Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  “Get off of me!” Dahlia spat. She kicked Alder, throwing back his head, but he would not let go. She kicked him again, hard enough that his body lifted up off the ground, but he would not let go.

  Enraged, Dahlia stomped on his ankle, shattering the bones. Alder winced in pain, cried out in agony, but would not release her.

  “Athel is my wife.”

  Dahlia kicked him again and again, bashing his body as hard as she could, but he would not release her. Finally she lifted up her mace, ready to crush his skull.

  Athel’s vision cleared enough to see what was happening. She reached out her hand. “No, please, Dahlia, don’t!”

  “What do you care?”

  “Please, whatever crimes you think me guilty of, he had nothing to do with them. Please, spare his life. I’ll give you mine, only please, let him live.”

  Her words made her pause. Dahlia turned to her, gawking in disbelief. “But…why?”

  Athel managed to crawl close enough to Alder to take his limp hand in hers. “Because he’s my husband.”

  Dahlia shook her head in disbelief. “Pathetic.”

  There was a stirring nearby, and Ash began to cry.

  A devilish smile crossed Dahlia’s lips. “You know, you may have a point. I think there is something I need to do first.”

  “What? NO!”

  Dahlia kicked Alder one final time, knocking him unconscious. She stepped over through the rubble and slag, and found a squirming bundle next to Mina’s unconscious form.

  “DAHLIA NO!”

  Athel tried to get up, but her wounds overwhelmed her, and she crumbled to the floor amid the debris.

  Dahlia pulled back the cloth, revealing Ash, frightened and kicking as he cried. “So, this is the abomination that started everything? The male with a tree that destroyed our forest.”

  “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

  Athel tried to crawl, her bruised and battered body refusing to comply.

  “Athel, I think before you die, you should watch your son die before your eyes.”

  “No Dahlia! Don’t do it! Don’t hurt my son!”

  “Don’t hurt him? You, who destroyed my culture, my traditions, my people, ask me for mercy? You defiled my forest, you foul pizzle! You killed everything I ever cared about, my Queen.”

  Dahlia spat on the ground, as if merely saying it was bitter to her.

  “…And so, I think it only fitting that you should watch me kill everything that you care about in return.”

  Athel reached out bloody fingers. “Nooooooooo!”

  Dahlia knelt down before the baby, and lifted her mace above her head, murder in her eyes.

  “This…is…Milia’s…justice!”

  Dahlia’s body jerked from behind, and she looked down in horror. The dragon-bone sword had pierced her, right through the heart. It had passed right though her field, her armor, and her body.

  Her frame trembling, Dahlia turned around and saw Privet propped up on one elbow, holding the blade in his hand, blood dripping off his knuckles. A long trail dragged out in the dirt behind him from where he had dragged himself along the floor.

  “Keep your hands off our son, you disgusting leaf-witch!” he screamed.

  Dahlia’s body seemed to explode from within. Her entire frame jerked about like a rag-doll. Her head threw itself back, and light erupted from her eyes and mouth, raw magic spouting upwards in a fountain that sprayed up to the ceiling, then vanished into vapor. Her black armor flaked and peeled away off of her, disintegrating into dust before it even hit the ground. Her magical mace fell from her grip, scattering as it fell, as if it had been made of sand.

  When her spasms subsided, the last of the light left her, and she gasped for breath, her entire body trembling with pain.

  “It…it’s gone…” she whispered in terror. “All of it. I feel nothing…I can’t hear the trees, the roots, the moss…it’s all…silent… What…what did you do to me?”

  Privet withdrew the blade. It slipped out of her body without leaving a wound, as if she were nothing more than a ghost. “I permanently destroyed the divinity within you. You will never be able to use any kind of magic ever again as long as you live.”

  Dahlia began trembling wildly. “No…”

  Privet leaned in close. “Now, you know exactly what it feels like to be born a man.”

  Dahlia grabbed the sides of her head and screamed.

  “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

  Privet wheeled back and punched her with the cross-guard, knocking her out. As she fell to the ground, he tossed the blade aside and scooted up alongside Ash. He coddled the crying baby and held him close.

  “It’s all right, little one, she’s gone now…”

  Athel crawled up too, and they held the baby close, crying in one another’s arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dwale was completely silent as Blair dragged him out of his cell by the scruff of his neck.

  “You know, I really appreciate how quiet you are being right now,” Blair mused as he threw open the first steel gate. “There was a time when I relished nothing quite so much as listening to someone plead for their life. It is an underappreciated color, few people really know how to savor it. How to use its nuance across the canvas.”

  Blair changed his hand into a black key and opened the second gate. “I’m sorry to say, though, that after centuries, anything can become wearisome, even something as sublime and delicious as a simpering plea for life.”

  Blair dragged Dwale down the stairs. “People don’t appreciate life most of the time. They complain about being bored, they fret over illness, relationships, reaching their potential, leaving a legacy, all this superfluous flummery that just gets in the way.”

  Blair paused, his needle-like eyes growing distant. “But in that last moment, they realize how precious it really is just to draw one more breath. To stave off death just a moment longer. That’s when they finally understand the value of simply being alive, and watching them discover that truth in that moment...oh, it is so delightful, I can’t describe it.”

