Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen (19 page)

Athel and Privet looked at each other awkwardly for a moment.

“Everything is fine,” Privet reassured. “Look, I’m parting ways, but you are welcome to come with me.”

“Me?” Alder asked, befuddled.

“Sure, I mean you are useless in a fight, but you're handy in the kitchen,” Privet appraised. “Besides, you promised to teach me how to make those sausages into little octopus shapes.”

Alder didn’t hesitate for one moment. “I’m sorry,” he said with a formal bow, “but my place is by the side of my Matron.”

“Oh, gall, you are so brainwashed, Alder. Don’t you see? We're not on Wysteria anymore. It doesn’t matter how much she bought you for. Out here you can be free.” Privet leaned in close. “This isn’t your fight.”

Alder stepped closer to Athel and wrapped his hands around her arm. “I stay with her because I love her.”

Privet snorted doubtfully and turned around. Athel ground her teeth, so angry she couldn’t find words for it.

“You know what the worst part is, Athel?” Privet asked quietly.

“What?” she growled, her temper bubbling so hot she felt like she could burst.

“The worst part is, I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” Privet turned around to look at her. The anger was gone from his eyes, replaced by something else. It was disappointment. “Who is the real Athel, huh? Is it the maniac dragging the whole crew to the middle of nowhere, or is it the inflexible pacifist who would lead her people to annihilation?”

“I don’t have to listen to this from you,” Athel blurted out, completely losing her composure. “I will not be spoken to this way! You are just a man, an empty husk! Who told you that you are even allowed to have an opinion?” Athel raised up her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist in his powerful grip.

“...Or maybe the real Athel is the child covering her ears whenever she hears something she doesn’t want to hear...”

Privet released her and hiked away.

Athel and Alder watched him silently until he was nothing more than a distant speck on the horizon. It was some time before Athel’s breathing became steady again.

“I, um...I think I need to be alone for a while,” Athel said at length.

“Of course, my Lady,” Alder said respectfully.

As Alder walked away, Athel felt like many things, but she most certainly did not feel like a lady.

Athel spent some time by herself, at times poking a stick around, at other times walking along the wet sand of the riverbank. The cave entrance gradually grew farther away as she tried to settle her feelings.

The air always smelled the best right after a passing storm, and a passing hurricane left things particularly fresh. Athel came across a little patch of grass and spoke with them for a minute. They told her that the storm had been particularly fierce, and clued her in on the local gossip. Apparently, raiding parties from the nearby island had been through the month prior, and one of their warriors had stepped on this very patch of grass, disturbing them quite rudely.

Athel was about to inquire further when a sound behind her caught her attention. Turning her head, she could see nothing but a small loteberry bush. Normally, she would not be so cautious, but she was currently one of the most wanted people on the planet, so she drew her saber and stood up. Taking a few steps towards the bush, she looked around cautiously, but could not make out a living soul.

She was about ready to sheath her blade again when she saw the shadow of a small boy hiding beneath the bush as best he could.

Leaning in closer, she could make out roughly where the boy should be, but could only barely see him. Curled up into a little ball, his hands over his head, he looked absolutely terrified, and Athel realized what she must look like to him, all dressed up in her armor and holding a silver sword.

Athel put away her weapon and crouched down, trying to make herself as non-threatening as possible. The boy made no sound whatsoever, only remained perfectly still. Athel took off her gauntlet and reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder, but her hand passed right through him, as if he were nothing more than a shadow himself.

“I guess I don’t have to ask you what kind of magic they practice on this island,” Athel mused as she put her gauntlet back on.

Athel tried greeting him as best she could in some of the regional tongues she had studied, but he didn’t respond to any of them.

Since no other ideas came to mind, she sat down next to the boy and the bush. He was almost completely transparent, as if he were nothing more than a smudge on a piece of glass. It fascinated her to the point that she ended up poking her face around trying to get a good view. The boy responded by simpering just a little bit, and she backed off, a little embarrassed that she had let her curiosity bring her to scare him further. She noticed that some of his fingers were pricked and bleeding.

