Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  “Stormwall!” he answered, pivoting and hooking his right foot around the still living Rider’s left leg, tugging hard. The Rider’s arms went wide as he tried to keep his balance before crashing onto the deck in a heap of ringing metal. The Rider’s helmet rolled away with a clatter. Ary lunged his sword down at the breastplate. A pale, scared face stared up at him.

  A woman’s face.

  “Riasruo!” he cursed in shock, wanting to stop his blow.

  His sword punched into the female Rider’s chest. She cried out in piteous pain.

  Lightning pulsed from the Eye. It ripped him away from his body.

  ~ * * ~

  Once again, Ary floated before the Luastria.

  Ary realized this poor creature powered the Cyclone, and was certain they were linked. She was a Luastria. Like the Goddess Above.

  Like Theisseg, her sister. The Goddess of Storms and Chaos.

  Two thousand years ago, Kaltein—Tyrant-King of the Wrackthar—summoned the Storm. It was the last, spiteful act of a beaten man refusing to let his enemies defeat him. He cursed the world to eternal darkness beneath Theisseg’s Storm.

  “He bound you to summon the Storm,” Ary whispered.

  “Please. I cannot take this torment. Free me!”

  “You’re Theisseg?”

  His blood ran cold. The Dark Goddess, the very being with whom his mother had terrorized his childhood was this pitiful, chained, and broken creature before him, screaming in eternal agony. Kaltein hadn’t merely used his Goddess’s powers—he’d used the Goddess. And the Stormriders, the Wrackthar’s descendants, weren’t her children, they were her tormentors. The Eye was an engine, like the one that allowed the Dauntless to fly, tapping into the awesome power of the Goddess. Like Kaltein before them, the Stormriders used their abused Goddess to summon the Cyclones and attack the skylands.

  No being, not even the Dark Goddess, deserved such a fate.

  “Free me!”

  “How?” Ary asked.

  “The foci,” moaned Theisseg. “The foci are my chains. Free me! On the heights! Ascend!”

  “What are the foci? I don’t understand!”

  “Such pain!”

  “Theisseg, what are the foci?”

  The Luastria pulled at her chains. Twelve bound her legs, wings, torso, and neck, crackling with lightning, pulsing like bolts dancing through the darkness. There was a thirteenth chain wrapped around her ankle, not shining bright, but dark and dangling, the link snapped.

  Someone had already broken one of the foci.

  “You have to tell me what they are!”

  “That’s why they come. To break them. They want to end it.”

  “End what? The Cyclone? I don’t understand!”

  “My torment. End my torment!”

  “I will,” Ary promised. “I will break the foci.” No creature, not even Theisseg, deserved unending torment. Somehow, Ary would free the Dark Goddess.

  He hurtled back to his body.

  ~ * * ~

  Ary snapped back into his body. He leaned on his sword, the end still impaled into the dying Stormrider’s chest. Her amber eyes fixed on his, so Human, so full of pain. She wasn’t a monster or a demon. She was just someone fighting for her side. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip down her pale, ivory cheek. She gazed up at the pristine, blue sky surrounded by the raging walls of the Cyclone, her eyes widening. Her arm reached upward, fingers straining. A smile graced her lips. She whispered something harsh yet beautiful. Her breath exhaled, wet and bubbling. Her arm fell to the deck.

  She’d never seen the sky before, Ary thought, struck by his realization.

  “Ary,” Guts bellowed. “I need your help.”

  Ary blinked, tears thick in his eyes. Guts stood at the port ballista working the crank to draw back the windlass, a two-man job. The third Stormrider was dead at his feet. Blood streaked Guts’s face, his nose cleaved off along with a gouge of skin down his cheek.

  Without thinking, Ary pulled the sword from the dead Rider’s body and rushed across the fore deck, stepping over the fallen Zzuk warrior’s and Ailsuimnae’s corpse, her ebony face twisted with unseeing surprise. Chaylene’s going to be devastated. He put his wife’s dead friend out of his mind. The Eye needed to be destroyed.

  He jammed the metal blade into his wooden scabbard and seized the other side of the windlass, cranking it. The porcelain mechanism clinked as it ratcheted back the ballista’s limbs, drawing the leather cradle into firing position. Lieutenant Tharele hefted one of the clay shots and set it in the cradle.