  He looked down at Dwale as he hung in his grip. “Hmm, you know, now I kind of wish you were begging me a little not to kill you. I’ve gotten myself right in the mood for it, I’m afraid.”

  Without warning, Blair slammed Dwale against the stone wall. Dwale whimpered in pain.

  “That’s a good start. We’ll get more out of you in a minute.”

  Blair stepped out into the Madaringian courtyard. The tall form of the tower brooded darkly above, dominating the skyline. Across the plaza sat the black, swirling tunnel that lead back to Arianis Kultur. And yet, something was very different than it had been only a minute before. A dozen or so of the workers were standing before the portal, their arms folded.

  “What is this about?” Blair asked, looking about.

  “What are you doing with that man?” Akar asked calmly.

  Blair looked down at Dwale and shrugged. “I’m going to kill him, of course. He’s been sentenced to death.”

  “By what court?”

  Blair snickered. “By what court? Are you insane? He committed an act of terrorism against the League.”

  “When we left Wysteria, Queen Sotol guaranteed us that we would be granted the rights of citizenship. That includes him, and that includes the right to be tried for the crimes he is accused of.”

  “You’re all over the canvas, I can’t follow you. The whole world saw him!”

  A few more men came out and joined the others.

  “Yes, he left the dome,” Akar said firmly. “But if he is a free man and not a prisoner, then he should have been allowed to leave at any time, am I right? And yes, he made an alarming message, but what law exists against that?”

  Blair threw his head back. “Look, I don’t have time to…” />
  “Yes, you do. In here, we have all the time in the world. You’ve trapped us in here to complete your tower, and if you want to see it done, Queen Sotol will fulfill her end of the bargain and treat this young man as a citizen and not a slave. He must be put on trial.”

  More people stepped out. One of them was Ellie, confidently taking her place alongside Akar.

  Blair groaned. “Oh, YOU are behind this, aren’t you? And this day was going so well…”

  Ellie waved condescendingly. “Give my regards to Queen Sotol.”

  “She’s already ordered his death! I can’t just go back empty-handed.”

  “Look, if you take him away, then by the time you’ve returned we’ll have dismantled this tower brick-by brick. A few minutes to you is a week to us. Which do you think would upset her more, coming back without the boy, or coming back to find the tower in ruins?”

  Blair laughed. “Oh, I am so frustrated with you right now. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is, after all these centuries, to feel so angry. Well done, young one, well done.”

  Blair threw Dwale down at their feet and walked past. “When I return, don’t be surprised if it’s your head I’m after.”

  He stepped through the portal, and it vanished into shadow.

  “Well done, Ellie,” Akar praised.

  “Thanks. That should buy us some time.”

  Ellie knelt down and helped Dwale sit up. “Now, as much as it pains me, we really do need to get back to work. If he comes back and we’ve missed our daily quota, we really will be executed.”

  Akar glanced up at the tower. “I shudder to think what they will do once it’s finished.”

  Many of the men took a moment to pat Dwale on the back and greet him. Dwale turned to the south, where he could hear the edge of the prismatic barrier humming darkly.

  “Hurry back Setsuna, there isn’t much time left.”

  * * *

  Despair clung to the Dreadnaught like a fog as it dragged itself through the thick night sky. This close to Nayzer, they dared but a little light in the moonless heavens for fear of being spotted. The flickering of the scattered lanterns revealed the misery that existed among the poor crew. Injured and beaten sailors, bandaged and splinted, lay about the deck, for there were not enough bunks to hold them all, and hammocks antagonized their wounds. Dr. Griffin moved from person to person, invoking as many spells as he could. His stores of medicines long since depleted, he could do little now but spare them a few moments of pain. It returned almost as quickly as he moved on, but even those seconds were a welcome relief.

  They didn’t complain, out of courage or exhaustion, but their labored breathing folded together into a kind of ever-present moan, a base note, just at the edge of hearing. The sound, combined with the darkness and the tattered sails, gave the ship an eerie feeling, like a ghost vessel. Some, hanging in that delirium that can exist in high-fever, cried aloud, wondering if they were being ferried into their next life.

  Captain Evere hobbled up as best he could, his leg in a cast as he leaned heavily against the crutch he had cobbled together. “How bad are we, Doctor?”

  Dr. Griffin wiped his face, exhaustion in his eyes. He had not yet even had the time to treat his own many wounds. Athel sat before him, as he bandaged over her blinded eye.

  “Many of these injuries are strange to me,” Dr. Griffin explained. “The blows from the mace, they’re barely healing at all. I’ve managed to stabilize most of the crew but…”

  “…But they’ll be unable to fight when we reach Arianis Kultur,” Athel surmised sadly.

  Dr. Griffin nodded, then reached into his pants, and pulled out a little pouch. “For the lacerations on your hands, Captain, normally I’d apply a simple ointment. But, since I’m out of that, they will probably heal faster with this experimental ooze.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just wait for more ointment.”

  Dr. Griffin pouted. “Awww, I wanted you to try the ooze.”

