Above the Storm

by JMD Reid

  His stomach roiled, and clamminess wreathed his skin. He looked away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The first time, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But you also froze. The Stormrider almost killed you. But the second time . . . I know what I saw. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “You’re lying.” Her eyes bored into his. “You can tell me, Ary. What happened?”

  “Nothing, Chaylene. You were just seeing things.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Briaris. Just tell me. I’m worried. I’ve never heard of anything like that before. And your dreams . . . You knew the Cyclone was coming. How? What is going on with you?”

  “How many times do I have to say nothing?”

  “So I was seeing things? You didn’t predict the Cyclone? You didn’t leave your body for a moment? And what about the cut to your trousers? There’s blood, Ary, but where’s the wound?”

  “It’s not my blood.” Ary hesitated. “Only my trousers got cut. I guess I was lucky.” I couldn’t have healed the wound in the span of an hour. It must have imagined getting sliced.

  She worked her lips. “Maybe. But the rest? You owe me an explanation.”

  “Nothing happened, Lena. My dreams aren’t special. You didn’t see anything during the Storm. Just drop it, okay? We survived. That’s all that mattered.” Please believe me, Lena. I can’t tell you. I can’t lose you. His fear built inside him, swelling through his body. He trembled, trying to hold it all in.

  “You expect me to believe that I was seeing things? That nothing strange is happening?”

  The fear exploded into howling anger. “You expect me to believe nothing happened between you and Vel?”

  He regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth.

  She flinched and took a step back, her gray eyes watering.

  “Lena, I’m sorry.” He reached out for her, but she jerked away.

  “Are you ever going to forgive me? Believe me?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Or are you forever going to throw it in my face?”

  “I do believe you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “But you did!” Anger twisted her face, her skin blistering even darker. Then she stalked off, her boots trampling grass and weeds.

  He knew he should follow her and apologize, but the fear swelled inside him, making his limbs heavy.

  But then she’ll just try to pry the truth out of me. I’ll lose her then.

  He turned to face the Storm instead. It was easier worrying about his promise to Theisseg. She didn’t twist his emotions into a painful tangle he had no idea how to unknot.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Isamoa 14th, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Ary groaned as he woke up on the floor of their cottage for the second morning in a row. He couldn’t find the words to say to his wife to undo the hurt his anger had caused. Chaylene thought he’d forgiven her, so when he’d cast it back into her face, he’d shattered their newly mended relationship. Every time he tried to apologize, she demanded to know his secret. Everything had knotted up inside him, wrapped around his ma’s death and his promise to the Storm Goddess. He had to untie his emotions.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  She didn’t speak to him as she dressed, her eyes distant. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, to stop her from drifting away. He felt as weak as he had as a boy straining to reach Srias’s hand before she died.

  Will I also grab her hand too late?

  “Lena,” he croaked, reaching out to her.

  She paused, hand on the front door’s handle.

  “Please?”

  The door creaked open.

  “I love you.”

  “But you don’t trust me.” Her voice sounded weary, old.

  He crossed the room to her and touched her arm. “I need you.”

  “What happened during the Cyclone, Ary?”

  “I . . . I can’t tell you.”

  “Because you don’t trust me.”

  Yes. Ary let her leave, his insides ripped to shreds.

  He pulled on his red coat, belted his Stormrider blade to his waist, and strode outside the cottage. He had to attend to his duty. He buried his feelings. His marines waited on the parade ground. Guts nodded at him, his face still bandaged. Estan stood stiffly, his ribs broken by the Stormrider who had fallen on him, his eyes tightening with every breath. The two survivors of Detachment Two joined them. Jhech was tall and a little stout, but he could move with surprising agility. A bandage ran through his red-brown hair, matting it down. He had some Vaarckthian blood in him. The other was Zeirie. The half-Agerzak marine had her right arm in a sling, broken in the fight.

  “Corporal,” Jhech nodded.

  “How’s the wife, Corporal?” smirked Zeirie, twisting a knife in his guts.

