Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “You're like a little bug trying to sting a giant,” Ms. Recaldier yelled. At her command the golem swiped one massive hand across the deck, nearly decapitating Captain Evere as he ducked underneath it. The golem pulled the Dreadnaught abreast to the dock, and dozens of grapnels were thrown to secure her. Already rope ladders were being brought forward so the Naval Police could come aboard.

  Just then there was a building rumble, growing louder and louder as something huge and heavy approached. Ms. Recaldier looked back and saw something impossible. A giant Lillian tree burst out of the ground underneath the construction golem, its roots and branches bashing the creation with astonishing strength. Two legs were shattered and the golem collapsed on its side. Naval Police officers were tossed aside like rag dolls as the massive tree drew itself up onto the prow of the Dreadnaught.

  “Nice to see you too, Jas'ida, Athel praised, yanking her staff out of the rock wall and slamming it onto the deck. Jas'ida's roots twisted in and out of gun holes and portholes, wrapping themselves around the bowsprit and stem, until her trunk stuck out before the ship like an oversized bowsprit. Her branches and leaves fanned out wide and deep, creating a canopy sail of leaf and branch.

  Athel wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and fought to stay on her feet as she turned around. Margaret was standing there, dumbfounded, in awe of the Wysterian magic she loved so much.

  “Don’t watch me,” Athel insisted, breathing heavily, “move the ship.”

  Margaret snapped to attention and knelt on the carpet. Stretching out her arms, she summoned a good, strong wind and the ship moved forward. The branches of the canopy happily creaked as they caught the wind. The remaining grapnel lines snapped and the ship flew free of the dock.

  From within the rubble and chaos, Ms. Recaldier stood up, hair in shambles, fire in her eyes as she watched the Dreadnaught and her crew slip away. Once the ship cleared the cliff face, the wind became stronger and the ship really started to pick up some speed. Athel found herself grabbing onto a lantern post for support as they climbed in a long swooping arc. It felt a lot more like flying than sailing, as the ship rode in a slipstream of wind Margaret created to suit their needs.

  “Where are we going, Captain?” Margaret asked in a strained voice, sweat forming on her brow.

  Athel heard the crack of cannon fire and the whiz of hot metal cutting through air as something flew across the deck. Turning her gaze, she could see the sleek silhouettes of two Navy interceptors exiting a dock on their port quarter.

  “Any course away from those cannons will be sufficient, Ensign,” Mina answered wearily.

  The ship shuddered sideways suddenly, and a fountain of wood splintered out the starboard side as a cannonball tore through the orlop.

  “Stop shooting at me, I just got this boat fixed!” Evere bellowed out at his attackers.

  Athel felt a cold chill within herself. She knew that Deutzia was screaming. Athel left her post and ran down the ladder to the mid-deck, where she could already tell something was very wrong. Wind howled and small pieces of paper were whisked about by the swirls of air. As Athel approached the door to her room, Deutzia’s screams became louder, and Athel became deathly afraid that something might happen to her small tree. She threw open the door to her room and was shocked at what she saw. The bulk of the outer wall had been torn away, revealing the naked sky. The wind howled about, agitating up the top layers of a mountain of papers filling her room, waist deep. Athel waded through the papers toward the exposed opening in the wall. Looking over the edge, she called out for Deutzia and was relieved to receive a faint shimmer in response. Deutzia clung tightly to an exposed timber protruding from the side of the ship.

  Athel hefted her tree inside and embraced it in relief. Her pot had been cracked and some of her leaves had been shorn off. Deutzia had some harsh things to say to Athel, but she bore the rebuke, happy that her friend had not fallen down into the ocean below.

  “I would like to have a daughter someday, after all,” Athel cooed as she stood up and began wading through the papers again. Alder burst into the room, looking very concerned, the blood draining away from his already pale skin. He calmed when he saw the two together.

