Shattered sunlight book.., p.32
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 32
“Where’s Chaylene?” Gretla asked, still clinging to her brother. “Where is she?”
Jhevon didn’t answer. He stood, trying not to tremble. Myrian held her sobbing little sister, tears pouring down the older girl’s cheeks. Esty swallowed at the devastation. There was no sign of Lake Gowapin. The land had buckled and folded. Overhead, balls of fire streaked through the sky, crashing down to the ground across the swamp.
“Where’s my sister?” Gretla demanded. “Where is she, Esty?”
“She gave up her spot for the girl,” Esty said. “Myrian’s sister.”
“No,” wailed Gretla.
Esty’s legs buckled. She sank down to the mud, tears falling down her cheeks as she gazed at the funeral pyre for an entire skyland. Thousands of people cleansed by Theisseg in one fatal moment. Fireballs thudded to the ground beyond them, sparking new fires.
On the horizon burned fainter, distant suns. Other skylands which fell today. Other funeral pyres. A cold emptiness filled her as she stared back to Vesche. A hopelessness. How could they stop Theisseg when She was willing to kill so many with a single act?
How could they dare fight against Her when Her reprisal would kill millions of innocents?
*
For eternity, Chaylene tumbled through the sun, curled up in a ball, her heart beating louder than thoughts. She could do nothing but hold her Pressure while the world ended around her.
And then she burst from the flames, ejected free of the inferno. She fell with the balls of molten fire. Tumbling, she witnessed the fires burning high into the sky, a great column of smoke that reached towards the heavens and then spread out, slowly growing, thick and dark, creeping over the world.
A new Storm spread from the devastation of her home.
Below, a cracked and scarred ground hurtled past. She hurtled down towards it fast. She hugged herself tighter and—
Bounced. The surrounding air cushioned her, hurtling her back up into the air. Like a rock skipped across the Oatlon Pond, she careened across the landscape until her ball of compressed air rolled through the mud, kicking it up in a spray.
She released it.
The mud was cold on her back as she lay naked on the ground. She sucked in deep breaths, staring up at the sky above. The black clouds from Vesche were an inky shadow devouring the bright blue, the world growing darker and darker.
“I’m alive,” she whispered, her body aching from the bruising impact. Flakes of stone cooled on her skin from the molten magma which struck her. “I’m alive.”
It astonished her as she sat up and stared at the swamp around her. She’d survived the inferno of Vesche. Her entire body trembled. She hugged herself as she stared at the roaring fire before her. Her home. Gone.
She pictured the hovel she’d lived in, a small shack, a single room, the bed she’d shared with her mother, the quilted blanket frayed and patched many times. On the rickety mantle over the fireplace lay the plain urn holding the mix of her pa’s and ma’s ashes. The hill where she would watch the stars. The ruined watchtower where she played as a child. Running down the Bluesnake’s muddy waters.
All gone.
She forced herself to stand, struggling to gain her bearings and find Gretla. She hoped she could find Esty and Jhevon. Had they survived? The impact was so immense. She could see the scars around her. Hills scoured clean of mud and detritus, great cracks rending the earth, and smoking craters made by chunks of Vesche crashing back into the ground.
Gray snow fell from the sky, drifting down from the boiling clouds. A soft flake landed on her cheek. She smeared it with a finger and studied the residue. Ash.
She judged herself to be beyond where she’d left Gretla. She headed south towards the pyre, hugging her muddy body. Even her boots had burned off of her in the inferno that had engulfed her. All she wore was her hair, coated in more dirt, clinging to her face as she trudged onward. The world grew darker. The smoke covered the sky, the sun struggling to penetrate the thick haze as more and more ash fell, covering the muck in gray.
She didn’t feel the compass between her breasts. Even it had been consumed in the inferno. But she could feel Ary. To the northeast. A beacon that would guide her back to him.
Hunger growled through her stomach after the first hour. It was hard going. The ground was folded and uneven, the ash filling in small crevasses and hiding them. She had to circle huge cracks that fissured the earth. Sometimes, new rumbles shook the ground, making her stumble.