  “Fine, Private,” Ary growled, fixing his eyes on the woman. His wife hated Zeirie. It disgusted Ary that the sow would hurl dung-filled words at Chaylene. He loomed over Zeirie. She flinched at his expression.

  “Good to hear, Corporal,” she swallowed, her face growing paler.

  Ary nodded. “Admiral Grelen is arriving today, and we’ve been selected to be his honor guard. Why? Because we’re the toughest, fiercest, most dangerous marines at Camp Chubris.” The force in Ary’s voice surprised himself. As the highest-ranked marine on the Dauntless, he had to sail the Sergeant-Major’s boat now. “We are the Stormwall. We stood toe-to-toe with the deadliest enemy in the sky, and we did not flinch!”

  Their backs straightened. Pride showed in their eyes.

  “What are we?”

  “Stormwalls, Corporal!” Estan shouted through the pain.

  “That’s right. And we are going to show the admiral that even banged up we’re sharks that can eat any guppies that wander into our skies.”

  They marched at the half-step through camp, Ary leading, Guts and Estan behind him, the pair from Detachment Two bringing up the rear. Lounging sailors nodded to them as they marched past, many sporting their own bandages. He felt Chaylene’s eyes on him as she leaned against a warehouse. Vel stood near her, the pair talking.

  He wanted to march over there and let his fist pound Vel’s face to mush. But he had his duty. I need to trust her. Nothing happened. Why did I say it again? He knew in his heart she hadn’t been unfaithful. The words just slipped out of him.

  They reached the docks, standing at attention as the sun rose, driving away the chill of night. The days were growing shorter. The Cyclone attacked on the first day of autumn. Riasruo’s love would lessen as the seasons turned. Ary led his marines onto the pier. The Storm boiled beneath, the clouds streaked by Riasruo’s light. How do I possibly free Theisseg? How do I fix things with Chaylene? Both seemed impossible.

  As the marines waited, sun climbing higher, Ary’s thoughts ate at him. So much guilt filled him. He’d destroyed everything in his life. His pa died because of him. His ma died thinking he hated her. Srias died of the choking plague. Chaylene cried herself to sleep because of him.

  He knew only one way to fix their marriage. If she did her duty and reported him to the Navy, he’d never see her again. He’d be free of the pain. But he hurt because he loved her. He’d rather bleed a thousand times than never see her smiling face, his private dawn.

  But if I don’t trust her, I’ll never see my dawn again.

  ~ * * ~

  “Great,” Chaylene sighed as her husband marched by. “Now he’s going to have another accusation to throw in my face.”

  “Are things that bad between you?” Vel asked, hope burning in his heart. Today, he’d learned the wonderful news: he was being assigned to the Dauntless to replace the ship’s casualties. “I mean, he did cheat on you with that Vaarckthian whore.”

  Chaylene grimaced, her eyes boring into Vel.

  A nervous twinge shot through him. “Chaylene?”

  “Yes?” Her face looked haggard, ebony bags beneath her bloodshot eyes.r />
  “Are things that bad between you?”

  “They’re fine. What do you want, Vel? I told you to stay away.”

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I just saw you and thought I’d say hi.”

  “What are you even doing in our camp?”

  “The crew of the Spirituous has been reassigned. Half were sent to the Adventurous, and the rest of us were assigned to the Dauntless.”

  She stared at him for several heartbeats. An ache stirred in Vel’s loins. She was still as gorgeous as the sunrise. The split between her and Ary was so apparent, and once it was over, Vel would finally possess her. And with him serving on the same ship, he’d have so much time to enjoy her.

  “We need to talk,” she said, her voice thick with heat. “Away from prying eyes.”

  Vel’s heart thudded faster. It was finally happening. He fixed his best grin on his face, the one that had melted the skirts off more than a few maidens back home. “I want that very much.”

  “Do you know where the pottery in our camp is?” Chaylene asked.

  “I do.” Vel answered, remembering the frantic night he’d hidden in there from Guts and Estan, fearing being found more than the black powder charges erupting around him.

  She took a deep breath, her body trembling with her desire. “After dark, be there.”

