Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  Athel’s mouth opened in shock, lips trembling as the foul scent of charred flesh hit her nostrils. Suddenly she found herself aware of whispers and words, strange voices and the low sounds that come from deep in the throat, expressive of nothing beyond emotion.

  Athel looked toward the source of the sounds and found that she could now see directly into the stone array of the ship, as if no barrier existed at all. The room was oval and pointed at each end, the walls and ceiling set with marble cobblestones, as if a cobblestone road had been folded over like a scroll. Thousands of glittering gemstones spun precisely in the air, looking at times like gold and at other times like rubies. A living expression of mathematical perfection, each stone changed its orientation and color in turn, creating a spiral pattern when viewed head-on. The rotating stones drew her eyes toward the center of the array where a large crystal, clear like pure diamond, hung silently in the air. Athel cradled her burnt arm and forced herself to stand and walk forward. She walked through the barrier as if it never existed at all, but her focus was on the gemstones. When the light caught them just right, she thought she could see the echo of young eyes. Working her way between the floating stones, she became aware of threads of light traveling from the facet of one stone to the facet of another. When a string passed through her, she would hear concerned whispers, and she understood intuitively that something was failing inside the core.

  So great was the light given off by the keystone as she approached it that Athel could see nothing beyond it. She immediately regretted drawing so near, for while it appeared to emanate, it actually drew in all the energy around it. Athel had always been taught that no magic was evil, there were only different masteries, different pieces of one great whole. This magic, however, was completely incomprehensible and disturbing to her, even frightening. Despite everything she had been taught, this felt evil.

  Athel’s vision blurred and she took a step back. It felt like her strength was draining away into the stone. At the far end, she could make out the small man as he smashed another crystal out of the air, causing the ship to list to one side. His eyes became wild and fearful when he saw her. He ceased hammering and ran toward her, the runes on his stone hammer coming to life with a cold light.

  As he moved to strike her, Athel drew her pistol and fired.

  The seed impacted against the man’s shoulder, and under Athel’s command it sprouted into long and sinuous vines, wrapping themselves around the man’s limbs and gripping him with immense strength. A lifetime of growth took place in the space of a heartbeat, leaving the man’s upper body completely immobilized.

  The man grunted in rage and began hopping about wildly. Unable to see below him as he struggled, he tripped over a belt of tools and fell backward, landing directly on top of the ship’s keystone. A terrible noise was wrenched from the man’s throat, and Athel heard the stones in the room give off a ringing that sounded eerily like laughter. His flesh came apart particle by particle, like a sand sculpture caught in a strong wind as he was drawn into the keystone. Within a moment, only his empty clothes remained.

  The keystone seemed to gain strength and the ship righted itself again. Athel took a couple of steps back, but she felt more and more of her strength drawn into the stone until finally darkness took her and she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Ten

  Tangled Webs

  Mandi kicked over a small ornamental urn as she waited impatiently in the main hall of the ruined Umor guild. Beneath it she saw a small flute.

  There is no such thing as a perfect song, she thought to herself. With time and practice, the flaws in pitch and timing can become too small for the ear to detect, but they are still there.

  She bent down to pick up the flute, but then thought better of it. There is no such thing as a clean surface, either. Things only seem clean because you are not looking closely enough.

  She stood up and caught a glimpse of herself in a half-shattered mirror. She had gathered her long blonde hair into a pony tail, partly because that was Naval regulation, but mostly because it accented her graceful nape of her neck. Mandi loved the way this new body looked in a Naval uniform. The short skirt really accentuated her legs, which were long and very toned, and the trim really brought out the blue in her eyes. But what she truly loved was the way men looked at her when she wore it. Women always think they are being so clever hiding behind veneers of etiquette and soft language. I prefer the company of men, who are so much closer to being honest with their true nature.

  “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant Overtin,” a tall blue-skinned Whilinham officer said as he approached her with a smart salute. “I’ve been following your career for some time now.”

  Mandi sighed. Until they open their mouths, that is.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible,” she responded steadily, adopting the stern tone that was expected of her role. “I only broke into your offices and inserted the forged documents of my existence this morning.”

  He blinked at her for a second, then decided it was a joke and smiled mirthfully.

  You’re just as fake as the rest. If I was an old crone you’d be double-checking my files right now.

  “Have you found any trace of the Dreadnaught?” She asked.

  “The Dreadnaught?” he fumbled, flipping through pages on his clipboard. “Let's see. Her regular patrol routes schedule her to arrive in Port Dauntless this morning, but she hasn’t checked in. Honestly I can’t find any record of her having been here.”

  “I need to talk to your Stonemaster,” Mandi insisted.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Whichever one was on site first, and right away.”

  The officer saluted and walked away, somewhat confused.

  What kind of patrol boat just drops off the map like this? Mandi wondered in frustration. With a two day head start they could be headed anywhere. She sighed heavily. I’m going to need a very thorough spa treatment after this.

  A pudgy stone master waddled up to her, his finger in his ear, and barely regarded her at all until she rolled up her sleeve and revealed the branded seal on her wrist, at which point he nearly fell over himself trying to salute with both hands while bowing on one knee.

