Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (13 page)

Thousands of ships fired their cannons into Milia. The smaller shells did little more than embed themselves into bark, but the mortars did far more damage, exploding within her, and tearing out large sections of living wood and leaving deep wounds behind.

Around her the ships swarmed, like a mass of angry insects. Milia swiped her hand, swatting several out of the air, but thousands more remained. Tirrakian beam ships cut deeply into her; Lightning Galleons struck her repeatedly, setting large sections of her body on fire. Back and forth, Milia thrashed to defend her forest and her daughters, striking three and four ships at a time, but on and on they came. Fumes and smoke from tens of thousands of cannons covered the island in a thick haze of black, sulfurous clouds.

Volley after volley slammed into Milia. Weaker now, she battled on, her limbs trembling with pain as she lashed out at the airships breaking their masts and cracking their hulls, yet failing to destroy them. The Indominable came about directly in front of her, so close that the smoke from her burning body clogged the view of the gunnery crews.

With a thunderous roar, the Indomitable released a broadside directly into Milia’s chest. For a moment, all became still, then slowly, Milia brought her hands up, clutching the deep wound over her heart. Agony crossed her face, and her lips moved, as if to speak, to plead on behalf of her daughters, but her voice was lost in the thunder of cannon fire. Slowly, she began to fall. Like a mountain, she came crashing to her knees. The earth shook and the seas beyond rippled from the shock wave.

Great silver tears ran down Milia’s cheeks falling to the ground below, but The Navy ships showed no mercy. They fired into her burning and broken body. Like spiteful carrion they relished the destruction they created, the pain they were inflicting.

* * *

“This is bad,” Ryin complained as he backed up towards a wall, cradling his injured arm, which had taken a nasty cut at the elbow. “I can’t tell which one of you are the real ones and which ones are the copies.”

“I'll give you a hint, I’m the one who is bleeding,” Evere coughed. With one hand, he fought off a trio of Minas, and with the other hand he held his side, his uniform stained red with blood.

Privet forced his opponent’s blade to the floor, then came up just in time to block a slice aimed at his head. He spun around and instinctively raised his saber to attack a new opponent. Margaret shrieked in fear and dropped down, covering her head with her hands.

“Oh, sorry,” Privet apologized.

Athel and Alder were being forced back towards the wall. Athel blocked one slash with her blade, but another attack caught her in the shoulder. Her armor turned the blade, but she was thrown off balance.

Dr. Griffin yelped and fell, gripping a deep stab wound in his thigh.

A copy of Ryin caught Athel at the back of the knee, where there was no armor. She screamed in pain, amber-colored blood gushing from her wound as she fell to the ground. Her saber clattered behind her.

Evere bellowed in pain as a cutlass from his own copy chopped deeply into his shoulder.

Mina was knocked to the ground by a copy of Ryin, his blade held tight against her throat.

Athel tried to roll herself upright, but two copies of Privet grabbed her arms and held her down flat on her back. A third copy of Privet stood over her and lifted his blade to finish her off.

“Leave her alone!” Alder commanded, his voice uncommonly deep and forceful. He snatched up Athel’s blade from where it had fallen and lifted it up over his head as if to chop at the apparitions. But the weight of the weapon put him off balance, and he fell awkwardly backwards onto the floor.

Athel’s face fell. “My hero,” she said sarcastically.

But the third Privet copy did not strike her. Instead, it stepped back, clutching a wound placed at its heart, a dark purple light emanating from within.

“How did you do that?” Athel asked, craning her neck around to see Alder.

“I-I’m not sure,” Alder admitted as he rose to his knees.

Athel looked underneath him, and saw that her blade had cracked a mirror with its point when Alder had fallen.

“The mirror,” Athel gasped. “Do it again!”

Alder jammed the blade down and this time, the mirror shattered. The other two Privet copies released her, clutching injuries across their chests.

“The mirrors, break the mirrors!” Athel yelled out for all to hear.

Captain Evere stabbed his cutlass down, breaking the mirror beneath him. The copies around him clutched deep wounds on their legs and arms. Dr. Griffin pulled out a vial and tossed it forward, exploding in a flash that destroyed several mirrors. Copies all over fell to their knees, wounds across their bodies.

