“Awwwww,” the women all cooed in unison. Privet rolled his eyes at them, but still smiled.
Athel’s eyes grew wet. She managed a weak chuckle, and brought her son close, hugging him tightly.
The baby squirmed in her grip, but she hugged him all the same.
Ash pushed her away with a grunt, then reached out to Mina. “Mami,” he called to her.
The color drained away from Mina’s face.
“Oh, uh, no sweetie, Athel is your mama…”
“Mami!” Ash demanded again, reaching out to Mina, getting upset.
Athel’s face pinched. Her lip quivering, she handed him over. “He…he wants you,” she stammered.
Mina took him back, devastated. “He just…”
“It’s all right,” Athel said again, wiping her cheek. “It only makes sense he’d think that. All my time was spent on the throne. I was never there for him.”
Athel rolled over onto her side, away from everyone.
Everyone was silent. They didn’t know what to say.
Privet reached out to her. “Athel…”
“Please, just leave me alone,” she sobbed.
A group of the men entered the tent.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Andolf Kummeritas said, his long purple beard flowing before him, “but time is growing short, we need to speak with Lady Forsythia.”
“I don’t think now would be a good time,” Privet warned.
“I realize that. It is well and right that we grieve for the lost, and there will be a time for it, but now is not that time. The seas are encroaching a hundred feet a day, if we don’t do something now…”
He trailed off, unwilling to finish his thoughts.
“…everyone in the world will take a very short, very painful acid bath,” Doctor Griffin finished.
Everyone sneered at the doctor.
“What? What did I say?”
They turned to Athel, but she gave no response. She just curled up into a little ball, sobbing quietly to herself.
Captain Evere tried to be more diplomatic. “Lass, we need to make a plan, we need to chart a course here.”
Athel made no response.
Sir Justeen Albashire stepped forward. “You are not alone here, okay? We are here to help you. Just tell us where to go and what to do and…”
“I don’t know,” Athel whispered.
Her statement took everyone back a little. “Perhaps if you…”
“I said I don’t know.”
Rachael stepped up in her alliance uniform, her hands over her heart. “But, in the past, you’ve always been great at…”
“I don’t know what to do! OKAY?!” Athel shouted, standing up to face them with her empty eyes. “I have no ideas, no plans. Nothing! Why are you always asking me what to do, anyway? Huh? Can’t you all make decisions for yourselves? Why does it always have to be me? I’m the youngest adult here, for Milia’s sake!”
She pointed at Captain Evere. “The gods we need to free are imprisoned in Arianis Kultur, a city at the bottom of an ocean of acid, how do you propose we get there? What’s your big idea, huh?”
Captain Evere looked down.
“Oh, nothing? I see.” She pointed at Andolf. “What about you? Huh? Even if we find a way to get down there, what are we supposed to do once we get there? Those gods are bound by immortal bonds forged by the power of seventy other gods. How do we remove them? Huh? How do we cut those? Is it even possible to cut something like that? Any plans tucked away in that beard of yours? Your spirits whispering any ideas in your ears?”
Andolf lowered his eyes.
Athel shook her head darkly. “I thought so. It’s easier to just sit back and wait for someone else to make the hard choices, isn’t it? It’s so comfortable to sit on the sidelines and criticize the person on the throne. Criticize, criticize, always criticize. That’s all people do. Bringing nothing to the table, only commenting and rumoring. People are like parasites, I’m sick of it. Well, this time, there’s no easy out for the rest of you, no way to avoid responsibility and blame it on me. No way…”
Her voice cracked. “…no way for it to be my fault when everything fails…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “…no way for more people to die, because I led them into a trap…”
She bent over, like she had been punched in the gut. Her whole frame trembled with pain. She clutched her ruined heart, blood seeping out through the deep stitches.
Her legs lost their strength, and she fell to her knees. “Everyone died…and it’s all my fault…all of it…”
She covered her face and wept. “I killed everyone…”
“My child, no one is blaming you,” Andolf tried to soothe.
“I do,” she whispered.
Athel brought her knees up to her chin, tears in her grey eyes as she turned away. “I’m not leading anyone ever again.”
Everyone looked at one another, their hope fading. Only Mina managed to find breath.
“But, sweetie, if we don’t try…”
“We’re already dead, all of us,” Athel said softly. “I look at you and all I see are corpses. You have a few weeks left, spend them however you see fit. It honestly doesn’t matter.”
One by one, they all filed out, leaving Athel alone in the dark with her thoughts. Only Privet remained.
* * *
Dejected, the small group came out of Athel’s tent, and sat around the small fire that was burning. Bunni Bubbles was there, the small golem tending to the flames by picking up wood from the pile and carrying it over. They were only sticks to an adult, but to her tiny clay body they were like full-sized logs.
“She’s right, you know,” Captain Evere said, breaking the silence. “We put everything on her. It’s too much to ask of anyone.”
Bunni tossed in a stick then looked around.
“Everyone is sad,” she said innocently.
They didn’t answer.
“Is Athel angry again?” Bunni asked, placing her finger on her chin inquisitively.
