“What is this?” Admiral Roapes asked inquisitively, his mustache twitching.
“It’s called a lunch scrambler,” Suzie gushed. “It’s got scallions, Chirpa meat, wild mushrooms, and Chirpa veal in a scramble of Chirpa eggs.”
Admiral Roapes looked up her doubtfully.
“It’s really popular where I come from,” she giggled, becoming self conscious.
“He doesn’t even cook, but he’s so picky about the food he gets,” one of the ship’s pilots whispered to the other.
“It’s got Chirpa eggs, young Chirpa, and fully-grown Chirpa in it?” Admiral Roapes solicited.
“Um, yeah,” Suzie tittered, rocking from side to side like a little girl.
“You've killed three generations of Chirpa to make this. The child, the father, and the grandfather. Is this a meal or is this revenge?
“Um...” Suzie addled, placing her finger in her mouth.
There was a distant rumble as a Navy ship exploded.
“Do you have some kind of grudge against Chirpa?”
“Oh just try it you big dummy!” Rachael tittered as she grabbed a forkful of the food and shoved it into the Admiral’s mouth. He resisted at first, but after chewing for a moment his eyebrows lifted in appreciation and he nodded approvingly.
“Thank you so much.” Suzie giggled as she bounced away happily.
“All flagships are signaling, the fleet is forming up,” Nicole announced as she turned around.
“Well done, Nikki,” Admiral Roapes mumbled with a full mouth, patting her on the head.
“I’m not a puppy,” Nicole protested, swatting his hand away.
Slowly but surely, the Navy ships rearranged themselves into a giant wedge shaped like an arrowhead, all while under the constant barrage from the Wysterian forest. At the lead was The Indominable, flanked by a pair of Hazari Lightning Galleons.
Glacially at first, but with gaining speed, the giant spearhead moved towards the forest. The Hazari galleons sent out white-hot bolts of energy that vaporized many of the incoming cones. Those that made it through exploded before the Indomitable, but the razor-sharp seeds could not lodge themselves into her thick, iron hull. Like drops of rain, the seeds pittered and pattered off the hull as The Indomitable led the charge over the coastline.
Now finally in range, row after row of gun ports opened up on the Navy ships, muzzles poking out by the tens of thousands. The sound of their first volley was unlike anything that had ever been heard on the island. It was as if the heavens themselves might splinter from the sound of it. Cannonballs, fire bolts, and beams of magic tore into the forest. The first line of trees fell immediately, shattered to pieces. They simply disappeared, as melting snow before a flame.
The forest fought back even more ferociously. Long vines grew up, ensnaring Navy ships and dragging them downwards, where the taller trees would wrap themselves around the hulls, pulverizing the vessels as if they were nothing more than loaves of bread.
* * *
The black stone of the hallway crackled with energy, teetering just at the edge of vision. A purple haze, half-seen, moved through the stone like veins in a living being. A pair of Stonemasters waddled up to the seamless door before them. Each placed their hands on the surface and the material shifted. Circles turned as if they were gears and cogs within the solid material. Slowly, the doors opened with a rush of cool air.
Suddenly, one of the Stonemasters raised his filthy hand to his neck, realizing that a dart had impaled him.
There was an almost imperceptible sound—like a sip of air— and a second dart hit his companion. The two reached for the communication crystals on their dirty belts, but they both hit the floor unconscious before they could sound the alarm.
Athel and the crew of the Dreadnaught ran to the sleeping pair and began to tie them up.
“Check his bags,” Privet cautioned as he and Ryin pulled the stone door the rest of the way open.
As they worked their way through the bastille, Mina pulled a map out of the man’s pouch and compared it with the one she had been drawing by hand.. “It looks like we are going the right way. The communication artery should be just beyond these doors.”
Their opponents secured, they ran though the doors, only to meet a solid wall.
“What is this?” Athel jolted.
“There is no second door on the map,” Mina affirmed, looking it over.
“Maybe we aren’t at the place on the map we think we are,” Captain Evere suggested.
