by J M D Reid
Chaylene cleared her throat. “His pa.”
Memories assaulted her: the growing growl of the Cyclone swelling behind her, the frightened sprint from the watchtower. She kept looking back for Ary. But he never came. His pa was at the Xogrly farm. When he saw her and Vel, he asked where his son was.
“He wants to watch,” Vel shouted, hugging himself.
Ary’s pa left and . . .
“He got caught out in it,” Chaylene said. She rubbed her hands together. “Ary and I . . . we found out later. We were in the root cellar.”
“Of course you were,” the investigator said, her voice cold. “Now, last week, you were up in the crow’s nest.”
Chaylene nodded.
“That gives you a commanding view of the ship.” The investigator leaned forward. “Did you see any lightning strike anyone on the Dauntless? This is important. Theisseg’s touch brims in the Storm. Anyone touched may be tainted.”
Chaylene hated that word. Tainted. She saw Ary’s ma in the investigator’s lean face. The old, weak her’d never possessed the courage to stand up to Goodwife Jayne and defend Ary. “I saw no bolts of lightning strike any member of the Dauntless’s crew.”
Every word was true. She had only witnessed Ary’s flickering shadow. She focused on the words she spoke, the conviction she felt as she uttered them. She didn’t lie. Didn’t need to.
“Okay,” the investigator said. She wrote something down. “And one more thing, does ‘ear roar’ mean anything to you?”
“What?” Chaylene asked, blinking in confusion.
“It’s nothing. Thank you, Warrant Officer. If you would send up, um . . .” The investigator glanced at her parchment. “Lieutenant Jhoch. Thank you.”
It was over so fast. Chaylene felt she’d hardly sat down. A wave of dizziness beset her. The room lurched as she stood up. She almost wanted to ask, “That’s it?” Didn’t the woman need to know more? To pry? Did she not care at all what had happened on the Dauntless?
Or was it all about Isfe?
The sound of the investigator’s scratching quill chased her out of the office.
She found Ary leaning against the stone exterior of the administration building. He shot her a look, eyebrows arching. Chaylene tightened her jaw. She then took his arm. “I . . . I don’t know. It was so fast. She didn’t care about the Dauntless. But the first thing she asked me about was . . . the cellar.” She leaned closer to him. “Vel knows you weren’t there.”
Ary stared straight ahead, his entire body rigid. His steps lumbered, boots crunching on the graveled path. A tremble raced through his body. What would they do if Vel contradicted them? The stables . . . they could slip in, saddle Whitesocks, and escape.
And go where?
“Anything else?” Ary asked, voice raw, choked.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “She asked me one other question. It made no sense to me.”
Ary closed his eyes as though bracing himself.
“She asked if I had ever heard of ‘ear roar.’” The words meant something to Ary, but they left her flabbergasted. “What, Ary?”
“Not ear roar, but Iiwroa. That’s the name I’ve been trying to remember that . . .” He looked around, then whispered, “Theisseg mentions. The one who betrayed her.”
“Iiwroa?” Chaylene spoke the Luastria name slowly. Her forehead furrowed. “You mean the Iiwroa?”
“Huh?” Ary asked.
She shook her head in amused disbelief. “Really? She’s famous.”
“Why? The name’s so familiar. I know I’ve heard it before.”
“She lived during the Wrackthar War.”
Two thousand years ago, before the Storm’s creation, Chaylene and Ary’s ancestors, along with everyone else’s who lived in the skies, dwelled on the mythical ground. The Wrackthar nation of Humans had allied with Theisseg. She granted them her dark powers. With it, they easily conquered the ground. But a resistance formed. Survivors from the other species and races created the Desperate Alliance.
“Iiwroa was the great diplomat of the Jwauahwii Flock of the Luastria,” Chaylene explained.
“Just like Wriavia,” Ary grunted.
Chaylene nodded. The Jwauahwiians mostly lived in the Theocracy of Riasruo, their members dominating the clergy, though a minority of Soweral Luastria also served. To most humans, Jwauahwii were the Luastria and rarely used their race’s actual name. “Well, Iiwroa was the one who assembled the Desperate Alliance and led the Hopeful Companions to find Riasruo.”
