Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  Admiral Roapes straightened up to his full height and pulled out his handkerchief. “Do not pretend to make this my fault. The decision comes from the Stone Council. I am merely following orders. Their demands are made known to you. You have seven days from this moment, or we will attack.” The Admiral ceremoniously wiped his hands and dropped the handkerchief before the Queen. With a smart salute, he turned around and stepped back into the longboat. His staff hesitantly joined him.

  The Queen bowed formally as the longboat sailed way, her face an expressionless mask. When the longboat was but a speck in the distance, she glanced down to the handkerchief at her feet.

  “You wiped your hands,” Hazel said, her voice full of pain. “But they are not clean.”

  Chapter Five

  Odger tossed his boots aside and relished the sensation of the dirt between his toes. All around him he could sense the serenity of the earth, comfortably settled into its place. Stone was a substance of peace and contentment, and just being near it felt healthy and invigorating to him.

  He looked up and saw the slowly swaying form of the Dreadnaught as it hovered in place, anchored above this small volcanic island. He had spent so much time in the sky, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be amongst real stones. There were no screams here, no judgments, no guilt. There was only beautiful, cool stones inviting him to settle down next to them and relax.

  He closed his eyes and placed his filthy hands in front of him. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, he began to dig. The earth gave way before him, and he burrowed deep in the ground, digging like a mole, almost swimming. He passed through layers of compressed sand, rubble and shale, even hard veins full of metal ore as if they were nothing more than water, the materials accepting his presence and allowing him to pass. In his mind he could see the veins of ore that ran through the mountain, like bright clouds made of gold and silver. Pockets of denser materials shone like stars around him. It appeared very much as though he were swimming through a moonless night sky, the stars and nebulas flowing around him as he swam.

  Many of these rocks were still young, at least as rocks go, and eagerly whispered to him the stories of their ejection from the volcano, the thrill of flying through the air, until finally settling in their current position. Odger came up to a pocket of quartz and greeted it in the usual manner. He held out his hand and asked permission. The crystals willing to travel dislodged from their place and formed themselves into a perfect sphere in his hand. Those that wished to remain bid their goodbyes. Odger placed the sphere in his satchel, and began swimming towards the next vein.

  * * *

  Up on the Dreadnaught, the crew was indulging themselves in their most honored tradition, getting sloshed before a big mission. They all knew that this was going to be the biggest one they had ever undertaken and possibly their last.

  The tables in the galley had all been pushed together, forming one long banquet-style arrangement, and Alder had filled it up in grandiose fashion. The tiny golem, Bunni Bubbles happily skipped around the table, picking up empty saucers and plates, and carrying them off to the kitchen to be washed. Alder brought out new dishes to fill the empty places, each one more amazing than the last.

  “Oh, this is so good; you've got to try this!” Ryin praised as he slurped down the last of a chocolate mousse.

  “I can’t try it if it is all gone, Colenat.” Privet observed, his boots kicked up on the table edge.

  “Wow, he even cut the fruit into the shapes of little animals,” Dr. Griffin praised, tossing a flamingo-shaped piece of strawberry in his mouth.

  “Mine is a tiger,” Margaret boasted, holding hers up. “Rawr, rawr!”

  “Oh wow, the sausage looks like a little fresh-water octopus,” Privet surveyed, rotating it in his fingers. “How do you even do that?”

  “I would be happy to teach you how,” Alder offered. “It’s really easy, you just make little slices before you cook it, and the cooking process will cause the little tips to curl up like that.”

  “You know, I actually would like you to teach me how to do that,” Privet accepted happily, his hand grabbing a fresh bottle.

  There was a derisive snort, and Alder and Privet turned to see Ryin glaring drunkenly at them. “You want him to teach you how to make little octopus sausages? Why not teach him how to knit doilies while you’re at it?”

  “Perhaps I will. These are, after all, very important skills for any man to learn,” Alder defended.

  “Oy! I just don’t get you Wysterian men!” Ryin conceded. “I never will.”

