They are too afraid to think about anything else.
Only the men, whom Athel could only distantly sense through the trees, withheld their resolve to fight. They had the least reason to fight, yet they fought the hardest, using the defensive placements around the capital to hold back the advancing Navy ground troops. Even now, Athel could feel cannon and mortar shells impacting near her cocoon.
There was nowhere to begin, nothing to build on, so she began from scratch. Through the trees, she grabbed the nearest voice to her. A young Matron she had known during their training. Linden Redbud, sat in her home. Her sister Rowan had perished during the assault on the southern peninsula, and with Cherry Grove destroyed by the tidal wave, her Aunt Callery was gone now as well. Overcome by grief, she sat in her home on the beltline of one of the medium-sized trees of the capital, waiting for the end. Athel reached out to Linden through the trees and their spirits touched. Athel experienced all of Linden’s anguish as if it was her own, shared her memories of her aunt and sister, relived moments, both happy and sad. Linden experienced Athel’s will to overcome and resolve to survive. Slowly, the flame of hope rekindled in Linden’s spirit, and they began to resonate together, two hearts beating as one. Their shared experience forming a bond stronger than steel.
There was no agreement, no contract, no manipulation. They knew what they had to do and resolved to do it together, no matter the cost.
Athel moved to the next voice, Amur Juneberry, a farmer who lived in the northern villa of Greythicket. Nearly all of the men of her small family had been sent to build the fortifications around the capital, despite the fact that she led a small Vayshya class household of no particular standing. Her resentment over this disproportionate treatment had festered in her heart, blossoming into a rage that led her to begin feuding openly with her neighbor Olive Magnolia, whose crops were harvested and sold for great profit while Amur’s lay spoiling in the fields. Harsh words were exchanged, harsher still were the feelings felt, and now Amur stood in her field, contemplating setting fire to the whole lot.
Athel reached out to Amur through the forest, and their spirits touched. Athel took on the remorse, felt the sting of regret, and wallowed in the misery of what might have been. It soaked into every part of her being, as if it had happened to her personally. Athel searched for and found Olive, and brought the three of them together. Athel experienced Olive’s outrage, and slowly, the three of them formed an understanding that can only come from experiencing the world through the heart of another. It was something no man or outsider could ever experience or understand. It transcended communication into pure existence. And when they were done, there were not three minds, but one. Hearts were mended, friendships restored, and the beautiful seed of forgiveness bloomed within them.
Athel moved onto the next voice. One by one, hour after hour, she connected with the women and trees of the forest. It felt, to those experiencing it, like looking into a moonless night sky filled with separate and diverse stars, and watching someone move one star at a time, slowly gathering them together, constructing them tediously and meticulously into a new sun. Gradually, the amount of light increased as the process went on.
The darkness slowly yielded to the light.
The strain on her body and spirit was enormous. As Athel stood there, day and night, Alder cared for her tenderly. Using a golden hairbrush, he gently braided her long red hair into a beautiful, heart-shaped crescent. He decorated the braids with flowers he had picked himself, and adorned the edges with pearls. When he was done, he flawlessly polished a golden circlet and placed it on her brow.
Outside their cocoon, the battle raged back and forth. Legions of Marines attacked the line of trees, ready to douse even more of the land with sea water. The crew of the Dreadnaught joined in to aid, their years of experience staving off disaster. Navy shells tore branches from the trees, and bounded among the defenses, shattering mortar, cannon and flesh. The world became a perfect whirlwind, filled with hoarse and indistinguishable orders, the screaming and bursting of mortars and canisters as they tore through the trees and people. A cyclone of iron and shrapnel, filled with the death screams of wounded animals, the groans of their human companions. Blood pooled on rocks, and in places the very earth became soaked with blood. An endless limbo, filled only with death and grief, that was never forgotten by all who passed through it.
If the Navy ships had properly supported their ground troops, the war would have ended, but they held back, watching over the battle like curious giants, knowing their might, but reluctant to throw their weight in.
Seven times, the men and women of the Navy nearly reached the line of trees. Seven times they were forced back by the men of Wysteria. Their courage and sacrifice caught the attention of the women, who began gathering to aid in the defense. Under Athel’s care, feuding Matrons resolved their differences. Grieving hearts were mended, knees were strengthened, backs straightened. One by one, the people of Wysteria began to work together again. The song of the forest was being reforged.
By the time the final voices fell into harmony, the song of the forest sang proudly again. It was more nuanced than it had been in the past. Different octaves sung alongside each other, their minds as different rivers flowing to the same source. Minor chords wove themselves around the melody, giving it a grandeur and diversity of a breathtaking sunrise. Major chords provided a foundation of wisdom and energy, and the people’s minds dug their roots deep and drew strength from it.
