Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (10 page)

“Tell the men to load the cannons,” Captain Sykes said dispassionately. “I want to have a volley ready as soon as we are in range.”

“Hands, run out the guns!” Left-tenant Iarti shouted. The gunnery crews moved quickly, precisely as they had been trained, their weapons loaded in half the time a normal crew would take to do so. Seeing their obvious proficiency, Captain Sykes felt a twinge of guilt at revoking the crew’s last entertainment night for lack of diligence. Part of him knew that he had done it to protect the men and women from becoming complacent and resting on their laurels. The honest part of him knew that he simply detested puppet shows.

“Incoming!” Berrimar called out from the crow’s nest, his voice causing everyone to look up in confusion.

“Impossible!” Left-tenant Iarti barked. “We're still ten minutes out from even the long-twelves.”

Captain Sykes held up his hand to silence the man, a gentle reminder to maintain decorum. Captain Sykes pulled out his spyglasses and put them to his face. He could clearly make out hundreds of large objects arcing through the air towards the lead Navy ships.

“Are those...pinecones?”

Before Captain Sykes could bring himself to scoff, the cones exploded in the air, each sending out razor-sharp seeds in all directions. Each as big as a pineapple, they shredded rigging, punctured sails, and embedded themselves deeply into the wood of the ships. The St. Downing groaned deeply and listed to one side as her upper foremast snapped at the base. Men and women ran in all directions to avoid the falling wood and debris. Aided by the floatstones in his uniform, Berrimars came down safely on the deck, his wide clawed feet gripping into the wood.

“We need extra power to the port side of the core, bring us aright,” Captain Sykes calmly ordered into the call-tubes as the foremast crashed around them, flipping two guns over the side and shredding the gunwale.

“Hands, bring in the lower mizzen mast, balance our sail count,” Left-tenant Iarti ordered, steadying himself against the sloping deck by grabbing onto a halyard.

Slowly the St. Downing righted herself and rejoined formation with the rest of her squadron.

“Is this the best these leaf-witches can do?” Left-tenant Iarti snarled.

Suddenly there arouse an unnatural noise, a strange ventriloquism originating from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if a thousand voices were flowing together into one bizarre keynote. Sounds that were less like words and more like breath caught in a throat. It grew louder and louder. It was coming from the other ships. Their crews were screaming.

Then the crew of the St. Downing joined their voices to the others. From all around the ship, the seeds that had impaled themselves into the wood began growing into full-sized trees, their roots worming between and breaking apart bulkhead and deck, their branches grabbing onto rigging and tearing apart sails.

With an unbelievable energy, the newly sprouted trees thrashed about, grabbing men and woman three and four at a time and tossing them overboard as if they were nothing more than handfuls of pebbles. The combined noise of their screams were terrible to bear, and startling in its power. Masts and yardarms were shattered as if they were mere matchsticks. As far as the eye could see, Navy ships were being torn to shreds.

Already without orders, the sailors counterattacked. Avid and Kathan fired their rifles into the nearest tree, but the balls merely imbedded themselves in the thick bark and only served to enrage it further. Nacer and Karite unloosed their cannon and turned it around to fire at a tree that had grown up through the gun deck. The gun fired with a crack of thunder, tearing away a huge chunk of the tree’s trunk, but doing far more damage to the ship itself, breaking the ribbing of the quarterdeck and causing the helm to collapse.

In the center of all the chaos, Captain Sykes stood calmly, giving out orders and attempting to rally his sailors.

“It is a mistake to underestimate a worthy opponent,” Captain Sykes reminded his Left-tenant.

* * *

“If you think you can do better, be my guest!” Captain Evere snarled as he shoved his sextant into Athel’s grip, then grabbed his parrot and placed it on her shoulder. “You'll find that I charted the course perfectly, the problem is that the course leads us to nothing! We are about as far from land as you can get in every direction. And who chose this location? You!”

“I’m not blaming you,” Athel shot back, trying to keep her temper in check as she brushed off the bird. Being yelled at by a man was something she could never get used to. Rationally, she knew that he was her superior officer, but emotionally it just felt so wildly inappropriate that she couldn’t help but get upset. She wanted to rise up and say things like ‘how dare you speak to me that way’ in her most commanding tone, but that would be her mother talking, not her, so she bit her tongue.

