Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Poe rolled up his sleeve, revealing something that had been hidden before, a golden shackle placed about his wrist.

  “What is that?”

  “When a god makes an oath, it is unbreakable, even by us. We call it the Binding, a magical contract we gods forged. It limits each of us to our own territory when we carved up the world among ourselves. The farther I intrude into the realm of another, the more my power is diminished.”

  “So that is why the gods rarely fight openly.”

  Poe nodded. “They send their children to fight their wars and settle their squabbles. Again, mortals pay the price for our sins. It has ever been so.”

  Poe looked up, hopelessness in his eyes. “We cannot beat Valpurgeiss. No one can. Your war is doomed to failure. This whole world is doomed to failure.”

  “Valpurgeiss? Who is Valpurgeiss?”

  Poe looked down in shame. “He is the broken god. The outcast. He has returned to take his vengeance upon the rest of the gods, and, once again, you mortals are paying the price.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The void magic he now wields is more ancient than the world itself. Even the gods are all but powerless against it.”

  “But you can still do something, can’t you?”

  Poe looked down at the grave. His eyes seemed so exhausted. “It is the fate of all mortals to die. Whether they die tomorrow or in a year, what does it really matter?”

  Ryin balled up his fist. “No, that is not what you said before. You said that you worked to help your friends. Even though you knew they would die, you made sure they were happy while they were alive. So, don’t tell me that it doesn’t matter to you. Don’t tell me that you don’t care. I’ve seen how hard you work, I’ve seen the energy you put into their happiness. It does matter to you.”

  Ryin stepped in closer, and motioned to the grave. “It mattered to Claire.”

  More tears fell down Poe’s face. “Yes, it did.”

  “You made her happy. And seeing her happy made you happy, even if it was just for a little while. That is what you do. And I am asking you, no, I am begging you, please, lend us your strength to make others happy.”

  Poe looked up, uncertain.

  Ryin leaned in closer. “People are suffering. They are dying. Will you help them? Will you be a friend to them?”

  Poe opened his old lips, his voice trembling. “All right. I will try. Bring me your treaty and I will sign it.”

  * * *

  “Please, I ask you not to do this,” Queen Forsythia said, barely able to force a whisper past her thin, cracked lips. “Don’t graft our trees together.”

  High-Priest Oleander looked upon her tenderly as The Queen lay in her bed. All the color was gone from her now grey hair. Her face was as pale as a corpse. Her thin and frail body so wracked with pain, it shivered pitifully.

  Too ill to hold court, her room felt barren and deserted now, only a handful of guards and servants standing amid the fading light.

  “I’m…I’m sorry Athel,” Oleander strained to say. “But I just can’t stand by and watch you die. You’re too important to the forest…to all of us…even to me.”

  The Queen’s impassive mask cracked, and she half sat up, her cold eyes became moist with tears. “Please, my sister’s madness could bleed into me. It could permanently corrupt my mind. I need my thoughts clear to win this war…to save the forest.”

  Her strength failing her, the Queen fell back into her pillow, her eyes half closed as if in a nightmare. ”Please, I can bear this pain. Just a little longer, and we will be ready to launch the invasion.”

  Bunni Bubbles shyly tapped her tiny toe against the floor. She looked around at the big people, worry on her face. She tugged on Oleander’s robes and looked up with her large dewy eyes. “She can’t play with me anymore. Can you make her better, please?”

  The High Priestess stepped in close, sympathy in her eyes. For a second she moved to take Athel’s hand, but then pulled away. “We both know you won’t last that long. Please believe me when I say I take no joy in this. If I could think of another way, I would take it, but I must protect the forest. By order of the church, I am declaring a state of national emergency, and am taking steps to correct the danger. We will now travel to the edge of the forest to graft together your tree with your sister’s.”

  Sadly, the High Priestess left with her Black Guard.

  Alder knelt in close, and gently took his wife’s hand in his. Her dried skin flaked off when she weakly squeezed his back. Bunni climbed up and wrapped her limbs around Athel’s thin arm, hugging her with her entire body.

  For a moment, Athel leaned back and took in the terror of it. For the second time in her life, her very corewood, the living essence of who she was as a person, was about to be forever altered. In a very real way, the person she was would die, and be no more, and it horrified her to think what might take her place.

  With infinite gentleness, Alder leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “No matter what happens, Athi, I will always love you. I will never leave your side.”

  “I know,” she said, leaning her head into his chest, taking comfort from his soothing presence. “But the matrons won’t feel the same way. Even if I resist her madness, they’ll always doubt me. They’ll always wonder if I am mad. Every decision I make from now on will be colored by doubt. My reputation, my ability to persuade them, will be forever destroyed.”

  With great difficulty, she lifted her other hand and set it atop his. “Either way, my time as Queen will effectively be over.”

  A thought occurred to Alder, and with great difficulty, he brought himself up to his feet, his knees nearly buckling under the strain. He brought his hand up and coughed painfully, then straightened his uniform as best he could. “I should go get Ash and Trillium. So you can spend some time with them, while you are still you.”

  Athel smiled sadly. “I would like that.”

