Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  A second Eriia was hit, then a third, then a forth, but the fleet pressed on, weathering the storm of iron and fire.

  Athel clutched her screaming heart, trying to block out the shrieks of agony coming from the dying soldiers, but nothing would stop the ghastly sounds from reaching her ears.

  “Split formation!”

  The seemingly endless swarm of Eriia divided themselves, half making a run on each islet, a steady rain of shattered people and howdahs falling away from them like a gruesome snowfall.

  In the air above them, the clouds reformed themselves into the six-armed form of the goddess Maa’aat. She held out her hands and the people of Chidd fell to the deck, their shells cracking under the strain as their magic was torn from their souls and absorbed back into her.

  * * *

  Inside the islet, the Stonemasters whooped in cheer as the illusions faded away, leaving the true Eriia vulnerable.

  “They’re almost on top of us!” the spotters warned.

  “Fire the heavy mortars, tear them to shreds!” the commander yelled.

  * * *

  From the command platform, Athel felt her blood run cold as dozens of iron balls rose up into the sky around them, their glowing veins pulsing brighter and faster as they prepared to detonate.

  “Sutorians, hard light armor now!” Athel yelled.

  President Kaln nodded and clapped his hands together.

  The sound of the mortars exploding was beyond description. It was so loud that it overpowered Athel’s senses, and all became silent. She was thrown to the deck, the shockwave like a punch to the gut. She opened her eyes just in time to see expanding spheres of white-hot metal growing all around them.

  But the Sutorians had finished their spells in time. Each Eriia was coated in layers of glowing translucent plates, like an armadillo’s. The metal and fire from the mortars ricocheted off. The terrified Eriia bucked and jinked, their strained Beastmasters barely managing to keep control over them as they were hammered from all sides, but they and their crews survived the blasts.

  The clouds parted and the god Kohta appeared, his glassy form turning red as he fulfilled his threat, tearing the souls of his people in the task force to shreds, and permanently robbing them of their abilities.

  * * *

  Inside the islet, the Stonemasters looked on in horror as the fleet of Eriia moved above them.

  “They’re right on top of us!”

  The commander slammed his hammer down, and the stone ceiling hardened. A second layer closed beneath it, and then a third. A full hundred feet of magically reinforced rock now protected them.

  “Reload for the next volley!” he ordered. “Without their armor, they’ll be shredded to pieces!”

  * * *

  Athel’s cheeks were wet with tears as she listened to the poor people of Sutor and Chidd as they writhed about. Guru Inthanos lay on his back, his wrinkled face wracked in agony. President Kaln curled up into a ball, screaming in pain. Athel clutched her racing heart to see them, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

  Talliun tucked herself under Athel’s arm and held her up, making herself a crutch.

  “People of Kwi, now!”

  Chief Maaturro cackled fearlessly as he stood before a large stack of pulsating synthesis crystals. “Come on, lads, this will be our last spell, let’s make it a good one!”

  Naanie and Nuutrik agreed and they cast their shadow magic over the explosives. The crystal shells became shadow, and fell down through the deck, passing right through the Eriia itself and out the other side. The other Kwi did the same, and thousands of shadowy, glowing shells rained down from the fleet at the islet below them.

  * * *

  Inside the defensive islet, the Stonemasters looked on in disbelief as a hail of crackling shells passed right through the layers of stone that guarded them, becoming solid again just before they hit the floor.

  The commander closed his eyes.

  * * *

  From the command platform, Athel watched as the gigantic black marble beneath them shuddered from within with a titanic crack. The seas split like a riverbed as paralytic lightning leaked out of every hole and crevice. Every Stonemaster within screamed in unison, then was suddenly silenced.

  “Bet they felt that one,” Talliun snickered.

  “They’ll be out for days,” Athel noted.

  Looking over, she saw a similar explosion occur on the second islet, and the two halves of the fleet swam towards one another to join up.

  As the glowing form of the god Tidnaa appeared, Chief Maaturro hooted wildly, rocking back on his haunches and sticking his dirty feet up in the air. “Lick my feet, Tidnaa,” he hollered. “You’re too late.”

  The god snarled in anger and held up his fist, sucking painfully away at every Kwi in the fleet until their powers were taken.

  Despite the suffering, despite the losses, the men and women of the task force cheered as the seas rushed back around the silent islets that had once been impregnable defenses. Many of the delegates shook Athel’s hands and congratulated her, but she could find no voice to celebrate. All she could think about were the people they had lost to fire and water, and the thousands who had had their magic forever purged from them. In her heart, she knew she would hear those horrible screams as long as she lived.

  As the two groups of Eriia became one, Athel nodded to King Issha. “We’re moving on to the next layer. Can you make some shade for us?”

  Issha gave a deep reptilian laugh. “Of course we can.”

  He raised his head and gave off a throaty, chirping sound, and all the other Tirrakians responded in kind from their Eriia.

  Just as the fleet began swimming as one towards Boeth’s inner islands, the Tirrakians raised their hands, and the fleet vanished.

  * * *

  “What do you mean they’re gone?” Queen Sotol asked incredulously as she leaned forward in her throne.

