Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Athel fought to keep herself calm as she listened to the noises of nearby huts being ransacked. She steepled her hands together and attempted to meditate.

  Great Mother Milia, please send help.

  Suddenly Athel felt a small tugging on the hem of her dress. She looked down and saw Nuutrik staring up at her, his body shadowed.

  “Oh, very funny, Milia,” Athel groaned, looking up.

  Athel grabbed at the collar around her neck, trying as best she could to indicate that she needed it removed. Nuutrik pointed out the door.

  Athel shook her head and tried again, making a snapping motion with her hands then pointing eagerly at the collar.

  Nuutrik shook his head again and pointed out the door.

  “Bah, stupid kid, why didn’t you learn common?” Athel huffed, folding her arms in frustration as she slowly spun in the air.

  Nuutrik waved his arms angrily and pointed again. This time, she looked and saw what he was pointing at. His carved bauble was laying on the ground out there, amidst the feet of the Baakuu as they ran this way and that.

  “Oh, Ooooohhh,” Athel said, finally understanding. “You'll get me go if I save your necklace thingy, is that it?”

  The boy pointed again and she nodded in agreement. With a chortle of joy, he reached up with his shadowed hand and touched the collar. The humming stopped and Athel was suddenly solid again. She came crashing down into the basin with a metallic thud.

  Outside, only a few huts remained. The Kwili villagers huddled together in little groups. Many of the Baakuu warriors had taken to stabbing their spears into the shadowed people. It did no damage, but they delighting in making their prey simper in fear anyhow.

  When Athel strode out from the main hut barefoot, pistol and saber drawn, all the Baakuu warriors paused, as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  There were only a dozen or so, yet Athel was amazed at the amount of damage they had already done in so short a time.

  Beneath her feet, little Juupa rootlets grew up to the surface and she silently conversed with them. Given how many times the Baakuu had burned their siblings, securing their consent was predictably easy once she could get a word in edgewise.

  One of the Baakuu threw a spear at her head, but a fresh Juupa stalk grew up, quick as an arrow, and blocked the shot. The Baakuu looked at one another, impressed.

  Athel turned to Naanie, where he huddled with the others. “Look, I don’t know Tidnaa, I've never met him, but if he is not willing to defend his children, then I say he doesn’t deserve your worship.”

  The Kwili looked at each other uncertainly.

  Athel saluted with her saber, placing the crossbar over her heart. “If Tidnaa won’t stand up for you, then you'll have to do it yourselves.”

  A Baakuu warrior rushed at Athel, howling wildly as he thrust his spear at her. Just like Privet had taught her, she ducked under the blow and reversed her grip. Her blade passed through his legs and severed them both at the knee. As he crumbled to the ground, his body and clothes disintegrated into a pile of black dust.

  Their bodies are made from ash.

  With a howl, the Baakuu warriors charged. Athel held her ground and fired her pistol. The seed exploded in midair into a growth of stranglevines that ensnared them, wrenching them to the ground. She clenched her fist and the vines sprouted great thorns that pierced their bodies. The warriors disintegrated into mounds of ash. Casually, she strolled among the remains while she reloaded and kicked Nuutrik’s bauble over to him with the tip of her foot.

  Beyond the edge of the village, a lone, robed figure stood. He took off his cowl to get a good look at her.

  “You are no Kwili,” he called out, his voice clearly audible despite the distance.

  “How observant of you,” Athel quipped.

  “So why fight for them?”

  She looked over her shoulder and shot an accusatory glance at Naanie. “Because they won’t fight for themselves.”

  The Ash Summoner shrugged and raised his hands. The piles of ash around her were drawn up into the air, where they swirled around in bizarre patterns. More ash was drawn from the fire pits, and new bodies of ash were created. When the dust settled, a full forty-eight warriors stood before her.

  “Last chance to back down,” the Ash Summoner warned.

  Athel felt a tug on the hem of her dress. Glancing over, she saw Nuutrik standing next to her, solid and resolute. Naanie called out to him from the shadows, but the boy held his ground. Athel chuckled and gave Nuutrik a wink before handing him her pistol.