“Or maybe the map is wrong,” Ryin postulated.
“No, this is right,” Athel said, running her hand over the smooth black surface. I can feel the magic beyond.”
“We should get out of this corridor,” Privet warned. “We do not know how long it will be before more guards come by.”
“We don’t have time to find another way, we'll just have to bust our way in,” Evere decreed. “Don’t you agree, woman?”
Mina gave him a sideways glace, indicating that she did not like the question.
“Right, right, ‘Alphas don’t ask, they tell,’ sorry.”
Mina frowned and placed her hands on her hips, her tail swishing unhappily.
“Oh, and they don’t apologize, got it.” Evere grunted. “Stand back, lass.”
Athel stepped aside and Mina raised her hands, gathering together a glass-like spike of sonic energy that grew as she spoke in her native tongue. She released the spear like a battering ram, slamming it into the door with such force that it shook the ground beneath them, but it did little more than scratch the surface of the obsidian and make everyone’s ears ring something fierce. Dr. Griffin tried next, throwing a small beaker that broke against the surface, but the corrosive green substance, whatever it was, did little but bubble and fill the room with a smell somewhere between nail polish and cat pee.
“What do you think, Aldi?” Athel asked her husband. “Stales or Mapre?”
“Actually, I would recommend the Honey Spring,” Alder suggested as he rummaged through his pack.
“What is this, some kind of twin language?” Privet scoffed.
“No, we're just deciding which kind of plant to use to bring down the wall,” Athel explained as she accepted a small brown mushroom from Alder.
“How can a mushroom undo stone?” Ryin looked doubtful as they watched Athel place the mushroom at the base of the wall.
“Roots undo stone all the time,” Alder explained. “It just takes a few years.”
“Yeah, well, that is very educational and all,” Evere said. “But right now, time is the one thing we don’t...”
Athel took out her staff and slammed it into the ground. In the space of a heartbeat, the mushroom sprouted and grew everywhere. The wall became filled with millions of little rootlets and hair-like mycelium which invaded every pore and microscopic crevice. Athel twisted her staff and the rootlets expanded. The wall exploded from within into a pile of gravel and a cloud of dust.
“...have.” Captain Evere’s hands fell down to his sides.
“Good choice, Aldi,” Athel said, patting him on the back. “What’s wrong? You look a little pale.”
“Oh, nothing,” Alder said, smiling. “I just am amazed at how much stronger your magic has become as of late.”
“I know, right?” Athel gushed as she put her staff away. “I had heard that your magic gets a boost once you got married, but I never expected this much.”
Athel drew her saber and pistol, and they all pressed forward through the cloud of dust and into the chamber beyond.
What they found was a vast chamber, hundreds of feet tall. The room was like a sphere that had been cut in half, the ceiling vaulted in all directions. In the center sat an altar of black stone. Every surface was covered with mirrors, from the floor to the distant ceiling. The reflections of the altar and the crew bounced off one another, making the room feel like it extended on into eternity in every direction, filled with fractional images.
As they stepped i
nside, Mina took out a bottle of perfume and placed a fresh dab on each side of her neck.
“This place feels wrong,” Margaret observed, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Here,” Dr. Griffin said, producing something from his pocket. “I have an amulet for you; it will protect you from danger.”
Margaret looked at it suspiciously. “This inscription says it is for indigestion.”
“I know, but it is the only one I have on me right now.”
“This room isn’t on the map either,” Mina complained, her voice echoing.
“It’s not on the map because I don’t think it’s in the tower,” Alder deduced, looking around.
“How do you figure that, lad?” Evere said, walking over to a series of bronze basins.
“Just look at the diameter,” Alder said, pointing along the base of the mirrors to avoid getting lost in the endless reflections. This room has a greater circumference than the tower itself does.”
“This must be one of those reality pockets, like the one that assassin made back at Thesda,” Dr. Griffin surmised, shivering a little.
“But what is it for?” Privet asked, keeping his sword drawn.
“Some sort of production facility?” Dr. Griffin guessed, inspecting some distillation tanks.
