Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (71 page)

The vote to defect had been close, too close in fact, but Ruteag had been insistent, which Jasal thought was a little strange. Up until recently, Ruteag had been the most vocal opponent to crossing the line, but when he had changed his mind the rest of the opposition had fallen apart. Jasal looked back at his former shipmates sitting in a longboat. Out of five hundred sailors, only twenty- seven had voted to stay behind. Jasal wondered if he would ever see them again. He wondered if the next time they met it would with guns pointed at one another.

As they approached the tree line, flag wavers signaled for them to head north towards the mountains. A longboat came up alongside them and several Wysterians came aboard. Jasal had never seen leaf-witches before, so he was understandably curious. He momentarily abandoned his signal-light and climbed up a yardarm to get a better look. Aside from the pointed ears and the autumn colors of their hair, they didn’t look all that different from the women of his island. A little on the tall side, perhaps, and all of them barefoot, but nothing really to write home about.

It was then that one of the enormous trees bent over onto the deck, allowing the Treesinger standing at the tip to hop on board. Watching something the size of a skyscraper just bend over almost on top of you like that nearly made Jasal lose his grip on the yardarm. He heard some of the other sailors scream far louder than he did, which made him feel better about it.

When he regained his composure, he studied the Treesinger. She wore an interesting kind of armored dress. Something about halfway between a ball gown and a proper suit of armor. Mostly chain-mail, but with a few plate sections to give extra protection to the chest and hips. Jasal’s first thought was to scoff at it, but then recalled that most islands had armor that involved some sort of skirt, even for the men. It was a very efficient way to protect the hips and upper legs. Jasal decided that this was simply a longer version of an armored skirt, and then it made a lot more sense to him.

The Treesinger introduced herself as Jasmine Blackhaw to the Captain and his command staff in her strangely accented common, and they began discussing the formalities.

As they approached the range, Jasal saw something he had never seen before. Great, muti-leveled airship docks grown directly from the trees. Hundreds of airships moving in and out, guided by the trees themselves, which would wrap their branches around the hull and gently guide the ship into position. From a distance, they looked vaguely like a mother holding a swaddling child.

When it was their turn, their ship was directed towards one of the outermost docks at Ruteag’s insistence. From here, overlooking the cliffs and down to the broiling ocean below, their ship made berth, the tree wrapping its limb around it snugly. Jasal lined up along with his deck crew, and noticed Ruteag pacing around, looking decidedly odd.

As they were escorted off the destroyer and onto the tree branches, Jasal looked back one last time. Ruteag was back on the deck, talking to the Treesinger. He bowed before her, and then jabbed something into her neck. Then, he suddenly exploded. The whole thing was so unexpected. Jasal stopped in his tracks, and those around him turned to see what he was looking at.

Ruteag then came back together, all the little pieces of him reassembled themselves into the form of a giant eagle, which plucked Ms. Blackhaw off the deck of the airship with its giant claws and flew off to sea with her, beating its giant wings as the two of them vanished into the distance.

It all happened so fast, Jasal wondered if what he saw was actually real.

* * *

Wearing boots felt strange to Captain Tallia. Even through the thick leather she could feel the rough bark of the branch beneath her feet, but she couldn’t hear its song. Without a physical connection, it felt like standing on a corpse.

Below her, she could see the dozens of new homes that had been grown from this tree. At the base of branches, inside the trunk, even sometimes hanging beneath a branch like an oversized birdhouse. There was little natural flow to it, little thought to aesthetics or to the comfort of the tree. The foreigners were crammed in wherever there was room. They considered it beautiful and a wonder, but to Captain Tallia it felt like a cancer. A malignant disease perverting the forest.

She watched them from her perch with undisguised contempt as they were escorted to their new homes. Settling themselves in as if they belonged. To her, if felt as if every step they took, every surface they touched, left a disgusting smear of blood behind them.

