“I don’t see her strategy,” Captain Evere appraised.
“She’s getting all competitive,” Privet groaned. “She’s not thinking about anything except winning.”
Alder sighed. “Yes, that...is regrettably also a part of who she is.”
Sevtah kicked up the ball and punched it straight at Athel’s head with incredible speed. She barely managed to block with one of her roots, knocking it back towards him, when he punched it again. Fueled by his rage, his strikes came much faster than before. Too quick to grab them, it was all Athel could do to block the ball before Sevtah pounded it back towards her again. As Athel used her roots to block shot after shot after shot, she was slowly driven back towards her net. The ball whizzed back and forth, little more than a blur as Sevtah punched and advanced as Athel blocked and was driven back.
When they were only two paces from each other, Sevtah punched with his block one final time, aiming to take her head off. Athel ducked and rolled to one side as her roots covered themselves with thorns. Sevtah’s punch whacked the ball into a thorn, popping it like a balloon. Athel’s roots wrapped themselves around him and his manoi blocks, holding them fast and tight. Sevtah screamed and hollered, but any movement he made threatened to impale him with razor sharp thorns, so he could do little more than curse as Athel calmly picked up the ruined ball and strolled over to his net. Looking back over her shoulder one final time, she tossed the deflated ball inside.
As Sevtah’s head fell, defeated and humiliated, the crowd began cheering for Athel. She waved her hand, encouraging the crowd to cheer louder and louder. It began in one section, then quickly spread. A thunderous chant, repeated over and over again in common. “Root Master!” “Root Master!”
Feet stomped and hands clapped in unison. As Sevtah was released and then dragged away by the officials, Athel accepted his championship bracelet and admired it for a second. The workmanship was impeccable, and she found it oddly stylish. Angular lines traced all over the surface in hair thin channels. She tried it on her wrist, finding that it fit quite nicely and covered up the branding scar that Odger had given her. Athel pumped her fist in the air, calling for new challengers.
Up in the stands, Ryin was confused. “Wasn’t she supposed to lose?” he asked.
Privet placed his face in his hand. “Her blood is up now. There’s no way any of these locals can beat her when she is like this.”
Setsuna raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Nobody, huh?”
Privet’s head shot up. “Oh, don’t you dare...” But it was too late, Setsuna had already disappeared.
Athel began skipping around the field, holding her staff up above her head. “Come on, everybody, you can cheer louder than that for the Root-Master!” she yelled out, basking in the glory. “Root for the Rootmaster!”
“I hear you're looking for a new challenger,” Setsuna said as she strutted out into the ring.
The officials looked at each other, unsure of what to do. The head official took out his rulebook and moved to thumb through it, but instead just gave up and tossed it over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Athel asked, pacing her hands on her hips.
“I’m helping my widdle Pwivet compwete his mission,” Setsuna said innocently, biting her thumbnail as if she were a little girl. “I don’t think you're banged up enough yet for them to treat you with DeathCap.”
“Is that so?” Athel grinned, a fresh set of roots erupting from the ground, ready to attack. “Just remember, it doesn’t matter which one of us gets injured.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be,” Setsuna quipped. “I’m too cute to get hurt.”
Setsuna dropped down into a fighting stance, a gate appearing on either side of her.
This is bad. I can’t see where her gates exit.
Setsuna pulled out a pair of throwing knives and flung them into the gates beside her. Having no idea where they might reappear, Athel leapt forward into a somersault, barely avoiding the blades as they whizzed past her from behind.
Athel rolled to her feet, pistol drawn, and fired a seed at Setsuna. It burst in the air, the vines ready to catch her in their vice-like grip, but suddenly they disappeared into a portal and reappeared in front of Athel, heading straight for her. Athel jumped to one side, barely avoiding her own attack.
Setsuna ran up and moved to kick the ball at Athel’s net, but both her feet were held fast in place by rootlets growing and wrapping themselves around her ankles.
