Shattered sunlight book.., p.24
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 24
The rising sun shone between Fahnoff and the lake beneath it. He glanced at the rays, staring into the bright glare for a few heartbeats before the pain forced him to look away. He blinked against the bright, blue blur streaked across the center of his vision.
I’m sorry I said you’re like Theisseg, Riasruo. You’re not. You’re just broken. Ary took a deep breath. He understood being broken. A few weeks in the care of Duthan had reduced him to blubbering and begging, weak and helpless, unable to do anything to stop the pain. Unable to protect his wife. Fear had gnawed at him, devouring him from the inside.
Only anger gave him any strength. A brutal, dark might bursting out of the cracks in his soul.
“Take us up, Ravel,” Captain Charele said, her skirts swishing as she strolled around her stern deck, twirling a gray parasol over her head, her blonde hair a mass of curls bouncing about her shoulders. Her dress was matching ash with little pink bows marching up her stomach to her low-cut bodice.
Ary let his eyes linger for a moment before looking back at Lrien Hold. Wrackthar watched on the shore, Chothiem at their lead, arms folded, glaring. Beside him, Gramps Honchil waved his walking stick, his cragged face parted in a smile.
Ary waved back, a grin touching his lips. He had convinced some here. Enough to let him travel to Romeich and make his case to the Wrackthar’s president. He had to hope there was a chance. War was inevitable. Smoke rose over Lrien Hold, every smithy producing weapons to arm themselves and the Agerzaks above.
The Varele groaned as she rose from the dark waters of the lake. She sailed with a wallowing, sluggish grace. Ary knew the ship had been damaged, but he had not expected her to move like she had a hold full of rocks.
A Wrackthar curse snapped Ary’s attention to the deck. Meirim and her contingent of five guards all tottered in their armor as the boat rose at a tilt. They grabbed railing or rigging to keep from falling over. Laughter sprang from the sailors at their lack of balance.
“You’ll get used to it,” Yeiss said as he stood nearby, his body leaning into the pitch. Usreili and Heits sat nearby on barrels.
Ary glanced at the skyland stretching across most of the sky. Riotous coral covered the side, a clashing swath of reds and greens and purples. Ary cocked his head, staring at the massive rocks and jagged bottom of a skyland. He had never seen one before. Ships didn’t sail beneath skylands. Their bottoms were too close to the Storm’s surface for captains to be comfortable.
“We’ll level off when we’re above Fahnoff,” Charele said, her voice airy, her parasol twirling in her fingers, pink fringe flipping right and left. “Set course on a bearing of three hundred and fifteen degrees once we attain flight level.”
“Cap’n,” knuckled the sailor manning the ship’s wheel. The pinched-faced Windwarden only spat over the railing.
Charele strode to Ary, a flowery scent floating with her. “Not a sight I’d ever imagined seeing. A skyland so high above.”
Ary nodded.
“I am ever so glad you woke up.” Charele let out a light laugh. “I feared my crew and I would have to escape ourselves. But this . . .” She smiled. “Well, this is turning out even grander than I hoped. I didn’t think that idiot chief could hear reason with all the down stuffed between his ears.”
Ary shrugged.
“I’m remembering now how robust our conversations were.” Charele sighed. “You are worse than Estan.”
“Estan doesn’t like to talk?” Ary asked as the ship climbed higher, faster.
“He’s been locked in his cabin the entire journey from Mount Wraiucwii. He’s going through my stock of lantern oil with his late-night studies.” Her face fell. “Poor man.”
Esty flashed in Ary’s mind. “She stole his heart. It was obvious the first time I met her.” Ary grinned. “Chaylene didn’t trust her.”
“Really?” Charele glanced at him. “They seemed close when we sailed to your rescue. Esty was by Chaylene’s side while you were being . . .”
“Tortured.”
Charele nodded, her hand touching his wrist. “I can’t imagine anyone hating Esty. She was such a friendly girl.”
“I think that was the problem. She was, er, too friendly before Estan. A, um, well . . .”
“Prostitute?” Charele laughed as Ary’s cheeks warmed. “She made no secret of it to me. But Chaylene is one of you southerners. Farmers, yes? So provincial about something as delightful as intimacy.”
