by JMD Reid
“Exactly!” Estan snapped his fingers. “For five hundred and twenty-three years, no new ships were built. Those that remained had to be repaired with other woods, slowly reducing their capabilities. As the Dawn Empire broke up into fractious Kingdoms, Republics, Baronies, Queendoms, and Petty Empires, wars raged through the skies. And every war cost ships.”
“So the Vesche-Arxo Succession War caused the kingdom to lose a lot of its ships? That’s why it broke up into all those small nations?”
“Yep,” Chaylene nodded. “And even those nations began to collapse as the skylands lost contact with each other. By the time Rnieqo Vthoobnigk discovered that great balsa wood and chalcedony worked together, none of the ships from the Dawn Empire era survived.”
“It is what gave my ancestors such an advantage,” Estan continued. “The Republic of Vaarck were the only ones in possession of ships. So when the Republic fell to the tyranny of Zhnavth Ckaeqoigk and rechristened an Empire, no skyland could oppose them. In one hundred and eighty-five years, the Empire had conquered all the skies except for the Kingdom of Agerz.”
“But they couldn’t hold it all.” Ary grinned. “Us Vionese blew their ships back to their skylands.”
“It did help that other scholars began experimenting with wood and gem combinations,” Estan added. “The Vaarckthian Empire lost its monopoly on ships. No longer were the subjected people dependent on the Empire’s largess.”
Vel avoided these conversations. Since the fight, he stood remote, hardly saying more than a word to Ary. He kept looking like he wanted to join them, staring from across the ship. But whenever Ary motioned to his friend, Vel looked away.
It stung. Is he jealous that I have a new friend?
The day after the fight, when he lay on his back in the stuffy hold, Chaylene resting her head on his chest, naked bodies entwined, he asked about it. “I just don’t get it. Did I do something to offend Vel?”
“His pride,” Chaylene sighed. “He wanted to protect me from Grabin.”
A chill ran through Ary. He renewed his vow to keep a tight grip on his fury. “So it’s embarrassing that Grabin knocked him down? He never complained the other times I stopped him from being pummeled.”
“Maybe this was one time too many.” Her finger swirled through his chest hairs, twining them about her digit. “Men and their pride. Remember when you just had to climb the tallest tree in the Snakewood?”
“Elenim Dhejhil claimed someone as big as me couldn’t do it,” Ary grunted. “That I’d snap the branch. Made me mad.”
She giggled. “See. Pride. Just give Vel time.”
The next day after visiting Elemy, the Xorlar docked at Grumen, the middle of the three skylands making up the Tloan Chain. There, seven recruits—five sailors and two marines—boarded. Next, the Xorlar sailed north for Thegren, the northernmost of the Tloan chain, arriving after another day of sailing.
As usual, Ary and Chaylene were talking with Estan at the bow of the ship as they approached Sey. Thegren’s capital sprawled far larger than any of the other cities at which the Xorlar had docked. A greasy smoke hung over the city, reeking of tanning leather, forcing Estan and Chaylene to cover their noses.
“Seyen leather is prized the skies over,” Estan said, his pinched nostrils causing a nasal whine. “None is more supple or finally crafted.”
“How do they stand the smell?” Ary demanded. He’d done his fair share of tanning ostrich hides, but his family had located their tannery far from the house.
“I suspect their nostrils have grown deaden to the stench.” Estan launched into a discussion on the theory of sensory fatigue.
“I’m going to palm an orange from the hold. I wish my nose would grow fatigued already so I can stop smelling this,” Chaylene muttered, walking away and disappearing down into the hold.
“I think I’ll join your lovely wife.”
Ary shrugged. “It’s not so bad anymore.”
“I guess your nose becomes fatigued faster than ours. And your stomach must be made of granite because mine is churning like a maid in the buttery.”
“I’ve smelled worse on the farm.”
“Such a charmed life you’ve lived.” Estan gave a short bow. “I shall retire to the hold and fetch a fragrant orange to fight this dreadful odor.”
Gray gulls screeched as the ship docked and sailors ran out the gangplank. Estan disappeared into the hold as a dozen recruits boarded, mostly sailors, a few marines, and one woman dressed as a scout. To Ary’s astonishment, she sauntered across the deck to him, so short and lean he almost mistook her for a child.
