“Only the men seem willing to stand and fight,” another guard admitted sadly.
“This is madness!” Athel shouted. The three guards flinched at the noise, and motioned for her to be quiet.
“Please,” Captain Tallia bid, “I have strict orders not to allow anything above a whisper around the royal hall.”
Athel put her hands on her hips. “Why?”
Captain Tallia turned her gaze aside. “Be...because The Queen believes she is made of glass and will shatter.”
“This is crazy, I am going in there,” Athel said, stepping forward.
The guards drew their weapons and blocked her path. “Please, stay back, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“What makes you think you can?” Privet asked, preparing to draw his saber.
Athel motioned for Privet to stand down. “I’m here to help, please let me pass.”
“Maybe we should...” one of the guards began.
“No!” Captain Tallia insisted. “I have my orders, I swore an oath.”
“You swore an oath to protect your people,” Athel agreed. “And that was a noble thing. Ask yourself, what will serve our people more, letting me pass or barring me entrance?”
Captain Tallia hesitated.
Athel took out her carved staff and held it out. “If you want to know my intentions, see them for yourself.”
Hesitantly Captain Tallia reached out with her remaining hand and touched the staff. The two closed their eyes and were silent for a moment.
“What are they doing?” Ryin asked. Mina hushed him.
When they opened their eyes, Captain Tallia turned around without a word and the giant doors of living wood opened themselves.
The crew of the Dreadnaught were oddly silent as Captain Tallia led them through the palace. Torn and ruined tapestries hung from the walls. Beams of sunlight touched down through gaps in the branches above, revealing dusty piles of rotting food and torn clothing. Bizarre writings were scribbled onto every surface, red handprints and ominous smears. Mewing animals cried out for food and struggled against their chains and shackles as everyone walked past. The air felt dark, confused, and dangerous. Alder could not contain himself at the condition of the palace and took out his handkerchief and fell to his knees, scrubbing at one of the stains.
“Alder, stop that.”
“Sorry.”
The living wood parted, revealing the throne room beyond. It was so stiflingly dark inside that it took a moment for everyone’s eyes to adjust. Rags and filth covered the floor. Hundreds of chains hung down, bits of rotting meat clinging to the hooks on the ends. Manservants huddled in the corners, in darkness and silence. In the center of it all sat Solanum, lounging on her throne. Her robes and face blackened with soot and soil, rubbed in by frenzied and paranoid hands for unfathomable reasons. A begrimed circlet sat around her brow.
Athel stepped forward into the shadow filling the room and felt the air with her hand. “Solanum, I am so sorry that I didn’t come back sooner. I had no idea things had gotten this bad.”
“Don’t you put me back in that cage!” Solanum screamed as she struggled to her feet. “I won’t let you chain me up again. I am free. I have tasted freedom. I can never go back now. Do you know what that is like?”
Athel face softened with sympathy. “Yes, I do.”
Solanum stood up, her eyes wild and fearful. Her head darted back and forth, as if something were stalking her from the shadows. With one hand, she drew forth a filthy, encrusted staff, and with the other, a silver-edged black pistol. “You cut me off, you cut me off from the link, from the voices, but now they are fully in me, all a part of me. Don’t you see?”
“I see that you have not led our people as you should have. I see that you have not cared for them as you should have.”
Solanum’s face twisted with confusion. “That is absurd, who are these people you speak of? Where are they? I don’t see them. I am the people. Everyone is in me, all their voices are a part of me, and I have cared for me. Even you are a part of me. I can hear you right now, everything you have ever said, everything you have ever thought. All of existence exists inside me, there is nothing outside!”
Athel spun around. “Come on, we're leaving,” she announced.
Solanum looked behind herself, as if something loud had happened there.
“We're what?” Privet asked, doing a double-take as Athel walked past him.
Solanum ducked down, and screamed, as if something had leapt at her head.
“Once the root has rotted, you do not continue to nourish it, you plant anew,” Athel explained.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Privet asked as she walked by.
