Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Mina wrapped her long white tail around his waist and kissed him on the lips. “Then let’s stand with them.”

  Evere grunted in agreement and kissed her back.

  In Athel’s arms, the baby reached out and playfully began batting at the flowers in the vase.

  Alder thought for a moment. “I do wonder, though, what we should call him. I mean, it just wouldn’t be proper to call him Arolla. That is a girl’s name.”

  Athel’s eyebrows came up. “You’re right. I’ve been so busy it hadn’t even occurred to me till you said it just now.”

  The baby grabbed one of the flowers, and there was a flash of light. The flowers sang out in relief and release, and then withered away, drifting down to the floor as nothing more than dust.

  They all stood there, mouths agape, as the baby cooed happily.

  “Maybe we can call him Ash.”

  Chapter Two

  Alder looked impeccable in his finest formal wear as he walked down the line of the servant’s hall, hands clasped at the small of his back, his long coattails swaying in a stately manner. He inspected each of the four hundred fifteen men who were part of the Forsythia household and the royal staff with a measured eye. They stood submissively, accepting his corrections without question and without complaint. Everything had to be perfect today.

  “Please re-polish your shoes; there is a scuff near the sole.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please change your shirt, this material is fading.”

  “Yes.”

  Bunni Bubbles followed behind him, carrying a miniature riding crop she had secured from somewhere.

  “You! Try to smile more,” she ordered in her tiny voice, pointing the crop at a man. “This is a pretty princess party. And you, start dancing! Princess parties must have dancing!”

  For a moment the man panicked, until a wink from Alder told him that would not be necessary.

  Alder finished the inspection and turned around. His eyes looked sunken and sullen, his face pale, but he forced himself to stand erect. “This will be the most important day of your lives. Everything your taskmasters have taught you has all led up to this moment.”

  The air was thick with the weight of it all.

  Alder bowed formally. “I trust each of you to do your best.”

  With a resounding “yes,” the men got to work.

  For months, Alder had been forced to make due with a tiny ship’s galley and whatever local wares he could scrounge up. Now with a proper kitchen, stocked pantry, and sizeable staff, he could finally show what he was capable of. What he was born to do.

  For the Tirrakians, beef donburi, rolled cabbage, potato mint salad, with a currant and blackberry summer pudding. Crystal heating lamps were placed around their table to make the cold-blooded dignitaries feel more comfortable.

  For the Isolites, steak and kidney bean pie with salmon sandwiches, herbal tea of rosehips, and a green tea mille feuille. Margaret was kind enough to summon up a small indoor flurry to gently snow down on the woolly delegates and keep them cool.

  For the Almanians, prawn curry and cottage pie with a side of scalded greens and custard choux cream. An array of spiced watch oils was also on display should they need to lubricate any of their clockwork prosthetics.

  For the Sutorians, blue lobster, white farjeeling tea, apple compote draped with yogurt, and lemon myrtle soufflé. With the help of the Treesingers the great hall was expanded and widened to accommodate the extraordinary number of guests.

  And for the Ronesians, milk risotto with mushrooms, pork and pot-au-feu wine, with chocolate macaroons for dessert.

  The air was absolutely alive with aromatic spices from every corner of Aetria. The finest vintages from the royal wine cellar were dusted, prepared, chilled, and set out to breathe in flawless crystal flutes. The living wood was altered at each table, creating chairs perfectly fitted to the body type of each delegate.

  The hall was a storm of motion and labor, quite literally over the Paxillius table, where the mist pipes cracked and sprayed water all over everything before some men were called in to fix it. And, in the center of the commotion, was Alder. He used his butler stick to check the base line, charger spacing, horizontal symmetry, and space calibration for each and every place setting, flawless down to the millimeter. When he was done, he would personally iron each napkin, then fold them like paper into a decorative animal. Swans for the Mertrions, deer for the Taldivians, kosh for the Hoeunites, and bowen for the Chidd. Each selected for their island’s affinity.