  “I mean they’ve disappeared,” Marc reported, his image rippling in the floating orb of black shakes.

  “Yes, I know what the word means, you bird-brain, I mean how did it happen? Tidnaa took away their shadow magic.”

  Marc clacked his beak angrily. “I don’t know.”

  Tigera happily picked up his bishop and set it down on the board. “Check.”

  * * *

  Athel could not believe how perfectly dark it was. Even on a moonless night, even with her eyes tight shut, there had always been a background glow of faint red. But this was utter darkness. She found herself blinking to make sure they were still there, but the lids made no difference, opened or closed.

  Deprived of sight, she became more focused on her hearing. The seas bubbled and sprayed them, their acidic, watery tentacles occasionally reaching up, only to drop back down, angry at finding them just out of reach. The wood of the platform creaked lazily. The wind still touched her face; the salty air still nipped at her tongue. She could feel herself rise and fall gently with the swimming of the sky whales, but despite the evidence, the world around her didn’t feel like it existed anymore.

  “How is this possible?” she heard Talliun marvel. Athel could hear her prosthetic arm clicking as she waved it about before them, but could not see it.

  “My people are bending the light around us,” King Issha explained. “We cannot be seen, but it leaves us as blind to them as they are to us.”

  Athel squeezed the Spiritweaver’s shoulder a little tighter, afraid that if she lost her grip she might never find it again. “Are we on course?”

  Andolf whispered to himself, communicating with the spirits nearby. “We’re drifting to the left.”

  “All right, five degrees,” Athel commanded through the network. “And do it slowly, we don’t want to collide with each other.”

  She heard a pair of Eriia grunt angrily somewhere abo
ve them as they did just that.

  Invisibly, the fleet swam the distance between the first ring of defenses and the second.

  Suddenly, the Tirrakians began screaming, and the world reappeared around them. Everyone had to shield their eyes as the giant form of Lizume the Sun God stood before them, his glowing, cloudy fist outstretched.

  Soldiers fired their cannons without waiting for orders, the shots passing right through his body. Beyond, the shores of two small islands lay, the defenders shocked as both a god and a fleet appeared offshore.

  “Open fire!”

  At Athel’s command, the fleet spread out, releasing a volley of gunfire at the gun placements along the shores of the island. Stone embankments were bathed in green paralytic lightning as the magical rounds exploded, warping guns and catching dozens of soldiers in the open. Glowing energy seared over their bodies as they fell jerking to the ground. Yet, even as the remainder drew in the earth and stone around them to retaliate, their defensive fire was far lighter than expected. Wave after wave of electrical cannon and mortar peppered the costal defenses, concealing them from view behind a layer of fume and fire.

  “Good, we caught them out in the open. Prepare to send in the attack squadrons.”

  “Aye,” came the response.

  Talliun leaned in. “You know, if Poe rips their magic from them…”

  “He won’t. He’s done with this war. As is Sponatrion.”

  “Those are long odds you’re betting on. If the Beastmasters lost their talents, we’d be dead in the water.”

  Athel turned to her. “Now you’re worried? According to the odds, we shouldn’t have made it this far.”

  Talliun chuckled.

  * * *

  Captain Sykes looked over the men and women of his command as they quickly reloaded their guns. They had fought together in the Guild War; they had served under him during the first and second invasions of Wysteria. Now, as Alliance Military, they fought together yet again.

  As a vengeful god loomed over them, they ignored his immortal form and blasted away at the Stonemaster defenses. Even the new crewmembers from various isles fell into step without hesitation. Their discipline seemed almost unreal.

  A part of him longed to tell them how proud he was, but he held it in check. The looks on their faces as they worked, the focus and dedication they showed under pain of death and defeat showed him that they were proud of themselves, and nothing he could say would add or subtract from that.

  “Attack wing one, engage the left island,” came Athel Forsythia’s voice from the floating spirit beside him. “Attack wing two, the right.”

  “It will be done.”

  Captain Sykes rested his hands at the small of his back, and stepped up to Layla, who looked unsure.

  “Are you ready, young Hatronesian?”

  Layla grabbed her elbow. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Captain Sykes turned around to where Princess Turion of Artice and Prince Francisque of Mesda were helping the officers fix the shadow mine and themselves to special rings mounted deep in the wood of the howdah.

  “Left-tenant, take care, that device is very delicate.”

  “Aye,” Iarti responded.

  Like a giant barbed arrowhead, the complicated synthesis looked like a shimmering glass vessel with storm clouds of color swirling about inside of it, even though from the weight of it, they knew it was anything but hollow.

  Their Eriia shifted beneath them, griping about the weight.

  While the rest of the fleet slowly backed off, continuing its relentless shelling of the coast, the two attack wings swam forward.

  Now, the moment they had all dreaded arrived. The gurgling caves drew water in, the seas around them actually lowering in depth for a moment before the surrounding water could take its place.

  “Steady everyone,” Captain Sykes cautioned, sensing their nerves.

  All at once, the entire island before them contracted like a living thing, and huge jets of acidic seawater shot out at the exposed attack wings.

  “Now!”

