Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (11 page)

The crew of the Dreadnaught stared in silence at the terrifying structure. It seemed to pulsate with dark energy.

“Does this remind you of anything, Evere?” Ryin asked.

“Nope,” Captain Evere confirmed. “I've never seen anything like it before.”

* * *

“Can you feel it?” Admiral Roapes said, lifting up his wine glass in toast to his bridge crew. “This is what the air feels like on a battlefield.”

“Ooh, you are so manly,” Rachael squealed happily, placing a kiss on the top of his shaven head.

There was a shrieking crash of wood and metal as a Navy destroyer, her sails twisted and mangled, crashed into the side of The Indomitable. The smaller vessel tore itself apart against the ironclad, her remains falling down towards the broiling seas below.

“Squadrons Echelon and Brendegar have taken heavy damage,” Nicole reported wearily as she stood over the area map. Small glowing symbols floating in the air represented each ship and its position. There was a rush of pressurized steam that made Jessica squeak in fear as a tracer line was shaken loose, but Nicole ran over as best she could in the high heels Roapes made them wear and twisted the cutoff valve.

The ship’s pilots fought against the controls. Through the viewport before them, they could see another volley of Wysterian artillery streaking towards the advancing Navy ships.

Slowly Nicole returned to the map, the deep bags under her eyes betraying the fact that she hadn’t slept a wink in days. “Squadrons Hyperio and Uptherion no longer responding to hails.” There was a crack like thunder as a nearby ship exploded from within, its powder magazine having been ignited. The Indominable rocked to one side as the shockwave passed through it.

“Squadrons Restalic and Emetri completely destroyed,” Nicole reported tonelessly. “We've lost nearly a fourth of the task force and we still haven’t reached the coastline.” Standard Navy protocol called for Admiral Roapes to request the number of casualties as well, but he only sat back with a big smug look on his face as Jessica applied wax to the tips of his mustache to make them curve properly.

“More injuries than I can count, but no casualties reported thus far,” Nicole reported anyway without him asking.

“Really?” Admiral Roapes asked, sitting forward. “How is that possible?”

“The trees are simply throwing the sailors overboard, allowing our rescue ships to pick them up.”

Admiral Roapes sat back, his eyes burning like smoldering coals. “They are just toying with us,” he growled deeply.

“Ohh, I like it when Miguelito gets all serious like this,” Rachel cooed, running her long manicured fingernails along his head.

“I will not let that leaf-witch mock me,” Admiral Roapes said, slamming his palm against the arm of his chair. “Signal our flagships. All squadrons reform to attack pattern sierra, with The Indominable at the head.”

As Nicole manned the comm-pipes and began the process of signaling hundreds of ships, Admiral Roapes sat back and allowed Jessica to tuck a bib into the collar of his uniform.

“In twenty years they'll ask us all where we were during the First Battle of Wysteria, and I will NOT be the one who has to say I was there being mocked by some spit of an island,” Admiral Roapes grumbled as Suzie minced in and placed his lunch before him.

“What is this?” Admiral Roapes asked inquisitively, his mustache twitching.

“It’s called a lunch scrambler,” Suzie gushed. “It’s got scallions, Chirpa meat, wild mushrooms, and Chirpa veal in a scramble of Chirpa eggs.”

Admiral Roapes looked up her doubtfully.

“It’s really popular where I come from,” she giggled, becoming self conscious.

“He doesn’t even cook, but he’s so picky about the food he gets,” one of the ship’s pilots whispered to the other.

“It’s got Chirpa eggs, young Chirpa, and fully-grown Chirpa in it?” Admiral Roapes solicited.

“Um, yeah,” Suzie tittered, rocking from side to side like a little girl.

“You've killed three generations of Chirpa to make this. The child, the father, and the grandfather. Is this a meal or is this revenge?

“Um...” Suzie addled, placing her finger in her mouth.

There was a distant rumble as a Navy ship exploded.

“Do you have some kind of grudge against Chirpa?”

“Oh just try it you big dummy!” Rachael tittered as she grabbed a forkful of the food and shoved it into the Admiral’s mouth. He resisted at first, but after chewing for a moment his eyebrows lifted in appreciation and he nodded approvingly.

