by Aaron Yeager
Athel felt a tinge of regret; she slipped her feet back into her sandals and walked through the archway. As she passed by the recruitment posters and racks of pamphlets, she saw a small balding officer knock over a pile of papers onto the floor as he stood up at his desk. He wore the smartly designed white uniform of the Federal Navy, trimmed with light blue on the collar and trousers. White and blue, the colors of the sky which the Navy patrolled. Athel paused and looked up at the sky. She had read once that a person who has flown never looks at the sky the same way again, and she wondered if it was true.
“I hope I’m not too late to join up with the departure tonight,” Athel said politely. “This is Deutzia, and I am her caretaker, Athel Forsythia.” Newall's eyes grew wide and he took her by the hand, smiling as if he might cry.
“No, princess, for you, we will make the time,” he choked out.
Athel paused. It took her a second to regain her composure. She knew from her books that foreign men spoke without leave, and greeted equals by touching their hands. She thought she had been prepared for it, but it was still a little unnerving to her to actually experience it.
“Thank you, but I am no longer a princess, and I would appreciate it if you omitted that fact from my profile. It will just cause problems.”
Deutzia hummed quietly in her pot.
“Oh, and Deutzia wants to make sure you understand that she is a passenger and not carry-on luggage.”
“Yes, yes, we know all about that,” Newall sang as he happily filled out the paperwork, “The Federal Navy caters to the religions and cultures of seventy-eight separate island kingdoms. You’ll find that the brass is very tolerant of things like that.”
Deutzia hummed with irritation.
“Oh, Deutzia says her name is spelled with a u, not an o,” Athel corrected.
“Oh, sorry,” Newall apologized as he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. “I’ll need your wax seal and signature here at the bottom. Your first tour will be three standard years, at which time you’ll have the option to renew at a higher rate.”
Athel blinked at him in confusion.
“Is there something wrong?” Newall asked.
“I haven’t taken the combat trials yet,” Athel explained, “was I supposed to take them before I came here?”
Newall chuckled and turned his head to look out at the empty recruitment ship floating lazily in the air next to their branch.
“We would never give the entrance exams to a member of the royal family,” he admitted. “That would be crazy. Can you imagine the scandal if we gave you anything less than a perfect score? No, no, combat trials are for men and commoners.”
“Wait,” Athel said, her light brown eyes narrowing. “So you mean all this time Privet was wasting my...”
Deutzia began thrashing around wildly and let off a twinkling sound of panic and Athel turned around to see what was causing it, a young woman with wild unkempt raven hair. Her clothing was finely made, but was wrinkled and disheveled. In her hands she held a common pot in which her Nallorn tree sat, looking sick and weak from being clumsily potted.
“You have room for one more?” The woman asked hastily without introducing herself.
Newall slammed his hands on the desk in front on him. “You bet your sweet seeds we do,” he said, shaking with excitement. “In fact, I think this calls for a toast. I’ll be right back with a little something to celebrate with,” he said as he practically skipped out of the room.
Athel could feel the aggression coming off of the woman. It practically peeled off her in great layers that darted around the room.
“You’re one of the Forsythians, aren’t you?” the woman accused as she raised her staff. The bark beneath her erupted and grew into great barbed vines, dripping hungrily with venom. Athel grabbed her staff and spun it around in a needlessly dramatic fashion. Two great branches grew before her, flailing about powerfully in warning as her manservants cowered beneath the desks.
“You need to wait, I’ve got no reason to fight you,” Athel called out.
“No reason?” the young woman laughed, “Don’t you know who I am?”
“I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure.”
“Spirea Sotol, your family had my mother imprisoned and my guild disbanded this morning. The least you Forsythians can do is have the courtesy to learn the names of the lives you destroy.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” Athel cautioned.
“I hope you ladies don’t mind that it’s not chilled,” Newall called out as he re-entered the room with a pair of dusty bottles. “These are from a gift basket that we used to give out to the kin of new recruits.”
Newall paused and looked at the two women ready to strike each other. “Ladies, let’s not have any fighting; you're going to be shipmates here in a few minutes.
“Only one of us will be boarding that ship,” Spirea said sternly as she raised her staff. Far off at the shoulder of the great branch the office was a part of, the sound of a trumpet could be heard.
“That’s the trumpet of the royal family,” Athel said confidently, “you’d better hide.” Spirea cursed and threw herself under a table. The vines and thorns receded back into the floor and in an instant the room looked as it did before. Dozens of palace guards entered the room; the men fully adorned in their functional leather armor, the female captains resplendent in their priceless suits of chain-and-plate mail.
Hazel Forsythia carried herself like a queen. She had a regal quality in her posture and expression that was only amplified by the great cape of flowers that draped down behind her as she walked between the two rows of guards to where Athel and Newall stood. Behind her, eyes lowered, followed her husbands.
“Wow, you brought all five husbands with you. This must be important,” Athel quipped. She noticed her mother’s oldest husband with auburn hair like hers. Only three of her mother's numerous husbands over the years had ever shared that coloration. Athel had often pressed her mother to find out which of them was her biological father but she had never managed to get a straight answer out of her. For a moment Athel looked at him intently, wishing for him to meet her gaze, but he refused.
