by J M D Reid
Why am I tending to his thing? She wanted to glare down at the Zzuki, but that took too much effort. She still felt weak from her illness even after eating and getting some sleep beside Ary. He was healing again behind her. She felt like she’d run a thousand miles. She wanted to collapse, but the crew needed nursing.
“Habit, maybe?” Chaylene said. “You were just the next . . . person.”
The pink tongue flicked out. “You don’t believe that.”
Molten annoyance dripped through her. “What would you know? Zzuki have no passion. You’re all as cold as winter.”
“We have emotions. They are just not as . . . as quick. As obvious. They are deep. Slow. They take time to build. I understand hate. My tribe hates the Wugrez Tribe. But we are ordered to not fight them. We have to fulfill the forfeit. We lost the contest. We have . . . obligation. So we are here to serve. Blood to pay for blood.”
“Obligation . . .” Chaylene chewed on her lip. “I understand that.” She glanced at her husband as he tended to Lieutenant Jhoch. He changed the rag on the medical officer’s forehead before grasping the fatherly man’s hand.
Chaylene could almost feel Ary’s heat flowing into the sick person, giving them another boost to fight off the choking plague.
“He is a good fighter,” Szuuwz nsk Zthug said. “A good choice for breeding.”
Chaylene’s cheeks burned. “What?”
“I used to think it was strange that your females only choose one male for mating. Then I learned you usually only have one child at a time. You do not lay an entire clutch of eggs. I suppose you have no need of multiple males to fertilize them.”
“Why are we talking about this?” Chaylene demanded, staring down at the creature. He spoke with such cold frankness, like such matters were no different than talking about the weather. “And what do you mean? Your women fornicate with multiple males at once? You don’t marry?”
“Marry . . . Yes, that is the word. Such a strange custom, to bind yourself to one person. You even mate when not in heat.” He shook his triangular head at the end of the narrow neck. It looked thin and fragile compared to the broad torso of the Zzuki’s chest. “That is one of those quick emotions. Love . . . You burn for each other. It drives you to do such rash acts. This boat creaks with rumors about you and your mating habits.”
“I’m going to kill Vel,” Chaylene groaned. Hearing this hissing monster speak of it had her cringing with embarrassment.
“Yes, he appears a poor choice for breeding. So small. It confused me. Your chosen mate, Ary, is a good fighter. He is dedicated to his brood.”
“I know.” Chaylene stared at her husband as he moved onto the next sailor. “He’s a better person than me. He didn’t hesitate to . . . tend to you.” She almost said heal. “He doesn’t see you as a monster.”
“No, he doesn’t. So I ask again, why did you bring me succor?”
Chaylene, knocked off-balance by the creature’s words, studied her husband. Feverish memories, scattered and nibbled full of holes, filled her mind. She could remember Ary retreating from her, staying away from her. She didn’t believe them. At the time, she was delusional, lost in hallucinations. Of course he hadn’t abandoned her. He had healed her.
I’m not good enough to be his wife, rattled through her mind. He’s a much better person than I am.
She hated these thoughts. They always crept up on her. He’d proved he loved her time and time again, and yet she always felt like she didn’t deserve it. Not truly. Not after what she’d almost done with Vel.
And the press-ganged sailor she’d killed . . .
“Maybe I just want to be like him,” Chaylene finally answered the lizardman, speaking half to herself. “You fought with him down on the docks. You helped keep him alive. I shouldn’t hate you. I shouldn’t despise you. You didn’t kill my pa.”
“Interesting,” the Zzuki said. “You are an intriguing female.”
Chaylene soaked the rag one last time then set it on Szuuwz nsk Zthug’s forehead. “And you are a strange male.”
The Zzuki’s pink tongue flicked out. “Yes, yes, interesting. Your emotions are so quick. Already, you taste so different.”
Chaylene stood up, shaking her head. I just . . . talked with a Zzuki. It felt surreal to her, almost like a dream. She hefted her bucket of water and stumbled forward, her breath growing short already, her heart speeding up from the effort.
Ary glanced at her and smiled.
He sees me as a better woman than I am. Chaylene blinked back tears. Maybe . . . maybe I can be.