“But to make what?” Margaret asked, scribbling in her notebook.
“This,” Captain Evere said, kicking over a crate with strange markings. “Ruper spice.”
Athel ran up and looked at the glass jars within the crate, each filled with a shimmering powder. “Why would ruper spice be made here? I thought the pirate Guilds made their own.”
Mina snickered. “Are you kidding? Most Guilds couldn’t figure out how to milk a cow, let alone make something as complicated as spice.”
“But, it’s not complicated! Look,” Privet said, pointing out a pile of crates near the brass basins. “They are just reducing this little plant down to a salt.”
“I know this plant,” Athel went on, inspecting the crates. “It’s called Salsoa weed. Sure, it can make you a little loopy, but ruper spice is supposed to be super potent.”
“It is,” Alder said grimly as he looked down at the jars of spice. “Your veins collapse, and your heart and lungs slowly fail. The victim becomes euphorically insensible, entering into alternate states of wakeful and drowsy, only stirring to acquire more of the drug as the effects begin to wear off. That is the worst part. Friends, family, honor, nothing matters to them anymore except acquiring more spice. They'll do anything to get it, even sell their own children.”
Alder’s composure slackened a little, and he fought to keep his tears back. “My mother was one of the lucky ones, she was taken to a treatment center before she become violent, but I've known others that have done horrible things in their mania. Once a person has been exposed to the stuff, it is only a matter of time before their internal organs liquify and are vomited out as a black mucus. Then, they die.”
Athel walked over and held Alder in her arms.
“But, Salsoa weed doesn’t do any of that,” Privet observed.
“No, it doesn’t,” Athel confirmed as she held Alder against her shoulder.
“Well then, what does?”
“That’s it!” Dr. Griffin shouted, snapping his fingers. “The effects aren’t chemical, they're magical!”
“What do you mean?” Mina inquired.
“Don’t you see? It’s like that sleeping spell I wove into the lager we fed to the Umor Guild. I’m sure of it, I bet Ryin’s virginity on it.”
“Hey!” Ryin protested.
“...that must be what this whole mirror array and the altar is for. Some kind of summoning table that gives ruper spice its potent properties.”
“Summoning table?” Athel asked as she raised her head. “To summon what?”
It was then that something grabbed Athel’s ankles. She tried to take a step back, but fell backwards onto the mirrored floor.
* * *
Aden could feel another Treesinger collapse from exhaustion nearby as Buckeye bent over again. Another wave of Navy ships was almost on top of them now, their hulls casting dark shadows over the forest.
“For every one we take down, five take its place,” Aden complained as she held up her staff, her arms trembling with exertion. Cannon balls thudded into Buckeye’s trunk and branches as another pine cone grew to size. Long drops of amber sap dripped out of her wounds in a dozen places. Despite her injuries, Buckeye reached out with some of her branches and shielded Aden from a volley of cannon fire as it tore up the forest floor around them.
The song of the forest was weakening. Pockets of panic and confusion sprang up faster than the Queen could calm them. The harmony of the forest was being overtaken by the crack of cannon fire and the snapping of wood.
In the middle of it all was Captain Tallia. When the Treesinger next to her fell from a rifle shot to the stomach, she planted her staff in the ground and prepared her tree for the next volley in addition to her own.
How many did this make? Aden had stopped counting at 83.
“Fire!” Captain Tallia shouted, her voice hoarse but strong.
Aden released Buckeye, her projectile slammed into a ship directly above her. The Navy ship buckled under the strain of the impact, then collapsed in half, sending dozens of screaming sailors falling in all directions.
Aden weakly lifted her staff to detonate the cone, but nothing happened. Her reserves were completely depleted. The pine cone fell back down to the ground and buried itself in the ground with an inert thud.
A mortar shell hit the ground and exploded near Aden. So loud that it overpowered her hearing, the world became silent as she felt herself thrown back against a shredded tree trunk. Aden fought to right herself, but her broken body refused to comply. She sat almost detachedly, the world spinning around her as trails of amber-colored blood ran down her face.