  “Oh, I am so relieved to see that the two of you are safe,” he sighed in relief, pushing aside a travel brochure that flew up and got caught in his thin hair. Bunni Bubbles poked her head over Alder’s shoulder, the small curls in her hair whisking about in the wind.

  Athel looked around that the huge pile of papers. Cosmetic catalogs, mail-order leaflets, and political fliers.

  “Just what in the Holy Mother is all of this?” Athel demanded, looking around her.

  “I’m very sorry,” Alder apologized, thumbing through them, “but they appear to all be addressed to me.”

  “Well, what did you think was going to happen? They use those accolade cards to put you on mailing lists for junk mail like this.”

  “I know that. I thought I would recycle them and use the money to buy Bunni a new outfit.”

  “Bunni wants an evening gown,” the small golem insisted.

  “Then why is this all in my room?” Athel yelled over the howl of the wind, her red hair whipping wildly about.

  “Because I put your room number on the card.”

  “Well, why would you put my room number?”

  “Because I don’t have a room, I have a space underneath a staircase with a sheet hung in front of it.”

  “Then why didn’t you just put that on the stupid card?”

  “Because there wasn’t enough room.”

  Athel yelled in frustration and began shoving the piles of pamphlets out of the hole in the wall. With her hair whipping about in the wind and the anger-fueled speed with which she worked, Alder was far too intimidated to do anything but stand by and watch. She seemed, to Alder, exactly like the demon wife from his dream.

  * * *

  Captain Sykes allowed the puff of smoke from a fired deck gun to wash over him without stepping back as his leftenant did. He surmised that it gave his men an image of immovability and sternness that would give them confidence in their captain and in themselves. Mostly, however, it was just because he liked the smell, and he considered live fire to be a rare and cherished thing for someone stuck patrolling a peaceful port like Thesda.

  Ahead of them he could see the slowly shrinking black hull of the Dreadnaught. The winds were becoming less and less favorable, and despite being directly behind their prey, they had not yet been able to catch the same wind they were using.

  “Perhaps they are deflecting a downdraft,” Iarti, his leftenant suggested, but Captain Sykes only raised his saber, signaling the gunnery crews to prepare a volley of fire. Navy interceptors were designed with a hull that appeared triangle shaped from above. This rather unconventional design allowed them to swivel all of the guns along their length to fire directly ahead of them, instead of just to either side. With all sixteen guns firing in unison, they would shred the small black ship from stem to stern.

  The gunnery crews called back ‘neg,’ signaling that they were unable to locate their target. Captain Sykes pulled out his collapsible telescope and looked ahead. He could still make out some traces of black hull, but the Dreadnaught was almost entirely clouded by a screen of whirling paper. Captain Sykes clenched his teeth in frustration. At first he thought his adversary had made a critical error, allowing his ship to get directly behind the Dreadnaught, but now he saw that he had played right into his opponent’s hand.

  This Captain Evere is a shrewd commander, he thought. Firing blindly would score little chance of hitting their target. Still, he wished not to waste a chance at releasing another volley or two.

  Captain Sykes lifted his saber again and let it fall. The air thundered as all sixteen guns fired in unison, a testament to the skills and discipline of his gunnery crews. Such was the force that their ship was actually slowed by the recoil. As the cloud of powdered smoke washed over him, the captain
allowed himself the pleasure of breathing in the acrid scent.

  For the next three minutes they fired off another four volleys, and Sykes felt the urge to praise the finest gunnery crews he had ever worked with, but he quickly suppressed it.

  They may be better than even the crews of an Ironclad, he thought, but best they not know that, or they’ll put in for transfers. Ironclad crews, after all, have a higher pay grade.

  By the time they reached the swirling cloud of paper, held aloft by what seemed to Sykes to be a truly unusual updraft, they had completely lost track of their prey among the large encroaching clouds. He held his saber in salute of his honored opponent and was pleased to see the reaction it caused in his men. It was a simple thing to have dignity in victory, but to maintain dignity in defeat, that was a rare gift and Sykes knew that they would seek to emulate it for the rest of their lives.

