Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “My mother?” Athel asked, her expression darkening.

  Mina tapped on the logbook in her lap nervously. “She has some pretty high connections. There are very specific instructions in your official file that you and Alder are to always be stationed on the same ship. The Navy records even list you as husband and wife.”

  “What? Let me see that!” Athel barked as she snatched the book out of Mina hands and opened it up. Glittering letters appeared in the air over the book as she turned the pages.

  “Hey, you can’t look at that,” Mina complained as she tried to grab the book back. Athel ignored her and read quickly, her face pinching in disgust.

  “Oh, I swear I could kill that woman,” Athel said, slumping back into her chair.

  “Right, well, married couples are believed to be frightful bad luck on airships. Most captains simply wouldn't have you. In fact there’s only one captain I know of who expressly allows married couples to serve on his ship,” Mina explained.

  “Plus,” Ryin added with a grin, “in the official Navy records, our ship has seen less action than any other in the whole fleet. Not one engagement in five years. There is no safer place.”

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to look at that either,” Mina shouted when she noticed that Odger was now thumbing through the pages.

  “You’re a princess?” Odger asked, pointing at the glowing letters. “That is so cheto.” Everyone else suddenly looked up, in surprise as Athel rolled her eyes.

  “Knock it off, Odger,” Mina said, snatching the book back, “she doesn’t want anyone to know about that.”

  “Well, why not?” Odger asked.

  “You’re really a princess?” Hanner asked, picking his nose.

  “Your majesty, I’m not worthy,” Ryin hollered spitefully while prostrating himself on the table in front of her.

  “You see? This is why I didn’t want anyone to know,” Athel said, throwing her arms up in frustration.

  The white fur on the back of Mina’s neck stood on end as she banged the logbook forcefully. “Hey, I’m first mate here and that makes me acting captain. You guys knock it off or I’ll take out the cat o’ nine tails and whip the lot of you.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “But, when you use it, wouldn’t it be a cat o’ ten tails?” Ryin said, trying not to laugh.

  Everyone at the table groaned and got back to the task at hand.

  “The hard part,” Mina explained, slapping Ryin on the back of the head, “will be getting close enough to the supply ship to attach a tow cable without being seen. Odger, you figured out a way to do that?”

  “I’m gonna’ pull the keystone out of the core,” Odger said nervously.

  “Sweetie, we want to luff up close to them, not fall out of the sky,” Mina chided.

  “We won’t fall right away,” Odger said, uncomfortable to be the center of attention. “Once the keystone is pulled, it will take a few minutes for the float-stones to completely lose their charge, during which time we’ll sink but not fall. So long as we time it right, we’ll end up right behind the supply ship without them feeling the wake the ship makes when the keystone is in place. I just need to calculate exactly when to pull it so we’ll glide to the right spot.”

  “That’s some precise figuring,” Dr. Griffin said, impressed, “Can you really do that?”

  “Sure,” Odger said, scratching his chubby neck, “but it’ll have to be extremely accurate. I’ll need the exact weight of everything: the cargo, personal items, and of course each crew member.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement, except for the three women seated at the table, all of whom became visibly uncomfortable.”

  “That’s not a problem, is it?” Odger asked.

  “Isn’t there a way to just weigh the whole ship at once?” Athel asked timidly. “Surely you don’t need to know everyone’s individual weight.”

  “C’mon princess,” Ryin said, slapping her on the back, “what’s the big deal? Just tell him how much you weigh.”

  “She weighs 131.2 pounds.” A squeaky voice said from behind Athel, who jumped in fright to see Alder standing there behind her, a bell around his neck.

  How many times have I asked you to stop sneaking up on me like that?” Athel complained. “Even with that bell on you’re like a ghost.”

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” Alder coolly stated.

  “Okay, 131.2 pounds,” Odger mumbled, writing down the figure.

  “Ah, that’s fully dressed in my armor, of course,” Athel corrected.

