Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

Ary sweated in his wool uniform, practicing over and over focusing his charge into his hand. The static tingled across his skin as he manipulated it. Then he discharged it into the stake. Sparks flashed each time, leaving smoking burns on the wood. When Ary’s charge ran out, he jogged around their training area—moving built the charge faster. It took little less than a quarter hour to refill his reserves.

  “Sorry for getting you stuck on latrine duty,” Ary muttered to Guts while the Sergeant-Major growled at Detachment Two.

  Guts shrugged. “Don’t worry. Shame your punch missed.”

  “Wasn’t your fault,” Ahneil glowered, her cheeks flushed. “At least you stood up to him.” She flashed Ary another smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”Ary smiled back. He couldn’t help himself. Though big, her body curved in all the right ways.

  “He would have used any excuse to punish some of us,” Guts added. “He’s like the overseer flexing his power before a new field worker. We just need to go where his wind takes us. Don’t fight it, or we’ll get blown down.”

  Ary disagreed. “Someone needs to give him a shove off the skyland.” Shame flushed him. I can’t afford those thoughts.

  “Yep,” Ahneil said.

  “He probably has Major Wind,” chuckled Guts, “and would come flying back up and make us dig more latrines.”

  Ary laughed louder than he meant to. The Sergeant-Major’s dangerous gaze snapped his jaws shut.

  ~ * * ~

  “I didn’t think there would be so much schooling,” Zori moaned as they walked to the mess hall for the noon meal.

  Chaylene nodded. After breakfast, the scouts had spent their second morning of training in the classroom above the pegasi stables. The room stank of sour dung and sweltered as the sun rose higher while pegasi whinnies punctuated Breston’s lesson. Chaylene couldn’t wait to fly one of the gray-winged beasts, each sleek and lean with chestnut coats.

  Breston lectured them on basic navigation. Chaylene’s head throbbed after two hours of their commander explaining how to take bearings off a compass and read a map. After lunch, the scouts would practice orienteering around the camp using their newly issued compasses. Chaylene touched her pocket, verifying she still carried the valuable compass. Metal impregnated its ceramic needle. The little amount of the scarce commodity was worth two months of her wage—three sapphire pennies a day.

  They walked into the mess hall, noisy with sailors digging into brown stew and hearty barley bread. Chaylene craned her head for her husband.

  “I don’t see them,” Zori muttered. Another marine passed, and Zori caught his red sleeve. “Hey, you, where are Guts and Ary?”

  “It’s Henem, not ‘hey, you,’” the short man grumbled. “And they’re digging a latrine. Sergeant-Major was none too pleased with Detachment One.”

  Chaylene sighed. She had been looking forward to eating with her husband.

  “There’s Xoshia,” Zori said. “She was on the Xorlar.”

  “I guess,” Chaylene sighed, remembering Xoshia pursuing Vel the entire time. Wish you’d netted him. You two’d be good together. Zeirie, the half-Agerzak marine she’d met yesterday, sat beside Xoshia.

  “Hi, Zori,” Xoshia smiled as the short woman sat down beside her.

  “How’s training?” Zori asked as Chaylene sat on her other side.

  “Good, it’s . . .” Xoshia glanced at Chaylene, and her tan face darkened. “Why’s she here?”

  “Chaylene? She was on the Xorlar with us.”

  “She’s the one you were talking about?” Zeirie asked.

  Xoshia nodded. “Yeah. The entire trip. It was disgusting.”

  “Poor Ary,” muttered Zeirie, shaking her pale face.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chaylene demanded. “What did I do on the trip?”

  “Nothing.” Xoshia ate a spoonful of stew.

  “You said it. Why don’t you explain more?” Heat burned in Zori’s voice.

  “She was panting after Vel,” Xoshia answered, her eyes hardening. “But she’s a Vaarck. Everyone knows about them. Right, Zeirie?”

  The female marine nodded. “Yep. Bunch of hussies. My pa always said so. Indecent women.”

  “I’m not indecent,” huffed Chaylene.

  “Oh yeah, how many men you been with?” demanded another sailor, her green eyes staring at Chaylene over an overly large nose.

  Chaylene’s cheeks burned. Yesterday, she felt like she belonged, laughing with the marines and Zori. In heartbeats, they yanked it from her and left her reeling. “Just one. My husband.”