  Tonight, he thought, once I am out of sight of the men, I will cry myself to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Fair Value

  Mandi Overtin shivered as she entered the frosty room. It was dark except for a single small candle which illuminated the covered body of Spirea as she lay unconscious on a small glass altar.

  Mandi closed the door behind her and stretched. Her flesh came apart at her command, skin, muscle and sinew bursting apart then reknitting themselves into a new form more suited to the cold. Thick layers of muscle and fat layered on top of her black bones and quickly sprouted a thick layer of arctic white fur. Mandi sighed with relief with her huge bearlike mouth as she felt the warmth return to her fingers and toes.

  Mandi enjoyed this body very much when it was cold, but she couldn’t remember what race it belonged to. She had certainly assumed the form often enough, but she really didn’t have a name to associate it with, just a warm, strong feeling.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t do that in front of me,” said a male voice from within the darkness. “It’s horrible to watch.”

  Mandi walked over to one edge of the room and threw open the curtains, casting sunlight into the room and causing the male occupant to shield his eyes and face.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Invini asked, his eyes adjusting to the light. “This is supposed to be a secret exchange.”

  Mandi waved her hand dismissively and opened up another curtain. “Oh, like I haven’t known who you were the whole time anyway. I can never understand why you guys always want to meet in dark rooms and alleys. Just for once, I’d like to make an exchange on a luxury sailing yacht or at a spa.”

  “I believe the purpose is to maintain a certain level of anonymity,” Invini explained, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Certainly someone like yourself can understand.”

  “I guess so,” Mandi admitted absentmindedly, scratching the back of her neck with a furry clawed hand. “Everyone hides who they really are, which is why everyone is unhappy.”

  Mandi stood there thinking silently for a moment.

  “As soon as I realized one of them had a seal,” Invini explained, walking over to Spirea’s unconscious form, “I called the local authorities to have them picked up. It was actually easier than I thought, turns out one of them was already a wanted fugitive anyway.”

  “Could you tell me what race I am right now?” Mandi asked, a distant look in her eyes.

  Invini looked at her strangely, as if he suspected some kind of deception. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted.

  “By the smoke,” Mandi sighed. “That’s going to bother me until I figure it out.”

  “You traffic in live people. Frankly, I’m surprised anything bothers you at all.”

  “That’s just my day job,” she said, waving her hand. “The stuff I do at night would curl your toes.”

  “I want you to know I contacted the cabal as soon as I learned about the seal,” he admitted nervously. “I trust they perceived my good faith in the matter.”

  “Look,” Mandi said, walking over to the glass altar and pulling the sheet back, “I just got off a very long flight and my stomach is full of ketchup and peanut butter. I want to do this quickly so I can get to a spa.”

  “Why do you have a belly full of peanut butter and ketchup?”

  “Never mind, I don’t wanna' talk about it,” she insisted. Carefully she examined Spirea’s arms, a frown growing across her furry face. “I swear, the fates are against me on this one. Two Wysterians to choose from and of course you grabbed the wrong one.”

  “Look, it’s not like I have my own private army,” he defended. “I tried to asphyxiate the redhead, but she got me with her thorns. When I came to I got out of there and called in as many favors as I could. Personally I believe I went above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Duty, huh?” Mandi rolled her eyes. “Why not just be honest and say you were afraid of being executed by the cabal?”

  Invini blinked. “I-is that why you are here?”

  “Why would we assassinate you? You still owe us a body to make up for the loss of your cousin.”

  Invini looked Spirea over, as if inspecting a painting for flaws. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  Mandi sighed and made a small cut on her own wrist with a razor-sharp claw, allowing a few thick drops of red blood to splatter onto Spirea’s exposed belly. The splatters flowed into hair-thin lines that formed bizarre patterns and shapes. Mandi allowed a couple of drops to land elsewhere, onto Spirea’s arm, and forehead, and similar patterns appeared there as well.