  His grin grew even bolder, and a song rose inside of him. Tonight, he would possess her.

  Vel whistled as Chaylene stalked off, his eyes admiring the sway of her hips. I need to sneak out to Shon and buy some red daisies.

  ~ * * ~

  The admiral of the Eastern Fleet arrived before midday. The size of his ship surprised Ary. It was smaller than a corvette, and possessed only a single mast. The marines snapped to attention as sailors waited on the docks to catch the hawsers. Officers marched onto the dock, Captain Dhar at the head. A bruise darkened her face from temple to chin, but her green eyes were as direct as ever. Lieutenant-Captain Pthuigsigk, the Dauntless’s first officer, heeled her. Captain Weintz, the Agerzak commanding officer of the Adventurous, and his Vionese first officer followed. Weintz looked strange without the beard every other man of his race cultivated, his face pale and bare. The superintendent of the camp, Admiral Dhamen, came last as the gangplank ran out, his harridan of a wife on his arm. Ary kept his eyes straight forward. Madam Dhamen could be as hard as the Sergeant-Major with recruits.

  Ary, as commander of the honor guard, bellowed, “Attention!” as Admiral Grelen appeared at the gangplank. He was an aging man, his face covered in boil-like scars, wrinkles creasing across his brow in deep ruts. He had the build of a once stronger man, but seemed somehow lesser, like his flesh had melted from him, leaving him lean, almost skeletal. Despite whatever ailment had robbed him of his robust frame, he stood back straight, the sun glinting off a shaved pate. He trooped down the gangplank as the marines snapped their salutes.

  Admiral Grelen was not a man for ceremonies and, after a few words, he asked to speak to the superintendent in private. Ary formed his men around the pair of admirals and Madam Dhamen, and led the formation. He marched without thinking to the superintendent’s building, the only stone structure in Camp Chubris. When they arrived, Ary motioned for Estan to follow him in while the other three marines guarded the entrance. The admirals and captains headed upstairs while Madam Dhamen fetched refreshments. Ary and Estan stood guard on either side of the superintendent’s office in the narrow hallway.

  Ary’s thoughts lingered in the darkest parts of his soul—Chaylene and his ma. He’d failed them both. Chaylene was his wife. He should have faith in her, to trust her with his secret. But she’d kept Vel from him.

  “Guts and I agree that you are a sun-blinded idiot,” Estan whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “I have been conversing with our friend, and we are both concerned. I elected to be the one to tell you this.”

  “Okay,” Ary said, his voice tight.

  “You have a wonderful wife, and you are driving her away.”

  Ary glowered. “What would you know? You’re not married.”

  “So? I know that I only see pain in her eyes these days. I am far from an expert on the lovelier sex, but even I can see she cares about you. Guts believes you need to be the one to make the overture of reconciliation. He claims women are more stubborn about these things. So what is preventing you from doing it? You don’t believe the rumors, do you?”

  “No, not really. It’s something else, really. Chaylene thinks I’m hiding something.” Ary shifted, dangerously close to revealing his promise to Theisseg.

  “Are you?”

  Ary swallowed. A desperate part of him needed to unburden his secrets. He knew the truth of the Cyclones, of the Dark Goddess. But who could he trust with those secrets? He didn’t even trust Chaylene’s love enough to confide in her. Can I even trust Estan? Ary wanted to ask his scholarly friend about the poem he’d recited before the Dawnspire. It reminded Ary of his visions of Theisseg. His mouth opened, but fear clutched at his belly. If I can’t trust this secret to Lena, then I definitely can’t trust it to Estan.

  Estan would do his duty and report him.

  “Guts believes you will lose her. I concur. She’s slipping away day by day. My parents drifted apart. They kept things from each other, built separate lives, little walls about themselves. I fear you are doing the same to Chaylene.”

  “I just can’t tell her.”

  “I would. She’s hurting and in need of comfort. You will only have yourself to blame if she finds solace from someone else. She is your wife. If you can’t trust her with your secrets, then I fear for the burned out husk of your marriage. If you wait too long, it’ll be too late to tell her.”

  Like with Ma.

