by J M D Reid
“It sings,” Ary told her. “In my mind.”
“Words?”
Ary shook his head. “No. It’s wordless and beautiful. Like . . . like . . . the Rosy Prayer.” His expression relaxed as the harmony swelled around him. “The Dawnspire doesn’t need to speak to communicate its majesty.”
“Wow.”
The spire rushed towards them. The hills rippled beneath Whitesocks as they winged towards the crystal. The looming tower captured Ary’s gaze. It swelled to fill the entire sky. And the song . . . It pulsed louder and louder against his mind. It battered at his senses. He couldn’t deny it any longer.
The song flooded him. His bones hummed to its rhythm.
Chaylene glanced over her shoulder. Her lips moved. Ary heard nothing over the song.
It beckoned to him. Brilliant lights flickered and pulsed through his mind. It reminded him of . . . Of . . . Theisseg screamed in pain. Chains of lightning pulsed to the same beat as the Dawnspire. The chains serenaded him.
“It’s . . . her . . . foci . . .” Ary said, his tongue thick. His lips fought to form the words against the urge to sing. To let the power of creation channel through his body.
Chaylene kept looking back at him, her lips moving with urgency. He couldn’t hear anything but the Song.
He had to Sing.
Whitesocks banked around the Dawnspire. It was so close. Only a hundred ropes away. Each polished face was as wide as a house. The Song thundered in his mind. The Melody shone bright through the crystal’s depths, bathing him with aural warmth. Ary threw his arms wide, reveling in its sublime radiance.
His eyes closed.
I can free Her.
The Song grew softer. The Dawnspire cried out as he . . . as he fled from it?
Ary realized he was craning his head to peer over his shoulder to face the tower. Whitesocks winged away from it. Chaylene flew them back to the ship.
“No!” Ary roared. “I can free Her!”
He pulled the quick release straps on both legs at once. He came free of the saddle. With a cry, he threw himself backward off the pegasus. The air rushed past him as he hurtled towards the ground. The grassy hills rushed up at him. Ary pointed his feet down by instinct. He reached out to the wind, seized it, and wrapped it about his body.
His fall slowed.
A heartbeat later, he landed in the knee-high grass. Before his knees finished bending to absorb his impact, he charged at the Dawnspire. He ran with all his might, the Song serenading him with such promise.
I can free Her!
Grass whipped at his trousers. His head craned to take in the entirety of the Dawnspire. From the ground, it felt impossibly huge. The shard of crystal reached into the heavens, linking the skyland with the azure dome above. The Song slammed into Ary. His knees buckled, but he kept moving forward. The light warmed him.
He reached the Dawnspire. An ecstatic shudder ran through him as he stroked the surface, sleeker than Chaylene’s skin, polished alabaster, metal, or even glass. Before this moment, Ary had never truly experienced smoothness.
The crystal hummed beneath his touch. The Song vibrated through Ary. He opened his mouth and let it pour out of him. A wordless melody, so complex and harmonious, flowed through him. He didn’t so much as sing it as become a gateway for a vast power to pour into the world.
The ground shook beneath his feet.
*
“Theisseg’s tail feathers!” Chaylene cried out, heart pounding ice through her body as Ary fell away from Whitesocks.
Chaylene swooped after her husband. He landed and sprinted for the Dawnspire. Fear whipped at her. She leaned over Whitesocks, signaling him to fly fast. His wings beat as the ground hurtled up at them. She increased the pressure beneath his wings, flattening the grass beneath them as she pulled him out of the dive. His legs whipped through the tops of the stalks. She flared him back, killing their speed so he could land at a gallop. It was dangerous to do on uneven terrain, but Chaylene had to stop her husband.
She ripped at her straps as the pegasus closed the distance, flying faster than Ary ran. “Ary! Stop!”
A dozen ropes away, Chaylene leaped clear and landed in the grass with jarring impact. Her knees protested. She kept her balance and dashed for her husband, hand reaching before her.
He touched the spire.
The ground beneath her feet shook. Chaylene stumbled forward. Her arms twirled beside her. She fought to keep her balance. Ary’s deep voice sang a complex, wordless melody. Another rumble rippled through the skyland. Birds burst from their roosts in a nearby tree, screeching and cawing as they fled. From out of the grass, schools of green and brown fish scurried into the skies.
