Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains

by Aaron Lee Yeager

Veritus tried to interject himself. “I know you’re heartbroken, but you can’t just…”

  Milia gently took his hand and stopped him. “It’s all right, husband.”

  A single golden tear ran down the goddess’ cheek. Her floating hair settled down around her shoulders.

  “Lady Forsythia is right. I knew things were changing between my sons and daughters, but I didn’t do anything about it. I allowed the imbalance to grow larger and larger until our forest was unrecognizable from what it was supposed to be. I just…looked the other way as my sons suffered. She’s right; I don’t deserve to be called their mother anymore.”

  Milia looked up, pain in her eyes. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, but before I leave… I just want you to understand. I tried, really I did. But Veritus was more than a husband to me. Our souls were conjoined. When they took him from me the core of my very essence was torn away. I was slowly dying over a thousand years, unable to heal, unable to rest. I felt it all the time; every hour was torture. It’s not something that is easy to understand.”

  “You think I don’t understand?” Athel hissed. “You think I don’t know what that feels like?”

  Athel slammed her fist against a brazier, knocking it over.

  “YOU THINK I DON’T LIVE EVERY MOMENT IN THAT VERY TORTURE?!”

  Milia looked down. “No, you’re right, that was ill-considered of me. I apologize. It’s just that every time I looked at my sons, all I could see was his face. The face of the husband I lost. It was too hard. It hurt too much. All I could do was look away. I was so sad I thought I would die.”

  Athel shook her head. “No.”

  Veritus looked at her incredulously. “No?”

  Athel shook her head harder. “No, no don’t you do this--don’t you do this to me!”

  “Do what? I just wanted…”

  Athel covered her ears. “No, I won’t hear it! Don’t you dare do this! You don’t get to be a person, you don’t get to have feelings now. You don’t get to be a grieving wife.”

  “But...what else can I be?”

  Athel’s hands dropped away, her tears flowing. “I want you to be a villain! I want you to be someone who did evil things because that was your nature. I...I just want you to be someone I can hate. Something to be challenged and destroyed. Don’t be...please don’t be someone who regrets what she did. Please don’t be someone with a broken heart.”

  Athel collapsed onto her haunches and held Ash close to her.

  Milia looked upon her softly. “You really do understand what it feels like, don’t you?”

  Athel couldn’t respond. The tears were flowing too heavily. It was all she could do to breathe. Breathe, and hold her child. As her tears moistened the soil beneath her, Athel managed to nod. “After Alder passed away, I could hear my son crying out for me, but I couldn’t be there for him. I just…let him cry. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t make myself move. It just…hurt too much.”

  Milia nodded grimly and sat alongside her. It was such a strange thing to see, especially for the priestesses. They didn’t seem like a goddess and a mortal. They just looked like two young wives with broken hearts.

  “It seems so unfair, that one as young as you has borne so much pain,” Milia said.

  “Why did you create us?” Athel asked through her tears. “What was the reason?”

  Milia and Veritus looked at each other, wondering how to respond.

  “Each god had their own reason to come to this world and create a people,” Veritus explained.

  “What was yours?” Privet asked.

  Veritus smiled and let Milia answer.

  “My husband and I wanted to be parents.”

  Orlaya and the other priestesses rejoiced at this answer.

  Veritus stood before Athel and placed his hand over his glowing chest. “Try to understand, this is my fault, not hers. When Quetah and the others called me out to speak, I should have suspected a trap. If I had never been imprisoned, none of this would have happened.”

  Athel wiped her face. “All right, she can stay.”

  “This is wonderful!” Orlaya gushed. “We must tell everyone the Great Mother has revived. We must…”

  “Stop!”

  Everyone turned to Athel.

  “I said she can stay, but that doesn’t make her our goddess.”

  She turned her cold gaze to Milia, who withered before it. “If you want our worship, then you’ll have to earn it. I’m going to go up there and restore balance to our island, so that no man will ever have to suffer again like Alder did. If you will help me, you can stand by my side. Otherwise, you can stay out of my way.”

  Athel looked at the priestesses of the church, who backed away before her steely gaze.

  But Orlaya stepped forward. “And the church will help you.”

  This surprised Athel. “That was not the answer I expected.”

  She searched in Orlaya’s eyes. “You are very different from your mother.”

  Orlaya looked away. “The least I can do to begin to restore my family’s tarnished honor.”

  The forest above was teeming with excitement. Men and women gathered together, milling about as they awaited to see what everyone in the forest had already sensed. The goddess had awoken.

  They gathered together at the cave entrance by the thousands, barely breathing a word to one another, their eyes fixed. Even the trees leaned in expectantly from all sides.

  It was Athel who emerged first, to the surprise of everyone.

  “Athel, you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Privet cautioned as he propped her up.

  “No, I promised Alder,” she insisted, her emaciated limbs trembling. “I promised.”

  She gave Ash a kiss, and looked out over the forest. Beyond the crowd she could see carts of harvested potatoes, bushels of picked fruit, mounds of pumpkins. The men had built rows of bread ovens like the ones they had used on Madaringa. The smell of baking loaves filled the air.

