Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (8 page)

Ryin picked up a piece of lettuce off his shoulder and tossed it aside. “Now, don’t you feel better?”

“You know what?” Mina gasped between deep breaths. “I guess I actually do, a little.”

“How can you feel better?” Evere wheezed. “We didn’t resolve anything.”

“I know,” Mina panted. “But, I feel like at least you heard me.”

Evere looked around. “How could I have not heard you?” he heaved. “Your voice shredded the galley to pieces.”

Mina looked around at the destruction. Pudding and mashed potatoes were splattered everywhere. Bits of vegetables and fruit slowly slid down the walls towards the floor.

“Kinda’ reminds me of that time Hanner blew up that cauldron of gravy,” Dr. Griffin observed.

There was a muffled struggling noise coming from a dollop of porridge clinging to the ceiling. Slowly it dripped down, plopping into the center of the table. Bunni Bubbles poked her little head out, her doll-hair soaked through.

“I don’t like this game,” she complained, sticking out her tiny tongue. “I wanna play bath time instead.”

Mina began to giggle.

Evere smiled, and then he began to laugh.

Louder and louder, the captain and his wife laughed, the sound reverberating throughout the ship.

Everyone else smiled and nodded to one another.

Mina and Evere laughed until their sides hurt so much they bent over. Nothing more was said, and without instructions, everyone began gathering up the scattered chairs and broken dishes. When they sat down again, Evere and Mina sat down next to each other.

“Well, it looks like your gift managed to pass though unscathed,” Alder observed, picking up the statuette.

“Well thank the Great Mother for that,” Athel said boorishly, picking bits of mushroom out of her hair.

Something piqued Alder’s interest and he began examining it very closely.

“What is it, Aldi?” Athel asked, walking over to him.

“There are no seams in this,” he observed.

“What?”

“This statuette Odger made, there is no glue or seams. It is one solid piece of material.”

“Let me see that,” Athel said, snatching it out of his hands. Slowly, she rotated the figure before her.

“You know, you never do your hair like that,” Privet observed, tapping on the statue’s braided hair. “You should try it sometime.”

“I have offered to braid her hair on numerous occasions,” Alder shared, “but she has always declined.”

“Why are you so obsessed with braiding my hair?” Athel groaned as she examined the statue.

“I am not obsessed,” Alder defended. “I spent many years training to become proficient at it, and I consider it a romantic way for a couple to spend time together.”

“He’s right!” Athel gasped.

“I don’t really think it’s that romantic, lass.” Captain Evere observed.

“No, not about that. About the seams on the figure thing.”

“So the crazy short guy gave you a nice gift, so what?” Privet critiqued, flicking a carrot off his collar.

Athel lashed out to slug him in the arm, but he caught her wrist without even looking.

“No, don’t you remember what he said?” Athel said, pulling her arm free. “He said that the creation of this thingy requires all the different skills a Stonemaster learns.”

“So what?” Dr. Griffin asked, his mouth full of peach slices.

“So, what does this have to do with making airships fly, or sending invisible messages between islands, or any of the other things we see the Stonemasters doing every day?”

Athel looked around for confirmation, but no one offered any.

Margaret stopped writing in her notebook and looked up, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose. “I suppose it doesn’t really seem to have anything to do with it,” she observed.

“That’s my point,” Athel insisted. “Think about it. If stone magic involves harmonizing and manipulating earth, then why would that make a ship fly? It doesn’t even make any sense.”

Several people shot uncomfortable glances at one another.

“So, just what are you diving at, lass?” Captain Evere asked at last.

“The first time I went into the stone core, it felt completely bizarre to me, even scary. At first I thought it was just because I was inexperienced with foreign magic, but now I realize that I was wrong. Each island has its own specialty, but it all feels the same to me when I’m around it. I’m not quite sure how to describe it...it’s like it is part of the same whole.”

“Yes, I have often felt that, too,” Mina confirmed. Even sonic and ice magic seem to...I dunno, fit together somehow.”

Athel held up the statuette. “When I touch this, the magic surrounding it doesn’t feel bizarre to me at all. This feels natural, this feels right. The stone core however, feels completely different.”