  Xoshia sneered. “Right. I saw you making sow-eyes at Vel on the Xorlar. I bet you and he had a bit of fun down in the hold.”

  “Poor Ary. He’s so nice.” Zeirie shook her head. “He deserves better than being given a set of horns to wear by an unfaithful wife.”

  “I did nothing like that!” I just looked at him! I didn’t pant after him like a slattern! “Vel’s my friend. Nothing else!”

  “Right,” said Xoshia. “And that’s why Vel was so quick to come to your defense. Beat her husband to it when that sow Grabin patted her backside. Bet you were disappointed he broke it up. Another—”

  “I am a decently married woman!” snarled Chaylene. “I would never break my vows!”

  “Yeah,” Zori added. “What minnow flew up your skirt, Xoshia?”

  “She’s a Vaarckthian. Do I need a reason?”

  “We best watch our men,” the big-nose woman added. “She’s likely to try and seduce them. Everyone knows that’s why Vaarckthians are so black. Their blood burns so hot it scorches their skin.”

  “I couldn’t have said better, Ithene,” Xoshia nodded. “Every last one of them is a hussy, spreading their legs and stealing our men.”

  Chaylene wanted to run, to scurry away. When the goodwives of Isfe threw their slander, she never stayed long. But she wouldn’t run now. She belonged here. She’d done nothing shameful. She glared across the table. She couldn’t be weak in the Navy. “Take back your words and apologize.”

  “Yeah!” Zori squeezed Chaylene’s hand. “You’re one to talk. You was trailing after Vel like a sow in heat.”

  “Sow in heat!” Xoshia rose, balled fist quivering. “I won’t apologize for speaking the truth about some hot-blooded, Vaarckthian hussy who—”

  Zori punched Xoshia in the face, knocking the startled woman over the trestle. Then the little scout fell on Xoshia, her light-blue coat flapping behind her. Zori straddled the sailor and punched her in the face again. “Apologize to my friend!”

  Chaylene could only blink with surprise at her friend’s sudden aggression. The rest of the mess hall grew quiet. Then the men cheered, whistled, and called out the most inappropriate suggestions at the two women grappling on the floor.

  Ithene reached for Zori to haul her off Xoshia.

  Chaylene didn’t think; she grabbed Ithene’s arms and pulled her away. The trestle Chaylene sat on shifted. She fell backward to the wooden floor, yanking Ithene with her. The woman hit the table’s edge, splitting open her brow. Warm blood fell on Chaylene as they grappled on the wooden floorboards. Xoshia’s words fueled a fierce anger in her.

  “I’m not a hussy!” Chaylene screeched.

  She pushed Ithene off her and stood. She kicked the woman in the stomach with her heavy boot. She kicked a second time, but Ithene caught Chaylene’s foot and pushed her back. She hopped on one foot, fighting to keep her balance. She stumbled back, catching herself on the table’s edge.

  “Watch out!” a woman shouted behind her.

  Chaylene threw a look over her shoulder to see Zeirie advancing around the table, her hand outstretched. The hairs on Chaylene’s arms rose as a crackling static filled the air. She’s gathering her charge.

  A dark-skinned woman with reddish hair, another half-Vaarckthian like Chaylene, grabbed the marine’s wrist and yanked back the outstretched hand. Sparks burst from Zeirie’s wrist. Lightning burst into the newcomer’s flesh.


  “No,” Chaylene gasped.

  The half-Vaarckthian didn’t fall to the ground dead or in a stunned heap. She’s got Minor Lightning. The Blessing granted the sailor immunity from electricity.

  “I got her,” the half-Vaarckthian shouted. “The other one’s getting up.”

  Chaylene turned. Ithene pulled herself up, blood streaming from the gash on her forehead, staining her white linens. “Vaarckthian hussy!” Ithene threw a punch that caught Chaylene on the cheek.

  Her face throbbing, Chaylene caught the next punch with her forearm. The sailor gasped in pain, striking bone. Chaylene had witnessed Ary fight before. His gut punches left his opponents bent over as they struggled to breathe. She drove her fist hard into Ithene’s stomach.

  But her punch did not have the same effect.

  The sailor gasped then grabbed Chaylene by the shoulders, her legs trying to hook Chaylene’s and trip her. The pair danced around each other, both hissing and spluttering. Chaylene threw another punch, striking floating ribs.

