Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “Why didn’t you tell me he asked you to marry him? That he kissed you?”

  “At first, I didn’t want to ruin your friendship. I hoped he’d get over it. I felt . . . sorry for him.”

  “Because you loved him?” Ary asked, his voice tight with fear. “That you wished you were his?”

  She didn’t want to answer that, knowing it would only hurt her husband more to learn her desire for Vel. How’d she confused her longing for something deeper, for that love she felt for Ary. Only when she truly feared she’d lost her husband’s trust could she truly appreciate what she felt for him. It terrified her, left her feeling like a cindered husk. She had never feared for Vel. She didn’t spend sleepless nights regretting hurting him, just hating herself for letting him stuff her head with ostrich down.

  He looked at her. “I just . . . I can’t understand why you didn’t tell me. It doesn’t make sense. If you loved me, why?”

  He needed to know the truth. He’d hate her. But the pain in his eyes needed soothing, even if the cure would hurt. But he’d heal with or without her. “Because . . . I liked how he made me feel.” She shivered. “When I was with him, he made me feel so warm inside. It confused me. I found myself thinking about him. I’m a terrible wife.”

  She stared at him, lower lip quivering, waiting.

  He reached across that yawning void and stroked her face. Hope beat in her heart. “Ahneil stirred . . . feelings like that inside me. The day I met her, I thought she was beautiful. And when she would hug me or smile at me, well, my thoughts drifted to her. Last night, when she kissed me, I really wanted to enjoy it. Partly to get back at you, but mostly because she felt so nice. She made my fires flare hot. But . . . I couldn’t keep doing it.”

  “Because you remembered who you loved,” Chaylene whispered. “You felt that heat, but you couldn’t bring yourself to act on it.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes.”

  A smile crossed her lips. She caressed his bare chest. “I never could either. Vel . . . He tried to kiss me a few times. I so wanted to let him, but then I thought of you and . . . I slapped him. Can you forgive me for being such a terrible person?”

  He pulled her onto his lap, his arms almost crushing her. “I can, Lena.”

  Her heart beat for joy. I don’t deserve him. I need to be a better person. I need to earn this compassion.

  She peered into Ary’s eyes. “Can you please tell me about the dreams, Ary? I love you. And they terrify me. What are they?”

  His face became stone. He pushed her off his lap, stood, and walked to their chest of drawers. She felt that void widening between them, Ary retreating.

  “Why does it frighten you to tell me, Ary? I’ll still love you. I just . . . I need to know. There is something so powerful and frightening about them.”

  “I’m afraid to lose you.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What?”

  He pulled out his uniform and pulled on his clothes. “They’re just nightmares. There’s nothing special about them.” His voice was as flat as a well-paved road. “They don’t make any sense, and they don’t mean anything.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. She was too scared of losing him again to press it right now.

  Chaylene found a clean chemise in the chest of drawers to slip on. Then she pulled on her cleanest pair of trousers. She pulled on a shirt and sat down to lace up her black boots, then bloused pants into them. That was important. When flying, if her pants weren’t bloused, the wind would whip them up.

  Ary sat next to her. “Tonight, why don’t we go for a walk?” His voice was hesitant, almost scared. “Watch the stars?”

  “I’d like that,” she whispered, reaching over to touch his hand. He squeezed her back.

  “Good,” Ary said and stood, buckling on his heavy, leather sword belt, his bone sabre hanging from it. He looked smart and handsome with his red coat buttoned up tight, his back straight, and his eyes clear. He didn’t even look hungover.

  The horn blared.

  “Drill,” Ary groaned.

  The horn sounded again and again and again.

  “That’s not a drill,” Chaylene whispered, her stomach falling. She glanced at her husband. He dreamed something bad was coming. A danger. They had both heard those warning horns before when they were ten. She could picture Ary as a child standing on the ruined tower, staring off the edge of Vesche, eager to witness the Intrepid sail gloriously into battle against . . .

  “A Cyclone,” she said, her voice strangled. How had his dreams known? Is he a soothsayer like a solarmancer or a Stormwitch? A tremor ran through her body. All the fears that consumed her the day of the draft came flooding back, drowning out the mystery of Ary’s dreams. An overwhelming void hung below her, sucking her down into immobile terror. She wasn’t strong enough to fight. The Intrepid had sailed out against the Cyclone, and the crew had all died.

