Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (22 page)

Athel fell down, landing in a muddy puddle as the Baakuu warrior stood over her, ready to deliver the killing blow. Amber-colored blood dripped down her face as she looked up into his white, feral eyes. She tried to bring up her blade, but he stepped on her wrist, driving it deeply into the mud.

Oh crap.

Athel held up her other hand feebly, but the killing blow never came. The Baakuu warrior was frozen in place where he stood, spear raised above his head with both hands. A gentle wind passed over him, and the Baakuu warrior dissolved, as if he were nothing more than a sand painting caught in a breeze.

Athel looked around and saw that all the remaining Baakuu disappearing the same way.

Through a gap in the dome, she could see the Ash Summoner pinned to the ground, Naanie standing over him with a knife to the man’s throat.

“See, I knew you could do it,” Athel breathed aloud as the villagers rose up and cheered.

The next few hours were some of the most lively Athel had seen. The villagers lavished her with whatever gifts they could offer, falling on her neck and breathing out thanks. She politely declined most of the gifts, except for a bag of Juupa seeds, which she happily accepted. Her wounds were temporarily bound, long enough for her to get back to Deutzia and have them healed. A scout party was sent out to the Dreadnaught to alert the crew to her location.

Chief Maaturro lead his people in the preparation of a great feast to celebrate their victory. Music and laughter filled the air in a way that was positively infectious.

“The defeated Ash Summoner has been escorted back to his ship,” Naanie announced before apologizing to Athel once again.

“Do you think the Baakuu will come back?” Athel asked.

“Not for a long time,” Naanie conjected. “But if they do, we will stand against them.”

Athel looked out towards the setting sun. She could see the silhouette of the Dreadnaught approaching to pick her up.

“What about Tidnaa?” she asked apprehensively.

“As far as I am concerned, if Tidnaa wants to get back on our good side, he will have to earn it,” Naanie said with a wide grin.

Naanie laughed and Athel could not help but laugh along with him, even though it hurt her side to do so.

The political situation back at Stretis was devastating. Every day, more Navy ships hobbled into the choked ports, full of disoriented sailors. No two stories were alike. Wide-eyed sailors swore that fiery dragons had risen up out of the forest to set their ships ablaze. Men and women who stunk of charcoal and ale gave first-hand accounts of cursed ghost ships drifting out to sea, their entire crews having been transformed into writhing trees. Still other sailors took advantage of the chaos to redress old grievances. Hazarians accused the Huutsak of cowardice, while the Diades accused the Isolites of firing on friendly ships during the battle. Sailors were by nature extremely superstitious, so such tales had to be taken with a grain of salt, yet they could not be outright denied, either. Regardless of the tales, the fact remained that the assault on Wysteria had been a military disaster of legendary proportions.

With communications still down, the leadership of Stretis was in chaos, trying to find docks and boarding for incoming ships. Most of the undamaged ships were redirected to nearby islands. The Royal Hall on Stretis was almost completely unrecognizable. Mountains of paperwork sat alongside makeshift desks, while scribes and bureaucrats tried to manage and catalog the situation. A million pieces of data, but no answers.

Only one thing was for sure. The attack had failed.

Duchess Erin Strenlan shifted in her chair as yet another sharp-nosed representative from a noble family expressed his utter disapproval at the way his family’s private docks had been commandeered for military repairs, the loss of prestige from a Stretis-lead military campaign becoming a complete disaster, and demands for apology and compensation. To be honest, she was barely listening. They all said the same kinds of things, and it was all beginning to just blur together into one big tantrum.

Erin leaned to one side so she could see past him. The line of such people stretched all the way across the hall and through the doors outside. She blew a strand of hair away from her face in irritation.

Politics is hard.

In the past, she had been able to rely on the power of the Eye of the Storm Necklace she had possessed. Only now did she realize how much she had come to depend on it. People were so much easier to manipulate when you could sense their intentions and thoughts. Now, she could only rely on her own skills as a politician, and she had to admit, even to herself, that she was out of her element. Before coming across the necklace and being adopted into the royal family she had been, after all, nothing more than a waitress.

Erin hefted up her heavy ornamental gown and walked away while the current complainer was still in mid- sentence. To his credit, he carried on unflappably, addressing his grievances to an empty chair as The Duchess walked past the rows of improvised stacks and scribbling scribes and closed the heavy wooden doors behind her.

Pulling out a golden key from her hair, Erin opened up a shining door and descended a spiral staircase. Gradually, the sounds of bickering delegates and panicked bureaucrats grew quieter as she made her way down into the windy tunnels that made up the temple of Nehirana beneath the palace.

Turning a corner, she entered a sacred chamber where thousands of stone pillars rose up from the bottomless depths below, creating a pattern like a checkerboard.

“Get out of here, shoo!” The Duchess commanded to the attending priests, who scurried away with their incense burners and lit candles.

“Nehirana, we need to talk,” Erin stated boldly to the echoless chamber.

Streams of light rose up from amongst the pillars, coalescing themselves into the form of a portly man, in the attitude of lounging on his side. His skin glowed with divine energy. Slowly, his eyes opened. They were without pupil, and shone like lightning. When he inhaled to speak, the air rushed out of the entire hall, nearly knocking The Duchess over.

“Speak, my adopted daughter,” the god allowed. The power of his voice reverberated through her.

“Our communications are still down. I need to know what happened out there. I can’t make decisions in the dark like this.”

Nehirana ran a hand over his smooth head. “Several weeks ago the goddess Milia came to me. She pleaded with me to convince the Stone Council to call off the attack on her island. I had never seen such a pitiful display. It emboldened me. Now, I realize that she played me for a fool. She led us into a trap.”