Ary sang louder.
Chaylene stumbled and fell onto her knees before the base of the tower. It hummed. She felt vibrations pulse from it. Her teeth rattled in her head. Her mind ached as she scrambled to regain her feet while buffeted by the quaking ground. Terror clawed at her guts.
“You have to stop, Ary!” she screamed.
Majesty poured from Ary’s mouth.
A sick lurch lifted her stomach up into her throat, then dropped it. She felt like turbulence beset her while flying on Whitesocks. They entire skyland fell a few ropes. Estan was right. The Dawnspires were how the Stormriders had brought down Swuopii. Somehow, Ary was doing it.
Fear pummeling her heart, she forced herself to her feet. She fought against the shaking, seizing Ary’s arm for support. She hauled herself upright, clinging to him. He stood there singing, his eyes glossy. Ecstatic trembles wracked his body.
She seized his wrist and fought to pry his hand from the crystal. “You have to stop, Ary!”
She pulled again. It was like heaving at a boulder. She didn’t have the strength to budge him. Her face tightened as she grunted through the effort. She planted a boot on the vibrating spire, planted her back into his chest, and heaved. Her thigh quivered, muscles burning.
He stood immovable.
“Ary!” she panted. The skyland lurched again. She held him to stay upright. Trees rustled around them. The vibration shook through her body. Her bones buzzed. Her brain rattled in her skull. “Please, let go!”
Rapture filled his expression. His lips sang a sublime melody. She’d never heard anything more beautiful spill from his lips, his baritone enhanced into something liquid. He sang like a Luastria. She needed to break his contact with the Spire. She grabbed his arm again, planted both her feet on the Spire, and heaved with all her might. Her face tensed. She pushed against him, feeling the solid weight of his chest. She struggled to straighten her legs, to lock her knees. Exertion burned cross her face. The pressure squeezed at her skull as she strained and strained.
Her boots slipped.
“Theisseg damn it!” she screamed as she fell down his body and crashed into the ground. “Please, Ary! Stop! You’re going to kill us! You’re going to kill me!”
Whitesocks neighed and snorted. Another violent shake rocked the skyland. Would the next drop be the last? The one that would plummet Isthia, and maybe the entire Fringe, into the Storm?
How many would die? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
She ripped her boot knife out of its sheath as she stood. She faced her husband, weapon clutched in a tight fist, and . . .
. . .do what? she asked herself. Kill him?
Revulsion spasmed through her. Like the hilt seared her flesh, she flung the knife from her. She had to find another way to reach through to him. She cupped his face and stared into his dull, unseeing eyes. His lips kept singing. The Dawnspire’s crystalline hum matched the melody Ary sang.
“Please, Ary! You have to stop this!” She searched his red eyes for any sign of her husband. “Don’t do this. You’ll kill so many people.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Her fingers dug into his cheeks.
“You have to stop singing!”
Ary’s melody swelled in volume. A low groan rose from the ground as another violent shake rocked the skyland
.
He has to stop singing . . .
Chaylene kissed him.
Her lips cut off his song. The shaking stopped. The Dawnspire’s hum went silent. Ary stood frozen for a moment, his eyes unfocused. Chaylene tightened her arms around his neck and kissed him with all her vigor and passion. She glued her mouth to his.
Ary’s hand fell away from the crystal. He hugged her instead, swaying in her embrace. His lips moved against hers. A great wave of relief swept through Chaylene. Her legs quivered, going limp. She sagged into her husband, keeping her mouth locked on his.
Terror clutched at her. What if he started singing again?
Ary pulled back, breaking the contact of their lips. Chaylene tensed, waiting for the song to pour out of him again. For the skyland to plummet out from beneath their feet. Instead, hoarse words tumbled from his lips. “Riasruo Above, what was I about to do?”
She just shook her head, too stunned to think.
“The Spire sang to me, and . . .” His body swayed to a soundless melody. “We need to leave. Right now! It’s still serenading me.”
