Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “It was nice. Maybe, um, I’ll take a walk in a few nights past this fence.”

  “In two nights?” Vel asked, an eager, boyish excitement in his voice.

  “Sure,” she smiled. “It’s been nice, but I should be going. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

  “You’ll survive it.”

  “I will. Have a good night, Vel.”

  “Night, Lena. Think about what I said about Ary.”

  She walked back into the night, fire burning inside her. The cooling night air did little to steal it away. We were just talking, she reminded herself. Nothing at all wrong with that. Ary looks at pretty women, like that giant Ahneil. So I can look at a pretty man.

  She passed the ruins of their previous home, keeping her eyes ahead. She didn’t want to remember that night. Their new cottage lay at the far end of the row. She strode past the other seven and burst through their door.

  Her husband sat on their bed, looking as contrite as a little boy about to be scolded by his ma. “Lena, listen, I’m—”

  She dropped her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt. He gaped at her, then his eyes shone with appreciation as she dropped her shirt to the floor and pulled off her thin camisole. “Do I look like a lizard, Briaris?” she demanded with a throaty voice. “Huh?”

  “Riasruo, no.” His red eyes fixed on her breasts. “I’m really sorry. I should never have said you sound like a lizard or called you a boar. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I said it.”

  She stepped towards him, putting her finger to his lips. “It’s all right, Ary. Just so long as you realize a lizard looks nothing like me.”

  He cupped her breasts with rough hands and squeezed. She shivered. “No lizard’s this soft. I love you, Lena.”

  She smiled at him, leaned down, and showed him how much she returned his love.

  Later, as she cuddled against him, she sighed. “What am I going to do, Ary?”

  “You’ll be strong. We just have to make it through our enlistment, then we’ll be free to live our lives. Have our family.”

  “So I just have to endure them?”

  “We both will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Coajyoa 23rd, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Chaylene suppressed a giggle as Ary clumsily climbed onto Whitesocks’s saddle behind her. The pegasus gave a nervous whinny, shifting his hooves at Ary’s weight. “It’ll be okay,” she murmured, stroking her mount’s neck. Then she looked over her shoulder at her husband. “Strap in tight.”

  “I’ve practiced,” he answered, shifting as he fiddled with the leg straps. “It’s different than riding an ostrich.”

  “Trust me, this is more fun.” Chaylene would rather strap into Whitesocks’s saddle for a week than ride an ostrich again. He had never tried to bite off her nose.

  Joy filled her to train with her husband. Just like Breston had promised, when Skyday dawned, the Sergeant-Major ordered Ary, Guts, Zeirie, and Jhech to fall out and report to the scouts for the day. Ary had been beaming when he’d sauntered up to the scouts. Not even the sow-faced Zeirie ruined Chaylene’s excitement.

  They gathered in the trampled field outside camp. Her fellow scouts were making sure their marines were strapped into the saddles. Guts sat behind Zori, making her seem almost a child. Zeirie sneered at Chaylene as she sat behind Breston. Chaylene ignored the sow like she did all of Xoshia’s friends. Jhech, a wart-faced marine, scrambled up behind Velegrin.

  “Strapped in,” Ary reported, shifting in the double saddle, the pommel of his bone saber nudging her kidney. They both wore their full kit. She had her bone dagger strapped to her boot and her pressure rifle in hand, leather strap slung over her left shoulder. The stock pressed a corner of the book in her breast pocket into her ribs. She aimed her rifle to her right. Ary aimed his thunderbuss to his left.

  “Okay,” Breston yelled over the gusting wind, the grass stalks rippling around their pegasi’s legs. “We’re simulating a para-assault on a fixed emplacement.” He had explained this before they’d trooped out of the camp, but the Navy believed in repetition. Repetition led to perfection. “Targets have been placed. Scouts, clear them, then drop your marines into the courtyard to open the gate.”

  It was a standard technique. While the marines secured the gates, the scouts would provide covering fire from the air with their pressure rifles. Chaylene’s heart thudded with excitement, Ary’s breath hot on her neck.