“Ain’t you a big one?” A smile spread across her round, brown face. Her green eyes shone as she leaned against the gunwale beside him. She shifted on the heels of her boots, reminding Ary of a bird landing on the ground before a juicy worm, twitching, wary for any danger.
“Good day, miss,” Ary answered.
She gave a laugh. “I ain’t never been called a miss before.” She pushed a strand of her blonde hair off her cheek. “My ma named me Xorale, but everyone else calls me Zori.”
“Ary. Though my ma did call me Briaris.” His smile fell. Dark winds swirled inside him. He didn’t let them rise. Control.
Her eyebrows raised. “What did she do to you? Your face became darker than the Storm Below.”
Ary shrugged.
“I got you. Well, it ain’t no matter to me.” She laughed, rich and cheery. “My ma weren’t no golden feather, either.”
“Oh, sorry to hear of your loss.”
“Ain’t you a polite one? I think me and you’ll get along just fine.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“You’ll make a fine fellow. Keep the other downyheads off of me.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to Grabin, Vay, and a third marine whistling at the female recruits.
Darker winds stirred in Ary.
“They won’t be rooting after me with a big fellow like you around,” nodded Zori.
“Excuse me?” demanded Chaylene, striding up, a half-cut orange in her hand.
“Back off, I’ve claimed this one,” Zori declared, flashing Chaylene a hot look.
“That’s my husband, hussy!”
“Well, there’s my winds changing,” Zori sighed, then her face brightened with a smile. “Looks like me and you’ll be serving together.” Then she threw her arms around Chaylene and hugged her.
Chaylene’s face went from outrage to surprise.
“I’m sure we’ll have so much fun!”
“Ary, who is this woman?”
“Zori,” he said, not fighting his grin.
~ * * ~
After an hour, the Xorlar sailed north from Sey towards Les. It took some time to outdistance the stench of Sey’s tanneries. Chaylene sat at the bow talking with Estan and Ary, while the hussy who’d tried to net her husband—Zori, what an ugly name—perched on a nearby barrel.
When Ary and Estan stood up to stretch their legs by walking the deck, Chaylene found her eyes drifting to Vel. He leaned against the mainmast not too far from that sow Grabin, watching her. Heat burned her cheeks, traitorous blood pounding through her veins. The air around her crackled, announcing an impending lightning strike.
He smiled at her.
Her lips smiled before she could help herself. Despite the nervous twist Vel stirred in her, she couldn’t help but like how his smiles, his looks, and his proclamations of love made her feel. The flattery was . . . nice.
It wasn’t Ary’s love. She didn’t return Vel’s back, but she didn’t see the harm in accepting it. So long as she kept her blood under control.
“Sorry for trying to pocket your man,” Zori said, sitting down beside Chaylene. “Didn’t know.”
She shrugged, tearing her eyes away from Vel. “I guess it’s all right.”
“I can see why you chose him. Such shoulders. Big and protective, but I can tell he’s not the sort of fellow that talks to his hen with his fists.”
“No
. Ary definitively doesn’t do that. Just to the fellows that try to pluck her feathers.”
Zori nodded in agreement. “It was smart of you to snatch him up and tie him down. So I’ll keep my distance. He don’t seem the straying type anyways.” Her face darkened.
“What?”
“Now I need to find some other gentle boar to protect me.” Her hand touched her belly.
“Huh? From whom?”
“Why, the sharks.” She pointed at Grabin and Vay lounging against the starboard railing across the deck. They were joined by another disgusting muckraker, the trio whistling at a pair of female recruits.
Chaylene’s eyes narrowed. I’m glad Ary didn’t kill you. But only because he’d burn.
“I’ve always found me a big, gentle fellow to keep the predators at bay. You can’t be too careful in Sey.”
Chaylene’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing in understanding. Pity surged in her heart for the slender girl as she pictured her pinned beneath a hulking brute. “It wasn’t like that where I’m from. Maybe a boy’d tried to get a little familiar with my backside, but I’d slap him or knee him in the twig. And Ary’d teach him later.”
