Shattered sunlight book.., p.33
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 33
Meirim rushed towards the door to the cabin with unusual haste. Estan shook his head, gazing back at the ground. Each pool he saw was churned, the waves crashing on the shore. More of the riverbank collapsed. His brain struggled for an explanation. Then he glanced at Ary, his stomach dropping as one came to mind.
The rumbling followed by the shaking . . .
“Ary . . . I suspect Theisseg has made good on Her threat.”
Ary’s head snapped to Estan. “What?”
“This shaking . . . I fear the skylands of the southern Autonomy have fallen as Theisseg threatened.”
Ary’s face paled. He gripped the railing hard. “How can you say that? Because the ground is shaking? We are so far away. It is days and days of sailing to get to Vesche from here. The entirety of the Petty Kingdoms is between us and Vesche. How could this be related?”
“I am not positive,” Estan conceded. “But studies have shown that sound is a wave propagating through the medium of our atmosphere, but it can also propagate through other mediums, including rock.”
“And?” Ary said, his forehead furrowing.
Yes, smaller words. “You have been near explosions.”
Ary nodded.
“You’ve felt the vibrations of them through the ground.”
Another nod.
“Well, how big are the skylands? How much do you think they will shake the ground? How far will the force of their impact propagate?”
“How should I know? You’re the scholar.”
“Sound propagates faster through the air than through the ground.” Estan licked his lips. “First we heard that loud rumbling and then the ground shook.”
“Riasruo Above,” Ary groaned. “But we’re so far away. I think she’s there. I’ve taken bearings. And she could be close.”
“Well, she is still alive,” Estan said. He turned around, spotting Captain Charele watching them. “Captain, I need access to your navigation tools and maps. I fear something disastrous has happened.”
Charele clutched her hands to her chest. “What Ary warned?”
Estan nodded, his heart thudding. “I fear so. I have calculations to make.”
“Riasruo, please, please let my family be safe,” Ary murmured, his voice croaking, hollow.
Elemy is gone, thought Estan. Amion is destroyed.
The scale staggered Estan. He reeled, suddenly lightheaded. Census figures danced in his head, tallying up the millions who may have just perished at the hands of Theisseg. A quarter of the Autonomy lost.
My family is on Ainmoopz. They’re safe.
He limped to the captain’s cabin and began his calculations. He went on memory, using the figures Qibs Zadz had established for the skylands. They were rough numbers, but Estan had no choice. He covered parchment with his equations, using several proven physical models to work towards the amount of energy unleashed.
It horrified him.
Ary entered the cabin and said, voice cracking, “The sun set.”
Estan looked up from his equations. “Is the southwestern sky glowing?”
“We thought it was some trick at first,” Ary said. “But the sun’s been down an hour, and it still glows. What is it?”
“The fires of Vesche, Les, and the others,” Estan said, his voice dry.
“From so far away?”
“Yes.” Estan leaned back, staring at Ary. “She really did it. Theisseg . . . She killed all those people out of petty vengeance. I cannot . . .” Estan struggled to master his emotions. “Why, Ary? Why do something that cruel?”
“Why did She cover the world in the Storm?”
Estan shook his head.
Ary’s words were a low, angry growl. “Because it would hurt Riasruo.”
Part Three
Ash
It was day, and the sun didn’t shine. It choked us. Smothered us. Babes wailed and children cried. Tears spilled down my own cheeks. How could this happen? How could Theisseg hate us so much?
–excerpt from The Journal of the Survivor
Chapter Thirty
Rubble of Vesche
Ash fell.
It wasn’t a quiet dusting, like the stray detritus from a bonfire dancing in the air. It was thick, choking. The fluffy clumps clung to Esty’s woolly hair and piled on the shoulders of her marine jacket. Whenever she shifted, an avalanche of soot tumbled down her front and back. More gathered on her legs as she faced the fire she’d conjured, a bright beacon trying to hold back the darkness.
Night had fallen early and something foul and insidious had replaced the moons. Behind them, Vesche burned. Orange light painted across the numb faces of her companions as they sat around the fire, not for its warmth, but for the light. Succor from the murk that tried to engulf them. The thick funeral clouds of Vesche covered the sky, a blanket of smothering doom.
