Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (30 page)

“Don’t tell them that!” Deutzia shined brightly. “They'll think you're being serious.”

“Sounds really boring,” Setsuna observed, looking Deutzia over.

“Well, you know, they're just trees, they're really not that bright.”

Deutzia shook with anger. “Not that bright? Tell her about the other day you were reading that book about Falmarian philosophy, and I had to explain it all to you ‘cause you didn’t get it. Tell her about that,” Deutzia shimmered.

“What is she saying now?” Setsuna asked as she appeared on the ground alongside Athel.

“Oh, she’s worried that while we are gone some prairie dog will climb up her trunk and tickle her or something.”

Carefully, Deutzia’s pot was settled into the ground, but her branches thrashed about angrily. “Bring me out a chesu board, you've never beaten me once at chesu. I'll thrash you in front of all of them, then we'll show ‘em who the dim one is!”

Athel gave a wicked grin and stretched back, ignoring Deutzia. In the air above her were hundreds of pirate ships, ready to begin the assault. From this distance, they looked like angry little beetles holding onto kites.

Mina climbed down a rope ladder, cradling something carefully in her arms. As she handed it over, Athel looked at it solemnly. It was Spirea’s tree Sumac in her pot, or at least, what was left of it. The tiny branches and trunk were dead and lifeless. A few dead leaves rested on the surface of the dirt. Athel quietly stirred them with a finger. Even now, she could still feel the hatred in Spirea’s eyes when they had last parted.

“She thinks I betrayed her,” Athel admitted, unable to hide her regret.

Mina placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You said it yourself, the roots are still alive. These things take time.”

Athel looked up and smiled gratefully. “You're right.”

Athel took out her water pouch and emptied the contents into Sumac’s pot, then walked over and set it down next to Deutzia. “You keep an eye on her while I’m gone, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, we'll pass the time talking about chipmunk droppings and stuff,” Deutzia quipped.

Athel chuckled and slugged one of Deutzia’s branches. “Take care, sis.”

“You too,” Deutzia shimmered, slugging her back.

Athel scampered up the rope ladder and threw herself over the gunwale onto the deck. Urbar was there, finishing one of the strange incantations of his people. A pair of circles had been drawn with chalk on the deck; powerful runic symbols written out between the inner and outer circles. Within the inner circle, a five-pointed pentagram had been drawn, the upper point painstakingly aligned with true north. Each of the triangular points contained a small cup which had been filled with a different material. Iron shavings, saltpeter, gypsum, charcoal, and something Athel couldn’t recognize, but it smelled like eggs.

Urbar tapped his crooked staff against his shell, and the runes carved into it glowed brightly. The circle came alive in a swirl, like a miniature tornado. At Urbar’s command, the tornado rushed over and enveloped the stacks of cargo boxes that had been prepared at the far end of the deck. Golden light filled the air, and then the tornado subsided.

“It is done,” Urbar announced as he scratched his wrinkly neck.

The cargo boxes appeared unchanged, so Hanner walked over and lifted the lid off of one. Instead of gravel, the crates were now full of shining golden taries.

“Amazing,” Hanner praised as he picked up a handful. “They even feel like real gold.”

“How long will the illusion last?” Athel asked.

“Only a couple of hours, so we best get moving.”

“All right, signal the fleet; we move out in fifteen minutes,” Captain Evere called out. Several of the pirates picked up their signal flags and began relaying the command to the other ships. Once the attack began, their presence would be known, but until then, they wanted to refrain from using the prism stream system for as long as possible.

“Colenat! Man your flags, boy!” Captain Evere ordered when he noticed Ryin sitting down on the deck in front of Bazult.

“One second, old man,” Ryin called back. “I paid fifteen taries for this and I want my money’s worth.”

Evere flicked his black eyes over at Athel and she nodded. Walking over to Ryin, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Ryin, we need to get going.”

Bazult was in some sort of trance. The spots on his fur glowed with a dim, blue-white light as he traced along Ryin’s palm with one of his claws.

“Your lifeline is very long,” Bazult praised. “To be honest, I cannot see the end of it.”

“That’s good right?” Ryin insisted.

Bazult shrugged. “It depends on the quality of the life, I suppose.”

