Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “Or it could mean that I’m so bored that my mind is growing fuzzy.”

  “There’s that oversharing thing again. We need to work on that, don’t we?”

  They both laughed, and Spirea smiled despite herself. His confidence was absolutely unflappable. It seemed to her such a strange attribute for a male to have, but she couldn't help but respect it.

  The front door burst open and Athel barged in with her typical enthusiasm. She had changed out of her green dress, and was wearing her blue silk Wysterian combat gown. The chainmail lining and armored plates made a pleasant jingling sound as she approached their table, to the horror of the other patrons. They were unaccustomed to seeing full combat armor, and many of them worried that the restaurant was being robbed.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Athel apologized, taking out a Membrince crystal and placing it on the table, “but we’ve got an assignment, something really juicy.”

  The crystal awoke and displayed a list of names, one side in the local language and common on the other. “You remember the owner of that curio shop you destroyed?” Athel began. “Well, according to the police report, she’s listed among the people carried off when the Eiria attacked.”

  “What do you mean, I destroyed? You were there too.”

  “Wasn’t that the most wonderfully bizarre thing?” Invini mentioned. “Ten Eiria attacked all different parts of the island and carried people off.”

  “Right, except the curio owner wasn’t carried off. We know because we were there.” Athel said, her eyes alight with excitement.

  The crystal hummed and the symbols displayed rose up and broke into shards, realigning themselves into an aerial map of the island decorated with red and yellow dots.

  “I mapped out the locations of the Eiria attacks and the people that went missing, and over half of them disappeared from districts that weren’t even attacked.”

  “Just because they don’t live near the attack zones doesn’t mean they couldn’t have been carried off,” Spirea surmised. “They could have been out shopping when the attacks happened.”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Athel said dramatically, pulling out her staff.

  “So, who assigned this to us?” Spirea asked.

  “No one did,” Athel said. “I uncovered this myself. That’s what makes it so leafy.”

  “Then this isn't an assignment,” Spirea corrected. “It’s just a sad little hobby of yours.”

  “Actually,” Invini interrupted, “this sounds fascinating. I think we should look into this. I just might go this entire day without feeling bored even once.”

  Athel and Invini stood up and walked out of the restaurant, followed by a dejected Spirea. Their departure created a wave of relief to the distressed patrons still in the restaurant.

  “Hey, how come you’re not wearing the dress Mina gave you?” Spirea asked as they reached the door.

  “You mean that body stocking thing? I’d never demean myself with something that immodest.”

  “Ah, you’re no fun,” Invini teased.

  “So, what are you saying? That I’m demeaning myself by wearing this thing?” Spirea asked, slapping the sides of the ultra-short skirt.

  “No, not at all. On a Sotol it’s perfect,” Athel teased.

  * * *

  “Briars and thorns!” Spirea cursed as her foot slipped off the walkway and into the foul sewer water that flowed down the center of the low tunnel they were moving through. “I’m going to get you for this, Forsythia. First you drag me through half a dozen dusty apartments and dead ends, and now this just to check out the Eiria that attacked us.” Spirea looked on in horror as a lump of gooey brown material floated past her in the water. “That better not be what I think it is,” she said in disgust.

  “Come on, Spiri, try to get into the spirit of it,” Athel urged, placing her hands onto the slick algae that coated the walls. “It’s just like the second Vandal of Appamatt novel; we’re stealthing into a fortress through the sewers. It’s very exciting.”

  Spirea huffed and threw her head backward, looking up at the bizarre hanging strands of gray fungus that came down from the low ceiling. “First of all, ’stealthing’ isn’t even a real word. Stop trying to live out your stupid storybooks. Second of all, this isn’t a fortress it’s just a university campus.”

  “A campus forbidden to outsiders,” Athel corrected. “The challenge is what makes it a fortress.”

  “No, impenetrability and guards make something a fortress. Anything becomes a challenge if you are a moron about it.” Spirea huffed, tugging at the micro-skirt of a dress she was still wearing. “What kind of nonsense is that, anyway?”