Setsuna glanced towards Athel’s unprotected net and smiled. Realizing her intent, Athel swung her staff downfield and a tangle of thorns erupted up from the ground. When Setsuna created a portal beneath the ball, it fell through and exited out the other end in front of Athel’s net, only to hit a wall of thorns. Athel had completely filled her net, making it impossible for the ball to enter.
Unable to move, Setsuna swiped at the air. A pair of daggers emerged from her gauntlets and into her waiting hands. A fresh portal appeared beneath Athel and she fell through. When she exited the other end, she was right above Setsuna.
Setsuna slashed with her dagger as Athel fell before her, but Athel managed to block with her staff. As the staff flew away from Athel’s grip, Setsuna swung with her other hand, slashing the sleeve of Athel’s uniform as she cartwheeled to one side. Setsuna slashed behind herself, but Athel had already leapt up into the air, drawing a second pistol from her boot holster.
Athel fired and another gate appeared, absorbing the shot and sending the seed off to some corner of the field. Setsuna, still rooted in place, jabbed at Athel as she hit the ground, but she ducked underneath the blow.
“Man, you are slippery as a toad,” Setsuna carped as she reversed the grip on her dagger and stabbed downward. Athel rolled out of the way just as the dagger hit the ground where she had been.
“You've handled toads? Yuck.”
Setsuna stabbed down a second time, but again Athel rolled out of the way. Grabbing a handful of dirt, Athel threw it in Setsuna’s face as she jump-kicked herself upright and made a beeline for her staff.
Setsuna roared in frustration and cut at the rootlets holding her in place with both hands. She tore up her boots in the process, but managed to free herself just as Athel reached her staff and spun around to face her.
They were both breathing hard. Panting, Athel took a moment as the two stared each other down. “So, if I beat you does that mean I become your fiancé as well?” she asked between gulps of air.
“Oh, no, this isn’t an honor duel,” Setsuna clarified, wagging her finger. “I’m not falling into that trap twice.”
“So, if this isn’t an honor duel what is it?” Athel asked, wiping the sweat off of her brow.
Setsuna’s green eyes slanted. “This is personal. I’m gonna’ show Privet who would make a better match for him.”
“He doesn’t need to be shown that, it’s blatantly obvious.”
“Yes, it is,” Setsuna smiled.
In the stands, Privet rubbed his eyes in frustration. “They've completely forgotten why we came here in the first place!”
In the ring, Setsuna tossed her daggers aside and pulled her hands apart. Dozens of gates appeared in the air all over the field. She kicked the ball into one gate. It disappeared, then exited farther down and into a second gate. All over the field, the ball entered and exited gates, blurring and zipping this way and that, somehow picking up speed as it went. A larger gate appeared beneath Athel’s net, and all of the thorns fell through it, clearing the way.
She’s trying to catch me off guard. I may not know where they end, but I know they all lead back to her.
Athel pushed her staff forward and a dozen roots grew up out the ground, each one forcing its way into a gate. They grew out of the exit, then penetrated another nearby. As the ball zipped around, so did her roots, growing from one gate into another, clogging up the field with criss-crossing roots as they grew, linking all the portals together. One root tip met the ball and deflected it from its c
ourse, speeding into the gate from which the ball came.
It all happened so fast, Setsuna didn’t realize until too late what Athel was doing. She tried to close the tears, but one of Athel’s roots grew out of the first gate and struck her hard in the stomach. Setsuna gagged, unable to breathe and clutching her abdomen in pain. She stumbled backwards into a fresh gate but Athel’s root pursued her. Setsuna appeared in the air with the root growing out of the gate after her, wrapping itself around her neck.
With a snap, all of the gates closed shut, slicing Athel’s roots into hundreds of small segments that fell to the ground. Setsuna struggled with the root tip that was strangling her, falling into one gate, and appearing at the far end of the field, then falling through another and appearing above her net, but each time the root stayed with her, tightening itself under Athel’s command.
With a gasp, Setsuna managed to tear the rootlet from her neck, then disappeared into an invisible tear.