“Gretla!” she shouted. “Jhevon! Esty!”
She moved towards a large hill. The top had been sheared off. More mud had slid down the east face. She trudged towards it. She needed the height to see, to try and spot other survivors. Gretla and Jhevon and Esty and others from Vesche.
She couldn’t be the only one who’d survived. Others had to have gotten off the skyland in time.
She scrabbled up the steep hill, bare feet and fingers digging into the cold mud. She got halfway up when the mud shifted beneath her. She let out a gasp as she fell forward, breasts and stomach slapping into the ash.
“Theisseg’s tail feathers,” she cursed, slipping down the hill. “I don’t need this right now. Just let me get to the top and . . .”
Her words trailed off as Gretla’s face popped over the edge. The girl’s eyes widened. “Chaylene!”
Other faces joined Gretla’s. Jhevon, whose eyes widened and looked away when he saw her naked body, Myrian, Rheya, and Esty. Chaylene didn’t care that she was nude and cold and covered in mud. Tears burst from her eyes as she scrabbled as fast as she could up the hill. They were alive.
She hadn’t failed.
*
The Rubble of Les
Why did I have those brief moments of freedom? wondered Zori as the Sunrise sailed through the darkness. Xorale stood on the bow, fully under Theisseg’s power. She cheered up the crew while the song warbled and cracked around them. Theisseg swayed.
She’s growing weak. Holding back the devastation is draining her. That was important. Zori didn’t know why, but it was.
As the ship sailed, she had brief heartbeats of freedom, moments where she could almost say a word or move her body. As Theisseg poured more and more of Her energy into the Song, Zori’s bouts of freedom came more often. Never enough to do anything, but it left her puzzling, wondering. She had to figure out the weaknesses. She had her longest spurts when she was farther from Theisseg.
Is it a mix of proximity and Her concentration? Now that Theisseg was focused on the Song, the incarnation of the Storm Goddess was hitting Her limits. Amiria wasn’t all of Theisseg, just a part of Her essence.
I wish Estan was here. He could explain all of this to me.
She puzzled through it. Proximity and concentration. The Sunrise was a dreadnought class warship, as large as they came, but it wasn’t that big. She was never truly far from Theisseg while on the ship.
Will that change if I get off this ship? Will getting farther from Her give me more of a chance to act independently?
Zori was excited to experiment. She’d failed to save Les and the other skylands, but she wasn’t helpless. She wasn’t completely Theisseg’s prisoner. Hope beat in her breast. She had a chance to figure out a way to kill Theisseg and avenge all those millions who’d perished.
The smoke thinned. The Sunrise punched out of the pyre of Les and into twilight. Theisseg’s Song faltered, ended. The barrier around the ship dissipated with a final crackle of lightning. The golden lie slumped.
She’s tired. Did She expect it to be this difficult? If She did, why didn’t She order us to sail east as soon as it happened? She was asleep all those days. Why? The Temple exploded, and She collapsed . . .
Zori let out a frustrated grunt in the depths of her mind as Theisseg strutted by, Her chest heaving with breath. The first flakes of ash fell on Her wings, smudging the gold. More fell like dirty snow across the ship.
The great smoke rising from Les had mushroomed over their heads and spread east, a new Storm to engulf the world. Zori shuddered in realization. Ash rained down from those clouds boiling overhead, the sun a bloody halo trying to shine through. To the east, red glowed like a crimson dawn.
It’s Echijh, Zori realized.
Due east of Camp Chubris lay Echijh on the other side of the Xoar Sky, several days’ sailing away. Her gaze looked to the southeast and found another glow. Thegren. Her home. Due south burned Mysh. North of Echijh lay a fourth glow, the funeral pyre for Vilthon, and a faint smear even farther north marked Jhiarly.
