Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below) Read online

  Shattered Sunlight

  Book Five of the Storm Below

  by

  J.M.D. Reid

  Copyright © 2019 by J.M.D. Reid

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2019

  Cover art by Steam Power Studios

  Edited by Poppy Reid

  Dreaming Between Worlds Publishing LLC

  ISBN-13:

  www.JMD-Reid.com

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  Dedication

  For all those who believed in me, encouraged me, and helped me along the way, thank you. Book 5 has arrived. The finale of my first epic fantasy series has arrived. Thank you, but especially to my mother.

  Prologue

  Skyland of Vesche – Neiddoa 3rd, 399 VF (1960 SR)

  Jhevon Jayne grit his teeth as he pulled down the bale of hay from the loft, straw pricking his palms. With a grunt, he tossed it to the barn floor below. A girl let out a frightened squeak. Wiping sweat from his nut-brown brow, Jhevon peered down and winced at the sight of the frozen-stiff girl staring at the bale crashed at her feet, her light-brown hair pulled back into two tight braids. A length of twine had snapped, golden hay spilling across the hard-packed dirt.

  Myrian Xogrly’s head shot up and she glared at him. “Jhevon Jayne, you could have crushed me!” Her voice rang through the barn. “You didn’t even shout a warning.”

  “Sorry, Myrian.” He rubbed a hand through his short, blond hair, grimacing. “Thought I had the barn all to myself.”

  Over the last six months, Myrian Xogrly’s presence on the farm had become commonplace. Since his ma’s passing, his sweetheart had spent considerable time helping Gretla, his little sister, with the domestic chores while Jhevon managed the farm single-handily. It was a difficulty, but Ary had trained Jhevon well before sailing off to the marines.

  Jhevon tried vainly not to think about his brother and sister-in-law. Ary’s last letter had been sent from the distant skyland of Thunely, a place so far from Vesche Jhevon had trouble picturing where it floated. Though the war with the Empire had ended, still no word had arrived. The Golden Daughter, blessed Amiria, had put an end to the fighting and set the skies to right, but was it in time? Jhevon feared his brother and sister-in-law were dead, killed in the war, and the Golden Daughter’s overthrow of the Autonomy had kept the nation’s vast bureaucracy from sending word. The fear gnawed at his belly, a school of little guppies nibbling at any hope he tried to cultivate. The more weeks passed, the harder it was to fend them off, but he had to stay strong. He had the farm to look after and Gretla to watch. He kept up the lie that their brother was too busy to write.

  He was grateful Myrian was around to help. He could whisper to her his fears that he would never see his older brother again. The only family he had left was Gretla. Though, in a year, he was sure he would marry Myrian when they were both seventeen.

  “My apologies,” Jhevon said. “I wouldn’t want to crush your pretty figure.”

  A smile flitted on Myrian’s lips, warring with her anger. Jhevon had learned a lot in the last year. The wrong words would drive her away with hurtful looks while the right words would have her preening with delight. He’d found complimenting her looks fell in that second category along with apologizing.

  She should have announced her presence, he thought. She had to see the other hale bays and hear me moving up here. If he said those words, he would have triggered an angry storm in her.

  “Do you need something, my sweet?” Jhevon asked. He wanted to find a good nickname to call her. Something endearing. Ary called Chaylene “Lena” and sometimes his “Eyia.” But Myrian didn’t like her name being shortened, so “my sweet” was the best Jhevon could manage.

  Her smile grew. “Just seeing if you need any help.”

  “Always. I need to spread fresh hay out for the ostriches.”

  Work was never done on the farm. He had the ostriches to tend and the barley fields to weed. Every time he reached the end of the rows, new weeds had already sprouted back at where he’d begun. Other farmers helped, and Myrian would roll up her sleeves and hike her skirts to join him in the work.

  Little more than a year, and it’ll be her home full time. Jhevon liked that thought. It helped keep the sadness at bay. Ary and Chaylene were gone. There was no chance of their children inheriting the farm. It was up to Jhevon to keep it in the family name. Gretla would help, but she was growing fast, already eleven. Soon she would find her own fellow and be sneaking off to kiss him in corners of stables and pens, or out on hills beneath the starry sky.

  “Just got to throw one more bale,” Jhevon said. He seized a heavy rectangle, hiding the grunt of exertion. Then, feeling her eyes on him from below, hefted it up with one arm. She stepped back, and he tossed it down, a foolish grin on his face. “There, let’s get the—”

  The loud thwunk rattled the frame of the barn. Jhevon frowned and Myrian turned her head, peering out the door to the east.