  “My name is...” he began.

  “Your name isn’t important, you are just here to give me information,” she said, cutting him off. “Once I received word the Dreadnaught had arrived here I gave specific orders to the head master to disable her stone array. What happened?”

  “I dunno,” he grunted. “But I can assure you he would have done his duty.”

  Mandi rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to ennoble something that isn’t noble. People act to gain reward and to avoid punishment. Duty is just a made-up word.”

  Mandi noticed the shock on his face and realized she was breaking character. “This would be so much easier,” she began again, in her stern voice, “if I could just get the Stonemaster on the Dreadnaught to answer my messages. What about this Odger Jhonstin, you know him?”

  “Don’t really know him,” the man fidgeted, “but I have heard of him.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Let’s just say some people can handle the job and some can’t. Last I heard he was cracked wide open. He should have just become a rune-train engineer if you ask me.”

  Great,she thought, waving him away. Any other ship in the fleet could be tracked down in five minutes. Why am I stuck chasing the only ship that can't? I’m gonna have to call in some favors from the Reavers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harsh Realities

  The morning light coming through the porthole was broken by Sumac’s sickly little branches, creating lines of dark and light across Spirea’s listless face as she sat in the corner of her cell. Her muscles still throbbed from the drugs Dr. Griffin had used to bring her out of hibernation, but now she only wished to go back to sleep, to close her eyes and shut out everybody and everything, to welcome nothingness. She barely even registered the sound of
metal creaking as Alder entered, placing a tray of food right next to the other three, which she had left untouched.

  Silently, Alder took out a pouch and began pouring some amber-colored liquid into Sumac’s pot, being careful not to touch Sumac or get too close to her. Spirea made no attempt to stop him, and Sumac hummed thankfully.

  “Why do you work so hard?” Spirea asked blankly.

  “Sumac is a holy tree. She should be taken good care of,” Alder explained as he mixed some fertilizer onto the potting soil.

  “I bet you were the one who stuck up for me at Umor,” Spirea guessed.

  “Yes, I was.” Alder affirmed, nodding.

  “Then you’re an idiot,” she accused.

  Alder wiped his hands off on his handkerchief and began gathering up pieces of trash that were lying about the cell.

  “Why would you do that?” She asked, irritated. “My Guild is gone. I don’t have anything you want.”

  Alder placed the trash into the receptacle and then pulled out a broom and began quietly sweeping. “All Wysterian women,” he explained, “have, by their very birth, a piece of Milia’s spirit within them. My former Matron taught me that we must look for that piece of divinity, and help bring it out, even if it is very deeply hidden in the soil. You have that potential within you, and it seemed like such a waste to leave it un-sprouted.”

  Alder’s speech was halted by a piece of potato hitting him in the face. He turned, shocked, to see her snarling at him.

  “What makes you think there is anything inside me worth saving?” she yelled. “You have no idea who I am or what I have done!”

  Alder’s face pinched in anger, but he knelt before her, eyes downcast. “My mother was a very sick woman,” he explained. “She died giving birth to me, killed by her addiction to the Ruper spice sold to her by your family. So, please believe me when I say that I know exactly what you are guilty of.”

  Spirea’s anger collapsed in on itself, and she slumped forward. She felt so confused. Even the air she breathed and the floor she sat on didn’t seem to make sense anymore.

  Alder cleaned off his face and stood back up, grabbing the broom once more. “At my request, the Captain has agreed to release you from your cell. If you betray us again, I will be responsible. Because of that, I may need to counsel you from time to time. I apologize for that, I know it is not my place.”

  Spirea looked up, dumbfounded. She could not understand why her freedom was being given to her. “If you have so much reason to hate me then just hate me,” she said quietly. “I can handle hate. I understand it. What I can’t handle is you treating me like this when you should be hating me. What do you want from me?”

  Alder swept the small pile onto the dustpan and emptied it into the receptacle. “I want you to start acting like a daughter of the Great Mother,” he said confidently.

  “You are so full of crap,” Spirea belted. “Spouting off Milia doctrine like a pulpit boy. Why would you even believe that trash? There's nothing in it for you. Don't you realize that according to your scriptures, men do not carry the spirit of Milia within them? You’re soulless. How do you feel about that?”

  Alder opened up a bag and laid out a clean, pressed uniform for Spirea. “I have always hoped,” he admitted, “that I might be found worthy to be reincarnated as one of Milia’s daughters in my next life.”

  He bowed to Spirea respectfully and began walking out of the cell. “That is why I work so hard.”

  “What if there is no such thing as reincarnation?” she said spitefully. “What if it is all a lie? What if this is all there is, and all your work will be for nothing?”

  Alder paused at the exit, a twinge of pain in his eyes. “Then we would all be living under a great injustice,” he said quietly, before walking out of the cell, leaving the door open behind him.

  * * *

  A few minutes later Alder walked into the ship’s galley, where the tables had been laid on their sides facing inward on an angle in a long row, a pair of glass bottles sitting by themselves at one end.