“Aye, lass.”
Bunni tilted her head, her blonde curls swinging freely from her tiny head. “But why? She’s a princess. Princesses should be happy.”
“She’s not a princess anymore,” Ryin snickered, sitting down and grabbing a stack of local papers. “She’s not a queen anymore, either.”
Bunni stuck out her tongue, assuming he was kidding. “All girls are princesses,” she stated. “Even when they’re not.”
Captain Evere put out his hand and patted the little doll on the head. “Everyone has their breaking point, lass. Everyone. This was hers.”
Bunni thought hard. “If she’s broken, we should fix her.”
They all looked around sadly. “Some things can’t be fixed, lass.”
As they sat in silence, Pops came through, straightening up the chairs, picking up the litter, and freshening up the tent stakes.
“So what are we going to do, husband?” Mina asked, letting Ash play with the fur on her cheek.
Evere scratched his grey mutton chops. “First thing we need is to get mobile. We need a ship, and we need it fast. Once we’re in open skies we can strategize from there.”
“Maybe we could buy one, or steal one?” Albashire suggested.
“Good luck,” Ryin snorted as he flipped open a gazette. “Since the death of the king everything is locked down with steel bars and paranoia. The few ships that go in or out dock directly with the royal aviary. There’s not even so much as a longboat out at the docks.”
“Is there someone in the palace we could bribe?”
“It wouldn’t work. The people here are so scared they’re turning in their own neighbors.”
“All right. Could we build an airship?”
Everyone turned to Odger, who was using a stick to scratch
between the fat folds on the back of his neck.
“Well?”
Odger looked at them quizzically. “What?”
“Could you build us an airship? Nothing fancy, just something that flies.”
Odger looked at the stick sadly. “I could construct the structure of a stone core, but not the keystone, it wouldn’t be able to draw power from the augilius web.”
Odger perked up. “Ohh, ohh, but my friend Jhoss could get one.”
Evere’s brow fell. “Is he real?”
Odger chewed on his dirty thumb thoughtfully. “Um…I’m pretty sure. Can’t you see him sitting here?”
Everyone groaned.
Evere clenched his fists. “Then we’re exactly where we started. Nowhere.”
The group fell silent and fog of despair began descending on their hearts.
Koma Czamani clapped his hands, and the Tomani sprang into action. Lively music began, and the women began dancing around the fire, their tambourines jingling, their scarves trailing around them like ribbons and streamers. It was so lively, so joyful, that it clashed completely with the somber mood of the guests. They looked around in irritation, unwilling to offend their hosts by voicing their discomfort.
“Is it really necessary to play that right now?” Albashire asked, looking at his quill as if he meant to jam it into his ear.
“It’s the Tomani way, lad,” Evere explained. “My people have been homeless for so long, we’ve learned to live for the moment.”
“Indeed,” Czamani clapped, motioning for Evere to rise up and join the dancing. “Tomorrow we may die, and there will be no more time to sing, so we will sing tonight, while there is still breath in our lungs.”
Bunni Bubbles jumped and cheered. She smoothed out the dress Alder had made for her and joined the Tomani women, jumping and hopping, trying to learn their dance as best she could. Rachel shrugged and pulled off her high heels, jumping into the sand circle and gliding about.
Dr. Griffin whooped excitedly and started unbuttoning his grimy shirt, but a couple of the larger Tomani men came over and asked him to sit back down.
Despite the festivity, no one else could find the heart for it. Evere stood up and placed his hands in his pockets. “Forgive me, Koma, but I’ve been without a caravan for so long, it would taste a lie to say I feel the music tonight.”
Evere and Mina bowed respectfully, and took Ash back to the mother’s tent to care for him.
Rachael surprised everyone with how good a dancer she was, and when the music picked up she really began to cut loose. One of the women gave her a shimmering sash, and she tied it around her taught midsection. The Tomani men cheered her on, and she rewarded them with a little shake of her shapely hips. They cheered twice as loud when she did so.
“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” Albashire wondered as she spun around and leapt across the fire.
“I used to be a festival dancer,” she explained, slinking her body back and forth in perfect time with the others. “It’s how I put myself through officer training. Admiral Roapes came to my performance at the Edinburg fertility festival, and the next day I was transferred to his command staff.”
“And she wonders why no one takes her seriously,” Albashire mused to himself, watching her as she shamelessly flaunted her curves for the whooping men.
One of the Tomani elders stepped forward and began to sing in his deep throaty language. Albashire didn’t know their tongue, but it sounded important, and in a way, he preferred not to know what it meant. It was more beautiful that way. His mind could play it out just the way he preferred. He imagined it was a prayer, a solemn plea to the heavens for help. Because if there was ever a time they needed a miracle, it was now.
“Hey, can you hand me that one over there?” Ryin asked. Albashire looked down at the gazette under his foot, and tossed it over.
“What are you looking at?” he wondered aloud.
“Courtship requests.”
Albashire snickered. “Courtship requests? At a time like this?”
Ryin shrugged. “Hey, Athel said we should do what we want, and I’m tired of being single.”
