Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “A Stormcaller?” Dr. Griffin shot up, “Oh, we have to get him on our ship.”

  “Is it a ‘him’?” Evere asked playfully. “I hope so; I’ve already got all the women I can stand on my ship.”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Mina said, kicking him on the shin. “The name is Invini Gerstun. Is Invini a boy’s name or a girl’s name?”

  “I think it’s a boy's name,” Odger mentioned, blowing his nose into a handkerchief.

  “What’s a Stormcaller, anyway?” Spirea asked.

  “There ain’t no better navigator to have on any ship,” Evere boasted. “No more doldrums, just wind full astern and clear skies.”

  “Stretis and Boeth were the two founding kingdoms during the unification wars,” Athel explained, “Together they built the first airships. The Stonemasters would keep them afloat and the Stormcallers would alter the winds to drive them. Nowadays, however, hardly anybody from Stretis joins the Navy. They prefer to rest on their own laurels.”

  “And this Stretian is here on Thesda, which means we have a chance to wine and dine him onto the Dreadnaught before an assignment is made,” Evere schemed.

  Evere, Dr. Griffin, and Ryin turned to look at Athel and Spirea. “And we’ve got a lovely pair of single young ladies to lure him,” Ryin said wolfishly.

  “Hey, I’m engaged already,” Athel said, pulling Alder over to her.

  “Oh, sure, now I’m your fiancé,” Alder complained.

  “Where did you get this, anyway?” Mina asked, waving the paper around.

  Evere shrugged, “It fell out of the clipboard Recaldier was holding.”

  “Yeah, fell right into your hands,” Mina accused, slugging him on the arm.

  * * *

  Like many kingdoms in the league, Thesda was entirely dependent on the daily arrival of goods to maintain its population. The island rose up steeply out of the violent sea in a series of great jagged mountains, like snaggleteeth of rock and clay. Most of the cities were carved directly into the heart of the mountains, with the exception of the market districts, which had been created by lopping off the tip of each mountain tooth to create an open-air locality far more inviting to foreigners than the dark tunnels of the residential districts. Thesdan magic specialized exclusively in the creation of golems—figures of clay animated by magic to move and respond like living creatures. The sale of the endless varieties of golems was Thesda’s primary export and the foundation of their economy.

  The crew of the Dreadnaught had been divided among the two primary market districts on the eastern part of the island. Mina had, of course, picked the best one for herself, but Athel was still quite impressed with the Ankind Plaza. Great multistoried buildings of adobe rose up on either side of the main street, their signs and banners inviting onlookers to enter and purchase their wares from all corners of the league. Each level of businesses was set farther back from the street, like steps on a staircase, so that they all could be fully viewed from street level. Walkways across the streets were kept to a minimum, so even the lowest levels received ample light from the setting sun.

  The place absolutely buzzed with the voices of hundreds of traders and patrons, speaking their varied and exotic languages, and Athel felt a renewed affirmation for her decision to join the Navy. She never would have seen sights like this stuck to a throne back on Wysteria.

  “So many blunt ears around here,” Spirea grumbled as she looked at the crowds, tucking a strand of raven-black hair behind her pointed ears.

  “Nothing wrong with round ears,” Ryin opined as he leaned in close and clucked his tongue. “Variety is the greatest spice of all, they say.”

  “Don't talk to me,” Spirea insisted.

  “Okay,” Alder began as he squinted at the crumpled paper in his hands.” According to Mina’s friend, Mr. Gerstun has only lived here about a month, but he’s got a bit of a reputation for hanging around the bookstores and flirting with the women there.”

  “Oh, I wonder if the new Grendelabra novel is out yet,” Athel gushed, clapping her hands.

  “Bookstores?” Ryin huffed. “What kind of man picks up women at a bookstore?”

  “Hey, look at this,” Athel said gleefully as she shot over to an outdoor display. She examined a fine wood jewelry box adorned with gold filigree. When the lid was lifted, a small clay figure danced to the music box tune that played from inside. Although the golem stood less than two inches tall, the details and proportions were so precise that it really appeared to be a miniature person. “Oh, we have to get one of these,” she said as she fished for her money pouch.

