Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “Exactly. That’s what made them such a fascinating study group,” Invini yawned as if growing bored again. “Something made this Eiria act contrary to its nature. If there was nothing wrong with it physically, then it must have been magical.”

  Athel and Spirea paused, surprise on their faces.

  “I’m actually impressed that you have finally added something to this mission besides commentary,” Athel admitted.

  “So, who can control a group of Eiria and force them to attack a city?” Spirea asked.

  “The Beastmasters of Hoeun can cast such spells,” Dr. Griffin grunted as best he could still pinned to the ground. “But it would take a master to control so many at once.”

  “So, we’ve got a Beastmaster on the island,” Athel deduced. “We should check the embark records to see who’s on the island.”

  “That’s a dead end,” Spirea critiqued. “Anyone here to create mass mayhem isn’t going to be stupid enough to arrive or depart through legal checkpoints and leave a record of their presence.”

  “But they would need a ship,” Athel reasoned. “We could check the private docks for unregistered ships.”

  “There’s over a thousand docks just on this side of the island,” Invini said, “We’d never find our Beastmaster in time.”

  “Only if ships are allowed to leave,” Athel said suggestively. “Mister Gerstun here could create doldrums around the island. With no wind, no ships could leave until we check them all.”

  “Impossible,” Invini chuckled.

  “What? That should be child’s play for a big, strong Level 5 Stormcaller like yourself,” Athel goaded.

  Invini’s smile disappeared and his eyes grew dark. “You don’t understand anything about storm-calling,” he warned. A flicker of something appeared in his eyes, then he seemed to catch himself, and his pleasant smile returned. It happened so quick that Athel wasn’t sure if she had seen it or not, but something strange had passed through his eyes, like a person walking quickly past an open window.

  “I can create doldrums that large easily,” Invini explained pleasantly, “but it will dissipate when I sleep, and even I can’t stay awake for more than a couple of days without rest. No, what we need for a situation like this is a tracking spell to find one of the people who have disappeared.”

  Invini looked down at Dr. Griffin. “I do have some decent tracking spells,” Dr. Griffin muttered, “but they require a piece of the person to work.”

  “Well, that’s so easy we should have thought of it earlier!” Athel said excitedly. “All we need to do is get some hair of one of the abducted persons from a hairbrush or something and let it lead us to them.”

  “I wish I had spells that strong,” Dr. Griffin laughed. “No, I can lead a person to a strand of their own hair, not the other way around.”

  They all thought quietly for a moment. Invini tilted his head back in boredom. A tight smile crossed Athel’s lips, growing into a full grin.

  “Then we better gather together the ingredients for your tracking spell, because one of the abductees still has a piece of Spirea with her.”

  “She does? What does she have?” Spirea asked.

  “The snot on your handkerchief.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Solitude

  Mandi sat with dull eyes as spoonfuls of ketchup and peanut butter were shoveled into her mouth. She swallowed the food without tasting it and smacked her lips obediently.

  “Ah, good kitty likes her food,” Molly praised as she straightened the pink bonnet and dress she had placed on her gray cat. A miniature table and tea set had been arranged between them, with several stuffed dolls and animals comprising the guests as Molly made polite conversation. Apparently Mrs. Quack had gone for a stroll in the park with Little Turtle, but had lost her favorite handkerchief when they had waved at Varro the Sparrow flying by, and Larry the Lion was promising to knit her a new one that would be just as good.

  What is wrong with this house? Mandi complained to herself. It had been days and the only glimpse of an adult she had seen was the occasional rum-soaked blur from the front door to a bedroom, followed by sounds of collapse and snoring. Despite hours of mewing, no adult had come in to unshackle the poor tortured animal in their living room, and Mandi was beginning to panic.

  “Time to play dress up,” Molly announced happily, rummaging through a bag of clothing.

  I am never going to live this down.

  Molly pulled out a doll with a jade dress and a matching choker, and Mandi’s eyes grew wide with an idea.