  “Impact fuse,” the Windwarden announced.

  “Better not miss.” Guts laughed, a bitter sound devoid of any of his normal humor, more the memory of a laugh. Blood drenched his face, coating his lips, crimson bubbles frothing at the corners. No joy touched his eyes.

  Would they ever feel joy again? So many dead, dying. The moans of the wounded almost drowned out the roar of the Cyclone swirling around the calm.

  “Incoming!” the lieutenant shouted.

  Ary crouched without thought behind the battery as Stormriders’ arrows fell around them, embedding in the wood of the deck. The Eye neared, humming and crackling. Guts and Ary rose. They worked the cranks that turned the ballistae and aimed it at the glowing Eye, the mini-sun fueling the Cyclone.

  Ary judged the angle and barked, “Fire!”

  “Aye, Corporal!”

  The cables snapped as Guts pulled the release. The cradle leaped forward, hurtling the clay shot over the bow of the ship at the Eye. Ary watched, unable to breathe. It had to be on target. It had to hit before the Cyclone made skylandfall, devastating Camp Chubris and Shon.

  “Riasruo, please.”

  He trembled, forgetting how to breathe as the shot hurtled through the sky, dwindling a speck and vanishing in the Eye’s golden glare. His hands clenched. His entire body trembled beneath the strain. Tensed. Waiting.

  Nothing. The shot missed.

  “Reload!” Ary ordered, grabbing the windlass as disappointment soured his stomach. The few remaining Stormrider archers shot their arrows as they circled the Dauntless. The ship banked, turning to keep the Eye off to port. Lieutenant Tharele fetched the next shot.

  An explosion clapped through the sky. A mournful song rang through Ary’s mind. Smoke and fire engulfed the Eye. Out of the fireball burst shining pieces of trailing golden light. Beyond the explosion, the Adventurous sailed through the calm, and their starboard ballistae crew pumped their fists into the air.

  The great howl of the Cyclone ended. The dark, raging clouds surrounding them broke apart, dissipating into gray then white mist. Riasruo’s rising sun burst through the dying Cyclone, bathing her warm love upon the Dauntless. The Stormriders circling like sharks fell limp, their mounts dissipating beneath them, their armored forms falling down to the Storm Below. Their lives were tied to the beating heart of the maelstrom.

  To chained Theisseg.

  “We won,” Ary muttered, leaning against the ballistae and surveying the blood-drenched deck of the Dauntless. So many bodies lay strewn, hacked down by the Riders. The cries of the wounded replaced the roar of the Cyclone.

  “I don’t see her,” muttered Guts, looking up at the crow’s nest.

  Fear spiked into Ary. His gaze shot up to the top of the foremast. Relief flooded through him. Chaylene looked down, waving frantically, her lips moving. Shouting. Guts raced towards the foremast, leaping from the fore deck down into the well deck. Three long steps later, he reached the mast and scrambled upward, Ary right behind him. He struggled to climb as the rope ladder swayed and his heavy boots dragged his feet. He kept climbing, pulling himself higher and higher.

  Guts reached the top. His great cry wrenched at Ary’s heart.

  Moments later, Ary reached the crow’s nest, which had witnessed so much crimson. A blood-soaked jacket covered Zori’s stomach, an arrow sticking out of her side. She lay unconscious, her face pale. Chaylene’s gray eyes were distant, blood st
reaking her bare, left arm.

  Guts scooped up Zori. She looked like a child in Gut’s big arms. A soft moan escaped her lips. “You’re gonna be fine, Zori,” the big man whispered. “I’m gonna get you to the medical officer. You’ll be fine.” Then Guts stepped off the side and drifted down to the deck like a leaf falling from a tree, his Minor Wind slowing his descent.

  “Ary,” Chaylene whispered, her bare arms sliding around his waist. He seized her, held her. Nothing else mattered at that moment. He clung to her, leaning against her strength as a great exhaustion swept through him.

  The Dauntless turned, the victorious ship heading back for port accompanied only by the cries of the maimed and dying.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Isamoa 12th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Zori’s green eyes opened, her brown face wan, confusion rippled across her expression as she looked around her sickbed. “Where . . .?” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

  Chaylene’s heart beat faster with relief as she reached out and took Zori’s hand. “You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been asleep for three days.”