  “What was that?” Myrian asked, her twin braids sliding back and forth across the back of her light-blue dress.

  “Don’t know,” Jhevon whipped the sweat from his hands on his brown, denim coveralls before climbing down the ladder. When he reached the floor, the thwunk came again. “It’s coming from the east.”

  “From the Watch?”

  Myrian’s question hung in the air for a moment. Aldeyn Watch was where the Fearless, the Autonomy warship, was moored, ready to defend the skyland from a Cyclone attack like the Intrepid had eight years ago. It was also where the soldiers gathered. Since the Dawn Empire’s rise, militiamen in their brown coats had come from Ahly to build massive ballistae to bombard the Stormriders living below once the Storm ended.

  The Golden Daughter had promised she would dissipate the never-ending maelstrom. The vast, endless Storm had covered the world for two thousand years since being conjured by the Dark Goddess Theisseg at the behest of the defeated Tyrant King out of spite.

  A third thwunk shook the air.

  Jhevon’s mind reeled at the possibility. His heart labored against a tight fist squeezing about it. He glanced at Myrian’s face. The color had drained from her brown face. She trembled, eyes wild.

  “D-do you think . . . ?” he asked.

  From the large oak tree that grew by the gate of the farmstead, Gretla dropped down. Her brown skirts raised to expose her skinny, stocking-clad legs. She let out a wild whoop as she raced across the yard towards the barn, her bonnet slipping off her hair to expose dark-blonde curls.

  “Jhevon!” she shouted over and over. “Jhevon!”

  He stared at his little sister as she skidded to a halt before him and Myrian. Excitement shone across Gretla’s face. She bounced up and down, her red eyes dancing with enthusiasm. She struggled to gather herself, her exuberance tripping up her tongue.

  “Is it the ballistae?” Jhevon asked.

  She nodded her head. “It’s gone. The Storm. I couldn’t see it beyond the skyland. I didn’t see gray. I saw brown!”

  Jhevon’s k
nees wobbled as a wave of dizzy cold rushed over him. Myrian grasped his hand, gasping in shock. The Storm was gone? He had trouble believing the Golden Daughter could really end what Theisseg had created. The Storm had always existed beneath Vesche. Like every child of the village of Isfe, he’d walked the skyland’s edge, peering down at the chaotic tempest and imagining the demonic Riders living beneath.

  “Come on!” Gretla shouted then darted down the path.

  Jhevon glanced at Myrian, her lips pursed tight, then he chased after his sister, yanking Myrian with him. She gasped his name, stumbling behind him as his blood buzzed with excitement. He had to see it for himself. He had to witness the miracle. It made his mind whirl. It was like waking up and discovering the sky no longer existed.

  It made him dizzy.

  He raced after his sister, Myrian clinging to his hand. Ahead, Gretla held her skirts up with both hands and ran as fast as she could. No one could catch Gretla. Jhevon had tried enough whenever she’d teased him.

  The thwunks continued, growing louder and louder. They reached Watch Road leading to the skyland’s edge. Others flowed from their farms onto the path, a river of people hurtling to the skyland’s edge to witness for themselves that the Storm had ended.

  Finally, Jhevon and Myrian crested a hill and faced the grassy slope rolling to the skyland’s edge. The ruins of the old watchtower peeked out of spring growth atop one mound overlooking the dozen massive ballistae. Brown-coated men and women winched back the large windlasses, three to a crank. Two hefted the shot, easily the size of Jhevon’s torso, into the weapon’s cradles. At the front, an officer barked orders as he peered down the side of the skyland. Others worked smaller wheels that changed where the weapon aimed.

  TWHUNK!

  All dozen weapons fired at once. Cradles hurtled forward, throwing their deadly shots over the side of the skyland like bolts from a crossbow. Two dozen beats later, the distant growl of explosions rumbled from below.

  Beyond, where he should see the boil of dark gray clouds, there was only hazy brown. The ground lay far below the level of the Storm. He swallowed, almost pausing on the hilltop, but Myrian bumped into him and propelled him forward again.

  “It’s gone,” Myrian gasped, her voice hoarse. “It’s really gone.”

  Gretla had already reached the skyland’s edge, peering down with other children. The ballistae thwunked again as Jhevon raced across the grass, the long strands whipping at his coveralls. He passed the stump of an old chestnut tree blown down in the Cyclone eight years ago, and then slowed as he reached his sister.

  He gazed down at the ground. It existed. He could see the glint of water dotting a brown plain. Below the skyland lay a murky lake and along its shores was a city. Explosions detonated across its tiny buildings. From so high up, it looked like a collection of toys. Demons moved below, little gnats fleeing the destruction of their town.

