Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “There you are, what are you doing in here, big guy?” Ryin asked, running inside. “You know we shouldn’t be in here…”

  Hanner’s hand shot up and burst into flame, bidding him to stay away. It was a relatively harmless gesture, but the way he did it, the tautness of his muscles, the bloodlust of his presence, they all stopped Ryin in his tracks. Years of battle experience told Ryin that whatever Hanner was doing, he was deadly serious.

  “Hanner, what’s wrong?”

  The tall and broad man turned around, rage on his face. “They took him.”

  “Who?”

  “They took my son.”

  Ryin’s face went pale. “Strenner? Where is he? Who took him?”

  Hanner held up a hand-written note. “The enemy. They stole my son right out from under me, right from his crib.”

  Hanner crumpled the note, which burst into flames at his touch.

  Ryin’s eyes went wide. “Oh no.”

  “You need to get out of here, Ryin.”

  “But…”

  Hanner looked at him, a single manly tear in the corner of his eye. “We’ve been friends a long time, but if you don’t go right now, I’ll have to hurt you.”

  “What? Why? You’re not making any sense.”

  “They said they’ll kill him!” Hanner roared, shaking the walls of the temple. “They said they’ll kill him if I don’t smash this thing.”

  Ryin looked down and saw Claire’s tiny tombstone at Hanner’s feet. “No. No, Hanner, you can’t do that.”

  “I told you to leave!”

  Ryin put out his hands, but didn’t dare come any closer. “Hanner, think about what you are doing. We need Poe on our side. The whole war hinges upon it.”

  Hanner clutched the blunderbuss even tighter, warping the metal. “I know that! Don’t you think I squattin’ know that? But it’s my son. I have to.”

  “No, please, Hanner, don’t do this. We can find another way.”

  “There is no other way!”

  “Hanner, please, I love Strenner, too. We’ll find him, just don’t do this.”

  Across the valley, the time clock began chiming out the hours. Ten o’clock.

  Bong…Bong…

  Hanner raised up the blunderbuss. “There’s no time. They said I had to do it by the tenth chime, or Strenner would be killed.”

  Ryin shuffled his feet. The bells were ringing, he couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to say. There was no time. No time.

  “They said they‘d be watching…”

  Bong…Bong…

  “Hanner, stop…”

  “And let my son die?”

  Bong…Bong…

  “If we lose this war, millions of people are going to die!”

  Bong…Bong…

  “I know!” Hanner screamed, his tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t just stand by and let my son be killed!”

  Bong…

  Hanner clenched his teeth and struck down.

  “No!” Ryin yelled.

  The Blunderbuss slammed into the gravestone, breaking it in half. Hanner held up the weapon again, and struck a second time, smashing it into pieces.

  Ryin ran towards him, but a quick burst of flame from Hanner’s free hand threw him back against the wall.

  Ryin collided against the stone. As he slid down, Hanner stuck over and over again, screaming as if he were tearing out his own teeth. The weapon snapped in half, but he continued on anyway, gripping the busted metal shaft with both hands, striking the grave over and over again, until it was nothing more than a ruined and desecrated heap.

  “Oh no,” Ryin breathed.

  The ruckus had already earned the attention of many of the locals. Winged women fluttered outside the entrance, looking on in horror at what they heard inside.

  They parted as Poe worked his way to the head of them. He made a sound, like someone being stabbed in the chest. A mixture of shock and hurt. In that moment, it was the most terrible sound Ryin had ever heard.

  Poe floated in, his skin pulsing with disbelief and horror.

  He pushed Hanner out of the way, the massive man moving as if he weighed nothing at all.

  Kneeling before the ruined grave, Poe reached down and cradled a tiny broken bone in his hands.

  “She was my friend,” he whispered.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ryin breathed.

  “This is all I had left of her.”

  The sky grew dark. Clouds blocked out the sun. Dark storms gathered above the island.

  Poe looked up, golden tears dripping off his cheeks. “This was the only thing I had left to remember her by. You…hurt Claire…”

  His grief turned to rage, his skin flaring bright red, his face pushing out from within as if it were being inflated. “How?! How could you do this to me?!”

  Ryin tried to speak, but Poe screamed, drowning out all other sounds.

  “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  The Hatronesians fled in all directions. Poe completely lost control of his physical form. His body came apart in a raging storm of red and orange. The walls of the temple cracked and flew away, the waters of the lake were pushed back, revealing the wet lakebed.

  Ryin couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He could feel his body being thrown around amid the tornado. Through his fingers and through the soulfire he would catch occasional glimpses of sky and land. One second he was thousands of feet in the air, the next he was inches from the ground. Poe’s voice was everywhere. Every grain of sand, every bit of air, every speck of dust all screamed in unison. “I brought you to Paradise as guests. I gave you my full hospitality, and this is how you repay me? You have wounded me more deeply than any other, and so I will make sure you suffer more than any other.”