  “Yeah, sure,” Odger grunted.

  Athel snapped around and glared at Alder. “How do you know that anyway?”

  “I’m a Bursage,” Alder said frankly. “We are trained to sense our wives physical condition and needs at all times so that we may adequately serve them.”

  “Really? I kinda' like that. Can you teach it to my man?” Mina purred, her tail swishing.

  “Yeah, well, I think it’s creepy,” Athel snapped. “How come I was never told about this ‘training’?”

  “You were never married before.”

  “I’m not married now either.”

  Ryin tapped Alder on the shoulder, looking like he was about to burst. “So, could you tell us what her ‘needs’ are right now?” he asked.

  Alder opened his mouth to respond.

  “Don’t you DARE answer that!” Athel commanded.

  While everyone else laughed, Spirea looked at the map, cracking her knuckles. “You know,” Spirea added, “the supply ship is going to be a lot less likely to see us if we repaint the ship black to match the night sky.”

  Mina nodded, impressed. “That’s a good idea, but who’s going to repaint the entire ship?

  Athel turned to Alder, smiling mischievously.

  Alder sighed.

  * * *

  Three days later, Athel, fully clad in her traditional armored combat dress, rounded the intersection of a stone corridor with an exhausted Alder following close behind her, dressed in his female Naval uniform. Each step he took caused the bell hung around his neck to jingle as he struggled to keep up with Athel’s furious pace.

  “I can’t believe you came into the penitentiary with that bell still around your neck,” Athel complained as she stopped and threw herself against the wall of the corridor.

  “You told me to never take it off,” Alder defended as he caught up with her. At the other end of the hallway, three black-coated guards fired their crossbows at the pair. Athel grabbed Alder by the collar, pulling him alongside her just before the arrows whizzed through the space where he had been standing. Athel raised her staff, and the stones beneath the guards broke apart and erupted into a tangle of roots that wrapped around the screaming men, pulling them down to the ground and pinning them there helplessly while Athel and Alder skipped over them and continued on their search.

  Mooring the Dreadnaught to the supply ship had gone smoothly which was remarkable given the dangers involved. Alder’s round the clock repainting of the ship had left them nearly invisible as they approached the penal center. Once they got there, amid the cold night rainstorm, the Dreadnaught moored to a rocky outcropping and its crew entered the prison through a second-story window. From there, things had gone sour, Alder’s bell had alerted some guards, and he and Athel got separated from the others in the confusion.

  “You’d better keep up with me,” Athel warned as she threw her shoulder into a wooden door, forcing it open and running inside.

  The corridor opened up into a large vaulted basement lined with marble busts and tapestries. The sounds of their pursuers grew closer, the footsteps of a dozen armed guards mixing with the sounds of the rainstorm outside.

  Athel raised her staff with both hands and great roots grew up out of the ground, wrapping themselves around the ceilings arches, then pulling down with a terrible force that broke the archway and sent tons of stone and masonry crashing down, blocking off the pathway and separating them from their pu
rsuers by a wall of fallen rock and debris.

  “Ha! Just like in Migration,” She beamed, admiring her work.

  Suddenly Athel felt off balance. Her staff dropped to the ground and she placed her hands on her knees for support. Her breathing was labored, and perspiration dripped off of her face.

  “You’ve got to be more careful,” Alder cautioned as he picked her staff up. “If you keep using your magic recklessly like this you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “Aw, you’re concerned about me, how sweet,” Athel spat venomously.

  “No, it’s just that you’re too heavy for me to carry,” Alder retorted.

  Suddenly Athel drew her sword and thrust it toward Alder’s neck. He blinked in shock, but felt no pain. Instead, he heard the unmistakable clashing of metal as Athel blocked a blow that had been aimed at him from behind.

  Alder stepped aside and saw his attacker, a thick bull of a man with short cropped hair; the angular tattoos on his face accenting the beady eyes that shown out underneath the cowl of the black raincoat he was wearing.