“Er, yeah.”
Charele’s laughter peeled and then died. “Estan’s tumbling in a crosswind without her. He’s pushing himself too hard. He doesn’t sleep, skips meals. It’s not healthy for a young man, even one who’s lost his bride.”
Ary glanced around the ship, not spying Estan. He would have thought his friend would be eager to witness Fahnoff, especially now that the ship was high enough to view the surprisingly ordered farmland on the northern side of the skyland. Fields were tilled and planted, new growth shooting up green. Pale-faced children ran along the skyland’s edge, boys in trousers, girls in skirts, all pointing at the ship.
“Is he down in his cabin?” Ary asked.
“I would imagine,” Charele said, staring at the skyland. “It looks so . . .normal. That’s an Agerzak skyland and . . .”
“It could be anywhere in the Autonomy.” Ary squinted at a farmhouse. “Though that domed roof looks strange.”
“Hmm,” Charele agreed. The ship leveled off. Rigging creaked as the vessel made its turn. “And their horses. You don’t often see people galloping across the sky.”
Young Agerzak men, their faces covered in wild, shaggy beards, galloped their horses across the sky, sparks flying with every pound of hooves. Most had greatswords strapped to their backs.
“Pirates,” Ary said. “They probably spend their days raiding Euqovth Strait for merchant ships sailing for the Theocracy. Better pickings than the Esti Sky.”
“And they’re not attacking my ship.” Charele shook her head. “How boring the world will become without pirates to liven things up.”
Ary studied her. She had a big smile on her lips. Blinking, he shook his head and decided to find Estan. They’d hardly spoken before Ary entered the Temple to end the Storm while the night before, Estan had been quiet when Ary returned from meeting with the chief.
His feet thudded down the stairs to the mid deck.
*
The loud rap lifted Estan from his writing. “You know you don’t have to knock, Qobthien.”
“It’s not Kobt . . . Kobth . . . Him.” Ary said, voice muffled by the door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Estan said, wiping his quill and capping his ink jar.
Ary entered wearing fresh clothing provided by the Wrackthar: a tight shirt and trousers, both red like everything they made. Do they lack dyes? Or does it not accept dyes? Looks very tough, almost leathery. Is it waterproof?
“What can I do for you, Ary?” Estan asked as his big friend pulled back a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the table. His tan-brown forehead furrowed as he glanced at Estan’s writing. Ary found a sketch of a ballista Estan had designed to hurtle the weapon great distances.
“Ary,” Estan said again.
“Hmm?” Ary sat the paper down and shifted on his chair, the wood creaking beneath Ary’s bulk. “Yes, yes, sorry. I thought we could talk.”
Estan’s heart tightened. “On?”
“Well, I’m just a little surprised. I spent several months living with the Wrackthar. I would have thought you’d have nibbled out every bit of knowledge I had on them.”
“I had many conversations with Yeiss on the Wrackthar on their military capabilities.” Estan gave a polite smile. “I imagine he has more to say on the matter than you.”
“True, but there are other things than just the military.”
“Indeed, but we must prioritize our tasks. We are in a war for our very existence. The chaff must be separated from the grain, yes? Nothing unnecessary at this time.”
“Fair enough,” Ary said. “But no pestering on why I was unconscious and what freed me?”
“I have a number of theories.”
“Riasruo held me.” Ary leaned forward. “She thought She was protecting me.”
“Riasruo.” Estan licked his lips. “Will She be of any aid to us against Her Sister? Will She send a true Golden Daughter to stand against Amiria?”
“The altar’s destruction cut off Her access to our world. Theisseg only has influence because She has the Golden Daughter.”
“Her hypostasis,” Estan said.
Ary laughed. “I knew there was a big word for it. Trust you to know it.”
Estan smiled, nodded. “So we are on our own?”
“She did tell me how to kill Amiria.”
“Yes, the Sun Lance of Lanii. I do remember you mentioning that last night. I must admit, I had forgotten you said it in the excitement of your fight with the guards. That was most careless of me.”
“Perhaps too many sleepless nights?”
