Shattered sunlight book.., p.9
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 9
“I’m so sorry,” Zori blubbered as Chaylene battered and bludgeoned. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“And that will bring back my child?” The anger exploded out of Chaylene. The accusing face drove her arm down again and again, smashing the wine bottle into her friend’s face.
“I’m so sorry,” Zori said over and over even after her face was reduced to bloody meat. “I’m so sorry.”
“You killed my child! You don’t get to be sorry!”
The wine bottle shattered. Orange sloshed across red pulp.
“Lena!”
Chaylene sobbed over her friend. She buried her face into her hands. Guilt replaced anger. Weakness. She was so thirsty. Pain stabbed into her stomach over and over, a knife gripped by a friendly hand.
“Lena!”
The voice jerked at her. Pain rippled through her body. She still had to find Ary. She staggered to her feet, leaving Zori’s corpse behind. Clutching one hand to her belly to stem the flood of dead blood, Chaylene staggered across the deck of the Adventurous into darkness.
A Void.
Lightning crackled. Sunlight flared. Two voices sang, one in triumph and one in pain.
Before her loomed two Luastria in an embrace, one the Storm and one the Sun. Clutched in gold pinions, her husband struggled, body writhing, mouth open as he screamed her name over and over. The pain flared through him. Electricity attacked his body. Agony consumed him.
She had to help him.
“But I’m weak,” she whispered. She wished she hadn’t broken the wine bottle.
You’re stronger than you think. You weren’t weak when your ma passed on to Riasruo’s sun last year. You held a steady course. You’re strong, Lena. Believe in that. If I die, you’ll live on, and one day we’ll meet again in the loving fires of Riasruo’s sun.
Ary believed in her. She couldn’t be weak. She couldn’t let him down. Not when he needed her.
She leaped, her body soaring upward through the Void, her arm outstretched, reaching for her husband, feeling the small thread of gold connecting them together, the string tied about their souls, knotted while she’d lain choking and dying, hovering on the verge of death.
On the verge of the Void and what lay beyond.
Her fingers brushed Ary’s. The dream changed.
*
The Void
Pain. Agony. Torture.
It was endless. No thoughts. No contemplation. Only screaming a single word. A word devoid of any meaning. Convulsing, shuddering, spasming. Molten bones. Boiling blood. Burning flesh.
His universe was suffering. There was room for nothing else in his soul.
Still, he screamed. For her. He couldn’t even remember who he screamed for. The word was meaningless to him because all he knew was agony. He comprehended nothing but pain. He was pain.
And then she touched him.
Gentle fingers. Cooling touch.
The pain retreated, fleeing down his arm. Her hand stroked his cheek. Soothing bliss settled into his flesh, into his skull. His mind.
Thoughts returned. His eyes worked, beholding a moon nymph hovering before him, face coal-black, framed by golden hair. Her eyes were soft, gray, tears glistening with love. Her naked body hugged him tight. Everywhere she touched brought relief.
“Eyia,” he gasped, not the name he was shouting, but the only word to arise in his mind. A moon nymph’s name.
“My Bronith,” she whispered, arms tight about his neck, nose nuzzling his. “My Ary.”
“Lena.” He spoke the word with meaning now. Wife. Lover. Friend. Companion. Support. Guide. Protector. Family. Savior.
She had rescued him from the pain again.
“Where is this?” Chaylene asked, her soul trembling in his imagined arms. Bodies didn’t exist in the Void, and yet Ary could touch and feel and believe he had substance. “Is this where you go when you dream?”
“Yes,” Ary said. Chaylene’s soul tried to pull back, drawn to her body. He held her and grunted as Riasruo’s wings still held him tight. “I freed Her, Lena. I freed Her, and She won’t let me go.”
“What?” Chaylene shook her head. She looked around. “What is going on?”
He explained what had happened. “She’s mad,” Ary said, clutching his wife. “Broken.”
“No.” Chaylene shook her head. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know. But She’s holding onto Theisseg. She can’t let go.” Ary’s imagined heart beat faster. “She’ll kill them.”
“Who?”
“Gretla and Jhevon.”
