Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (60 page)

“It’s too far, can you give me a shot at their rudder?” Athel called out.

“Sure, I'll just add it to your tab.”

Athel fired into the gate that appeared before her and her pistol’s seed flew through, reemerging just behind the frigate. Under her influence, the seed grew rapidly into a tangle of stranglevines that wrapped themselves around the frigate’s rudder. Athel pulled her fist to one side, and the powerful vines wrenched the rudder portside.

The two frigates slammed into one another, their rigging snapping, their yardarms becoming entangled with each other. Cannons and crates were tossed overboard as the crews held on for deal life to anything they could lay hold of.

Margaret created a windshear from below that drew them up above the damaged frigates, rifle and pistol fire thudding into the keel of the Dreadnaught as it sailed over the stricken vessels.

Now the whole fleet was alerted. Ships were closing in from all directions. Bolts of sorcerous energy and cannonballs zipped past the Dreadnaught like speeding insects, leaving little trails of smoke and ash. Far ahead, the white shores of Wysteria were visible, but dozens of ships blocked their way.

A fireball impacted the port-side longboat, knocking Ryin to the deck and setting the longboat ablaze. While Hanner helped Ryin to his feet, Mina covered the longboat in a layer of frost, extinguishing the flames.

With a thud, a heavy mortar shell stuck itself into the deck. Deutzia wrapped her branches around it and tossed it overboard. It exploded in the air with a deafening thunderclap.

A sharp wind hit the Dreadnaught and threw it sideways. The ship was now crabbing away from its destination.

“Wrong heading, lass,” Captain Evere said as he shot his rifle, forcing the crew of a passing schooner to keep their heads down.

Margaret stood up and leaned against the cockpit. “There’s another Stormcaller somewhere out there, the winds want to...”

“So don’t squattin’ fight it, use it,” Hanner suggested as he reloaded his cannon.

Margaret swept her hands and it felt like the whole ship was scooped up from underneath. Everyone grabbed onto anything they could as the ship corkscrewed all the way upside down around a Navy ketch. The sailors could only look up and stare at the Dreadnaught when, it hung upside down above them for an agonizingly long moment before completing the corkscrew and speeding on.

Everyone on the Dreadnaught slammed back down the deck of the ship.

“Margaret, don’t you ever do that again!” Ryin yelled.

A blast of green energy slammed into the orlop, tearing away the wooden skin and exposing several of the cabins. The Dreadnaught was yanked hard to one side as a volley from a closing interceptor peppered the quarterdeck. Wooden splinters and wrenched bits of metal flew everywhere, spinning lazily, almost as if in slow motion, as Mina was tossed overboard. She made one final swipe with her hand at the gunwhale, but failed to grab on, then she was falling past the side of the ship. The floatstones in her belt hummed to life and she was hefted up enough to lay hold of the rope ladder that Captain Evere rolled down to her.

As Mina clung to the ladder with both hands, she instinctively looked down, and saw the contents of the galley spilling out towards the ocean below. Among the tumbling items were three crates of cabbage.

“No!” Mina screamed, reaching out towards the falling vegetables.

As Captain Evere pulled her up, a bolt of lightning tore across the deck, shattering wood and rigging. Margaret leapt aside just in time as the cockpit and command podium exploded. With a scream, Margaret clutched her leg. A tendril of the lighting had licked her skin, leaving a black, charred streak that ran from ankle to knee.

Alder was the first to come to her aid. “We need to get you to Dr. Griffin,” he surmised, looking over the weeping wound.

“Don’t you dare take me to
him
!” Margaret screamed as she clutched her leg.

Alder pulled out his medical satchel and began wrapping her wound. As he did so, their attacker prepared another blast.

Privet took aim at the Lightning-Galleon as it closed. With an expert shot, he hit one of the metal conductors with his rifle, knocking it out of position. The uncontrolled discharge of energy set the Galleon’s own sails ablaze, and the craft careened heavily away from them.

Four Navy Interceptors closed in from the starboard side as Margaret tried to regain control. Their shells mercilessly pounded the Dreadnaught, tearing out large chucks of her bow and forecastle. The very air seemed filled with shredded timbers, a storm of splinters.