There was no coronation ceremony, no declaration or signed document. She was the Queen because her forest knew her, and responded to her voice and to her heart. She had withheld nothing, allowing every corner of her mind and heart to be explored and experienced by everyone through the trees. The experience had been humiliating at first, revealing every stray thought, every criticism, every bad habit, every mistake. For a time she though she might go mad, her spirit ground down to nothing under the pressure of it all. Through the link she went through the exhaustive process of making amends to each and every being for every unkind thought she had ever had towards them, every unkind word ever spoken, in public or in private. But as the process continued, it became less painful. Eventually, it even became invigorating, which she had never expected. It was as if the weight of pride was lifted from her heart, and when it was gone, so was shame. She had nothing more to hide, and could sit beneath the scrutiny of countless eyes unabashed, for there was nothing left to reproach. The forest now knew every untidy part of her, but also knew the richness of her compassion, and the depths of her will. The forest trusted her implicitly and completely.
It was then, on the dawn of the third day that the new Queen slowly opened her eyes. She seemed so much older than before. Decades older. The weariness of a soul carrying the heaviest of burdens.
Alder stood before her, his eyes full of compassion. He had not allowed himself to sleep either, standing alongside her as was his duty and the desire of his heart.
“Welcome back, Athi,” Alder said, his voice raspy and dry as he embraced her warmly.
Queen Forsythia gracefully brought up her hand and returned his loving touch. “Now you call me Athi?” she asked quietly with a hoarse voice.
Alder stepped back, as if he feared he may have done something amiss. “I’m sorry, I just thought that...”
“No, it is all right,” Queen Forsythia said benevolently, if a little coldly. “It’s just that it really doesn’t matter what you call me now.”
Alder searched in her eyes. They were no longer brown but a pooling deep green with flecks of yellow and gold, giving it the overall appearance of jade at the edges, shifting to amber at the center.
Hazel eyes.
It wasn’t just the color that had changed either, her entire countenance seemed different. Now he understood what she had meant, and he felt as if his heart might break.
As the branches that had formed their cocoon receded, they could see that Deutzia had grown straight and tall, over a hu
ndred feet now, and growing still. On her lower branch hung the thick blossom where their daughter grew. When the sun’s rays touched the fruit from behind, they could clearly see the outline of their slumbering baby inside.
Above them, the Royal Tree stood high and mended over the capital, her massive branches extending out over the island.
Queen Forsythia took her staff in both hands and turned to Alder. “Come,” she commanded, her voice rich with authority and power. “There is much to be done. It is time to take back our lands from these invaders.”
* * *
Captain Sykes could feel a trickle of sweat running down the back on his neck as he stood straight and tall on the bridge of the St. Downing. Despite his dispassionate demeanor, he could see the morale of his crew deteriorating around him. Men and women spoke with hushed voices, looking over their shoulders. Their eyes were angry and sunken from insufficient food and unclean water. And, of course, the increasingly disturbing letters from back home, telling of unrest and protests. Two weeks earlier, Left-tenant Iarti had suggested ceasing mail distribution and cutting the men off from the prism stream, but he had counter-manded it. “If we don’t give them the truth when it is hard, they won’t believe us when we need them to,” he had said. Now, he was regretting that decision.
Captain Sykes looked around as the Navy ships sluggishly took their formations. This was much different then the first assault on Wysteria had been. The fleet was slow, nearly unresponsive. It seemed Admiral Roapes had to make direct threats to get anything done at all. The main attack on the forest from the airship fleet should have begun days ago, but amazingly the ships were still not all in position. Even now, it looked like a few more hours were necessary before the attack could truly begin, despite the fact that the land force had been fighting for days. There were whispers that some of the captains were intentionally delaying the assault anyway they could. Men and women who had been treated well during their imprisonment following the first invasion, were now reluctant to bring judgment down against an island that had treated them so fairly.
Still others remembered the horrifying ferocity with which the trees had defended their island. Fear was not something normally associated with the Navy, who tended to be a little cocky after fighting behind a hundred tons of wood and cannon for so long. Perhaps rational caution would be a better term for it. Whatever you call it, Captain Sykes had never seen so many gun-shy Marines and sailors in his entire career.
“Captain, my I have a word with you in private?” Left-tenant Iarti asked.
“If it has to be said behind closed doors it doesn’t belong on my ship,” Captain Sykes gently rebuked. “I'll have no secrets in my command; say what you have to say in front of everyone.”
Left-tenant Iarti looked around at some of the other men and women. Captain Sykes could tell that they had put him up to something.
All the more reason to air it openly.
“All right, if you insist, Captain,” he began. “The truth is, many of us send the majority of our pay back home, to support our families. Wives, husbands, and children that need to be provided for. It has been months since any of us have been paid. When is that going to happen?”
Captain Sykes looked around at his crew. A crowd was now gathering. He could feel in his bones the beginnings of a mutiny. He would have to chose his words very carefully.
“First, I would remind you,” he began, keeping his voice steady and confident, “that I have also not received pay. I am in the same boat as you are, figuratively and literally.”
“Yes, sir, we know that.”
“Secondly, you are an excellent crew, one of the best I have ever served with. I would be remiss if I did not point out to you that any disobedience or misdeed would destroy what has been up until now an exemplary service record for each of you.”
Captain Sykes could feel some of the tension leave the air. This was one of the first times he had ever praised them so generously, and he was grateful to have saved it up for such an occasion.
“Thank you sir, but you have not answered our question.”