  Zori’s eyes widened. “The Cyclone. Did we . . .?” Her face winced in pain. “Riasruo Above!”

  “Stay calm. You took an arrow in the side. You need to rest.”

  “But we won. Right?”

  “We did.” Emotion glistened in Chaylene’s eyes. “Breston’s dead.”

  Zori blinked then let out a chocking sob. Warrant Officer Breston Veld had seemed indestructible during their training. Calm, collected, daring. He never screamed or yelled at them like the Sergeant-Major, never used his fists to discipline like the Bosun. He’d been kind and caring. Chaylene would have followed him into the fiercest storm.

  “He took an arrow in the chest. Velegrin said he tried to keep fighting, but he choked to death on his blood.”

  Zori bit her lip. “Who else?”

  “Thirty dead on the Dauntless.” A third of the crew—it still staggered her when she thought about it. “Another ten maimed and discharged. And we had it light. Over half of the Spirituous’s crew died.”

  “Who else?” The wounded woman’s lips trembled. Chaylene took her hand.

  “Lieutenant-Captain Myon, the Sergeant-Major, Ahneil, Xoshia.” She swallowed, not wanting to say the next name “And . . . Ailsuimnae.” She fought back her tears. The Stormriders had slaughtered the entire crew of the forward ballistae as they’d defended Lieutenant Tharele. Ailsuimnae had been such a brave woman. Fearless. Reckless. Kind.

  “Guts?” Zori’s hand shook.

  “No. He was wounded.” The relief spreading across Zori’s face brought a smile to Chaylene’s lips. “He, Ary, and Estan made it through the worst of it. In fact, he should be here soon. He’s been by your side almost constantly, but Lieutenant Jhoch made him go get something to eat. I’m sure he’ll—”

  “Zori?” a hoarse voice boomed. “You’re awake!”

  “Keep it quiet, Private,” said the medical officer. “There are wounded in here.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Guts hunched his shoulders, a sheepish grin spread on his bandaged-wrapped face, hiding his missing nose and covering the hideous wound on his cheek. The big man sat on the small stool on the other side of Zori’s bed. He gathered her free hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

  “Your face,” Zori whispered.

  “Just a scratch. Hardly anything to talk about. Unlike you.” He shook his head, a big smile on his lips. “A bitty arrow pokes you, so you decide to loll about for days.”

  Zori gave him a wan smile. Then her eyes closed, and she drifted back to sleep.

  Chaylene, leaving her friend in Guts’s care, stood up from her own stool and stretched her back. Her left arm throbbed from the arrow that had grazed her. She walked past the other seriously wounded, her heart breaking. Many of them were dying. Most of those who had survived would probably never fully recover, their wounds too severe, their bodies broken and maimed.

  Chaylene wondered if the people of Shon and the rest of Les even knew what had happened. Did they know how many had suffered and died for them? Anger burned inside Chaylene. She hated the Stormriders. Why did they have to attack? To kill my friends? The wind blew hard when she stepped outside. A chill rippled across her skin.

  Just the wind.

  She looked anyways for the wall of black clouds before setting out to find her husband. Zori was well; now she could worry about what she’d witnessed during the Cyclone.

  ~ * * ~

  “Hey, Grech,” Ary said, sitting on a stool beside Grech’s bed in the barracks. The medical building was too crowded, so only the worst of the wounded were kept there.

  Grech turned his head to look away. Ary swallowed, trying not to stare at the stump sprouting from Grech’s left shoulder.

  “You’ll be going home soon,” Ary continued. “Medical discharge.”

  “And do what?” Grech asked, his voice dull.

  Ary didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure there’s plenty you can do.”

  “All I knew before was working the docks. And ain’t no way a one-armed man’s gonna be able to do that. How am I supposed to survive?”

  “You’ll get your pension. Wounded in battle. Against a Cyclone, no less.” He swallowed. “And I’m sure your family—”

  “I ain’t got no family.”

  Ary flinched. “Oh, I thought you had a father?”

  “That man ain’t no parent.” He recognized the hatred in Grech’s voice, something Ary knew so well. “He’s why I joined up. To get away from the bastard.”