“Thank you so much.” Suzie giggled as she bounced away happily.

“All flagships are signaling, the fleet is forming up,” Nicole announced as she turned around.

“Well done, Nikki,” Admiral Roapes mumbled with a full mouth, patting her on the head.

“I’m not a puppy,” Nicole protested, swatting his hand away.

Slowly but surely, the Navy ships rearranged themselves into a giant wedge shaped like an arrowhead, all while under the constant barrage from the Wysterian forest. At the lead was The Indominable, flanked by a pair of Hazari Lightning Galleons.

Glacially at first, but with gaining speed, the giant spearhead moved towards the forest. The Hazari galleons sent out white-hot bolts of energy that vaporized many of the incoming cones. Those that made it through exploded before the Indomitable, but the razor-sharp seeds could not lodge themselves into her thick, iron hull. Like drops of rain, the seeds pittered and pattered off the hull as The Indomitable led the charge over the coastline.

Now finally in range, row after row of gun ports opened up on the Navy ships, muzzles poking out by the tens of thousands. The sound of their first volley was unlike anything that had ever been heard on the island. It was as if the heavens themselves might splinter from the sound of it. Cannonballs, fire bolts, and beams of magic tore into the forest. The first line of trees fell immediately, shattered to pieces. They simply disappeared, as melting snow before a flame.

The forest fought back even more ferociously. Long vines grew up, ensnaring Navy ships and dragging them downwards, where the taller trees would wrap themselves around the hulls, pulverizing the vessels as if they were nothing more than loaves of bread.

* * *

The black stone of the hallway crackled with energy, teetering just at the edge of vision. A purple haze, half-seen, moved through the stone like veins in a living being. A pair of Stonemasters waddled up to the seamless door before them. Each placed their hands on the surface and the material shifted. Circles turned as if they were gears and cogs within the solid material. Slowly, the doors opened with a rush of cool air.

Suddenly, one of the Stonemasters raised his filthy hand to his neck, realizing that a dart had impaled him.

There was an almost imperceptible sound—like a sip of air— and a second dart hit his companion. The two reached for the communication crystals on their dirty belts, but they both hit the floor unconscious before they could sound the alarm.

Athel and the crew of the Dreadnaught ran to the sleeping pair and began to tie them up.

“Check his bags,” Privet cautioned as he and Ryin pulled the stone door the rest of the way open.

As they worked their way through the bastille, Mina pulled a map out of the man’s pouch and compared it with the one she had been drawing by hand.. “It looks like we are going the right way. The communication artery should be just beyond these doors.”

Their opponents secured, they ran though the doors, only to meet a solid wall.

“What is this?” Athel jolted.

“There is no second door on the map,” Mina affirmed, looking it over.

“Maybe we aren’t at the place on the map we think we are,” Captain Evere suggested.

“Or maybe the map is wrong,” Ryin postulated.

“No, this is right,” Athel said, running her hand over the smooth black surface. I can feel the magic beyond.”

“We should get out of this corridor,” Privet warned. “We do not know how long it will be before more guards come by.”

“We don’t have time to find another way, we'll just have to bust our way in,” Evere decreed. “Don’t you agree, woman?”

Mina gave him a sideways glace, indicating that she did not like the question.

“Right, right, ‘Alphas don’t ask, they tell,’ sorry.”

Mina frowned and placed her hands on her hips, her tail swishing unhappily.

“Oh, and they don’t apologize, got it.” Evere grunted. “Stand back, lass.”

Athel stepped aside and Mina raised her hands, gathering together a glass-like spike of sonic energy that grew as she spoke in her native tongue. She released the spear like a battering ram, slamming it into the door with such force that it shook the ground beneath them, but it did little more than scratch the surface of the obsidian and make everyone’s ears ring something fierce. Dr. Griffin tried next, throwing a small beaker that broke against the surface, but the corrosive green substance, whatever it was, did little but bubble and fill the room with a smell somewhere between nail polish and cat pee.

“What do you think, Aldi?” Athel asked her husband. “Stales or Mapre?”

“Actually, I would recommend the Honey Spring,” Alder suggested as he rummaged through his pack.

“What is this, some kind of twin language?” Privet scoffed.