She has to be stopped. I have to understand when and why Her control slips. Zori’s metaphorical fist clenched tight. Then I’ll kill Her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Great Empty/Zumch Marsh
Ary set down the piece of pine wood with the crystal from a thunderbuss resting on it. He had felt no tingle, no reaction to what Estan was searching for—an engine that would react to one of the Blessings of Riasruo. It was boring work to Ary, sitting on the chair and hoping for something to happen as his friend wrote, quill scratching.
It was the last combination to test, and Ary had still not found the right words to say to Estan.
Ary had tried for the last six days to speak to Estan about Esty. Since Ary had left the cabin the day they’d departed Lrien Hold, guilt had plagued him. His friend was suffering, pummeling himself out of guilt. Ary knew that poison. It could twist you, make you blame yourself when there was nothing you could do. He had felt it in the wake of his sister Srias’s death. His ma had blamed Ary for it. He’d survived. Srias hadn’t.
Ary furrowed his brow, studying Estan. His face was haggard, a gray cast to his ebony features. His red hair was sloppy, sticking in all directions like a bird’s nest. Sacks hung beneath his red-raw eyes, making wrinkles across his cheeks.
“How much are you sleeping at night?” Ary asked, his words slow, deliberate. He rested his chin on the stump of his left hand. “You look like sow’s dung.”
Estan shrugged his shoulders, still writing.
“It can’t be good for thinking,” Ary continued. “I know my mind doesn’t want to function off no sleep.” He chuckled. “Remember the endless drills during training?”
Estan nodded his head. He set down his quill and straightened. “I do. Constantly interrupting sleep, the marches, the fatigue. It was interesting to study first-hand the body’s response to sleep deprivation. It lined up with what I read in several medical texts. But experiencing the almost fugue-like state that befalls you was . . . bemusing.”
“Yeah.”
“But I am getting adequate rest. I assure you my mental alacrity remains sharp.”
“Mental alacrity?” Ary blinked. Estan had a habit of saying words he’d never heard of.
“I can think perfectly well.”
“Good, good.” Ary glanced at Estan. His clothes hung loose on his frame. He looked gaunt, his cheekbones more prominent. “Are you eating enough? It can be easy to forget about eating locked up in here.”
“Are you my mother now, Ary?”
“Just a friend.”
“I am fine.” Estan picked up his quill, dipping the tip in the ink. He hesitated, a drop falling into the pot from the quill. “Thank you for inquiring.”
Ary took another deep breath. “Did I ever tell you about my sister’s death?”
“Yes. She died of the choking plague when you were ten.”
“I was feverish, sick, dying, but being healed by my powers. I wasn’t actively using them. My body responded instinctively to battle the disease. I was so weak. She was next to me. Dying. I had this strange idea that if I reached out and touched her hand, I would save her life. But I couldn’t move. My entire body ached. I was so tired.”
“On some level, I surmise, you understood your healing power. Something in the unconscious mind, perhaps, a place only being explored by . . .” Estan swallowed; his hand shook. “By those in the field of psychology.”
“By the time I moved my hand to grasp her wrist, she was already dead, her body growing cold. I was too late. I didn’t get to her in time.”
“And?”
“And I felt like it was my fault she was dead. That if I had only done something different, I would have saved her. It ate at me along with my ma blaming me. I survived, and my little sister didn’t.” Ary leaned forward, eyes misting. “I still dream of her. I still try to grasp her hand and save her. Even knowing that I couldn’t have done anything differently, I still feel like I let her die. That I failed to save her when I could.”
“And you think I feel responsible for Esty’s death,” Estan said, his voice quiet. “That I have transferred the blame from Theisseg upon myself?”
Careful. “You said . . . you left her. What did you mean by that?”
Estan looked down. He trembled. “Nothing, Ary. I meant nothing by it.”
“Estan.” Ary leaned forward, right hand outstretched across the table. “Something’s devouring you. Something so terrible that you have buried yourself in your work to keep from thinking about it. Do you think you abandoned her?”
“There was nothing I could do,” Estan said, his words hoarse. “I know that, Ary. I was wounded and concussed. We were bombarded. Likely, she was slain in the initial barrage, either by the ballista shot or the building that fell on her. I have nothing to feel guilty over.”
