Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “No, it’s the island,” Andolf called out, a little spirit coiling around his arm.

  “The seawater has cracked the foundations,” Athel yelled out. “Everyone on the ship!”

  Men and women dropped what they were doing and scrambled aboard. The ground heaved upwards, hitting the keel of the ship and listing it to the scuppers as sailors clung to the ratlines in terror.

  “Drop the bones, all hands aboard!” Captain Evere shouted out as he took the wheel.

  Athel kicked herself over the gunwale, when she heard Privet call out to her. His wheeled chair had caught on a fissure and toppled over. He dragged himself along the ground with his arms, his limp legs dragging behind him.

  “Privet!”

  Athel jumped back over without thinking, nearly snagging her skirt on the remnants of the bowsprit as she fell to the fractured earth.

  “Someone throw her a line!” Captain Evere ordered.

  “Privet, hang on, I got you!” Athel ran up and hooked her hands under his armpits. From above, Alder tossed a line down and Athel began tying a makeshift harness.

  “Ugh, this is so humiliating,” Privet grunted.

  “We can discuss your pride later, just grab on!”

  Mina took the rope along with some others. “Heave!”

  The rope went taught and the pair were hefted aloft. A heartbeat later, the ground beneath them caved in like an eggshell, fumaroles of heated seawater sizzling upwards in acidic plumes.

  “Altitude, I need altitude,” Evere shouted into the call-tubes. The ship slowly rose skyward, turning to avoid a jet of seawater that rose up before it.

  As Athel and Privet were pulled aboard, Deutzia began flashing in panic.

  “What’s she saying?”

  Privet looked out over the side. “It’s Talliun, she’s still out there!”

  Down below, the ground trembled and the jets boiled. Dragon skeletons and jagged rock fell into the chasms, whole hills and riverbeds consumed whole into the squealing waters that rose up from below. Amid the chaos, they could make out the shrinking form of Talliun as she ran, carrying an armful of scales in her arms.

  The ground before her folded up like a book, blocking her path. She leapt up, passing through the gap just as it snapped shut, nearly crushing her.

  “Get us back down,” Evere shouted.

  “Down, up, down, up, make up your blinkin’ mind!” Odger yelled back.

  The entire island wailed a death-screech, and the land exploded from within. Huge boulders and chunks of earth were launched upwards in a fountain of raging waters.

  Talliun spun the tumbler in her arm and punched the ground. Her prosthetic fist released a sonic concussion that rocketed her upwards as the ground collapsed beneath her. As a boulder spun towards her, she released a blade of silver energy, splitting it in half and slipping between it. She hit the side of a spinning rock as large as a ship, then clamored around the side of it, reaching the top just as it reached the apex of its ascent. She then punched and launched herself again, sailing free just as seawater reached up and wrapped itself around the rock she had just been on, yanking it back down into the storm of stone below. Talliun sailed upwards towards the ship, reaching out as her momentum slowed.

  “She’s not going to make it,” Privet hollered. He grabbed a grapnel and flicked it down like a sling. The hook sped down towards Talliun, closing the distance as her ascent crawled to a stop.

  For a breathless moment, Talliun hung in the air, her arm outstretched, then she began to fall back down.

  The rope went taught, and it took five people to keep from losing hold of it. The ship rocked to one side, and Evere fought the wheel to compensate.

  Fearing the worst, Athel looked out over the side, and found Talliun dangling below them, clinging to the grapnel hook.

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “Bring her in!”

  As the grateful crew hefted Talliun up, the ship rose and flew away. Below, the seas howled in delight, breaking up the last of the land and consuming it hungrily. By the time they reached cruising altitude, there was no indication that there had ever been land here.

  “Whole islands are being swallowed up whole,” Ryin marveled as he helped Talliun to her feet. “It won’t be long now.”

  “I’m so glad you are all right,” Athel said, throwing her arms around Talliun.

  “It’s all right, my Lady. I am a warrior first, and a woman second.”

  “Why didn’t you come back the first time we called?”

  “I had to dig this out.”

  Talliun opened her brass fingers, revealing a glowing stone, like a pulsating ruby.

  Mina looked on ominously. “A dragon’s heartstone? You carved out a dead dragon’s soul gem?”

  Athel patted Talliun the shoulder. “Well done.”

  “Thank you, my Queen.”

  Talliun flinched in pain as her prosthetic arm sparked, amber fluid oozing from a gash along her bicep.

  “Are you all right?” Athel asked.

  “It’s fine, I’m sure.”

  “Let’s get that bandaged up,” Alder said, tearing off his sleeve and wrapping it around the damage.

  “I don’t think it heals like flesh.”

  “Well whatever that is spilling out is obviously supposed to remain within, so stopping the flow should help, if nothing else.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “We need to throw that gem overboard,” Mina warned. “Do you know what it means to dig out a heartstone?”

  Athel put her hand on Mina’s shoulder. “It means we have a fighting chance.”

  Athel turned around. “Margaret, how fast can you make us go?”

  “Um…pretty fast?”

  “Good, do it.”

  Mandi leaned in towards Captain Evere. “Shouldn’t you be giving that order?”