  Alder brought out a tray of blended fruit drinks and placed them before Mina. “If you wouldn’t mind, my Lady,” he requested humbly.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Mina resigned. She waved her hand over the tray and all the beverages were instantly chilled with a layer of frost. Everyone except Evere applauded and Alder began distributing the drinks.

  Privet leaned back further in his chair, nearly toppling it over, and let out a long howl-like cheer at the reception of his frosty fruit drink.

  “I think you may have had enough to drink already tonight, lad.” Captain Evere warned.

  “Not at all,” Privet defended. “Haven’t you ever heard the Wysterian proverb, 'Kama’i tsu’i i’ila nou mala’alli’i...something...something...something?’”

  “What’s that mean?” Dr. Griffin asked, chewing on a breadstick.

  “It means that life is short, so men should drink with all their might.”

  “That isn’t a proverb,” Alder corrected.

  “It should be.”

  Alder bent down and patted Bunni on the head as she skipped by with an empty plate, then stood before Mina with a covered tray. “As a special treat, I was able to pick up something festive for you at our last port, Mrs. Duvare,” Alder proclaimed happily as he lifted the cover. “I acquired a cabbage for you. I know you Mesdans are quite fond of them.”

  Mina’s lavender eyes narrowed. “You know, that is a really offensive stereotype.”

  Alder straightened up a little bit. “Oh, it is?”

  “Not all Mesdans like cabbage, you know?”

  “My apologies, I had no intention to...”

  “Just because I’m Mesdan doesn’t mean I’m addicted to cabbage, okay?”

  Alder bowed in apology and began to turn away.

  “Hey, I didn’t say to take it away,” Mina corrected. She snatched the cabbage off of his tray and began eating it ravenously. “I just don’t like promoting cultural stereotypes.”

  Alder furrowed his brow in confusion. He glanced over to Evere for confirmation.

  “She can’t keep her paws off the stuff,” Evere confirmed. His parrot, Tim, squalked in agreement from its perch on his shoulder.

  “Shut up, Allister,” Mina said sharply, her mouth full of cabbage.

  As Mina devoured the cabbage, Captain Evere tipped up the brim of his hat and watched her. “I tell ya’ laddies, watching a woman engorge herself on cabbage, why it just warms the cockles of my heart.”

  “I said shut up,” Mina growled.

  Spoon in his mouth, Ryin leaned over and whispered to Margaret. “What in the world are cockles?”

  Margaret sat up straight as if she had been kicked. “Oh. Well...um...you see...um...” she fidgeted, her face turning red.

  “It’s a type of freshwater clam,” Alder explained as he walked by. “You can find them on some of the larger islands.”

  “Oh, really?” Margaret said, adjusting her glasses. “Oh, well then, that is a relief.”

  “Why? What did you think cockles were?” Ryin asked crookedly.

  “Oh, nothing...I mean...um...”

  It was then that Athel walked into the galley, looking quite proud of herself as she carried a bundle of navigational charts under one arm.

  “There you are, you little booty-snatcher!” Evere stood up, pointing a meaty finger. “How dare you give away our wage chest to that bone-muncher!”

  “Not to ment
ion my ship,” Privet added. “I should have been on my way by now.”

  “How did you find out it was me?” Athel asked innocently.

  Evere reached over with one of his huge hands and picked up Alder by the scuff of his uniform. “I found out from your little servant.”

  “Husband”

  “Whatever. He tried to cover for you, but I saw right through it. The boy is a terrible liar. He couldn’t act wet in a thunderstorm.”

  “I keep telling you, I am an aesthetician, not a thespian,” Alder protested as he swung in Evere’s grip.

  Athel sighed. “Put him down please. I didn’t give your money away; try to think of it as a short term-loan. If all goes according to plan, within the month you'll all have more money then you will know what to do with.”

  “Even if that were true, and your word is running real thin as of late, what is with you doing all this stuff behind my back without so much as a warning?” Evere dropped Alder from his grip. “What are we going to do for food in the meantime?”

  Evere picked up an orange from the table and held it out. “My crew can’t eat food they buy a month from now.”