  Finally, the preparations complete, he stood before everyone, looking the hall over one final time, before bowing approvingly.

  “We are ready,” he announced. “You may begin seating the delegates.”

  * * *

  Nikki felt a little lump in her throat as Queen Forsythia turned the floor over to her. Two-thirds of all the royal families in all of Aetria were represented in this room. It was the largest concentration of authority and wealth in a thousand years. Hundreds of eyes now fell on her. For the briefest of moments, her own eyes flickered towards the door. Her instinct was to run, but she clamped down on that feeling. She was fourth generation military, and she resolved that she would not let her family down on this day. Unconsciously she reached up and put her hand over where her Federal navy patch used to be. “I’ve already let too many people down,” she whispered to herself.

  Rachael minced up in her high heels, her new uniform straining to contain her curves as she handed over a small vial of crystalline powder. Nikki thanked her for it and blew it into the air. As the dust swirled up around her, she placed her fingers on her temple and the dust took shape, creating an image above them of broiling seas and a series of fat, rocky islands jutting out like acorns.

  At Alder’s instruction, the lights were dimmed to make her memories easier to see.

  It was as if they were looking out through her eyes as she stood on the bridge of the Indomitable, gazing out on the islands below. “The Stonemaster’s home islands of Boeth are arranged in three layers of hexagons,” she explained to the delegates as the dust shifted to show her memories of this place. “The outer ring of islets is hollow, housing Hollens-style defensive cannons from Ferrus, and rocket launchers from Erritas. The rock ceiling is normally between thirty and forty feet thick, fashioned of magically reinforced stone, but during my last visit I saw that they additionally have a second and third layer that can be reinforced like a lens from within. The Stonemasters can make these defensive ceilings porous, opening a window long enough for the defenses to fire, then sealing them straight up again while the weapons are reloaded.”

  “What do we have that can penetrate that much rock?” Proconsul Neriise of Hauntailia asked, stroking his long mustache thoughtfully.

  “Our heavy mortars are rated for five feet of granite, and a good crew can fire a volley every 45 seconds. I estimate 15 minutes of continuous shelling once our ships are in position, but it will be difficult to get there. Hollens guns have five times the range of our heavy mortars.”

  “All the while our ships are being pounded by their guns and rockets,” Neriise added.

  “Yes. Casualties among the first wave could be extremely high. Even a hundred percent.”

  The delegates looked at each other warily.

  “And we cannot bypass them, either. The Hollens guns have a range greater than our highest altitude, and long enough to reach each adjacent island. We will have to take control of at least two islets in order to open a gap in their defenses for our troop transports to move through.”

  In her memory, a pair of handsome young officers walked by. The view dropped away from the island’s defenses and focused on their firm backsides.

  “Sorry, that part was private,” she said, waving her hand to scatter the dust.

  Several of the delegates chuckled. One of the women from Hoe
un whistled.

  Nikki shifted her weight and blew another plume of dust into the air. She was happy with how comfortable her new grey Wysterian Alliance uniform fit her. She had been allowed a hand in designing it. The first thing she did was lengthen the skirt of the old navy design and replace those ridiculous heels with proper walking shoes. For the first time since she had been assigned to Admiral Roapes’ staff, she felt like a real officer again.

  “The second layer of islands all follows a similar pattern. A city grid at the center, with farmlands and smaller towns laid out around it. The reefs at the edge of each island have between seventy and seventy-five of these.”

  At her command, the dust shifted into a view of the coastline, with hard, chiseled openings carved directly into the rock face, their throats gurgling with sea water, which lapped around hungrily for anything or anyone who ventured too close.

  “What are those?” King Frians of Hoeun asked as he tugged absentmindedly on his dreadlocks.

  Nikki cleared her throat. “Those are the openings to a network of underground tunnels that have been intentionally flooded. I watched the Stonemasters practicing the last time I was there. They compress the entire tunnel network, forcing the water out through those openings.”