  Ryin’s entire body was being throttled, from without and from within. Every piece of his skin, every muscle, every bone, was being pulled apart, then just before it broke off, thrust back together. His mind was fading; everything was going dark. His vision tunneling, he coughed out a simple plea. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Kill you? I’m not going to kill you. You came here under a flag of peace, but you brought war. Now, I will bring war to every island in your Alliance. Go and tell your leaders that I am coming for their heads. Tell them that all the misery and suffering that follows is your fault. I want you to watch as I destroy everything you care about, just as you destroyed everything that was precious to me!”

  Ryin came crashing down onto something wooden, and the storm swirled about, depositing Hanner beside him.

  Just as he realized where he was, their ship was kicked, spat out by the storm and into open sky. For a long agonizing moment, they arced, not flying but falling, rising up off the deck as if they were floating.

  Just before they hit the ocean, the void magic kicked in and the ship leveled out. They came crashing back to the deck. No longer protected, Ryin felt a sickly snap in his shoulder, and cried out in pain at the wrenched joint.

  If Hanner was hurt, he didn’t show it. He only lay there, curled up, in complete and utter terror at what he had just done.

  Ryin propped himself up on one elbow as best he could, cradling his injured arm. The skies around Hatronesia boiled and fumed, lighting arcing in an ever-growing circle of rage. He could only look on as the island grew smaller and smaller on the horizon.

  Form below, the hatch was opened, and Pops poked his head out, holding his mop. He looked over at Ryin, then at Hanner.

  “Did I miss something?”

  Ryin lowered his eyes. “Aye, Pops. We failed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The kitchen was filled with the sweet aroma of sugar and cinnamon as Setsuna opened up the stove to peek inside at the apple tart simmering within. Sensing the heat was not quite high enough, she opened up the lower compartment where the fire
salamander nested, and gave it an extra snack. The lizard gobbled up the treat happily and his scales burned even hotter. She gave him a quick careful pat on the head with her over mitt and slid his tray back into place.

  Rubbing his eyes, Dwale sat at the table, studying over the memory cards she had set out for him.

  “A…ara…” he strained.

  “Arati,” she prompted, flipping the card over so he could see the answer on the other side.

  “Oh, right,” he smiled.

  She gave him a pat on the head and got back to work.

  Absentmindedly sharpening his saber, Privet watched her as she happily went about preparing dinner in the apron and housedress she was wearing, her long green hair pulled back into a simple bun, her long ears sticking out adorably as she sang to herself. It was so different from the way he was accustomed to seeing her. She seemed more feminine this way, although he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Perhaps it is because she was dressing closer to the way women dressed where he came from, or perhaps it was the gentle way she spoke to Dwale.

  Privet looked around, and even though he didn’t know everything about her past, in his heart he knew enough to know the answer.

  It was because this was her first real home, too.

  Dwale set down the next card and indicated that he didn’t need help. Setsuna stood behind him, hands clasped, silently cheering him on.

  “Arttun,” he said, flipping over the symbol to see if he was right.

  “You got it!”

  Dwale’s mouth opened ecstatically. “I did get it!”

  “Yay!” Setsuna hugged him from behind, jumping up and down.

  “Brother, brother, did you see that? I’m learning how to read!”

  Dwale was so alight, Privet could not help but laugh and cheer for him. “That’s amazing Dwale. Clearly breeder was the wrong occupation for you. You’ve got the brains of a house-husband!”

  Dwale clapped his hands together and flipped over a sheet with some rudimentary scrawlings all over it. “I’m practicing writing my name. My goal is to have it perfect by the end of the week.”

  He showed them off proudly.

  “I’ll have to practice my own. At this rate, yours will look better than mine, Dwale.”

  Dwale set the paper down and basked in it as if it were a warm fire. “Who would have thought, brother, that a couple of Suidra like us could end up here like this?”

  “Yes, who could have even imagined,” Privet admitted. It all seemed unreal in a way.

  Setsuna gave Privet a quick wink, and he looked back at her tenderly, indicating how much he appreciated what she was doing for his brother.

  Hey Dwale, how would you like your eggs?” she asked, spinning one on the tip of her finger.

  Dwale gave a mischievous grin. “In a cake.”

  Setsuna and Privet looked at each other, chuckling.

  “All right then, in a cake it is!” she announced, and went to the pantry to get some flour.

  Dwale was so excited he could barely sit still. “Did you see that, brother? I asked for a cake, and now I am going to get one!”

  Privet laughed out loud. Nothing made him happier than seeing his brother this way. When he thought about how Dwale used to be, standing on those stairs, blind, wrapped in torn cloth, singing to cruel Treesingers as they taunted him for his efforts, it made his chest feel so tight he felt he could cry.

  But he didn’t cry. Not on the outside, anyway. Even after all these years, he could still feel the burns from Madam Tamarack’s cigar. Even now, beneath his sleeves, he could feel the scars on his arms, warning him to hide what he felt or pay the price. Even now, a world and a lifetime away, he found it difficult to really express his feelings. He and Alder were a lot alike in that sense. It gave them a kind of camaraderie they both recognized. A shared commonality. Even when everyone else considered the two of them rivals for Athel’s hand, they never thought of each other that way.