  The world had kept spinning without Alder, and that offended her. It felt like a disgrace to his memory. A disrespect for what he had sacrificed. She tried to reason the feeling away. She tried to remind herself that people needed to eat, needed to live, and the daily bustle and grind must continue, but try as she might, she could not think the feeling away. Her world had stopped the moment Alder died; she was stuck in that second, that heartbeat, and the world had moved on without her, without him, and it hurt.

  She felt another flutter inside of her swelling belly, and she realized for the first time that time would continue to move forward. One day, her child would be born, and would never know its father, would never be held in Alder’s sweet little arms, would never gaze into his beautiful eyes. Alder would be a stranger, a portrait on the wall, a name overheard but never connected to a real memory. In that moment, the world felt colder than it ever had before, and it was all she could do to simply stay on her feet.

  The crowd was elated to see her.

  “The Queen! The Queen is back,” Calla Forsythia shouted out in joy. Many in the crowd took up the call.

  Privet stepped up alongside her and took her hand. His strength steadied her heart, and with a little squeeze, he spoke volumes to her without words.

  She took a step forward, her ruined leg forcing her to hobble. The shouts of joy began to die down as they noticed her horribly scarred face, her thin and starved body, the baldness on one side where her hair had been burned away, her blind left eye.

  Athel straightened herself as best she could, but her ruined shoulder forced her to stoop. She tried to put on her mask of noble serenity, like she used to, but it didn’t fit anymore.

  “Women and Men of Wysteria, my sisters and brothers, my cousins and kin. I am not Queen Athel Forsythia. She is dead.”

  The crowd was surprised at this declaration.

  Athel tu
gged on her collar, revealing the horrible jagged scar that ran across her heart. “Queen Forsythia was assassinated on the branches of her own family tree, by the hands of her own people. She is gone forever.”

  The women of the crowd looked away in shame and grief.

  Athel looked out at them harshly. “But you are no longer the people who killed her, either. Are you? We have all changed we have all seen and experienced things that have forever altered the color of our leaves. We are different now, root, trunk, and branch. For a long time, we feared change. We feared losing the forest as it was. There is no reason to fear any longer. The old forest has already passed. We can no more return to the way were than the sun can be coaxed to track backwards in the heavens. The old is gone and it will never return. It…must…never return, for mingled with its beauty and majesty was much injustice and cruelty. And so we find ourselves on the cusp of a new season, a new era. I have come to build a new forest, a restored forest, a forest fashioned in the light of the way it existed in ancient times, the way it was always meant to be, with women, men, and trees standing side by side as equals. Those of you who wish to stay and be a part of it may join me. Those of you who do not, will leave now and never return.”

  Milia and Veritus floated up out of the cave and landed beside her. Orlaya and the priestesses of the church filed up and stood beside her as well.

  Presented with such a unified front, the crowd was beyond astonished. They stood frozen, unsure of what to do. A few had enough presence of mind to look about, but no one dared commit themselves.

  A man stepped forward from the crowd. It was Akar.

  All eyes were on him as he took a knee before them. “Queen Forsythia was the only ruler in living memory who stood up for the men of the forest. In honor of her…”

  Akar looked up, gratitude on his weathered face. “In honor of you, I will help you build this new forest.”

  “As will I.”

  Iris Bursage stepped forward and bowed as well. Akar could not hide how moved he was to see it.

  “The women of the Aster family are with you,” Currant called out, bowing deeply.

  “As are the Teaks,” Rockrose shouted.

  One by one, the women and men of Wysteria prostrated themselves before Athel. The trees themselves joined in enthusiastically, the entire forest bowing towards her in all directions. By the end, there was scarcely a dry eye in the crowd. But Athel found no comfort in it. All she could think about was that Alder was not there to see it.

  Milia and Veritus knelt as well. In the end, only a handful of women refused. All watched as they walked away towards the ships on the shore, never to be seen again.

  Athel’s lip quivered. This is the only thing I can do for you now, Alder. This is my final gift. I will make your dream come true. But, even as I see it, it feels empty to me, because you are not a part of it.

  There was a rustle in the crowd, and Talliun came to the forefront, still looking pale from the effects of the poison. “I’m sorry, my Queen, but this man just arrived on our shores. He insisted on speaking with you immediately.”

  She led him forward, he was exhausted and half-starved from weeks of travel by bird and by Eriia.

  “Tigera.”

  Tigera stepped forward, breathing heavily.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Athel…Queen Sotol, she escaped to Madaringa. She means to complete the Night of Rebirth.”

  Athel’s eyes went wide.

  Privet held out his hand. “The seas have been healed, it won’t work now.”

  “I know, but she’s going to try it anyway. The tower is part of the spell now. It will kill the gods, and all the people of Aetria with them, making her the new god of this world.”

  The crowd gasped in fright at this new menace.

  Athel collapsed to her knees.

  “No! It can’t be. Even after everything we did--everything we sacrificed--she’s still going to win! Even Alder…after he gave up everything.”

  Athel’s thin façade of control and composure broke away, and in front of everyone, she began weeping openly. A lifetime of harsh training told her not to do it, insisted that she hide her feelings, but she didn’t have the strength anymore. Nor did she have the strength to care.

