by Aaron Yeager
Isle of Wysteria:
Make Like a Tree and Leaf
By Aaron Lee Yeager
Dedicated to Stephen
This book has DVD extras. When you are done reading be sure to go to www.IsleOfWysteria.comfor Bonus chapters, Bloopers and Outtakes, Cast and Crew Commentary, and leave a question for your favorite character to answer.
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Acknowledgments
My wonderful wife Ruth, my eternal companion, without her this book would never have been written; when the shells start falling there is no one better to have in the foxhole with you than her. Diana, who cheered me on when I didn't believe in myself. Cari, who taught me the difference between then and than. Ben, for his awesome beard. He's not all that great, but his beard really is. Seriously, go check it out. My parents, for their example. Bill, for his friendship. Rob, for mowing my lawn when I couldn't. Phil, for helping me with the website even though he was so busy with other things. Victor, for the chance to learn how to tell stories. Shane, for making me laugh, at him...WITH him, I meant with him...yeah. Michael, for the reading and editing. My daughter Shannon, watching her mom read my book to her at night is one of the cutest things I have ever seen in my life. Also, watching her do a book report on my novel is just awesome. And to Michael A. Stackpole, who will never read this, but if he did, wow, wouldn't he be surprised to see his name here.
Since I've got the room, here's a list of people I'd love to hang out with someday:
Bob Ross, Shaggy, Jackie Chan, Gambit, Wil Wheaton, Alf, Fred Rogers, Tobuscous, Jhonathan Frakes, Isamu Dyson, Gary Coleman, Doc Brown, John Stamos, Sokka, Jackie Chan, Bill and Ted, Harrison Ford.
(So, if you saw your name on that list, give me a call and we'll make it happen.)
Table of Contents
Chapter One: The Showdown
Chapter Two: The Forest Capital of Wysteria
Chapter Three: The Limitless Blue
Chapter Four: The Crew of the Dreadnaught
Chapter Five: The Burden of Dreams
Chapter Six: The Prison of the Bitter Seas
Chapter Seven: Cages of wood
Chapter Eight: The Umor Pirate Guild
Chapter Nine: Reciprocity
Chapter Ten: Tangled Webs
Chapter Eleven: Harsh Realities
Chapter Twelve: The Acid Seas
Chapter Thirteen: The Sacred Tree of Milia
Chapter Fourteen: The Reverence of Rebirth
Chapter Fifteen: The Dangers of Contact
Chapter Sixteen: Red Tape
Chapter Seventeen: Curiosity
Chapter Eighteen: Bric-a-Brac
Chapter Nineteen: The Empty House
Chapter Twenty: Sanitorium
Chapter Twenty One: Puzzles in the Dark
Chapter Twenty Two: Solitude
Chapter Twenty Three: Forbidden Caverns
Chapter Twenty Four: Most Precious Cargo
Chapter Twenty Five: Adjudications
Chapter Twenty Six: Comings and Goings
Chapter Twenty Seven: Escape from Thesda
Chapter Twenty Eight: Fair Value
Chapter Twenty Nine: Crosswinds
Chapter Thirty: Candor Over Ale
Chapter Thirty One: Steel Weather
Chapter Thirty Two: Pheromone
Chapter Thirty Three: The Duel
Chapter Thirty Four: The Eye of the Storm
Chapter Thirty Five: Inertia
Chapter Thirty Six: Consumed
Chapter Thirty Seven: Flotsam and Jetsam
Chapter Thirty Eight: Strength and Weakness
Chapter Thirty Nine: Creation
Epilogue: That Which Is Lost
Chapter One
The Showdown
“I’ve waited years for this,” Athel said steadily in her low sultry tone, “today I will avenge the death of my grandmother.” Her opponent furrowed his brow as he considered her words.
“Your grandmother is still alive,” he corrected.
“I will take back my mother’s throne from you,” she said as she moved forward, her hands gripping skillfully onto her silver dueling blade.
“Didn’t you already abdicate the throne?”
“The blood of many innocents will be avenged this day.”
The man lowered his sword in frustration, the tip piercing the wooden surface of the floor.
“Come on, Athel, it’s getting hot, can we just get this over with?”
“You can’t rush this, Privet,” she retorted as she spun her saber dramatically, “it’s a sacred thing. It’s important to get the mood just right.”
“What mood? We do this every week.”
Athel slid her foot forward, exuding a confidence beyond her years. Despite the weight of the chain mail hidden within the layers of her dress and sleeves, her movements were light and graceful as she approached striking distance.
Her opponent was a stallion of a man. His body etched with the sharp corners of experience and strength born in the fires of war. He held his dueling saber loosely at his side, as if she presented so little threat to him that a fully-guarded stance wasn’t even necessary.
Athel took another step forward and shifted her weight to her lead foot. She would have to move quickly to pass through his longer reach before he moved to defend himself. She slashed her saber at his head, trying to aim as high as possible, but struck only the side of his blade as he effortlessly blocked her.
