Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “We need curtains.” He gave her a pointed look. “And you need a prettier dress. Me and Guts will find some way to amuse ourselves.”

  “Okay,” she said, leaning over to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Chaylene found it vastly unfair that Captain Dhar had punished them for an accident. But a week’s pay and Ary’s loss of liberty today was cheap compared to losing their lives. “Love you.”

  He smiled. “My sweet Eyia.”

  She strolled out of the cabin and through camp as the sun rose towards noon. She desired to buy a few things to brighten up their new cottage and replace what they’d lost. Maybe a vase to put flowers in. A little rug to put under the small table to add some color. And definitely a bolt of cheap cloth to make drapes out of.

  Zeirie and Xoshia lounged near the gate, and their faces darkened as Chaylene strolled by. Xoshia asked, “Going to see your lover?”

  “It’s the perfect time to see Vel,” snorted Zeirie, the half-Agerzak marine from Detachment Two. “Her husband got his liberty revoked saving her from the fire.”

  Chaylene ignored them. The sows and the dung they spread about her supposed tryst with Vel on the Xorlar wasn’t worth her time. They can’t know about last night. And I didn’t do anything wrong. We just talked! Her heart increased its beat, urging her to kiss Vel. I fled before anything happened.

  “Look at how quick she’s walking,” Xoshia sneered. “The hussy’s got a fire she needs Vel to put out.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t see Vel tomorrow evening?

  No! We’re just talking. There’s no harm. He’s my friend. My blood doesn’t control me. I won’t let it go any farther.

  Chaylene thanked the cool breeze caressing her hot cheeks.

  Shon lay a short walk up the skyland’s edge from camp. She passed barley fields that looked identical to the ones back home except here large, white-headed eagles guarded the crops from schools of fish. Veschian farmers preferred golden ospreys.

  The village existed because of the camp, providing a place for the recruits to spend their pay on their free day, or for the bold recruits who snuck out at night to enjoy themselves. Officers and senior NCOs ignored the infraction so long as the recruits reported for revelry in the morning. Shon held a pair of seedy taverns that doubled as brothels. Male sailors frequented both establishments often. Chaylene preferred the Perfumed Leaf, the more respectable teahouse. There, she and Ary met Estan for their weekly history talk.

  Today, the pair held a stimulating conversation about the Theological Treaty. During the Vaarckthian Empire’s rapid expansion, the devout Emperor Zhnavth II had allowed the Theocracy of Riasruo to remain independent and thus won the Church’s endorsement for his Empire. Not only had the Bishriarch secured her religion’s independence, she’d also gained the Empire’s support in stamping out all the heretical sects and cults that spawned during the Age of Isolation.

  Chaylene missed Ary’s earnest questions interrupting her and Estan’s conversation.

  Afterward, she wandered the eclectic stalls of the market, smiling at the crafts brought from across the skies—Sowerese silks, Ethinski porcelains, Seyen leathers, Shuutanian cheeses, and so much more.

  “Chaylene!”

  She turned at the sound of the excitable voice screaming her name. Zori bounded up, a grin on her brown face and a large bundle clutched in her hand. The canvas, tied with twine, bulged like it contained bulky cloth. Ailsuimnae scurried to catch up.

  “Hi, Zori,” Chaylene smiled. She gave her friend a brief hug, made awkward by the short woman’s bundle, followed by a hug for Ailsuimnae. “How are you two doing?”

  “Fine,” Ailsuimnae smiled, pushing back a stray lock of red hair. “Just watched Zori attack the cloth merchant like a frenzy of sharks.”

  “I may have bought too much,” Zori sighed.

  “You may have?” chortled the half-Vaarckthian sailor.

  “When we ship out, I’m never gonna be allowed to take this much with me.” Zori’s excited smile never slipped as she hugged her bundle tighter.

  “We only get one free day a week,” Chaylene pointed out. “When are you planning to wear all of that?”

  “I’ve never bought new clothes before. I’ve always got whatever I could get from the charities or find in the garbage heaps.”

  “Well, I’ve never had new clothes either.”

  “What about this lovely dress I bought you?” Zori demanded in mock outrage.

  “You mean this brown sack?” Chaylene pulled at the loose bodice. “Thanks, Zori.”