Athel threw down a Juupa seed from her pouch, but Setsuna was already behind her. Setsuna spun around and kicked Athel in the small of the back, knocking her to the ground. Athel tried to right herself, but Setsuna was already on her, pulling Athel’s segmented pony tail as hard as she could, and forcing her knee into Athel’s ribs. Somehow Athel managed to get ahold of one of Setsuna’s pigtails. She yanked hard, flipping Setsuna over.
As they rolled around the ground, screaming, yanking, biting and clawing, the ball sat motionless in the middle of the field. The crowds cheered like they had never cheered before.
Up in the stands, Ryin leapt up in his chair to get a better view of the two young women rolling around in the dirt. Setsuna tore the sleeve off of Athel’s uniform, while Athel tore off Setsuna’s boot. “I take back what I said,” Ryin yelled. “This is the greatest sport ever!”
Privet leaned his head back. “This is just too much. I gotta find a woman who isn’t crazy.”
Captain Evere took a bite of popcorn and glanced over at his wife. She was doused with so much perfume that it was matting her fur. She had taffy stuffed in her ears, and was voraciously gnawing on a cabbage as if she expected someone to yank it away from her at any time.
Captain Evere turned back to face Privet. “They're all crazy, lad, every last one of them. The trick is to find the kind of crazy you can stomach.”
Athel managed to kick Setsuna off of her and grabbed her staff.
The entire pitch erupted at once. Thousands of sharpened Juupa stalks burst out of the ground like spears. Setsuna barely avoided getting skewered by backing up into a gate and appearing downfield, but the trees down there threatened to hit her as well. She disappeared again, emerging over Athel’s net, but trees also rose up after her there. Three more times she gated, but there was simply nowhere to go. The forest of Juupa trees rose up rapidly towards the ceiling, filling the cage from bottom to top, forcing her higher and higher. Setsuna created one final gate at the ceiling, before getting hit in the shoulder, the tip of the tree piercing deep into her flesh.
Athel rose her hand to cheer, but it was short lived. The pain in her thigh was unbearable. As the edges of her vision clouded, Athel looked down and saw that a Juupa stalk had exited a gate behind her and pierced clear through her leg.
Athel and Setsuna collapsed to the ground, too injured and exhausted to fight on.
“You know,” Athel gasped between breaths as she clenched her leg. “They say you don’t really know someone until you've fought them.”
“Whose they?” Setsuna coughed painfully, coddling her shoulder.
“And now that I've fought you, I think I dislike you even more than before. I didn’t think that was possible.”
Setsuna groaned in pain. “Aww, thank you. You always say the sweetest things.”
“If I die from this,” Athel griped, holding her injured leg. “My ghost is going to follow you around and haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“If that is the case,” Setsuna responded, clutching her shoulder tighter. “Your ghost is going to see a lot of really disturbing things.”
They both chuckled painfully.
“Oh, it hurts to laugh.”
As they lay on the field moaning, the head official waddled up through the forest of trees and looked over them.
“Looks like we'll call it a draw. Get these two to the infirmary.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Three days later, the airship fleet gathered around Wysteria parted, allowing a very unusually shaped ship to take the lead. No sails or masts propelled it. Instead, gill-like ridges protruded along its length. It was the Seawolf, the royal airship for the throne of Stretis. Gold gleamed from every surface and cannon. On the prow of its deck stood Erin Strelan, the newly crowned Queen of Stretis. Behind her in perfect rows stood the Agnita Kaito, the most powerful Stormcallers in the world. Never before had all three hundred of them been gathered together in one place. Erin raised her royal scepter, and the Stormcallers moved in unison, spinning their arms in great circles.
Queen Strelan spun her scepter with both hands, faster and faster. As she did so, the Agnita Kaito mirrored her movements. “My brothers and sisters of the wind, for five centuries no force has ever faced our people in battle. And do you know why? Because for the five centuries prior, no force faced us and staved off obliteration!”
The Agnita Kaito gave a hurrah.