Looking over at the loteberry bush, she noted it was bare, and guessed that the boy had been picking through it looking for food when she happened to come tramping by in her armor.

A wry smile crossed her lips, and she placed her hand on the bush. Within seconds, the withered little shrub blossomed into a vibrant plant, loaded with juicy berries.

Athel picked a few, then retreated a few paces and sat down. At first the boy did nothing, but her patience finally paid off and the boy peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She held up a handful of berries and motioned for him to help himself.

The boy was reluctant at first, then slowly uncurled. Kneeling before the bush, but keeping her in sight, he changed from shadow to solid, just long enough to snatch a few berries, then reverted back again.

The boy hungrily nibbled at the morsels as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She calmly stood up and walked over. Picking several handfuls of berries, she sat down next to him placing the pile of berries between them.

The boy looked up at her, little dribbles of juice trickling down his chin. She could see right through him to the ground he sat on.

Foreign magic is so strange sometimes.

To her surprise, the boy smiled back. She motioned to the berries she had picked for him.

The boy thought for a moment, looking her over as if sizing her up. Suddenly, he became solid again and grabbed a handful and began devouring them. This time, he stayed solid.

She watched him curiously as he ate his fill. It took three more handfuls, but he finally began to slow down. He looked up at her, his face completely covered with berry juice. She couldn’t help but laugh out loud. To her surprise, the boy laughed too. She took out a handkerchief and cleaned up his face as best she could. The boy took out a small bauble on a string, carved from what looked like a piece of bone, and began happily chattering away about it to her.

From up on top of the cave entrance, Alder sat quietly and carved while he watched Athel and the boy sit and eat happily together in the distance. “You asked who the real Athel is, Privet,” he mused tenderly to himself. “Is it the pacifist trying to save both sides, or is it the warrior ready willing to fight to protect life and honor?”

Alder smiled as he watched her. “I wish you had not left before you could see it, Privet. Those are but roles she fulfills out of necessity.”

As Athel laughed she reached up and patted the boy on the head tenderly, mussing up his hair a little bit.

Alder placed his hand over his heart and bowed formally, then turned around to go back into the cave to grab some more tools. “This is the real Athel.”

The boy stood up and beckoned for her to follow him in his native tongue. Athel didn’t understand a word of it but when he insistently tugged on her arm, she complied.

He prattled on as they walked along a dried-up river bed. Their language was high-pitched and contained some odd gurgling noises, but the boy spoke with such energy and enthusiasm that she found herself enjoying listening to him.

Whole fields of grass had been burned by recent fires, leaving dead, ashen ground behind, but there were occasional patches of green. When they approached a tight group of trees, it was Athel’s turn to get excited. She had never seen trees like this before. They grew thin and tall, their tops were hardened tips like a spear to allow them to push through the hard clay. Their trunks were sectioned like a collapsing telescope. Only a few leaves poked out from the segments towards the top. The little grove was barely bigger than a room, but it contained well over a hundred trees, so tightly packed together that they appeared less like trees and more like oversized grass.

When she placed her hand on a trunk she realized that they were hollow. Beneath the ground she could sense a single expansive root system that extended out for hundreds of feet in all directions. Each individual tree grew up from that shared root system.

But, their voices were by far the most unusual thing about them. They spoke not with a single voice, nor were they a group of individuals, but rather it felt to Athel like listening to a choir all speaking the same words together in unison. It was such a strange sensation that she stumbled through her introduction.

The grove, for its part, were beyond surprised to be speaking to a “walker.” They had never before heard of a people who could talk to trees, and Athel had to answer about a hundred questions before she could get in a word edgewise.

The little boy watched curiously. Unable to hear the conversation between them, it simply appeared to him that Athel was standing silently before the trees with her hands on them, occasionally chuckling to herself.