  Evere pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aye, she’ll never learn.”

  As Margaret rolled up her sleeves, Athel grabbed her wrist cautiously. “Don’t tear the sails. We won’t have time to repair them.”

  “All right, I will try.”

  Margaret summoned a wind that filled the sails full, and the cobbled-together ship with a massive tree for a mast slipped north, leaving behind only boiling seas where once dragons had lived.

  * * *

  Queen Sotol tapped her clawed finger against the arm rest of her dark throne. Before her, the images of a dozen squabbling kings and magistrates barked at her in their shrill, incredulous tones.

  “…I need your assurance that this tower of yours does what you said it would,” Minister Naru of Taldives barked. “There are rumors everywhere that you plan to betray us, that your tower is actually...”

  “You need assurance?” The Queen hissed. “I don’t have to assure you of anything. You answer to me, not the other way around, you petulant little tronk. Now, be patient or I might just decide that your family needs to be replaced with someone more loyal.”

  “We don’t have time to be patient,” Head Monk Uriosa fretted. “The city of Bah Ming Tin has fallen into the sea. I don’t understand why you don’t just release the gods now?”

  “I would if I could, but I can’t.”

  “You can’t?”

  Queen Sotol sighed darkly. “The tower is only one part of the ceremony. I require the blood of the Wysterian heir to complete the ritual and free the gods. It won’t work without her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

  “Did I tell you what I ate for breakfast this morning? Or what kind of dress I wore? I shouldn’t have had to tell you every little detail. I gave you a specific quest, find the girl and bring her to me and the gods will be freed. What more did you need to know?”

  The disgruntled dignitaries looked among themselves, unwilling to voice f
urther opposition.

  “We have our ships searching everywhere,” Minister Naru assured. “They are scouring the globe.”

  “Don’t call me again until you have her.”

  The Queen waved her clawed hand and the images turned to vapor.

  “That lie won’t hold them for long,” Tigera cautioned from where he stood beside her throne.

  “It will hold them long enough. Did I ask for your opinion?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  Queen Sotol leaned over and snuggled up against him. It was all he could do to hide how much it made his skin crawl.

  “Fetch the oil. I wish you to give me a massage.”

  He gritted his teeth, forcing his voice to come out sweetly. “Yes, my Queen.”

  * * *

  Margaret sat down on the deck, breathing heavily as the ship settled into the windtunnel she had created, clouds swiftly zipping by around them as they slipped through the skies.

  “You’re getting better,” Mandi remarked as she came up to join her, a pair of dinner plates in her hands.

  “This is nothing, you should see what my cousin could do,” Margaret said, accepting the food. The aroma was incredible. It made her feel a little better just to sense it. It caressed her face, like warm hands. It was so nice to have Alder’s cooking again.

  “That’s because you’re comparing yourself to some of the most powerful Stormcallers in the world,” Mandi observed, enjoying a juicy morsel. “Sure, they might have more raw control, but I’ve watched the way you talk to the wind. You’re friendly towards it, respectful even. It’s a more pure form of your craft than I’ve ever seen before.”

  “I have to be respectful, I’m not strong enough to do it any other way,” she said sadly.

  “You should give yourself more credit. I think the way you do it feels more natural than almost any other magic you usurpers use.”

  Margaret poked at her food, lost in thought.

  “Is it really true, Mandi? Is the only reason I exist is to serve Nehirana as a weapon?”

  Mandi enjoyed a succulent mushroom. “Well, no.”

  Margaret brightened up, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Really?”

  Mandi gave her a playful wink. “Well, yeah, you were also designed to worship Nehirana. Your prayers sustain his presence in this world.”

  “That wasn’t funny.”

  “It wasn’t a joke.”

  Margaret looked out into the skies around them. “I feel like everything I’ve ever been taught is a lie. All my classes at the academy, all my church lectures. I just don’t know what to believe in anymore.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you much there. I’ve never really believed in anything.”

  “And how’s that worked out for you?”

  Mandi thought about it, then nodded. “Good point. I’ve been miserable all my life. Touché.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m actually kind of surprised that you were capable of it.”

  “Hey!”

  “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

  “But it’s not true, you do believe in something now, don’t you? I mean, you wouldn’t have defied Valpurgeiss otherwise.”

  Mandi set her plate down. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ve been a liar so long, it can be too easy to fall back into the habit at times.”

  “So, what do you believe in?”

  Mandi struggled. Opening up to others made her uncomfortable.

  “It’s okay, just tell me. I promise I won’t make fun,” Margaret urged.

  Mandi breathed in deeply.

  “Okay. I believe in us. All of us. Nehriana’s goal may have been to create a weapon, but that doesn’t mean it has to be your goal. I believe that we mortals can band together into families and friends. Those bonds, that connection; it’s real, and it means something. I believe in that connection. I believe in love.”

  “Wow, that’s really pretty Mandi, kind of poetic.”

  Mandi managed an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

  “I’m actually kind of surprised that you were capable of it.”

  “You promised not to make fun.”

  Margaret reached out and playfully slugged Mandi in the shoulder.