  “They seem to cover her entire body,” Invini said. “What do they mean?”

  “They mean she’s nothing but a shell. Completely worthless to the cabal.”

  Invini scratched his chin thoughtfully, and Mandi felt her enthusiasm wane. He was so transparently petty. Even now, she could see him looking for an angle that would create the greatest profit for him.

  “Now, certainly this one cannot be totally worthless,” Invini began, “She has to be somewhat useful to you.”

  “Stop hiding behind the lies of words and the arbitrary rules of society,” she said boldly, placing her paw on his forehead. “Show me your true nature again, the nature that led you to trade your cousin’s life for your own wealth and comfort. Show me what is in your heart.” There was a flash of light, and Invini’s head was encircled with a blue fire that was drawn into his ears and eyes. After a moment, he opened his eyes, which were now darker than before, and smiled wickedly.

  “What do you want?” Mandi asked cruelly.

  “I want revenge on my father.”

  “Because he took your comfort away from you.”

  “Yes,” he hissed, slamming his fist down on the altar. “He left me to crawl like a beggar.”

  “Your true nature displays greed and vengeance,” Mandi praised. “Now go and find me a worthy body to settle your debt.”

  Mandi scratched her chin. Preaching was tiresome to her, and she felt the need for a nice long nap and then perhaps some dumplings for dinner.

  “Yes, definitely dumplings,” she said out loud. Her flesh burst apart, sloughing off her black bones then reknitting itself around her, long raven-black hair sprouting from her head and growing down to her thighs. The features on her face settled to those of Spirea’s, and she watched with delight as Invini completely failed to hide the look of shock on his face.

  “That is very well done,” Invini stammered. “You look just like her. Do you plan to take her place?”

  “Yes,” Mandi affirmed, becoming acquainted with her new voice. “Her shipmates will definitely be coming for her soon.” Mandi shivered as she walked toward the entrance, feeling again the effects of the cold. “I’m sick and tired of chasing them; I’ll just wait for them to come to me. Besides, this way I can’t receive any more angry messages.”

  “Wait,” Invini pleaded. “Overthrowing my father will require resources, time, and manpower.”

  “Isolite,” Mandi blurted out with elation.

  “Excuse me?”

&n
bsp; “That’s the name of that race I was. It was just on the tip of my tongue for so long, but I couldn’t remember it. It was driving me insane.”

  “Yes, well, I would like to know how I might get the ball rolling with my little venture, as it were.”

  “Get a job,” she commanded, and slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Crosswinds

  “Okay, it’s ready,” Athel exclaimed aloud, placing the thin sheet of metal on the table, knocking a couple of mugs and saucers onto the floor in the process.

  “Hey, some of us are trying to eat here,” Ryin complained, grabbing a towel to wipe the stain off his pants.

  “I’ve mapped out the detention facility where they’ll be keeping Spirea until a prison vessel comes to take her back to Wysteria,” Athel explained, pointing out the drawings on the sheet.

  “Did you make this yourself?” Mina asked, intrigued.

  “Yes. Now Spirea’s a woman, so there’s no way she’ll be kept in the prison commons...”

  “This looks like a little kid drew it,” Ryin commented.

  “Try to focus. We can also rule out the special needs cells, because she doesn’t breathe methane or eat metal...”

  “Did you use chalk to draw this?” Odger asked, wiping his nose.

  “Yes. They’ll also want to keep her far enough away from ground level to prevent her from tree-singing.”

  “Where did you find children's drawing chalk on the ship?” Evere asked, polishing one of his eyes.

  “Look,” Athel huffed, slamming her palms down on the sheet. “That only leaves two cells where she might be kept in the upper left corner of the hospital wing. If we hit them both we’ll find her.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that we’ll be breaking about a hundred local and federal laws?” Dr. Griffin remarked between slurps of his soup.

  “No,” Athel declared.

  “I think we’ve definitely had a bad influence on her,” Mina admitted to her husband.