Ryin was becoming impatient. “Yeah, but what about women? Tell me about the women in my future. Gimme something so I'll be able to recognize them.”

Bazult’s features pinched in concentration. “I see...a little girl with scars.”

“What?” Ryin balked, yanking his hand away. “No, I want to know about the women who fall in love with me. You know, some scrumptious salty wench. She’s out there, we just haven’t met yet; tell me where she is!”

Bazult only swayed back and forth in meditation. “Melissa...”

Athel tapped Ryin on the shoulder. “Come on, Ryin, you shouldn’t mess with stuff like this.”

Bazult opened his feline eyes and looked up at her. “You don’t believe in the visions of Chert? You don’t believe in fate?”

Athel grabbed Ryin by the collar and forced him to his feet. “You've got it all wrong. I do believe in fate, that’s why I’m afraid of it.”

Ryin reluctantly took up his post and began signaling. Occasionally, he would stop and look at his palm, as if he half expected to see something he could interpret for himself.

Sluggishly, drunkenly, cantankerously, the pirate fleet began to move. Their movements were uncoordinated compared to Navy vessels. Ships would get in each other’s way, or intentionally cut each other off in an effort to be first. At least twice, two ships bumped into one another when both sides refused to back down, and minor scuffles broke out. The whole affair felt to Athel like trying to shepherd a herd of cats.

“Odger, bring us up to four thousand feet,” Captain Evere commanded into the call tubes. There was an unmistakable crash from below as Odger fell out of his hammock in the stone array, followed by a drowsy reply through the tubes.

As the Dreadnaught rose up and unfurled her sails, Hanner brought up something heavy and set it down next to the crates of gold.

“Ooh, whatcha got there, big guy?” Setsuna asked, appearing next to him.

“It’s the statue she wanted,” Hanner said, picking his ear.

“But I thought you said there wasn’t time to order one,” Athel said as she walked up.

“There wasn’t, so I made one myself,” came a voice.

Setsuna squeaked with fright and jumped to one side. Alder had been standing right behind her.

“How long have you been there?” Setsuna gasped, catching her breath.

Alder blinked. “I've been here the whole time.”

Setsuna stepped backwards into a gate then reappeared behind Alder, looking him over with her large almond-shaped eyes. “Not too shabby for a little guy. I couldn’t even sense your presence.”

“It’s probably because Wysterian men don’t have souls,” Margaret blurted out as she took up position on her command podium.

Athel shot Margaret a sharp glance.

“What?” Margaret defended, pushing her glasses up her nose. “It’s not my religion that says he’s soulless, it’s yours.”

Setsuna appeared on top of Alder’s head. “So, what, he’s like a homonculous or a zombie or something?”

“Please, I am most certainly not a zombie,” Alder stated indignantly as he stepped away. Setsuna drifted down to the ground.

Hanner snapped his fingers and the cloth covering the statue burst into flames and fell away. Several of the pirates backed away at the sudden flare.

The statue beneath was a dazzling dragon carved from a dark-blue stone. Its long, slender body coiled a bit, making it look like it was swimming through the skies. The sunlight glimmered off the blue armored scales that covered its body.

“It’s amazing Aldi,” Athel breathed as she stepped closer to inspect it.

“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without Odger’s help. He was able to remove the impurities from the quarry stone and smooth the surface for me,” Alder explained.

“Odger?” Evere chuckled. “How'd ya get that bag of gravel to do something for you?”

“Half a tray of fudge to start, half a tray once completed.”

“Smart.”

Mina ran her fingers over the surface, which felt as smooth as glass. “The carving is so well done. Where did you learn how to do this? Was this part of your house husband training?”

Alder coughed, obviously a little uneasy at being the center of attention. “No, it’s just something my dad and I used to do together when I was a kid.”

Margaret finished placing them in a nice brisk wind and hopped down from her podium. “I always imagined dragons being a lot, I dunno, thicker,” she observed.

Alder pulled out his sketchbook. “Obviously I have never seen one, but the traditional depiction I referenced describes the head of a camel, body of a snake, scales like a...”

“No, that’s a leviathan, lad,” Evere corrected. “Dragons are broad-shouldered like a lion, and have huge wings like a bat.”

“Don’t they have more than one head?” Margaret asked.

“No, that’s a hydra.”