“Oh, yeah? Where you from?”
“Isfe. It’s a small farming village.”
“Really? You didn’t have to worry ‘bout them country louts trying things?”
“Not . . . that!” She shook her head. “The entire village’d pitch in to build the pyre for any boy who did . . . that. Just a few boys that thought they could pluck my flower.”
“Oh, that can be fun,” Zori said. “You never let one do that? Not even Ary?”
“No! Not before our wedding night.”
“Riiiiight,” Zori said. “Just me and you. I won’t tell.”
Chaylene looked away, cheeks smoldering, shocked by Zori’s forwardness. Without even meaning to, her gaze landed on Vel. She had, a time or two, thought about Vel’s beautiful lips kissing her instead of Ary’s, touching her. That grin . . .
“So that’s how it is?” Zori asked, tone mischievous. “You found the guy to protect you while you sneak around with your real fellow. I can see why. He ain’t nearly as big—”
“It’s not like that!” She glared at Zori. “I love Ary. I’ve loved him since we were kids. He’s been my fellow for a long time. I’d never let another pluck me!”
Zori flinched like a minnow before a shark. “Oh, sorry.”
“Vel is . . .” Chaylene shook her head. “I don’t know. He kissed me and confessed his love right before Ary proposed. Every chance he gets, he’s telling me how beautiful I am, how he cares for me. Sometimes . . . I find myself looking at him and thinking his words are nice. They make me feel good, and . . . I feel so ashamed. I’m a newlywed. I shouldn’t feel this way for another man.”
“Best to tumble him straight away and get it out of your system.”
Warmth flushed Chaylene’s face. “That’s disgusting!” she snapped, forcing her outrage. “I’m married. I swore a sacred oath to Riasruo.”
“She’s just the sun. She can’t see you when you’re inside.”
Chaylene gaped at the most blasphemous statement she’d ever heard. “I love my husband. He’s the man I want to tumble.”
Zori shrugged. “Just my advice. Best to scratch that itch. Then it won’t be bothering you so much, and you can settle down with your fellow.”
“I have Ary for itch scratching!”
“Sorry. Just what I’d do. Wouldn’t wanna mess things up with my fellow. Desires can be tricky. Once they get planted in your soil, they’re like weeds.”
“Messing things up with my fellow is exactly why doing that with Vel would be a mistake. I don’t even love him. I mean, as a friend, but not as more.” She glanced at Vel again.
His smile blazed. Her head jerked away, spotting her husband on the stern deck with Estan. Her blood blazed, but she controlled her heat.
“Won’t mention it again,” Zori said. “May Riasruo cleanse me with her fire if I do.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. She had to channel her blood’s heat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my husband in private.”
Zori had a knowing grin. “Give him a nice tumble.”
Chaylene couldn’t help giggling. She’s not half bad, if a little crass.
She never had female friends growing up, ostracized by the other girls for her skin coloring and the whispers about her ma’s actions at Aldeyn Watch. But Zori hadn’t given her that studious look, wondering what her hot blood got her up to.
She didn’t judge me. It was . . . remarkable.
It put her in an especially good mood as she crossed the deck to her husband. Ary was more than thrilled to sneak down into the hold. She forgot all about Vel as she tumbled Ary. But the moment they parted, her thoughts drifted back to Vel and his words. How they touched her, how sincere they were. She thought back on her life, wondering what would have been if they had made different choices.
What if he’d told me he loved me when we were younger? Would I be with him instead? Or would I have loved Ary more?
Two days later, the Xorlar entered the turbulent boundary between the Parly, Onamen, and Xoar Skies. “A dangerous spot,” Estan explained. “The winds all meet here from the three skies, crowding it with skyreefs.” Estan pointed off the bow at the wall of tumbling, brown rocks drifting by, most no bigger than a boulder. “Any ship unlucky to strike a reef could plummet down into the Storm Below. Once we’re through here, it’s clear sailing for Les.”
As the following day wore on, the ninth day of sailing, Chaylene found herself pausing at the bow, scanning the horizon for Les, excitement growing in her breast. The great skyland was the heart of the Autonomy, famed for rebelling twice against the Vaarckthian Empire before the Autonomy won its independence.
