating almost killing a man?” Bitterness twisted his lips. “If you want to meet the new people, go. I’m not in a civil mood.”

  “But—”

  “Go!”

  She jumped at his thunder. “Fine.” She said, her words tight, eyes hardening. “I will.”

  She spun on her heels, feeling confused. She wanted to help him, but his attitude . . . Her eyes flicked to the recruits welcoming meet the newcomers. All except for Vel. He skulked by the hold’s stairs. His eyes met hers, his hand clutching a rag to his temple.

  Warmth rose through her. The memory of Vel grabbing Grabin’s arm, full of righteous anger, made her smile. Her friend still cared. He motioned for her to follow then headed down into the hold.

  His wound did need tending to.

  She glanced at her brooding husband. Her heart ached at her husband’s pain. Even if he’s being a down-stuffed fool about accepting my help. She could do nothing for him until he’d stewed for a while. And she’d be waiting for an apology for his tone.

  She followed Vel, brushing past the new Vaarckthian marine who boarded.

  “Good day, miss,” the marine said as she passed.

  She nodded back then grimaced as she felt his eyes on her backside. Her uniform’s britches were too tight, and it felt like every man, her husband included, leered at her. She wished she’d worn her coat to keep her rear decently covered, but she’d left it on her hammock, the day too warm.

  She almost bowled Xoshia descending the stairs. Chaylene smiled. “Sorry.”

  Xoshia’s eyes grew flinty above her nose and she snorted. Chaylene did not understand what minnow flew up Xoshia’s skirt to put her in such a foul mood. Without a word, Xoshia pushed past Chaylene.

  She sweltered in the dim hold. It reeked of sour sweat. Greasy smoke curled along the ceiling, issuing from the lamps burning whale oil. The ship bottled Riasruo’s warmth all day, transforming the innards into a baking oven. Even at night, it boiled, and the heat was slow to escape.

  “Vel?” She peered through the hold.

  A few sailors from the night watch cursed at her from swaying hammocks, trying to sleep through the day. She descended to the lower hold, the bustle topside muting to a quiet murmur. She peered past the crates of oranges and lemons. She’d never ventured down here, fearing it off limits. She spotted a figure ducking behind a crate. She pursued, squeezing through the cluttered space.

  Maybe Ary and I could sneak down here later? She itched to be alone with her husband. But why would Vel lead me down here? He couldn’t think anything would . . . happen.

  “Vel?”

  Her boots thudded on the wooden deck, adding to the creak of the ship. She squeezed past another pair of crates and found him leaning against the hull, his eyes hungry as they stared at her, blood smearing his forehead. Warmth swept through her.

  “Lena.”

  His voice caressed her name. She shivered, asking, “Are you okay?” as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “Let me look at that wound.”

  “I’m fine,” Vel said, looking confident. “But thanks for asking.”

  “It was brave of you to come to my defense, but I didn’t need it. I know how to handle grabby boys.” She licked the corner of her handkerchief then rubbed it on his wound.

  He winced, pulling away.

  “Stop moving! I need to clean it.”

  “Sorry.”

  Standing so close to him, she felt his body heat. His skin was warm beneath her fingers gripping his scalp. She scrubbed once more then peered at the wound, struggling to see, wishing they stood on deck.

  “You have a gentle touch,” Vel said, words soft.

  “Expect differently?” she asked. I think that’s good. Fresh blood trickled out, but she didn’t see any dirt.

  “No.”

  They stood so close together, she could almost feel the beat of his heart. The air crackled around them. A nervous twinge ran through her stomach, like she’d done something wrong. Which is just foolish. I’m tending to my friend’s wound.

  She folded her handkerchief up into a long band and tied it about his temple. Stepping back took an effort. Something pulled her towards Vel, a wind gusting at her from behind, propelling her forward. Her cheeks burned. She fanned them.

  “It’s warm down here,” she said, looking around, her feet shifting. “Cozy.”

  “It is. And I know I didn’t have to help you, I just wanted to.” His hand took hers, fingers burning as they caressed her. He smiled, the ship creaking around them, the sounds from above distant. “It just made me so angry to see that muckraker being so familiar with you.”

  She smiled at him. “I know. I can’t believe he thought he could touch me. He’s lucky Ary didn’t kill him.”

  Vel’s hand tightened on hers. “I know. Ary had that same look on his face when he fought the Shardhin boys. I thought he’d kill them, too. Huchen wet his britches and ran in terror. And Ary just kept pounding his cousins’ faces.” He shook his head, eyes wild. “Sometimes . . .”

  “What?” She swallowed.

  “His temper scares me sometimes. Like, what if he gets mad at me?” Vel shook his head. “Or you?”

  Chaylene gave a tight laugh. “Ary would never hurt me. He loves me.”

  “My pa loves my ma, but when he gets angry . . .”

  “He wouldn’t hit me, Vel.” Her words were strong. “I know him.”

  “Then why did it shock you when he almost killed Grabin?”