  “Everyone understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” the marines, including Ary, bellowed, startling the pegasi. Chaylene kept a tight grip on Whitesocks’s reins.

  “I’ll lead,” Breston continued. “Then Zori, Velegrin, and Chaylene will have the rear. Close formation.”

  “Gotcha, Breston,” Velegrin nodded.

  Ary gave a snort then whispered, “You guys are so informal.”

  “I know. Isn’t it so much nicer than the Sergeant-Major?”

  “Definitely. I won’t have to see him at all today.”

  Chaylene looked over her shoulder, pursing her lips. Ary gave her a quick kiss.

  “Are you two ready? Or do we need to wait on you?” Breston grinned.

  “Sorry, sir,” Ary responded, his words tight.

  “I know you have a pretty wife, but let’s keep it somewhat professional.”

  Chaylene’s cheeks burned. “We will, Breston.”

  “All right, let’s do this.”Chaylene sent her Pressure through the engine in the saddle, creating lift beneath Whitesocks’s wings. He could never have flown carrying two adult riders without her using Pressure to generate more lift for him. She shifted her knees and his gray-feathered wings beat harder and harder, the grass swirling around his legs. She generated more Pressure. His wings bit into the air. He leaped into the sky.

  “Wow,” Ary gasped as the field dropped away.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I know. You’ll see us safe.”

  She blushed as she banked Whitesocks to fall into formation behind Velegrin on Blackfeather.

  They flew around the camp, skirting the perimeter. She glimpsed the Zzuki brawling with clubs, the sunlight glinting off their blue scales. She wanted to fly over them and spit the largest loogie she could. Filthy beasts. Whitesocks veered to the camp for a moment, but she caught herself and guided him back into formation.

  “This is amazing!” Ary yelled over the wind as they streaked across the fields, leaving behind the camp.

  “Yes it is. It’s freedom.” She licked her lips. “Ary, when this is all over and we’re discharged, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Go back to Vesche?”

  “And farm?” She wasn’t sure she could do that. Not after the freedom of flying Whitesocks.

  “I guess. It’s what we were going to do before this. Don’t you want that?”

  “I . . . I want to see the world. I want to fly through the skies and find out what’s over the next hill.”

  “You want to be a courier?”

  “Sure. Scouts are in demand when they muster out. And . . . I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  He shifted in the saddle. “Maybe.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “What about children? Don’t you want to have kids?”

  “Well, yes.” She realized then that they couldn’t fly around the world if they had to care for a son or daughter. “But, maybe, for a little while, before we settle down.”

  “I guess.” He didn’t sound nearly as excited as she was. Vel would be. He wants to fly, too. “I just want you, Chaylene.”

  “And I want you.” So why can’t I get Vel out of my head? Last night, as she’d joined her fires with her husband’s, her thoughts had drifted to Vel. She’d burned brighter, her body warming as she’d imagined his intense eyes; his slim, muscular body; and that smile radiating his love for her.

  She brimmed with excitement for her walk tonight. They would talk and . . . an image o
f Vel seizing her and kissing her hard intruded on her thoughts.

  Stop that, Chaylene. That is not going to happen. We’re just friends!

  For the hundredth time, she mustered herself to tell Ary about her walk with Vel. She had no reason to hide it from her husband. They were all friends. He hasn’t seen much of Vel since training started. She opened her mouth to broach it and . . .

  Her mouth grew dry. An oily eel writhed across her belly. Her lips remembered Vel’s kiss in the alley. She worked her tongue on the roof of her mouth to restore moisture. Seeing Vel without Ary knowing made her feel wicked. She glanced at her dark hands, scorched by Vaarckthian passions.

  My ma was down with those sailors . . .

  Maybe if I leach myself, lessened how much blood I have in me, I wouldn’t feel so shameful about a simple walk with a friend.

  The practice structure appeared on the horizon—a wooden tower surrounded by a palisade. Target dummies, hay-stuffed linens shaped like men and impaled on poles, stood on the walkway wrapping around the parapet. Other “enemy soldiers” dotted the rest of the camp.