Hanner scratched his chin. “And why have you given it whiskers like that? Dragons have horns, not whiskers.”

Setsuna began giggling to herself. She placed her hands over her mouth to try and hold it in, but a few snickers slipped out. “You guys haven’t ever really seen a dragon before, have you?” she observed.

“Of course we haven’t,” Athel chuckled. “Have you?”

Athel turned around, but Setsuna was gone.

Ryin flicked one of the statue’s whiskers and was impressed when it didn’t break off. “You know, it’s weird.”

“What is?” Athel asked.

“Well, on your island, Alder is a total nobody, but he knows how to do all these amazing things, and you're like the heir to the throne and you don’t know how to do anything.”

Athel swept his leg with her boot, knocking his feet out from underneath him. Ryin came crashing down to the deck on his rump.

“I know how to kick your butt, Colenat,” she boasted as she stood over him.

Suddenly, the air was alive with cannon fire. Athel and the others looked around. They could see several of the ships from the Homin Guild firing, but they couldn’t see what their target was. Finally, a small ship slipped out into view, its hull already peppered with dozens of holes.

Black ships from the Elictr Guild joined in as well, releasing streaks of green energy at the fleeing vessel. Athel twinged at the sight of it, and felt a cold sweat forming on her neck. She knew what it felt like to be hit by Dread Summoner magic.

“What kind of ship is that?” Ryin asked as he got his feet back underneath him.

“Blast, it’s a tithe ship,” Evere confirmed through his spyglass.

“A tithe ship passed right through a fleet of Guild ships?” Mina asked in bewilderment.

“They probably thought we was Navy patrol ships until it was too late,” Hanner guessed

“If that tithe ship reaches the reserve they'll lock everything down!” Athel almost shouted. “We have to stop it!”

* * *

In the command center for the Federal Reserve, Colonel Jeshrop stood dispassionately before the tank that dominated the center of the room. A gift from the Forgemasters of Ferrus, it was composed of hundreds of thousands of tiny metal bars standing on end, each barely wider than the width of a hair. They were spaced so tightly together that when the creation slept, it looked like a perfectly flat, albeit thick, metal table. When it was awake, the bars would raise themselves up, creating a perfectly accurate topographical map of the entire facility and the lands beyond.

“We've lost all contact with the Navy patrols,” Corporal Brousterlum said emotionlessly.

“Colonel, lookouts in the highlands report a tithe ship approaching,” Private Rumir reported. “It is under attack.”

“Show me.”

The tank rearranged itself, thousands of metal rods changing height, giving the impression that the landscape was sweeping rapidly beneath them. Colonel Jeshrop stood over it like a giant.

The tank resolved itself at the coastline. A battered tithe ship, its crew visibly struggling for their lives fought on the deck against a dozen pirates that had already boarded. Severed grapnel lines and boarding planks hung from the tithe ships’s hull. Three pirate vessels poured fire into the tithe ship from behind, with at least a half dozen more in pursuit.

“Shall I summon the Heshi’sians?” Corporal Brousterlum asked.

“Do they have a valid seal?” The Colonel asked as he watched the fighting.

“Still too far out to tell.”

“Then we wait.”

As the Colonel watched the stricken vessel and crew fight for its life, an aid came in and brought lunch. Despite the quality of the food, the Colonel turned up his nose at it. Cali’ma'ioro, it was in everything they ate. Colonel Jeshrop couldn’t stand the stink of it anymore. It felt like it was the only thing left that he could smell.

The tithe ship’s crew fought like lions. When they came within range of the outer doors, Private Hoferlum couldn’t hold his tongue any longer and spoke up. “Sir, shouldn’t we open up the cliff guns?”

“Private, I am the sixteenth person to hold this position since the reserves were constructed,” the Colonel said. “In all that time, no hostile has ever set foot inside. I would rather die than allow that record to become tarnished. Until we have positive identification, we treat that tithe ship as if it were itself a hostile.”

Private Hoferlum turned around, shaking his head. “There are people on that ship, don’t you feel for them?”

Colonel Jeshrop lifted up his hand and flexed it as hard as he could. The skin had a slight greenish tint to it from years of consuming cali’ma'ioro. “I feel nothing, private. In time, you won’t either.”