Unsure of what to do, Newall bowed his balding head; then, finding that insufficient, bowed down on one knee trying to look as dignified as he could.
The Queen’s gaze flicked down to the sword at Athel’s side. Though she tried to hide it, Athel could tell that the Queen was upset to see her daughter carrying a man’s weapon, which pleased Athel immensely.
The Queen said nothing but walked past Newall and began examining the paperwork he had been filling out.
“Did you tell her about today?” Athel accused, but Deutzia shook herself back and forth to say ‘no.’
“I’ve known about this contrivance of yours for years,” Queen Hazel chuckled, “you’ve been broadcasting your plans to the whole royal tree every time you linked with it.”
Athel scratched the back of her head. “I thought I had been trained how to keep my thoughts out of the link.”
Hazel smiled warmly at her daughter. “You’ve received only a tenth of the training you’d need to keep your thoughts hidden from me.”
“So you came to stop me,” Athel accused, her expression darkening. The Queen ignored her and walked over to Newall, motioning for him to stand.
“Mr. Norsdo...”
“Norsoto.”
“Right, please don’t interrupt...”
“Sorry,” he replied, bowing again awkwardly.
“Yes, you have not indicated my daughter’s royal status on this paperwork. You will need to correct this before she can sign it.”
“You’re going to let me go?” Athel asked, astonished.
“Where do you get this idea that I am some evil tyrant?” Hazel asked, tilting her head slightly. “You are my daughter. I love you.”
Athel found herself quite unable to say anything, except to fidget a grateful glance. Hazel held out her hands and embraced her tight
ly. Athel's mind raced for a moment, trying to anticipate her mother's next move, but finally she relaxed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to relish her mother’s embrace.
“Enjoy yourself, my dear. I think this will do you a world of good. The experience you gain in the Navy will be invaluable to you once you assume the throne.”
Athel’s eyes opened and her smile vanished. “Mom, I have abdicated the throne.”
“For now, yes.”
“No, not for now. For-ev-er. I’m not going to be queen. I don’t belong in your world.”
“Neither did I when I was your age,” Queen Hazel retorted, “but Wysteria will need you in your time, just as it needed me in my time.” The Queen pulled Athel in close, speaking barely above a whisper. “You know your sister cannot lead us. The women of Wysteria cannot afford to be selfish. We have more enemies than you know.”
“No one ever asked me if this is what I wanted,” Athel said sternly, stepping back from her mother and picking up Deutzia.
“And no one ever asked me either, but it is a lesson you must now learn.” The Queen stepped back and a pale young man stepped forward, eyes lowered. He was shorter than Athel. He looked frail to her, like a stiff breeze would just knock him over. His large round eyes gave him a permanently sappy look, like a dog begging for food.
The Queen placed her arm on the young man’s shoulder. “I present to you the eldest son of Lady Aspen Bursage, Alder Bursage, your new husband.”
“My what?”
His bow was deep and flawlessly formal. “A pleasure,” Alder said. Athel noticed that his voice was very high for a man.
“This is not my husband,” Athel insisted, wagging a finger.
“Of course,” Alder said, reaching out to touch Deutzia.”
What are you doing?” Athel shouted out as she jerked Deutzia away from his reach, knocking a pitcher of water over on the table, the contents flowing through the knotholes to the floor below.
“Don’t try to touch my tree, unless you want to lose that hand,” Athel warned. Alder withdrew his hand and bowed deeper in apology.
“I’m sorry, I thought you meant...”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t, so back off,” Athel yelled, turning her attention to Hazel. “This is what I hate about you. How dare you do something like this without consulting me first?”
“The Bursage are one of the finest families in Cliffrose,” Hazel responded frankly.
“I’m trying to get away from this place, and you show up on the day I leave to tell me I’m to be married?”
“He can go with you. He doesn’t even have any possessions to pack.”
“You did this on purpose just to spite me. You intentionally chose the complete opposite of everything I might want in a husband.”
Alder lowered his head further, hiding his expression from view.
Queen Hazel sighed and took a deep breath and held out her ebony staff to Athel. “Link with me, daughter. I need you to see for yourself what my intentions are.”
Athel hesitated at first and then with a little prodding from Deutzia, placed her hand on the royal staff. With a rush the Queen’s thoughts and intentions were open and clear to her. Nothing was hidden. Athel was shocked to find none of the manipulating ulterior motives she expected. Her mother was brimming with compassion for her, and even empathy. To actually feel her mother’s love for her was overwhelming to Athel, and in her mother’s mind she could see things that could never be said out loud. The Bursage family had been heavily damaged by the fall of the Sotol Guild, and their matriarch was considering a challenge to the throne. Athel jerked at the thought of it. There had not been war on Wysteria since the formation of the League of Kingdoms a thousand years ago. Joining their two families now would eliminate the possibility of future conflict, for the Bursage family would be connected to the royal family. To challenge the throne would be to challenge themselves.