  “What in Theisseg’s boil-spotted face is going on!” bellowed a commanding woman’s voice.

  Ithene’s face paled and she snapped to attention.

  “Huh?” Chaylene said, confused at her opponent’s actions.

  The crowd part for a stout woman, a hideous scar maiming half her face, her left eye covered by a leather patch. The entire mess hall went silent as the woman strode to where Zori and Xoshia still grappled on the floor.

  “On your feet!” barked the woman, grabbing Zori and hauling her off the crying Xoshia. The sailor stayed on the ground, her face swollen. The stout woman gave her a kick in the side. “I gave you an order, sailor. On your feet, now!”

  “Yes, Bosun,” groaned Xoshia as she hauled herself to her feet.

  Chaylene trembled, staring straight forward and trying not to flinch as the scarred-faced woman eyed each of them. What’s going to happen? She remembered Captain Vebrin’s lecture yesterday, fearing the woman’s punishment. Will it be the stocks? Lashes?

  “So what’s the reason for this squall?” growled the Bosun. “Huh, Xoshia? Why were you losing to the smallest woman on the Dauntless?”

  Xoshia didn’t answer, only looked straight ahead.

  “And how about you, guppy?” Zori didn’t flinch as the Bosun eyed her. “I didn’t think the Navy admitted children.”

  Zori’s clamped-shut jaw trembled.

  “I can see you itchin’ to talk. Blurt it out, guppy.”

  “Our talking grew heated,” Zori answered. “That’s all.”

  “Just a spirited debate among bosom friends?”

  “Yeah, Bosun,” answered the half-Vaarckthian woman who had come to Chaylene’s aid.

  “Well, if you guppies have such energy, follow me. Let’s put it to better use.” The Bosun scanned the mess hall, smirking as everyone sat back down. Then she marched out, her boots echoing on the wooden floor.

  Chaylene and the other women trailed after the Bosun, who didn’t bother to look back once to make sure they followed. They followed the she-boar with alacrity through the camp, faces gray and sallow.

  The half-Vaarckthian sailor fell in alongside Chaylene. “Thanks for helping,” Chaylene whispered, giving the sailor a tight smile, then winced—her cheek was swollen from the punch.

  “I couldn’t stand to listen to them. Calling us a bunch of hussies. I’m Ailsuimnae.”

  “That’s a mouthful.”

  “My ma named me after my great-nana.”

  “I’m Chaylene.”

  “They’re just jealous because the Vaarckthians conquered the Vionese all those years ago.”

  “Even though we’re half-Vionese.” Chaylene shook her head. “My ma was born and raised on Rhebe. And so were her parents and her grandparents. I’m just as much a citizen of the Autonomy as they are.”

  Ailsuimnae just shrugged. “Least we gave them a good drubbing. Your little friend is quite the fierce falcon.”

  “Yeah.”

  The Bosun marched them to the end of the camp where four men and a woman dug a ditch, a pile of five red coats and four linen shirts nearby. Ary worked in the middle, his brown chest rippling as he dug. Chaylene couldn’t help smiling in appreciation. Zori gazed at the massive figure of Guts. Chaylene’s cheeks burned hotter.

  Guts made Ary look like a small man.

  “More volunteers to help with the latrine,” the Bosun barked.

  Ary looked up and blinked. “Lena? What happened to you?”

  He climbed out of the ditch and rushed to Chaylene. The Bosun eyed him. “Who’s she to you, Private?”

  “My wife.”

  “Well, she’s digging with the rest of you marines.”

  Ary nodded. His thumb brushed Chaylene’s swollen cheek. “Fighting?”

  She flushed. “Yes.”

  His grin broadened. “Didn’t you tell me yesterday to stay out of trouble?”

  “I did,” she said, reaching down to grab a shovel carved from a hog’s shoulder blade.

  “And?”

  “And what, dear?” Shame burned inside Chaylene as she walked to the ditch. The tall, Agerzak woman gave Chaylene a hard look. Another woman who thinks I’m a hussy because of my skin.

  “Did you win?” Ary asked, jumping into the ditch beside her.

  A snort of laughter escaped her lips. She glanced at the more bedraggled Xoshia, Ithene, and Zeirie. “I think so.”

  Her husband grinned. “That’s what counts.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Yruoujoa 21st, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Vel hated training.