Chaylene whistled. Whitesocks trotted to her, his eyes half-wild. His tail flicked. She patted his neck then seized his reins. As they mounted, the flocks of birds and schools of fish drifted out of the sky. Chaylene’s heart thudded. Ary held her as she strapped them in as quickly as she could.
She heeled her pegasus into a gallop.
Ary’s arms tightened about her waist. “Go, Lena!”
She flared her Pressure. The thickened air let Whitesocks flap into the sky. He nickered as he gained altitude, Isthia’s grass dropping away. Ary pressed his face into her neck. She leaned low over her mount, urging him to fly faster to the Dauntless.
Ary’s arms relaxed the closer they came to the ship. Chaylene’s body shook as the fear bled out of her. She didn’t want to think how close her husband had come to killing so many people. She focused on the ship. On the crew moving about the deck and . . .
Did anyone witness what happened?
The Dauntless didn’t sail too close. Unless someone watched through a spyglass, no one could have made out what happened at the Dawnspire. Please, Riasruo, let no one have noticed us.
Ary kept glancing behind them, twisting in the saddle.
“How is it?” she asked, banking around to line up her approach.
“It’s growing fainter.”
“Good,” Chaylene said. Then she waved an arm signal to the stern deck.
Lieutenant Tharele, one of the Windwardens, signaled back. The Windwarden would help Chaylene perform the dangerous landing procedure by keeping the winds calm while the Dauntless flew straight.
The opening was only a few fingerwidths wider than Whitesocks’s wingspan. Chaylene didn’t have much room for error. Ary yelped, his arms tightening about her waist as she swooped Whitesocks to the left, aligning them with the ship’s open stern. Guts and Velegrin, already returned, backed away to give her room to land.
Chaylene took a deep breath as the opening rushed at them. They were perfectly lined up but a little too high.
“Theisseg’s Storm!” Ary cursed as Chaylene reduced the amount of Pressure beneath Whitesocks’s wings. Her stomach rose into her throat as they dropped a rope.
Chaylene’s lips tightened. She fought the flinch as . . .
They swooped through the opening and into the menagerie. The stink of dung and straw washed over her as Whitesocks’s wings flapped vigorously. Hay danced through the air as she settled him down to a graceful landing.
“Perfect,” Velegrin said as seized Whitesocks’s reins.
“Thanks,” she nodded, her heart still racing.
Ary ripped his quick releases and stumbled off the mount. He leaned back against Whitesocks’s stable doors, gasping for breath. Sweat streaked his face. He clutched his knees, eyes squeezed shut.
“It gets better.” Velegrin clapped a hand on Ary’s shoulder. “You look paler than Zori after the first time she did it.”
Ary nodded.
“You okay?” Chaylene asked, her words tight. Her thighs quivered, feeling like mashed peas. She wanted to collapse.
“I’m fine,” Ary muttered.
She heard the lie. He pushed off from the wall and marched out of the menagerie, his fists clenched. Chaylene glanced out the open stern at the Dawnspire dwindling behind the Dauntless. Her stomach lurched, acid gurgling in her belly.
Ary almost dropped Isthia and who knows how many other skylands into the Storm.
Bile burned up her esophagus. She turned and retched. She spewed half-regurgitated fish stew onto the hay-strewn floor.
“Theisseg’s lightning, I didn’t need to see that,” groaned Velegrin. “What’s wrong, Chaylene? You never get sick from flying.”
“I think—” Another heave contorted her stomach. More erupted from her mouth and dumped onto the deck. The sour aftertaste burned her tongue. She spat out a chunk of vegetable, panting. “I don’t think . . . lunch agreed with me.”
“Not surprising that it doesn’t look much better coming out than it does going in.” Velegrin tossed her a handkerchief.
She wiped her mouth. “Thanks.”
Then she rushed out of the menagerie and searched for her husband. He wasn’t on deck. Estan gave her a questioning look. Ignoring him, she descended into the lower hold and wove through strung-up hammocks and snoring sailors. She peeked into the carpenter’s storeroom.
Ary sat in the dark.
She joined him. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“My ma was right,” he croaked. “Theisseg cursed me.”