The copy of Ryin holding Mina dropped his weapon and reeled back, deep gashes along his shoulders and face.

“You'll want to cover your ears for this one.” Mina warned everyone as she leapt up and cupped her hands before her. Her mouth opened as if she were singing, but so sound could be heard. Instead, the energy was gathered between her hands, a nearly invisible compressed ball that grew larger and larger in her grasp.

Privet spun at an attack from a copy of Athel and smashed the mirror beneath him.

Mina released the sonic energy, a beautiful, single note that radiated out in a glowing sphere. In its wake, the mirrors shattered, a wave of broken glass that encompassed the entire room. The remaining copies exploded into a purple dust that slowly diminished as if fell through the air, disappearing long before any of it reached the ground.

The crew of the Dreadnaught looked around at each other. Slowly, the artificial room around them faded and the reality took shape. Before them stood the enormous prism stream that powered the Navy’s communications. It grew up out of the obsidian floor as long hexagonal crystals, each the size of a house, arranged in a fan shape, vaguely resembling a pipe organ. Shadowy faces moved through the crystal facets, sometimes in pain, other times with an expression of pleading.

No order was given; they all knew what to do. Mina charged up a sonic blast. Evere, Privet, and Ryin loaded and readied their rifles. Dr. Griffin pulled out several explosive vials. Alder tossed a seed to Athel and she dropped it to the ground, using her staff to grow a trio of powerful, sinuous barbed vines that wound themselves together like a drill, ready to strike.

As one, they released their attacks and the crystals shattered. Spectral cries flowed out in all directions. The broken fragments melted into a black tar that splattered to the floor, bubbling and hissing.

“Black shakes,” Athel realized. “The whole thing was made out of black shakes.”

The pool of tar flowed out across the floor. Afraid to let it touch them, the crew of the Dreadnaught backed away. Margaret summoned a wind that cleared the floor nearest them.

When the tar washed over the vines Athel had grown, they thrashed about wildly.

Athel screamed as she clutched her staff. Her long red hair flew out in al directions as purple and black crackles of energy swirled around her.

“Athel, let go of you staff,” Privet warned.

“I-I can’t,” Athel yelled, falling to her knees. Her body shook violently, amber blood trickling from her ears and nose.

“We have to break her link to the vines,” Alder instructed. Without hesitation, Privet drew his blade and hacked. Athel’s staff broke in half, then disintegrated. She fell backwards into Alder’s arms.

The vines withered and died from their contact with the black shakes.

Slowly everyone backed away, dragging Athel until they reached a safe distance from the expanding pool of black shakes.

Alder was white with worry as he held his wife in his arms, gently stroking her freckled cheek until she finally opened her beautiful brown eyes.

“It...it felt like my soul was being sucked straight out of me,” Athel whispered.

* * *

Milia’s tears fell to the ground, enraging the remaining trees of the forest. They fought back with a power and vigor that was shocking to behold. Without any regard for their own safety, trees uprooted themselves, leaping up into the air and wrapping themselves around airships, dragging them to the ground by their own weight and bulk. Some trees, already on fire, intentionally wrapped themselves around two or three Navy ships and drew them in close, attempting to light the airships on fire with their own burning bodies.

“Admiral, I can’t signal any of our flagships,” Nicole called out as The Indomitable was pulled hard to starboard by a pair of uprooted trees attempting to flip her over with their mass.

“They must have damaged the prism stream.” Admiral Roapes said as he clung to his chair, the entire room listing heavily to one side. “Engage the backups, Nikki.”

Rachael lost her footing and slid across the floor, pinning one of the pilots against the wall and spilling nail polish all over the both of them

“I already have,” Nicole reported, clutching the map podium. “The entire communications artery is down. I can’t signal anyone.”

There was a horrible screech of twisting metal. The room shook violently, then snapped to the other side. Jessica was thrown against the opposite wall, only to have Rachael and the pilot slide across the floor and land on top of her.

Nicole looked up and saw a terrible sight. A burning tree was falling away towards the blazing forest below, clutching in its branches a huge section of the gun deck that it had managed to tear free. Terrified sailors fell around it like leaves.