  By his fourth day at Camp Chubris, he found it pointless. Go here. Do that. Go there. Do this. Constant lectures about ropes and the myriad ways to tie them. His palms felt peeled after a day spent tying and retying the same knot until the Bosun, a squint-eyed shark with a cudgel, was satisfied that he could tie the triple bowline hitch to Naval specifications.

  Vel’s finger still ached, and a dark spot of blood pooled beneath his middle fingernail. He failed to tie the knot fast enough for the Bosun.

  The men serving on his boat all jeered behind Vel’s back, jealous of the attention the female recruits gave him. He’d pried one pretty scout’s legs apart in the shadowy darkness behind the pottery in the Spirituous’s section of camp. But she was only an outlet for his desires for Chaylene. Sometimes he drowned in his need for her, his entire body brimming with passion.

  The pressure needed release.

  Today was the first Dawnsday since Vel had arrived a week ago. Not desiring to spend the day with the downyheaded fools he trained with, he wandered to the nearby village of Shon. It existed because of Camp Chubris. During the summer, it brimmed with merchants hawking wares to the recruits to lessen their pockets. The road between the camp and village bustled with teamsters ferrying freight to the camp and recruits enjoying their free day. It was a ramshackle town, more a camp than a place of permanence, most buildings rickety, built to last a few seasons.

  Vel drifted through the market, his week’s pay—fifteen sapphire pennies—clinking in his pocket. None of the stalls attracted his attention. The wares all seemed like such meaningless junk without Chaylene. Cloth, food, tools, souvenirs. Such worthless dross.

  “Why do you hate me?” he muttered at the Sun. “Why do you give Ary everything?”

  An old woman selling flowers, among other rubbish, caught his attention. Red daisies rested in a clay vase amid bright blossoms. Chaylene’s favorite. Women love flowers.

  “You look bored, sailor,” a woman purred from across the street, her voice thick and sweet, like honey for his ears.

  A half-undressed woman lounged before the Friendly Maid, one of the many taverns in Shon. And like all the taverns, it had its whores. The friendly maids and their friendly favors were all his fellow male recruits talked about while the female recruits shook their head in disapproval. Many recruits snuck out to Shon after curfew to enjoy the maids. Vel hadn’t. He spent his eve
ning in a more productive fashion—exploring.

  “Come on, sailor boy,” the whore purred, her brown cheeks rouged and her lips painted bright red. “Come relax with me. I’m very friendly.” She winked her green eye.

  “Maybe,” Vel shrugged, turning back to the flowers. “How much for the red daisies?”

  “Three for a sapphire,” the bulbous-nosed merchant answered.

  “Come on, sailor,” called the woman. “You don’t have to buy me flowers.”

  Vel prepared to rebuke the whore when he caught sight of Chaylene. She studied a market stall gowned in blue. His heart pounded with excitement as a fiery fantasy filled his mind. She would melt when he presented the red daisies. They could rent a room at the Friendly Maid and pass the day together.

  Ary stepped up to Chaylene and handed her a steaming meat pie, his arm slithering around her shoulders. Vel groaned, his excitement still pounding through his veins. He brimmed with his desire for Chaylene’s beauty and seethed watching that brute touch her.

  Her eyes met his. She waved.

  Then Ary pulled her away into the crowd, not letting her escape him even for a few moments.

  “If you don’t want my company, another sailor will get to enjoy me,” the whore persisted.

  Vel’s passion brimmed.

  “That’s what I thought,” the whore cooed when he crossed the street.

  The whore, Shoni, proved a marvelous way to pass the time.

  Afterward, Vel bought the red daisies. Ary’s jealous guard meant too much danger to approach Chaylene in daylight. Tonight, he’d give the flowers to her. He smiled as he held them in his hand, rolling the waxy stem between his fingers as he walked back to Camp Chubris. Just outside town, he passed a shady chestnut tree, respite from the sun beating on his head.

  Vel reclined beneath the tree, a gentle breeze rolling across his forehead. The flowers’ scent tickled his nose as he closed his eyes. In his imagination, Chaylene’s perfect face widened in joy as he proffered the daises. She took them, inhaling their sweet aroma, and gave Vel a grateful smile.

  You are so much kinder than my husband, she whispered in his mind. Ary never treats me right. I’m so glad I have you.