  “You look beautiful,” Zori snickered.

  “The dress with the songbirds you had was gorgeous,” Ailsuimnae said. “You were so pretty in it. It really emphasized your bosom.”

  Chaylene’s mood fell. She missed that dress. “My neighbors gave it to me when their daughter married. My pa . . . He died during the war. And my ma, well, she wasn’t well-liked in the village.” Particularly by Ary’s ma. Spiteful sow. “She was Vaarckthian.”

  Zori gaped at her. “Your ma was a Vaarckthian? And here I thought you just flew too close to the sun.”

  Chaylene blinked at Zori. “What?”

  “Your skin’s so black, I thought the sun had gone and burned you.”

  “Really?” Chaylene gave the smaller woman a disparaging glance. Ailsuimnae rolled her eyes.

  “No!” Zori laughed. “There were plenty of Vaarckthian bastards running around the streets of Sey.”

  “I wasn’t a bastard,” she huffed. “My parents were married.”

  “Yeah, so were mine.” Ailsuimnae gave Zori a pointed look. “Though all they did was bicker. My ma drank all the time. She hated Jhov and wished she lived back in Vaarck.”

  Zori shrugged as they stopped at a cloth merchant’s stall. “Being a bastard’s ain’t so bad. My pa was never around to disappoint me. Just my ma.”

  “Welcome, welcome, ladies,” the merchant said, rubbing his hands together, his blond hair receding and an oily smile gracing his fat lips. “I have many fine fabrics that will make the most beautiful dresses. And more than a few already sewn in the latest fashion of Grush.”

  Chaylene gave him a polite smile, grabbing the edge of a bolt of white linen with the occasional blue thread woven in the fabric. “So you never met your pa?”

  “Don’t even know his name,” Zori answered, trying to hold her bundle pressed against her left side by her arm. “My ma didn’t have the most reputable career.”

  “Oh?” Ailsuimnae asked.

  Zori threw a glance at the tavern across the street where a few scandalously dressed women lounged on the balcony, calling down at the sailors passing by on the streets with words that heated Chaylene’s cheeks.

  “So my ma didn’t have a clue who my pa was. Some sailor or dockworker. But I didn’t want to work on my back, so I joined the Navy.”

  “The goodwives accused my ma of that,” Chaylene sighed. “She worked as a laundress at the local Autonomy watch. Everyone gossiped she did . . . that with the sailors.”

  “Did she?”

  “I don’t think so,” Chaylene admitted, her stomach twisting. “She couldn’t have.”

  “What a bunch of sows’ bungholes for saying so.”

  “Zori,” blushed Chaylene. “You really shouldn’t say such words.”

  “Oh, you need to lighten up. You’re in the Navy, Chaylene, and sailors love to curse.”

  Ailsuimnae gave an earthy giggle. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, no, I’m supposed to be meeting someone for tea.”

  “Does he have a nice pair of shoulders?” Zori asked.

  Ailsuimnae just winked. “You two enjoy your day.”

  “Take care,” Chaylene nodded.

  “So you ladies are in the Navy?” a sing-song voice asked.

  Chaylene glanced to her side. A Luastria peered at her, his head cocked. The dull-red feathers surrounding his eyes and adorning his throat marked him a male.

  “Yep,” Zori beamed. “We’re scouts.”

&
nbsp; “So you get to fly,” chirped the Luastria. “Fortunate for your kind.”

  Chaylene gave him a polite smile before examining another bolt of cloth.

  “My apologies,” the Luastria bowed. “My mother always chirped that I had a raven’s curiosity. I am Wriavia, a merchant of spice and candied fruit.”

  Zori’s eyes widened with delight. “Really?”

  “Yes, yes. When you are finished at worthy Master Arden’s stall, please visit.”

  He gave a bow then retreated to the next stall over. Cinnamon sticks and cloves of pepper hung above the stall’s counter. On a rickety shelf behind the merchant were ceramic jars sealed with various colors of wax. Chaylene’s stomach gave a slight rumble and excitement danced in Zori’s eyes.

  Chaylene dragged her gaze back to the cloth merchant and she tapped a bolt of cloth with a ragged fingernail. “I will take six ropes of this gorgeous green cut into four equal lengths. They’ll make lovely curtains.”