  She couldn’t fight. She was weak.

  Her heart screamed in her breast, the blaring trumpet resounding over and over in her head. I can’t do this. I can’t go out and face them. What if Ary dies today? What will I do? Her hand went to her chest, the book a hard square in her breast pocket.

  Ary’s words whispered through her mind. You’ll go on living. You’re stronger than you think.

  Happiness filled her the morning he’d whispered those words. Back before fear and disgust tried to douse their fire, filling their marriage with reeking smoke as the flames sputtered and threatened to die.

  “I’m strong,” she whispered to herself, using Ary’s words to pull her back from her terror. She had to be strong. They both had to go to fight the—

  Her husband stood ashen-faced, his body trembling, his eyes haunted. He looked so young, like a lost boy, the child who’d wandered out of the havoc the Cyclone wrecked. Ary had witnessed a Cyclone first-hand. She’d merely hid in the Xogrlys’ root cellar with Vel. It had been terrifying hearing the roaring winds, the house above creaking, debris slamming into the walls while explosions boomed in the skies.

  He joined the Navy for me. Riasruo Above, was he terrified of this when he enlisted?

  They were in this together. They had to fight. It was their duty. She was strong. Ary believed in her. She swore to be his support when they mixed their flames and united their lives. She crossed to him and cupped his face in her hands, staring into his red, trembling eyes.

  “We’ll face this together. I’ll be out there with you. We’ll watch out for each other.”

  “You’ll die,” he croaked.

  “Then you’ll go on living while I’ll watch you from the sun.” She stroked his cheeks. “But we have to go. We swore our oaths to the Autonomy. The people of Les need our protection. Zori, Ailsuimnae, Estan, Guts, and all the rest of our crewmates are counting on us.”

  His arms pulled her to him, nearly crushing her. “You’ll die, Lena.”

  “I will if you don’t go.”

  He trembled. “I can’t. I can’t face a Cyclone.”

  “You’re stronger than you think, Ary. And we’re even stronger together. Let me be your support. Let me finally be a good wife to you. Lean on me today, and we’ll get through this.”

  The horn kept blaring. They had to go to their duty.

  “Lena,” he whispered, almost a prayer, a totem against the coming darkness.

  “I’m terrified, Ary. You’re my strength. We promised to support each other. I . . . I wasn’t the best wife before, but I will be. I’m so sorry that I didn’t think. That I let my burning blood control me. That won’t happen again. I won’t be weak. Lean on me, Ary. Draw on my strength. You were right. I can be strong.”

  He looked down at her. Fear haunted his eyes. What terrible things did he see during the Cyclone? He took a deep breath. She poured all her love and support into her gaze, feeding it to him, shining it upon him.

  Ary stiffened. His eyes grew strong. “I . . . can face it. With you.”

  “Together. We’re stronger together than apart. Our fi
res burn brighter.”

  ~ * * ~

  Ary ran beside his wife, racing through the camp to join the throng of sailors, marines, and Zzuk auxiliaries surging for the docks. The sun was rising in the east, cresting over the Dauntless’s bow. Riasruo’s warmth shone on his face.

  Goddess Above, keep Lena safe.

  Fear consumed the last traces of the pain inside him. Chaylene loved him and danger threatened her life. His love was heading into the heart of the Cyclone. The shining Luastria had known the attack was coming. She’d tried to warn him. To prepare him for the coming carnage.

  The horn never stopped sounding, leading them to the Dauntless. Estan fell in on Ary’s other side, his ebony face paled gray, his red coat undone and his sword belt buckled hastily. “It has to be a drill, right? The statistical likelihood of a Cyclone actually attacking here is minimal.”

  “It’s a Cyclone,” Ary answered, cold sweat sticking to his uniform. “I’ve heard those horns blaring before.”

  “Right. The Vesche Cyclone. You told me you witnessed . . . Riasruo shine upon us, the Intrepid.”

  “She was a corvette just like the Dauntless.” Ary’s voice cracked as he struggled to forget the image of the Intrepid’s wreckage amid Master Oatlon’s orange grove, twisted beyond any resemblance to the once majestic warship. Memories of the bodies mangled in the wreckage flooded his mind, Chaylene’s sightless eyes, her neck twisted—

  Don’t think about that!