  The man lunged at Athel, chopping clumsily with his blade. She easily stepped aside, allowing his swing to pass by her. She countered with a light slash at his midsection and made connection with some kind of armor hidden underneath his coat.

  He stumbled backward, colliding into Athel and throwing her off balance. Without looking, he slashed out with his blade in a wild attempt to disembowel her.

  Athel caught his blow with the flat of her blade. Sparks flew where the metal met, but the force of it knocked her backward. Instead of halting her motion, she used it, tucking her legs in a reverse somersault then elegantly uncurling to her feet.

  Alder was in awe as he watched her fight. He had never seen a woman fight with a blade before. She was strong and confident, yet possessed an unmistakable femininity and grace. Alder brought his hand up to his neck, imagining what the man’s sword would have done to him if she had not intervened.

  Athel met the man’s gaze as they circled each other and felt the power in his aura. Already her arms were throbbing from blocking his powerful blows. A trickle of amber-colored blood ran down her temple.

  Curse that Privet, he was holding back on me all this time, she realized. I can’t fight a full-grown man head-on like this. I'm not strong enough to block him. If I try he'll either pound me into the ground or my wrists will shatter. Suppressing her growing panic, Athel analyzed her opponent as she had been taught. He was very quick for his size, but she could tell his footwork was clumsy and he wasn’t using any kind of stance or style that she could recognize.

  He’s attacking recklessly, she realized. If I give him an opening he’ll go for it.

  Athel feinted forward and jabbed toward his knee with her blade, moving inside his reach. Taking the bait, the man leaned forward and lashed out with his sword, putting himself off balance as he attempted to decapitate her.

  Athel ducked under his blow and stepped inside his defenses. She kicked his lead foot out from under him and sent him flying to the ground with a thud. She stepped on his wrist and kicked the sword out of his grip.

  “You never put yourself off balance, not even for a quick attack like that,” she said triumphantly as she stood over him, trying to sound as smooth and professional as Privet did. The man roared and attempted to rise again, but Athel kicked the side of his head with her armor-plated boot, knocking him unconscious.

  Re-sheathing her sword, she looked over at Alder, who was staring at her with his wide, sappy eyes.

  “That was amazing,” he praised.

  “Just like the duel at the end of Counterbalance,” she bubbled.

  Actually, I was lucky, she realized, rubbing her wrists. I just looked good because this guy was drunk off his gourd. In a sober fight, he probably would have killed me. Athel looked down at the man and then noticed something that should not have been there. A hint of white and blue peeking out from beneath the raincoat the man was wearing.

  Athel bent down and opened up the front, revealing a white and blue Federal Navy uniform.

  Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of it.

  The guards are Federal Navy officers? But that would mean this is a Naval Prison. Why would we be breaking Captain Evere out of a Federal Navy prison? Unless...

  Alder yelled something, but Athel couldn’t make sense of it because at that moment something hard and wooden cracked into in the back of her head, and everything went black.

  Athel was aware of the sensation of being carried and a slick wet mucous rubbing against her face and neck. She tried to move her limbs, but her feet were tied fast to each other as were her hands. This gave way to the sensation of falling as she hit the ground roughly and rolled onto her back. She leaned up and tried to look around as her eyes adjusted to the faint moonlight trickling in through the barred windows of the small cell. The groaning form of Alder was tossed beside her, and their two captors stooped over them. Their strong, hunched bodies dripped with a green mucous that kept their ill-fitting Naval uniforms permanently stained and moist. Diade were famous for their stench, and when it hit her, it was all she could do to keep herself from retching.

  The larger one grinned, revealing needlelike teeth, and spoke to his companion in a low gurgling tone. “Guoi, inform the Lieutenant that both the intruders were shot while resisting arrest.”

  “Of course, Ule,” Guoi said as he left, closing the iron doors of the cell behind him, leaving a green slick on the handle.