She watched with loathing as they hung up their spare uniforms in their new closets, then settled into their new chairs, picking fruit from the hanging vines. These same men and women had come here to murder Wysterians, to destroy the forest forever. They had nearly succeeded, yet now they relaxed as if they were honored guests. She reached up and gripped the stump where her arm had once been. Just thinking about all those people who had been lost in Clover Hills and in Snapdragon made it ache.

Women of the Corktree and Smoothleaf families moved throughout the new houses, administering medicine to the sick. Captain Tallia looked at her own arm. The black boils were beginning to appear on her as well. One on her thumb was growing quite large. Cruelly, she squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger, savoring the pain until it popped, releasing a trail of brown fluid down her wrist.

She looked up. Even the skies were now polluted. Bulky, hateful airships moved this way and that. Hundreds more were defecting every day, switching sides and joining The Wysterian Alliance, and each one of them was filled with hungry, sick, thirsty, filthy stinking foreigners. Their stench was everywhere. All over the island, signs were being reposted in Common instead of Wysterian.

As Captain Tallia watched the nurses attend to their wounds, she mused aloud. “They conquered us without firing a shot, we are now servants to them in our own lands.” She drew her dagger and felt its weight in her hand. Her plan of attack was formulated in a second. She would start with the hanging houses. They were the most isolated, and any noises would be less likely to alert others. From there, she would work one branch at a time until this tree was cleansed. From there, she would cleanse the tree next to it, and then the one next to that, and then the...”

“Azalea,” came a gentle but cold voice from behind. It startled her so much she nearly dropped her weapon.

Captain Tallia turned around and saw the regal figure of Queen Forsythia standing before her. Captain Tallia trembled. She hadn’t been expecting this. “My...my Queen, what brings you out from the the palace?”

Queen Forsythia stepped forward, her staff in hand. “I came because someone very precious to me is in pain,” she said, looking down at the boots Captain Tallia was wearing, “but I could not speak to her through the forest.”

Cornered, Captain Tallia’s composure began to break down. She pulled the dagger up close to her, as if she feared it to be snatched away. “Please don’t try and stop me,” she pleaded. “These people killed my family, took my arm, killed my Ma’iltri’ia, and now I’m supposed to let them live here, taking the places of the people they slaughtered?”

Queen Forsythia nodded. “I understand your pain, Azalea. I struggle with the same feelings myself. But hate cannot cure grief, only forgiveness can.”

“Never!” Captain Tallia yelled. “I hate them! I will never forgive them. I will never forget what they did!”

Queen Forsythia rested her hands on her staff. “No one is asking you to forget, nor would it be possible to do so. Forgiveness does not mean to forget what has happened, it means to let go of your anger about what happened.”

“Don’t try and lecture me! You don’t understand anything! You're just a child, barely a third my age! What could you know?” Captain Tallia held up her arm, revealing the black spots forming on her skin. “Look at this! What kind of Queen would be willing to poison her own people? Only a Forsythian would be so cold,” she spat.

The Queen said nothing, but opened her arms and stepped forward to embrace her.

“No, don’t touch me!” Captain Tallia yelled, backing up against the trunk of the tree, but the Queen continued to glide towards her.

Desperate, Captain Tallia held out her weapon threateningly, but the Queen ignored it and approached her without fear.

Gently, the Queen took Captain Tallia into her arms and held her close. She resisted as best she could. With her boots on, she had managed to keep herself separate from the link, but here up close it was impossible to ignore. The song of the forest was so close, offering her to take her place in it, but she fought back.

“You are holding onto your hate like a burning coal,” The Queen explained. “The tighter you squeeze, the more it will burn you. Just let it go.”

“I...I can’t.”

Captain Tallia could feel the Queen taking her pain upon herself. She could sense her feeling what she felt, experiencing what she experienced. Like poison from a wound, the rage was being drawn out of her heart.

It was subtle, so subtle she almost missed it, but she could feel Queen Forsythia’s body tremble from the pain she was feeling. Their pain. Their shared experience. How could she claim that the Queen didn’t understand?

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and Captain Tallia’s head fell forward. The Queen embraced her gently, stroking the back of her head in a motherly way.

Her defenses fell away from her heart. “I hate them so much,” Azalea said softly.