  “Back down to someone who uses dust?” Athel taunted. “Not a chance. My trees eat dust for breakfast...literally.”

  The Baakuu warriors gave off a feral howl as they charged. Their white eyes glowed ferociously with an eerie corpse light.

  A dozen spears sailed towards Athel and Nuutrik, but with a twist of her bare foot, a wall of Juupa trees sprouted up to protect them, and the spears embedded themselves into the hard bark.

  Athel slammed her palm down on the ground and Juupa trees shot up out of the ground like spears beneath the sprinting Baakuu warriors. The hard pointed tips effortlessly pierced through their ashen bodies and lifted them aloft, like puppets attached to sticks. Athel swished her hand and the wall of trees before her parted enough for Nuutrik to shoot her pistol through the gap. The seed grew into vines, pulling together the remaining warriors and pinning them to the ground. Fresh Juupa trees grew up beneath the pile of squirming warriors, skewering them where they lay. All the dead warriors fell apart into heaps of ash.

  Athel was breathing heavier now. She patted Nuutrik on the head to thank him. Many of the villagers became solid and walked over to stand beside them. Naanie called to them in their tongue, obviously trying to dissuade them, but they stood resolutely.

  The Ash Summoner lifted his arms, and the piles of ash returned to him. More streams of ash came in from all directions, until a tornado of cinders swirled above him. With it, he formed hundreds of warriors. An entire army of Baakuu now stood before them. The Ash Summoner stumbled and swayed, barely able to stay on his feet from the strain of it.

  With a roar like thunder, the army charged forward. Hundreds of spears sailed up into the air, nearly blocking out the sun.

  Athel placed both palms on the ground and grew a ring of trees around her and the solid villagers. The tips grew together into a dome that absorbed the torrent of spears until it resembled a pin cushion.

  Sweat dripping off her chin, Athel yelled defiantly, and a wave of trees fanned out from the ring. An entire forest of Juupa trees burst out of the ground beneath the Baaku warriors, piercing through their legs, arms, and torsos, but on they came. Athel grew a wall of trees but the Baakuu climbed up over them, only to find themselves run through by fresh trees the moment they hit the ground.

  Baakuu warriors sliced holes in the dome and began pouring in. The villagers fought back with whatever they had, attacking with rocks and sticks, and pulling up spears from fallen Baakuu.

  The remaining villagers left the shadows and ran to their aid, leaving only Naanie alone and incorporeal as he begged them not to.

  The Baakuu warriors mercilessly thrust their spears into the Kwili, but hit nothing but shadow. One villager would stab a Baakuu from behind while he attempted to stab a Kwili shadow before him. A warrior would slice at a villager’s head, only to have it pass straight through, while the villager’s solid arms would stab the warrior in the gut. Even Chief Maaturro joined in, howling like a maniac as he punched a Baakuu warrior in the gut, his fist piercing the man and coming out his back before his body disintegrated into dust.

  All throughout the dome, Baakuu burst into clouds of black powder. The very air became choked and dark.

  Athel’s body was sluggish and heavy from exertion. She blocked a spear thrust coming from the side with her blade, but another caught her in the back. The sharp tip managed to pierce through her armor. She hollered with pain and turned around to stab he
r attacker, but she was too slow; he had already withdrawn his spear and spun it in his grip, cracking her on the side of the face with the back end.

  Athel fell down, landing in a muddy puddle as the Baakuu warrior stood over her, ready to deliver the killing blow. Amber-colored blood dripped down her face as she looked up into his white, feral eyes. She tried to bring up her blade, but he stepped on her wrist, driving it deeply into the mud.

  Oh crap.

  Athel held up her other hand feebly, but the killing blow never came. The Baakuu warrior was frozen in place where he stood, spear raised above his head with both hands. A gentle wind passed over him, and the Baakuu warrior dissolved, as if he were nothing more than a sand painting caught in a breeze.

  Athel looked around and saw that all the remaining Baakuu disappearing the same way.