Albashire looked out at the mincing Tomani women. “There would seem to be a plethora of options.”
Ryin shook his head. “None of them are named Melissa. I already asked.”
He chuckled. “That picky, huh?”
Ryin scanned through the pages. “No no no. I had my future charted a while back by a Ronesian. He said that I would marry a woman named Melissa. Well, I haven’t met her yet, and what with the world ending, I figure this must be when I’ll meet her.”
Ryin looked up and gave a wink. “You can’t meet someone once the world is gone. Wouldn’t want to lose a few days I could have spent with my dream girl, now would I?”
Albashire laughed and shook his head. “How did I end up with this group of people?”
“Athel made you a prisoner so you’d finish her favorite book series.”
“Yes, and then she never read it.”
Albashire reached into his knapsack and pulled out the leather-bound tome. “It looks like no one will.”
Ryin noticed something. “Huh, would you look at that. They’re opening up an Authentic Wysteria shop here in Ronesia.”
Dr. Griffin looked up from the purse he was rummaging through, a tube of lipstick in his mouth. “Authentic Wysteria? Wasn’t that the shop where Margaret used to work when we first met her?”
“Hey, you, get out of there!” Rachael came over and snatched her purse back, slapping the lipstick out of his maw. “Margaret Gerstun, that’s your friend who was captured on Thesda, right?”
“Yeah, twice now,” Ryin added, looking at the advertisement. “It seems odd, most people blame Wysterians for starting the war, why would anyone open up a shop dedicated to them?”
“And now of all times,” Albashire added.
“Let me see that.” Rachael took the paper and looked the announcement over, her eyes growing wider. “This isn’t an advertisement, this is a message.”
“A message?”
“Yeah, I had alliance security do stuff like this. Before the light carrier system was up, we needed a way to get messages to our operatives that the Stonemasters wouldn’t intercept through their crystal arrays, so I’d have them take out coded advertisements in the local papers. Something that our operative would recognize, but anyone else would just dismiss.”
She looked up, and found everyone staring at her in amazement.
“Why does everyone assume I’m not good at my job? Look.” She tapped the gazette with a manicured nail. “Just look at the location of the grand opening.”
They looked the announcement over anew. “That’s on the east docks,” Ryin noticed.
“There are no storefronts out there,” Albashire realized.
“And the time. Who opens up a store in the middle of the night?”
They all looked at one another.
“Quick, who knows the Gerstun family crest?” Rachael asked.
They all shook their heads.
“I don’t even know what a crest it,” Odger admitted.
“I do!” Bunni said, skipping up.
“You know it? Can you draw it for me?
Bunni nodded. “Oh yeah, the nice blonde lady let me color it in all the time.”
“I think you mean you snuck into her room and drew on her crest even after she was brought to tears asking you not to,” Ryin recalled.
“Yup, she let me.”
They gave her a piece of chalk and Bunni sketched out a fairly accurate rendition of the Stretisian Juraboris, two doves with wings entwined and rubies for eyes.
“Thank you Bunni,” Rachael said, rummaging through her purse. “Now, where are my scissors?”
She looked over to Dr. Griffin, who smiled i
nnocently. She smacked him on the back of the head, and he spit the cuticle scissors he had been hiding in his mouth onto the ground, along with an eyelash curler.
“Ugh, you are so disgusting!”
She picked up the scissors with a handkerchief and wiped them off as best she could. “Why do all you navy doctors have to be like this?!”
“You know you really should use a different kind of moisturizer,” he commented, sniffing her leg. “The scent of tumma berries is much too sweet for someone of your age.”
“GET OUT OF HERE!”
While Dr. Griffin was chased off by some of the Tomani, Rachael took a deep breath and got to work.
“What are you doing?” Ryin asked. By now, everyone had stopped dancing and were gathering about to see what was going on.
Carefully Rachael cut out the drawing of the crest, being extra careful to precisely cut out the gaps in between the wings. “You see that big block of runes there at the bottom of the ad?”
“Yeah, the stuff talking about all the sales and special items?”
“Ohh, they have bathing suits woven from birichit leaves,” Odger noted.
Rachael nodded. “Yeah, well, I’m willing to bet there’s more to it than that.”
Albashire’s eyes went wide. “It’s a cipher.”
Rachael set down the crest and began sliding it about. Sure enough, there was space enough for one rune to peek through each gap. When she centered it, the head of the doves slotted perfectly with the outline of the ivy decorations in the announcement header.
“Quilla hemussta beruta,” Rachael read aloud triumphantly. “Or, in the common tongue, ‘I’ll arrive in a black ship from the north.’”
They all looked at one another.
“Margaret is trying to find us.”
“And she’s bringing a ship,” Rachael added.
Chapter Two
(2,295 years ago)
Mariss giggled playfully as she jumped down into the puddle, covering herself with muddy droplets. Little Dev’in was more careful, easing himself down in so as not to make a mess.
“Hey, come on!” she bade. “It’s no fun if you don’t get dirty.”
Dev’in carefully pattered his small feet up and down. Enough to make ripples, but not enough to splash.
Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains Page 4