  “If I may be so bold, there will be plenty of time to shop once we have located Mr. Gerstun,” Alder suggested.

  “But he might not even be in this district or out on the town at all tonight and we’d walk around getting nothing done at all. This way, we are making the most efficient use of our time,” Athel justified as she paid the proprietor.

  “I don’t think 'efficient' is the proper word,” Alder began, but Athel hushed him by handing him a small colored wheel mounted on a handle, each segment illuminated with a flashing symbol. “What is this?” he asked as he examined it suspiciously.

  “It’s an accolade,” the shopkeeper explained with a wrinkly smile. “If the wheel stops on the red symbol you win a prize.”

  “I’m not really allowed to gamble,” Alder explained.

  “There is no money involved,” the old man corrected, “just place your information on one of these cards and spin the wheel.”

  As Alder considered this, his suspicion turned to curiosity. He filled out the card and spun the wheel. As it turned, the symbols on each segment changed randomly, their pattern slowing along with the wheel, until it stopped and a single blue symbol fell into the center of the wheel and enlarged itself.

  Alder grinned and turned to Athel, but she had slipped away. He looked around for her in concern; then saw her dragging Spirea into a shoe store across the street.

  “Hey, what are you guys doing?” Ryin called out, “We’re supposed to be looking for that guy!”

  “Don’t worry,” Athel called back, “we’ll check every shoe to make sure he’s not in there.”

  Ryin rolled his eyes and kicked at the dirt on the ground as he paced out into the busy street. Alder walked by him but Ryin grabbed him by the collar.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going in with them,” Alder said, his short and frail frame barely coming up to Ryin’s chest.

  “Are you crazy? You’re in uniform. You just can’t walk into a women’s shoe store. People will think we’re weird or something.” Ryin released Alder and scratched the back of his head. “What is it with girls and shoes anyway?”

  “It’s quite simple, really. Men use clothes to convey their status and rank, like uniforms. Women, on the other hand, use clothing to convey their mood, so the more expansive the wardrobe, the more perfectly a woman can tailor her attire for the day to match her mood. Shoes must match the belt and purse, so a large selection of shoes is likewise preferable.”

  Ryin stood looking at Alder for several moments without saying anything. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was half open in disgust.

  “Did I not explain myself well?” Alder asked, growing uncomfortable.

  “I’m just trying to figure out why I just had all that explained to me by a guy,” Ryin admitted. “No guy should know stuff like that.”

  “Well, I’m a househusband. My duties and training are focused on my matron.”

  “Yeah, but you should know guy stuff too. You probably had, like, ten dads or something. Didn’t any of them teach you how to hunt, or fish, or fight or something?”

  “My birthmother was from the Suidra class, very poor by our standards,” Alder said frankly, “so she only had a single husband and I really didn’t know him that well.”

  “What did he, like, knit sweaters or something?” Ryin mocked.

  Alder stood quietly thinking for a moment.
>
  “Oh, no, please don’t tell me he really knitted sweaters,” Ryin pleaded.

  “No, I’m just not sure how to translate ‘ka’aanai’ into the common tongue. I believe the term is ‘martial artist.’”

  “Really,” Ryin said, perking up. “Was he any good?”

  “He won quite a few awards,” Alder said, noticing Ryin’s attention. “I didn’t know you were interested in such things?”

  “Are you kidding?” Ryin asked, cracking his knuckles and throwing a couple of practice punches. “That’s one of the best things a sailor can learn if he can find a teacher.”

  “Okay,” Alder said, impressed, “I’ll give you some lessons when we get back to the ship.”

  “Naw, let’s start now,” Ryin insisted. “What kind of style did your dad use?”

  “Pre-contemporary Romanticism, mostly.”

  “What kind of style is that?” Ryin asked, mouth open.