The heat from Vesche warmed her back. They were miles away, yet she sweltered like it was the hottest summer day on Tloan. The heat was so intense that Chaylene had stumbled back to them naked. She hadn’t said a word. She’d survived the cataclysm thanks to her Gifts from both Goddesses. Esty shuddered to imagine what it must have been like in the holocaust behind them. To fall with the skyland, to burn with it and not be harmed.
Chaylene was dressed now in some of Jhevon’s spare clothing, a sturdy pair of brown denim overalls and a loose shirt. The pair were of a height, though Jhevon had broader shoulders. The clothing was baggy. He’d even thought to pack his old boots. She had to wear two pairs of socks to keep them from slipping off.
Ash smeared Chaylene’s blonde hair gray. They were all coated in it. The original color of Gretla’s dress was impossible to see through the stains. She lay curled on Chaylene’s lap, occasionally sobbing. Her pack, carrying the urns, rested beside her.
Jhevon sat beside his sweetheart, holding her hand as he stared at the burning fires. He no longer looked young. Despite his baby-smooth cheeks, he appeared ancient, his eyes seeing beyond the inferno. Myrian had her arm around her younger sister. Rheta had a blank look on her face though tears had carved tracks through the gray ash, leaving caked gunk behind on the edges. Myrian hummed a lullaby beneath her breath, her eyes red-rimmed.
Esty sat alone. She glanced behind her at Starfire shaking his wings, knocking off the ash.
She coughed and spat gunk. The air was growing fouler. It hurt to breathe sometimes. Her lungs felt tight, congested. Gretla’s small body spasmed as she coughed. Finally, she spat thick phlegm on the ground.
Alone among the survivors. Esty was a stranger to Vesche. She didn’t know Jhevon or Myrian or Rheta. Gretla felt more comfortable on her sister-in-law’s lap than Esty’s. The Agerzak stared down at her hands, pale flesh gray. She wiped, trying to see her white skin but the ash was caked on too thick.
She coughed again.
Are you alive, Estan? She looked to the northeast, the direction Chaylene would sometimes gaze, staring off towards Ary heading to Romeich. Was Estan with him? Did he sit on the Varele, buried in his notes, wondering if she lived? Or had he believed her dead?
He’s probably dead. She pulled up her knees to her face, pressing her cheek against the ash-stained pants. The flames flickered as silent sobs shook her body. She wanted to be held by anyone. But who would? Estan was dead, and she’d killed Grabin. Her shaking grew worse as she struggled not to remember the betrayal on his face.
A hand touched hers. Esty blinked, looking up to see Gretla. The girl gave her a small smile, her fingers stroking Esty’s hand.
“Gretla?” Esty croaked.
“Don’t be sad. You did the best you could. You saved my brother and Rheta.”
“I did,” Esty said, glancing at Rheta. That little girl cuddled up beside Myrian wouldn’t be here. Esty had saved her. With her powers, she’d killed Grabin, but today, she’d saved two children. Tears stung her eyes. Some of the weight of grief slipped from Esty’s heart.
How did you live with the crimes of the past? By trying to build a better future.
“Thank you,” Gretla said and sat beside Esty.
She smiled and slipped her arm around the girl. Some of the burning in her eyes and throat lessened. She wasn’t alone. She had Chaylene and Gretla and Jhevon and Myrian and Rheta. They would find Ary and Captain Charele. They would make a new life someplace where Theisseg didn’t destroy skylands to kill two children.
The fire grew brighter, blazing higher. Jhevon blinked, looking away from the pyre of Vesche. He stared at the flames. Beside him, Myrian’s lullaby fell. Fresh tears spilled down her face as Jhevon scooted closer to her. He put an arm around her shoulder, holding her like a husband comforting his wife.
Something good had survived.
Chaylene’s head snapped around. “What was that?”
Esty blinked as Chaylene stood up. She felt around in the ash beside her and found the Vaarckthian pressure rifle. She raised it to her shoulder as she stood. Gretla let out a whimper, pressing tighter to Esty.
“What is it?” Esty hissed.
