Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (42 page)

Mandi lifted her head back up. Molly was sitting there, hanging on her every word.

“Can we go there someday?” Molly asked, enthralled.

Mandi looked at the little girl strangely. “Yeah, okay...sure, why not? It'll be fun.”

Mandi tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. “We can get all sorts of food.”

“You talk about food a lot,” Molly observed as she colored.

“Well yeah, I mean, there’s a whole world of pleasures out there, and food is one of the best.”

Molly sat up, wrinkling her nose. “What are the others?”

Mandi laughed and patted Molly on the head. “You'll find out when you are older, kid.”

“Do they fill you up?” Molly asked innocently.

Mandi sat back, tugging at her pink hair, her eyes distant. “No, they don’t,” she admitted.

“My daddy is always drinking that stinky stuff,” Molly shared. “Do you think he would be happy if he got all the way filled up?”

Mandi forced a chuckle. “Trust me, kid, there just ain’t that much.”

Molly sat up and scratched her nose. “So, why does he drink it?”

“The same reason we all do...to forget.”

“I forgot my dolly once when we went to Renda’s temple.”

Mandi smiled. “Some things are harder to forget than others.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that, do ya?”

“I don’t know,” Molly shrugged as she colored.

Mandi laughed. I guess I do it to forget his eyes.”

“A monster’s eyes?”

“My father’s. And, yes.” Mandi breathed slowly. “They never looked at me. They would just look through me, as if I was some obstacle blocking his view. He'd spend years looking at things. Staring. Up at the sky, or down at the floor. I would have given anything to have him look at me that way.”

Molly stood up and handed the paper to Mandi. It showed the two of them holding hands.

Mandi chuckled. “Thanks, kid”

“I’m hungry,” Molly complained, covering her stomach with her hands and groaning in an exaggerated fashion.

“Okay, how ‘bout we get some ‘antha steaks? Or some grilled orat? How’s that sound?”

Molly shook her head, her pigtails flopping about. “No, I want bratwurst.”

“Again?” Mandi complained. “Variety is the spice of life, kid. Don’t you want to try something new?”

“Bratwurst!” Molly insisted, puffing her cheeks out.

“Okay, how should we get there?”

Molly placed a finger on her chin and tilted her head. “Magic pony ride!”

“Through the rainbow forest?” Mandi grumbled.

“Yes,” Molly agreed.

“And past the candy fields?” Mandi groaned.

“Yeah!” Molly said, jumping up and down.

Mandi patted Molly on the head. “Your imagination is way too sugary sweet for me, kid.”

Mandi’s skin and flesh burst apart, revealing a skeleton of coal-black bones. The bones reformed themselves into a four-legged equestrian design. Muscles and organs reknit themselves around the new design, skin wrapping itself around and sprouting a beautiful coat of golden-brown hair.

When the process was complete, a beautiful miniature pony stood before Molly, complete with a golden mane and tail.

Molly pouted. “I wanted a pink pony.”

Give me a break, kid.

The air felt very different as they cantered through the streets. Groups of people stood around, speaking angrily with one another, voicing their outrage. Others sat on their porches, refusing to go to work. Still others were boarding themselves up in their homes. When Mandi and Molly clip-clopped their way up to the gondola, they were met by a group of striking workers, their protest signs listing grievances in the local language.

Signs...why do they always make signs? Looks like we'll have to take the long way around.

Mandi was getting hungry herself, so she sped up to a gallop as they traveled through the government district. Molly cheered with elation, grasping onto Mandi’s mane and going on about the magical trees they were traveling past.

Newsies called out the grim headlines as they sold their papers. Protests and riots were breaking out all over the League in reaction to the emergency war taxes. Here in Madaringa, it was being taken a step further; the royal family had joined the commoners, the entire island refusing to pay.

Dungbeetles, sitting on their little piles of dung, demanding more dung. What a waste.

As Mandi and Molly rode the ferry up to the shipyards, ignoring the wild stares of the other passengers, they saw dozens of freshly completed Navy ships sitting in their dry docks, the workers standing on top of them with protest signs, threatening to burn them rather than turn them over to their contractors without pay.

Mandi didn’t care, per se, but she could certainly understand their anger. Even to the uneducated, these taxes were quite obviously meant to fund the replacement ships being built for the Navy, meaning that the shipbuilders were having money taken from them, only for the League to turn around and hand that same money back to them as payment for the ships they built. For people who had sacrificed a portion of their lifespan to complete the ships on time, the bitterness of the situation must have been unbearable.

The boardwalks around the shipyards were all but deserted. Instead of the bustle of commerce and business, the roar of angry protesters echoed along the shore.

When they reached their destination, they were met by an empty, boarded- up bratwurst stand, a small sign declaring the stand closed from lack of business.

Molly was fairly quiet on the ride back home. Her world was changing, and she didn’t understand why. She chewed absentmindedly on a pair of apples that Mandi had acquired, but said little.

When they approached their neighborhood, Mandi could tell something was wrong. She could feel the heat of fires on her skin, and the scent of cinders hung in the air. Pillars of smoke rose from burning houses. A dozen Navy airships hung menacingly in the air.

When they rounded the corner, Mandi and Molly both gasped at what they saw. Navy officers were traveling from house to house, looting the contents. Screaming women tugged at family heirlooms while disaffected Navy officers loaded everything of value into waiting carts, explaining that the taxes were being extracted by force, by order of the Stone Council.

It’s my father. He’s behind this.

Children stood in doorways crying, fathers were beaten into submission. Women knelt crying on their porches, clinging to a torn fragment of tapestry.