  * * *

  Out on the veranda of the royal court, High Priestess Oleander found Lady Mara Greenbrier and Sister Caladium Lotebush waiting for her. A nearby tree held out its branches like a cupped hand, and they stepped out onto it. With skill and grace, the tree passed them along to her neighbor, where they stepped into her waiting grasp. Like a great bucket-brigade, the trees passed the group of women, traveling leagues through the forest in mere minutes, yet despite the dizzying speed, they walked as calmly as if they were strolling through a spring glen.

  “She’s right, you know,” Lady Greenbrier warned. “Grafting their trees together could very well give the Queen the stability to weather the pain, but it is just as likely that her sister’s madness will permanently corrupt her mind.”

  “The fact is, we can’t truly know what this will do to either of them,” Sister Lotebush stated, her resolve crumbling. “This hasn’t been attempted for a millennia, and even then it was with newborn trees, not fully matured Nallorn.”

  Lady Greenbrier placed her hand against her long, elegant face. “By the stars, to think it has come to this. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody, not even a heartless Forsythian.”

  For a moment, doubt passed over Oleander’s face. “It is true, the risk is great, but let us have faith in the path Milia has laid out for us to follow. For all we know, Athel’s sanity could cure her sister.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Sister Lotebush asked, looking at her sidelong. “If the worst should happen?”

  Oleander breathed in sharply as she considered it. “If the worst should happen, the state of emergency will persist. The Forsythia sisters will maintain the forest’s health until a new queen can be anointed and prepared. The church will step in and fill the void of political power to ensure a smooth transition.”

  Lady Greenbrier could scarcely contain her shock. “You would reduce your queen to nothing more than a figurehead?”

  �
��I am trying to save her,” Oleander snapped back, deeply offended. “Do you think I want the worst to happen?”

  Greenbrier raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And I suppose the church would select the new royal line?”

  “The church will follow Milia’s will,” she said resolutely. “The church will select a new Braihmin family to lead us. One that understands the importance of maintaining our traditions…”

  Oleander shot an accusatory glance at the elegant matron. “…and one that does not question the faith.”

  “You mean the Buckthorns.”

  Oleander coldly straightened her robes. “If you can think of a more suitable candidate, I will consider it, of course. Your own family line was royal, as I recall.”

  “You know that is not what I meant. It is not the place of the church to select who will lead us.”

  The High Priestess straightened her miter. “This is Milia’s will. We must trust in it.”

  The giant Nallorn tree set them down at the edge of the blight lands, where a sickly and withering Deutzia lay, slumped over against her neighbor. All around, the women of the Lotebush family stood, hand in hand, their songs weaving a healing spell that washed over the ailing tree, trying to sustain her.

  The forest parted as Solanum’s tree Gladiolus was wheeled through atop a heavy cartridge, a team of fifty men pulling under the lash of Dahlia Buckthorn. Her tree was different from the others, veins of color running up though her bark, as if she had drunk deeply of some rainbow that had burned itself into her. As the men pulled her towards the prepared pit dug alongside her, Deutzia shuddered in fear.

  “I trust all the preparations are underway?” The High Priestess asked as her Black Guard fanned out to create a perimeter.

  As the Treesinger opened her mouth, another voice rose up.

  “No, my daughters are not ready!”

  Lady Cadagi Lotebush shoved her way to the head of the crowd, her normally kind face twisted into an ugly anger. “Orlaya, what you are proposing is barbaric. These are not mere spring flowers, these are Ma’iltri’ia, living beings with minds of their own.”

  All of the flowers within earshot huffed in offense.

  “You know what I mean!” she barked, waving her hand dismissively. “This is evil. I will not be a part of it.”

  The High Priestess sighed. “Then it is with great sadness that I must release you from your calling.”

  Lady Lotebush took a step back. “Wha…?”

  “You and your daughters shall return to your lands until further notice.”

  Everyone looked at each other in stunned silence.

  “Th…The Lotebush family has served this forest as healers for hundreds of generations, since the beginning of the…”

  “And your service is appreciated, but is no longer required,” she retorted, cutting her off.

  Several of the Black Guard drew closer, gripping their staffs tightly.

  Tears formed in the kindly matron’s eyes, and she forced herself to bow. Even in disgrace, she had a dignity about her, and her daughters followed suit.

  Without a word, Lady Lotebush turned to leave, her family following her and disappearing into the woods.

  Oleander turned to Lady Greenbrier, who nearly jumped in fright.

  “Mara Greenbrier, by the authority of the church, I appoint you to fill the role of healer in her stead. Will you do what is necessary to save the forest?”

  The lovely woman’s eyes widened in fear. “I…I will,” she answered reluctantly.

  The High Priestess placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know this is difficult for you. But, the forest must live, no matter the cost. Surely you can see that.”

  Mara opened her mouth to disagree, but then closed it again, her eyes becoming ashamed. “Yes, High Priestess.”

  “Good.”

  The High Priestess turned and looked at the stunned crowd. “Well, don’t just stand there, we must not waste time.”

