Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Breaking decorum, she gave Alder a kiss on the lips, lingering as long as she dared.

  “I love you Aldi.”

  Closing her eyes in fear, she yanked as hard as she could. It pulled away with a sickly slurping sound, infected sap pouring out of the wound.

  * * *

  At the edge of the blight lands, High-Priest Oleander stood over Deutzia and Gladiolus, their trunks bound together with glowing bands, the women of the Greenbrier family filling the air with reluctant song. She removed the ceremonial sword from its sheath and held it above her head, ready to pierce their flesh and fuse it into one.

  The forest shuddered around them, like a wave it passed by, the trees all shouting like a crowd.

  All the women felt it, and turned their heads towards the source.

  “Juniper,” Dahlia Buckthorn called out in concern. “No!”

  When she realized what had happened, the sword fell out of Oleander’s hands and clattered to the ground.

  “Athel, what have you done?”

  Chapter Ten

  The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light from outside. Still, the laughter of Hatronesians bled in from time to time as they flew past the window.

  There in the dark, Ellie quietly sat on her bed, looking over the pocketknife, rolling it back and forth in her hand, sensing its weight.

  Suddenly her eyes went wide and her hands came up to her neck. The skin there burned and a dark writhing band appeared, like a mark beneath her flesh.

  Coughing, she scrambled over to her bag and rummaged through it, finally producing a hand mirror, which buzzed and glowed with a black light.

  “Yes, yes, what is it now?” She tapped the mirror and her reflection changed to that of a raven-haired woman.

  “You have failed,” Queen Sotol accused darkly.

  “What are you talking about?” Ellie retorted. “I sabotaged the wings with the device you gave me. They seized up when he passed close to the temple. I saw him crash inside it with my own eyes.”

  She reached up and clawed at the writhing band underneath her skin. “I’ve fulfilled my contract, now release me.”

  “You have fulfilled nothing. Poe has signed the treaty with Wysteria. Their ambassadors leave in the morning.”

  “What?”

  There was a crackle of black electricity around her neck, and Ellie winced.

  “Your mission was to prevent Hatronesia from joining the Alliance.”

  Ellie coughed. “If the treaty has already been signed, then I don’t see what more I can do.”

  “You are so unimaginative. The solution is simple. Force one of their ambassadors to do something unforgivable. Something that will enrage Poe enough to break his word.”

  “How?”

  The Queen’s face twisted into a devilish grin. “Everyone has pressure points. Things that are important to them. All you have to do is find one and squeeze.”

  Ellie’s heart went cold. “You don’t mean….”

  “Yes. Hanner’s child.”

  She shook her head. “No, this wasn’t part of the deal. When I signed up all they said I’d ever have to do is observe and report.”

  The band in her neck roared to life, sparking and arcing with dark energies. Ellie fell backwards, screaming in pain.

  “Don’t forget that you came to us,” she hissed. “You pleaded with us for the money to save your brother’s life. Do you have any idea how much the materials cost to have a heart regrown inside a person? Did you really think you would never have to pay off that debt?”

  Ellie coughed, straining for breath, her face turning blue. She tried to scream, but could only manage a shrill squeal.

  “You will sabotage the treaty, or we will take your brother, and repossess the beating heart right out of his bloody chest, is that understood?”

  Ellie clawed at her neck in agony, tears falling back onto her sheets. “I…will…obey.”

  Queen Sotol smirked. “Good girl.”

  The mirror returned to normal, and the black electricity faded away. As Ellie lay there coughing, the mark on her neck dimmed from sight.

  Gasping for breath, she rolled over onto her side and wept bitterly.

  * * *

  All was quiet amid the smooth carved cavern walls beneath Wysteria. The giant roots of the royal tree were integrated into the design of the temple, giving the impression of archways and pillars as they dug own miles deep into the soil.

  A clear pool of amber-colored water lay before the shrine. Pure crystals illuminating the room.

  Silently, Athel stepped down the marble steps and entered the pool. Her royal robes flowed up along the surface, giving the impression that she were floating. The entire room felt weightless. A place without regret, a place without memory. A place not of judgment, but of mercy.

  That was the way of Milia, Goddess of Wysteria.

  As the doors were closed behind her, Athel took a moment to pray silently before she began.

  Thank you for saving Deutzia.

  For the first time in weeks, there were no voices, no screaming, no torture. Up until that moment, she never appreciated how wonderful it was to simply exist free of pain. It had been like living in a wine press. Constant relentless pressure, like her whole body was a cramped muscle that could neither stretch nor tire. Now that the pain was gone, she resolved to never take it for granted again how good it felt to simply feel nothing.

  Standing in the water, her mind wandered through the things she had seen and done since she had ascended the throne. There were so many things she regretted, so many things she chastised herself for, yet for all the memories she drifted through, none of them were before her ascension.

  Before.

  It was hard for her to even remember what it felt like to not be queen. It was like a half-remembered dream. A vision from a previous life. Had she really ever been an ensign on the Dreadnaught? Had she really lead a daring heist against the federal treasury? It felt so much like someone else’s memory, like a book she had read or a play she had seen. It was hard to believe it had really happened.

