The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) Read Online Free
Author: Emilie P. Bush
about her, physically, had changed at all in that time. The cuts and bruises she had on the day she entered the Dia Orella, mostly healed at the time, remained just so. The faint outlines of the injuries never fully disappeared, but nothing worsened either.
Then there was the other matter, the changes that come to a woman each month. It seemed that, along with everything else in her body, those had ground to a halt, too. At first, she held a wisp of secret joy, a possibility that she and Fenimore might just be on their way to having a baby together. But, as nothing turned into more nothing, Chenda started to realize her body was frozen: not healing, not growing, not changing at all. It frightened her. She suspected it had something to do with the power of the Pramuc, the gods-given gift placed within her so that she could carry to all people the message of the gods. “All gods are one god,” they had said. “Have faith.”
Looking at her body in the mirror, all she could see was doubt.
Chenda knew with certainty that the gods existed and what they could do. She had been in their presence and had felt their touch. Having faith in the gods was no problem, but in herself, finding faith was another issue. She wrestled the power of the Pramuc every day. It itched inside her, begging her to let it come flying out. She wondered if the gods had known what this much power in one human body would be like.
Fenimore helped her practice almost constantly. She worked at controlling it, using it, releasing it, testing it, discovering what she could do. When she had depleted her power, she studied, reading books on chemistry, geology, engineering, and so on. She had come a long way in four months, but she still felt she was only tapping the periphery of her potential.
Her body, although visibly unchanged, was indeed paying a price. Just as the marks on her skin remained constant, her weariness could not be refreshed. She slept, but the sleep was merely a void. There were no dreams, none that she could remember, and no feeling of restfulness upon waking.
Chenda was stuck, in every way possible, just as she was.
Fenimore found his wife at the sink staring at herself yet again in the mirror. “Beautiful as always,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. His long arms crossed over her belly and he slid the chilly fingers of his left hand between the buttons of her flight coat. The cold tickled through her linen shirt and into her skin, the sensation helping her tear her eyes away from her reflection. She kissed his cheek.
“ As always,” she repeated to herself.
Fenimore looked around the rented room. The pair had taken three days of shore leave at the seaside village of Musser Point as the Brofman and the rest of the crew headed into Coal City to pick up their next cargo. “Take a bit of a honeymoon,” the captain had ordered. Evidently, the rest of the crew was a bit annoyed with the newlyweds and their habit of disappearing for hours on end—the very second they were no longer on duty, they slunk off together. Most of the others were afraid to go near the undeclared-cargo hold, for fear of intruding on the young lovers.
As much as the crew of the Brofman worked as a well-oiled machine, Fenimore and Chenda were a society of two much of the time. Soul mates make for great romance, but they do alter the chemistry of a ship. Beyond that, Chenda, the only woman on board, kept the rest of the crew a bit off balance. The presence of a woman, even one as capable and remarkable as Chenda, put an uncomfortable curb on the men’s spitting and scratching. The absence of Verdu in the crew’s mix was keenly felt by all as well. Things on the Brofman of late were different and a little strange. The young lovers hoped that by taking this honeymoon, things might settle for everyone involved.
Fenimore eyed the giant claw-foot tub at the far end of the honeymoon suite. “I could draw you a bath, my darling,” he suggested, hopeful
Then there was the other matter, the changes that come to a woman each month. It seemed that, along with everything else in her body, those had ground to a halt, too. At first, she held a wisp of secret joy, a possibility that she and Fenimore might just be on their way to having a baby together. But, as nothing turned into more nothing, Chenda started to realize her body was frozen: not healing, not growing, not changing at all. It frightened her. She suspected it had something to do with the power of the Pramuc, the gods-given gift placed within her so that she could carry to all people the message of the gods. “All gods are one god,” they had said. “Have faith.”
Looking at her body in the mirror, all she could see was doubt.
Chenda knew with certainty that the gods existed and what they could do. She had been in their presence and had felt their touch. Having faith in the gods was no problem, but in herself, finding faith was another issue. She wrestled the power of the Pramuc every day. It itched inside her, begging her to let it come flying out. She wondered if the gods had known what this much power in one human body would be like.
Fenimore helped her practice almost constantly. She worked at controlling it, using it, releasing it, testing it, discovering what she could do. When she had depleted her power, she studied, reading books on chemistry, geology, engineering, and so on. She had come a long way in four months, but she still felt she was only tapping the periphery of her potential.
Her body, although visibly unchanged, was indeed paying a price. Just as the marks on her skin remained constant, her weariness could not be refreshed. She slept, but the sleep was merely a void. There were no dreams, none that she could remember, and no feeling of restfulness upon waking.
Chenda was stuck, in every way possible, just as she was.
Fenimore found his wife at the sink staring at herself yet again in the mirror. “Beautiful as always,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. His long arms crossed over her belly and he slid the chilly fingers of his left hand between the buttons of her flight coat. The cold tickled through her linen shirt and into her skin, the sensation helping her tear her eyes away from her reflection. She kissed his cheek.
“ As always,” she repeated to herself.
Fenimore looked around the rented room. The pair had taken three days of shore leave at the seaside village of Musser Point as the Brofman and the rest of the crew headed into Coal City to pick up their next cargo. “Take a bit of a honeymoon,” the captain had ordered. Evidently, the rest of the crew was a bit annoyed with the newlyweds and their habit of disappearing for hours on end—the very second they were no longer on duty, they slunk off together. Most of the others were afraid to go near the undeclared-cargo hold, for fear of intruding on the young lovers.
As much as the crew of the Brofman worked as a well-oiled machine, Fenimore and Chenda were a society of two much of the time. Soul mates make for great romance, but they do alter the chemistry of a ship. Beyond that, Chenda, the only woman on board, kept the rest of the crew a bit off balance. The presence of a woman, even one as capable and remarkable as Chenda, put an uncomfortable curb on the men’s spitting and scratching. The absence of Verdu in the crew’s mix was keenly felt by all as well. Things on the Brofman of late were different and a little strange. The young lovers hoped that by taking this honeymoon, things might settle for everyone involved.
Fenimore eyed the giant claw-foot tub at the far end of the honeymoon suite. “I could draw you a bath, my darling,” he suggested, hopeful
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