As her vision cleared, she saw a new kind of ship above her. Crimson red with a bronze prow shaped like a dragon, the enormous metallic mouth slowly cranked open, revealing row upon row of Iberian Fire-Breeders inside, readying their spells for release.
Oh no.
A magical bolt of green energy struck Buckeye. With a moan, she collapsed to the ground, her leaves withering from the curse. For a moment, the two lay there motionless, bits of dirt and ash landing around them. Carefully, Aden reached out and took one of Buckeye’s branches in her hand. She squeezed her dying tree and Buckeye squeezed back. Above them, fifty Fire-Breeders combined their strength and released an enormous river of flame. The heat could be felt for miles in all directions. As the conflagration descended down upon them, Aden closed her eyes and squeezed her hand tight. In her last moment, her greatest regret flashed before her.
I’m sorry, Privet.
* * *
Athel kicked her feet and slid away as something rose up out of the mirror where she had been standing. It was an exact copy of her.
“Oh, this isn’t good,” Dr. Griffin said as copies of each of them rose up from the mirrors.
“Take them out,” Evere commanded, drawing his cutlass.
“Oh, I've been waiting for a chance to do this,” Privet said with a grin. Stepping inside the defenses of Athel’s duplicate, he blocked her blow easily, then slashed straight through her neck, decapitating her. His smile quickly vanished when he realized that his sword simply passed through the copy without having any kind of effect at all.
“Dung beetles,” Privet swore, jumping back as the copy stabbed at him, tearing a hole in his jacket.
“What do you mean, you've been waiting for this?” Athel hissed, ducking under a quick thrust from Evere’s copy.
“We don’t have time to fight all these...whatever they are.” Evere slashed his cutlass at Ryin’s copy, their blades clanging together.
“We need a plan to get out of here,” Athel concluded as she lept forward into a sommersault, barely escaping a backhand slash from Evere’s copy. “Something th
at involves tactics, discipline, and above all, no loss of life.”
Margaret covered her head and cowered, but Privet stepped in front of her, blocking an attack from his own copy. “Well, that sounds like a good...”
“Privet, take one for the team,” Athel yelled, rolling to her feet. “Hold them off while we escape.”
“Hey, that’s a suicide mission!” Privet protested, blocking a slash from the front, the quickly spinning to block another from behind. “I thought you said no loss of life.”
“I meant my life, now go!” Athel said, slicing through the legs of Evere’s copy without affecting it.
Privet scoffed and leapt sideways to avoid attacks from Margaret’s copy. “My apologies, princess, I seem to have given you the impression that your orders matter to me. I shall not make the same mistake again.”
* * *
The song of the forest was falling apart. Panic and grief threatened to completely overtake the forest. All over the southern penninsula, families and soldiers clogged the roads as they attempted to flee towards the capital. Fire ships were releasing rivers of flame, setting huge sections of the forest ablaze. The remaining Treesingers fought to reposition and replant as many trees as they could further inland, but those trees too old or too stubborn to move themselves were set ablaze, their screams rising up above the noises of cannon fire and lighting. Many of these trees were the oldest and wisest of their kind, the caretakers of history that had lived on the island since its creation. Now, they were burning, their beautiful voices never to be heard again, their stories lost forever.
* * *
Up on the bridge of the Indomitable, Nicole fought the urge to cover her ears. The screams of the dying trees was truly horrible to hear. Although the noise itself was a deep moan, it felt like the cries of a newborn to her. The destruction of something innocent, something pure.
To the north, she could see a Lightning galleon, white-hot flashes of magic raining down from the metal protrusions of its bow which looked vaguely like an insect’s mouth. Below, the lighting inflected horrible damage, trees bursting apart into splinters, or set ablaze, left to thrash about as they burned to death. One of the trees, burning and bleeding long streams of sap, defiantly tore a boulder out of the ground and threw it at the galleon, smashing its bow and sending it careening off to crash into the forest below.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 9