Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (11 page)

“So, what are you going to do?”

“There’s only one thing I can do. We cannot win this war without our allies. I’ll write up a decree to the Matrons outlining more specifically what they may and may not do with the navy personnel living in their households.”

Athel sighed. “This is going to create a lot of problems.”

* * *

Admiral Roapes could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his shaven head as he watched black-suited soldiers going from one mud-brick hut to the next, overturning cots, threatening screaming women, and shoving aside crying children.

He fidgeted with his own new black uniform, the crest of the Stone Council prominent on the collar. His boils from the deathcap spores were mostly healed now, but pitted scars remained, giving his once smooth skin a lumpy and cratered look to it. His family would have barely recognized him had they seen him.

“I don’t understand why we are doing this,” he protested. “Is this all really necessary?”
Blair stepped out from behind him, a razor-edged smile on his thin lips. “Of course it is. More than half the navy betrayed us and defected to the Wysterian Alliance. We don’t know how many that remain might still be on the fence about it. So, to keep an eye on the rest of you, the Stone Council has decided to fold what is left of the navy into the Himitsu secret police. You and your subordinates will now report directly to them.”

Admiral Roapes pursed his lips, causing his white goatee to sway slightly. “And I assume you are the head of the secret police?”

Blair held out his hands approvingly. “See? You are learning how things work around here, after all.”

“We found them,” one of the panther-faced soldiers called out, tearing away a trap door and revealing a pair of frightened naval officers hiding within.

Admiral Roapes turned to Blair, but was unable to look the man directly in his needle-like eyes. “I would like to speak to my family. I need to know they are safe.”

Blair patted him on his rounded shoulder. “Oh, of course, of course. But first, I think you have an important meeting.”

Head monk Uriosa came indignantly stomping down the steps from the temple. “Just what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “How dare you defile this place of peace and worship?”

“Do true followers of Awhano hide his enemies like rats?” Blair quipped.

“I’m sorry, but this was necessary,” Admiral Roapes explained, trying to calm the situation. “We are closing down the navy prison on this island, and some of the staff went absent without leave. We were simply gathering them up before our departure.”

Uriosa furrowed his brow. “Closing down the prison?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we are currently experiencing a rather severe manpower shortage. So, rather than maintain hundreds of correctional facilities all over the world, we are moving all prisoners to a special centralized facility on Boeth. The guards and administrative staff are to join my task force; you may use the abandoned buildings however you wish.”

Uriosa shook his head. “Does Boeth have a place to house that many?”

Blair snaked around Admiral Roapes and gave the monk a predatory stare. “Oh yes, I assure you, they will be very well looked after.”

Uriosa folded his arms. “Like you did on Madaringa?”

Blair threw his head back and laughed. Roapes failed to hide his disgust.

“Oh no, my dear monk. Madaringa was disloyal, you are not. You turned down the leaf-witch and stayed in the League, and for that you shall receive your reward. Besides, these are criminals. Rapists and murderers. Do you genuinely care what happens to them?”

Uriosa shifted his weight from foot to foot as he weighed his options. “I suppose I don’t.”

Blair laughed again. “You know what? I like this man. I do.”

Sliding up alongside the diminutive monk, he put his arm around him, trailing his black fingernails over the prayer beads around the man’s arm. “This monk is honest about his own feelings. You should be more like him, Miguelito.”

Uriosa shoved Blair’s hand away in contempt. “Just take what you came for and leave us in peace. To be honest, it will be a relief to be rid of the navy personnel still here.”

Blair raised a thin eyebrow. “My dear king, what do you mean by that?”

Urisoa squared his shoulders. “The people don’t trust you anymore.”

“Ah, well then, there is a simple solution to that.”

“Which is?”

Blair leaned in close, his nose nearly touching the monk’s. “Just tell the people to enjoy the fear.”

Uriosa blinked. “What?”

“The gods created fear so that we may experience it. Don’t abhor it, relish it. Savor it. It is their gift to us. They created this world of fear and grief just for us to live in.”

Urisoa took half a step back in shock.

