Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “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.

  “Easy on the poultry there, woman!” Evere shouted. Don’t spoil the first bit of meat we'll have had all week.”

  “Just tenderizing it for you, sweetie.” Mina winked as she poked her head out a porthole.

  “Save some of that meat for me. If I have to eat one more orange I’m going to vomit,” Dr. Griffin complained as he gathered together a pair of unconscious soldiers and began tying them up.

  There was another sonic percussion from below.

  “The woman is as subtle as a mallet,” Evere grumbled as he stripped the Quaranna’s Captain of her

  “If they were cabbages, you would have been more gentle,” Ryin shouted out as he placed shackles on a pair of sailors.

  “I'll get you for that one,” Mina threatened humorlessly.

  * * *

  Down in the stone core of the Quaranna, Tarran sat calmly amidst the chaos taking place all around him, his filthy leather boots propped up on the prism stream as he chewed on a peach. Despite the screams and explosions, he knew he was in no real danger. Nothing could pass through the barrier that separated the stone core from the rest of the ship.

  The prism stream gave off a small chirp and he kicked the activation stone with his heel.

  “Kotalumbrah,” Tarran greeted the image of Kian, his old roommate from his academy days. “How was your vacation?”

  “Deep and settled,” Kian responded happily. “I saved enough of my winnings to pay back the money I owe you.”

  “Shiny,” Tarran praised. The ship rocked from side to side from what sounded like the swivel-gun being fired.

  “Ooh, that was loud,” Kian complained, covering his large, round ears. “Your ship seeing some action?”

  “Looks like it,” Tarran said with a belch. “If I had to guess, I’d say pirates; looks like they might win, too.”

  “Pirates?” Kian repeated scratching his dirty beard. “In the Gray Sea? I've never heard of pirates operating in that area; there’s nothing out there.”

  “I know, it’s totally cracked up,” Tarran grunted as he leaned back in his chair far enough to look out a porthole. “Ship’s markings say it’s called The Dreadnaught.”

  “The Dreadnaught? Never heard of a Guild calling themselves that before.”

  Tarran shrugged. “So long as the new owners pay us, it’s not our problem. We just keep the ships in the air. One of the little perks of Stonemaster neutrality.”

  “Amen to that.”

  The room filled with a high-pitched whine. The image of Kian blurred, then became over-written. Tarran kicked the prism stream in irritation, but nothing improved. Finally, the image resolved itself into that of a young man with sharp features and needle-like eyes.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your transmission, but I was monitoring it and am forced to intervene,” the man said.

  “Who...?”

  “My name is Blair, and I speak directly for the Stone Council.” Blair held up his wrist, revealing the inverted spiral brand he bore there. Tarran jumped to attention, knocking over his hip flask and dropping the remains of his peach.

  “Y-Yes sir, I live to obey,” he responded, trying to look as professional as he could.

  “First, I need you to be absolutely positive that the ship attacking you is The D
readnaught. My people are sending you several photos for visual confirmation.”

  Tarran looked at the images that appeared in the air around him, then looked out the porthole, double- and even triple-checking to make sure.

  “Yes,” Tarran said shakily, wiping his crusty sleeve over his face. “I’m positive.”

  “Are the Quaranna and The Dreadnaught currently moored to one another?”

  “Yes, quite securely from the look of it.”

  “Blair closed his eyes, a look of exquisite serenity on his face. “Amazing, just amazing,” he whispered. “I feel so lucky, so grateful, that I don’t even know how to express it.”

  “Sir?”

  “Please listen to my order carefully because it must be filled out quickly. You are hereby commanded to disengage your stone core and drag The Dreadnaught down into the sea.”

  Tarran was so shocked that he didn’t know what to say. “May I ask why?” he finally managed to squeak out.

  Blair bit his lip. “Oh, why must you spoil the beauty of this with questions? Listen, there are three Wysterians onboard The Dreadnaught, and they must die immediately.”

  “Why?”

  Blair’s eyes became sharper. “Because they murdered my sister, Mandi.”