  “Do you and Ary need more privacy?” grinned Zori.

  Chaylene’s cheeks colored. “Just brightening the place up. The new cottage is somehow drabber than the old one.”

  Arden measured and cut the cloth under Chaylene’s careful eye. She’d dealt with merchants in Isfe after her ma’s passing, and knew if you let them, they would give you rotten linen, spoiled food, and broken equipment. They were all thieves and cheats at heart. He took his knotted rope—the knots appeared properly spaced—and cut the cloth into four equal lengths. Enough to curtain both windows. Then she examined his dresses. She found a dark-red one with green vines embroidered about the hem that flowered with white buds. More vines and buds danced about the bodice.

  She held it up to her. It seemed about the right size, and if it wasn’t, her needle and thread could solve the problem. “What do you think, Zori?”

  “Ary will love it. And Vel will be ravenous.”

  “Zori!” Chaylene pictured wearing the dress for Vel, his eyes devouring her, that hungry, heart-stirring smile spreading across his face. “Why would I wear this for him?”

  “Why’d you go for a walk last night?”

  Chaylene swallowed then voice coached low, hissed, “It’s not like that.”

  “You really did see him!” Zori’s eyes widened. “I was only pulling your apron strings. So did you . . .?”

  “Of course not! We only talked. He’s just . . . a friend.”

  “Does Ary know?”

  “It hasn’t come up. I can have friends, Zori.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’ll take this dress as well,” she told the merchant, pulling out her leather purse and counting out coins.

  The moment she’d paid, Zori darted to the Luastria’s stall, bouncing on the heels of her boots. The merchant handed Chaylene the fabric wrapped in canvas and tied with twine. Then she found herself taking long strides to Zori, excited to buy sweets for herself.

  And for Ary. He deserves a treat.

  “Do you have candied cherries?” Zori blurted out. “Oh, I ate them once when I was a child. One of ma’s . . . friends gave it to me.”

  “I do,” Wriavia chirped. “As well as candied oranges, strawberries, plums, pears, apples, apricots, and bananas.”

  “Bananas?” Chaylene asked.

  “They come from the thick forests of the Zzuki tribes and . . .” His voice failed when he saw the transformation of her face. “My apologies, miss.”

  “Missus,” Chaylene corrected without thought. Her blood always ran cold at the mention of the Zzuki. The Auxiliaries tramped about camp, towering over even Guts, their disgusting tongues always flicking.

  “My apologies, Missus . . .?”

  “Jayne.”

  “What a lovely name,” chirped the merchant. “Is your mate in the Navy as well? Or is he your, uh . . . What is the word you use?”

  “Dependent,” Zori supplied. “And, no, her husband’s a marine. Got himself a nice pair of shoulders. Not as nice as my Guts, but his backside is—”

  “Zori! That’s my husband you’re talking about.”

  Impudence danced on Zori’s lips.

  “What fruit does your husband enjoy?” the merchant asked.

  “He definitely enjoys Chaylene’s,” Zori giggled.

  “Pear,” Chaylene said, fighting the urge to shake Zori for repeating things she told the girl in private. “I can’t stand them, but my husband has a soft spot for them.”

  The merchant’s chirp trilled in what Chaylene thought was a laugh. “You should buy him some. And something for yourself.”

  “I think you just want to get more custom out of me.”

  “Guilty.”

  Chaylene couldn’t help smiling at his honesty. And Ary was stuck at camp all day. “Fine. One jar of pears and, um, an apricot.”

  “And three cherries for me!”

  “You’re going to get sick,” Chaylene warned.

  “I know.” Zori’s grin covered most of her face. “It’ll be so worth it.”

  The Luastria merchant glanced at his shelf. “Let see . . . I don’t have any pear on my shelves.” He bent over and rummaged around in a box beneath the stall’s counter. “Ah, here we are.” He held up a jar sealed with blue wax. Then he pulled three sealed with red and one with black from the shelf.

  “You and your mate will be delighted,” Wriavia sang as Chaylene handed over the coins.

  “I’m sure we will,” Chaylene nodded, slipping the jars into the bundle of cloth.