“In what way?” Margaret asked, taking notes.

“I can’t be certain, but to me it feels like...it feels like the magic that was carved into Spirea.”

There was a moment where no one breathed.

“Void magic?” Dr. Griffin whispered, as if the mere utterance of the word was a crime.

Everyone looked around. They could hear the steady hum of the ship’s stone core. Normally, it was so ubiquitous they didn’t even notice it, but now it seemed darker, even ominous, like the beating of an evil heart.

Balen did his best to keep his body still as he stood in his formal wear before The Eternal Gate, an archway of living wood and vine that led down into the heart of the Sacred Tree of Milia. The morning sun was getting high in the sky, and still there had been no word from his bride-to-be. He had long since stopped wondering what mysteries and secrets lay within the realm beyond the gate. Such things were the province of women, and were not meant for men to know. Still, the forbidden always carried with it a certain degree of allure, at least for the first few hours. Balen had strained his ears attempting catch any noise or whisper coming from within, but discovered only silence. Now, it had been nearly two days and he no longer cared what took place within. His strong body was accustomed to long periods of deprivation from his house-husband training, but even he was beginning to feel the effects of deep fatigue.

Dahoon slowly approached, dressed also in his finest formal-wear. His eyes were sunken and his shoulders drooped. “I regret to inform you that the last of the wedding guests have excused themselves. We have less than six hours left before the Naval deadline, and they must prepare their households. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Balen boasted weakly. “No one will ever forget who I am now. The only Forsythian husband to ever be stood up at the altar. That makes me something of a celebrity, don’t you know?”

Balen’s forced smile faded. They both glanced over at the Queen’s staff, leaning against the gate where she had left it.

“It has been a long time,” Dahoon suggested uneasily. “Perhaps we should...”

Balen silenced him with a raised hand. “I am worried as well, believe me. But we both know that is not our place.”

“Of course,” Dahoon apologized.

“Besides,” Balen added with a wink, “forbidden doors are the worst kind of luck there is.”

* * *

Deep in the heart of the Sacred Tree, Queen Hazel knelt in prayer. Perspiration beaded at her forehead, her knuckles white as she grasped the living wood before her. Her physical body cried out in hunger, thirst, and fatigue, but that was nothing compared to the sounds of her heart crying within her. As she prayed, the level of light around her slowly grew brighter. Although Hazel knew the chamber she was in was actually quite small, she could no longer see the walls, or any feature beyond her direct touch. She seemed to be in a realm of mist and light that extended on forever in all directions.

Exhausted, but steadfast, Queen Forsythia stood up and opened her eyes—relieved that her prayers were finally about to be answered. Floating in the air before her was the Goddess Milia, her body glowing with divine light. Her raiment, robes of purest white, gently flowed around her as if suspended in water. Her long, shimmering hair flowed down behind her like a waterfall. Her presence was one of perfect mildness. She exuded a profound tenderness, as natural to be around as a cherry blossom landing gently on your cheek.

“Your daughters have followed your every command, Great Mother, but when I look out at the vast numbers gathered against us, I can see no path that will lead to victory.”

Milia extended out her hand, her expression sad. “I am sorry, my child. I have made a great error. I miscalculated.”

The Queen took a step back, a look of confusion on her face. “Can a god make a mistake?”

Milia cast her eyes downwards. “I was so sure the others would come to our aid. I have spoken with each of the other gods. Vestum...Faunatimos...even Hestial. “None of them will command their people to end this war.”

Queen Hazel could only look up, her eyes swimming. “How can that be?”

“They have betrayed us again...” Milia answered distantly.

“But their lands are in danger as well,” Hazel cried, thrusting her hands out. “How can they care nothing for the people they created? For their own children?”

Milia looked at her with eyes as deep as the ocean. “There is something strange at work here, my daughter. Some shadow gathers at the horizon and encircles our island. When I spoke to the other gods, I could sense they were hiding something from me. There is something they are deeply afraid of.”

“Great Mother, we cannot win this battle. The odds are too great. I beg of you, will you use your strength to help us defend the forest?”