Molly hugged Mandi’s neck tightly. “What is happening, kitty?”

I’m such a fool. I've been sticking my head in the ground to hide myself from the world, but the world keeps spinning, and no one is safe.

The following day, news of the looting sent shockwaves throughout the entire League of Kingdoms.

I hate what I have become.

Dev'in existed, half-stitting and half-floating in a pit filled with black shakes. With a bony finger, he traced over the surface of the liquid. Half-formed faces appeared in the wakes and ripples. Adults and children, their expressions crying out for release, held at the point of death, their souls waiting to power whatever spell Dev'in saw fit. It might be something as mundane as altering the pigment of an object from one color to another, or it could be something as momentous as moving his own soul from one host to another. The applications were nearly limitless, for souls were precious, and precious things could be exchanged for just about anything. It was the basis of all void magic, but it came at a terrible price.

I hate how unnecessary all of this truly is. If the gods could be reasoned with, if they could allow themselves to be persuaded to alter this world they had created, then all of this would not be necessary. All these people need not have died.

“Why does this world need grief?” he asked aloud. It was one of those questions most people never think to ask. “Why does this world need sickness?” The gods could just have easily made a world without those things in it, but they didn’t. They chose to include them, and went out of their way to assimilate them in their plans and design.

“I have not forgotten my promise to you, my love. If the gods will not remove suffering, then I will force them to.”

The door opened at the far end and Blair was thrown in. Deep gashes were torn in his flesh, covering his body like a spider-web. He coughed up great globules of black blood onto the ground before him. His limbs trembled from his injuries, barely able to lift his face up off the ground.

“Father,” he coughed through the pain. “We have just received word that the Pirate Guilds are late picking up the next batch of spice. I'll let you know once I have found out why.”

“Is that the best use of your time?” Dev'in hissed. Ten thousand airships sent to retrieve a single living Treesinger, you standing with one within your reach, and yet we still don’t have one.”

Blair coughed up more blood. A slice of his cheek fell to the ground and dissolved into ash. “I know you hate apologizes, so I won’t excuse myself.”

“I honestly can’t recall the last time I have been this upset,” Dev'in hissed.

Blair spit out a tooth and tilted his head up. “A less-appreciated stroke of the brush, to be sure. After so many centuries of easy victories, I must admit, I find the sting of failure an acquired taste.”

Dev'in raised his hollow eyes. “Do you? Well, then, I shall allow you to inform Lord Valpurgeiss that the night of rebirth is fast approaching and that somehow, after a thousand years we still won’t have the necessary sacrifices to complete the ceremony.”

“I’m afraid I cannot, that is way past the edge of my canvas,” Blair commented as he pulled himself forward into the pit of black ichor, his wounds bubbled and fizzed at the touch of it. “Do you really think taking the wealth by force from Madaringa was a good idea?”

“People need to be led. Like water or food, it is a basic need. Cowing before power is their natural state,” Dev'in explained as he licked a drop of darkness from the tip of his finger. “That is how the gods created them, after all.”

“The outrage among the other kingdoms is palpable,” Blair mentioned as he painfully brought himself up to his feet. “You should see what their rulers are suggesting to each other in private where they think we cannot hear them.”

“They defy us because we have not reminded them how fearful we can be. The harder we squeeze them, the more their survival instincts will kick in. It is always the same. Remember the outrage when the water-tribe was extinguished?”

“How can I forget?” Blair laughed, blood trickling down his neck. “We had them cowering in the shadows, too afraid to move. It was eight centuries after that before anyone dared to speak ill of the Stone Council, even in private.”

“And it will be the same this time as well. The destruction of Wysteria will show them what happens to those who rebel, and their conditioning will rob them of any will to defy us.”

Dev'in looked up. “It is so simple, like a mathematical equation. A recipe for obedience built into them by the gods, and now it serves our purposes.”

“Will we be removing that part of the world as well?” Blair asked through his battered and swollen face.

Dev'in looked at him oddly. “Of course we will. So long as people crave subjugation they will never be free.”

Blair motioned around them. “You probably haven’t noticed. Our supply of black shakes is running dangerously low, especially considering all the new keystones that need to be made for all the new Navy ships being commissioned.”

Dev'in pointed his finger at Blair. “I’m taking you off all your other assignments. “Your only mission right now is to bring me a Treesinger.”

Blair splashed the tar around him with his hand. “Is that really the best use of my time?”

“Come back without one and you'll find out just how serious I am.”

Blair paused for a moment. The threat carried tremendous weight with him, and for a moment his face flashed with real fear. “Brilliant!” he praised. “I see what you mean, father. I honestly felt afraid just now, a deep primal need to obey you.”

“Even our people were designed this way,” Dev'in revealed.

Blair shook his ruined body. “How exquisite. I will leave immediately.”

Madam Aster was visibly nervous as she approached the throne of Wysteria. It felt darkened somehow, the edges sharper, the gold filigree tarnished, the silver fixings patinad. Solanum’s body twitched as she sat, as if something had grabbed her suddenly and yanked her to one side.

“Y-you called for me, my Lady?” Madam Aster asked formally.

Solanum’s lips formed a crooked smile. “Last night I consigned our armies to the shores of Zinnia Lake.”

“You what?” Madam Aster asked, her face disbelieving.

Solanum jumped forward in her throne, as if something had grabbed her from behind. Madam Aster was so startled she took a step back.

“I want the whole island to perceive that our forces were victorious,” Solanum announced, bearing her white teeth. “The next three nights will be a festival, I want feasts held in every household, dances frolicked on every platform, songs cantillated from every treetop.”