  She tried to remember what it felt like to be that person, the person she used to be. She tried to think of what that person might say, what that person might do, but it was elusive, like trying to grab mist. It slipped through her fingers like sand, leaving only a dryness behind, and a realization that what she had lost, she could never get back.

  Athel wearily looked down at the reflection in the water. She didn’t recognize anything she saw there. If anything, she saw a pathetic copy of her mother. A puppet pretending to be a real queen. A charlatan. She decided that it was right to send Privet away. He wouldn’t want her now anyway.

  Privet.

  Just the thought of him brought a vibrant surge of emotions through her. She felt her cheeks flush, and her heart race. Ever since Deutzia had read him, he had been implanted deep in her heart like an ember. She had tried to smother it, tried to cover it up, tried to ignore it, but her heart itched for him, and the layers she caked on only fed the smoldering flame that threatened to consume her.

  Already there were rumblings in the link. By now she really should have taken at least a second husband. Some well-meaning women had even made some subtle suggestions to her. But Athel knew it was impossible. Deutzia was firmly set on Privet, and she would not even tolerate considering another until he was theirs.

  For a moment, Athel allowed her feelings to bubble up. She wanted him to hold her, to wrap his strong muscular arms around her and make her feel safe. She wanted to sense his broad chest pressed up against her cheek, to bask in the masculine aura that just radiated off of him. In her heart, she could feel over and over again his declaration that he loved her. It played like a rhythm that overwhelmed her reason and overshadowed her sight.

  Even now she could remember clearly his scen
t. Normally she didn’t like the way men smelled, but his was intoxicating. Like a sweet wine it robbed her of her senses. She wobbled a bit back for forth, losing a bit of her sense of balance just thinking about it. It was like he was so strong, her own body lost its strength when he was near, and she wanted nothing more than to submit, to be enveloped, swallowed up in his presence.

  She wanted him. Wanted him so bad she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that she loved him just as much as he loved her. More, even.

  But it was impossible. The supply of clean water on their island was exhausted. Only the daily replenishing from Ronesia kept everyone alive. There were just too many people, too many people for their little island to sustain. And Athel knew as clear as day, that the only way that gate would stay open, was if she continued to dangle Privet as a carrot before Setsuna.

  Athel gasped and closed her eyes. No, she was not the starry-eyed teenager who had sparred with Privet in her bedroom. She was the Queen. The fate of millions of people hung in the balance, and she had a duty for them. Weighed against so many lives, the choice was clear. She could never have Privet. The sooner she accepted that, the sooner she would have peace.

  Slowly, she reapplied the layers on her heart, smothering her feelings, clamping down on her longing, ratcheting tight her desires. The queen was a manifestation of the will of the forest, and the forest had made its decision. Finally a layer of steel covered her heart, and she thought that would be enough, but even still the glow bled though like hot iron.

  It’s better if he stays away. Everyone will be happier that way.

  Opening her eyes, Athel gazed out at the crystalline shrine. She took a deep cleansing breath before beginning the ceremony.

  “This is the first time I’ve cleansed myself since taking the throne,” she spoke softly. “There didn’t seem to be time, there was so much to do. You were unable to hear me or answer. I guess I felt like it wasn’t necessary.”

  Athel stepped forward, creating ripples in the water as she placed her hand upon the shrine. “But I was wrong. The Queen has as much need to confess here before you as anyone. Maybe even more so. Only now do I realize why my mother spent so much time down here with you. I wish I had that privilege as she did.”

  She looked up into the beautiful eyes of the statue of Milia. “I’ve tried to do what I felt was right. I tried to do what I thought would save the forest. It wasn’t enough for me to just save my own; I wanted to save everybody, even my enemies.”

  She looked away sadly. “But, in doing so, I’ve alienated my friends, my family, and my people. I’ve made many allies beyond our borders, but I’ve made enemies of half the forest, and I’m seriously questioning whether or not it was worth it.”

  Kneeling down in the water, she clasped her hands over her heart. “I realize now that it’s not enough to simply do what I think is right. The High Priestess was correct. My duty is to do your will, not my own. And so, I am here to recommit myself to doing your will. This is not my island, this is your island. These are not my people, we are your people. So please, forgive me of my sins, and guide me along your path, oh Great Mother of the Forest.”

  At this point in the ceremony, Milia would give her forgiveness, and provide counsel and guidance. But now there was none to give. Milia was too weak to answer, or even appear. So instead, Athel knelt there in reverential silence, and tried to imagine what the goddess would say to her. She tried to remember her voice, her touch, the smell of her, the feel of her presence. The incomparable strength, the infinite strength of a god, coupled with the gentleness of a mother.

  “Thank you, Milia,” Athel said at length. It was unnecessary, but it just felt right, so she did it anyway.

  Athel stood up and turned away. The doors opened again, and Captain Tallia peeked in. Athel knew it was good news before she even heard it. It was all over her face.

  “The last of the spikes have been removed,” Captain Tallia announced as she stepped down to the edge of the pool.

  “I am glad to hear it. And our sister trees?”