  She bit her lip. Then she blinked, realizing how close Vel stood, his left hand on her hip, not squeezing but resting like when they danced on the Green. His eyes held hers. Her heart beat faster.

  “I would never hurt you, Lena. You know that.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.”

  “I love you.” He took a shuddering breath. “I wish . . .”

  “But I’m not.”
I need to get out of here. This is wrong. She felt the skyland crumbling beneath her feet, dirt bouncing down the coral towards the Storm Below. But this heat gripped her. Vel’s hand felt nice on her hip. His fingers caressed the back of her hand. His eyes . . . shone. “I’m your friend’s wife, Vel.”

  “I know.” He swallowed. “I know I shouldn’t feel this for you. I do. But I can’t stop my heart from beating for you. From demanding that I show you my feelings.”

  I need to run. Right now. I’m married. I love Ary. But that sting from his final words, that rebuke that sent her away when she just wanted to help, echoed in her thoughts. Vel had never ignored her.

  “Is there any affection in your heart for me?”

  “You’re my friend,” she said.

  His hand tightened on her hip. He pulled her closer, their bodies brushing, his face a fingerswidth from hers, lips only a heartbeat away. Memory of his kiss boiled the blood surging through her veins. Her heart screamed at her, one beat begging her to surrender, the next pleading with her to flee.

  I’ll be a hussy. A loose girl like Brelyn or Iatlisa.

  Vel leaned in. Her heart exulted. It would be so easy. Ary was above. He’d never know about one little kiss. They were in the privacy of the hold. And Vel was so sweet to come to her aid. One kiss for his bravery and . . .

  Chaylene wrenched herself backward, gasping for breath. She stumbled out of his grip, seizing the crate with her right hand, the left clutching at her blouse above her breasts. She sucked in stuffy air. How could she even contemplate kissing Vel? Just because Ary said one harsh word? A deep shame, as cold and dark as a village well, engulfed her. Is everyone right about Vaarckthian women? Are we all hussies?

  “I’m sorry, Vel, I can’t do it. I can’t give you what you want.”

  “You married Ary,” he sighed, putting an understanding smile on his lips.

  “I love Ary.” She took a deep breath. “You can’t try to seduce me, Vel.”

  “Not seduce you,” he protested. “Love you.”

  “It’s the same thing.” She took a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “But you are.” His brows knitted tight. “And it’s my fault. I was terrified of Ary. I didn’t want him to hurt me. You can understand that.”

  “I can understand fear holding you back.” She retreated another step. “I’ll always be your friend, but that’s it. Thank you for coming to my defense.”

  Then she fled her treacherous blood’s desire.

  ~ * * ~

  Vel let his understanding smile fall. His fist crashed into a crate of oranges, rebounding with a flash of pain and a snarled curse.

  He’d almost had her. His heart had rejoiced when she’d followed him down into the cozy darkness. His plan worked, mostly. He’d expected to surprise Grabin and put an end to the fight swiftly, not take an elbow in the face. Then Ary’s murderous attack had stunned Vel, reminding him of the dangers.

  If he had killed Grabin, it’d be the bonfire. Vel pictured Ary strapped to the pyre, burned alive and cleansed by Riasruo’s flames of all his sins. Murder possessed only one punishment. Then nothing would stop Chaylene from admitting her feelings.

  Vel spotted the fire burning in Chaylene’s gray eyes whenever she looked at him. Sensed it burning in her when she shifted her hips in those delightful white trousers she wore. When she’d followed him down into the hull, standing so close, trembling with the passions she wished to share, Vel felt the heat shining from her. She had come so close to surrendering. A heartbeat away from escaping Ary.

  But the brute had his paws wrapped about her, holding on tight. Chaylene didn’t have the strength to break free. Yet.

  I will free you.

  Vel didn’t believe Chaylene could still love Ary. Not after the rampaging boar had almost killed Grabin. Vel had heard the gunwale creaking beneath Ary’s strength, the entire railing moments from snapping. He’d come within a heartbeat of murder.

  He probably was tainted by Theisseg like his crazy ma always claimed. Men don’t fight like him.

  Footsteps moved in the hold. Soft. A woman’s.

  His heart quickened. Chaylene had returned. He straightened, adjusting the handkerchief she’d knotted about his temple, and put on his best smile. The one that always made the girls back in Isfe giggle and spread their thighs in a cozy barn.

  “Cha . . .”

  Xoshia strode around the corner. The Onamen recruit gave him a bold look, her hips rolling as she walked forward. Her eyes grew hotter, staring at his forehead, her smile challenging. She was a beautiful wildflower. Almost breathtaking to behold, but when compared to a cultivated moonflower like Chaylene, Xoshia paled.

  “Why do you waste time on that Vaarckthian girl?” she purred. “They’re all whores. They can’t control that hot blood of theirs.”

  Chaylene can. Otherwise she’d be mine right now.