  Tarran began to sweat profusely as the full implications of this situation began to dawn on him.

  “But, sir, if I disengage the core, I will die too.”

  “I am glad you understand.” Blair responded cheerfully. “Think about it, thousands of lives end every day from old age disease, or accident. All meaningless, all mundane, all colorless and boring. But you, you have a rare privilege, my friend. Your death will have sublime meaning. Bright and vibrant, truly magnificent.”

  Tarran could feel the bile rising up in his throat. “For revenge?”

  “Ah, yes, revenge is the most beautiful of all the gifts that the gods have given us. It passes from one generation to the next. It grows, it spreads— it blossoms. It is like a living thing, yet it cannot be killed.” Blair leaned back and breathed heavily through his nose. “In truth, I am somewhat envious of you right now. To have the canvas of your life painted with such glorious colors.”

  “You are welcome to trade places with me.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I could never get there in time. Now, my records here show that you are from Pyrite Province, Nicklesmith village, is that correct?”

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Excellent. At this very moment, two of my associates are traveling to your home. They will arrive in approximately three minutes. Once they get there, they will check to see if your ship has dropped off the grid or not. If it has, then they will announce the glorious service you have provided for our people through your selfless sacrifice, and make sure that your kin are all well taken care of. If however, your ship is still in the air, then they will paint on them a sublime portrait of violence and torture that will be truly a work of art. The choice is yours.”

  The transmission ended and the room was left in darkness. Tarran stood before the keystone as it slowly rotated. Suddenly everything that had mattered so much to him only moments before no longer mattered. His savings, his plans to start his own business, his career path, all meaningless. He thought about the little house by the rock-spring, where his mother was, at that very moment, probably sitting on the porch playing with her grandkids. He thought about his brothers and sisters, his aunts and uncles, who were apt to visit at this time of day. He tried desperately to make his love for them strong enough to overcome his natural instinct for self-preservation. He didn’t want to die, but he loved them more.

  “I should have been an accountant,” Tarran cried out as he pulled out his spanner and raised it over his head, ready to smash the keystone.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see the outline of a woman on the other side of the barrier, tapping it with the butt of her pistol as if she expected him to open the door for her.

  “I can’t talk right now, I have to crash the ship for the crazy man!” Tarran shouted.

  The woman stepped through the barrier as if it didn’t exist at all.

  “How did you...?” Tarran whispered.

  The woman fired her pistol. The small seed fired burst in the air, growing into long sinuous vines that wrapped around his body like cables of iron, completely immobilizing him where he stood.

  “No! Bad Stonemaster!” Athel scolded, walking over and smacking him on the nose. “No smash keystone! Bad!”

  Chapter Seven

  Resplendent in her finest combat gown, Aden Buckthorn stood tall and proud atop her family’s great tree, Buckeye. From here she had a commanding view of the entire southern peninsula. The cool autumn breeze was coming strong from the south. This is where the hammer blow would strike hardest. Through her tree she could feel the song of the forest. Brave and defiant, like a giant heartbeat. Hundreds of thousands of voices, all coordinated, singing in harmony. It was a song of unity, of sisterhood, of life. And, at the center of it all, was the Queen. Like a conductor in a mighty orchestra, her will organized the individual voices into one.

  Aden looked around. All of the tallest trees had atop them a single treesinger. Hundreds of them, representatives from all families, both great and small. She had never seen so many in one place at one time before.

  And yet, before them was the largest force of Naval vessels ever assembled. Tens of thousands of warships hung in the horizon before them. She felt as if she were an ant in the path of a thunderstorm. But, just as quickly as it appeared, her moment of doubt flowed out of her, replaced with resolve and determination.

  Aden looked over at Captain Tallia, who was calmly munching on a radish, looking so relaxed she could have been sitting on her porch in the midday shade.

  “I don’t see any sails unfurled yet,” Aden observed. “But then again there is still five minutes left until the deadline.”

  “That is correct,” Captain Tallia said, a twinkle in her eye. “They still have five minutes to surrender.”