“The link is completely dead, there is no song in the forest anymore. No harmony, nothing. It will have to be made afresh or the forest will die.”
“What? We're just going to leave her here on the throne?” Ryin complained, confused. “Mad and in charge?”
Athel stopped and turned around. “The rule of Wysteria is not tied to a place or a thing like in your lands,” she explained. “The forest no longer listens to Solanum, so the throne she sits on is now meaningless. It is an empty husk. Removing her from it would change nothing at this point.”
The male servants began creeping out of the corners and shadows. Light began to return to the room as the branches above parted.
“What should we do, my Lady?” Dahoon asked furtively.
“Take care of my sister. Keep her clean, keep her fed, keep her dressed. Beyond that, ignore her orders until the forest follows a new Queen.”
The only sound was Athel’s boots clacking against the floor. “And somebody unchain and take care of all these blasted animals.”
Tears formed Solanum’s eyes, and her weapons fell out of her hands and clattered to the floor. She fell to the ground, weeping.
“The screams,” Solanum pleaded. “I can’t stand the screams. I can’t do it. Please, help me.”
Athel rolled her eyes. “Put your boots back on, Solanum.”
“Where are we going?” Captain Tallia asked as she matched Athel’s stride.
“We are going to the front lines,” Athel commanded in her mother’s voice.
A few minutes later, they arrived at what was now the edge of the forest. What they saw beyond was truly terrible to behold. Miles and miles of dead earth, bleached white like bone from the ocean waters. Deep claw marks were torn into the landscape, dug in as the receding seas had fought against the tide, its thirst unquenchable even after so much destruction. There was no evidence that there had ever been a forest here, or beautiful towns with flowing fountains and playing children. It was one giant unmarked grave, and it stank of death and rot worse than any bog or swill.
The sight was so horrible no one could avoid being moved by it. Alder fell to his knees and wept openly for the loss of so much life. Mina and Captain Evere leaned in on each other. Margaret took out her notebook, but then put it away again, having not the heart to write about this.
Athel could not tell how long she stood there staring. The bitterness she felt in her heart was beyond description. There was nothing. The trees whose branches she had swung from as a child were gone. The dear families that lived there were no more. It almost didn’t seem real, yet it stung too much to be anything but real. She desperately wanted to turn away. The scale of the loss welled up within her and began to choke her off. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. Her entire body felt saturated with anguish.
“How many people have we lost?” Athel asked Captain Tallia grimly.
“There’s no way to know anymore,” she reported, barely able to maintain her composure. “All the records died with them. Clover Hills and Snapdragon were smaller towns, but still had fairly large populations. We still haven’t determined exactly how many we lost in the first invasion either.”
Athel bent down and tried to tease some grass to grow and spread out onto the dead sands, but it would not, no matter how hard
she tried.
“The land is blighted,” she announced. “Nothing can ever grow here again.”
Everyone was silent for a long time at the declaration. A dry, putrid breeze wafted over them. A corpse wind.
“At least they can do no more to us,” Captain Tallia finally announced sternly, fighting to maintain control. “This is as far inland as the sea waves can go.”
“No,” Athel corrected. “They won’t stop here. Right now they are landing their Marines on the beaches.”
Captain Evere took out his spyglass and looked out into the blight. “I can already make out a few ships; they're unloading something.
Athel turned to Setsuna. “Can you show us?”
Setsuna stepped forward and waved her arm. A gate appeared on the ground beneath them, another in the air above them. She crouched low and punched out her fist, sending the upper gate speeding away towards the distant beaches. Looking down into the gate at their feet, they could see through the second gate as if they were there. Nothing but dead ground for miles and miles, until finally the gate passed over the landing craft.
Marines were unloading large water pouches, three men to each side, a bronze nozzle at one end.
“What are those?” Dr. Griffin asked, leaning in close.
“Those pouches are made from dragon-skin,” Athel deduced. “They are going to spray seawater directly onto every inch of this island until nothing remains.”