“It’s just that everything hinged on this, and now it’s rusted over.” Athel said, wringing her hands on the sextant. “There’s got to be something else we can do to help.”

“The problem has nothing to do with the location,” Privet announced in disgust as he leaned against the mainmast. It has everything to do with the fact that we followed a mark on a chart that was made by a crazy person!”

“There is nothing we can do this far out.” Ryin admitted, his face red with frustration. “By the time we get anywhere, the battle will be long over. By the time we get to Wysteria it probably won’t even be there anymore.”

Athel’s face flushed with ire. “Hey, this is my homeland, my people! Try to have a little tact when talking about it, okay?”

“Oh, come off it, Athel,” Ryin hollered. “If you really cared so much we'd have gone there to help like everyone else wanted to.”

Athel threw down the sextant. “You insolent man! How dare you talk to me in...” She caught herself and covered her mouth with her hand. She was using her mother’s voice again.

“Mr. Colenat, you will keep a civil tongue or I will cut it out, do you hear me?” Mina threatened.

“Ah, the kid’s still just sore because she ruined his hat,” Captain Evere griped.

“Of course I am!” Ryin pressed. “Do you know how much that hat cost?”

“Look, I said I was sorry and I meant it,” Athel restated. “I was seasick and I grabbed the closest things I could find.”

“I'll say you weren’t thinking; you're supposed to lean over the side!”

“We were over a town! It might have landed on some kid!”

“Belay that!” Evere barked, rising to his full height up above Ryin. “Colenat, you're acting like a child.”

At this point, Captain Evere, Ryin, and Mina all began screaming over one another, their voices blending into a general squall. Athel and Privet tried to smooth things over, but were generally ignored. As the others fought, Alder slowly removed himself and walked over to the small carpet where Margaret sat meditating, the tips of her fingers spread out before her.

“How much longer do you think they are going to fight?” Margaret asked without opening her eyes.

“At least a few more minutes, I’m afraid,” Alder guessed. “I’m sorry to say I’m becoming quite used to watching my wife make people angry.”

“She has quite a talent for it,” Margaret observed.

“Yes,” Alder sighed. “A rare talent that goes beyond training or experience. I must say, you have become quite adept at maintaining your composure around this crew, even in the midst of so much confrontation.”

Margaret smiled and pushed her glasses farther up on her nose. “I had to. My magic doesn’t work right when I’m upset.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I can only speak to the wind effectively when I am calm like this,” Margaret shared.

Alder tilted his head to one side. “I had understood that the wind doesn’t have a voice,” he mentioned.

“Who said that?”

“Your cousin, Invini.”

“Ah, well that is sadly typical,” Margaret snickered. “You see, wind is freedom. Absolute freedom. It moves wherever the mood moves it. It has no agenda, no motive. No purpose other than to exist and travel from place to place. You cannot hold onto it. Even when we breathe in we have to release it almost immediately. It is completely peaceful.”

“Peaceful?” Alder repeated warily. “Since joining the Navy I have seen some fierce storms that I would have difficulty labeling as peaceful.”

“That is because you are looking at it from your perspective,” Margaret explained. “When you walk on the ground do you consider the thousands of small ant and worm tunnels that collapse beneath your feet, or the chaos your passing creates among falling pollen? Of course not, such things are well below your notice. The wind is the same way. It exists on a scale so big that it normally doesn’t even notice us tiny living things. If the wind seems malicious, it is only because we are too small to catch its attention. Wind is free because it has no enemies, holds no enmity.”

“I see, that is most fascinating.” Alder praised. “So, a Stormcaller like yourself is able to speak to it somehow?”

“Yes, it is something I have had to learn mostly on my own out here, since women are never trained as Stormcallers on Stretis.”

“So, you were never trained?” Alder asked doubtfully.

Margaret cracked open an eye and looked at him sideways. “I’d have thought all the torn sails would have clued you in.”

“Well, I still assumed you had to have some training, since you are able to do it to begin with.”

Margaret shook her head. “Study and training make you more skillful, but you always have the magic; it is part of who you are.”