  “Pre-contemporary Romanticism uses intuitive subject matter and prefers soft-focus and surreal elements to emphasize the emotional over the intellectual. It is sometimes connected to surrealism.”

  “Wait,” Ryin interrupted, his hands dropping to his sides. “What the squat are you talking about? Is this some kind of code for hitting someone in the throat or something?”

  “Hitting someone in the throat?”

  “Yeah, does soft-focus teach me how to hit their pressure points? How am I going to attack someone with that?”

  Alder blinked and looked at him blankly. “You can’t attack people with this...unless you jabbed them in the eye with the paint brush or something.”

  “Paint brush? Wait, I thought you said your father was a martial artist?”

  “Yeah, he was a deputy martial in charge of district security, and he liked to paint.”

  Ryin’s expression turned painful, and he grabbed his temples and arched his back. “That’s ‘marshall’ not ‘martial.’” He moaned loudly as his brain attempted to vomit out its frustration.

  “Free sample?” a sweet little voice called out. Alder looked down and saw a child-sized golem, sculpted with large exaggerated eyes and ridiculously long curly blonde hair that hung down to her ankles, holding a silver tray with assorted pastries.

  “Free sample?” the golem asked again, holding out the tray. Alder was unsure what to do and looked to Ryin for assistance, but Ryin’s attention was fully fixed on a pair of young ladies whispering to each other and giggling.

  “Okay,” Ryin said, straightening his hair and grabbing Alder by the collar. “Today we start the first lesson of your real education.”

  “What is the subject?” Alder choked out.

  “What do you mean, ‘What’s the subject'?” Ryin said, imitating Alder’s high, squeaky voice. “I’m gonna’ teach you how to pick up women. When you’ve slept with as many women as I have, you feel the need to pass your wisdom on to others.”

  “Free sample?” the golem asked sweetly.

  “But I’m already engaged.” Alder objected.

  “Exactly. How are you gonna’ keep Athel interested in you if you don’t know how women like to be talked to?” Alder opened his mouth in protest, but Ryin was already dragging him across the street. Ryin swaggered up to the ladies, whose giggles hushed as he came near.

  “Hi,” Ryin said, giving what he considered to be a dashing smile.

  “That’s it? Just ‘hi’?” Alder questioned.

  “I’m Ryin Colenat, from Ferrus, and this scrawny little thing is Alder,” Ryin said, scratching his chin to emphasize his sharp jaw line.

  “Should I be writing this down?” Alder asked, before being silenced by an elbow to the gut.

  “Are you ladies locals, or are you just here doing some shopping?” Ryin asked smoothly. The taller of the two girls smoothed out the ruffles on her dress and then her eyes lit up and she whispered into the ear of her companion who giggled as well.

  “Maybe they don’t speak common,” Alder suggested.

  “Even better,” Ryin whispered as he reached into his pocket searching for something.

  “Free sample?” the golem asked again, tapping her tray against Alder’s thigh.

  “Bolts and dross,” Ryin cursed under his breath, “will you just take one!”

  “But what if I’m allergic to it?” Alder argued. Ryin snagged a yellow pastry off the tray and shoved it into Alder’s mouth. The two women burst out laughing, covering their mouths with their gloved hands as Alder gagged on the oral intrusion.

  Ryin found what he was looking for and unfolded a pamphlet for a nice outdoor restaurant on a nearby terrace. He waved his fingers back and forth between the four of them and then pointed at the pamphlet, giving a sly wink.

  “Donation?” the cute golem asked politely.

  “Now what does it want?” Alder asked as he cleaned the frosting off of his face.

  “It wants you to pay for the fraggin’ thing,” Ryin said through clenched teeth.

  “Donation?” the golem said, tugging on Alder’s uniform.

  “If I’m supposed to pay, then it’s not a free sample,” Alder argued. The golem tilted its oversized head sideways slightly in confusion, then smiled brightly and pointed at the coin slot built into its forehead.

  “Donation?” it insisted.

  Ryin groaned and his head fell down in defeat. The women giggled even more and pointed at something.

  “Well, at least they’re laughing,” Ryin said to himself.