  Layla and the other Hatronesians held out their hands, their sparkled light soaking into the Eriia beneath them. The creatures retained their strength, but became lighter, so light that instead of ponderously kicking themselves forward when their Beastmasters told them to, they jetted forward, impossibly fast for something as big as they were.

  The enormous jets of shrieking seawater shot through the skies where the whales had been, but hit only air.

  The crews struggled to hang on. Even the special harnesses they wore to attach themselves to the deck seemed barely adequate as their whale sped through the skies, the seas nothing more than a blur beneath them.

  The jets changed direction; their angle becoming shallower to hit the approaching targets.

  Sykes’ cap fell off as their Eriia pulled hard to the left, his hat instantly dissolving as a column of water hit where they had been. They dodged left, then right, then pulled back in a corkscrew, each time barely missing the jets of water, which converged around them like streaming ribbons, desperate to make contact and end their advance.

  The Beastmaster drivers whooped and hollered in excitement, taking off their hats and waving them around in the air as they swerved and curled.

  The jets of water pinched around them like fingers, but the six Eriia slipped through. They combined into one, then spilt again, circling around the racing beasts, but they pulled around in a barrel roll. Under magical direction, the waters flattened out like a paddle and tried to slap them down, but they squeaked out along the edges.

  A jet of water swiped across them, and they ducked beneath it. Sensing the creatures close enough to snag, the oceans below sent up hundreds of thirsting tentacles, clawing at them hungrily.

  The Eriia weaved through this grove of acid, the tentacles whipping past them in a blur of hissing rage. Enraged, the sea welled up beneath them in a wave, curling around them on both sides like a barrel. The Hatronesians exerted everything they had, giving the beasts an extra burst of speed. One by one, they shot out the end as it closed down upon them.

  The final Eriia clipped the edges as she slipped through. The majestic creature squealed in pain, her flippers and tail dissolved in an instant as she listed upside down. Her crew had only a moment to scream before a jet of water caught up with them. For a heartbeat, their cries were mixed with gurgling darkness, and then they were gone.

  The water expended, the jets ceased, and the attack wing zipped past the ruined coastal defenses. Beyond the white cliffs, a blur of abandoned farms and desolate farmhouses flew by. They passed several walls of defenses, cannons blasting away at them, rockets streaking out at them, mortars and catapults hurling burning explosives into the air. The entire horizon seemed filled with projectiles like fireflies, but they zoomed on ahead, weaving through and cartwheeling past them. They had no time to stop and pick a fight. They only had a few minutes before the cave system would spew again.

  Captain Sykes allowed his crews to fire at will, taking shots at a trebuchet or war bow, splintering them atop decaying fortifications as they zipped past. The opposition wasn’t even a third of what they had expected. Captain Sykes looked out over the landscape they traveled over. Deserted inns, forgotten shrines, vacated factories, and empty town squares.

  “Where is everybody?”

  Prince Francisque leaned forward and pointed, his tall ears flapping in the wind. “There is it, right where Odger said it would be.”

  At the center of the island sat a low, cratered hill, like a whale spout. Air breathed into it as the entire cave system prepared to expand and drew in fresh sea water.

  “We’re going in,” Sykes said.

  The group of five Eriia kicked up on one side, then dove down into the tunnel. Dark panels of Truestone flew past them on all sides as they flew down into the darkne
ss. Captain Sykes fired a flare to light their way.

  Sensing their encroachment, a stone panel stretched out atop a column of rock, attempting to crush them like a mallet against the far wall.

  A pillar slammed down from above, from the right, from below, from the left. Each time, the incredibly fast Eriia danced around them.

  They were getting deeper now, the walls were moist with seawater. Caustic drips hit the deck, coring out little pits in the material.

  Left-tenant Iarti gripped his hammer anxiously as another pillar slammed down above them, nearly taking their heads off.

  Two pillars came from either side and met in the middle, catching one of the Eriia and pulverizing him and his crew in an instant.

  “Not yet,” Sykes yelled, fighting to maintain his grip. “We only have the one mine. If we don’t release it at the core of the island, it won’t work.”

  The tunnel branched ahead. They went left, then right, then left again as they had practiced, avoiding the myriad of antechambers which held the water to be disgorged.

  Layla wobbled, sweat forming on her brow, her wings drooping. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” she warned, her brow straining. “I’ve never enlightened something this big before.”

  “Just hang on.”

  Princess Turion fired a fresh flare up ahead. “There, the one on the bottom.”

  The four remaining Eriia dove down into the mouth of an enormous screaming carving of Isha. Here, the truestone was bleached from its frequent contact with seawater, the roots of the island protected from erosion by the tight panels lining every surface.

  “There it is!”

  They exited the tunnel into a large tiled cavern beneath the island. Like the lungs of the land itself, it pinched tightly, ready to draw in fresh seawater.

  “The magic required to maintain this must be beyond reckoning,” Ensign Avid marveled.

  Captain Sykes nodded approvingly. “Left-tenant, activate the shadow mine.”

  Iarti hit the glassy crystal with his hammer, cracking the surface. The glowing clouds within swirled violently.

  Emar and Kathan cut the restraining ropes, and their Eriia turned on his side, allowing the device to fall free.