Will that change what you did to me? the dead sailor whispered in the back of her mind.
She needed fresh air.
*
“I was gravely concerned for your life,” Estan said to Chaylene when she emerged from the hold onto the deck, stepping into the late morning sunlight. “I feared the choking plague would have robbed you of your life before too much longer. But you have made a most remarkable recovery.”
“Mostly recovered,” she said, a tired smile crossing her lips. Estan noted the grayish pallor to her ebony skin, traces of her illness still apparent. But the lymph nodes in her throat were no longer swollen.
Does Ary possess the Third Gift of Fleshknitting? Estan thought. He asked, “How fares the rest of our crew?”
“They’re mending. None have died since Petty Officer Rlosh.” She let out a large sigh of relief. “Ary took some of those badly. Especially Lieutenant-Captain Chemy.”
“Why?” Estan gave her a penetrating gaze, studying her face for any hints.
“Why?” repeated Chaylene, her forehead scrunching. “Well . . .”
Estan trembled as he watched her search for a response. Would she finally open up to him about her husband? He needed to find an inroad to broach the subject. After Offnrieth and the plague, Estan felt his mortality.
His hand slipped into his pocket and gripped the lacy garter.
“He just cares too much.” Chaylene leaned against the gunwale, staring down at the churning Storm Below. “He took everyone’s deaths like they were his own fault.”
“That is strange. It’s a disease. How could he be responsible?” Does he know the Church has sent an assassin to adjudicate him? Estan did not believe in coincidences. The most virulent strain of the choking plague breaking out on an Autonomy naval vessel carrying a Stormtouched . . .
His shoulders itched. He squeezed down hard on the garter.
“Of course he’s not responsible,” Chaylene said, her voice tight. “He pushed himself to his limits caring for the sick. He collapsed, you know? The only way he would get any sleep. I think it did him a lot of good. Gave him perspective.”
“Always a good thing,” Estan nodded, his hand slipping out of his pocket as he leaned against the railing beside her. He stared down at the Storm, his head cocked, thoughts pondering, What truly lies beneath your clouds?
“Estan,” Chaylene gasped, her voice strangled, “why do you have that?”
Estan frowned. He glanced at his friend, her cloud-gray eyes staring at his hands. “What?”
“The garter! Why do you have a woman’s garter? Is it hers? This Esty you’ve been cloud-gazing after?”
Estan drew comfort holding her garter. He’d done his best to wash it clean, but brown-red stains still marred it in spots. The image of her pale thigh as she’d drawn it down her flesh flashed through his mind. Heat stirred in his nethers, his britches growing tight. He cleared his throat. “Indeed, it is the fair Esty’s. She gave it to me as a token.”
“You only met her the day before shipping out? And you . . . you have that?”
The strained, scandalous tone to Chaylene’s words brought a smile to Estan’s lips. “I did not have any carnal knowledge of her. We just spoke. We had the most stimulating conversation.” Tingling bubbles swelled inside of Estan, lifting his shoulders. “Chaylene, you have no idea how remarkable of a woman she is. Such keen intellect for one with no education except that taug
ht to her by living. Such a zest for knowledge. It inspires her.”
The smile spreading on Chaylene’s lips mirrored what Estan felt. Joy.
“That’s amazing, Estan.” Her hand patted his. “And what a pretty name she has. Esty. I suppose she’s beautiful.”
“She’s . . .” His throat grew tight. “She’s like . . . like . . . I don’t know. It’s like trying to describe the color red. Do you understand?”
“Afraid not.”
“How would you describe the color red?”
“Well, it’s, um . . .” She pursed her lips. “Well, it’s red. It’s just . . . Huh?”
“Exactly. That’s what it is like trying to describe her beauty. She’s more than a simple sunrise or light shining through a prism. She blossoms with more vitality than any flower. She’s . . . she’s . . . Esty!” His gaze dropped to the garter. He couldn’t wait to see her again. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to talk with her, to teach her so many things. He wanted to share with her all the great works of philosophy and history. He wanted to debate the morality of Thuart Meles or Nzuuvsk sze Vviry with her. To discuss the theories of Ievtha Kneuvzick or Bishopress Jwistai of Srume.