  Athel covered her face in shame as she wept.

  The men and women of Wysteria looked on, but their reaction was unexpected. They too, had changed. No scoffs of disgust at a display of weakness could be heard, no superior sniffs at the break in decorum passed their faces, nor glances of disappointment at the failure of self-control crossed their eyes. Instead, they looked upon this poor broken soul, this young woman who had lost so much, been hurt so very deeply, and looked on her with sympathy.

  Iris took her hand, and placed it against an exposed root. Her hand began to glow, resonating with the root. Akar held up his own hand, surprised to see it glowing as well. He wasn’t sure quite what to do, but the closer he drew, the more right it felt. He placed his hand on Iris’s shoulder, and his powers resonated with hers. While Athel sobbed, the men and women of Wysteria began linking themselves together, forming a glowing root system not of wood, but of heart and mind. The energy flowed through their bodies and through the roots beneath the soil, pooling beneath Athel in a warm, amber pond. Even Milia and Veritus joined in, as well as the priestesses of the church.

  When the magic reached her, Athel was shocked. She resisted. They hadn’t been trained for this. It was her duty, not theirs.

  “It’s all right,” came a voice. It was not the voice of any one person, it was voice of the forest itself.

  “You were always there for us in our times of pain. Let us be here for you now.”

  Privet knelt before Athel, and looked on her kindly. He had never been trained, but in his heart he knew what to do. He placed one hand into the golden pool, and the other against her heart.

  Athel’s head was thrown back as the forest flowed into her through him.

  The men were inexperienced, clumsy even, their feelings knocking around inside of her, but their sincerity carried them through. The women showed them what to do, and they were quick to learn.

  Long had Athel become accustomed to taking pain and sorrow into herself through the link, but now it flowed in reverse. They supported her, carried her, each one taking on a portion of her burden. She could feel their compassion filing her up. It was like a thousand thousand hearts wrapping themselves around her own shattered heart and embracing it. The trees shuddered at her sorrow, but did not withdraw from it.

  The men and woman of Wysteria struggled. Even the small portion of her grief they each accepted nearly overwhelmed them. They lived out her loss as if it had been their own. They felt Alder die and slip away, as if they themselves had done it. They lay in agony for weeks, as if they were her. They saw through her eyes and felt through her body everything she had experienced since she left Wysteria.

  It made Athel afraid. She had done so many things she was not proud of. There was so much shame, so much guilt. But she didn’t have the strength to keep them out, and as they seeped into every corner of her mind and soul, she closed her eyes and just let it happen. She wanted them to know, and a great relief washed over her as they became acquainted with every untidy part of her spirit.

  There was nothing more to hide, no fear at discovery. All her sins were laid bare to the whole forest. She would never have to lie about who she was or what she had done. She accepted the punishment that would come.

  It was like a great weight was taken off her heart.

  Many of them struggled greatly with what they found, but rather than withdrawing from her, they stayed inside, trying to understand rather than condemn. Though it only took a few moments to the outside world, inside the link there was long discussion and careful consideration.

  Athel did nothing to defend or excuse herself. S
he lay there, her soul completely exposed, accepting her condemnation.

  There was a spark of warmth in the core of her chest. A growing peace admidst the pain. It was so unexpected it shocked her. She couldn’t believe it, she even wrestled against it.

  The forest was forgiving her.

  One by one, the minds and hearts of the people and trees who made up the forest flowed back out of her body. They each took with them a broken piece of her, and left a piece of themselves behind. Athel could only look on as they did so. She felt so underserving of such mercy, so underserving of such grace.

  When the glowing pool vanished, Athel was alone in her body again.

  But the pain remained. The deep pit left by Alder’s death sat in her core like a void, and she realized that nothing, not even the love and support of the entire forest, could ever fill it up again. This was damage to her heartwood. It would be a pit in her soul, for the rest of her life. Nothing, not even magic, could ever heal this wound.

  She clutched her chest. The stitches in her heart were hurting again, her scar burning. She could still remember all the terrible things she had done. All her sins, all her failures. The forest may have forgiven her, but she had still not forgiven herself, and she doubted she ever could.

  But there was a change, and it was important too.

  She no longer felt alone in her grief.

  Athel closed her eyes, sifting through all the voices inside of her to find her own, reestablishing her sense of self as she had been trained to. When she opened her eyes again, she found Privet looking back tenderly.

  “We have to stop her,” Privet declared.

  Athel struggled. “I don’t think I can. I’m so very tired…”

  Privet took her hand in his, and to her amazement, he formed a little mini-link between them. His heart flowed into her, and she gasped in astonishment. She could feel his love; she could actually feel his love for her as if she were him. It felt radiant, beautiful, like the most wonderful color possible that had no name, indescribable, completely eclipsing the beauty of all natural colors, making them seem mundane and lifeless by comparison.

  Through the trees, she had shared thoughts and emotions many times, but this was more intense by several orders of magnitude. His love was different than a woman’s. It was uncomplicated, focused, strong almost to the point of being intimidating, but tender as flower petals, and possessing a current of deep, abiding loyalty.