  Through a gap in the dome, she could see the Ash Summoner pinned to the ground, Naanie standing over him with a knife to the man’s throat.

  “See, I knew you could do it,” Athel breathed aloud as the villagers rose up and cheered.

  The next few hours were some of the most lively Athel had seen. The villagers lavished her with whatever gifts they could offer, falling on her neck and breathing out thanks. She politely declined most of the gifts, except for a bag of Juupa seeds, which she happily accepted. Her wounds were temporarily bound, long enough for her to get back to Deutzia and have them healed. A scout party was sent out to the Dreadnaught to alert the crew to her location.

  Chief Maaturro lead his people in the preparation of a great feast to celebrate their victory. Music and laughter filled the air in a way that was positively infectious.

  “The defeated Ash Summoner has been escorted back to his ship,” Naanie announced before apologizing to Athel once again.

  “Do you think the Baakuu will come back?” Athel asked.

  “Not for a long time,” Naanie conjected. “But if they do, we will stand against them.”

  Athel looked out towards the setting sun. She could see the silhouette of the Dreadnaught approaching to pick her up.

  “What about Tidnaa?” she asked apprehensively.

  “As far as I am concerned, if Tidnaa wants to get back on our good side, he will have to earn it,” Naanie said with a wide grin.

  Naanie laughed and Athel could not help but laugh along with him, even though it hurt her side to do so.

  Chapter Twelve

  The political situation back at Stretis was devastating. Every day, more Navy ships hobbled into the choked ports, full of disoriented sailors. No two stories were alike. Wide-eyed sailors swore that fiery dragons had risen up out of the forest to set their ships ablaze. Men and women who stunk of charcoal and ale gave first-hand accounts of cursed ghost ships drifting out to sea, their entire crews having been transformed into writhing trees. Still other sailors took advantage of the chaos to redress old grievances. Hazarians accused the Huutsak of cowardice, while the Diades accused the Isolites of firing on friendly ships during the battle. Sailors were by nature extremely superstitious, so such tales had to be taken with a grain of salt, yet they could not be outright denied, either. Regardless of the tales, the fact remained that the assault on Wysteria had been a military disaster of legendary proportions.

  With communications still down, the leadership of Stretis was in chaos, trying to find docks and boarding for incoming ships. Most of the undamaged ships were redirected to nearby islands. The Royal Hall on Stretis was almost completely unrecognizable. Mountains of paperwork sat alongside makeshift desks, while scribes and bureaucrats tried to manage and catalog the situation. A million pieces of data, but no answers.

  Only one thing was for sure. The attack had failed.

  Duchess Erin Strenlan shifted in her chair as yet another sharp-nosed representative from a noble family expressed his utter disapproval at the way his family’s private docks had been commandeered for military repairs, the loss of prestige from a Stretis-lead military campaign becoming a complete disaster, and demands for apology and compensation. To be honest, she was barely listening. They all said the same kinds of things, and it was all beginning to just blur together into one big tantrum.

  Erin leaned to one side so she could see past him. The line of such people stretched all the way across the hall and through the doors outside. She blew a strand of hair away from her face in irritation.

  Politics is hard.

  In the past, she had been able to rely on the power of the Eye of the Storm Necklace she had possessed. Only now did she realize how much she had come to depend on it. People were so much easier to manipulate when you could sense their intentions and thoughts. Now, she could only rely on her own skills as a politician, and she had to admit, even to herself, that she was out of her element. Before coming across the necklace and being adopted into the royal family she had been, after all, nothing more than a waitress.

  Erin hefted up her heavy ornamental gown and walked away while the current complainer was still in mid- sentence. To his credit, he carried on unflappably, addressing his grievances to an empty chair as The Duchess walked past the rows of improvised stacks and scribbling scribes and closed the heavy wooden doors behind her.

  Pulling out a golden key from her hair, Erin opened up a shining door and descended a spiral staircase. Gradually, the sounds of bickering delegates and panicked bureaucrats grew quieter as she made her way down into the windy tunnels that made up the temple of Nehirana beneath the palace.