Without pausing he flicked her blade upward and stepped inside her defenses where he kicked her lead foot out from under her, sending her rump to the ground with a thud.
“Athel, there’s no reason for us to keep doing this if you don’t practice during the week. You never put yourself off balance, not even for a quick attack like that.”
Athel brushed her long auburn hair away from her face and scowled at him. She couldn’t stand being in such an undignified position. “I’d like to see you practice anything as you smile at withering delegates while wearing a full ball gown,” she complained as she stood up again.
Privet looked up at the lush branches that made up the ceiling of the walnut-shaped room they were in and plucked a piece of fruit that was growing there.
“They must give you some free time,” he commented as he took a bite of the fruit.
“Yeah, a full fifteen minutes a day to meditate on my duty to the people of Wysteria. Why do you think I’m getting out of here in the first place?”
As he calmly chewed on his fruit, Athel slowly circled him, moving toward his undefended side. Without missing a step she stepped out of her sandals, allowing her bare feet to touch the living wood beneath them.
“Stop trying to sense me through the tree,” he warned. “Look at the position of my shoulders, look at the angle of my hips. Anticipate my movements by what you see, not what you feel.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t notice,” Athel pouted as she slipped back into her sandals.
“Don’t know if you heard or not,” he said, slurping down the last of his fruit, “we finally raided the Sotol nest this morning. Caught the head of the family herself while she was inspecting the spice shipment. We threw the whole lot of them in the dungeon. Only the youngest daughter gave us the slip.”
“I’m sure I’ll be given a fascinating three-hour update on the disbanding of the Sotol Guild for spice running later today,” Athel complained as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail to get it out of her face, revealing her elegantly pointed ears. “Stop trying to change the subject and teach me what I pay you for.”
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate the money,” he said as he slashed at the back of her head, “but why didn’t you just get the captain of the guard instead of lowly old me?”
“Because,” Athel answered, ducking below his attack and countering with a stab at his belly, “the captain didn’t spend most of her life in the Federal Navy.” Privet jinked to one side, allowing her blade to pass alongside him.
“So you want me to teach you how to beat the entrance exams?” he mused, slashing down at her body.
“I’ve had plenty of tutors,” she snapped as she leapt backward, his blade passing mere inches from her face, “I need you to teach me to fight like a man does, out there in the real world.” Athel prepared herself for the next attack, but it didn’t come. She looked up and saw Privet laughing to himself.
“What’s so funny, Mr. Tamarack?”
“I’ll let you find out for yourself. Let’s just say there’s nothing I can teach you that will help you pass the entrance exams.”
Athel felt her anger rising within her. The women of the Forsythia family didn’t stand for being mocked, and she was no exception. “So you’ve just been wasting my time and money all these months? You know how important today is for me. I’ve been anxious to get off this island ever since I was born on it.” She threw her dueling saber to the ground. “Surely you can understand what that feels like. In the Navy you must have visited most of the other islands, where men are allowed to own property and hold position. You know what it’s like to come back here after seeing all that.”
Privet grew quiet and his eyes narrowed.
He’s no different than the others after all, Athel thought. Men are so easy to manipulate. She outstretched her hand and the table of living wood in the corner of the room tipped itself sharply, flinging her flintlock pistol and wooden staff into her grip.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she goaded, spinning her staff around dramatically and knocking over a stack of foreign adventure novels. “It bothers you that you can never use a pistol or be captain of the guard, no matter how good you are.” Privet’s mouth became expressionless, but his eyes became cold as he met her gaze without flinching.
“By taking up your weapons, I expect you wish your training to be raised up a notch,” he said steadily.
Athel couldn’t understand why upsetting him was so enjoyable to her, but she was far too stubborn to back down now. “No man can ever wield a pistol or sit on a throne in Wysteria, because the trees don’t listen to men.”
Privet’s face twisted into a scowl and he let off a battle cry that was like the roar of a lion as he charged at her.
Oh no, I pushed him too far. Athel tapped her staff on the floor and fresh boughs grew up and wrapped around his feet attempting to trip him, but he flipped forward and slashed them with his sword, breaking free without halting his stride. She tapped again and the branches above them came down on top of Privet like enormous hands in an attempt to smother him, but he struck upward, cutting through the branches and passed unhindered through the holes he made in the canopy. Athel looked up only to see his silhouette against the afternoon sun, as he came down at her like a beast.
Realizing the danger she was in Athel leveled her pistol at his descending form, only to have it struck from her hand by a thrown dagger. He landed in front of her and stabbed out twice before she could even react, the blade sliding along the chain mail on each side of her waist.
If I wasn’t wearing armor, he would have just gutted me, she realized as she tried to leap backward, but as she did so, her chain mailed skirt slid off her hips down around her knees, the belts on both sides having been cut by his stabs. With her knees tripped up by her falling skirt, Athel fell backward onto the floor, her staff falling out of her grip as Privet leapt on top of her.