Erin clucked her tongue as she played with the end of her braid, flicking it back and forth against her nose. “Ten thousand ships against a single island? That doesn’t sound like a trap. It’s far more likely that she really was desperate at the time.”

Nehirana cocked an eyebrow at her. “You dare gainsay your god?”

Erin caught the sudden sharpness in his tone and dropped her braid in panic. “Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate...um...sorry.”

Nehirana accepted the apology with a wink. “I never dreamed Milia would take physical form to defend her island.”

“Can a god even do that?” she asked, confused.

Nehirana nodded solemnly. “She paid the ultimate price. Her spirit is lost in a deep sleep now. I doubt she will ever recover.”

“Can a god really die?” she asked, astounded.

“In truth, Milia has been diminishing for some time now. Her sacrifice only accelerated a process that was already inevitable.”

Erin was confused, but tried to hide it. “So, Great One...er...Great Mighty One...um...”

“You're new at this, aren’t you?”

She chuckled nervously. “Does it show?”

“Painfully so.”

Erin cleared her throat and organized her thoughts. “I guess I just don’t understand why we committed so many of our forces to attack Wysteria.”

“Two reasons,” Nehirana said, holding up two glowing digits. “First, it was a chance to show up my longtime rival, Hestial. His island only contributed a handful of ships, and I was going to rub his smug face in it.”

“That seems like a lot of effort just to thumb your nose at someone,” Erin appraised.

Nehirana looked at her sharply.

“...not that it is my place to say,” she retreated.

“Do not misunderstand. I would gladly trade the lives of all the people on my island to prove myself superior to Hestial. Such was the purpose for which I created you to begin with.”

The Duchess couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but held her tongue.

“...but neither will I throw away your lives recklessly, for they are precious to me. And that is my second reason. Our island is in danger, and I was promised that if we participated in the assault, our lands would be spared.”

“Spared?” Erin repeated, her brow furrowed. “From what?”

“The seas. He promised me...” Nehirana said, trailing off.

“Who could make such a promise?”

They were both interrupted by the Royal Adjutant as she ran into the room. “Duchess, The prism stream is functioning again. There is a transmission that you need to see.”

“I'll be right up,” Erin assured.

“Don’t bother,” Nehirana offered. With a wave of his hand, a window of magical energy appeared, showing the stream. The image was that of Queen Forsythia, sitting resolutely on her throne. She looked older than Erin remembered. The lines on her face had become deep, the color in her hair had faded. Even her eyes looked dull. No jewels or flowers adorned her braided hair, and her dress was plain and unassuming. Everything about her appearance seemed calculated to force one to listen to her rather than look at her.

“Citizens of the world,” The Queen said coldly. “I come to you this day because we are all in danger. Despite my repeated protests, The Stone Council refuses to end their spell which is driving the seas of Aetria to eat away at all dry land. If we do not act quickly...”

“Who is this being sent to?” Erin asked her Adjutant.

“It is a general message to all islands.”

“Call the Stone Council, see if they can disrupt it.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the Adjutant said as she ran off.

“...On the third day of this month, The Stone Council sent an assault force of ten thousand ships to my island,” Queen Forsythia announced. “That force has been defeated.”

“Gah! So much for trying to keep this quiet,” Erin complained. Already she could feel the political nightmare this would create.

Queen Forsythia leaned forward. Her eyes were icily focused. “Currently, my people have as prisoners the survivors of the Naval assault. We have counted them, and they number over five hundred thousand.”

“Here it comes,” Erin sniped.

“The men and women of The Navy are not our enemy,” Queen Fosythia declared boldly. “Our enemy is The Stone Council. Therefore, we are releasing all of our prisoners immediately.”

Erin’s jaw fell open in disbelief. She glanced up to see if Nehirana was as astonished as she was, but he only tugged on a massive earlobe thoughtfully.

“She’s an idiot!” Erin criticized. “She could have traded them, or threatened to kill them if we attack again.”

“No, she is brilliant,” Nehirana praised. “In war, there is no weapon stronger than reputation. A reputation for victory makes your enemies reluctant to attack. A reputation for mercy makes your enemies quick to surrender. Not to mention that there will now be half a million soldiers that we will have to feed and house instead of her, and those men and women shall feel grateful to a people they should be thinking of as their enemy.”

Queen Forsythia sat back. “I invite all islands to join with me in opposition to the Stone Council. If we stand together, we can...” The image of Queen Forsythia became blurrier and more distorted, until it finally died out.

“Two minutes too late disrupting the stream,” Erin grumbled.

A servant came up apprehensively. “Duchess, The Stone Council commands you to make contact with them immediately.”

Erin’s eyes grew wide and she let out a small squeak of fright.

Taking her leave, she made her way up to a special room that straddled the Palace’s prism stream. Without livery or decoration, it was barely bigger than a closet, but the second she stepped into it, the room rearranged itself into a bowl-shaped amphitheater. Row upon row of Council members sat, looking down upon her in the center. The only illumination came from a single beam of light that landed down around her. Erin lifted up her hand to shield her eyes from the light, but try as she might, she could only see each Council member as a dim silhouette.

“You have failed us,” came an accusatory voice from a shadowy outline.

Erin wrapped her hands around herself, as if she was cold. “I...”

“You were given a simple task, to bring us a live Treesinger,” another silhouette explained.

“Wysteria will fall,” Erin assured. “Now that we have communications back, we can regroup the fleet and...”

“You have failed us,” a dark shape indicted.

“Now wait just a minute,” Erin defended, her shoulders slumping as if under a great pressure. “I was not in charge of the invasion, The King and Queen were. I only helped with some of the transmissions. You...you should be talking to them about this...”