Everyone was silent and could only give each other frightened glances as Athel walked out onto the dead sands by herself. A few moments later, Privet joined her.
“When did it happen?” Athel asked quietly as she looked around. “When did the living stop counting the dead?”
Privet did not answer as a dry breeze blew over them. The air felt like it was full of rot. “When a single tree dies, it is a tragedy, but how can you experience a thousand thousand tragedies? You can’t, so you just begin expressing the loss in the only system you can, with numbers. After a while, the numbers become so great, you just stop counting.”
Athel turned to him. “Are my people really walking the path of extinction? Was I born to witness the end of my kind? The death of my forest?”
Privet looked away from her. “I’m not going to say it,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to,” Athel affirmed. “I could have ended this war months ago. I showed my enemy mercy and restraint and look what it got me. I was naïve to assume that they would show us the same courtesy.”
Athel glanced down at her hands. “Each one of these dead is blood on my hands.”
Privet nodded as he faced the reality without flinching. “You asked me once what it mean to be a warrior, do you remember that?” he asked.
“It feels like a lifetime ago,” she answered.
“I didn’t answer because I knew you couldn’t understand, but now you can, so here is my answer: To be a warrior means that your hands are stained either by the blood of your kin or the blood of your enemies.”
“Are we really free, then?” Athel wondered aloud. “And if we are free, what kind of choice is that? Is there no third way?”
Privet snickered. “Even after all this, you still believe in finding another path?”
“I will never stop looking for it.”
Athel turned and spoke to everyone, using her mother’s voice. It overpowered the dead air around them. “We will plant Deutzia here, right at the edge of the forest.”
Everyone looked at each other in concern. “Surely we can find a safer place,” Alder advised.
“Surely we can, but this is where I want her planted, as a message to our enemies.”
Athel turned back around, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “To show them that they may go no further! My name is Athel Forsythia and I draw the line HERE! They will not take one more inch of this land from us!”
The palace guards nodded and ran off to fetch Deutzia. Men were called for with shovels and spades. The crew of the Dreadnaught joined in.
As Athel watched them dig, she looked up at the sky. High cirrus pulled into curling wisps like white feathers. Long elegant altostratus like rolling hills covered in white blossom. Soft cumulus like pillows of mist. She remembered how it felt the first time she sailed. Ever since then, she had looked at it so differently, as did all sailors who loved the skies.
It’s all so beautiful, I can’t bear to miss it.
Athel felt a hand on the small of her back. Without looking she reached out and grabbed Alder and pulled him close. Together they turned and looked at the tall trees of the forest before them. “If you could trade every day between now and your last in order to save it, would you do so?” Athel quoted.
Alder thought for a moment. “I don’t believe I've read that one. Which book is that from?”
“It’s not,” Athel admitted, “It’s one of my own, but I wish it wasn’t. You lose two points.”
Alder furrowed his brow. “I do believe that is cheating.”
“Yes,” Athel laughed, in spite of herself. “I guess it is.”
The deep hole complete, Deutzia was brought forward on a makeshift palaquin. Privet smashed her pot and she released the longest sigh anyone had ever heard from a tree. Her cramped roots stretched out in release as she eased her bloated, weepy frame down into the hole. Once she was settled, the men began covering her roots with dirt. She dug deep, drinking freely of the nourishment of her native soil.
In her mind, the clock chimed. The time had come. Athel became deadly serious and turned Alder to her. “Look Aldi, I need you to do something for me. It’s going to sound strange, but please don’t question it, okay?”
“Yes, my Lady,” he said shakily.
“Do you promise?!” Athel stressed, even harder.
Alder searched her eyes with his own. Becoming serious himself, he placed his hand over his heart. “Yes, my Lady.”
“I need you to remember this moment. Okay? I need you to lock it deep in your heart, all right? Don’t let anything touch it, no matter what happens. I need you to remember me as I am right now. A clear, honest picture of who I am. No nostalgia, no sugarcoating, just pure honesty, okay? The truth.”