  Molly took out a small purse, but was distracted by the soft sounds of Mandi purring.

  “Is kitty happy?” Molly asked happily.

  Mandi purred sweetly and bumped her nose against the doll in the jade dress.

  Molly clapped her hands together. “Does kitty want to pick clothes for dress up?”

  She nodded and Molly scooped her up, accidentally smacking Mandi’s head against the floor as she flipped the cat back and forth, taking the pink dress off and replacing it with the jade one.

  Mandi shook her head to clear the haze then forced herself to purr again, tapping her paw against the matching choker still on the doll.

  “Oh, kitty wants pretty necklace,” Molly praised. She removed the choker from the doll and without even thinking about it, removed the pin and took off the shackle from around Mandi’s neck to make room for the new accessory.

  The moment she did that, the cat’s flesh and bones burst apart, reforming before her into a tall blonde woman.

  “Are-are you a magic kitty?” Molly asked with wide eyes.

  “Yeah, sure whatever, a magic kitty,” Mandi snorted as she grabbed a tall raincoat off a rack and wrapped it around herself.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away,” Mandi snapped. “You have no idea how much trouble I’m in.” She ran to the front door and threw it open.

  “Please don’t leave,” Molly pleaded with wide eyes. Something in her voice made Mandi stop and turn back.

  “Look, kid, you don't want me around, okay? Trust me.”

  “Yes I do,” Molly pleaded honestly.

  “Why?” Mandi whispered.

  “So I won't be lonely,” Molly said tearfully. “My daddy only comes by at night to sleep. If you stay here I won’t have to be alone anymore.”

  Mandi turned around and closed her eyes. “Look...I...I want you to understand something, okay?”

  Molly nodded.

  “It...it's not your fault that your father doesn’t give you what you need.” Mandi said quietly. “It’s his fault. You could try for a thousand years to earn it and he still wouldn’t love you, because he doesn’t have any love to give.”

  Mandi absentmindedly scratched at the Stonemaster brand on her wrist. “Nobody does. The sooner you accept that the sooner you’ll stop hurting.”

  Mandi walked out the door and closed it carefully behind her. Even blocks away she still imagined she could hear Molly crying.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Forbidden Caverns

  The underground halls of Thesda were not nearly as dark as Athel would have guessed. Large windows were carved into the sides of the mountain, creating diagonal pillars of light that shone down onto cleverly placed reflectors that guided the sunlight down corridors and hallways far from the edges of the rock face. In areas too deep for the light to reach, tall blue Tensence crystals hummed sweetly, bathing the carved rock walls in a gentle light. Although Spirea complained that it seemed eerie, Athel found it surprisingly peaceful. Already her heart felt full from the wonders she had seen since joining the Navy. Wonders that she might never have seen otherwise. Her thoughts turned darker as she thought on that point. More than ever, her birthright felt like a cage to her. A prison that would have kept her completely ignorant of anything in the outside world.

  “No, no, no, you have to hold them in your mouth,” Dr. Griffin corrected, snatching the rods of wood out of Spirea’s hands. The
pair of sticks were carved with fine lines and shapes which wrapped around the edges, creating a pattern of hard angles and symmetry at odds with the natural asymmetry of the wood grain.

  “You have to hold them with your lips under your gums, following the spirit lines of your first and second chakra,” he explained, placing the sticks in his own mouth to demonstrate, looking like a bald walrus with a gray pony tail in the back.

  “There’s no way I’m putting them in my mouth now!” Spirea declared. “Not after you put them on your nasty lips.”

  “Mie mouff es nut nisty,” he garbled out with the rods in his mouth, a drop of saliva stretching out toward the stone floor below. The carvings in the rods glowed dimly when they moved; revealing the miniscule rivers of whatever chemicals the good doctor had used to give them a magic charge.

  “Are you kidding?” Spirea shouted, pointing at the floor. “Look at that vulgar drop of spittle you just let loose. I bet nothing will grow on that spot for generations.”