  “Well, um . . .”

  “Just go away, Ary!” Grech looked at him, his eyes swollen and red. “Get out of here! It ain’t fair. Ahneil died, I lost my arm, Estan got banged up pretty well, the Sergeant-Major got killed, and even Guts lost his nose. But you . . . You walked through that entire mess without taking a scratch!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then where are your wounds?”

  “I . . .” Ary’s words died. He thought he’d been cut on the leg, but despite the blood and slice in his trousers, his skin was unmarred. “I don’t know how. But I wasn’t the only one that wasn’t hurt. Lieutenant Tharele—”

  “Just go! I don’t know what she ever saw in you.”

  “Chaylene?”

  “You don’t even care that she’s dead.” Grech laugh held no humor, only disgust. He looked away. “You had your wife. Why’d you have to have Ahneil, too?”

  “I never had her.”

  “Right.” Grech rolled onto his side, his back to Ary. “Just go away. I ain’t a marine no more. So you ain’t my corporal.”

  Ary opened his mouth, closed it, and retreated. Grech had earned his anger.

  He walked down the barrack stairs, passing other sailors who all saluted him, murmuring, “Stormwall,” and giving him slaps on the shoulder. They all thought he was a hero, the man who had single-handily driven the Stormriders from the deck.

  Just because I survived. Like I always do.

  Ary knew the truth. The heroes were Ahneil and the Sergeant-Major. Ailsuimnae and her ballista crew who’d defended the Windwarden along with Corporal Xarene and Shwaazth. The dead were the heroes.

  He was just a survivor.

  Ary adjusted his sword belt, the Stormrider blade hanging in a leather scabbard. It was worth a small fortune. The Navy had confiscated all the metal taken from the Riders when they’d returned to port. All except the swords. Every marine and sailor who picked one up was allowed to keep the blade. Their spoils.

  When Ary closed his eyes, he heard the ring of metal on metal over the deafening roar of the Cyclone. He wanted to escape the sounds, but they were trapped in his head. He walked. He had nothing else to do. There wasn’t any training. The crew of the Dauntless had already been through the butcher’s yard. They didn’t need any more practice.

  He didn’t remember walking to the edge of the skyland. He blinked out of his thoughts and
found himself there. He peered down at the Storm Below, rippling and churning, an endless expanse of clashing winds and colliding clouds, boiling with Theisseg’s pain. No being deserved her fate. She deserved to be freed, to soar on the winds like Chaylene on her pegasus.

  “I remember my promise,” he said to the Storm.

  “What promise?”

  Chaylene stalked up to him, her gray eyes haunted and frail.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. How could he tell her he’d promised to free the Dark Goddess, the most feared and despised being in the skies?

  “You can tell me,” she whispered, forcing a smile.

  He wanted so badly to trust his wife. Why did I go after her that night I found my ma’s letter?

  “It’s nothing, Chaylene.” He winced at the heat in his voice, and added, “Just a promise I made to . . . the, uh, the Sergeant-Major.”

  She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t have to lie, Ary.”

  His cheeks warmed. “I’m not.”

  “You are, Ary.” She folded her arms, giving him a stern look.

  “I just promised the Sergeant-Major I’d look out for his marines before he died.” The lie came easier the second time.

  “But you said it to the Storm. Is that where you think he is? Being punished by Theisseg?”

  “I don’t know,” Ary admitted. The Sergeant-Major had despised all the marines, including Ary, heaping derision and goading them with insults. And then he’d saved Ary’s life. Had the man faked his belittling tyranny? Was it a way to shape his marines from guppies into sharks? “He saved my life. That arrow would’ve hit me if he hadn’t been standing there.”

  I survived and someone else died in my place. Pa. Srias. Ahneil. The Sergeant-Major. Everyone dies for me.

  Her hand touched his shoulder. Silence descended for a moment. “Ary. What happened to you during the Cyclone?”

  “What?” he frowned at her, the wind blowing strands of blonde hair across her ebony forehead.

  “When we were in the calm, I was watching you attack the fore deck. And . . .” She took a deep breath, her forehead furrowing. “When the Eye pulsed with lightning, you . . . flickered. I thought I saw a shadow pull out of your body.”