  “Did you know my father was a decorated Diade soldier?” Ule asked as he pulled out Athel’s flintlock pistol. “Twenty years ago, during a border dispute, he was killed by one of you Wysterians. Do you know what it's like to be told that your father is never coming home?”

  Ule placed the barrel of the pistol against her forehead, green drippings rolling off his hand and splattering on the floor. She looked up into his fierce white eyes without flinching.

  “It’s not her fault!” Alder protested, propping himself up on one arm. “She hadn't even been born at the time. Killing her won’t bring your father back.”

  “No,” Ule grunted, “but it’ll make me feel a whole lot better.”

  Ule pulled the trigger and the sound of the gunshot rang through the jail cell. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Alder watched Athel’s head jerk backward, her eyes clouding and becoming fixed. Her hair whipped out above her face as her head hit the ground, and her body slumped.

  The gunshot left a terrible silence in its wake. Slowly the reality of what had just happened sank into Alder’s mind, and he realized with horror that he had just witnessed his bride-to-be being shot at pointblank range right in front of him.

  “You foul sloth piddle!” Athel screamed as she sat up, a red welt in the center of her forehead. “That really hurt!”

  Ule’s smile disappeared and he noticed a small seed spinning on the floor next to her. He reached a dripping hand into her ammo pouch and pulled out a handful of seeds.

  “What is this?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Seeds instead of iron balls?”

  “Wysterian pistols have a low muzzle speed so as not to damage the seeds,” Athel explained. “They don’t even travel fast enough to pierce skin. It’s useless in the hands of a man. If you want to kill me, you’ll have to do it with your own gun, you diseased excrement.”

  Ule snarled and hit her face with the back of his hand. A small trickle of amber blood ran down the side of her mouth as he stood up and left the room.

  As soon as the door slammed, Athel dropped to her side and began squirming around against her restraints.

  “Athel, what are you doing?” Alder asked. “Now he's just going to come back with a weapon that really will kill you. You should have just laid there.”

  “I just needed him to leave the room,” Athel grunted. “If I can just get my hands free I can get us out of here.” She rolled onto her back and grunted as she tried to thread her hands over her feet to get them in front of her. She
bowed her back and squirmed and strained as hard as she could, her uniform stretching tightly over the ample curves of her body, but she couldn’t get her hands over her heels. It was then when she noticed Alder looking at her intently.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, quickly turning his head.

  “We’re tied up and about to be killed and you’re ogling me?” she accused.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Alder defended.

  “You men are unbelievable,” Athel complained as she tried again. “You’re like animals in heat.” Athel whined in frustration, and beat her feet against the floor like a little kid.

  “I can help,” Alder said quietly.

  “What did you say?” Athel barked.

  “You’re never going to get out that way,” Alder cautioned, “If you scoot over to me I can try to loosen your bonds.” Athel eyed him suspiciously, then sat up indignantly and scooted over to him, her back to his. Alder reached out behind him to find her bonds and grabbed her hands with his.

  “No, don’t try to hold my hand, grab the knot,” Athel ordered. Alder released her hands and grabbed again, this time brushing against her backside.

  “And don’t grab that either! Just untie me!” Athel shouted, blushing.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Alder started working on the knot when the iron door opened again. Ule appeared, clutching his dripping rifle with taloned hands.

  “Ah,” Athel said. “I was kind of expecting him to take longer than that.”

  “Indeed,” Alder agreed.

  “Ule,” Guoi said frantically as he ran to his side, “Captain Evere has been broken out of his cell. These two were just a diversion.”

  Ule scowled and leveled his rifle toward them when a wave of nearly transparent energy tore through the passageway, tossing Guoi aside and hammering Ule down into the cell, where his unconscious body splattered onto the floor.

  “Aw, that’s so sweet, you two are holding hands,” Mina said as she peeked her head around the corner and saw the two prisoners.

  “Get away from us,” Athel commanded as she scooted away toward the wall, “We can get out of here on our own. You guys go be traitors or pirates or whatever you are without us.”