He wanted to spend every day with her. He knew it was foolish to even be contemplating marriage with her, but he couldn’t believe he would ever meet a woman more perfect than her. He always imagined he would be a confirmed bachelor like his mentor.
“Women just get in the way of study, my boy,” Master Rlarim had said. “Even the female scholars are distracted by the needs of their biology. Reproduction, you see, puts demands on a woman that are not present on a man. If you wish to truly pursue understanding in its purest form, you must eschew anything that would impede you.”
Estan felt he could quest for knowledge with Esty. He ignored the part of him whispering it was only biology at work. That he was a young man created by the Goddesses to unite with a woman and quicken life within her womb.
“Love is just a manifestation of biology’s need to propagate,” Master Rlarim once lectured. “These urges beset us all. But there are safe ways to channel them, my boy, that do not entangle you with a woman.”
Estan ached to be entangled with a woman. With Esty. He could have bought her services, but he didn’t want to cheapen her. He could have pressed her with kisses, satiated that urge, but he felt it was more than his biological need to relieve himself that created such longing in him. Her mind fascinated him far more than the fairness of her skin and the generous roundness of certain attributes.
Large, lush, full attributes . . .
“When did you know that you loved Ary?” Estan asked, drawing his thoughts away from Esty’s physical charms.
Chaylene blinked. “I’m not really sure. We grew up together, you know? It’s hard for me to remember anything from my childhood that didn’t involve Ary and Vel. We three were inseparable. We raced through the Snakewood or down the Bluesnake together. We played Pirates and Marines atop the ruined watchtower. Ary was my friend, and as we grew older, well . . . I just liked being around him. He made me feel special. Unlike the other boys, he didn’t think I was a harlot. He didn’t think this—” she pinched her arm’s dark skin, only a few shades lighter than Estan’s own coal-black hue, “—made me different. He saw me as something better and . . . and that’s a good feeling.
“When his ma broke, I saw his pain. And I just wanted to take it away. I wanted to heal him. I wanted to make him feel the way he made me feel. We just . . . entangled around each other, I guess. Two fish caught in the same net. One day, I just knew I loved him. That I would be his wife.” Her face darkened like a storm cloud passed between them and the sun. “And I almost let my fear ruin it all.”
“Er, yes,” Estan said, not quite sure what to make of the last part, but the rest resonated within him. He shouldn’t be afraid of his desires. “How early is too early to ask a woman to marry you?”
Chaylene’s head shot up. “What?”
“Well . . . I am going to ask her one day. It’s only logical. She is perfect for me. She is . . .” His mouth worked as words failed him.
“Esty.” Amusement played on her lips as she shook her head, making Estan feel like a young boy. “But still, you’ve only just met her. How can you possibly know you’ll marry her?”
“I have thought about it greatly. I have considered it, and it makes a great deal of sense. I feel so incomplete without her. I have missed her greatly, and then when everyone grew ill, I feared more than anything else that I would never see her again. It terrified me. Not dying itself, but never conversing with her again.”
“But does she love you?”
Estan blinked at that. “Well . . . I admit I have little experience in such matters. I have ignored the fairer sex in favor of my studies.”
“I seem to recall you studying those friendly maids with enthusiasm.”
“Well, just visually,” Estan said. “It was hard to ignore what they were so blatantly displaying to the street.” The memory of Esty’s own attributes on display in her low-cut bodice seared through Estan’s mind.
He really needed to adjust himself, but Chaylene stood so close.
“But this is a different set of conditions,” he added.
“Is it different for her? If you ask her to marry you this soon, you might frighten her.”
Estan nodded. “I can see the wisdom in that. It’s just . . .” His heart sped up. Metal rang on metal. Explosions boomed. His thought echoed with the chaos of Offnrieth, the press of flesh, the mob wanting to rip them apart, the explosions. “I want to make the most of my time. Serving in the Navy, the choking plague aside, is deadly earnest. We have lost many of our crewmates. I may not survive the next engagement, and . . .”