Chaylene gasped.
“And not just them. Theisseg’s going to destroy the Dawnspire at Les. It holds up Vesche and so many other skylands. She’ll kill millions just to punish me for freeing Riasruo.”
“Can’t Riasruo do anything?” He felt Chaylene’s soul gaze up at the towering figures locked in their embrace, lightning crackling across both bodies.
“She’s trying to hold Theisseg. It’s been . . . I don’t know. Days. Months. Years.”
“Years?” choked Chaylene.
“I don’t know. How long has it been?”
Chaylene shook her head. “I’m dying, Ary. Zori stabbed me while her ship bombarded the Temple. Keibzin’s dead, and I don’t know about the others.”
“Zori . . . stabbed you?” Ary’s beating heart convulsed in panic’s grip. “Our child?”
“I . . .” She bit her lip, scared of the truth. “I don’t know. I was bleeding out and everything went dark and then I heard you screaming my name. I searched for you. I don’t know for how long.”
“But you’re alive,” Ary said those words like a prayer, a charm against his fears. “There’s hope.”
Chaylene didn’t answer.
“I don’t know how I can escape. You have to do something, Chaylene. You have to save them. My brother and sister.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But you’re strong. You’re smart. You saved me from the University. If anyone can protect them, it’s you.”
“If I don’t die first.”
“You won’t. Too strong.” He crushed her to his soul. “Believe that. You are strong. I know it. You led me to the light even knowing it might kill you. That’s strength, Chaylene.”
“It was guilt,” she answered.
“Guilt?”
Chaylene jerked in his arms. He held on tight, not wanting to let go of her, but her soul wanted to return to her body. He didn’t have the strength to hold her much longer.
“Please, Lena. I can’t speak to anyone else. Nianie’s dead.”
“What?” gasped Chaylene. “What about Estan? Esty? Heits, Usreili? What about Yeiss?”
“I don’t know. You’re the only one that can save them. Please, Chaylene. I might . . .” He didn’t want to say the words, but she deserved to know the truth. “I might not come back. She might never let me go. How long will my body live without my soul?”
“No,” she gasped, her fingers clawing into his soul, struggling to hold on. “I don’t want to go back, Ary. There’s only pain. Don’t make me.”
“I can’t stop you. I love you, Lena. I do. If I could protect you, I would. But I don’t think I can follow you.”
“You’re my Bronith. You have to. I can’t do this without you. It’s too much. I’m too weak!”
She ripped out of his arms, her soul hurtling back to her body. She dwindled from him. He roared, “You’re not weak, Lena! You are the strongest person I know!”
“Ary!” she shrieked. “I . . . love . . . you . . .”
She was gone. The agony crashed into Ary. He howled into an eternity of pain.
*
Chaylene sobbed as she rebounded into her dreams. Ary’s words stayed with her as she lay in a bed, the sheets stained with blood, her dead child fighting to escape. She threw back her head, screaming out her pain.
“I’m not strong, Ary! I’m not!”
“You promised to protect him,” Gretla accused, standing by Chaylene’s birthing bed, the young girl’s face round with baby fat, her hair in braids. “You promised me you would return together. Where’s my brother?”
“I couldn’t hold on,” Chaylene sobbed.
“You let him die!” she snapped, stamping her foot. “You let my brother die. I don’t have much family left. Just you and Jhevon. And he’s going to die, too. Because you’re weak! You can’t save anyone! We’re going to die, and you’ll go on living. Here! This is what you want.”
Gretla thrust the bottle of orange wine at Chaylene.
You are the strongest person I know!
Her husband’s last words, possibly his final words she would ever hear, echoed through her head. She stared at the wine bottle, the thirst choking her throat as the pain writhed through her abdomen. Then she stared into Gretla’s accusing gaze.
“I’ll save you. For your brother.” For you, Ary. I’ll save them. Somehow.
He believed in her. He loved her when she was so pathetic. When he thought she’d cuckolded him. Her emotions were fickle. She came so close with Vel, unable to control herself. She wasn’t worthy of Ary’s belief and love.
But she wanted to be.