  She hefted her pressure rifle and sighted through her scope, where the targets leaped in size. She took a deep breath, aimed, and exhaled. The downstroke of Whitesocks’s wings lifted them a finger’s width and put her weapon on target.

  Chaylene fired.

  A bullet of air compacted harder than stone erupted out of the barrel. The air rippled behind it as more Pressure discharged it forward. She missed, the ball whizzing past the target’s head. She corrected her aim, and fired again.

  The target dummy fell from the walkway in a puff of straw.

  “Nice shot!” Ary whooped.

  She smiled.

  The dummies fell away as they circled the structure. She aimed and fired. Sometimes she hit, sometimes she missed. Cold, excited energy spiked through her blood as Ary called out the “enemy.” “North corner. Two ropes east. Target!”

  She shifted her aim, found the “foe” Ary spotted, and fired.

  “North wall, five ropes down. Target!”

  She aimed, fired.

  The flight made one circle, screaming through the air. She gave a quick glance to see if she was still in formation. They’d practiced flying in circles while aiming their guns many times, and Whitesocks was trained to follow the pegasus in front of him. She went back to aiming.

  “Prepare to drop!” Ary yelled. It was the marine’s job to watch the flight leader’s signals.

  He released the straps on his right leg, leaving his left leg secured to the saddle. She banked Whitesocks hard to the right. His left hand gripped the quick release for his remaining strap. She watched the flight leader. Breston turned sharp, cutting across the courtyard. As he passed over, he rotated Hunter, his pegasus, so the mount’s right wing pointed almost straight at the ground. Zeirie released her straps and dropped out of the saddle.

  Zori dropped Guts. Velegrin dropped Jhech. Then Chaylene turned Whitesocks sharp, rolling them sideways.

  “Good luck!” she shouted as Ary ripped his quick release and fell away from the saddle.

  She threw a look over her shoulder. His red coat flapped as he flipped over, pointing his feet towards the ground. He fell fast, his thunderbuss coming up to his shoulder. A bolt of lightning discharged, striking near the gate.

  Fear caught her throat. He’s not slowing down. He’ll—

  A few ropes above the ground, his plummet became a gentle fall. He landed light on his feet and rushed towards the gate. Ary had followed his training. Falling slow the entire way made him an easier target to snipe. She let out a sigh of relief and resumed circling, aiming her gun to provide support.

  The exercise ended not long after. Chaylene dived Whitesocks to the ground, banking sharply and flaring to a landing in front of the gate. Ary and his fellow marines had flushed faces and excited grins. She caught her husband’s eyes, his smile infectious.

  “Not bad,” Breston nodded. “Let’s set the dummies back up and do it again.”

  It wasn’t nearly as exciting the second time. And the third time was almost dull. She was growing sick of circling the small fort by the fourth time.

  “Getting better,” Breston smiled. “We have time for one more.”

  She groaned.

  ~ * * ~

  Wriavia orbited above, spying on Chaylene and Vel as they talked in their first secretive meeting.

  The pair sat side-by-side in the shadow of the armory, her knees folded up to her chest, his legs stretched out before him. They were far enough away from the bustle and music around the barracks for Wriavia’s keen ears to pick up their conversation. It was nothing important. Chaylene spoke animatedly about training with her mate today.

  “The air rushed by us,” she smiled, looking up at the stars. “Oh, Vel, you would have loved it up there.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, studying her face. “Maybe you’ll take me for a ride one day.”

  “Oh, well, I’m not sure I can do that. You know. It’s not my pegasus. It’s the Navy’s.”

  “Right, right.”

  The progress pleased Wriavia. If Vel could seduce the female away from her mate and the jealous Briaris found out . . . Wriavia clucked his beak in anticipation. He could see no better methodology to keep the church’s feathers clean than to have Briaris executed for murder.

  It would never trace back to Wriavia if Vel was dead.

  As they spoke, Vel scooted closer and closer to her. Their shoulders brushed. Chaylene was still blathering on about the flight, so caught up in the excitement she hadn’t noticed him drifting nearer.