  “Okay, I think we’re getting a little sidetracked here,” Athel interrupted as she yanked the sticks out of Dr. Griffin's mouth. She wiped them off with her handkerchief and discarded it. “Is there anywhere else she can hold the sticks?”

  “Well,” Dr. Griffin pouted, “I suppose they’ll work as long as they’re touching her head.”

  “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Spirea complained, snatching the sticks out of Athel’s grasp.

  “Forgive our tardiness,” Invini shouted out as he and Ryin ran up from a descending tunnel.

  “Where’s Alder?” Athel asked, surprised that his absence bothered her.

  “That stupid sample-giver thing found him again,” Ryin reported, “and we couldn’t wait any longer for him to lose it.”

  “That thing’s got the tracking instincts of a bloodhound,” Invini praised.

  “He’s right, we can’t wait any more,” Dr. Griffin affirmed, his finger searching for a small particle of earwax that eluded him. “After three hours the rods lose their sensitivity.”

  “Well, let’s get going then so I can go back and change out of this skirt Mina gave me,” Spirea said, eliciting a smile from Athel. Despite her protests to the contrary, Athel could tell that Spirea was beginning to enjoy the process of unraveling the mystery they were in the middle of.

  “I still can’t believe that your obsession to live out your stupid books actually led you to uncover something real,” Ryin snorted.

  “Okay, all you have to do is put the rods behind your ears,” Dr. Griffin explained.

  Spirea obediently placed one rod behind each of her pointed ears.

  “Okay, now hop up and down.”

  Spirea rolled her eyes and began hoping.

  “Now rotate as you hop.”

  Spirea complied, the clack of her heels echoing off the cavern walls around them.

  “Now hop on one leg as you rotate.”

  Spirea stumbled, nearly falling over as one of her heels broke off, but managed to stay upright as she spun ridiculously.

  “Now unbutton your blouse.”

  “What in the name of the Holy Maiden!” Spirea swore as she fell to the ground, rods scattering. “Why would I have to do that to make these work?”

  Dr. Griffin blinked. “You don’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Spirea huffed.

  “I just wanted to see how far you would go.”

  Spirea roared in anger and drew out her staff as she righted herself. A huge mushroom grew up beneath the doctor, slamming into his gut and sending him to the floor in pain. “How many times do I have to punish you before you learn?” she shouted.

  “Well, technically he’s right,” Invini agreed with a smile. “He never said, ‘do each of these things to make the rods work.’ He said ‘all you have to do is put them behind your ears,’ and then gave other unrelated instructions that you decided to follow.”

  Invini had barely finished his discourse before he was lifted aloft by a growing mushroom that pinned him against the ceiling.

  “I guess it’s all in how you word it,” Ryin chuckled, before he too was thrust against a wall with a thud.

  “Got any other acerbic comments you’d like to add?” Spirea barked at Athel, who was the only other group member left standing at that point.

  Athel shook her head innocently, choosing not to point out Spirea’s incorrect use of the word ‘acerbic.’

  * * *

  After a few minutes of ‘calm down’ time, much of which consisted of Spirea depleting Athel’s supply of mint cookies, the group of officers found themselves going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the under-city caverns. The men kept their distance as Spirea led them, the rods growing warmer against her skin when they pointed in the correct direction. Several times they found themselves staring at a dead end with a frowning rock face, and were forced to consult old maps and sketches to find a detour that would put them back on track. Often they would stop so that Athel or Spirea could speak to the moss and lichen to map out their trail before them.

  Athel noted that they were being led down toward the extreme outer edge of the island. After an hour or so, they were forced to light torches when they passed beyond the outer reaches of the main illuminated arterial corridors. The rock walls grew slick and green, and everyone became nervous when they realized that they had passed below the water level of the ocean outside.

  Ghostly whispers seemed to pass through the dripping passageways; thirsting moans made the caverns feel colder than they really were. The tunnels grew coarse and seemed to branch out at odd angles. Several times the group was forced to scale down nearly vertical passageways, trembling fingers straining to grip the wet, fungal rock faces.