  “The Spirituous and the Adventurous will be sallying forth with us,” Estan added. “Three ships. That has to put the odds in our favor.”

  Ary clutched at that. Vesche only had one corvette. Camp Chubris had two. And a larger frigate. More than Vesche. There was hope that Chaylene would survive the battle. His wife ran fearlessly beside him. Shame wracked him. He shouldn’t need his wife to cajole him into fighting. He was an Autonomy Marine.

  His bowels felt like sealing wax heated by a candle, dribbling molten about inside him, threatening to harden into a blob and drag him down into the Storm Below.

  A deathly silence had descended around Ary despite the pounding of feet and blaring of the alarm. He stared ahead at blue sky, the autumn day bright and warm, promising beauty beneath Riasruo’s sun. And yet something dark swelled, a stain spilling across clean parchment, ruining the promise the paper once held.

  And then a growl built, deep, a rumble almost imperceptible. More felt through the bones of his feet than detected by his ears. Something hungry, predatory. A shark lurking to consume all before it.

  The docks lay ahead, the twin-masted Dauntless already swarming with sailors in their white linens, scaling the rigging and unfurling the sails. Others unlimbered the three ballistae—two at the bow and one at the stern. At the head of the gangplank, Lieutenant Chemy, master-at-arms, handed out weapons. Chaylene clamored up the gangplank first, her blue coat swirling about her hips. The lieutenant, eyes fierce above a pointed nose, handed Chaylene a pressure rifle. She saluted, then raced for the foremast to climb up to the crow’s nest with Zori.

  “Lieutenant,” Ary said, snapping a salute then taking the thunderbuss she’d pulled out of a barrel.

  “Corporal,” Lieutenant Chemy nodded.

  “Detachment One on the starboard side,” Ary bellowed, trying to remember all the drills. They had practiced this so many times. He couldn’t think with the swelling growl rumbling through the air, but his body knew what to do anyways. “Let’s go!”

  Guts and Ahneil already manned the gunwale on the well deck, the middle of the corvette’s three decks. Sailors with crossbows joined the railing, two sailors between every red-coated marine. They would possess a Blessing of Wind, their crossbows fitted with engines allowing their bolts to fly true in the fiercest of gales.

  “Estan, take your position.” Ary found shouting orders helped to dull fear’s sharp edge. He was doing something, the action occupying his mind.

  The Sergeant-Major boarded the ship, his eyes sweeping across the deck. “Report, Corporal!”

  Shocked at being addressed as something other than Princess almost stuck Ary’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. “All but Grech have reported, Sergeant-Major.”

  The Agerzak sergeant scowled. “Dung would be the last one here. I oughta throw him off the ship.”

  “I’m here, Sergeant-Major,” Grech panted as he rushed across the deck from the gangplank, his blond hair tousled.

  “Then get your sorry backside to your position before I kick you right over the gunwale!”

  Grech squeaked and ran to his station.

  “You hold the starboard side, Corporal,” the Sergeant-Major growled. “Show these Storm-spawned bastards the mettle of the Autonomy’s Marines.”

  Ary snapped a salute and bellowed, “Yes, Sergeant-Major! We’re the Stormwall!”

  The Sergeant-Major nodded.

  Ary crossed the deck to the middle of the gunwale, his position as the corporal. On his right knelt a skinny sailor named Inabron, on his left an eel-faced sailor named Bruth. He nodded to them both then looked down the line to his marines. Grech and Guts stood ready, the big marine grinning, the skinny one shaking. On his left, Ahneil gave him a tight smile and Estan had a flat stare.

  “We’re going to hold the starboard deck,” Ary yelled at the marines and sailors along the starburst gunwale, under his command for the battle. His blood roared through his veins, drowning out the Cyclone’s rumbling threat. The words flowed out of him like a stampede of ostriches through a break in the fence. “Just like we drilled a hundred times. Any Stormrider that gets within a hundred ropes, we kill ‘em! We’re the Stormwall of the Autonomy! We defend our fellow citizens from all enemies. Even the Theisseg-cursed ones that spawn from the Storm Below.”