  Athel snatched the orange out of his hand and tossed it out the porthole, down to the rocky ground below. With a snap of her fingers, the orange grew into a mighty tree, heavy with hundreds of fresh, ripe oranges.

  “I’m a Treesinger. I think we'll be okay.”

  “Ohh, ohh, do the mango next,” Margaret said, knocking over a wine glass and holding out her mango.

  “No time for that,” Athel announced as she rolled out the navigational charts before them. Several small, uninhabited islands were circled with bright red chalk.

  “Still using children’s chalk, I see,” Privet quipped.

  “Quiet, you. Now, I've had Odger mark the locations of the Stonemaster communication arteries. These don’t appear on any official chart.”

  “Wow! How did you get that out of him?” Mina asked, her tail swishing curiously.

  “Oh, I can be very persuasive,” Athel said, running her fingers through her long hair and tossing it back behind her.

  “She gave him a cookie,” came an elderly voice. They all turned to catch Pops, the janitor, pass by, slowly and methodically mopping the corridor.

  “Pops! Why do you have to ruin everything like that?” Athel complained. “Presentation is half the drama.”

  “I prefer comedies,” Pops admitted as he disappeared from view.

  Athel pinched the bridge of her nose and reined in her temper. “Okay, from what Odger told me, these stations are heavily fortified, but lightly staffed. Most of their protection comes from the assumption that no one knows where they are in the first place. The staff are exclusively Stonemasters, which is a problem since we won’t be able to easily blend in. We're all too tall...except maybe for Alder. Even so, they still have to receive rations and water supplies on a regular basis, so I believe that...”

  Athel trailed off when she realized that everyone was staring at her oddly. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  The crew of the Dreadnaught looked at each other furtively.

  “Well, sweetie,” Mina began. “I guess we all kind of assumed we'd be headed back to Wysteria to help your people. They are being invaded.”

  “We are going to help my people, but not in such a boring way. Think about it. One little ship, how much could we really do? But out here, behind the lines and free of the blockade, we can be more effective than a hundred ships. No, we are going to do something far more leafy. We're going to follow the plan from Dark Carolers.”

  “We're going to sacrifice a virgin to the leviathan?” Alder asked, confused.

  “No, not that part.”

  “Ohh, I volunteer Ryin,” Margaret spoke up.

  “Hey!” Ryin protested.

  “No, stop it, we're not going to sacrifice Ryin or any of our other virgins.”

  “I forget, who is the other virgin besides you and Ryin?” Dr. Griffin whispered to Margaret.

  “Please don’t speak to me,” she whispered back.

  “Listen up, everybody. Our next mission is to take out the Stonemaster communications artery that services the area around Wysteria,” Athel declared theatrically, gesturing towards the map. Everyone leaned in and looked at where she was pointing.

  “The coffee stain?” Privet asked.

  “No, not the coffee stain, the tiny island next to it. It’s called Station Checkettes.”

  Captain Evere sat back and stroked the back of Tim’s neck, nodding approvingly. “It pains me to say it, but I’m shocked, lass. This is a surprisingly sober and lucid plan.”

  Athel put her hands on her hips. “Just what are you implying?”

  “No, he’s right,” Mina agreed, looking over the map. “Standard Navy protocol calls for a ship to return to base when it goes out of communication. If the whole fleet loses their prism streams, they'll have no choice but to return to Stretis.”

  “But then they'll just turn right back around again,” Ryin complained. “So, this accomplishes nothing.”

  “It’s not that simple, lad,” Evere said, leaning forward. Having this many ships all in the same place at once is a logistical nightmare. It could take as long as two months before they can get everyone back to Wysteria and reestablish the blockade.”

  “Which will give Wysteria time to take back the initiative,” Athel concluded, crossing her arms proudly.

  It was at that moment that Odger waddled in, looking serene and collected. He greeted each person in turn, even smiling warmly and looking them in the eyes, something he normally never did. It stunned everyone into silence.