She struggled to move, but was pinned firmly in place as he straddled over her. With one hand he held both her wrists above her head and with the other hand he held his dueling saber, the tip hovering inches away from her throat. She could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. His eyes were wild, and for several agonizingly long moments she wondered if he really might kill her. Slowly, however, his breathing steadied, but his grip on her wrists did not slacken. His eyes grew tame again, and he seemed to reassume the form of the palace guard she knew.
Despite the fact that she knew she was no longer in any real danger, her heart kept on beating just as hard. His strength was completely overwhelming to her. With him right on top of her, she could see the perspiration glisten off of his face and body and smell the strong scent of it. She could feel the heat of her cheeks blushing.
“Coming back here was the hardest decision I ever made,” he admitted, “Be grateful, princess, that you were born free.”
Athel could see the pain in his green eyes as she looked up at him.
That’s it. The thought jolted her mind like a bolt of lightning. She had often wondered herself why she had chosen him to be her combat tutor, but now it was so obvious to her. He was the only man she had ever known who had never lowered his eyes in her presence.
“You still rely on your magic too much,” Privet counseled as he picked himself up off of her. “But you have come a long way in a short time. If you ever get caught in a fight in desert or sky, you should be able to hold your own.” He walked over to the table, which was actually a stump that grew up directly from the floor, and snatched up the small bag of coins that was his payment.
Athel sat up and put one hand to her cheek to verify that it was beet red from the blood there.
“Single men aren’t supposed to have an income, so I’d better hide this before someone sees it,” Privet said as he walked toward the entryway.
What’s wrong with me?Athel thought as she gasped for breath. My heart hurts it’s beating so hard.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he mentioned.
“What now?”
“Athel, you are way too old to be wearing little-kids underwear like that.”
It was then that she realized that her skirt was still around her knees. She let out a scream of indignity and the entire room reacted, the tree branches smashing and lashing out at Privet, scattering stacks of adventure novels as he scurried out of the room.
Chapter Two
The Forest Capital of Wysteria
Newall Norsoto stared blankly at the sleeve of his Federal Navy dress uniform as he plucked lint off of it. He decided that, if he were ever made an admiral, he would station only his worst enemies on Wysteria. Doing so to anyone but a worst enemy would just be too cruel.
“Do I even have any ‘worst enemies’?” he asked himself as he leaned back against the smooth trunk of wood that comprised his chair. From his position he had a great view of the central district of Cliffrose city, the capital of the kingdom or ‘queendom’ as he sometimes liked to call it.
The late afternoon sun was falling behind the tops of the enormous Nallorn trees in which the people lived, highlighting the first painted traces of autumn among the lush green leaves. Towering above all the other trees was a single massive tree, the royal tree of the Forsythia family, whose canopy reached out over those around it as if to protect them with its branches.
“I definitely need to get myself some ‘worst enemies’,” Newall commented through a yawn. On paper, being stationed on Wysteria was a dream assignment. Except for the occasional spice trade, it has little crime to speak of. The enormous tree branches can be shaped and reshaped into immaculate housing for even the poorest resident. The population size is regulated by the trees themselves, so there are no overcrowding problems like those in the Kingdom of Derets where Newall was born.
What was not so apparent on paper was the fact that Naval recruiting officers were paid primarily on
commission by the number of recruits they brought into the Navy, and Wysteria supplied fewer officers to the Federal Navy than any other kingdom in the League.
Newall’s stomach rumbled painfully as he looked at the recruitment airship docked at the edge of the branch he lived on. It was as empty as his stomach, just like it was every month when it came. He would have starved months ago, except that he had started eating the contents of the gift baskets that he was supposed to distribute to the families of new recruits. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a good piece of meat.
* * *
Athel stared at the archway for the Naval recruitment branch, but did not enter. The manservants behind her glanced at each other furtively wondering how long they were expected to stand there holding her luggage, but not daring to voice their question aloud. In her arms Athel carried a pot of exceeding craft, decorated with jewels and gold filigree. In the pot sat a small Nallorn tree, which was stretching slightly forward as if to pull her onward.
“I know, Deutzia, just give me a couple of more minutes,” Athel said as she looked at the archway. Deutzia ceased stretching and hummed sweetly, the late afternoon light reflecting off the dew on her leaves. Responding to its request, Athel took out a small pouch and poured some of the amber-colored liquid into the pot.
“Thank you for being so understanding,” Athel said, “I tried to get you the nicest pot I could, but I’m sure it hurt you to be uprooted.” Deutzia sung quietly to her indicating that she accepted her apology.
Athel stretched her tall slender body and soaked in the sunlight for a moment before slipping out of her sandals and allowing her bare feet to touch the living wood beneath them one last time. Immediately she was awash with thoughts and sensations. The feelings of every woman currently linked with the tree flowed up through her feet and into her body. Late afternoon was a good time of day, when the hustle of daily life ebbed to the appreciation of family and friends. The warm ambiance of hundreds of evening meals and the youthful excitement from the retelling of stories flowed up into her, and she regretted her insistence of wearing sandals all these years. A jolt of joy passed up through her, and she recognized that, somewhere in the beltline of this tree, a new daughter had just been born to a small family.