Part Two
Guilt
I know you are shocked to learn this. Since the moment you hatched, the entirety of the skies have sung a different name for me. Lanii, the Golden Daughter of Riasruo, the First Empress of the Dawn. That name is a lie. Fiction to maintain peace across the skies after the ruin of the Wrackthar War.
—Preamble, The Book of Iiwroa
Chapter Fourteen
Vel smiled as he watched Ary and Chaylene out of the corner of his eye. They both were tense while whispering at the bow of the boat. Chaylene kept reaching out to the brute, and he kept pulling away. Vel wished it was the other way around—she clung too tight to him—but his heart celebrated any rift between them.
“What do you think they’re fighting about?” Vay asked, the marine leaning against the gunwale beside Vel.
“Not sure,” Vel had found them arguing when he’d emerged from the heat of the galley at the end of his watch. He savored it as he sipped his daily ration of grog.
“Been fightin’ since they returned from a trainin’ flight earlier,” Vay said. “Something happened out by that crystal thing. I think Ary jumped off or something. Slow fall down.”
“Huh?” Vel grunted, brow furrowing.
“Then Chaylene went down after him. I think.” Vay shrugged. “It was far away, and I was more focused on Zeirie.” He scowled.
“What do you think they’re fighting about?” Vel asked. “To make Ary jump off her pegasus?”
“Those rumors and . . .” Vay gave Vel a hard look. “You really bed her on the Xorlar like you claimed?”
A smile crossed Vel’s lips. “Yeah.” The lie came so easily. “And at Camp Chubris. A few times. When she could escape her husband. I’d wait for her when she’d go on her evening walks. Behind the armory . . .” His smile only grew broader as he imagined what Chaylene would be like beneath him, how she’d gasp, how she’d wriggle. He couldn’t help boasting about it. It came so easily to his lips. When he claimed to bed her, imagining Chaylene in place of one of the whores he rented at the Friendly Maid, it was like he had plucked her flower and enjoyed her fragrance. The lie became truth. “She was mine so many times. I can still taste her on my lips. Sweet like molasses. If the ship wasn’t so crowded . . . Well, when we get to Onhur, there’ll be time for that.”
Vay chuckled, nodding his head in understanding. Then it trailed off, his fac
e growing serious. “But ain’t you afraid Ary’s heard those rumors ‘bout you and her?”
An icy wind rippled down Vel’s spine.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to get caught by the sergeant.” Vay shook his head. “Don’t want to end up like Grabin, dangling off the side of the ship one heartbeat from flying down to Theisseg’s domain.”
Vel’s gaze flicked down to the Storm boiling below. He leaned back from the gunwale, remembering Ary slamming Grabin over and over again into the Xorlar’s railing, a heartbeat from killing him. Vel felt the weight of the pouch in his pants pocket.
If he hears about it, even if he rejects her, he’ll still come for me. Panic swelled in Vel, the wind howling icy past his sweat-drenched forehead.
The brute whirled away from Chaylene and gripped the railing. He stared down into the Storm Below, brooding like he had on the Xorlar when they’d journeyed to Camp Chubris. Chaylene stepped up beside Ary. A gap loomed between them.
Vel had to find the opportunity to poison Ary soon. Rumors buzzed about the Dauntless like flies over pig dung. His chest grew tighter with each breath as he watched the couple. Will Ary barrel across the deck? What will I do if he does?
As he considered his options, Chaylene took Ary’s hand. The brute tried to pull away, but she held on tight, tugging him around and staring him in the eyes. The wind carried away their low words before they could reach Vel’s ears. She caressed Ary’s cheek with her free hand. His shoulders slumped. Resistance ended. He surrendered to her.
The pair drifted closer.
As the fear in Vel died, acid churned in his stomach.
*
Isamoa 26th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
Grion Rift’s roar never subsided. The rent in the Storm sucked a constant flow of air down into the boiling tempest below.
Nrein stood on the deck of his flagship, the Iron Horse, floating still amid the skyreef of jagged stones dotting the edge of the rift. He hid his ship behind a large skylet, a lurking shark waiting for the minnow to swim past. His fleet had sailed through the night and the next day to reach the eastern side of Grion Rift ahead of the Bravado.