“Right, right. She was the only one to survive returning from Mount . . . uh . . .”
“Mount Wraiucwii. And, yes, Chaylene the Shieldmaiden, Rakl, Qobthien, Nreef, and the others perished. But she survived and brought with her the Blessings of Riasruo. That’s how our ancestors beat the Wrackthar.”
“So how did Iiwroa betray Theisseg?” Ary asked. His brows furrowed deep. “It doesn’t make sense. Kaltein summoned the Storm. Wouldn’t he have betrayed her and bound her to the Storm?”
Chaylene gave a slow nod of her head, her thoughts suddenly dizzy. “I don’t know. Maybe we should talk to Estan.”
“No!”
Chaylene gritted her teeth. “I think we can trust him, Ary. He knows things.”
Ary shook his head. “Lena . . .” He cupped her cheek, rough fingers feeling gentle. “There’s too much at stake with the investigator asking questions.”
He was right. That impulse to flee lashed at her, her shoulders writhing against it. But . . . she ached to understand this. She wanted to press him about asking Estan when she saw the hollowness in his eyes.
“You won’t lose me.” Chaylene pulled Ary to her. “Okay?”
He nodded, but the emptiness remained.
So she kissed him. Her eyes closed as she relaxed against him. She didn’t know what to do. Fear pulled her in a dozen directions. If they ran . . . it wouldn’t matter if the investigator had suspicions or not, they’d be hunted. If they stayed and she found out about Ary—
“Is this really the place?” a man asked.
Chaylene jumped from her husband, a wave of cold washing through her body. Fatherly Lieutenant Jhoch strode down the trail, a smile playing on his lips. The medical officer’s spectacles glinted as he shook his head.
“Lieutenant,” Ary said, snapping a salute.
“I think you should get back to the parade ground,” the medical officer suggested as he strode past them.
“Yes, sir.”
Chaylene stared at her husband. His face was all angles, bluff and strong. He stood shoulders straight, a marine as proud as any. He appeared changed, transformed, the fear crushing him no longer sagging his shoulders because . . . something buttressed him.
Me?
She had to be strong, too. Not let fear drive her to do something stupid. They had to take care, act normal. The investigator was searching for differences. For someone tainted by Theisseg. She expected to find a monster, something foul and ugly.
Chaylene marched with her husband back to the parade ground. She gave his hand a final squeeze before breaking away to stand with Velegrin. She wanted to grind her teeth down to her gums as she waited. She kept glancing over at her husband as he stood with his marines while Velegrin said something wry every few minutes. Chaylene’s mouth grew parched and her stomach growled as the sun reached its zenith. Her feet ached in her boots. Shifting sailors kicked up clouds of dust that drifted through the air. The fine grit stuck to her sweat-damp forehead.
Questions beset her. Had Vel contradicted Chaylene’s lie? Had Wriavia reported Ary to the Autonomy? Had anyone else seen Ary’s shadow? How had Iiwroa betrayed Theisseg? They repeated endlessly, twisting inside of her like wool being spun into twine. Tighter and tighter and tighter until she wanted to shriek. To release the tension in an ear-splitting scream.
“I don’t get how the marines can just stand there like big, dumb statues,” Velegrin muttered.
She shot him a look, fingernails biting into her
palms.
Velegrin flinched. “I mean, excluding your husband, Warrant Officer. He’s clearly an intelligent, dumb statue.”
Instead of the furious snarl she expected to unleash, laughter snorted out of her. She almost choked in shock, inhaling as it gurgled out of her. Mirth deflated the anger boiling through her. In this moment, she didn’t feel squeezed.
“They practice it with diligence,” she said, voice light. “Once, the Sergeant-Major had them stand in place for the entire day. It teaches discipline.”
“Yeah,” Velegrin nodded then his face went somber. “It served them well during the Cyclone. I don’t think the sailors would have held at all if the marines hadn’t been there.”
As easily as Velegrin relieved her tension, he replaced it with something new. Screams howled through her mind, mixing with the the clang of metal and the tempest’s howl. Arrows hissed through the air. Her arm throbbed in memory. Zori collapsed.
She became aware of the wind caressing her face; her skin grew cold. Just a breeze, she reminded herself. Just a breeze.