  “The Autonomy!” cheered the marines and sailors on the starboard gunwale.

  “We are the STORMWALL!”

  “STORMWALL!” they roared back.

  “STORMWALL!”

  Every roar gave them more spine, their faces hardening. The shout spread, taken up by the sailors in the rigging, and roared across the ship.

  “STORMWALL!”

  “STORMWALL!”

  He glanced up at the crow’s nest atop the foremast where his wife peered over the side, her fist pumping in the air and her mouth shouting with the rest of the crew. He held onto the memory of her ebony face. She was his strength. He could be a Stormwall to protect her.

  “STORMWALL!”

  A great gust whipped down the length of the ship. The Windwardens summoned gusts to carry them to the Cyclone. On the horizon, a foul maelstrom rose like a bubble from the turbulent surface of the Storm. Black clouds whipped widdershins as it eclipsed the rising sun. A wall of swirling death headed straight for Les. For them. It covered the entire horizon.

  Ary’s thumb touched the tip of his little finger.

  The Dauntless quartered the wind to turn and face the Cyclone head-on. To port, the Adventurous and the Spirituous sallied forth, their white sails billowing, their sailors and marines manning the gunwales and ballistae.

  The Cyclone’s roar grew, rising to drown out the creak of the mast, the rippling of the sails, and the slap of rope against the rigging. The fierce anger of the tempest surged closer. Lightning crackled throughout the dark clouds.

  Ary’s side prickled.

  “Though this is our first combat together, I know you will stand firm,” the captain’s voice rang out from the stern deck. Ary threw her a glance. Captain Dhar stood proud, her light-brown hair pulled back in a tight braid, her dark-blue coat buttoned for parade. A bone sabre hung from a belt strapped to her waist, a thunderbuss slung on her shoulder. Once a marine, always a marine. “I have extreme faith that all of you will fight and give glory to the proud tradition of the Autonomy’s Navy.”

  “STORMWALL!” roared the crew.

  A proud smile crossed her lips. “You are the Stormwall! This Cyclone shall break upon the prow of the Dauntless. We shall drive these demons back i
nto the Storm Below! Do not be afraid. Cyclones can be defeated. Lieutenant-Captain Pthuigsigk faced the Stormriders and his ship emerged victorious!”

  Beside her stood the first officer, the glowering lieutenant-captain, his ebony face set and his blue eyes burning with intensity. Rumors gusted that a scar ran across his torso. A Stormrider had gutted him, but he’d fought on, killing the Rider.

  “They’re just men!” Pthuigsigk shouted over the Cyclone’s growing cacophony. He spat. “They bleed when you stick ‘em. Your blades are useless against their armor, so you need to attack the joints. Marines, use your discharges. Follow your training, and we’ll kill every last bastard. Ballistae crew, begin firing the moment they’re within five hundred ropes. I want every shot exploding in their midst. Choose your fuses well.”

  “Aye, Lieutenant-Captain,” answered Ensign Hufame, her voice thick with fear. “We won’t fail.”

  “That’s right,” shouted Ailsuimnae, the crew chief of the starboard ballistae. “We’ll swat ‘em out of the sky, Cap’n.”

  The Cyclone’s roar grew louder, challenging the Dauntless. Ary put his thunderbuss tight against his shoulder. “Detachment One, let’s show these Theisseg-cursed bastards the strength of our Stormwall!”

  “STORMWALL!”

  ~ * * ~

  “Let’s show ‘em who they’re messing with!” Zori exclaimed beside Chaylene. “We’re the best shots in the fleet.”

  Both women crouched in the crow’s nest of the foremast, their pressure rifles aimed at the massive wall of dark clouds sprawled before them. Chaylene’s heart pounded, flooding her veins with ice water. Her rifle trembled. She needed to stay calm, to focus to snipe the Stormriders before they could harm the Dauntless.

  Harm Ary.

  She had to be the best shot ever. Her husband was down there, holding the starboard side. Chaylene would not let any Theisseg-spawned Stormriders hurt her husband. She had made a promise to Gretla. She would see Ary safe. He looked so tiny from up high, his thunderbuss aimed over the side of the ship.

  “You okay, Lena?” Zori asked, her elbow nudging Chaylene’s short ribs.