It was a meeting of the minds that no man on Wysteria could ever achieve. Athel reminded herself that this is why no man could ever sit on the throne. This is how the women of the Forsythia family kept the peace. Athel removed her hand from the staff, her teeth grinding in her mouth.
“I’ll allow him to come with me, but I do not take him as my husband,” she said, defeated. “Will that be enough?
“It will,” Hazel said, nodding, “the dowry has already been exchanged. He is yours to keep or yours to discard.”
“You exchanged the dowry before you even came here?” Athel asked, disgusted.
The Queen ignored Athel and turned to Alder. “Your ties to the Bursage are broken. You belong to the Forsythia family now, but you will only become her husband if she accepts you.”
Alder bowed deeply, his face looking very unsure. “Well, I guess we’d better fill out paperwork for me as well,” he said to Newall.
“A...a third recruit?” Newall said, tears welling in his eyes. Without thinking, he grabbed Alder and hugged him tightly. “I’m going to eat meat tonight.”
Hazel shook her head sadly and turned to leave. A trumpet sounded and the guards began filing out of the room. When she reached the archway, Hazel paused. “You said ‘a third.’ May I ask who the other one is?” Newall opened his mouth to speak but Athel interrupted him.
“He was referring to Deutzia,” she explained.
“I see,” the Queen said without looking back. “You know, daughter, if you had told me how you felt about Privet, I could have arranged that marriage instead. He belongs to a Braihmin family, after all.” Athel’s face turned bright red, both from embarrassment and anger as she watched her mother walk away. A few moments later, Spirea emerged from her hiding place dripping wet from the spilled pitcher.
“Okay, what was that about?” she accused. “Why didn’t you turn me in? Are you trying to cut some sort of deal with me?”
“No,” Athel said, looking down, “I just realized that you didn’t pick your family either.”
Spirea moved to shout something back, but instead closed her mouth and walked over to the washroom to dry off.
“Um,” Alder said quietly as Newall continued to hug him, “am I supposed to hug him back or just stand here?”
Chapter Three
The Limitless Blue
Although airships came in a wide variety of designs, Federal Navy ships always retained a very distinct profile with two sets of sails: one above and another below the hull. The easily recognizable profile was a visible presence in ports as a reassurance to the public and as a warning to criminals.
The vessel Athel was on was technically not a ship, but a boat, since it only had two pairs of masts instead of three, but she didn’t care about that. Standing amidships below the rear mizzenmast, she soaked in the vastness of the early morning sky which was even bluer than she had imagined it would be.
Above them beautiful tracks of cirrus clouds pulled across the sky as if painted by long brush strokes, below them a blanket of soft altostratus stretched out in all directions like a rolling plain of flawless white. Puffy vertical towers grew aloft from the layer below; reminding her of pictures of desert mesas as they gently sailed past. The sun was smiling brightly that day, and she allowed the warmth to soak into her with arms outstretched and eyes closed. This must be what freedom feels like, she thought to herself.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jasin asked as he stood at the wheel of the ship’s helm.
“It is,” Athel said quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
“I’m glad to see you taking to the sky like this,” Jasin said as he pushed the lock forward to fix the wheel’s position. “Anyone can learn to appreciate the skies, but to be a good sailor, you have to love it, and that’s something you can’t learn. It comes from deep inside you.”
Athel smiled as she looked over the side, catching a glimpse of dark blue waters far below them through a break in the clouds. Over the last few days, she had watched in amazement as Jasin manned the recruitment ship all by himself, anglin
g the sails and finding the wind. He was indefatigable.
“The sea looks so peaceful from up here,” Athel commented.
“Aye, everything looks peaceful from seven thousand feet,” Jasin said as he rubbed his hands through his aging white hair and onto the dark leathery skin on his neck.
“You never look down at the water,” Athel observed, not even yesterday when you climbed down on the keel’s lower- mast to retrieve Alder’s shoe he dropped.
Jasin walked over to the mast and took in a deep breath of salty air. “If you’re lucky, you’ll never get close to the water below. That way you can always see it as a beautiful thing, as you do now.” Jasin turned the crank for the chain that rotated the sail’s yardarms around the mast. The sails billowed as they caught the full force of the wind and the ship accelerated, causing Athel’s stomach to churn slightly.
As they cleared a large tower of white cloud, the port city of Dwarren came into their view. A great floating island hanging in the sky with docks of all sizes cut into the very rock of its outer edges, so that its profile from above was that of a snaggletooth cog. Athel could see hundreds of vessels, great and small, their white sails catching the morning sunlight like distant flower petals floating in the sky.
Athel squealed with joy and began stomping her foot onto the deck below her. “Come on, Spirea, get up here and check this out!” she shouted. A few moments later, Spirea rushed up onto the deck, rubbing her pointed ears painfully. Her face was pale with ugly bags under her eyes.
“I just got off the night watch, you stupid seedling,” Spirea said, reeling back to slap her. Athel caught her hand as it swung at her and pointed out the port city before them.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Dwarren,” Athel elated, “I read all about it in The Lowlander. It’s neutral territory, so we can get stuff from all the other islands without paying any import taxes.”