  “You shouldn’t waste your time with her. You need a nice, Vionese girl to love.” Naked desire burned in her eyes.

  And she calls Chaylene a whore? She’s like the hussies back in Isfe, mocking Chaylene while spreading their thighs.

  Xoshia stopped before him. She was beautiful enough, and Chaylene had left a fire raging inside him. He seized Xoshia and pulled her lithe body close. She gave only the show of resistance as he pinned her. Enough to pretend to maintain her virtue even as her hands helped to push her britches down her hips.

  Vel closed his eyes, imagining it was Chaylene. He climaxed quickly. Xoshia snarled when he cried out Chaylene’s name at the end.

  “Vaarckthian whore,” she hissed as she pulled up her britches. Tears beaded her green eyes. “Why does every guy pant after those black-skinned hussies?”

  “Because she’s perfect,” Vel snarled, pushing past her and heading above deck.

  Vel felt certain Chaylene had swallowed his hook. Now he needed patience to reel her in without snapping his line.

  ~ * * ~

  “It is fascinating the way the Storm’s chaotic patterns shift and merge.”

  Ary jumped, startled out of his thoughts. A young, Vaarckthian man wearing a marine’s red coat leaned on the gunwale beside him. His hair was reddish and his skin was a darker shade of ebony than Chaylene’s. A friendly smile split his broad lips.

  Annoyed, Ary grunted and went back to staring at the Storm, his thoughts a maelstrom of pain, anger, confusion, and fear. Do I really hate my ma so much I almost killed a stranger?

  The memory of slamming Grabin over and over into the railing, of seizing control and inflicting pain, shamed Ary to his marrow. It shone revealing light on all his past brawls, the satisfaction he took in splitting lips and breaking bones. The exhilaration and triumph of fist meeting face. Standing proud over battered opponents, the pain fading into burning heat. He reveled in it, hoping someone else would challenge him.

  But now . . . Now he saw how far he could go. How easy his strength made pain. Another push and he’d burn on the pyre, Riasruo’s flames cleansing him.

  “Ievtha Kneuvzick spent three decades staring down at the Storm, trying to prove her Theorem of Chaotic Systems,” the Vaarckthian explained. “Each day, she would watch the patterns coming and going, trying to predict them with complicated formulas.”

  What is he talking about? Ary tried to ignore the Vaarckthian and focus on his brooding.

  “Surely there must be a pattern to the chaos of the swirl of black and gray clouds, she thought. She wanted to bring order to the Storm.”

  Ary grunted. Foolishness.

  “Are you trying to bring order to the Storm?”

  “What?” Ary gave the stranger a firm glance.

  “You watch so intently at the Storm, studying the stria of grays and blacks like a man intent on his scholarship. Why else would you stare with such a furrowed brow?”

  What in the Storm is a stria?

  “For thirty years, Ievtha Kneuvzick made her daily observations of the Storm even as all her colleagues derided her efforts
.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Ary growled. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

  “What else do you say to a man staring down at the Storm with such intensity?”

  “I wasn’t staring at the Storm. I was thinking.”

  The man nodded. “Always a sound practice. If more people thought then, I suspect, the skies would be a much better place. It is a hypothesis I desire to prove.”

  Hypothesis? What is he talking about?

  “Well, if it is not the Storm you study, then I would change my hypothesis about your actions. You are brooding upon a woman.” A grin flashed on the stranger’s dark face. “Was it the half-Vaarckthian lass I witnessed stalking away from you?”

  “No.”

  “Such a verbose response. Truly, you are a man of elegance.”

  “Are you making sport of me?” Ary demanded, the dangerous anger rising. “Stop using all those big words and speak plain so I can know whether to knock your head in.” He clenched his fists before he realized it. A chill ran through him. I need to control this rage.

  “A small jest, with no ill intent. I merely commented on your terse response.”

  “What?”

  “A harmless joke on your brief answers.”

  “Oh, okay.” Ary gave the stranger an intense look. He stood about the same height as Ary, and his gray eyes possessed a certain friendly cast to them. His hands were smooth and free of calluses, and his frame was slim, lacking any strength that labor granted.

  “I can see our conversations will truly be stimulating.” He grinned openly, and Ary couldn’t fight the smile cracking his lips. “Ahh, that is the reaction I was hoping for. Empirical data that you are, in fact, a Human capable of displaying a proper emotional response.”

  “Who are you? You’re some rich man’s son, right?”

  “Ah, you have deduced my origins.” He gave a bow. “I am Estan Bthoovzigk, son of the Lord Mayor of Amion, this fine city you see before you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was drafted. Like you, I suspect.”

  “Yeah, but you have money. You could’ve bought an officer’s commission.”

  “Ah, but you see, I am not in terrible favor with my father.” He gave a shrug, a helpless look on his face. “He didn’t like an . . . association of mine. So the family’s purse strings were denied me.” Estan spread his arms wide. “Besides, think of all the character I will build serving as a common marine.”