  Turning a corner, she entered a sacred chamber where thousands of stone pillars rose up from the bottomless depths below, creating a pattern like a checkerboard.

  “Get out of here, shoo!” The Duchess commanded to the attending priests, who scurried away with their incense burners and lit candles.

  “Nehirana, we need to talk,” Erin stated boldly to the echoless chamber.

  Streams of light rose up from amongst the pillars, coalescing themselves into the form of a portly man, in the attitude of lounging on his side. His skin glowed with divine energy. Slowly, his eyes opened. They were without pupil, and shone like lightning. When he inhaled to speak, the air rushed out of the entire hall, nearly knocking The Duchess over.

  “Speak, my adopted daughter,” the god allowed. The power of his voice reverberated through her.

  “Our communications are still down. I need to know what happened out there. I can’t make decisions in the dark like this.”

  Nehirana ran a hand over his smooth head. “Several weeks ago the goddess Milia came to me. She pleaded with me to convince the Stone Council to call off the attack on her island. I had never seen such a pitiful display. It emboldened me. Now, I realize that she played me for a fool. She led us into a trap.”

  Erin clucked her tongue as she played with the end of her braid, flicking it back and forth against her nose. “Ten thousand ships against a single island? That doesn’t sound like a trap. It’s far more likely that she really was desperate at the time.”

  Nehirana cocked an eyebrow at her. “You dare gainsay your god?”

  Erin caught the sudden sharpness in his tone and dropped her braid in panic. “Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate...um...sorry.”

  Nehirana accepted the apology with a wink. “I never dreamed Milia would take physical form to defend her island.”

  “Can a god even do that?” she asked, confused.

  Nehirana nodded solemnly. “She paid the ultimate price. Her spirit is lost in a deep sleep now. I doubt she will ever recover.”

  “Can a god really die?” she asked, astounded.

  “In truth, Milia has been diminishing for some time now. Her sacrifice only accelerated a process that was already inevitable.”

  Erin was confused, but tried to hide it. “So, Great One...er...Great Mighty One...um...”

  “You're new at this, aren’t you?”

  She chuckled nervously. “Does it show?”

  “Painfully so.”

  Erin cleared her throat and organized her thoughts. “I gues
s I just don’t understand why we committed so many of our forces to attack Wysteria.”

  “Two reasons,” Nehirana said, holding up two glowing digits. “First, it was a chance to show up my longtime rival, Hestial. His island only contributed a handful of ships, and I was going to rub his smug face in it.”

  “That seems like a lot of effort just to thumb your nose at someone,” Erin appraised.

  Nehirana looked at her sharply.

  “...not that it is my place to say,” she retreated.

  “Do not misunderstand. I would gladly trade the lives of all the people on my island to prove myself superior to Hestial. Such was the purpose for which I created you to begin with.”

  The Duchess couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but held her tongue.

  “...but neither will I throw away your lives recklessly, for they are precious to me. And that is my second reason. Our island is in danger, and I was promised that if we participated in the assault, our lands would be spared.”

  “Spared?” Erin repeated, her brow furrowed. “From what?”

  “The seas. He promised me...” Nehirana said, trailing off.

  “Who could make such a promise?”

  They were both interrupted by the Royal Adjutant as she ran into the room. “Duchess, The prism stream is functioning again. There is a transmission that you need to see.”

  “I'll be right up,” Erin assured.

  “Don’t bother,” Nehirana offered. With a wave of his hand, a window of magical energy appeared, showing the stream. The image was that of Queen Forsythia, sitting resolutely on her throne. She looked older than Erin remembered. The lines on her face had become deep, the color in her hair had faded. Even her eyes looked dull. No jewels or flowers adorned her braided hair, and her dress was plain and unassuming. Everything about her appearance seemed calculated to force one to listen to her rather than look at her.

  “Citizens of the world,” The Queen said coldly. “I come to you this day because we are all in danger. Despite my repeated protests, The Stone Council refuses to end their spell which is driving the seas of Aetria to eat away at all dry land. If we do not act quickly...”