Alder looked deep into her eyes. “Yes, I will. But, may I ask why?”
Athel bit her lip and fought back the tears. “Because I need you to tell her, so that she can know what I was like.”
“Tell who, my Lady?”
“Our daughter,” Athel sniffed, a tear falling down her face. “I want her to know what her mother was like.”
Alder nodded slowly. “But, you'll be there to tell her yourself, my Lady.”
He doesn’t understand.
“Will you do it?” Athel pleaded.
Alder held her gaze. “You have my word, my Lady.”
Athel hugged Alder and kissed him on the lips. She could hear Privet’s approaching footsteps coming closer and closer to her. She tried to make the kiss last as long as she could, but Privet tapped her on the shoulder.
“Athel, Deutzia has been planted,” Privet informed her.
Athel nodded and turned towards Deutzia, then she looked at the crew of the Dreadnaught one last time. Captain Evere stood at the head of the group, his wife Mina hanging lovingly on one arm. Privet and Setsuna stood beside them. Setsuna took Privet by the right arm, but he shook her off, only to have her reappear again and take his left arm. Ryin and Hanner, and little baby Strenner, their uniforms flapping in the breeze. Dr. Griffin stood next to Margaret, who scooted away from him. Pops the janitor was there too, leaning on his mop handle. And hiding in the back, looking around in confusion, was Odger.
There was so much she wanted to say to them. She wished with all her heart that she could link with them through the trees, so they could see what she held in her heart for them, so that they could feel the absolute fondness she felt for them, but that was impossible. At best, she could use vague and imprecise spoken language to convey her feelings, but it would be a mere approximation, a mere sh
adow. She found that she had not the heart to speak to them, she could only look each of them in the eyes and hope beyond hope that they could understand in their hearts what she wanted to say to them.
They don’t understand what is about to happen. How could they?
Athel looked up beyond them, to the great fallen form of the Royal Tree. Like the silhouette of a mountain, it lay where it had fallen, clinging to life.
I’m so afraid. Can I do this?
Athel reached out and placed her hand on Deutzia. She could feel the young heartbeat of her daughter growing in the fruit of a low-hanging branch.
For her.
Athel placed her hand on Alder’s bony shoulder.
And for him.
Athel looked one last time at the crew of the Dreadnaught.
Goodbye.
Athel slowly unbuckled her broken saber and tossed it aside. Her pistol followed. She kicked off her boots, and stood barefoot upon the ground. Removing the ribbon, her pony tail came loose and her red hair flew wild in the shifting winds of evening. Already, enemy Marines were closing in. The defensive emplacements from the capital fired upon them, and they responded in kind. Athel took out her staff and held it above her head. Cannon fire sailed over her from both directions, criss-crossing in the sky.
Alder stood alongside her, shouldering some supplies he had quickly prepared.
Athel’s eyes glowed with a white inner light, and she slammed her staff into the ground. Deutzia and the nearby trees pulled over her and Alder, shielding them. Their branches grew around the pair, fusing together until they were completely encased in a seamless dome of living wood.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Inside the dome, the roots of the trees grew up, wrapping themselves around Athel’s staff and body. Closing her eyes, she linked with the forest.
What she found confirmed her suspicions, but it still took her breath away. There was no song at all, just a jumble of voices. She felt as if she were standing in the middle of a crowd listening to everyone yell different things all at the same time. Despite the desperate hour of their situation, despite the culling of the forest and the blighting of their lands, there was almost no resolve to fight back anymore. Each heart was thinking only of protecting herself and her own. Some holed up in secret places deep in the earth, seeking out old caves and catacombs. Others sought to gather enough personal wealth to perhaps purchase mercy from the invaders, even going so far as to steal from their own sisters. Still others had simply become hollow inside. Too numb from fear or grief to do anything at all, barely aware even now that their people stood on the brink of annihilation.
Isle of Wysteria: The Reluctant Queen Page 48
