Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Panicked, Spirea stirred, struggling against the powerful emotions flooding through her.

  The Queen’s black eyes became clouded with silver. “Oh no.” She stood up, placing her hand over her heart. Spirea’s back again, she gasped. …back already! I can feel it.

  Oh no. She sensed me! Spirea shrieked.

  Rushing to act before Spirea could take over, the Queen removed a hip flask made of dragon skin and pulled free the dragon’s claw stopper.

  No! Not again! I have to stop her! Spirea shouted.

  Spirea reached inside her arm, pulling the flesh over her spirit like a glove. In control, she rotated her wrist, attempting to empty the flask onto the ground, but the Queen grabbed it with the other arm.

  For several agonizing moments, the two grappled with one another inside a single body, writhing and screaming, a silent war of wills and might. The Queen’s hair flashed white and rose up around her, but Spirea had grown so strong that even the force of void magic could not fully contain her.

  Tigera ignored it, lost in his own thoughts regarding this new revelation. I could have left at any time and I didn’t even know it. I’ve been risking my life making adjustments to this stupid necklace for no reason…

  The Queen watched in panic as one arm forced the flask to rotate, the black shakes pouring out onto the ground like sizzling acid.

  That’s it! Spirea cheered. Yes…yes…YES!

  Unable to overpower her, the Queen instead threw her head forward and slurped up the falling tar.

  No, NO! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

  Spirea’s soul ignited in void fire, consuming her mind and spirit in the unholy flames. Spirea writhed and squealed in pain, her very soul burning to ashes.

  Someone help me…

  As Spirea’s soul disintegrated, Queen Sotol regained control of her body. She tried to calm herself, gulping down the last of the black shakes, draining the pouch completely into her belly.

  She gagged, bending over and threatening to retch as she struggled to force her body to accept the poison.

  Tigera noticed her, and shook off his stupor. “My Queen, is it really healthy for you to take so much of that?”

  “Mind your own business,” she snapped, her teeth growing long into fangs.

  The Queen sat down, her body shaking with pain, her skin becoming dry and cracked. I don’t understand. Why does Spirea keep coming back? The power of the void should have destroyed her, but it’s taking larger and larger doses to suppress her. At this rate, this body might die before I can prepare another vessel to transfer myself into…I’ve got to hurry and…

  The decision made, she turned her cold eyes to the man sitting next to her. “Tigera, you will join me in my bedchamber this evening.”

  It took him a little aback, to say the least. “I will?”

  She was in no mood for games. Her fingers grew into long black talons. “You will or I shall kill you where you stand.”

  Tigera could not help but laugh. “A rather strange command. ‘Mate or die.’ I doubt it has ever been uttered before.”

  Her talons shriveled back into fingers, her sickly body wracked with the poison of such a large dose.

  “I must have a backup plan,” she whispered to herself, slumping over from exhaustion. “If the tower fails, I will need a new heir to transfer into.”

  The ground beneath them shook as another explosion rocked through the island.

  They both stood up. A large plume of dust and debris was rising up from the east, where the coliseum had exploded. People ran in terror, fleeing the falling chunks of rock. Airships rocked as stone fragments pierced their hulls. A wave of dust passed through the city streets, funneled by the buildings into a grey wall, startling in its speed.

  “Did you see that?” Blair screeched, landing and returning to the form of a man. “There was no fireball, no explosion.”

  Queen Sotol nodded. “Yes, the building just flew apart.”

  Tigera looked on as the smoke rose, people running in confusion, the fire brigade moving in to quench the flames that sprang up in the aftermath. “But, what does that mean?”

  The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “The stone itself exploded. King Koriar is behind this.”

  “The Stonemasters?”

  She turned around and watched as the damaged time dome around the tower cracked.

  “It would appear that the people of Boeth have decided to join the fight against us.”

  * * *

  Inside the dome, the workers struggled to cling to the tower, the scaffolding shaking itself apart as men and women clung to life against the failing timbers.

  Ellie picked herself up and checked her neck to make sure no one was watching.

  “Okay, now is our chance.”

  She threw down her tools and sprinted across the quarry, people picking themselves up as she leapt over stacks of squared stone.

  Her lungs screaming in protest, she jumped over the counter of the lunch hall and headed into the back.

  “Hey, you can’t be back here.”

  She shoved the man aside, knocking him into a stack of rising bread, and found Dwale washing dishes at the sink.

  “Do you have it on you?” She asked, grabbing his hand.

  “Of course, but…”

  She yanked his arm and they were off. Poor Dwale struggled to maintain his footing, stumbling over curbs and corners as she pulled him down the cobblestone streets.

  She was surprised at how light he felt. Years of working outside had made her strong and lean, her hair now reaching down to the small of her back.

  “They gave me this when I joined the Kabal,” she gasped, shoving a compact mirror into his hand. “It should give you access to the entire network, you just have to find a crystal array to connect it to.”

  Ellie jumped over a cart, but he couldn’t see it coming, and crashed into it, overturning the contents and spilling fruit everywhere.

  Before them, the outside world was beginning to move again as the dome failed.

  “You know what to do?” she huffed.