  “It’s so freeing, Vel. When I’m up there . . . It’s like the Navy doesn’t exist. They don’t have a hold on me and Ary. It’s . . .” She turned to face him. Their gazes locked. Her tongue licked her lips. His head drifted towards hers, and their lips neared.

  Wriavia’s gizzard tightened. He swooped lower. Would they kiss? A charge tingled through the air around the pair.

  She jerked her head away.

  “It’s getting late, Vel,” she panted, her voice low and breathy. Wriavia studied her ebony face, his keen, Luastrian eyes penetrating the night’s darkness. Her half-parted lips were moist, her eyes dilated. Sweat beaded her brow. But a tension furrowed her forehead. Guilt. “I need to get going.”

  Chaylene stood up, brushing dirt off her backside.

  “Oh, yeah,” Vel answered, his voice strained as he rose. “It was nice. I hope we can do it again.”

  “On Redday? It was nice to talk to you about flying.”

  “I can wait two days to hear more about your flights,” Vel said. “I hope you’ll have more stories to tell me.”

  “I’m sure I will. Goodnight, Vel.”

  “‘Night, Lena.”

  Wriavia watched her drift back through the camp. She sought her husband, where he lounged outside the barracks laughing with the other marines. Their whoops and hollers rose into the air as she kissed her husband with a bold enthusiasm. The marines’ cheers followed the couple as they headed to their cottage.

  Wriavia cocked his head. One female didn’t cheer. It was an Agerzak marine, her arms folded as she watched the couple disappear into the darkness. Once Chaylene broke her vows—Wriavia believed it only a matter of time before her desire for Vel defeated her loyalty to her marriage vows, lust such an insidious emotion—Ary would need to learn about his mate’s indiscretion.

  He scanned the memorized list of the Dauntless’s crew. Only one female marine bore an Agerzak name—Ahneil. How can I nudge her in the right direction?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Coajyoa 24th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Chaylene woke up thankful it was Dawnsday. Her muscles ached sore after the last four days of intense training, including yesterday’s joint session with Ary and the other marines. Exhaustion wanted to crush her. So she groaned, snuggled against Ary’s warm form, and dozed.

  Hours later, they rose, the morning sun flooding their tiny r
oom. Chaylene slipped out of bed first. She prepared and drank her contraceptive tea, a bitter infusion of herbs that naval regulations required all of the female enlisted and officers to drink. Every Dawnsday, she drank it. It was better than the alternative—four years without sharing her fire with her husband. Even with how tired training left her, they still united a few times a week. And always on Dawnsday morning. Ary’s eyes appreciated her. She smiled, slipping back into bed to enjoy their relaxing day free of any duties.

  When they finished, her fires dying to banked coals, her emotions roiled. Two conflicting storms crashed together. She rested her head on Ary’s chest, listening to the thunder of his heart. His hand stroked her hair down her back. A simple thing, but so tender. It only made her feel like a hussy after last night.

  How close she’d come with Vel . . .

  Both men stirred her nethers’ coals, the heat fluttering through her. But one also made her feel so shameful. The urge to kiss Vel, to spit upon the fires of her marriage, had seized her so hard last night. That scared her.

  And yet . . . She wanted to see Vel again. To talk with her friend, to feel the intensity of his gaze upon her. Resignation settled on her. She couldn’t fight it. Her blood didn’t care about vows. She knew both these men. Her friends. Her companions.

  Did she love them both? Ary’s gentle care and Vel’s passionate desire? She’d fought her blood for so long, resisting the temptation to let Ary pluck her flower before they’d united in proper marriage. On her wedding night, when she lay with Ary for the first time, she rejoiced. Here, finally, lay the outlet for her blood’s heat.

  Why couldn’t he be enough?

  Why did Vel have to love me, too?

  I made a choice. Ary. I shouldn’t see Vel again. Next time I see him, I’ll tell him.

  “I can stay in camp, Ary,” she said later, rising after they’d finished cuddling.

  Ary watched her from their bed as she pulled on her ill-fitting brown dress. Zori had bought it for her in Shon last Dawnsday. She’d have done it herself, but both she and Ary had their last Dawnsday’s liberty revoked.