Milia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Slowly, she descended until she came to rest on the ground, resting her chin on her knees. “Many years ago, I was deeply wounded. It felt like my heart was torn from me. Ever since then, I have slowly diminished. Unless the source of my strength is somehow returned to me, every time I use my power, I cannot replenish it. I fade a little more from this world.”

Hazel felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She tried to silence her heart, to lock her feelings away, but she could not hold back, not this time. “Is...is our forest fated to die, then?”

Milia reached out and gently embraced Hazel, stroking her braided hair, her touch as delicate as rose petals. “Do not cry, my child. The magic that I share with my daughters is the magic of giving. We give of ourselves to create new life.”

Milia rested Hazel’s head against her chest. “Do you think I would cease to give when my daughters’ need is greatest?”

Hazel’s mask of control shattered. Her face pinched in pain and fear. Her lip trembled. “I-I don’t know what to think anymore,” she answered honestly.

Slowly, the goddess rose to her feet again. “I’m afraid speaking has made me weary, I must rest now.”

“One last thing, Great Mother,” Queen Hazel requested as she wiped the tears from her face. “My daughter, Athel, it has been some time, and I know not where she is or her condition. Tell me, is she safe?”

“I am sorry, the darkness that surrounds us has cut off my vision, I cannot see past it.”

Hazel’s eyes grew wide. “How can that be?”

* * *

The small crew of the supply ship Quarsanna could only look at each other in wonder. One minute, they were moving along at a good clip, the next, the winds had completely died. Any sailor worth his salt had experienced doldrums at one point or another, but this was totally different. It was as if a switch had been thrown and wind simply no longer existed. Below deck, some of the cattle lowed lazily as sailors tugged at the limp sails, making sure that the lines were tight. A couple of the men and women waved their hands around, as if to make sure that air still existed. It did, it just wasn’t moving.

Suddenly, some of the chickens began panicking, their warbles intermixing with the sounds of creaking masts and wood. A ship was pulling up alongside the Quarsanna, its sails swollen full. It had at one time been a Navy patrol ship, painted black and patched many times over. Its top and lower masts had been removed, instead, three long sails billowed out in front of it like a great horseshoe. It was one of the most unusual designs any of them had ever seen.

The Dreadnaught opened fire with her single cannon. A loud shot that sailed right over the bow of the supply ship. It was the oldest form of communication. Surrender or fight.

Grapnels were thrown over, and the two ships were pulled together. Rifle and musket fire filled the air as the crew of the Dreadnaught leapt onto the deck and began fighting the terrified sailors. Mina released a jet of frost, freezing a lizard-skinned sailor to the mizzen mast. One bug-like sailor primed his blunderbuss, ready to blast the invaders with a cloud of glass and nails, but Ryin clapped his hands together, the tattoos on his arms glowing alight. The blunderbuss grew red hot in the sailors grip, and he was forced to drop it to the deck.

The Captain of the Quarsanna came up on deck and began barking out orders in her native tongue. Her race were tall and burly, with thick brown fur like a bear’s. Privet charged her, sword drawn. She fired her pistol but Privet already side-stepped the shot. The ball passed harmlessly past his head as he slashed his sword, knocking the captain’s pistol and saber from her claws in a single swipe. Privet jumped up and kicked her in the chest with both feet, knocking her huge body back against the foremast. Her head hit the wood with a solid crack and she fell unconscious to the deck.

Captain Evere jumped over the railing and landed on the deck of the Quaranna with a satisfied thump. “Ah, this brings back a lot of old memories,” he reminisced as he punched a sailor, knocking her out cold. Tim flew down and landed on his shoulder. “Reminds me of the siege of Drewidian Bay. The smell of black powder in the air, the screams of terrified sailors...”

Somewhere below deck there was an explosion. Captain Evere watched curiously as splinters of wood, bits of metal, and a terrified cow flew past him in the air.

“...Okay, well the cow is new,” Evere admitted. “But the rest is highly nostalgic.”

From below, there was a concussion of sonic energy, and white feathers shot out some of the portholes, filling the air like bits of confetti.