History was made there.
Dread warred with her excitement. Their military service would begin in earnest, and she feared the day they’d take Ary from her. He thinks I’m strong enough. I hope I am.
As the ship prepared to anchor for the night at sunset of the Fifteenth of Yruoujoa, a dark smudge loomed on the horizon—Les.
Chapter Eighteen
The Skyland of Les – Yruoujoa 16th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
The sight of Camp Chubris, perched on the bluffs of the Skyland of Les, chilled Chaylene’s blood. A little over three weeks had passed since the draft and now their service to the Autonomy truly began today. All the recruits crowded the decks of the Xorlar, staring at the camp as it grew upon the horizon.
It lay amid grassy bluffs, the sides of the skyland falling away to sharp cliffs covered in blue and purple coral. The camp appeared neat and orderly, the whitewashed buildings laid out with precision. A wooden palisade surrounded the entire camp. In the center reared a stone building, a squat rock amid the field of white structures. Four docks, three occupied by warships with two masts, jutted out from the edge of the skyland. Two smaller, leaner warships flanked the middle one, the larger’s deck bristling with more ballistae.
“We’ll be serving on one of them,” Ary said, his strong arms wrapped around Chaylene. “The small ones are corvettes, like the Intrepid, and the bigger one’s a frigate.”
“Oh,” she said, her stomach tied in knots. A crow’s nest topped each warship’s mast. She’d learned scouts stood watch there, high above the rest of the ship.
“It’ll be fine, Lena.” His hands tightened about her stomach.
We’re both scared, she realized and laughed.
“What?” he asked, eyebrows arching.
“Nothing.” She sighed. “It’s just . . . I’m glad I have you, Ary.”
“We’ll get through this together.” He almost sounded like he spoke to himself.
“Yeah. I’m here for you.”
His arms tightened about her. She smiled. Her hand stroked his arm, loving his head resting on her shoulder. How often will we get to cuddle like this in the Navy? They have all those rules aboard
their warships.
She wished time would slow, stop, so she could treasure what could be the last moment of peace with her husband.
The Xorlar sailed past the docked warships, heading towards the vacant pier. A pair of officers—wearing dark-blue coats over white, starched trousers and shirts—and a few Autonomy sailors waited at the foot of the pier.
The Xorlar’s crew tacked the sails, scurrying through the rigging. The ship turned as the wind’s direction shifted. The Xorlar’s Windwarden guided the breeze, allowing the ship to turn with grace. More of the crew lined the port side of the ship, thick hawsers, made of three thick ropes braided together, held ready in their hands. Laborers waited on the docks, strong men in dirty linens and brown denim coveralls. They caught the thrown cables, tying the ship to the mooring posts before the crew ran out the gangplank.
This is it. Chaylene took a deep breath.
A man strode down the docks, dressed in sailors’ linens starched and pressed, his black boots thumping on the wooden pier. His possessed skin was as black as hers, but his red hair, though graying, proclaimed him a full-blooded Vaarckthian. He stopped at the gangplank, looking up at the crowd of recruits milling on the deck.
I can do this. Ary is right, I’m stronger than I think. And if I’m not, I can lean on him. And he can lean on me if he needs to be weak. She imagined them like a roof, forming a shelter for their future, the two halves leaning together and meeting at the peak, each buttressing the other. Partners.
“Recruits!” bellowed the man. “You will descend the gangplank in single file, proceed down the dock at the half-step, and form ranks of ten before Admiral Dhamen.” He pointed at the pair of officers, a balding man and a matronly woman, her graying-brown hair pulled into a bun.
No one moved.
“I gave you an order, recruits! Get your storm-loving backsides down this gangplank before I start pitching you off the ship.”
Everyone jumped and scrambled, forming a jostling press as each tried to get to the gangplank and descend to the docks. Chaylene followed Ary through the tousle. The wooden gangplank flexed beneath Chaylene’s boots, and her heart leaped up into her throat as she clutched the rope railing. She exhaled when she stepped onto the solid, weathered dock. With the others, she fell into ranks before the admiral, ten wide, four deep, one person standing at the rear.