Not long after, the investigator and Captain Vebrin trooped into view. Despite her gimped gait and leaning on her bone cane, the investigator prowled with all the hunger of a shark searching for the kill.
Please, Riasruo, Chaylene prayed, looking up at the sun. I know Theisseg’s your enemy, but Ary’s a good man. Keep protecting him with your light. Chaylene gazed at the orb as long as she could before the pain forced her eyes down. She blinked, a large, blue spot marring her vision.
The investigator stopped beside Captain Dhar. Tension wracked the air. Velegrin trembled and the sailors shifted nearby. Captain Dhar nodded. Something in her posture changed. She still stood straight but appeared . . . resigned. Chaylene’s stomach plummeted faster than a stone tossed off the skyland’s edge.
“Sergeant Briaris,” Captain Dhar commanded. “Come here.”
Chaylene’s knees buckled.
Chapter Eight
Isamoa 16th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
Bile burned the back of Ary’s throat.
His name rang across the silent parade ground. Every eye fell upon him. Fresh sweat soaked his shirt. His heart thundered, the fast beat urging his legs to run fast and carry him away. But it was too late. He’d had his chance to flee.
He hadn’t.
Captain Dhar’s grim face and hard eyes fixed on Ary, the weight crushing him. Dread strangled out the last hope. The investigator leaned on her cane, her lips tightening. A breeze ruffled the hem of her black skirt. Ary’s charge crackled in his left hand as he stepped forward, his right resting on the hilt of his sword.
I’m not going down without a fight, he vowed to himself. That dark storm rumbled inside of him. He didn’t fight it now. He fed it. They’re not taking Chaylene from me!
His boots crunched on the dried, trodden grass of the parade ground as he marched forward. The space between Ary and the investigator yawned wider. His vision grew dark as he focused on her. Every step took more effort than the last. Fear’s ropes, its metal chains, bound his ankles. A crushing pressure sat on his chest; every breath was labored.
Ary halted before Captain Dhar, his arm as heavy as a boulder as he saluted. He choked, “Captain.”
The investigator studied him.
“Sergeant, the investigator has uncovered evidence that one member of the crew was struck by lightning,” Captain Dhar said, speaking low.
Ary shifted his weight, ground crunching beneath his boots.
“You and your men are to place Able Sailor Chone under arrest. He is extremely dangerous. You are authorized to use Lightning if necessary.”
The sudden pressure on Ary’s chest evaporated in a puff of heat. His knees quivered, a fatigue-like wave washing through tense muscles. His vision swam for a moment, growing dark and dancing with small lights. Hope exploded through the dread. Joy pushed down the storm. It retreated without a fight.
I’m not losing her today!
“Aye, Captain,” Ary managed to say as he battled his emotions. “Who is Chone?”
“A transfer from the Spirituous,” Captain Dhar said.
“He is standing in the back rank near the center,” the investigator said. “He’s skinny, blond hair, green eyes, big nose.”
Ary nodded then did an about-face and marched back to his men.
Within two steps, the enormity of the orders crushed his fledgling hope. He was about to condemn Chone to the fate he dreaded. His stomach gurgled because he knew the truth: Chone wasn’t tainted. He wasn’t cursed. And he wasn’t a danger. Ary ached to tell Captain Dhar that. To explain that this was unnecessary. With Chone, Ary could figure out how to free Theisseg and . . .
Realization smacked him. I’ll be quarantined with him. They’ll think I’m mad.
Ary could do nothing for Chone without suffering with him. Not with the eyes of the entire crew on him. He was one man. He had orders. Confession would only see them both imprisoned and . . . Ary quailed before that. He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth.
There is nothing I can do for him. Nothing!
“Sergeant?” Corporal Huson asked when he reached his marines, her clear eyes appraising him.
His skin crawled. He couldn’t do this. A good man wouldn’t do this. A coward would. But . . . he didn’t want to spend his life in a cell. The sun shone warm on his face. His wife . . . she stood only a dozen ropes away.
She’s wrong about me being a better person than her.
“Sergeant?”