  “I think so,” he said between jerks. “I still don’t agree that I should be doing this.”

  “Look, the problem isn’t getting out, the problem is that time flows faster in here than outside the prison. I could escape, but by the time I took a single step beyond the dome, several days worth of head-counts will have been taken, and the alarm will have been raised. You are the only person in here without a daily work quota, which means the wisps don’t count you.”

  Dwale nodded in understanding. “Which means they won’t notice I’m gone.”

  “At least long enough to get our message out to everyone.”

  Panting, they reached the edge of the dome, where a large crack had formed from the explosion of the coliseum. Ellie kicked at the prismatic barrier, widening the crack and breaking a chunk loose.

  She pulled him forward and shoved him up to the gap.

  “Here, take this,” she said, shoving something into his hand. “She’ll start looking through my eyes any second now.”

  “What is it?” he asked, feeling the weight of the paper.

  “It’s a note for Ryin. If you have time, get it to him.”

  Ellie heard a screeching hiss, and reflexively looked up. The cracks in the dome were healing themselves.

  “Okay, now go!”

  Ellie shoved him through the gap, the magic sealing quickly behind him. There was a flash of light, and the outside world froze again, Dwale standing just on the other side, looking very uncertain as he held the plans tightly against him.

  Feeling a stirring in her flesh, Ellie turned around and stared at the ground, forcing herself not to look in Dwale’s direction. Her eyes flashed and her neck came alive with a band of black mist.

  Beyond her sight, she pulled her palm again
st a bit of debris, holding up her hands and examining the cut as if she had just come to after the explosion. She looked at the blood on her hands, and the band vanished as Queen Sotol turned her gaze elsewhere.

  Though he was just a few feet behind her, Ellie kept her back to him. She knew it would be months before she could safely look beyond the dome to see if he had made it.

  She stood up and headed for the medical tent, a satisfied smirk on her pouty lips.

  Chapter Eight

  All was dark around the funeral precession as the women of Wysteria carried the three caskets down into the caves. Barberry Buckthorn bore the pall at the head of her mother’s casket, her cousins lining the sides.

  Orlaya Oleander could barely see, her vision clouded with stinging tears as she held the foot of her sister’s casket, her mother bearing the head.

  Wiping her face, Orlaya looked back into the meadow, where a dozen Nallorn trees lay dead on the ground, their titanic corpses rotting in the scorching sun.

  The women no longer bothered wearing their ball gowns. The fabrics and designs were impractical for working in the fields, they invited mold and infection. Simple woolen long gowns kept them warm at night, and the brooches could be loosed during the day to help cool them. Sturdy heavy scarves protected their heads and faces from the sun. They had abandoned bathing all together, using the water saved to nourish the young crops struggling to survive. They looked so different; their faces lean from long hours of labor, their skin kissed with sun-scarring. No makeup, save for the natural redness around their eyes from long, sleepless nights. No perfume, save for the musk of molding food and sweat. Instead of softness, there were calluses. In place of ivory skin, there were blisters. Orlaya never would have believed that these were the same women she once knew. But, when she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in Milia’s pearl, she realized how much she too, had changed.

  Kerria Oleander set her daughter’s casket down in the mud, forced to act as both pallbearer and High Priestess. As she gazed down at her sweet child’s lifeless face, she looked like her heart might shatter inside her. No flowers lined Delphinium’s casket. There wasn’t time to gather them. This was their fifth funeral that week.

  She scrambled around in her bag and pulled out a single wax candle, melted down nearly to the nub. She lit it quickly. There was no time to make another. The old woman closed her eyes, and a single tear broke free and raced down her dirty cheek.

  “We are all born from Milia,” she began, her voice hoarse and strained. “…and when we are called, we all return to her.”

  All the women wearily turned to the west, to the dried and withered roots of a dead tree.

  “The flow of life brings us to this place,” she continued, her voice cracking. “…gives us a mother, gives us a name.”

  The women all turned to the east, their eyes burnt-out and sullen.

  The High-Priestess sniffed, the candle shaking in her wrinkled hands. “The flow of death returns us to the Great Mother, who waits for all women with open arms.”

  Orlaya stepped in to help, taking the candle and touching it first to the hands of her sister, then to the hands of Lady Buckthorn, then finally to Archivist Teak in her casket before snuffing it out again.

  Oleander’s hands fell limply at her side. “We stand at the banks of both rivers, and we give…thanks…for the time given to us.”

  “The time in Milia’s grace,” the woman chanted, many of them breaking down into tears.

  The High-Priestess inhaled sharply, the words she was forced to say cutting her like a knife. “Though her paths are not always understood, the destination is eternal and unchanging...”

  Her eyes wild with grief, the High Priestess looked around, as if she could not recall what part came next. She looked down at her dead child, and her whole body began to tremble.

  “This is…”

  Her staff fell from her hands, and the High Priestess fell to her knees.

  “This is Milia’s…

  She reached out and ran her fingers along Delphinium’s cold cheek.

  “No…” Oleander sobbed. She fell upon her child’s chest, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

  “This is not Milia’s will,” she cried.