  Athel couldn’t shake the impression that they were being watched. Something would scratch and flitter at the edge of her vision, but when she turned her head there was only damp stone and dirt. Time and time again, she would turn frantically only to see nothing there. After a few occurrences, the effect started grating on her nerves.

  As the group wound their way around a large, wet stalagmite, Athel was irritated when another flicker of movement caught the edge of her vision. She huffed and refused to look, nearly disregarding the image of a figure standing in the shadows.

  Athel caught herself and looked again. It was nothing more than a silhouette at the edge of the torchlight, but it looked most definitely like the form of a person, hunched over and cloaked, standing before a choked tunnel entrance. Before her conscious mind could catch up with this sight, the silhouette moved and her primitive mind took over, signaling the alarm, and she let out an embarrassingly loud girly squeal.

  Athel’s companions turned with a mix of surprise and amusement. The old woman in the shadows hadn’t lunged, she’d simply shifted her weight, but that movement had been enough to frighten Athel before she regained control of herself.

  “That was quite a shriek,” Invini praised, uncovering his ears. “Is there something dangerous behind the old woman?”

  The old woman brought up an aged hand to her face and coughed weakly, looking no more dangerous than an infant.

  “Don’t worry, Princess,” Ryin said valiantly, drawing his sword. “I shall protect you from the harmless old crone.”

  “Be quiet,” Athel commanded as she shoved Ryin aside. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

  Athel’s cheeks burned as she walked, and she could feel Spirea behind her grinning from ear to ear, enjoying the display of Wysteria’s heir shrieking like a child.

  The old woman raised her other hand as they neared, her voice as dry as her skin. “You may not pass. These tunnels are forbidden!” she beckoned.

  “Hello, friend, I’m Ensign Forsythia of the Dreadnaught,” Athel began with a bow, “And we are investigating...”

  “All who pass are never heard of again,” the woman interrupted. A rush of wind like a drawn breath blew from the tunnel before them, whipping their hair aloft and creating a
moaning whistle.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Athel grumbled.

  “Have you seen any suspicious activity in this area recently?” Spirea asked, attempting to steer the conversation into useful skies.

  “These tunnels are forbidden,” the crone said again, louder, “All who pass are never heard of again.” Another gust of wind created a sound like a wail and ruffled everyone’s hair.

  “Yes, you said that already,” Athel said, swiping her red hair away from her face.

  “Well, that doesn’t help us very much,” Dr. Griffin complained. “Just because no one has ever returned doesn’t necessarily mean it’s dangerous.”

  “Right,” Invini added. “It could be really nice down there. Maybe they went down and then decided to stay.”

  “These tunnels are forbidden!” The woman started again, exactly the same as before.

  “It could be full of treasure or something,” Dr. Griffin posited, “and the people just didn’t stop by here to say hi on their way back out.”

  “All who pass are never heard of again!” the woman howled. Another blast of wind leapt up out of the tunnel, and the air moaned and screamed around them.

  “Hey, are you the one making that wind?” Spirea accused, turning to Invini.

  “I’m sorry,” Invini confessed, raising his hands, “it just seemed like the perfect touch. I couldn’t resist.”

  “It was a nice touch,” Athel praised.

  The old woman looked up, her long nose peeking out from beneath her hood, and Athel caught a twinkle in the woman’s eyes before they fell out of their sockets and splattered on the floor.

  The group leaned back in disgust as the woman’s eyes unraveled themselves into long white slugs and began wriggling around.

  The tip of the woman’s nose drooped down then fell free to the floor as well. Athel felt her stomach churn as the woman’s flesh and clothes came apart, disintegrating into a writhing mass of white slugs that toppled down into a writhing pile.

  “Oh, that is so nasty,” Ryin exclaimed as he took a step back and clumsily made the sign of the hammer to ward off disease.