“You are correct, of course,” Captain Sykes said, clearing his throat. He had hoped he could flatter his way out of this, but clearly that was not the case.
“Thirdly, I have made numerous requests on your behalf, and I have always received the same answer.”
“Which is?”
I’m positive the brass was counting on those emergency taxes to pay for this invasion, but with so many islands refusing to pay, and so much difficulty forcing them to pay, the money just isn’t there.
“They say that we will be paid as soon as funds are available.”
Captain Sykes could feel the tension return threefold.
“What about food, Captain?” Emar shouted, breaking military protocol by addressing her Captain directly. “We're wasting away at half-rations. When are we going to eat?”
“Incoming!” called out the bosun Nacer.
Training took over and everyone ran to their stations and took cover. The projectile was large and white, about the size of a small house. At first glance, it appeared to be made out of stone, but when it impacted with the mizzen-mast it flew apart into fleshy chunks of mushroom that scattered themselves all over the ship.
Captain Sykes waved his gloved hand to clear away some of the green mist. “A dud, perhaps?”
* * *
A quarter mile beyond the landing craft, a series of trenches and culverts had been dug in the dead soil to protect the Marines from the near constant shelling coming from the mesa above that lead to Cliffrose, the capital. Despite having never before utilized such conventional tactics, the Wysterian men were showing quite a knack for it. Nighttime counterattacks, infiltrating sappers, and double envelopments had all served to stall out every attempt they had made to press their advantage and continue the eradication of the forest.
In a concrete command bunker, Admiral Roapes looked out through his spyglass at the edge of the treeline. One thing was abundantly clear. His forces were running out of food, ammunition, and time.
I can’t believe those idiots back on Stretis would authorize an assault with so little funding. Just what do they expect me to do?
“Admiral, I have more official protests, this time from the Trifon, and Agathi, the Parthenios, the Riginos, and the Vlassis,” Nicole reported. She had never looked more sickly. She had lost a lot of weight; she wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes were dull and lost, her hands trembled. In between tasks, she scratched the back of her hands obsessively, leaving the skin raw and calloused.
“Don’t tell me about protests, Nicole,” Admiral Roapes commanded curtly. “Tell me why those blasted ships are still not in position. I want those trees dead!”
A huge white mushroom crashed to the ground near them, sending a green mist wafting through the command bunker. “What the blazes are these things?” Admiral Roapes asked, waving his hand around.
“We dunno’, but they've been hitting our ships and trenches for like the last twenty minutes,” Jessica reported, tucking some of her long satiny hair behind her ear.
“We've got some of the doctors from Advan looking them over,” Nicole reported. “I'll let you know as soon as they've found anything.”
“Something has changed,” Admiral Roapes concluded as he collapsed his spyglass. “It’s not just the men anymore, the Treesingers and the trees are working together again. They're fighting back harder and harder by the hour.”
“Maybe before they were on holiday or something,” Rachael suggested as she smacked her chewing gum loudly and checked her makeup in a mirror. Everyone turned around to look at her for making such a ridiculous suggestion.
Rachael noticed them staring at her and giggled in embarrassment. “You know, like a mountain retreat or hot springs,” she said in her high squeaky voice. “That’s where I go when I’m not on duty.”
Admiral Roapes turned away from her and shook his head sadly.
Under threat of punishme
nt, two columns of Marines carrying dragonskins of seawater began advancing towards the distant wall of trees, Sutorian wizards using their magic to create a wall of energy to protect them. As soon as they were in range, cannon-fire from the mesa began slamming into the magical shields. Volley after volley bounced off the shields until they were nearly in range. Then the trees joined in, hurling mighty boulders down onto the attackers. Exhausted, the Sutorian wizards collapsed under the strain and their shields fell with them. The trees and cannons fired one final volley over the columns, breaking their nerve and forcing them to fall back, without having successfully sprayed any of the seawater on the trees.
“The Wysterians stopped firing as soon as the Marines broke rank,” Nicole noted as she watched through her spyglass. “Why didn’t they finish them off?”
Admiral Roapes slammed his fist against the wall. “In a few hours we'll have the Iberian Fire-Triremes in position, and then it won’t matter anymore. This war is already over, we're just waiting out the clock at this point.”
It was then that the air tore open in the middle of the room and a resplendent young woman stepped through.
“I am Queen Forsythia, I have come to speak with you,” she announced with her rich and refined voice.
Admiral Roapes’ mouth opened in surprise. For years, he had surrounded himself with pretty females, but this young woman was truly strikingly beautiful. The way she held herself was regal and powerful. A balance and poise that came from a lifetime of training but appeared effortless and natural. She wore a long, deep red dress that complimented her ample curves and slim waist elegantly. The material looked like it was created from oversized rose petals. Her long red hair was braided and decorated with pearls and fine chains of gold. A golden circlet sat on her brow, and a long cape made from living red cliff roses and thorns flowed to the ground behind her. But it was her eyes that were her most remarkable feature. A shifting hazel that captured your attention and held it tightly, as if she were holding your very soul aloft for judgment. Nicole found herself instinctively backing away from that gaze.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 49