  The guilt returned, threatening to pull Ary down into despair. I just had to write one storming letter! I didn’t have to ignore her until it was too late. He couldn’t lose Chaylene like he’d lost his ma.

  But I’ll lose her if I tell her about the promise. No woman could love a man tainted by Theisseg.

  Fear shook him. Ary wasn’t strong enough to bear the weight. He couldn’t see a way out. He would lose his wife no matter what he did. He needed a distraction, something to stop the terrible thoughts plaguing his mind. Voices carried through the thin door of the superintendent’s office. He focused on them, straining to listen, running from his pain.

  “This is quite the hog’s pen we’ve find ourselves in,” Admiral Grelen was saying. “Effectively, we’ve lost a corvette. It’ll be a year before a replacement crew will be drafted for the Spirituous.”

  “Surely the Eastern Fleet can survive being short a ship?” Captain Dhar asked in surprise.

  “The southern Agerzak pirates are becoming more bold.”

  “Are you really worried about the Agerzaks?” laughed Admiral Dhamen. “Come on, Thuxon, they’re savages riding on those strange beasts of theirs. They hardly have a ship between them.”

  “They have never been a threat,” Captain Weintz dismissed. “They’re barbarians.”

  “Three whalers failed to make it through the Thugri Sound last month.”

  Admiral Grelen’s words brought a choking gasp from Captain Dhar. “That’s how many we lost in a whole year when I served in the Eastern Fleet!”

  “It’s these cursed Bluefin Raiders. They’re Theisseg-damned organized. Worse, they have at least one ship, possibly a Vaarckthian corvette.”

  “Is the Empire supporting them?” asked the superintendent. “I’ve heard the reports of their fleets operating on our northern border, but nothing about them consorting with the Agerzak.”

  “No one knows. The raiders are phantoms. I only have five ships, and three are about to fly back here to muster out their crew.” Admiral Grelen let out a bitter snort. “And only two ships are going to replace them. It’s a Theisseg-damned mess.”

  “Can’t one of the other fleets support us?” Captain Dhar asked. “Maybe not the Northern Fleet, but su
rely the Western Fleet can spare a ship. The Zzuk Tribes seem suitably cowed. We hardly need as strong of a presence in their territory.”

  “Admiral Sathun thinks differently. I couldn’t get her, or the rest of admiralty board, to see it my way.”

  “Then the Cyclone Defense Fleet could spare a ship,” Captain Weintz suggested.

  “We can’t leave a single skyland undefended, Captain,” rebuked Admiral Grelen.

  “Excuse me, sir, but we just had a Cyclone,” he pressed on. “The last one that attacked Les was over a hundred years ago and to the north. No Cyclone has ever attacked the same location within two or three generations. The odds of one in the next year are infinitesimal.”

  The admiral paused before saying, “This does not leave the room.”

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Dhar and Captain Weintz said in unison.

  Estan gave Ary a look, his head cocked. Ary’s problems were forgotten as his curiosity grew. Was he about to learn a secret that could help him fulfill his impossible promise to Theisseg?

  “Cyclones have been on the rise. Historians say it was one hundred and seventy-three years between the Great Cyclone and the second. Four hundred years ago, when the Age of Isolation ended, there were only three Cyclones in a hundred years. The next century had seven. A hundred years ago, Cyclones came every ten years. And now, in the last twenty years, the Cyclones have been on a sharp rise.”

  Ary’s blood chilled.

  “That can’t be, sir,” Captain Dhar gasped.

  “Think about it, Captain. How often do we have Cyclones right now?”

  “They average every five or so years, Admiral.”

  “What were the last Cyclones to attack the Autonomy?”

  “Besides this one, there was the, um . . . Cyclone of 394 that attacked Humy. That was only five years ago. And before that was Vesche in 391.” She paused. “And then, I think it was Vion in 385.”

  “Do you see, Captain?”

  “No, sir. I mean, the Vesche and Humy Cyclones were close together, but the others had at least five years. Perhaps, that’s a statistical outlier.”

  Captain Weintz grunted in agreement.