  * * *

  “Hands, bring in the sails!” Evere bellowed out. “Navigator, calm the winds for a bit.”

  “Aye,” the crew of The Dreadnaught called out as they scampered up the shrouds of the Quaranna. Mina stopped about halfway up to pause for a moment and place a dab of perfume on each side of her neck.

  Captain Evere looked around suspiciously. There was nothing but open sky in all directions. Far below them, the Gray Sea boiled and writhed, shrieking with hunger.

  Captain Evere pulled out his sextant and took a reading, then gave the binnacle two good kicks with his boot to make sure the ship’s compass was aligned. Tim sat on his shoulder, munching on some seeds.

  “Why are we stopping?” Athel asked aloud as she scooted out along the yardarm’s ratline. “We should be hurrying; the attack will begin any minute.”

  “Yes, thank you lass,” Evere grumbled as he looked over the charts. “Because screaming at me while I’m charting is always helpful.”

  ’”We would be there already if we hadn’t taken the time to drop off the prisoners on a safe beach,” Privet complained as he made fast the sail ties.

  “What were we supposed to do? Drop them into the sea?” Athel chided as she dropped down to the deck. “Besides, we should almost be there by now.”

  “Nope,” Captain Evere said, standing up and scratching his gray mutton chops.

  “What do you mean, ‘nope’?” Athel asked, growing concerned. “Don’t just say nope, that just makes us worry. Tell us what the problem is.”

  “The problem is that we are here,” Captain Evere said. Everyone looked around at the miles and miles of nothing in all directions.

  “There’s nothing here,” Ryin said stupidly.

  * * *

  Aden looked up and saw tens of thousands of tiny white squares appear at the horizon. The Navy ships were unfurling their sails. The assault had begun.

  Captain Tallia drew her saber and her pistol, completely unfazed to
be standing on the tip of a branch nearly a mile in the air.

  “Daughters of Milia!” Captain Tallia shouted, the forest quieting itself so all could hear. “We did not seek out this fight, we do not seek their destruction; we do not thirst for their blood. But when these foreigners come to take our lands and threaten our lives, we will not simply lie down and submit. We will show them why no invader has ever set foot upon our forest and lived to tell the tale!”

  A great cheer rose up from the forest, all the trees and Treesingers shouting in unison.

  “Prepare first volley!” Captain Tallia shouted, waving her saber around in the air. There was a fire in her eyes as her blade gleamed in the sunlight.

  Aden took out her staff and Buckeye wrapped her top branches around it. Slowly but surely, the enormous tree began to bend backwards. The rest of the forest followed suit. It looked as if the entire forest were bowing, as one does to an opponent at the beginning of a duel.

  Aden’s tree was as large as a city, yet Buckeye moved fluidly, with grace and precision, as she bowed, farther and farther towards the ground. Aden felt her ears pop from the change in altitude as she descended. So fast that at times it seemed like she was falling, yet she remained as peaceful as a falling leaf. Down further and further, Buckeye bent over like a colossal bow. Finally, the tips of her topmost branches reached the forest floor, her massive trunk bent over like a horseshoe. Aden jumped to the ground and held up her staff. At her command, one of Buckeye’s pinecones began to grow. Larger and larger it swelled, until it was the size of a house. The other Treesingers did the same.

  Captain Tallia jumped down to the ground and slashed her saber forward. “Fire!”

  With a great snap like thunder, Buckeye sprung upwards, uncurling herself with an unbelievable strength and speed. At the peak of her arc she released the giant cone, flinging it into the air like an enormous catapult. The rest of the forest followed suit, thousands of cones hurling toward the approaching airships.

  * * *

  Aboard the Naval interceptor St. Downing, Captain Sykes checked his shadow from the corner of his eye to make sure he was standing as straight as possible. He had spent a lifetime building a career based around pertinacity, and he wasn’t about to throw it all away by being anything less than a perfect example to the men and women of his crew on what would surely be the largest battle of their lives.