“I heard movement and coughing,” Chaylene said.
A sibilant, inhuman voice hissed out of the darkness, “Just lost souls seeking shelter.”
A moment later, the towering Ethinski missionary stepped into the light, her scales smeared gray. She held three children in her strong arms, their eyes bright reflections amid masks of ash. Four older children stumbled coughing out of the murk.
“All I could save.” There was a soft sibilant sigh to the Missionary’s words. “Seven small doves of Riasruo.”
*
The Rubble of Les
“I almost stopped it,” Zori declared to her husband in her dreams. “So close, Guts, and then Xorale took back control!”
“How? Why?” Guts asked. “What changed?”
“Her concentration. It had to be that.” Zori bounced on the heels of her feet. “I almost killed both ballista crews and sabotaged the engines.”
“But doesn’t the ship have other ones?”
“A dozen more,” Zori said, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t you see what this means?”
“That you almost died today.”
“That I almost beat Her!” Zori’s face transformed. Her heart thudded through her. “I almost beat Her. There’s a chance. I just have to figure it out.”
“Experiment,” Guts suggested. “That’s what Estan would do.”
Zori snapped her fingers. “Exactly.” Then her face fell. “But how? It’s not like I can control my body and figure out if there’s a radius around her that I can escape or if it is solely concentration. And what else will absorb Her attention as much as causing so much death?” Her fists clenched. “Oh, She gloated. I could hear it in Her song. She mocked us all by pretending to sing praise to Riasruo. She loves killing people. Millions, Guts. Millions just for Her pleasure.”
Guts grinned.
“Why are you smiling, Guthir Tlarene?” Zori planted hands on hips.
“Because you’re alive.”
“And?”
“I mean, look at you, Zori.” His maimed, ruined face burst with joy. “You’re expressive, you’re emoting, you’re bouncing on your heels. You’re excited, Zori. You’re angry. You’re fiery.”
“Of course I’m Storming angry! That damned Goddess has me chained in my body, and She’s using me to do such horrible things. No longer.” Zori stamped her foot for emphasis. “I’m done. I’m going to figure out how to kill Her!”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s my wife. She doesn’t mope. She doesn’t get depressed. She takes action. She Storming fights with all her fire. Remember the first day of training when you and Chaylene brawled with Zeirie and those other women?”
“I decked Xoshia so hard I broke her nose!”
“Exactly!” He seized her shoulders. “I know you’ll find a way to kill Amiria. Just be patient, figure out the limits of Her control and exploit them.”
“I need to reconnoiter.” She grinned and did that feel wonderful to do. A huge grin. Excitement burst through her. She was energized now. The grief over failing was gone. Anger had replaced it. Pure and righteous. She would kill Theisseg. “An explosion. I have to blow her up.”
“Velegrin tried that.”
“Not with the right weapon.” Zori smiled. “That bomb back on Rhogre scared her, and she was frightened of the fire on the ship. She snuffed out those flames like that.” Her fingers snapped loudly. “That weapon on Rhogre was just a ship’s engine explosion, and I can rig one of those. Ooh, we have a plan, Guts. We’re going to make Theisseg pay!”
*
Lsaapsu 5th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
It was morning according to the sounding of the watch, not that any sun could be seen through the darkness. Uickthio stood on the stern deck, her eyes bleary from watching Les burn through the night. The entire western horizon blazed, a red glow that painted the ash-choked deck of the Sunrise in blood.
The ash fell like heavy snow. Sailors had spent all night sweeping it off the deck, knocking it from the spars, and wiping it from the gunwales. No one had a white uniform. Everyone wore gray, even the admiral.
Les burned. And so did other skylands. She could turn around, stare across the distances to the funeral pyres marking the nearest skylands, each one a cherry-red glow on the horizon, dull suns beneath the dark smoke rising from Les.
“I don’t think dawn’s coming,” Uickthio said to Captain Lsuuvick.
“Will it ever come again?” she asked, her voice hollow.
“Riasruo won’t hide from us. We did Her work.” Right?