  “What kind of nonsense, you ask?” Athel chided. “Do you want its classification and category or are you just complaining to hear yourself talk?”

  It had been Athel’s idea for them to split up into two groups and find their way to the Eiria separately, her reasoning having been that it was simply always done that way. Spirea had, of course, protested violently, but the men found the idea of a needless competition to be a great way to liven up the investigation, and so she was outvoted.

  They reached a vertical passageway with rays of light coming down from above. At Athel’s command the hanging strands of fungus snapped to attention and several strands looped themselves around the two young women and cradled them as they were lifted upward.

  Athel pushed on the sewer grate and it creaked open. As they climbed their way through a mass of angry voices rushed over them, and before they could do anything about it, they were being lifted out by large, hostile hands.

  Athel was hoisted above a crowd of people. She shielded her eyes as they tried to adjust to the changing light levels. Despite being deep underground, this particular cavern was illuminated with large windows carved into the side of the mountain, the light drawn down and dispersed by cleverly placed reflectors.

  Her eyes adjusted and Athel found herself in a crowd of angry students. Their screaming mingled together so that she couldn’t make out any particular words, but the hostile overtones were unmistakable.

  “Put them down, they’re covered in sewage,” one voice squealed over the throng, and suddenly the hands that held her aloft were withdrawn in disgust.

  Athel flopped to the ground next to Spirea and the students gathered around them. Those that had held them were frantically wiping their hands off on their robes as their leader stepped forward, introducing himself as Ibra Altin. He was short and husky, with a tuft of spiky red hair on the top of his head that reminded Athel of her cousin, Cedar. His bravado completely melted away when he saw the Navy badge attached to Athel’s combat gown.

  “Hey, this protest is allowed under the university charter. You have no authority to rescind our right to assemble.”

  Confused, Athel looked around and noticed the protest signs and banners. The crowd of students was gathered around a single enormous Lillian tree. Its branches were withered and drooping, and its leaves were a green-brown as they clung weakly to life. Athel could feel the tree’s agony from where she sat.

  “Are we going to be pushed around by Navy dogs?” one of the students asked, eliciting a cheer of “NO” from the group. Several of them drew out poorly made golems and held them threateningly, as if to release rabid creatures. “Let the dean do his own dirty work!”

  Athel tried to speak, but the words left her. All she could do was feel the sharp, painful screams coming from the poor tree. She tried to crawl toward it, but the ring of students tightened around her, blocking her way and breathing out threats in their native tongue.

  Spirea drew out her staff and after a moment of concentration the sickly tree lowered its drooping branches, shoving the startled students away and clearing a path for the pair of Treesingers. The crowd hushed in amazement and a few ran off in fright. Athel and Spirea approached the knotty trunk and embraced the tree tenderly. The pain and anger washed over Athel like a great wind, her heart nearly breaking as it sha
red its story with her. Athel spoke softly in return, disgusted at the ignorance of foreigners.

  For a few moments all was quiet then slowly the tree began to straighten, stretching skyward and letting off a sigh of relief. The sickly color left its bark, and fresh green leaves sprouted from the branches. The trunk shuddered then its flesh heaved out several spikes of cold iron which fell down to the ground around it.

  “Are you the Navy’s Treesingers that fought against the sky-beast?” Ibra asked. He grew worried and added, “You can’t arrest us, my parents would kill me if they found out I was arrested.”

  Athel slowly released the tree and wiped the tears from her eyes. “How dare you treat this poor tree this way,” she said, trying to keep the rage out of her voice.

  “What way?” he scoffed. “We are the best friends this tree has. The dean wants to have it torn out to make a fountain. My club is here to save it.”

  “We’re the Active Council Regarding Offenses to Nature's Yielding Manifestation,” another student called out proudly, creating a rousing chant from the group.

  “This tree was in agony,” Athel enlightened, picking up one of the iron spikes. “She was screaming.”