Through the forward viewport, she could see the dying form of Milia, struggling to right herself.

“Give her another volley,” Admiral Roapes ordered, his eyes alight. “We've almost got her!”

“There has been damage to the portside stone array,” Nicole reported, trying to make sense of the dozens of voices screaming into the call-tubes. “We must withdraw.”

The ship jerked to one side, tossing Admiral Roapes out of his command chair. Steam tracers burst, filling the room with a searing white mist.

“I said volley fire!” Roapes said, emerging from the mist like a demon. “Follow my commands!”

Nicole froze. She had always been taught that there was no such thing as evil, that there were merely other cultures, other points of view. But, standing above the call-tubes filled with screaming voices, the dying form of Milia before her, the screaming visage of Admiral Roapes behind her, her heart told her that this was evil.

“I'll do it myself,” Admiral Roapes barked, shoving Nicole back. Nicole thudded to the floor painfully as Admiral Roapes thundered into the call-tubes. “All gun decks, continue fire!”

Another volley of mortar shells struck out from the Indomitable into Milia. Her whole body trembled and shook with pain as the devastating weapons tore away deep, exposed parts of her body.

Just then, there was a clanging of metal on metal, something Nicole had not heard before during this battle of wood and vine. Struggling to her feet, she looked out the viewport with her telescope. Flashes of cannon-fire caught her attention, followed by more impacts. Below them were groups of Wysterians, men by their shabby appearance. In teams of four and five, they were running fearlessly out into the burning forest, and bringing back salvaged cannon from the crashed Navy ships. Dragging them to the feet of Milia, they loaded and fired them towards The Indomitable. More than two dozen were already firing, with twice as many being setup around the goddess.

Another volley slammed into Milia. Her frame shook, her eyes unfocused. She was too weak now to even cry out in pain. The Wysterian men returned fire into the side of the ironclad.

“They're aiming for our powder magazines!” Nicole realized.

“So what? We nearly have her!” Admiral Roapes said, licking his lips.

“Our entire port side armor has been torn away!” Nicole pleaded. “The internal decks are exposed. If they hit the powder magazines the ship will be blown to pieces!”

“Have our escorts shore up our flank, use their hulls to shield the gap in our armor.”

“But, we can’t...”

“Signal them manually if you have to!” Admiral Roapes barked. “Make a flag with bedsheets and blood to wave at them if you have to.”

Nicole took a step back. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her whole body trembled.

Admiral Roapes turned to her, fire in his eyes. “Do it, Nikki, that’s an order!”

Slowly Nicole’s trembling hands balled themselves into fists. “My name...” she said, wheeling back as far as she could. “...is NICOLE!”

Nicole punched the Admiral, catching him in the sweet spot just behind his big, fat ear. Insensible, he collapsed onto the call-tubes, muffling the frantic voices.

Nicole looked at her already swelling hand, then looked around, unable to believe what she had just done. The rest of the bridge crew looked at her, their eyes as wide as saucers.

Slowly, Nicole straightened her uniform and stood up straight. “Admiral Roapes has been injured by a Wysterian seed impact. I am taking command in his absence. Any objections?”

The bridge staff slowly shook their heads.

“Bosun, what is the fleet situation?” Nicole asked formally, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.

“Without communications our escorts are already falling back,” The Bosun called out, looking out the viewports. “Everyone is. The whole taskforce is withdrawing.”

“Then so are we. Pilot, set course 271, best possible speed. All gun decks silence and stow.”

“Aye, Ma'am.” The bridge crew responded.

Slowly, The Indomitable turned away from its prey and began limping away, along with the rest of the massive invasion force. The sounds of battle began to gradually die down.

“Send the gunnery crews on search, I want all our wounded taken to sick bay,” Nicole ordered, sitting down in the command chair. Rachel slowly came to her feet, nail polish splattered all over her uniform and hair. Unsure what to do, she gathered up a bent tray and some smashed pastries and bashfully served them to Nicole. Nicole shot her daggers with her eyes. Rachael withdrew the offer, and instead sat timidly back down on her stool.