  “That’s where the Cyclone came from,” Myrian whispered.

  A cold, black anger Jhevon had never experienced swirled through his belly as he gazed on the demons who’d killed his pa. The howl of the Cyclone’s winds as it ravaged Vesche roared again in his memory. He’d held Gretla and Srias, their long-dead sister, in the schoolhouse cellar as the fury raged above.

  Ary had emerged from the Cyclone. Their pa hadn’t.

  “They had a city below us,” Jhevon growled. “They would have attacked us again.”

  Myrian squeaked in fear and clung to him. He put a comforting, protective arm around her and glared at the city as a new round of explosions detonated. A large tower collapsed in a cloud of debris, crushing Stormriders beneath the rubble.

  As he watched the Stormriders die, an ugly smile crossed Jhevon’s lips. The Storm had ended and the filthy demons would pay.

  “The fire cleanses us all,” he prayed to Riasruo.

  Table of Contents

  Shattered Sunlight

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Part Three

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Part Four

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Part One

  Prison

  All my short life, I had taken the sky for granted. The sun. She had always shone over me. She had blazed bright. When She was swallowed by the spreading clouds, I felt despair for the first time in my life.

  –Journal of the Survivor

  Chapter One

  The Void

  “So many of our children will die if you do that, dear Sister,” Riasruo cried out in shock as she held Ary tight to her feathered breast, her enormous, golden wing holding him tight.

  The horror of Theisseg’s words lashed through Ary’s soul held fast in the Goddess’s embrace. He pushed, thrashed, and pummeled with his formless body. He did everything to break free of Riasruo’s suffocating weight and throw his existence at the towering Goddess of Storms. He had to find a way to stop Theisseg. He couldn’t let Her destroy the Dawnspire of Les. So many skylands would fall from the sky. The litany Theisseg listed echoed through his thoughts: Jhuxon, Brest, Istiar, Rhene, Jhiarly, Vilthon, Echijh, Jhov, Les, Mysh, Evtan, Fejh, Rhion, Thegren, Grumen, Elemy, Oname, and Vesche.

  Ary’s home skyland. His younger brother and sister, Jhevon and Gretla, lived on their family farm on the eastern peninsula of Vesche. He would not let his family be snuffed out.

  “Let me
go,” he snarled, thrashing against the Sun Goddess’s wing. “Now. Riasruo! Please! Free me! Don’t make me a prisoner.”

  Ary had freed Riasruo, and she repaid him with imprisonment.

  She’d trapped him in a new prison. One of darkness and sunlight, held in the feathery embrace of a mad Goddess hovering in a Void. She cradled his disembodied soul in the gentle crook of Her wing, holding him to the warmth of Her downy chest. Ary felt Her love in the warmth. Her thankfulness to him for setting Her free.

  But he was still a prisoner . . .

  Her embrace lacked the stone walls of his cell at the University of Rlarshon where he’d spent endless days vacillating between rage over his torment and fear that his wife would share in his suffering. He’d lost himself in that cell, his soul broken like a cheap bowl fallen to the floor. He’d glued himself back together with rage. He’d fought and suffered to make himself whole.

  To save Riasruo, he’d traversed half the world, crawling through muck and grit, hammered by rain and lightning. Together with his wife and their Wrackthar companions—Yeiss, Usreili, Heits, and Keibzin—they’d endured the endless mud. Half-starving, they’d reached the altar atop Mount Wraiucwii. There, Ary had freed Riasruo. He’d shattered Her chains of lightning binding Her to the Storm, freeing the Goddess from Her millennia of torment. In repayment, Theisseg, the dark Goddess of Storm who’d tricked the skies into worshiping Her as beloved Riasruo, plotted the death of all Ary loved.

  “You would murder all those out of spite?” Riasruo asked Her Sister.

  “Yes!” Theisseg thundered. “I see you squirming like a worm, Briaris Jayne! I will see everyone who has ever known you dead for daring to free my Sister!”

  “No, no, no,” chirped Riasruo, her voice sounding strained. “You can’t.”

  “I can, dear Sister. I am free to act. I will kill them. Wait for the rush of their souls, their screams of anguish. So many dead at once. And the survivors will only love me more. Need me more.”

  “NO!”

  Riasruo’s free wing swept forward and caught the Storm Goddess. She pulled Her Sister into a tight embrace. Thunder boomed from Theisseg. She flapped Her wings and swiped taloned claws. Ary grunted, pinned between the two Goddesses.