That voice had nagged at Uickthio all night long. Les’s crash had spread a huge cloud of smoke across the world. Maybe it didn’t extend past what they could see. Maybe there were clear skies north, but the southern Autonomy was under a new Storm. One that boiled higher than a ship could fly, covering Riasruo’s clean skies.
It felt . . . off to Uickthio. Doubts swirled in her. Words spoken by traitors. Were they traitors?
They had to be traitors. Uickthio was loyal. Amiria was the Golden Daughter. Uickthio had watched Amiria descended upon sunbeams and hatch from a shining egg. She was sweet, loving, compassionate. Her touch was gentle. The Church had announced her arrival, and she’d appeared exactly when they said she would.
“There you are, Uickthio,” the cheery voice of Xorale said. Her spirits were still up. She still believed now more than she ever had. She climbed up onto the stern deck, a flake of ash resting on one of the many scars crisscrossing her face. “The Golden Daughter requests your presence. Now that this unpleasantness is over, we can turn our attention to our next great task.”
Uickthio blinked, too exhausted to think.
“Cleansing the Agerzaks from the sky,” Xorale said. “The Petty Kingdoms will have Wrackthar sheltered beneath their skylands.”
“Of course,” Uickthio said.
“Captain.” Xorale stretched her back. “Have the ship ready to sail.”
“Minister,” Lsuuvick said, her bald head smeared with ash, dulling the normal gleam she had.
Uickthio marched past Xorale and descended the stairs. A few short steps on the mid deck took her to the door to the officer cabins. She strode down them to her staterooms and found Amiria standing over a chart of the skies. Her feather brushed at a skyland in the midst of the Petty Kingdoms.
“Mupfen?” asked Uickthio. It lay almost in the center of the Agerzaks, a part of the Kingdom of Yoharen.
“A Dawnspire is there,” Amiria chirped. “That must be our goal. We strike it down, and the Agerzaks and surviving Wrackthar will be wiped out.”
Uickthio’s stomach churned. More skylands had to fall? “Okay.” She studied the chart. “We will need to assemble all our forces.”
“Of course,” Amiria smiled.
“Here, at Nraezhn.” It was a large skyland on the southeast border of the old Vaarckthian empire, facing across the Euqovth Strait at the Agerzak skyland of Fahnoff. “Once assembled, we’ll sail south to the Esti Sky and then we can attack Mupfen from the west.”
“No,” Amiria said, shaking her head. “We leave our flank exposed. We pass all these skylands.”
“Well, yes.” Uickthio bit her lip. “But if our goal is to just take out the Dawnspire, then we can risk that and come in fast. If we stay far from—”
“No, we must fight our way south.” Amiria’s feather touched Fahnoff. “From here. We will blaze through their skylands and reach Mupfen, killing all before us.”
“We would need every warship in the skies,” Uickthio said. “And that might not be enough.” The seventeen warships lost when the weapon had detonated at Rhogre made her tremble. Those could make the difference.
“Then you shall have it,” said Amiria. “Spread the orders to every ship we pass: the Dawn Empire’s forces are to assemble at Nraezhn.” She let out a pleased chirp. “We shall cleanse them from the sky.”
“We shall,” agreed Uickthio, her heart thudding as she focused on plans. The Empire had performed war games on invading from Nraezhn to claim at least the Petty Kingdom of Sobben in the north, but she had no idea the military disposition of any Wrackthar dwelling on the ground beneath Fahnoff.
However, this was a problem she could solve. She trembled as she felt truly an admiral again.
*
Rubble of Vesche
Dawn never came.
Chaylene was sure it should have come and gone, trusting her sense of time. She had kept watch all through the ash-filled night, afraid to close her eyes. Fire burned behind them, consuming Master Xogrly and his goodwife, the village of Isfe, the farms. Chaylene was covered in the ashes of Vesche.
There were survivors. Not counting herself, Esty, or the Missionary, there were three men, seven women, and twenty-seven children, two just babes at their mothers’ breasts. The others ranged from toddlers to those as old as Jhevon and Myrian, on the cusp of adulthood.
Maybe they are adults now after yesterday.
Jhevon and Myrian held each other, Rheta more their daughter than Myrian’s sister. Jhevon had slept beside them, his arms around Myrian, her arms cradling her younger sister.