“The other islands have grown presumptuous, mistaking their dim candles for a roaring fire. Today, we will remind them what true power looks like. Today, we will remind them what happens to those that oppose Nehirana, the god of the heavens themselves!”
A hurricane gathered overhead Wysteria, a swirling and broiling of the heavens. It began as a rough line against the horizon, as if the edge of the world had become rough and pulsating. The winds picked up, causing the larger trees to sway dangerously. Bridges and zip lines were stretched to the breaking point as the giant Nallorn trees swayed precariously back and forth, nearly crashing into one another. Inside their houses among the branches, families clung together in fear as their dwellings swung hundreds of feet in every direction. Dishes and books were thrown against the walls with terrifying speed. Doors flung open and windows shattered, threatening to swallow anyone who ventured too close. Mists of stinging rain pelted the faces and necks of crying children as they clung to their mothers and fathers. Against the might of the storm, they felt as small as grains of sand.
As lightning crackled and wind howled, the airships hung undisturbed. The powerful magic of the Stormcallers created a bubble of calm air around which the torrential forces flowed like stream waters around a rock.
The citizens of Clover Hills looked on in horror as the shrieking seawater at the cliffs down below began to recede farther and farther, revealing a seafloor none of them had ever seen before. Bone-bleached sand and half-melted rocks twisted into writhing, agonized shapes. The sea withdrew for miles. What had once been sea was now a desert of dust and goblin-shaped rocks as far as the eye could see.
The horizon was rising, growing closer, as if the world itself was being rolled towards them. As it approached, it took on a dark green and blue color, white at its edges.
It was a tidal wave, generated by the incomparably powerful winds of the Agnita Kaito. Tendrils of acidic seawater reached out from its form, as if it were made of a million octopi. The air hissed where it touched, a roaring sizzle like countless raindrops.
Fear and panic spread through the link of the forest. Terrified hearts instinctively looked for the voice of the Queen to organize and protect them, but there was none. The people of the east forest fled in terror as the tidal wave approached their shores. Children clung to their parents as they scrambled across swaying bridges, climbing over one another as they moved from tree to tree. Many of the younger trees uprooted themselves and tried to make their way further inland. But it was all in vain. Although it appeared to be moving slowly, it was just a trick of the eye. The tidal wave was moving far faster than any mortal
could ever hope to run.
As families and trees screamed, stampeding away from the approaching wall of water that rose a thousand feet above the ground, the seawater released a great, starving moan. Deep and throbbing, it was horrible to hear, rising above the clamor of the howling forest.
Impelled forward by incomprehensibly powerful winds, the crest of the wave folded forward, like a great, open maw with jagged teeth.
The tidal wave hit the first rows of trees as if they were not even there. In the blink of an eye, the forest was no longer high in the air but underwater. Trees and houses bleached white, then came apart, dissolving into nothing as the seawater consumed them.
Within five seconds, the town of Clover Hills and everyone who lived there simply ceased to exist.
The death wails of the dead spread through the link of the forest. It felt to them as if their very souls were being carved in half, flayed off layer by agonizing layer. Mothers and aunts felt the anguish of their siblings and children as they died. Thrtoughout the island, many of the elderly Matrons collapsed, their hearts unable to bear the pain they felt through the trees.
Farther and farther inland the wave moved, neither slowing nor reducing as it went. Many of the larger trees were hit waist high, tendrils of acidic water gleefully wrapping around the upper branches and drawing the top half down into the water, even as the bottom half dissolved.
As it worked its way up the cottonwood foothills, it reduced in size but not speed. Trees were lopped off where the seawater touched them, falling down into the squealing, broiling mass. Some of the families managed to make it to the high grounds of the Juniper Plateau, only to be snatched off by long, thirsting tendrils that dragged them screaming into the rushing waters below.
The wave crested and crashed as it rose higher up the slopes. It was now a thin slick of mud, only a few inches deep as it crossed the Zinnia Meadow. Stampedeing people were swept off their feet. Whole trees were dragged down to the ground, tendrils of water pouncing on top of them like hungry predators.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 46