“Then spend time with her,” Chaylene said. “You can even . . . even star-watch with her. But . . . don’t scare her away.”
“But when will I know when she loves me back?”
“You’ll know. You’ll feel it. You’ll be with her and realize that she wants nothing more to be with you. That being with you is what she yearns for more than anything. You’ll see it in her eyes.”
Estan nodded. He held the garter to his heart. “My thanks, Chaylene. As always, our conversations are a treasure.”
*
“You’re going to be fine, Captain,” Ary said, giving his commanding officer a smile. He poured a trickle of Theisseg’s Blessing through their clasped hands. He had to be careful with her leg, aiding her recovery instead of healing her wound. He immolated another small nest of nibbling infection.
“Crew?” she asked, voice wan.
“We’re keeping them going,” Ary said. “You just worry ‘bout yourself.”
She gave a nod.
His stomach growled, his body aching for more food. It fed his Healing. His Lightning needed to build up a new charge, but Theisseg’s power required his own vitality. He wondered why some powers felt so internal and others, like his wife’s Pressure, seem so external. Flying for hours on her pegasus never made her belly rumble.
Ary gazed around the hold. Everyone was recovering. None were close to slipping past the veil. He rubbed at his forehead, his thoughts growing sluggish. He groaned, legs sore from crouching. He wasn’t wasting his Blessing on fixing such a minor ache as he wove through the hammocks to the stairs.
Vel manned the galley. Ary tensed as he stared at his former friend. A weight pressed on his shoulder. Vel’s betrayal was still a raw wound across his heart. All those years he’d thought Vel and Chaylene were the closest people in his life, his friends with whom he could share anything. Then he had found them that night meeting in secret a few months ago. Ary knew nothing happened, but Vel wanted it to. He had cast that into Ary’s face, revealing his true feelings, claiming Ary’s wife didn’t love him at all.
It would be easy to ignore Vel for the rest of his life, to bury that wound. And then . . .
Ary marched across the hold to the galley window. Vel strai
ghtened from the pot. A tension tightened his limbs before he scrabbled to pick up a bowl and ladle it with the brown stew. He extended it in offering.
“Thanks,” Ary said, taking the bowl. His stomach rumbled again.
“Hungry work . . . tending to the sick,” Vel said with care like he was taking the same deliberation with each word as a person walking the crumbling edge of a skyland did each step. “Glad you’re doing it. That everyone’s improving.”
“Yeah.” Ary stirred the wooden spoon through the stew, a piece of white fish poking through the thick surface. “Thanks for . . .”
“Just doing my duty, Sergeant,” Vel said.
“No, no.” Ary caught his former friend’s eyes. “Thanks for talking sense into my head.” A terror rippled through Ary as he remembered how close he had come to losing Chaylene. “If you hadn’t . . . She needed something to get her through it.”
Vel nodded. “Sometimes . . . it takes a shock to make us realize our mistakes. A tempest to shake our house’s rickety walls.”
“Anyways,” Ary said, his eyes burning. “Just had to say it. Thanks.” For saving my wife. Ary couldn’t add that last part. Feared even speaking it. Chaylene’s recovery had been swift enough. If Vel started wondering how she’d recovered so swiftly . . .
Ary turned away, not sure what else to say, how to clear the skies of the foul vapors between them. Wasn’t sure he wanted to risk more pain. He took two steps when Vel said, “I’m sorry, Ary.”
Ary stiffened.
“For what I did.”
“You loved her,” Ary said. He turned back and looked at Vel. “I think . . . I think I understand. If Chaylene didn’t pick me, but you . . . What would I have done?”
“Probably knock out my teeth,” Vel said. His tone was light, no lightning crackling in his words.
Ary snorted, a smile touching his lips for a moment. “Probably.” Sharthamen cowering on the ground, face bloodied, flashed through Ary’s thoughts. His smile died. “I definitely would have.”
“I’m sorry that . . .” Hesitation crossed Vel’s face. Ary witnessed something dark, self-loathing perhaps, twisting his features. “I’m sorry that I tried to steal your wife. That I lied about . . . doing things with her. She never did, you know.”