  The two of them sat there for a time, quietly listening to the song of the ship. The creaking of the wood, the rustle of Deutzia’s leaves, the faint whistle of the wind.

  “I still feel bad, though,” Margaret admitted.

  “I know. Me too.”

  The crew hatch flung open and Athel stepped up onto the deck, Odger following close behind.

  “Mandi, it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Hey, you said she could stay,” Margaret objected.

  “Relax, I have a mission for her.”

  “Oh.”

  “One that only she and Odger can do.”

  “Feels kind of weird taking orders from my former target,” Mandi snickered.

  “Feels kind of weird giving them, too,” Athel admitted. “We need to begin the next phase. I need you and Odger to make contact with the remaining StoneMasters on what’s left of Boeth.”

  “Us?”

  “You two used to work with them. They know you. They’re more likely to take a request from you than me.”

  “Well, you did wreck five of their home islands.”

  “And I’m offering them the chance to save the rest. Our doom is now their doom. They’ll have every reason to work with us if we ask them to. What do you need?”

  Mandi and Odger looked at each other.

  “I can rig up the stone core to maintain a steady altitude. It won’t do anything fancy, but it’ll fly without me.”

  “Just drop us off at a port with a crystal array,” Mandi suggested. “From there, I can steal a ship and head to Boeth on my own, if that doesn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

  “The world is ending. Theft kind of pales in comparison.”

  “Good, we’ll contact Jhoss. He’s always been someone who could keep a secret. I bet he can get us an audience with King Koriar.”

  Athel blinked. “Wait…Jhoss, that imaginary friend Odger’s always babbling on about? He’s a real person?”

  Odger scratched his neck. “Yeah, he was my regional supervisor in the navy. Why would you think he wasn’t real?”

  * * *

  Dev’in Overtin’s old, dry eyes looked over the skeletal remains of his wife, Mariss. In the background of his perception, angry voices squawked and bickered, but it was as transient as the wind to him. In his world, there was only one thought, only one tangible thing, and it burned like a star in the sky--the promise he had made to her all those long years ago.

  The promise to take vengeance on those who took her from him.

  “Just what are you trying to pull, here?” Marc pressed, his long colorful beak clacking angrily.

  Queen Sotol’s image in the mist balled her fist, bits of dry skin cracking and falling away. “Pull? I’m trying to save all of you.”

  “Don’t treat me like a fool. The plans that escapee broadcast are vastly different than the ones you showed us initially.”

  “I don’t treat you like a fool, I treat you like what you are. The sea levels have risen; since you Kabalists have lost control of the rubrik, I had to make adjustments to the tower to compensate.”

  Jennat folded her arms, her stringy, aged hair framing her cruel face. “You told us the tower would modify the Night of Rebirth spell so that it would not just restore Valpurgeiss, but kill the other gods in the process.”

  “And it will. Now, go make yourself useful and check on the workers constructing it.”

  The Kabalists stared her down spitefully.

  Ryberts leaned in close. “I don’t care how much Dev’in trusts you; you are n
ot one of us, Number Two.”

  Queen Sotol chuckled, a dribble of black tar falling from the corner of her mouth. “Then I suppose it is a good thing it is not up to you, isn’t it? Without me, Athel Forsythia would have destroyed your pathetic little organization back on Boeth. Only my foresight to create an escape to Arianis Kultur robbed her of her victory.”

  “At the cost of half a million lives.”

  “A drop in the bucket compared to what you’ve sacrificed in the past.”

  “These lives were different. They were loyal Stonemasters.”

  “And they proved that loyalty to the very end. They were useful to Valpurgeiss. Are you?”

  “Bah!”

  The three of them dispersed the mist.

  Aboard her airship, Queen Sotol looked on worriedly as the mist before her evaporated.

  Tigera stood behind her, watching closely, an idea forming in his mind.

  “They suspect you, my Queen.”

  Queen Sotol leaned back, a clear signal that she wished her shoulders to be rubbed. “Yes, sooner than I expected. That illegitimate broadcast threatens everything.”

  For a moment, Tigera entertained the idea of wrapping his fingers around her throat, but he reminded himself that this throat belonged to Spirea, and so instead his fingers landed on her shoulders and began to rub them obediently.

  Suddenly the Queen leaned forward in start, her hand over her chest, concern on her face.

  “What is that?” she gasped.

  For a brief moment of panic, Tigera worried she had sensed his thoughts.

  “I feel something drawing near,” she whispered. “Something I have not felt in a long time…”

  Outside the throne room, there were sounds of a scuffle. The guards within the room ran for the bracers to reinforce the door.

  “No, let her enter,” The Queen bade.

  Confused, the guards opened the door, revealing Dahlia Buckthorn amid a pile of dead men. In her hands, she held a potted plant with a sickly little Nallorn tree planted within. The tree glowed dimly in fear as Dahlia held a blunderbuss against her stem, threatening to shred her to pieces.

  “I thought that would get your attention,” Dahlia sniffed as she walked inside. “Sumac is your tree, after all.”

  “So, you would threaten another woman’s Ma’iltri’ia? Truly, the Buckthorn reputation for cruelty is well-deserved.”