  Grandmaster Tall’fin of the Illiam Confederacy flicked his tail about. “Wait. Are you telling me that the Stonemasters have the ability to spray sea water on our ships?”

  Nikki’s eyes fell. “Yes, at a range of nearly three nautical miles.”

  A wave of concern washed over the delegates. The smell of real fear started creeping into the air.

  Nikki took her hand off of her temple and the dust settled to the ground, where Alder signaled some of the men to sweep it up. “All of this information was accurate when I resigned my post one month ago. I doubt much has changed since then, but please note that as time passes this information becomes less reliable.”

  “The whole place is a blinking fortress,” King Issha hissed, his long tongue wetting his scaly lips. “We could lose two thirds of the fleet before we even get to the home island. Millions of people, men and women with families. ”

  Several of the delegates grumbled in agreement. Kaiser Duncan balled his prosthetic fist, the clockworks inside whirring nervously. “We could lose everything.”

  “Those kind of casualties could be a political disaster,” Minister Nauru of Taldives observed as he chewed on a sumptuous chicken wing.

  “Thank you for your report, Nikki,” Queen Forsythia said from her throne, her calm face betraying nothing.

  King Oreaton of Huutsak raised his trunk up into the air. “Can we not simply blockade Boeth? Deprive them of food and water until they capitulate?”

  Queen Forsythia sat forward. “That is a skillful suggestion, but it won’t work. Have you even eaten one of the ration packets the navy uses?”

  “Oh, yes,” Duke Relivan shivered. “One time on a dare. Frightful stuff.”

  “Yes, well, those are made from raw stone. Stonemasters can convert bare rock into an edible substance. What’s more, their inner islands have enormous underground lakes. No, I’m afraid they can withstand decades of siege. Our airships would run out of food long before they would.”

  Kahn Alakaneezer of Iso slammed his white, bear-like fist down onto his table, causing the wood to groan in pain. “What is this? I don’t understand this hesitation! The bulk of the navy fleet is still back at Notorn, curing themselves of the DeathCap plague you infected them with. We control the largest force of ships and soldiers in Aetria right now. Have we suddenly become cowards? We should strike immediately! I say we run our ships right past their outer defenses and strike the home island directly!”

  “I agree,” King Vilmas of Korsica added, his long colorful beak clacking together.

  “As do I,” Regent Kowless of Paxillus clicked thought his mandibles, his antennae sniffing about.

  “Let’s hang them all by their stubby little necks!” King Dolan of Madaringa shouted.

  Kahn Alakaneezer stood up and held out his razor sharp claws. “We may take some casualties, but far more will die if we do nothing, so the choice is simple.”

  “Run the gauntlet against those defenses?” Underking Meekil of Metrion warned, his long whiskers twitching nervously. “We could lose everything.”

  Queen Forsythia calmly rested her hands atop her staff. “The situation is worse than you realize. Consider for a moment that the crystal array system we use to communicate between islands--the very means we use to send orders to our ships and coordinate our forces--is under the complete control of the Stonemasters. Not only do they listen in on every conversation we have, they can simply refuse to send any signals we send out that they deem too dangerous. They can switch off our messages at any time. Worse, they can intercept and send out false messages. They can scatter our forces; trick battle groups into attacking their allies, call a retreat if the tide turns against them. If we do not come up with an alternate means, any invasion is doomed to failure.”

  Kahn Alakaneezer folded his arms defiantly.

  Nikki stepped up to add her own comment. “At this very moment, every single airship under our control has in its stone core, a Stonemaster engineer, listening in and relaying everything we do to their masters. It is a serious security issue.”

  Queen Forsythia nodded. “It is even more serious than that. The second our invasion force sets out for Boeth, the Stone Council could simply withdraw the void magic that keeps our ships in the air, dropping every last one of us into the sea.”

  The room grew quiet. Delegates looked at each other in bewilderment.

  “Would they really do such a thing?” King Chawness of Nigowitt wondered, his skin changing color to a dark brown, his tentacles wriggling in despair.