“I know you do,” Queen Athel whispered. “Please, just let it go.”

Azalea’s hand lost its strength. Slowly, her fingers went limp, until finally the dagger fell out of her hand and onto the living wood beneath them. “It still hurts,” Azalea whispered. “I still miss them.”

“I do too,” Queen Athel said, holding her close. “And we always will.”

For a long time they were both silent. There were no words that would help, so no words were shared. Just the silent, reassuring presence, a shared moment where the burden of grief was made lighter by the knowledge that although she suffered, she did not suffer alone.

Finally, Azalea sniffed and stood up straight, wiping the tears from her eyes. Being so open and vulnerable made her feel a little bit silly, and she laughed nervously as she composed herself. The Queen watched her without judgment and without criticism.

“Well,” Captain Tallia began as she straightened her armor, reality crashing back down around her. “I suppose I should turn myself into the guards.”

Queen Forsythia rested her hands atop her staff in a courtly manner. “Why would you do that?”

Captain Tallia straightened herself. “I disobeyed orders, attempted to attack my Queen’s guests, and even pointed my weapon at a royal. My freedom is forfeit.”

Queen Forsythia raised an elegant hand to silence her. “You were overcome by a storm of grief, as are we all, but your roots were strong enough to withstand it. I am honored to have a warrior with such a strong heart at my side. You are the Captain of my Guard, and I need you.”

Captain Tallia looked like she might cry again, but she reigned in her feelings. “Thank you, my Queen,” she said with a bow. “You are beyond gracious. I...I don’t know what to say except that I shall now return to my duties.”

She bent down and removed her boots. When her feet touched the living wood, her voice rejoined the symphony of the forest. She placed her fist across her chest in salute, then walked off, her body straight and tall.

Only once she was out of sight did the Queen allow herself to lean on her staff, revealing how exhausted she really was. This was the fourth such incident she had intercepted so far that night, and through the trees she could sense at least three more attacks forming against the sailors. If she was to prevent them, there would be no sleep for her that night.

* * *

In his quarters, Admiral Roapes slowly took out his finest dress uniform. The boils on his right hand had become so severe that he could no longer use it, so he fumbled with the polished bras buttons as best he could, using the three unblemished fingers on his left hand. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, his pants pressed and straight. One by one, he affixed his medals to the breast plate. Valor at the Ember uprising. The silver cross during the Tomani rebellion. Two red hearts during the Seendai blockade, where he received a field promotion to Commodore.

His facial hair trimmed, he placed his Admiral’s hat on his head. On the desk before him lay a silver-plated, flintlock pistol. Giving his smartest salute, Admiral Roapes recited his Oath of Allegiance one last time, then picked up his pistol and placed the barrel against the side of his head.

As his finger squeezed the trigger, the room around him was blown away as if by a great wind. He found himself standing in a dark stadium, rows upon rows of shadowy delegates looking down upon him as he stood in a blinding pillar of light for their scrutiny.

“You have failed us, Admiral,” one of the shadows criticized.

Admiral Roapes lowered his pistol and holstered it. “I have done everything you have asked of me,” he said unapologetically.

“Except bring us a live Treesinger,” one shadow accused.

“Except conquer a small forest island,” spat another.

“What else could I have done? I even ordered your fleet to open fire on any ship attempting to defect as you instructed. Your orders are being ignored.”

Admiral Roapes held out his hands and turned to address all of the delegates. “The situation has changed. We are no longer facing a single rogue kingdom, this has become a full blown schism. Our Navy forces are too metropolitan to face a situation like this, they cannot be asked to fire upon their own kin, to side against their own homelands. I implore the Stone Council to...”

The lights in the room came on, forcing Admiral Roapes to cover his eyes. As they adjusted, he saw rotting chairs before dusty and crumbling desks. The skeletal remains of delegates sat silently, cobwebs and spiders crawling around on their dusty remains.

“There is no Stone Council,” Blair explained as he walked out from behind a dusty chair. “There is no place where the voice of each kingdom is heard. There never was. The only voice in the realm is that of my father.”