“But you still feel it?”
Estan hesitated. “Yes.” He wrote a word. “We are finished, Ary.”
Ary opened his mouth to say Estan’s name when pain flared across his chest. He felt like he had been punched hard. His chair creaked as his eyes widened. Chaylene surged to the front of his awareness, the pain in her stomach increasing as she was struck again. Ary bolted upright, his gaze snapping to the southwest.
“Ary?” Estan asked. “Is it Chaylene?”
“Yes,” Ary growled, panic shooting through him. Was someone assaulting her?
Before he could stop himself, he was dashing through the door of the cabin and racing for the deck, Estan’s voice calling after him. Ary burst out into the afternoon day, a light rain drizzling across the deck from clouds overhead. He headed for the starboard railing. He gripped it, looking in Chaylene’s direction, willing himself to see across the intervening distances to her.
Another punch struck her near the hip.
Ary focused on the blows, trying to interrupt them. They weren’t hard blows of any sort. And they were wide, thicker than a fist. He bit his lip, his good hand clenching on the railing. Estan thumped behind him.
“Ary,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. She was struck a few times. Not terribly hard. She’ll have bruises. It just doesn’t feel right. I don’t understand what I felt.”
“Are they still happening?”
Ary shook his head, her awareness fading.
“Strange,” Estan said.
“Yeah,”
From the distance, a low, growling rumble, almost too low to hear, rattled Ary’s ears. He shifted, blinking at that. Estan’s head cast around, searching for the source of it. The sound rolled on and on, dying and then coming back.
“What is that?” Ary demanded.
“Animal cries?” suggest Estan, glancing at the herd of elk below.
The noise built again, deep, rumbling. “It sounds like distant explosions.”
“From where?” Estan looked around, his eyebrows furrowing.
Ary shrugged as the rumbling faded again. He looked down at the ground passing below, looking for anything that could be the source. According to Yeiss, it was called the Zumch Swamp. For Ary’s people, it was the Great Empty, the vast eastern sky where once Swuopii had hovered and where the whaling fleets sailed to hunt the large beasts.
Now it wasn’t empty. Swamps and rivers covered the ground below. His eyes traced the sinuous line cutting through the muck between the large ponds covered by dull-brown algae, almost a rust color. A heard of elk grazed on the red vegetation, adapting to their new circumstances.
“I think it’s over,” Ary said.
“Indeed,” Estan nodded. “Strange that it occurred at the same time you felt Chaylene’s pain.”
“Right after,” Ary said. “Coincidence?”
“Most likely.” Estan licked his lips. “Do you think she’s on Vesche? Perhaps your wife did not meet a warm welcome.”
“Perhaps not,” Ary said. And then he frowned at the large pond beneath them. The surface rippled strangely, concentric waves rushing across it. He hadn’t witnessed anything like that in his journey across the ground. “Estan, have you seen anything like that?”
*
“What are you referring to, Ary?” Estan asked, leaning over the railing and staring at the ground passing below. A heard of the strange creatures, elk, stampeded across the swamp. They broke into different directions, some moving in circles like they were confused.
“The pond we’re sailing over. Look at the waves. That’s so strange, right?”
Estan’s gaze fell on the pool of water, covered by a film of brownish algae. Concentric waves sloshed through the water. They were not wind born like he had seen in ponds in the gardens of Amion. They were large, churning through the pool. The algae broke apart. Dirty water spilled over the edges.
“That is energetic,” Estan agreed, his eyebrows furrowed. First the strange, rumbling sound and then this.
Nearby, a section of the river’s bank collapsed, mud slicing across the river and damming it. Sections of hill sloughed off like a fish shedding its scales. The mud avalanche spilled about the bottom. The elk still galloped in circles, some crashing into each other.
“I think the ground is shaking,” Estan said, his eyes widening. Other pools showed the same violent crashes of waves.
“An earthquake,” the tight voice of Meirim said in Wrackthar.
“Earthquake,” Estan said, repeating her word, parsing out its meaning. “Yes, yes, a good term for the phenomenon.”