  As she turned, she noticed several jars sealed with blue wax on the merchant’s shelf. She frowned, I guess he didn’t notice he had candied pears already out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Coajyoa 25th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  The tension stretched across his forehead dragged Ary out of sleep.

  He groaned, wincing at his throbbing headache as his stomach churned. He couldn’t remember feeling so bad since he’d been sick with the chocking plague as a child. Good thing you can only get that once. Sweat beaded his forehead. The light from the morning sun stabbed his eyes. Chaylene gave him a concerned look, touching his forehead as she lay next to him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her hand soft and cool.

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “Just need some water.”

  “You look like a fish that’s been left to rot in the sun.”

  “Just a headache.” He rolled out of bed and stalked to the pitcher of water, drinking it straight from the clay container. It overflowed his mouth, spilling cool down his chest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a bit.”

  “Okay.” She rubbed his shoulders from behind.

  “Thanks.” Ary closed his eyes and savored her massage.

  Chaylene rubbed him for a few more heartbeats then she turned and picked up the empty jars on the table. She washed out the remains of the candied fruit they ate last night. Ary never had such a treat. The sweet chunks of pears came alive on his tongue. It cost Chaylene a day’s pay—three sapphires—for each jar, but it had been well worth it. He’d tried to share his candied pears with her, but she’d wanted none of them, her face blanching.

  Ary had stolen a bite of candied apricot from her.

  “We should buy more next Dawnsday,” Ary groaned as he pulled on his wool trousers. He swayed, his vision fuzzed, and the room spun about him. He shook his head, driving away the dizziness.

  “I don’t know.” Chaylene gave him a critical look. “I don’t think they agreed with you.”

  “I’m fine. Probably just some bad vapors.”

  “I hope not. Summer vapors are always the worst. And we’re breathing the same air.”

  “The vapors wouldn’t dare touch my pretty wife,” he laughed, then winced as pain squeezed his skull. Morning calisthenics will be a raging boar.

  She rolled her eyes then pulled on her uniform. They dressed in silence save for his groans. The day’s heat already swelled. He sweltered worse than usual in his clothing. He almost didn’t button up his red coat, envying
Chaylene leaving hers unbuttoned. Then they marched out to face another day of training. He gave her a kiss before they separated to join their units. Ary took his spot with Detachment One between Estan and Guts.

  “You look like a shark has gnawed at you for days,” rumbled Guts. “Did you get drunk without me?”

  “No.” Ary winced as his stomach gave a most unpleasant gurgle. “I spent all day with you, remember?”

  “Maybe Chaylene brought home a jug of whiskey.”

  “You appear to be in discomfort,” Estan noted. “More than a simple hangover would engender. I’d advise you to visit Lieutenant Jhoch. Perhaps the medical officer can fix you a tonic.”

  “I don’t need a physician,” Ary muttered. “I’ll be better after I get some food in me.”

  His stomach protested again, churning violently. The sun hammered at his head. Why did it have to be so Theisseg-damned hot today? His feet shifted. And why is everything spinning? Why can’t the Storm-cursed skies stay still?

  “Ary?” Guts asked, his voice so gentle.

  “Attention!” bellowed the Sergeant-Major.

  Ary snapped his back straight, hands at his side. Bile tickled his throat.

  “Is that the best you can do? You’d think that after over a storming month you downyheaded, dull-eyed minnows could stand there and look like marines!”

  He stopped before Ary, the Sergeant-Major’s black beard thick as a thorny brier as the man’s eyes bored into his. “It looks like Princess is feeling a little delicate this morning. Too much tea last night, your Highness?”

  “No, Sergeant-Major,” Ary croaked.

  “Then why—”

  His stomach rebelled. His vomit surged up his throat as he bent over, heaving upon the Sergeant-Major’s spit-polished boots. Candied pears mixed with green bile and dark blood. That’s not good. He heaved again as the Sergeant-Major cursed, stepping back.

  “You think that’s funny, Princess? You’re going to be cleaning latrines for—”

  Ary collapsed. The world shook while his muscles burned. A man stood over him with a concerned face. “Pa?” he croaked. That can’t be right. Pa’s dead. And he never had such a thick, black beard. “Sorry, Pa. Shouldn’t have been out.”