“I will save you, Gretla.” She hugged her sister-in-law close, the girl trembling in her arms. Tears poured down Chaylene’s cheeks as Ary’s screams of pain echoed through her dream, faint, remote.
The torture had resumed. She couldn’t save her husband this time. No clever plan, no daring deed, would free him from the Sun Goddess’s embrace. She hadn’t been able to protect their child, but she could rescue Gretla and Jhevon.
Chapter Eight
Mount Wraiucwii – Neiddoa 8th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
The plank of wood smoked beneath Heits’s fingers before it burst into flames. He grimaced and yanked back his hand. A charred handprint remained in the plank, wisps of gray drifting into the sky and tickling Heits’s nose. His forehead furrowed.
“Another ruined?” grunted the Varele’s bosun in Vionese. The squint-eyed man gave Heits a disgusted look. “That’s your tenth, boy. These aren’t easy to create. I thought this was going to save time.”
“It will,” Heits complained. “Once we figure it out.”
He glanced at Usreili. She labored beside a pile of scorched, charred mistakes. Her forehead furrowed in concentration. Her plank steamed. The wood bent, curling at the edges and bowing in the middle. A loud crack split the plank a moment later, running down it lengthwise. Usreili frowned, staring at the wood. She hadn’t left a handprint, but something else had gone wrong. Heits winced, feeling the bosun’s odious stare. A sheepish grin crossed Heits’s face.
The bosun grunted. “Too much heat. Warped the wood to failure.”
“At least she didn’t burn it,” Heits pointed out. “That’s an improvement.”
The bosun grunted and spat. Heits, at first, thought his name was bosun. But it turned out to be a title, though Heits’s knowledge of Vionese left him guessing at what it meant. He sighed and took another plank from the stack, his shoulders itching as the bosun stared at him.
The idea Usreili came up with was sound. If the boards needed the moisture removed, then heating them should do just that. With their Second Blessings of Firedrinking, they had control over fire, over heat. So they were trying to bake the wood, but it was challenging finding the right temperature to effect change and not have the plank burst into flames. Wood was far more flammable than Heits had realized. His first attempt had had him treating it like metal.
The plank had blazed into a roaring fire in a heartbeat.
Usreili had found a temperature that didn’t set the plank on fire, but now warping and cracking was the problem. Heits sighed, planted his hand on the wood, and sent his heat into it. He had to control it. He had to keep it just hot enough.
Steam poured off the board. He smiled, watching it, breathing in through his nose, sensing any hint of wood smoke. He moved his hand across the plank, seeing if he’d left any char behind. He hadn’t, but there was a lot of steam.
“And how goes the drying?” the smooth voice of Captain Charele asked in Vionese.
“Poorly,” grunted the bosun. “A day’s worth of labor undone in two hours.”
“But if they can figure this out . . .” Charele said, drifting into Heits’s field of vision. She wore a soft-green almost verging on blue. As she shifted, the light dappled it in strange ways, deepening or lightning the hue. Her hair was all curled and piled onto the left side of her head, held in place by a series of lacy bows which matched her dress. Her nut-brown skin contrasted against strands of her golden locks spilling across her shoulders and down towards her bosom.
“I think this is a good idea,” she said. “They are making progress. Unless you want to spend the next month here, Bosun?”
The man grunted. “Cap’n, I got to go watch the lumber crews. Can you keep an eye on . . . our guests?”
“An eye does not need to be kept on them.” Charele laughed. “Go, keep my crew out of mischief.”
She smiled at the bosun. He returned it, showing his teeth. He knuckled his forehead and marched off. Charele gave a satisfied smile and moved closer to Heits’s stack. She bent over his work. Her bosom dangled just at the edge of his vision. He swallowed, his body becoming warmer.
“And how goes your—” Charele’s voice broke off in a gasp as fire burst to life around Heits’s fingers. “Oh, my.”
“Sorry,” Heits groaned, his cheeks burning as he snuffed out the fire. Worse, he hadn’t noticed the end curling, already splintering, ruining the board even before his fire erupted. “It requires a delicate balance.”
“So it seems,” she said. “And no doubt such a beautiful woman nearby is distracting you.”