“No, we're just deciding which kind of plant to use to bring down the wall,” Athel explained as she accepted a small brown mushroom from Alder.

“How can a mushroom undo stone?” Ryin looked doubtful as they watched Athel place the mushroom at the base of the wall.

“Roots undo stone all the time,” Alder explained. “It just takes a few years.”

“Yeah, well, that is very educational and all,” Evere said. “But right now, time is the one thing we don’t...”

Athel took out her staff and slammed it into the ground. In the space of a heartbeat, the mushroom sprouted and grew everywhere. The wall became filled with millions of little rootlets and hair-like mycelium which invaded every pore and microscopic crevice. Athel twisted her staff and the rootlets expanded. The wall exploded from within into a pile of gravel and a cloud of dust.

“...have.” Captain Evere’s hands fell down to his sides.

“Good choice, Aldi,” Athel said, patting him on the back. “What’s wrong? You look a little pale.”

“Oh, nothing,” Alder said, smiling. “I just am amazed at how much stronger your magic has become as of late.”

“I know, right?” Athel gushed as she put her staff away. “I had heard that your magic gets a boost once you got married, but I never expected this much.”

Athel drew her saber and pistol, and they all pressed forward through the cloud of dust and into the chamber beyond.

What they found was a vast chamber, hundreds of feet tall. The room was like a sphere that had been cut in half, the ceiling vaulted in all directions. In the center sat an altar of black stone. Every surface was covered with mirrors, from the floor to the distant ceiling. The reflections of the altar and the crew bounced off one another, making the room feel like it extended on into eternity in every direction, filled with fractional images.

As they stepped inside, Mina took out a bottle of perfume and placed a fresh dab on each side of her neck.

“This place feels wrong,” Margaret observed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Here,” Dr. Griffin said, producing something from his pocket. “I have an amulet for you; it will protect you from danger.”

Margaret looked at it suspiciously. “This inscription says it is for indigestion.”

“I know, but it is the only one I have on me right now.”

“This room isn’t on the map either,” Mina complained, her voice echoing.

“It’s not on the map because I don’t think it’s in the tower,” Alder deduced, looking around.

“How do you figure that, lad?” Evere said, walking over to a series of bronze basins.

“Just look at the diameter,” Alder said, pointing along the base of the mirrors to avoid getting lost in the endless reflections. This room has a greater circumference than the tower itself does.”

“This must be one of those reality pockets, like the one that assassin made back at Thesda,” Dr. Griffin surmised, shivering a little.

“But what is it for?” Privet asked, keeping his sword drawn.

“Some sort of production facility?” Dr. Griffin guessed, inspecting some distillation tanks.

“But to make what?” Margaret asked, scribbling in her notebook.

“This,” Captain Evere said, kicking over a crate with strange markings. “Ruper spice.”

Athel ran up and looked at the glass jars within the crate, each filled with a shimmering powder. “Why would ruper spice be made here? I thought the pirate Guilds made their own.”

Mina snickered. “Are you kidding? Most Guilds couldn’t figure out how to milk a cow, let alone make something as complicated as spice.”

“But, it’s not complicated! Look,” Privet said, pointing out a pile of crates near the brass basins. “They are just reducing this little plant down to a salt.”

“I know this plant,” Athel went on, inspecting the crates. “It’s called Salsoa weed. Sure, it can make you a little loopy, but ruper spice is supposed to be super potent.”

“It is,” Alder said grimly as he looked down at the jars of spice. “Your veins collapse, and your heart and lungs slowly fail. The victim becomes euphorically insensible, entering into alternate states of wakeful and drowsy, only stirring to acquire more of the drug as the effects begin to wear off. That is the worst part. Friends, family, honor, nothing matters to them anymore except acquiring more spice. They'll do anything to get it, even sell their own children.”

Alder’s composure slackened a little, and he fought to keep his tears back. “My mother was one of the lucky ones, she was taken to a treatment center before she become violent, but I've known others that have done horrible things in their mania. Once a person has been exposed to the stuff, it is only a matter of time before their internal organs liquify and are vomited out as a black mucus. Then, they die.”

Athel walked over and held Alder in her arms.

“But, Salsoa weed doesn’t do any of that,” Privet observed.