  * * *

  Athel couldn’t be sure of how much time had passed. Surely it could only have been a couple of minutes since Alder had left, but already she had slipped into a fevered dream. Above the screams of the blighted trees, above the pain that ravaged her to the bone, above her fear and exhaustion, she could hear Deutzia calling out to her in fear. Linked or not, they were twins, and Athel felt her terror as the ceremony began.

  Athel opened her clouded eyes, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself to really truly pray.

  Please Milia, don’t let her die. Please, Great Mother, please save her, I beg of you…

  In her youth, Athel had always taken prayer as a given. No matter where she was, or how far she traveled, Milia was there to commune with, to offer advice, to sooth a weary heart. She was never too busy to answer the prayers given to her. It was something Athel always respected about her, loved even. Even in her rebellious youth, it had always been there.

  Now there was nothing. No response. Not even a gentle spiritual caress.

  …and save me too. I’m so scared.

  Without knocking, the door swung open, and Alder was forced inside. What followed was a rare sight. All thirty-eight women of the Forsythia household. They filed in solemnly, forming a complete circle around the Queen’s bed, ordering themselves from least to greatest. But it was Calla Forsythia that drew the Queen’s attention. She was tall for a woman, her bright red hair pulled back into a bun, her green eyes burning with ambition. Had Hazel Forsythia never born any daughters, the throne would have been hers to claim.

  With Alder’s help, the Queen managed to sit up and face her kin. Despite her frailty, she faced them with a regal calm. It was apparent to all of them, even in that moment, how much she reminded them of her mother.

  One by one, they all laid down their staffs, the tips pointing inwards towards Athel.

  “I assume you all have been planning this for some time,” the Queen asked dispassionately.

  It was Aunt Snowberry Forsythia who spoke up first. “Athel, your mother was a good and wise leader. She brought honor and wealth to this family, and for that we will be forever grateful to her. But…”

  “But everything since then has been a disaster,” Aunt Briar interrupted. “The rule of her daughters has made us laughingstocks in polite society.”

  “You would blame me for Solanum’s madness?”

  “We are tired of having to apologize for you--both of you,” Cousin Balsam countered. “Everywhere we go, we have to defend your ridiculous behavior. Do you know what they call you? What they call all of us? ‘Hazel’s Folly.’ They say our entire bloodline has been cursed. Tainted. It’s more than I can bear.”

  “The Maples refuse to do business with us anymore,” Aunt Butternut added.

  “We’ll have to sell off our mining rights on the coast just to keep our seat on the trade council,” Aunt Oak complained.

  “Our profits are down so low, the Sassafras clan is looking to have our credit ranking readdressed.”

  Several more complaints were lodged, but they all overlapped into a kind of general squalor. Like a flock of birds the Forsythians bellowed out a litany of rebukes and curses. It was not the song of the forest; it was a song of hate. Calla stood silently above it all, a smirk of satisfaction on her face.

  If the Queen was offended at the barrage of insults, she showed no sign of it. She sat there patiently, listening to each one, until their anger spent itself, and they all stood there, breathing heavily as they awaited her response.

  “So, I am an embarrassment to the family now, is that it?” she asked calmly.

  Alder could take no more, and stood before his wife. His frail frame planted defiantly as he thrust his arms out. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Several of the women laughed in derision.

  “You are daughters of Milia. Her holy sp
irit resides within you. How can you all speak to your Queen so callously? This behavior is beneath your station and beneath you. I beg of you, remember who you are, remember the divinity you carry in your hearts.”

  “Stand aside, Alder,” Aunt Veronica spat.

  But Alder held his ground. “You will speak to her with respect or you will leave,” he insisted.

  Another round of laughter came in response.

  “You have no standing here,” cousin Hawthorn scoffed. Go cook something, or scrub a toilet. This is a circle of equals.”

  Alder felt a trembling hand on his shoulder. “They’re right, Alder.”

  Alder turned around to face his wife. Carefully, she reached up and removed her circlet and set it down. “This is a circle of equals. There is no rank here, and all women may speak freely.”

  Athel reached up and unbraided her grey hair, allowing it to fall freely down her shoulders. “Here I am not queen, I am a member of this family, and in truth, I am one of the youngest.”

  This pleased Aunt Ceder immensely. “I am glad to see you are not completely unreasonable.”

  “No, I am not,” Athel said, taking off her rings and laying them down before her. When looked up again, her demeanor had changed. Gone was the regal gait. Gone was the gentle patience. Her lips pursed in disapproval, her brow wrinkled in outrage. Her eyes flared in indignation.

  In his mind, Alder could swear that her eyes seemed brown again. The way they used to be.

  “Fine, you all think I am an embarrassment to the family?” She began, her temper coming to a slow boil. “You think I have tainted the name Forsythia? Let’s examine that point then, shall we?”

  Athel lifted up a shivering finger and pointed it. “Aunt Snowberry, when the navy came to our island, what did you do?”

  Snowberry blinked. “Me?”

  “Yes, while Tirrakian Biremes set our trees ablaze, what were you doing? I’ll answer for you because we all know the answer. You were holed up in the family vaults, cowering beneath bags of gold coins, crying like a child.”

  Athel moved her finger towards another. “And dear Aunt Briar, while Lightning-Galleons turned our trees to splinters and ash, what were you doing?”