Yasht to the waters of the sky: Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Marchele

The letter from the Duke was waiting on his desk, the seal already broken. He'd just come back from walking in the gardens with Paronelle. She'd been so quiet. He hadn't seen her in over a year at that point. She was set to marry one of the Comte's men, the scion of a merchant family. It was, to put it lightly, a scandal. Paronelle had complained to Marchele, the Duke, and anyone in earshot when the message came telling her to come home to marry.

“It's not DONE, March. They can't expect me to marry a brute like that.” Her tone had said it was meant as a joke, but her eyes were hard.

“You don't have a choice Nell. He arranged this for father's benefit. The Duke only wants the best for our family.” Marchele hadn’t been sure how much he really believed that, but it was certainly true Paronelle had little choice in the matter.

Paronelle stuck out her tongue at him. “It's disgusting. Does he have no self-respect? Our family chasing the coins of a common fishmonger. It's too much to bear.”

“His family sells weapons, not fish. He's hardly on the street hawking wares personally.” She knew that, of course. She was teasing him. The Duke always seemed to have nothing but disdain for the merchants that surrounded him at court. He needed their money, they needed his influence. Neither enjoyed the arrangement.

“I don't know him, March. I don't want to know him. I don't want to leave you.” She’d leaned forward, serious now. “I don't want to leave you here. This place, it isn't good for you.”

But she had left all the same. And when they walked through the garden in Tolosa they barely spoke.

When he'd complained that father hadn't seen him she’d said, “Father…March…he…he wants to see you, it’s...it's just...” then gone silent on the matter. She’d looked ashamed and excused herself not long after.

The letter was addressed to his father in the Duke's familiar but austere hand. Marchele had written requesting leave to join his uncle in battle weeks before. In his train car on the way to Tolosa in fact. Even so he’d never expected to hear back so quickly. Or at all, actually.

The letter was lined as he pulled it from the envelope, as if it had been crumpled then smoothed out again. It was a commission as ensign and a short note signed by the Duke's chief commander. Marchele had been approved for combat. He was the duke’s closest male relative and the son of his most powerful vassal. He hadn’t thought it possible that he would be allowed to do anything like this. It’s what I wanted. His hands had shook as he slumped into his chair. It’s is my birthright. The son of a hero can’t sit in his cousin’s house waiting for him to die.

Marchele's eyes opened to the breeze fluttering his collar against his face. He swiped at it and scratched his nose then shifted to turn over. He came to sliding across the floor only jerking fully awake as his jacket caught on the bay door's floor seam. Scrambling back from the edge his breath came in ragged gasps as he backed out of the bay, eyes fixed on the ground a hundred feet below.. Another moment and he would have rolled through the damaged bay down the ramp and out of the ship. His mind went to his father, the disappointment plain on his face. Dead in my sleep. Marchele struggled against his own clothes, feeling suddenly trapped in his own body. Dead for nothing. Dead for being too afraid to think. Marchele slammed his hand against the bulkhead in frustration and panic, feeling his way along the wood grain searching for a handhold.

In the next few moments he was able to slow his breathing enough to compose himself. The silence in the hallway was deafening. Shaking as he stood he made his way down the hallway. He was keenly aware of a lump in his stomach as the ship steadily rose. A faint buzzing rang in his ears, coming to a crescendo as something impacted the hull further toward the stern. Marchele heard the splintering of wood just before the distant hiss and whine of enemy gunnes. The shelling's resumed. Marchele swallowed the last of his fear and began to make his way toward the bridge. We must be just high enough to target.

The sounds of splintering wood began to take on a steady rhythm beating in time with his legs as he ran down the corridor. A few crewmen were milling around the halls, obviously confused as to what they were expected to do. There’s no alarm. No one’s in command. “Ho, you.” Marchele gestured to the men as he passed. “All of you. Follow.” He did not stop to look back.

Chapters 1-6 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapters-1-6

Chapter 7 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapter-7

Chapter 8 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapter-8