“I see,” Alder said, a little dejected.

“By communing with the spirit of the wind, I can momentarily join my essence with it, imparting a bit of my will into it. But, as a low level, I cannot control it; I am only its humble guide making a suggestion. High-level stormcallers like my cousin can restrain the wind like the banks of a river. Channeling it to do their will. For them, communion is unnecessary; they can simply force it to do their bidding, which is why, after a while, they stop thinking of it as a living thing.”

Alder moved over and knelt alongside her and closed his eyes. “I wish the winds would talk to me. The men of my island have no magic. What are the winds saying right now?”

“Hang on, I'll ask,” Margaret said, concentrating harder. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed.

“Is there something wrong?” Alder asked.

“The winds are flowing around something,” Margaret deduced. “Something big.”

Margaret stood up and hit the ship’s bell, momentarily catching the attention of the squabbling crew.

“There’s something big right over there,” Margaret announced, pointing at empty sky.

“The heat finally got to her, didn’t it?” Ryin asked.

“No, I’m serious; the wind is splitting itself over there on the right.”

“Starboard,” Captain Evere corrected.

“Yeah, that.”

The sails of the Quaranna were unfurled and Margaret coaxed a gentle breeze, which inched the ship forwards. After a few minutes, the air before them began to ripple like the surface of a pond. The prow of the ship was no longer visible as they moved into some kind of rippling surface. Slowly, the middle portion of the ship disappeared into the space beyond.

“Wait, I just thought of something,” Ryin said as he stepped backwards. “What if this is like that Stonemaster barrier back at Thesda? You know, the one that flays and dissolves everything down to nothing?”

“Oh,” Athel said.

“Oh, what?”

“‘Oh, as in, that didn’t occur to me until just now,” Athel admitted.

Everyone looked forward at the rippling barrier moving towards them over the midsection of the ship. Margaret squeaked in fright.

“Athel, you bark beetle, what have you gotten us into?” Privet yelled, backing up away from the approaching barrier.

“I always knew she'd get us killed,” Ryin shouted, running to the rear of the ship.

“Why is this my fault?” Athel complained, backing up.

“Wait, so the reason we can’t see the front of the ship is because it might not be there anymore?” Margaret asked, panicking.

“You've got to stop the ship,” Privet yelled, grabbing Margaret. “Create a wind to blow us backwards

“I-I uh,” Margaret stuttered, trembling.

“Do it, hurry!” Privet insisted, shaking Margaret until her large glasses fell off of her face.

The barrier had now passed over most of the ship, only the quarterdeck and poop deck remained, with the crew huddled at the rear.

“What'll we do?” Mina asked, grabbing her husband’s arm.

“Well, if this is one of those void barriers, then it won’t affect someone with a Stonemaster’s seal, right?” Captain Evere surmised.

“I suppose so,” Athel admitted worriedly.

“Good,” Captain Evere appraised. He snatched up Athel with one hand and tossed her forward, through the barrier. Athel disappeared as she passed through the rippling surface.

“Well, what did that accomplish?” Mina complained.

“Watch woman,” Captain Evere ordered. “Athel, is the prow of the ship still on that side?” He yelled out.

“Yes it is, you stupid twig!” Athel yelled back.

“Oh,” Mina blushed.

Captain Evere and the others relaxed and allowed the barrier to pass over them. Suddenly they were on the other side, and the full ship was visible again, along with a very angry Treesinger.

“And what if it had been a void barrier?” Athel complained, dusting off her combat gown. “I would have just fallen off into the sea or something.”

“No, I’m fairly certain your floatstones would have allowed you to reach that platform,” Alder said, pointing upwards.

Everyone looked up at the impressive structure before them. An enormous tower of black obsidian, hexagonal at the base, then slowly twisting as it rose far up into the air. It sprouted up out of the water like a dagger. The wild sea lapped hungrily at its surface, but seemed to do little more than rub away at the outer layers. The sharp edges felt blurred, difficult to look at, as it is for someone who has removed their glasses and cannot see clearly no matter how much they squint.

The top portion of the tower was dominated by a landing platform big enough for a ship to dock at, above which stood a sphere of covered with black needles, like an anemone made of glass.