Setsuna bounded up and balanced on top of the bowspirit with one toe, chanting powerfully in her native tongue. The air before her twisted and bent inwards on itself.

“Okay, this is a special kind of gate,” she explained over the sound of Hanner firing his cannon. “Very secret and hush-hush. So, if anyone else asks, you never saw me do this.”

The Galleon recovered and released another bolt of lighting. Setsuna pulled her fists to one side and her gate mirrored her movement, placing itself in between the Dreadnaught and the Galleon. Lighting poured into her gate, little tendrils licking at the edges, but it did not reappear anywhere else; it simply vanished into the gate’s depths.

“Where is the other end?” Athel asked, looking around.

“There isn’t one.”

“How is that...”

“Hold on!”

Setsuna moved the gate in front of Athel just in time. The broadside from a sandship tore apart the quarterdeck where Athel was standing. The gate lapped up the shots that would have hit her, but the deck collapsed around her and Athel fell down into the deck below.

“Athel!” Privet shouted as he shouldered his rifle and jumped down into the pile of splintered wood and metal.

“Don’t save her, what about me?” Setsuna complained as she wheeled her gate around to absorb another volley. “I’m a damsel and I’m in distress here too, you know!”

Privet dropped down and picked up a fallen beam. Beneath it, he found Athel unconscious, amber-colored blood trickling down her face.

He leaned in close and was relieved to find she was still breathing. With remarkable tenderness, he brushed the dirt and splinters off of her freckled face. Carefully, Privet took out his satchel and began cleaning her wounds and wrapping up the cut on her forehead.

As the ship rocked from side to side, the air above filled with the crack of cannon fire and the screams of battle, Privet’s breathing was steady and calm as he looked her over. Up this close, he was overwhelmed with how beautiful she was. He remembered a time, it felt to him like a lifetime ago, when she had asked him to marry him. Privet’s eyes pinched in pain at the memory. He felt like such a fool. He loved her, and she loved him. It should have been so simple, but it wasn’t. He had turned her down out of fear, and try as he might, he couldn’t forgive himself for the hurt he caused her.

“I know it’s kind of late to say this,” he whispered. “But, if you'll still have me, I accept.”

Forgetting himself, Privet leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. When she began to stir, he withdrew quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she slowly opened her beautiful, light-brown eyes.

“I...I think so,” she answered, looking around in confusion, as if she were unsure what had really happened and what was just a dream.

The Dreadnaught rocked to one side again as a mortar exploded alongside her.

“Come on,” Privet said, picking her up. “We've got to get you to a safer spot.”

Navy Ships fired at the Dreadnaught from all directions. Setsuna swung her gate this way and that, absorbing fireballs, mortars, sorcerous bolts, cannonballs, and beams of light, but still more came through.

A corrosive mist hit the Dreadnaught’s bow, dissolving a good portion of the bowspirit and releasing the top of her three sails to flap limply in the wind. Cannonballs pounded deeply into her hold and keel. The entire spine of the ship bent under the strain.

Margaret fought against the other Stormcallers to keep them moving towards the shores, but one final group of ships lay before them. Sutorian Ship-Hunters, four of them at each corner, had created a net of energy. They gleefully moved forward, ready to fish the Dreadnaught out of the air.

“We can’t break that,” Hanner called out as he fired a shot, the shell harmlessly bouncing off the net.

“Can you turn us?” Captain Evere asked as he fires his rifle.

“I can barely keep us moving,” Margaret answered, her hand extended as she leaned on Alder to help keep her on her feet. “This other Stormcaller is too strong.”

“Don’t worry, my little grubs, the Navy will break the trap for us,” Setsuna boasted.

“Why the blazes would they do that?”

“For the same reason everyone does things for me,” Setsuna answered, wheeling her gate around until it pointed directly before them. “Because I’m too darn cute to die!”

Setsuna’s gate belched and reversed direction. Suddenly everything it had absorbed it now expelled. Hundreds of cannonballs, mortars, beams of white-hot energy, fireballs and sorcerous blasts of green, purple and orange all flew out in a unified swarm that slammed into the energy net. The net bulged inwards, then shattered, completely overwhelmed by the firepower.