“Research must be carried out. Ideas explored.” An edge entered Estan’s voice. “A way to destroy Amiria found.”
“And I have it. This Sun Lance was the first Golden Daughter’s?”
“Supposedly. Its origins are hazy. But at some point, it ended up at Ianwoa on Ulanii.”
“Where the Church has its seat.”
Estan nodded. “The Sun Lance sits above where the Synod of the Faithful meet. It is a great artifact that is said to shine with its own light. It is made of crystal, of course.”
Ary smiled. “So it’s an engine.”
“Undoubtedly, but how does it work?”
“We need it.”
“You want to raid the Church of Riasruo, fight the Tezlian Guard, and take a holy artifact?” A stir of excitement beat through Estan.
“Absolutely. She has to be stopped. But we’ll need help. I hope to convince the Wrackthar President to give us soldiers. We can raid Ulanii, seize the Sun Lance, and figure out how to use it. We’ll destroy Theisseg’s hypo . . . whatever—”
“Hypostasis.”
“Yes, that. We’ll destroy it and She can never interfere in our world again. She’ll be cut off like Riasruo is.” A broad grin crossed Ary’s lips. “No Storm, no Goddesses warring, just the four races making their own future.”
Estan considered Ary’s words. An engine, a weapon beyond normal means. The principal was sound, but there were so many questions. He already knew a different weapon that would work. Damaged ship engines triggered by lightning and launched at the Sunrise. A detonation to kill Theisseg.
“I don’t know,” Estan said. “The Sun Lance is just a crystal. There is no proof that it does anything.”
“You’re not excited at all about this possibility? About something new to learn?”
Estan blinked. “No.” He looked down at his paper. “I could use your aid in testing new engine combinations. You have . . .” He took a deep breath. “Minor Stormsight. We might find an engine for you to use.”
Ary was silent, his red eyes scrutinizing Estan. He squirmed beneath the gaze. “Yes, Ary?”
Ary’s eyes softened. “How are you doing?”
Estan tensed. “Fine. Busy. I need to get back to my work.”
“No, no, with Esty’s death.”
Estan’s throat tightened. He swallowed, trying to clear the choking guilt. “I . . . I miss her greatly. I . . .” He blinked burning eyes. “It is why I have to work so hard. I need to kill Theisseg. You can understand that, Ary. She took my wife from me.”
“I know I would be lost if Chaylene died.” Ary leaned back.
“Well, she didn’t!” Estan snarled. “You know she is alive. That must be such a comfort to you.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, you think that there is something wrong with me being busy. We are at war, Ary. I am just doing my part to make sure we’re victorious. See?”
“Yes, you’re doing a lot of busy work.” Ary lifted a drawing.
“Busy work?” Estan snatched the parchment back. “This is valuable research. When we reach Romeich, I shall apply what I have learned into practical ways to defeat Theisseg. In killing Her. So I do not have time to have pointless conversations about such meaningless topics as how I am feeling.”
“I was angry when my ma died. And guilty. I felt so much regret. It bubbled through me. All the things I didn’t say to her, the opportunities I had to forgive her. I thought I’d squandered it. That I’d never make things right between us. As much as I hated her for breaking after pa died, I just wanted to have my ma back, the woman who was stern but loved me. I yearned for it, and I knew I would never have it.”
“And?” Estan asked, his voice brittle.
“And Chaylene was there for me and—”
“My wife is dead. Who will be there for me?” Estan’s fist slammed down on the table. “Who can I talk to? Who can I tell how . . . how . . .” He sucked in breaths, struggling to breathe. “How I . . . abandoned her to die?”
“Estan,” Ary said, his hand reaching across the table.
Estan pulled back, taking deep breaths. “I am fine, Ary.”
“You think you abandoned her?”
What if she was just hidden by the rubble, bleeding, dying, wondering where I was? “I did abandon her, Ary.” Estan picked up his quill and uncapped his ink. “I fled with Heits, Yeiss, Usreili, and you. I was terrified of the bombing. I did not confirm her death.”
“She might be alive, then.”
“Do not say that, Ary!” He wrote a word across the parchment, any word. “She is dead. She is not coming back. And I have much work to do. Good day, Ary.”