Heits spluttered, struggling to put coherent words together. What do I say back?
“You must be constantly distracted by Usreili’s stout form and, dare I say, matronly visage?”
The smile on Charele’s lips brought a laugh from Heits. Her dimples blossomed as she giggled. He felt Usreili glare at them as she worked on her next plank. Only a small amount of steam billowed from hers.
“Yes, she is quite the distraction,” Heits said when he regained his composure. “I can’t stop my eyes from wandering across her body.” As he spoke, his eyes wandered over Charele’s form.
“Ah, yes, youth. When I was your age, why, I couldn’t keep my eyes from the men working shirtless on the docks. My ma gave me more than a few strappings for my undo attention. And then there were the ships themselves. Sailing out so far, so wide, going places beyond Arame.” Her smile deepened. “I’ve bet you’ve seen things crossing the world. You walked all the way from Metsak Hold to here. Such a journey.”
“It was long,” he nodded. “And difficult. We faced a lot of dangers.”
She pulled off the plank he was working on, setting it with the others before carefully sitting on it, holding her skirts tight about her legs, lifting them up to keep them from dragging on the dirt. Her green eyes sparkled. Her perfume caught his nose. “I bet. What did you see? What did you do?”
The breathy excitement of her voice spurred him on. “I was a scavenger,” he said. “The most dangerous job we have in Metsak Hold. I had to brave the Murk.”
“Murk?”
“There’s no light beneath the Storm. Even during the day, the Murk only let you see maybe . . .” Heits frowned, then pointed to a tree ten chains away. “That far.”
“And at night, how far could you see?”
“I wouldn’t be able to see your pretty face.”
She leaned forward, curls sliding about her shoulders. “Even if I were this close?”
“Even if you were closer.”
“If I were any closer, we would be kissing.” She laughed. “Naughty boy. So you braved these dangers. Were you alone?”
“Of course. Me and Keibzin . . . He died up there. We were the best. It’s why we came on the journey. To lead Ary and the others.”
“Yes, yes, they would choose the best. The bravest.”
“I was the one that found Chaylene in the darkness. She was hurt from when she fell from above. Impaled on an elk’s horn. I had to face down wolves to save her.”
“Wolves?” She said the Wrackthar word with ease.
“Great, shaggy beasts big as a horse that can rip out a man’s throat. They hunt in the dark.” He couldn’t help the embellishments. The way she stared at him with joy, drinking in his story, led him to describe rescuing Chaylene in a grandiose fashion. “And then the wolf charged me, but I set him alight.” Fire blazed on his hand.
She clapped and oohed.
“I drove the beast back, its fur blazing, its flesh cooking. But its companions weren’t deterred. They were hungry. It is lean out in the Murk, and the wolves eat whatever they can.”
His hands gesticulated as he talked. When he finished the tale of his heroic rescue of Chaylene, he told more about their journey. Their tense confrontation with the guards from Idassig Hold, the perilous fording of the Gamchin River and his heroic rescue of Chaylene when the flood water swept her away. He described the mad lightning storm and how he spotted the hill that saved their lives. His version of the wolf attack was full of far more dashing deeds on his part.
She loved his tale. He could see it in her eyes, in the red flush brightening her cheeks, and the way her bosom quivered in such interesting ways. As he was about to tell her about crossing the cloudwall, she patted his hand.
“We really have to continue this discussion later. I like energetic young men.” She leaned in. “You might even get that kiss you tried to trick from me, naughty boy.”
He grinned at her. “I would love that.”
“The kiss or more chance to tell your tales?”
Instinctively, he winked at her, not revealing his decision. It made those dimples dance as she stood, smoothing her skirt. And then she was off, heading over to her other sailors, talking to them, laughing with them while Heits savored the giddy rush her attention gave him.
He stood, back straight, chest puffed out, glad she knew all his deeds.
“Try not to embarrass yourself in her bed, boy,” Usreili grunted in Wracktharian. “I don’t know what lies you were telling her, but I know young men. You talk yourself up too much, you’ll disappoint her when she realizes how inexperienced you are.”