  “Did you check on Athel?” Mina asked as she straightened the hem on her uniform.

  “She still won’t wake up. Dr. Griffin made some incense and an analgesic cream for the burn.”

  “You didn’t let him give it to her?” she asked, concerned.

  “Oh, no, he’s forbidden to enter her room. I gave it to her myself.”

  Mina watched Alder for a moment. He usually did a good job of hiding his emotions, but she could tell that something was bothering him. “Don’t worry,” she said, slugging him playfully on his thin little arm, “Athel’s a strong woman. She’ll be alright.

  Alder nodded slowly and forced a weak smile.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” Mina began, clapping her hands together. “You’ve been fasting for the last 24 hours, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, that should have forced some energy to build up in your abdomen, and now we have to get back to teaching you how to draw it out. Once you get the hang of it, you can practice on your own.” Mina took a wide stance, knuckles pressed together, and Alder copied her. Mina began making a barely audible sound, a low drone at the edge of hearing, which began to increase in intensity gradually. Waves of energy sloughed off of her silhouette pulsated away from her. Alder followed her lead as best he could, but was distracted by Ryin’s heckling sounds as he watched them from the hatchway.

  “You guys look constipated,” he sneered, slurping on a ration pouch.

  “Why don’t you join us,” Mina invited. “Meditation might even help your brain grow.”

  “I flunked out of school. Besides, there’s not a kingdom in the league that doesn’t consider it treason to teach their magic to outsiders. You’re going to get us all in trouble.”

  “Ah,” Mina purred, keeping her eyes closed, “but I never attended the ice magic schools on Mesda, or the sonic academies on Artice, so I didn’t take an oath to never teach my craft to outsiders, did I?”

  “Where did you learn sonic and ice magic then?” Alder asked. “It’s pretty rare to find someone with a double-wedge.”

  “It’s only uncommon among the mundane,” Mina explained, “Guild members aren’t so concerned about breaking the law, so you can pick up things from other schools if you can find someone willing to teach you.”

  “Of course,” Ryin chuckled, “pirates are also not known for being very academic, so good luck finding a teacher.”

  Alder’s own humming synchronized with Mina’s in pitch and intensity, and she nodded in approval. “Okay, now you’re going to release everything at once through your voice-box. Imagine your emotions are floodgates and force them open.”

  Mina opened her eyes and howled. A wave streaked out from her, kicking up dirt along the floor and shattering the bottle at the end of the room. Mina stepped behind Alder and held out her hands, adding her power to his, shaping his energies, and assisting him in his attempt.

  Alder opened his eyes and yelled out loudly, but his bottle remained untouched.

  “Did I do it wrong?” Alder asked expectantly.

  “No, and that’s the problem,” Mina explained, scratching the white fur on the back of her neck. “You did it perfectly that time. I dunno, maybe there’s too much anatomical difference between Wysterians and Mesdans.”

  “Anatomical differences,” Ryin snickered.

  “Not that,” Mina huffed. “Other differences. For instance, he only has one diaphragm.”

  “Or maybe he just doesn’t have the ability to use magic at all,” Ryin teased.

  Mina put her hands on her hips and turned toward Ryin. “Leave the poor kid alone, Colenat. Don’t you have a deck to be swabbing?”

  “I got Hanner to do it,” he explained, slurping down a thick glob from the pouch.

  “Ugh, I can’t believe you drink that stuff,” Mina complained. Just then Dr. Griffin crawled into the room, his head bobbing around as if looking for something.

  Ryin
swallowed and held the pouch of protein water out in front of him, small particles like sand zipping around in the thick clear fluid. “Yeah, those Stonemasters have their skills, but flavor just isn’t one of them.”

  Dr. Griffin stood up and snatched the pouch away from Ryin, holding up a glowing stone to backlight it as he talked. “One pouch has everything the body needs for a day’s labor. It’s really amazing stuff.” He gave Ryin his pouch back and returned to crawling around. “Your pouch has gone bad. I wouldn’t finish it if I were you.” Ryin suddenly burped painfully and grabbed his stomach. With a sickly moan he burped again, even louder, and then ran out of the room.

  Dr. Griffin reached the other side of the room and continued his prostrated search. “If any of you see a mouse running around, don’t touch it, whatever you do,” he called out as he left.

  Mina turned to Alder and could tell he was disappointed. “Hey, cheer up, it’s not totally hopeless,” she said, slapping him on his bony shoulder. “I mean, with a couple hundred years of practice, who knows, you may become one of the best wave-casters ever by the time you’re done.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Athel said Wysterians live to be around two-hundred years old, so you’ve got plenty of time. Frankly, I’m jealous.”

  “She would say it that way,” Alder snorted. “Only the women live that long. We men rarely live past thirty.”

  There was an explosion from an adjacent room, fracturing the bulkhead and sending Mina and Alder toppling down to the deck.

  “Never mind, I found the mouse,” Dr. Griffin called out. His voice was largely drowned out by the ringing in Alder and Mina’s ears. Mina’s pretty face was pinched in pain and she covered her foxlike ears on top of her head. A Mesdan’s keen hearing came at a price.