They had no name for themselves, but the locals called them Juupa trees. Apparently, their kind only seeded and flowered once a century, so this little grove had been by itself ever since a small seed was carried there by the wind several decades ago.

The little boy’s patience gave out, and he began tugging on Athel’s arm again. She quickly said goodbye and continued along with the boy.

Athel could not contain her excitement. She had never heard of such strange and unusual trees before. She relished in the possibility that she very well could be the very first Wysterian ever to discover them. They were by far the most brash trees she had ever conversed with. They grew fast, they thought fast, they spoke fast. The whole experience was invigorating, and she remembered for a moment that this was exactly what she had joined the Navy for in the first place. To sample and experience the vast world for herself.

She was so excited that she didn’t even notice that the cave entrance was now little more than a vanishing spot on the horizon as they walked across the black, burned ground.

As they came over the crest of a hill, the boy chirped happily and pointed out a small village in the dale below, smoke rising lazily from several fire pits. On either side of a small stream were a few dozen dwellings. Although the boy seemed positively proud of them, they were the crudest constructions Athel had ever seen. They provided no protection from enemy or element. Little more than long dried Juupa stalks leaned together and cloddishly tied. Without cloth or mortar, it was possible to look into them through the frequent gaps. The lack of privacy didn’t seem to bother the inhabitants, who freely conversed with one another through the walls until they saw Athel and the boy approaching.

A call of alarm came up throughout the village. Frightened people withdrew themselves, their bodies becoming shadows as they evoked their magic to protect them.

Athel’s attempts to greet or assuage them were met with cowering. She had never seen such a frightened people before. No warrior or guard came out to defend their families.

“I guess with their magic you don’t really need protectors,” she mused aloud as she and the boy passed a trio of transparent men.

“Not normally, no,” came a gruff and heavily-accented voice. The man who stood before her was densely adorned compared to the others, with split sections of Juupa bark woven together into a kind of ceremonial armor.

“Oh, thank the Great Mother,” Athel said, relieved. “Someone here speaks common.”

The little boy walked up to the man and they spoke together for several moments. As the boy excitedly explained something, the man looked up at Athel doubtfully.

“My name is Naanie,” the tall man said at last, placing his hands over his heart. “Please forgive my brothers and sisters, the only outsiders they have ever met are the Baakuu.”

“Oh, the island north of here,” Athel noted, recalling the name from the charts she had seen. “But it sounds like you have been to other places.”

“Yes, Naanie confirmed, motioning for her to follow him. “Each village leader sends his firstborn to Falmar to be educated.”

They passed by a group of villagers harvesting fruit from a little grove of trees like the ones Athel had met earlier. At first, they were startled by her appearance, but seemed to relax a little when they saw that Naanie walked with her. The little boy got tired of walking and clamored up onto Naanie’s back.

“My son Nuutrik will be going himself in two seasons,” Naanie shared, kissing the boy on the cheek.

“Oh so that’s his name,” Athel inferred. “Nice to meet you Nuutrik.”

Nuutrik laughed and whispered a series of gurgling words into his father’s ear.

“What did he say?” Athel asked curiously.

“He said, ‘daddy, she talks funny,’” Naanie replied with a grin.

As they reached the center of the village, Athel saw signs of damage from the recent storm. Lean-to’s that had been knocked over but not yet reassembled. Smashed pottery and broken Juupa stalks. To the east, the dale beyond had been completely burned down.

In the center of a grove of Juupa trees was a more permanent structure, adorned with animal skins and roughly-woven, but brightly colored tapestries.

“I am taking you to see my father, Chief Maaturro,” Naanie explained. “He is the oldest and wisest of our village.”

“Oh, okay,” Athel agreed, suddenly realizing that she really had no reason to be here.

The beaded entrance parted and a withered old man ambled out, scrambled white hair poking out through the gaps in his ceremonial armor on his chest and back.