  Mina stepped up, her arm in a sling, her wrist encased in a glowing mist. “What are we going to do? We have the sword, but no one to wield it.”

  Captain Evere nodded. “It’s bound to Privet now, and he’s crippled.”

  Privet turned around from where he sat propped up against Deutzia’s trunk. When Evere realized he had overheard, he deeply regretted saying it, but it was too late.

  Athel walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Privet. You saved all our lives.”

  Privet tried to smile, but couldn’t bring himself to.

  Talliun took a deep breath where she lay, gripping the bandaged stump where her arm used to be. “And the rest of us are too injured to back him up.”

  Mina balled her good fist. “This is all Dahlia’s fault, that foul witch. If she hadn’t shown up when she did...”

  “Of course it’s her fault, but none of that matters now,” Privet countered. “What matters is that even if we get to Arianis Kultur, we’ll never be able to fight our way past Queen Sotol and the Kabal.”

  Rachael sat up, her entire leg in a makeshift cast. “So, what are we going to do, Athel?”

  “Yes, what are we going to do?” Andolf pressed.

  Athel’s good eye opened wide in panic.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachael withdrew. “We’re doing it again, we’re forcing it all on you.”

  “No, it’s okay. We…we continue with the plan, for now,” Athel stammered. “We rendezvous with Mandi tomorrow. I’ll…I’ll think of something before then.”

  “Can you, lass?”

  Athel looked like her heart might break. “I’ll have to.”

  Her lip trembling, she turned to the command platform. “How are you doing, Margaret?”

  Margaret squinted back, barely able to see without her glasses. “I’m all right, I’m…no, I’m not all right, I need a rest. Badly.”

  “Okay, we’ll stop here till morning. I think we’ve put enough sky between us and Ferrus.”

  Margaret released the winds with a thankful sigh, curling up on the platform in exhaustion.

  Alder watched as Athel moved around the deck, reassuring everyone as best she could. She put on such a strong face, many of them took heart. But Alder knew her better than that. He could see the despair behind her courage.

  She bumped into a crate, stumbling over it and nearly falling to the deck. Her depth perception lost, it took her awhile to grope her way over to the bowsprit to find some time alone.

  As Alder slowly approached her in the dark, he could hear her quietly sobbing to herself. When she noticed him approaching, she wiped the tears from her remaining eye and stiffened up.

  There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her. His training and experience offered up numerous avenues. Inspirational lines from Wysterian literature favored poems from her lineage.

  He chose not to use any of them.

  Instead, he sat down next to her. For a long while she said nothing, only stared at his deep black bruises, and the cast around his ankle.

  “You didn’t let go of her,” Athel whispered. “No matter how hard she hit you, you hung on. It reminded me of when Mandi captured us back on Thesda. No matter how much she hurt you, you wouldn’t move aside then either. I…I want to thank you for that, Alder. I’m honored, really very honored to have been loved that deeply, by someone as wonderful as you.”

  Athel reached up and touched lightly the bandages covering her blinded eye. It was so surreal, the shock still hadn’t worn off yet. Her hand was right before her face, but she could not see it.

  “Alder, I’m so sorry for the way I reacted when my mother gave you to me. When we first met, I rejected you offhand. I know it hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry. I didn’t see how special you were.”

  She tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway. “Thank you for loving me, Aldi.
I don’t deserve it, but…I want you to know that you made my life feel complete.”

  Alder leaned over and nuzzled into her side. “We can’t win now, can we?”

  Athel balled her fists. “No, we can’t. I’m sorry Alder. I tried, I really did. I wanted to make your dream come true. I…”

  Alder wrapped his frail little arms around her and held her tight. “Athi, you always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let me help you.”

  She breathed in deeply, soaking in his affection. It felt like pure sunshine to her. “Thank you Aldi. But, there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  “Yes, there is. Something only I can do.”

  She looked down at him, uncertain. “What’s that?”

  “I can make you a nice supper.”

  Athel chuckled in exhaustion. “I’d like that.”

  Half an hour later, the battered and beaten crew each enjoyed a nice warm bowl of potato and bacon soup. They ate it somberly, as their last meal. Bunni Bubbles helped those too injured to serve themselves, skipping around with a bowl atop her head, dishing out a few nourishing spoonfuls, and giving a cute curtsey when they thanked her for it.

  Athel took a bite and let the warm liquid slide down her throat. It felt good to do so. It was such a simple pleasure, she regretted all the times in her life she had simply stuffed meals down her gullet, without really taking the time to savor the experience. Now, at the end, she wished she had slowed down during the journey.

  Athel glanced over. Privet had already nodded off, his empty bowl in his hand, snoring adorably.

  Captain Evere and Mina were asleep too, leaning against one another, Ash coddled in between them.

  Ryin and Dr. Griffin were also asleep, their faces planted down in their empty bowls, the clay shape of the dishes amplifying their steady breaths.

  Athel yawned deeply. She could barely keep her eye open herself. The whole world began to feel heavy and still. Even the hard surface of the table looked positively soft and inviting to her.

  Alder came up to her, moving as best he could with his crutch.