The crew of the Dreadnaught cheered as they flew past the four Sutorian ships and crossed over into Wysterian skies. Margaret brought them down low, just barely over the tops of the trees, where no Navy vessel dared follow them. Athel stuck her staff out of a porthole to greet the forest and the trees shook with excitement.

A few minutes later, the remains of the Dreadnaught came to a final rest on a landing pad just outside the palace gates. Captain Evere climbed down and held his cap over his heart. This little, oddly-named patrol boat had been their home, and was now an almost total loss. Beams and timbers stuck out like bones, the spine of the ship irredeemably broken. Sails shredded and limp. It was barely recognizable as an airship anymore; little more than a corpse of wood and metal. Mina found her way over and embraced him warmly, sharing their loss.

Despite the Navy attack, there were no Treesingers to be found around the landing pad. Only the men stood at their posts, manning the cannon emplacements that had been constructed all around the capital. When they saw Athel climb down off the ship, they recognized her instantly, and a great cheer rose up that spread down their lines.

Athel and the crew of the Dreadnaught walked up to the giant, ornamented palace gates, made of living wood. “Our lands under attack and only three women at the gate?” Athel asked, a little perplexed.

“All the other women have abandoned their posts,” Captain Tallia admitted, holding her spear as best she could with only one arm. “They refuse to work together, preferring to feud amongst themselves.”

“Only the men seem willing to stand and fight,” another guard admitted sadly.

“This is madness!” Athel shouted. The three guards flinched at the noise, and motioned for her to be quiet.

“Please,” Captain Tallia bid, “I have strict orders not to allow anything above a whisper around the royal hall.”

Athel put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

Captain Tallia turned her gaze aside. “Be...because The Queen believes she is made of glass and will shatter.”

“This is crazy, I am going in there,” Athel said, stepping forward.

The guards drew their weapons and blocked her path. “Please, stay back, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What makes you think you can?” Privet asked, preparing to draw his saber.

Athel motioned for Privet to stand down. “I’m here to help, please let me pass.”

“Maybe we should...” one of the guards began.

“No!” Captain Tallia insisted. “I have my orders, I swore an oath.”

“You swore an oath to protect your people,” Athel agreed. “And that was a noble thing. Ask yourself, what will serve our people more, letting me pass or barring me entrance?”

Captain Tallia hesitated.

Athel took out her carved staff and held it out. “If you want to know my intentions, see them for yourself.”

Hesitantly Captain Tallia reached out with her remaining hand and touched the staff. The two closed their eyes and were silent for a moment.

“What are they doing?” Ryin asked. Mina hushed him.

When they opened their eyes, Captain Tallia turned around without a word and the giant doors of living wood opened themselves.

The crew of the Dreadnaught were oddly silent as Captain Tallia led them through the palace. Torn and ruined tapestries hung from the walls. Beams of sunlight touched down through gaps in the branches above, revealing dusty piles of rotting food and torn clothing. Bizarre writings were scribbled onto every surface, red handprints and ominous smears. Mewing animals cried out for food and struggled against their chains and shackles as everyone walked past. The air felt dark, confused, and dangerous. Alder could not contain himself at the condition of the palace and took out his handkerchief and fell to his knees, scrubbing at one of the stains.

“Alder, stop that.”

“Sorry.”

The living wood parted, revealing the throne room beyond. It was so stiflingly dark inside that it took a moment for everyone’s eyes to adjust. Rags and filth covered the floor. Hundreds of chains hung down, bits of rotting meat clinging to the hooks on the ends. Manservants huddled in the corners, in darkness and silence. In the center of it all sat Solanum, lounging on her throne. Her robes and face blackened with soot and soil, rubbed in by frenzied and paranoid hands for unfathomable reasons. A begrimed circlet sat around her brow.

Athel stepped forward into the shadow filling the room and felt the air with her hand. “Solanum, I am so sorry that I didn’t come back sooner. I had no idea things had gotten this bad.”

“Don’t you put me back in that cage!” Solanum screamed as she struggled to her feet. “I won’t let you chain me up again. I am free. I have tasted freedom. I can never go back now. Do you know what that is like?”

Athel face softened with sympathy. “Yes, I do.”