  “Those are wards,” Ibra explained. “They nullify golem enchantments so the dean can’t use construction golems to dig it out.”

  “We love the tree,” another student defended.

  “Well, her name is Jas'ida, and she hates you,” Spirea said gravely as she released her embrace on the healed tree trunk. “You morons think she appreciates having iron spikes driven into her? How would you feel if someone jammed this thing into your arm?”

  “J-Jas'ida?...Hates us?” Ibra repeated, taking half a step back. “But our club planted this tree.”

  “Well, if your club had bothered to open a book or two, you would have learned that Lillian trees are tropical,” Spirea sniped. “This poor thing has been choking to death on the cold dry air and weak sunlight from the day it sprouted.”

  The club members began shuffling about, one by one walking away, their eyes down turned and unwilling to meet the harsh gazes of Athel and Spirea.

  After spending a few minutes talking to Jas'ida, Athel and Spirea followed her directions and located the biology building where the Eiria was being kept and studied. There was remarkably little security present inside the campus, which Athel boasted to mean that she had chosen the correct insertion route into the 'fortress.'

  As they approached the spacious biology chamber, Spirea grabbed her hand as if in great pain and Athel yelled to the guards, who rushed toward Spirea.

  “I’m sorry, madams, but no unauthorized personnel are allowed in here.”

  “My friend sliced her hand open. You’ve got to help us; I don’t know what to do,” Athel screeched, tossing her head back and forth helplessly the way young Thesdan women tended to when distressed. Concerned, one of the guards took Spirea’s hand and opened it. Instead of a wound, he found a small seed in her hand which sprouted into a red flower, giving off a puff of sweet-smelling fragrance.

  The guards looked up in surprise and then fell unconscious to the floor.

  “That was great,” Athel cheered. “They never saw that one coming.”

  “You play the ditzy girl way too well, Athel,” Spirea observed. “I wonder if the ditz is real and the queen's daughter is just an act.”

  “Speaking of ditzy, your underwear is showing beneath your skirt,” Athel criticized as she entered the building. Spirea craned around to double check, and grunted in frustration to find that her skirt had indeed hiked up around her hips at some point.

  “When did that happen?” Spirea complained as she adjusted the skirt and followed after her. “Just how long were you going to let me walk around like that?”

  “The protestors didn’t seem to mind,” Athel called out from inside.

  Several walls had been removed to make a space large enough to house the injured Eiria in the center of the building. It looked much smaller than Athel remembered it. Lying in a tank of shallow water, the blue illumination from the Tensense crystals reflected off the rippling surface as the creature moaned slightly. The wounds had been well dressed, and it seemed to be recovering nicely. Water overflowed when it shifted its weight, creating a layer of mud on the ground around the tank.

  “Now we just have to wait for Invini and the good doctor to join us here,” Athel sighed as she ran a hand along the smooth skin of the creature. “Let’s hope they didn’t get caught on their way in.”

  “Actually we were just about to give up and come looking for you,” Dr. Griffin called out as he and Invini stepped out from behind the Eiria. “I’ve finished the physical you asked me to run, and I can’t find anything wrong with Kitten. In fact, other than her injuries she’s in quite good health.”

  “Kitten?” Athel asked.

  “It seems the caretakers have taken quite a shine to our little monster,” Invini explained, pointing at a small plaque on the side of the tank that bore the creature’s new nickname, written in both the local language and in common.

  “It’s not even restrained,” Spirea commented, maintaining her distance from the tank.

  “Oh, that’s hardly necessary,” Dr. Griffin said, scratching his bald scalp then tugging on his gray ponytail. “Kitten has been gentle as a newborn since we got here.”

  Athel regarded the Eiria strangely. It had felt nearly unstoppable before, and now it seemed like little more than a house pet...a house pet that weighed several tons, but a house pet nonetheless. “I can’t believe we were almost killed by something named ‘Kitten,’” she muttered to herself.