  “It looks like they are making a swift and full recovery.”

  Queen Forsythia hugged her robes tightly around her shoulders. “I am doubly glad for that.”

  Captain Tallia took a moment to look her over. Deutzia had healed Athel’s body. Her skin glowed with health again. She had grown a fresh new full head of auburn hair, like dusty red autumn leaves. Her lost teeth had been restored. Even the feminine softness had returned to her frame. And yet, she seemed so diminished somehow. Burnt out, like old potting soil drained of its nutrients. It was most apparent in her eyes. They looked so dull to Tallia.

  “My Queen, I know it is not my place…”

  “Yes, I am tired,” the Queen admitted. She looked wearily at her staff, clean and polished where Alder had set it out for her. “Sometimes I feel like I am the most tired person there ever was.”

  Hesitantly, the Queen reached out for her staff. Just before her fingers touched it, she pulled back.

  “My mother sat on the throne for more than a hundred years. How did she last that long?”

  “It has been some time since I have been able to link with the forest,” Tallia admitted as she looked her over tenderly. “But I know they need you. We all do.”

  “It is unlike you to be so sentimental.”

  Tallia chuckled. “I have always been a hard person. But, there was this young queen once, you see. Barely half my age. She was a hopeless idealist, and she taught me a thing or two about soft things, like forgiveness.”

  With her remaining hand, she reassuringly touched the Queen’s shoulder. “And I believed her words.”

  The Queen nodded appreciatively and placed her own hand on Tallia’s. “She sounds interesting. You should tell me about her someday.”

  Tallia gave a comforting squeeze. “She’s still here, you know?”

  Queen Athel looked up wearily. “No, she isn’t. She can’t be.”

  The Queen took her staff, and the link flooded into her. Weeks of built-up fear and anger burst through like a dam, and the harsh biting waters flowed into her heart. One by one, the Queen set about aligning the hearts of each woman and tree, taking their pain into herself, and replacing it with confidence and drive. But the process was slower this time, even Tallia could see it as she watched her Queen strain under the weight of it all. A thousand thousand conversations occurred inside the monarch. A million grievances address, a lifetime of complaints heard in the space of a heartbeat.

  And then, slowly, emerging as a river cleared of clutter, the flow of the forest began to return. The harmony began anew. It was slower than it had been. More subdued, withdrawn even, but it sang out nonetheless, bringing vitality from the smallest rootlet to the tiniest leaf bud.

  It was as if a great shadow had been hanging over the forest, and was now lifting. Like clouds parting and allowing pure sunlight to bless the living yet again. A rhythm of gratitude, a harmony of joy, a heartbeat of kinship. The cloud that had hung over Wysteria already felt like a distant memory, except in the heart of one woman, who had to drink down every bitter drop of it to make it disappear.

  “Be of good cheer, my Queen. Your gambit paid off. Whoever spiked our trees has been defeated.”

  * * *

  Akar sat calmly in the darkness of the cell, the only light a small ray that shone through the keyhole, illuminating the brand of ii’ainta on his cheek. A fly landed on his broken nose, but he made no effort to shoo it away. He quietly sang to himself in the old tongue, praising Milia and her daughters, praying for their health and reign. As Queen Sotol had trained him to, he filled his mind with such a constant stream of love and esteem for the women of Wysteria, that when they deeply probed his heart, that is all they could find there.

  The songs of praise in his mind were so loud, the Treesingers had long since tired of looking,
and spent most of their time interrogating the other men.

  There was a crack of metal, and the door was opened, revealing the woman charged with him, and a face he had not seen for some time, Lady Buckthorn.

  “As you can see, he is being cared for.”

  Lady Buckthorn rested her armored hand atop her staff. “You have misunderstood. I came here to retrieve my property. He is one of my best housemen.”

  “It’s not like you to become so attached.”

  “That is none of your concern. You have already probed his mind dozens of times, what more can you hope to glean?”

  “Until the investigation is complete, all branded men are to remain in custody. I’m sorry, but my orders are quite specific.”

  Lady Buckthorn bristled, the raw power of her presence evident to everyone nearby. Giving a quick glance over to Akar, she turned around.

  “This is not over,” she threatened, her armor jingling as she walked away.

  The Treesinger moved to close the door again, but a man approached carrying a tray with a bowl of spoiled rice and a peach. “Food for the prisoner.”

  “Wait,” she said, snatching up the peach. “Go ahead.”

  The man kept his eyes lowered as he walked into the cell.

  As he set down the bowl of rice, he leaned forward, his lips nearly touching Akar’s ear. In a whisper as quiet as a shadow, he spoke to him. “The men of the Boronia and Balsam families are with you.”

  Akar’s eyes flicked over to the guard, who was busy wolfing down his peach. “And the Cypress?”

  “We speak to them tonight.”

  Akar grinned wickedly and picked up the steaming bowl. “Tell everyone, we attack in two weeks.”

  The men nodded to one another as they parted. As the cell door slammed home, Akar took some of the spoiled rice and placed it in his mouth. He could not recall anything ever tasting so delicious, and began to sing, thanking the women of Wysteria for blessing him with such generosity.