Blair raised his hands up reverentially to the carved statue of Awhano that towered over the temple entrance. “The gods didn’t put paint on the aisle, never to be used. They want us to experience it with bold brush strokes.”

The monk swallowed, his eyes trembling.

* * *

King Frians held out his arm, his pet ferret coiling around its length before perching adorably on his palm. Several of the courtiers tittered and pet the animal furtively as he eyed them hungrily.

“How long will you need to have your Beastmasters gather together the Eiria herds and train them?” Queen Forsythia asked, trying to get back on task.

With a snap of his fingers, the ferret coiled around his neck like a mink stole. “Training them will take no time at all,” he said, pushing his dreadlocks aside and giving a starry-eyed courtier a sly little wink. “But it will take many weeks to track down the herds. They disperse far and wide this time of year.”

“I see.”

He smiled, revealing a mouth of flawless white teeth. “For you, we shall begin immediately.”

“Thank you, King Frians,” Queen Forsythia said, gracefully extending her hand.

“It is my pleasure. Those stone-lickers are in for quite a surprise. They won’t know what hit them.”

“With skilled allies like you, how can we fail?”

And with that, King Frians and his huntsmen left for his ship, after the Queen denied half a dozen private requests from young ladies wanting to accompany him.

“That was refreshingly uncomplicated,” Queen Athel commented as she leaned back. “With Tigera I had to twist his arm so hard, I guess I expected all his people to be like that.”

“Some things change,” Dahoon commented, as he updated the court schedule.

Alder brought her some water and a few morsels of cherry and tapioca roasted quail, which she was forced to chew slowly and daintily, despite her hunger, knowing that a hundred eyes were studying her.

Noticing her staff leaning unused against the throne, Alder coughed, then leaned in and whispered. “My Queen, I notice you haven’t linked with the forest for some time.”

“Do not be alarmed,” she whispered back. “My absence is intentional.”

Alder blinked. “Intentional?”

She nodded. “The presence of the Queen is our biggest liability. When my mother collapsed, so did the will of our people. We can’t have that again. So, I remove myself from the link for short periods of time to help them grow accustomed to it. They need to learn to take initiative and act on their own, like our men did.”

“Don’t let the High Priestess hear you speak like that.”

She took another small bite. “In time, I hope to help them build up a tolerance to my absence so that they can continue the harmony without my constant oversight.”

Alder tilted his head. “Or, could it be that you are just trying to give yourself a little free time?”

The faintest smile crossed Queen Athel’s lips. “Perhaps I am; perhaps I am simply flexing against the bars of my cage to see if they will bend.”

“Some things never change,” Dahoon mused.

“It’s because of what Privet said to you, isn’t it?” Alder asked.

The Queen said nothing, her icy face betrayed nothing, but somehow Alder knew he was right.

“Now presenting Sir Justeen Albashire of Taldives,” Dahoon announced clearly.

The Queen set down her morsel of food. Alder gave Dahoon a quick glance of dissatisfaction that her meal break had been scheduled over yet again.

“I am sorry, but the man in question was beyond insistent to see your today,” Dahoon apologized.

Captain Tallia walked forward, dragging a man behind her in chains.

“What is the situation?” The Queen asked icily.

“We have caught a spy, my Queen; although he insists he is here only by mistake.”

“A spy?”

“Yes, Taldives still numbers itself among our enemies. He was caught aboard a private yacht this morning in contested airspace after a small skirmish between Alliance and League naval forces.”

“That was not just some yacht. That was my home, and I was caught in the crossfire,” the gangly man defended, but a yank on his collar told him to remain silent.

Queen Forsythia took up her staff and connected with the forest again. “One moment, I will assist the royal tree in searching his heart.”

Several of the courtiers whispered judgmentally amongst themselves. Had Captain Tallia not lost her magic, she could have tested the man herself instead of pestering the rest of them with it.

After taking a moment to harmonize with the song of the forest, The Queen communed with the royal tree. It took great effort to read someone this way, but she did so without complaint. In his mind she found images of lion-crested sabers, dunes of silver sand, and titans made of shadow and flame. Athel recognized them instantly.