  Invini stepped forward to take Athel’s hand in greeting, but instead stepped back and pinched his nose. At his command, the air in the room began flowing, creating a gentle breeze that kept the two girls downwind from him. “Oh, forgive me, but you seem to have a less than pleasant fragrance about you.”

  “Yeah, the genius led us through the sewer, ‘stealthing’ us in here,” Spirea complained.

  “It was the safest way,” Athel defended. “I’m sure their way was far more hazardous.”

  “Hazardous?” Dr. Griffin blinked. “We just walked right in.”

  “What?” Athel huffed in disbelief. “But the university is closed to outsiders. It’s forbidden.”

  “Not to officers in the Federal Navy,” Dr. Griffin chuckled. “We just showed them our badges and they let us right in.”

  Athel’s jaw dropped open in disbelief, and Spirea grabbed her by the collar and pulled her face to hers. “Is that true?” she growled.

  “I dunno,” Athel gasped meekly. “I guess it could be.”

  Invini laughed pleasantly. “Oh, this is just wonderful. You both crawled through the sewers for nothing.”

  “And we knocked out two guards,” Spirea grumbled without averting her furious gaze from Athel.

  “Two guards? Marvelous!” Invini laughed, clapping his hands. “I am so glad I came along for this. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”

  “I’ll get you for this, Forsythia,” Spirea warned as she threw Athel down into the mud on the floor.

  Athel looked up, her eyes brimming with anger, and they both subconsciously reached for the staffs slung over their shoulders.

  “Are they really going to fight?” Invini whispered to Dr. Griffin.

  Dr. Griffin clasped his hands and raised his voice in prayer. “Oh, generous Odesi, Lord of Advan, hear thy servant’s voice and grant me my wish this day...”

  Spirea and Athel drew their staffs and centered their weight.

  “Ladies,” Invini pleaded, “you are shipmates, you should not fight. See how the good doctor prays to avoid this conflict.”

  “...Please oh please,” Dr. Griffin continued praying, “let them fight and roll around in the mud, pulling hair and breathing heavily, body against body, tugging against torn clothing.”

  The tension dissipated, and the two women, in disgust, turned their attent
ion toward the praying doctor.

  “...and perhaps end the fight with a soft, soft kiss.”

  The ground beneath Dr. Griffin broke open and he was quickly ensnared with vines and roots which bound and pinned him to the ground.

  “You’re a filthy old man,” Spirea gasped, slinging her staff back over her shoulder.

  “It’s not his fault,” Athel sneered, brushing the dirt and mud from her uniform, “All men are lechers.” Athel turned a razor-sharp gaze toward Invini, daring him to disagree, but instead he just raised his hands and agreed with a smile.

  “You gals are no fun,” Dr. Griffin grumbled as he was held fast against the floor. Besides, how do you know that I don’t enjoy this?”

  The vines and roots binding him tightened their grip, forcing out a whimper. “Okay, never mind, I don’t like it,” he admitted painfully.

  “I don’t think this is even the same Eiria we fought,” Spirea mentioned as she walked up to a large dewy eye and looked into it.

  “You mean this is a different Eiria?” Invini asked.

  “No, I mean, when I looked into this creature’s eyes before, it was completely different. The malevolence is gone.”

  “Malevolence, eh?” Invini repeated, tugging absentmindedly at a strand of blonde hair.

  “You got something to add?” Athel asked, cleaning the dirt out of her red auburn hair.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that I need to switch to a different soap for this altitude, I’m getting split ends.” Invini began to laugh at his own joke, but Athel’s cold stare killed the moment for him. “Actually, I was thinking of Davok Snowid, a friend of my family. He did a lot of research on Eiria when he worked for the fauna department on Stretis.”

  “Is there a point to any of this?” Spirea complained.

  “The point is...he told me Eiria have a flight response to confrontation. They run away in fear, not attack in anger.”

  “But they’re so big,” Athel said.