“Corporal,” he growled, bitterness feeding a growing frustration in him. Why did he have to be in this position? “Take half the squad and flank around the back of the parade ground. I’ll take the other half up the front. We’re arresting Able Sailor Chone.”
“I know him, Sergeant,” the corporal said, her voice flat. No emotion flicked across her stern face.
Ary envied her blank expression. He craved numb relief. Pain tore at his insides. How could he do this? How could he be so weak? Would Chaylene hate him for this? But . . . if he didn’t, he would never see her again.
“Ary?” Guts asked. “Is he . . . Stormtouched?”
Ary glanced at the sailors. They stared at him, talking, wondering, witnessing what he did. Chaylene was peering past the crew. Will she understand? Can she? Why didn’t the investigator realize I was Stormtouched?
Ary would fight to save himself, to save his wife, but Chone . . . a stranger . . .
“Yes, he is!” snarled Ary. The frustration grew into anger. It crackled as it filled his soul. Ary seized it. “He’s dangerous. Discharges are approved!”
The marines shifted.
“Let’s get this over with.” Ary was just too weak. He couldn’t fight fear’s weight. “Guts, Estan, Vay, and Jhech with me.”
The four fell in behind Ary as he marched towards the sailors while Corporal Huson led the rest of marines around the back. He spotted Chone, his face pale, his green eyes darting about over his big nose.
Ary recognized the fear, the panic.
I’m sorry, Chone. The crew thought Ary a hero; the Navy had even awarded him a medal . . .
“Able Sailor Chone!” Ary bellowed. Run. Flee. Get away! “Step forward!”
The sailors standing around Chone recoiled. They stared at the sailor. He trembled, cowering before the bullies. Ary recognized that look. He’d witnessed it in Vel’s face when the Shardhin boys threw him in a ditch.
“No, please! It’s a mistake!” Chone pled.
“Just come forward!” Ary snarled. Please, just run. Please!
Chone bolted.
“Move!” Ary shouted at the sailors between him and the fleeing man.
The sailors melted out of Ary’s path.
Ary didn’t want to give chase, but ropes dragged him forward. Expectation bound him and forced him to pursue. He just hoped Chone ran faster. If the sailor could get to the fence and vanish out on the plains . . .
Ary’s marines pounded behind him. In the pe
riphery of his vision, Corporal Huson bolted forward, leading her cohort at a diagonal path towards the fleeing sailor. Fear clutched at Ary’s heart. He flogged himself with loathing.
Chone disappeared between a pair of warehouses. Without thought, Ary signaled with his hands ordering two of his marines to flank around one building. Combat drills, pounded into his head, moved his body while his conscience grappled with his guilt. Corporal Huson vanished around a warehouse as Ary charged between the buildings after Chone.
Ary caught a flash of white as Chone darted around the far corner.
“Stop!” Ary bellowed, his boots pounding on the short grass. Keep running.
Ary reached the end of the alley and burst out into rows of warehouse stretching out in both directions. Chone’s gangly form raced down the length of the building. He reached the next set of crossing alleys and darted down the right.
“Split up!” Ary barked. Will that give him a chance?
“Sergeant!” Guts grunted.
Ary raced through the alleys around the warehouses, not sure where he was going, just moving. He took turns at random, hoping Chone would escape. He darted between the various buildings storing the goods or containing workshops necessary to support the training camp. He followed after glimpses of Chone. He whipped his soul with every step.
He turned a corner and—
Chone raced at him between two buildings.
The sailor recoiled. He skidded to a halt only ropes away from Ary. Wild desperation crossed Chone’s face. He looked around then back away, arms outstretched, fingers spread wide. He shook his head. Pleading twisted across his brown face.
Ary’s heart sank.
“Please,” Chone begged. “I didn’t want it. It’s not my fault. Please, please.”
Ary’s throat tightened. The same fear quivering through his soul animated Chone’s face. Ary couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let this man be dragged off to quarantine. It wasn’t right. Chone wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t tainted. He wouldn’t harm the Autonomy.
“Go,” Ary said, voice thick. “Run!”
Chone’s eyes goggled. “What?”
Shouts echoed through the warehouses, his marines coordinating their pursuit. “Get out of here! To the perimeter fence! Run! Don’t stop! Just go.”