  “I have no doubt that they would,” Guru Inthanos of Chidd said gravely, rubbing his shell nervously.

  The room grew dark as everyone processed the danger of their situation.

  King Buni of Hazari tugged sadly on one of his dog-like ears. “So, we have an armada of airships we can’t safely use, a message system that is compromised, and defenses we cannot beat once we get there.”

  “Have we already lost then?” Precept Nolocauss of Timmeron wondered.

  Queen Forsythia tapped her staff. The sound rang through the hall, awakening them from the cloud of despair that hung over them. “No, there is still hope. The potential for victory lies within each person sitting here at this conference. Allow me to demonstrate. Nikki, please continue.”

  Nikki blew a fresh puff of crystal dust into the air. It took the shape of a hexagonal island made of solid black volcanic glass. Smooth on every surface, reflecting the sunlight ominously as the tiny ocean waves pounded ineffectively against its base. At the center, a great dark pyramid. “This is the capital island of Boeth, and in the center there, the monolith. We believe that this is the source of the curse which is causing the seas to consume our lands.”

  The door opened at the far end and Odger waddled in, looking extremely upset that Alder had hosed him down earlier and laundered his clothes to remove his protective layer of grease and sweat. He pushed a wheelbarrow containing a block of perfect black glass stone.

  Chief Hanni of Cocimbas rose to his feet, his decorative palm leaves swaying about. “You just said that the Stonemasters are listening in. Why would you bring one into this convocation?”

  Queen Forsythia raised a calming hand. “Do not worry. Odger is a friend of mine. He has severed ties with his people.”

  “She fed me lunch once,” Odger boasted, as if that were a perfectly logical reason to betray one’s homeland.

  The delegates grew even more concerned as Odger commanded the block to roll off the wheelbarrow and onto the floor. “The Queen asked me to prepare this. This is Kartonite, or ‘truestone’ in my tongue. The alchemically hardened material that makes up the
walls of the monolith.”

  Queen Forsythia held out her hand to the Artice delegation. “King Turino, your daughter is one of the most powerful of your race, is she not?”

  “Quite right,” Turino affirmed, adjusting his monocle.

  “If you would please attempt to crack it.”

  With her father’s permission, the tall blonde woman stepped forward, the long coattails of her riding jacket trailing behind her. The wood at the far end of the hall opened free, permitting the blast to go out into the night sky without damaging the royal tree.

  Princess Turino clapped her hands together and began a long powerful war cry, the sound gathering in between her fingers. Growing and growing, ripples appeared in the air itself, like a sphere of liquid glass. As her war cry reached its crescendo, she forged the energy into a spike. With a crack like thunder, the spike was launched, crashing into the block of stone, all of its power focused into a single point at the tip.

  The clouds parted and forest bowed, the mighty trees leaning away for miles in the direction of the blast. But when it was over, the stone remained unbroken and unstained.

  Princess Turino took a second to catch her breath, her face astonished. Her father huffed in disappointment.

  “There is no shame, good Princess. That was a demonstration of sonic magic worthy of the Thunder Goddess herself,” Queen Forsythia granted, helping the woman to save face.

  Princess Turino saluted in thanks and took her seat again.

  Next, Queen Forsythia held her hand out to the Mesdan delegation. “I would ask one of your party to break it as well.”

  Prince Francisque stood up reluctantly, his long white tail flicking about suspiciously. “I feel like this is a trap,” he commented.

  “If you break it, it is because we loosened it up for you first,” someone shouted from the Articeian table.

  Many of the delegates chuckled. A few clapped their hands.

  The Prince spun around dramatically and kicked his leg in a high arcing strike. A wave of super cooled air rushed along the floor like a blue blade, covering the floor and the black stone with a thick layer of ice. Without missing a beat, the prince followed up with a quick series of five punches. Razor sharp shards of ice shot out from his fists, impacting the stone with precision and strength. One after another, each hit the same exact spot.