  Orlaya fell down as well, hugging and kissing her sister, her tears falling into the mud below.

  “This isn’t what Milia wanted,” the High Priestess whispered. “We did this…”

  She covered her face, and wept more deeply than she ever had before in her long life.

  “I did this…”

  * * *

  “Cheers!” Akar called out.

  “Cheers,” the others replied wearily.

  Cane took a reluctant draught, then set his mug down, still half full.

  Yarrow leaned back and belched painfully. His beard was now wide and full, his black whiskers twisting in tight curls that spilled down his chest.

  “Ah, it’s a good life, isn’t it?” Akar celebrated. “By this time next year, the first set of wine casks will be fully ripened, and we can taste the vintage of wine grown right here in our own vineyards.”

  The others groaned in response.

  “You turn thirty-five next week, don’t you?” he said, slapping Willowood on the shoulder.

  “Don’t remind me,” he groused, rubbing his arm.

  Akar slammed his mug down. “We should have a…”

  “No! Not another feast, please. I’m still stuffed from the one last week.”

  “Sometimes I feel like all we do is eat.”

  “Well, we could go dancing again.”

  “No, please, no more dancing. My body can’t take it. I just want to go to bed early tonight.”

  “Come on. You guys are starting to sound old.”

  “We are old.”

  Hollis blew some of the foam off his ale, watching the bubbles flutter to the ground. “Man, thirty-five already. I’ve never heard of a man living that long.”

  Willowood nodded wearily. “You wonder where it all went.”

  “Oh, I should fill you in on the council meeting last night,” Akar said enthusiastically, trying to lighten the mood. “You missed the big announcement. Some of the younger men have made a request for a new sports arena.”

  The men at the table groaned.

  Akar looked perplexed. “I thought you’d all be excited.”

  “Why would you think that?” Yarrow grunted.

  “We already have two,” Cane said timidly.

  “Well, yes, but the team from the south wall feels left out, they want their own.”

  Willowood leaned back and leaned his mug across his face to shield him from the lights above. “The east and west teams do not own those stadiums. They are free for all to use.”

  Hollis rested his hand against his flawless cheekbone. “I swear, they spend more time posturing than they do playing.”

  Yarrow pushed his mug away. “What do you expect? They’re bored. They’ve spent nearly their whole lives in a tiny, ten square mile cell.”

  Akar raised his hand to order another round. “I keep telling you, this is not a cell, all right? We are not prisoners here. We are paid workers. Citizens of the League.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The dark-skinned man leaned forward. “So, if we’re free, why can’t we leave?”

  Akar tapped his finger against the hand-carved table. “Look, we had no way of getting off Wysteria, we had nowhere to go once we left. What else was I supposed to…?”

  “Calm down Akar, no one is criticizing you,” Willowood cautioned.

  Akar folded his arms. “Aren’t they?”

  “No, you’ve done more for us than anyone, worked harder than anyone. It’s just that…”

  They all grew quiet, unwilling to voice their thoughts. />
  Cane crouched lower. “Even if we left, where would we go?”

  They all turned to look at the thin little man.

  “What do you mean?”

  Cane looked around, unhappy at the attention. “Well, think about it. If we leave this place, we’ll all die in just a few weeks when the seas destroy everything. But in here…”

  Hollis’ brow went up. “In here, time stands still. We can live out decades in that same time before the end.”

  “No, you’re wrong,” Yarrow argued, turning down the fresh mug that was offered him.

  “Am I?”

  “In here, we are only needed until the tower is complete.”

  Cane nodded. “After that, the Kabal has no more use for us.”

  They all turned to look at the ominous structure looming over them. It had grown so tall by now that it blocked the noonday sun, casting a shadow over them all.

  “Just what is she planning to use this thing for, anyway?”

  * * *

  Alder couldn’t have looked prouder as he held Ash in his arms before Deutzia’s massive trunk. He had sewn a little suit coat for the baby, who fidgeted against the material. Bunni Bubbles sat in the audience with Molly and Mandi, her tiny arms crossed as she pouted over the baby being given new clothes, but not her.

  The crew were lined up on either side, Mina having forbidden Captain Evere from officiating, and having told the others to shut their howling traps before the ceremony began.

  Privet wheeled himself up alongside Alder, and the two of them approached Deutzia. She reached down with some of her massive branches, accidentally releasing a corner of the mainsail and causing the ship to rock to one side until she caught it again.

  “Ishi’s chains! What’s going on up there?!” Odger could be heard bellowing from the stone core below.

  Athel shook her head in exasperation, then took on the proper demeanor for the occasion. It had been so long since she had presided over a Wysterian ceremony, it felt a little odd. Her face became pleasant and neutral, her eyes still, hiding all evidence of what occurred behind them. Her posture became elegant and balanced, her countenance radiant. She felt her emotions settle beneath a layer of control and restraint. It felt strange and familiar at the same time. She couldn’t tell if she were placing a mask on, or taking one off. For the briefest of moments, she wondered who the real person was. Was she a Queen who had once pretended to be a girl named Athel, or was she a girl named Athel who had once pretended to be a Queen?