  Athel.

  Privet felt old wounds opening in his heart, and this time, he couldn’t find the energy to stuff them back down. He missed her. He missed her smile, her laugh. He never thought himself much of a poet, but the sound of her laughter was like honey to his soul. There was just no other way to describe it. Sometimes when they had been together, he’d have an almost irresistible urge to tickle her, just so he could hear her laugh.

  He wanted to be near her. To stand by her and protect her. To place himself between her and the cold, dark world and act as her sword and her shield. To hold her close and keep her safe. To wrap his arms around her and assure her that no evil could ever touch her. To make her feel so completely secure that she made that delicious sound women make when they are truly treasured. Not quite a purr, not quite a hum. A relaxing of all anxiety, a release of all fears. Complete vulnerability, utter trust, the sound a woman only makes when she is perfectly, exquisitely cherished. He wanted her to make that sound for him. He wanted it so bad he nearly jumped out of his chair and set out for Wysteria that very moment.

  “Hey, you awake there, Privet?”

  The pair of beautiful green eyes hovering inches from his nose snapped him out of his thoughts.

  “I’m making some mushroom omelets; would you like one too, dear?” she asked sweetly.

  Privet forced his mind to change subjects and thought for a moment. “Actually, I really like that moss dish you made that time.”

  “Ahhh,” she said slyly. “Now, who’s the moss eater?”

  As he looked at her reprovingly, she gave him a playful little peck on the cheek and vanished, reappearing in the kitchen, happily flicking out a throwing knife and using it to chop kale.

  As he watched her, singing to herself, he felt his heart grow heavy. When he had first met her, they were enemies and had fought to the death. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She had been clingy, manipulative, deceitful, and crass. Pushy didn’t even begin to describe how hard she had thrown herself at him. He though it could never affect him. He thought he was immune to it.

  Privet watched her as she tossed a carrot into the air, and then with a flick of her hand, it fell back down in perfect, tiny slices. When he realized that those same blades had once been used to try and kill him, he caught himself smiling.

  And that scared him.

  When did it happen? When did the thought of breaking her heart become terrifying to me?

  In his heart, he feared he was betraying Athel. He had often heard the women tell of how one’s own heart can feel like an enemy, but only now did he understand what that meant.

  Privet noticed Dwale looking quietly over his memory cards, a strange look on his face.

  “You all right, Dwale?”

  His brother sat up straight, as if he had been startled out of deep thought. He looked around as if he couldn’t remember where he was, then focused on Privet.

  “I’m sorry brother, I was just feeling…guilty.”

  Privet set down his saber and walked over to him. “Why would you feel that way?”

  Dwale was reluctant to answer.

  “It’s okay, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Dwale looked up at him, his eyes moist. “I feel like it’s not okay for me to have this.”

  “This?”

  “All of this. This house, this food. This soft bed. I feel like I am stealing it. Like it should belong to a woman instead.”

  Setsuna noticed and popped over. “Hey, you don’t need to worry about that, okay? This is your house, it was a gift, okay?”

  Dwale sniffed. “But, I don’t know if I feel comfortable receiving a gift this big. I don’t think I deserve it.”

  Setsuna tapped her knife against her chin. “Well, if it would help you feel better, don’t think of it as a gift, then. More like a dowry.”

  “A dowry?”

  “Yeah, like
a wedding present, to celebrate the union between Privet and I.”

  Privet tried to be patient. “Setsuna…”

  She clapped her hands, cutting him off. “Oh, I almost forgot the best part.”

  She reached down beneath her collar and pulled out a key on a chain she had been wearing around her neck. The grip was shaped like half of a heart.

  “Here, this is for you,” she gushed, thrusting the key into Privet’s hands.

  “What is this?”

  She pulled out a second one. “See? I have one, too. They match.”

  She set the two alongside one another, so that the two halves of the heart became one.

  “Just like us,” she beamed. “I was going to give it to you at our wedding, but I just couldn’t wait.”

  “Setsuna…”

  “Here, go ahead and try it,” she insisted, skipping over to the closet door.

  “This is a key to the closet?”

  “No, silly, this is a very special key. The height of Senndaiesian magic. I’ve been working on it for weeks.”

  “When?”

  “When you were asleep.”

  Reluctantly, Privet placed the key in the lock. As soon as it entered, a white mist snaked out, tracing the edges of the doorframe. The door bowed inward, as if it were inhaling, then swung itself open. At the exact same moment, the front door opened as well, and Privet found himself looking through the closet door as if it were the front entrance. He could clearly see into the living room, where the three of them stood before the closet door.

  The sensation was so strange. When he looked over through the front door, he saw out of the closet and the three of them standing there as well. Several times he whipped his head back and forth, marveling at the strangeness of seeing himself in two places while standing in a third.

  “So, you made a magic key that leads from one side of the house to the other?” Privet asked, pushing his arm through and watching it extend through the front door into the living room.

  Setsuna smacked him on the arm playfully. “No, dummy, it’s a floating gate. This key will open one end from any door, but the other is fixed here at the front entrance.”