“But—”
“I said, ‘good day’!” He scratched another word so hard the quill tore the parchment.
Ary stared at Estan for a second. He trembled, part of him begging Ary to stay, another half just wanting him to go, to stop prodding at the past. Esty was dead. Nothing would change that. Nothing would undo his cowardice. He could only press on.
“Okay,” Ary said, standing up. “But I’m here if you need to talk.”
Estan nodded but didn’t look up.
Ary closed the door behind him. Estan took a deep breath, holding it. A tear fell down his cheek. He stared at the torn parchment, struggling to gather his thoughts, to continue his research while a small guppy churned through his mind, flitting his way and that.
What if she is alive?
*
Heits rolled off of Charele, gasping for breath, his fires cooling in his loins as his head rested on her pillow. Her blonde locks spilled about her head as she smiled, golden-brown face flushed. Her rising breasts attracted his gaze.
“Oh, it is wonderful to be in the skies again,” she breathed. “Back in my cabin. Your people’s accommodations, even after freeing us, left little to be desired.”
“Yeah, I doubt sleeping on a stone floor is that comfortable.”
“No. And they wouldn’t let me change my dress. I was forced to wear the same garment over and over.”
Heits grinned. Her cabin had several wardrobes built into the walls, hiding her voluminous collection of dresses and accessories. He was certain several crates in the lower hold held more. The way she dressed was nothing like the Wrackthar. It was so impractical: heavy cloth, the petticoats that only slowed her movement, the tight bodices restricting breath. She could never labor in them.
But he wouldn’t have her trade them away for anything.
“I am soooo glad Ary woke up,” Charele said, her voice breathy.
“I had a plan to break you free,” Heits said, his mood souring.
“And it was a good plan,” she said, rolling on her side, her hand resting on his dark chest, contrasting with her lighter tan. “But it was risky. We probably would have all died. It would have been so tragic.”
“Yeah,” grunted Heits. “But wugizil Ary showed up.”
“Wugizil . . .” Her words smiled. “That’s an Agerzak curse, yes. Rusting? Jealous of—”
Someone rapped loud on her door and then thrust it open. Heits blushed, his hands fumbling to pull the covers over their naked bodies as Meirim barged in. She’d traded her armor for serviceable clothing, the red pants and shirts Wrackthar of any gender would wear. Her slanted eyes betrayed no surprise by the sight. Out of her armor, she had a softer, feminine cast, though the shirt could not hide the strength of her body despite her petite stature.
“Meirim,” Heits gasped, his voice squeaking. “What are you—”
“Does she speak Wrackthar?” Meirim asked as Heits finally managed to haul the sheets up his legs and groin.
“Agerzak, actually,” answered Charele, her accent reminiscent of Chaylene or Ary’s, but somehow worse. “And Vaarckthian, too.”
“Are you his wife?”
Meirim’s blunt words made Heits’s stomach suck in. It was followed a moment later by Charele’s peals of laughter. They were soft and sweet but at the same time mocking, ridiculing the very idea that she was his wife. His cheeks warmed and he squirmed.
What’s so wrong with me?
“As I suspected,” Meirim said, “by the way Heits dogs your feet like a starving wolf hoping for scraps.”
“Well, I do like feeding him,” Charele said, ruffling Heits’s hair.
His cheeks burned more. He was glad his half-Vaarckthian heritage gave him such dark skin, or his embarrassment would broadcast for Meirim to see.
She nodded, her yellow eyes staring at him. “Good. Heits Passehn, you are my husband.”
“What?” Heits said, his jaw dropping. He shook his head. “Did I hear you right, Meirim?”
“Indeed. Charele, you are the witness. You have heard me declare the words and know that Heits is my husband.”
“I see,” Charele said, her face suddenly neutral, her body tense.
“Then good evening,” Meirim said. She gave them both a slight nod and turned, closing the door behind her with a loud thud.
Heits’s mind whirled.
“I take it that was . . . unusual?” Charele asked, shifting back to Vionese.
“Yeah. I mean, the woman gets to choose. She has to pick for her children. But, I mean, usually the man has some idea. Tries to get her attention.”