  “Green,” the shorter woman whispered.

  “Wha’?”

  “Your pants are stained green,” she expounded, pointing at Alder’s uniform.

  “It’s not my fault,” Alder said, embarrassed, “Nothing gets out the stain when a Diade wears something.

  The ladies’ amusement fell from their faces and was replaced with concern.

  “You took a Diade’s pants off?” the taller one asked cautiously.

  “Of course I didn’t,” Alder defended. “My senior officer did.”

  The ladies concern was replaced with horror. “Come on,” the taller one said, grabbing her companion and walking away. “I told you all these Navy types were perverts.”

  “That’s not fair,” Alder defended, walking after them. “I was ordered to wear them.”

  The women became even more frightened and began walking swiftly away from them.

  “I got most of the smell out!” Alder yelled out in desperation, chasing after them.

  One of the women let out a yelp of fright and they broke into a panicked sprint, disappearing into the crowd. Alder ran sprinting after the pair, who were now screaming, when he ran headlong into something and fell backward onto his rump.

  Looking up, Alder met the fierce gaze of Athel as she stood before him, fresh shopping bags in her hands.

  “Just what are you DOING?!” She roared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Curiosity

  Mandi loved food. She had been able to identify and categorize 105 different kinds of pleasure, and while her exact ranking varied from day to day, food always found itself in the top twenty. She loved it so much she always found time to eat at least three times a day, even when she was in a body that didn’t need it.

  The spread that day was particularly good. The outdoor café she had chosen was located in one of the higher towers giving her a wonderful view of the floating shipyards to the Madaringa capital city, a hovering array of docks and catwalks that hung above the great stone walls and towers of the city below.

  Her current form was a plump dark haired woman with streaks of gray above her ears. The waiters had been kind enough to bring all eight courses at once as she had requested. She appreciated not being forced into eating along with their schedule. She surveyed the plates, and decided to start with one of the stuffed mushrooms, then a quick bite of cheesecake, a mouthful of breadstick dipped in a creamy soup, and washed it all down with a healthy glass of pomegranate wine, the local favorite. It seemed to her like there was a
deep emptiness inside of her, and no matter how much food she put into it, it never really seemed to fill up.

  A small bell chimed in her purse and she pulled out a message crystal and snapped it open on the table. From it rose a silhouetted image with hulking shoulders and a large avian beak.

  “Hi Marc,” she greeted cheerfully, taking a bite of salad.

  “Uh, my name is seven when we talk on an unsecured channel, you know that,” he responded, his voice partially masked through a filter.

  “Who do you think you’re fooling?” she chided. “How many people out there have wings and a beak?”

  “Fine,” he grunted. With a snap of his toes the image cleared, revealing his bright tropical plumage and striped beak. “Is that better?”

  “Almost,” she admitted. “It would help if you were a little cuter.”

  Marc ignored her quip and leaned in slightly. “I heard about what your father did to you. It wasn’t your fault that they got away.”

  Mandi went quiet for a moment, her hand subconsciously sliding along the scars on her arms.

  “Of course it wasn’t my fault,” she said, popping a strawberry in her mouth. “Everyone knows that the first rule of working for a secret cabal is to never accept responsibility for failure. I told him it was all your fault.”

  “Well, I think I might be able to help you out. It just so happens...”

  “We need a secret handshake,” she said thoughtfully, cutting him off.

  “W-what?”

  “What kind of cabal doesn’t have a secret handshake?”

  “I don’t think...” he began.

  “We should make one up,” she suggested, placing her hands together to test out several variations. “Okay, how about we clasp fingers like a train coupling and then touch thumbs?”

  “That’s called thumb wrestling.”

  “Okay, then, how about interlocking ring fingers?”

  “I’m ending this transmission.”

  “Okay fine,” she pouted. “What have you got for me?”

  “I have new information on the Dreadnaught.”

  “Good,” she said, slapping her plump belly. “I’m getting fat waiting for them to report here for repairs like they’re supposed to.”