  “M-may I offer you something to eat?” Alder asked politely.

  “Yes, I’d love some porridge if you have it,” Odger responded clearly. “But first I must deliver something.”

  Everyone was amazed. Even Ryin let off a small whistle. Odger seemed pellucid, even calm. Normally his eyes were skittish, they darted around all the time as if he was constantly being distracted by some unheard noise, but now he seemed focused. Still covered with dirt and grime, but focused.

  Carefully, he took out a small wrapped bundle and placed it on the table in front of Athel. “I made this for you,” he announced proudly.

  “Oh...well...thank you very much, I guess,” Athel said, removing the wrapping.

  “He really seems to be doing a lot better,” Margaret mentioned.

  Athel unwrapped the bundle, revealing a beautiful statuette. The woman depicted was quite obviously Athel, dressed in an exquisite white floor-length gown. The skin was carved from a polished agate, so smooth that no tool lines could be seen. Emerald gems had been flawlessly shaped for the eyes, and ruby for the hair, which was braided and decorated with flowers carved from jade. The dress was carved from quartz, trimmed and decorated with shimmering opal. In her gloved hands, she held a bouquet of flowers, also made from jade.

  At first glance it appeared painted, but upon closer inspection they realized that the materials themselves had been manipulated. The natural marbling in the jade had been moved around to give the bouquet of flowers dramatic highlights and shading. The cloudiness in the quartz had been gathered together in the folds of the dress, gently feathering out towards the opal lace at the trim. It was a work of art unparalleled by anything any of them had seen before.

  “There is no way you made this,” Athel marveled. “It isn’t covered with mud.”

  “Of course I made it,” Odger assured her, scratching flakes of skin out of his crusty eyebrow. “Making a figurine like this is the final test you must pass in order to be certified as a Stonemaster. It encompasses all the Stonemaster skills; ore locating, structure manipulation, material reshaping and fusing.”

  “Yes, but what is it?” Athel insisted.

  “Oh, it’s a sculpture of you on our wedding day, so I can always remember how beautiful my bride looked,” Odger explained, wandering dreamily away into the corridors.

  E
veryone sat in silence for a moment. Athel could only stare at the statue, mouth agape.

  “Okay, never mind what I said, I guess he’s not that much better,” Margaret admitted.

  “Lady Forsythia, I know it is not my place, but I really must protest,” Alder spoke up, arms at his side.

  “Yeah, you tell her, Alder,” Mina encouraged.

  “You know the laws of our land. If you are going to take a second husband, he must be Wysterian, he cannot be a foreigner.”

  Mina’s long white tail went straight with anger. “Wait...that is the part that bothers you?”

  “When did you two get married, anyway?” Dr. Griffin asked, scratching his bald head.

  “And why wasn’t I invited?” Ryin asked, irritated.

  “Hold on everybody!” Athel said, holding her hands out. “Okay, first of all, eeuuww. Second of all, I’m not married to him.”

  Mina slammed her hand on the table and stood up, her fox-like ears twitching. “And, third of all, you are both being really racist. What is so wrong with marrying a foreigner?”

  Athel looked at Mina stupidly. “What’s wrong with it? Odger hasn’t taken a bath once in the entire time I've known him.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Alder’s eyes went wide in horror. “When Odger drops food on the floor, I offer to get him a replacement, but he just picks it up and eats it anyway.”

  “No,” Mina huffed, the white fur on her neck standing up. “That’s not what’s important.”

  “Well, if you like him so much, why don’t you marry him?” Athel retorted.

  “I’m already married!” Mina yelled.

  “To a foreigner,” Evere stated coldly, peering up from underneath his cap.

  For a long time, everybody was quiet.

  “Ah, so that is what this is really about,” Margaret exclaimed, quite proud of herself. She took out her notebook and began scratching away in it.

  “Look, it’s not like I care or anything,” Ryin began, nonchalantly snapping his fingers, causing his metal fork to bend itself into all sorts of unusual shapes. “But I think this has been seething long enough. You two need to get everything out in the open so you can deal with it.”