Queen Forsythia’s beautiful hazel eyes opened. “You are S.J. Alba? The reclusive novelist?”

The man was reluctant to speak up and get yanked again, but a sharp glance from Captain Tallia told him he’d better answer, so he spoke up. “Yes, I am. That is my pen name. But how did you know that?”

“The author of
The Charleton’s Quest
and the
Tower of Frost
series?”

Albashire looked around uncomfortably. “I am surprised that someone of your status is familiar with my work.”

Queen Forsythia raised her hand gracefully. “Please remove his bindings. This man is no spy.”

As his shackles were removed, his countenance improved. Many of the courtiers were displeased.

“May I ask what you were doing in a warzone, Mister Albashire?”

“You may find this hard to believe,” he said, rubbing his wrists, “but I was unaware that it was a warzone. I set sail over a year and a half ago to get away from my fans and finish my book. I haven’t made port since then. As far as I knew, the League was still in one piece. You can imagine my surprise when navy airships started shooting at one another around me.”

“The world is much changed. I doubt it will ever be the same again. May I assume that the book you refer to is the final installment of
Tower of Frost
?”

Albashire furrowed his brow. “Yes…although that doesn’t really seem an important detail.”

“Nonsense. The forest has always honored the literary tradition. The stories we tell are more than just a pastime. They shape our feelings and attitudes, give us a standard to admire; they inspire us.”

“Really, your Highness, I don’t deserve such praise. Truth be told, I actually abandoned the Tower series after book eight. Everyone hated it. The only reason I came back to it was because my imprint refuses to publish any of my newer works until I complete this last blasted Tower book once and for all.”

The Queen tapped her staff, and several of the courtiers came forward.

“While your yacht is being repaired, you may call this palace your home. You will be given a staff, supplies, a quiet workspace, everything you need in order to finish your art.”

His eyes went wide. “That is…beyond generous your Highness, but you really don’t need to…”

“Nonsense. It pleases the forest to treat her guests well.”

Before he could protest further, Alder reluctantly stepped down and bade him to follow. Albashire’s new assistants came as well.

The gangly man looked around as he was led out of the throne room, not entirely sure what to make of things.

“I look forward to seeing your progress,” the Queen added.

“Wait, what?” he asked, as the wood pinched closed behind him.

* * *

“If you don’t mind me saying so, your Queen is quite…passionate about all of this,” Albashire commented as he was led through the bright and beautiful corridors of the palace.

“Oh yes,” Alder coughed painfully. “The Forsythia family has a long and distinguished affinity with the arts. The Queen’s cousins, Tulip and Veronica Forsythia are poets of great skill. And the Queen’s aunt, Briar Forsythia is one of Wysteria’s greatest playwrights. In fact, she penned the current version of Kaii’i menoi’saa, our most beloved historical drama from the Kasha Dynasty. They are all living here in the palace. I can arrange for you to meet them if you’d like.”

Albashire scratched his cheek and looked around at the unhappy women who had been assigned to him as scribes and editors. “Yeah but, I don’t write stuff like that. I’m no poet. My books are mostly trashy adventure novels. Why would your Queen take an interest in that?”

Alder cleared his throat in embarrassment. “The Queen appreciates the merit of a wide diversity of genres. This is where you will be working during your stay.”

One of the women tapped her staff and the wood parted, revealing a massive and glittering hall, filled with polished bookcases made of living wood. Hardbound books were neatly arranged, stretching up for three stories. A handful of indentured pixies fluttered about, dusting, cleaning, and polishing. The entire room was lit by a glistening silver and gold fireplace, filled with amber-colored crystals, filling the room with a gentle, warm glow. To him, it was like something out of another world.

“The royal library?” he asked aloud.

“Yes, the Queen felt this would be the most appropriate place. After all, in your Frost books, the heroine Daians worked in the palace library, did she not?”

Albashire’s eyes went wide and he held up a trembling finger towards a carving. “Is that…?”