Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “Who are you calling an old hag?” Mina coughed, righting herself. “I’m only a few years older than you.” Mina clapped her bracelets together and sent out a silver blade of sonic energy that tore along the surface of the deck and hit Margaret square on, pulling her up from the shattering ice that held her and smacking her roughly against the forecastle.

  The Dreadnaught unfurled her sails before her and began to pull away from the illuminated tower, but already the winds were calming from the Stretian’s magic.

  Captain Evere reached down into the receding waters with one hand and pulled out a choking and coughing Dr. Griffin. “Get down to your lab and get us a cure for this curse you’ve put on the boy before my crew tears itself apart.” Instead of waiting for an answer, Evere tossed Dr. Griffin down the stairs and began sloshing his way over to Margaret.

  Athel stood up out of the water, her face grave and stern, with her pistol drawn at Mina. Water streamed down her youthful face. “You can’t claim him as your own, he belongs to me.”

  “That pistol won’t fire,” Mina yelled as she spun around, kicking at Athel with her shapely leg. “The powder is all wet.”

  Athel ducked beneath the kick and yelled, “It doesn’t have to be dry.” At her command, stranglevines grew out rapidly from the barrel, grabbing Mina by the wrists and ankles as she struggled and cursed in the Mesdan tongue.

  Righting herself, Margaret saw her two rivals fighting, and prepared to launch another attack, but Evere picked her up by the cuff of her dress and brought her to his face.

  “Ensign Gerstun, I need a prevailing wind in a southwesterly heading, and I need it now,” he barked at the distracted young woman.

  “I can’t do that,” Margaret insisted as she struggled. “If I don’t take out those two hags I’ll lose Alder forever.”

  “But Alder is asking you to do it,” Evere explained, holding up Alder’s unconscious body with his other hand and shaking it. “See, he’s smiling at the thought of it.”

  Margaret looked at Evere, completely confused. On the other end of the deck, Mina had broken free and she crossed insults and sabers with Athel.

  “Let me put it this way,” Evere said calmly. “If you don’t get us out of here, they’ll kill the boy when they catch us.” Margaret’s eyes widened at the horrifying thought, and she forced herself to focus on what he was saying.

  “Okay, I’ll try, but it’ll be hard to break through the doldrums they’ve summoned.”

  Margaret placed her hands together and her hair whipped around her as she prepared to enchant a current of wind.

  “Tear my sails again and I’ll cut your throat myself,” Evere grumbled as he set her down.

  A friendly wind whipped across the deck of the ship and the sails billowed to full. Mina and Athel lost their balance as the ship pitched forward and accelerated.

  On the quarterdeck, Mina charged Athel with her saber, slashing at her legs but Athel had already leapt above her. As Athel cartwheeled in the air, she threw her blade down at Mina like a spear, but only succeeding in piercing the deck as Mina rolled sideways away from her.

  Evere clambered up to the forecastle to get a good look around. Storm clouds were already gathering, but his artificial eyes could see right through them to find the patrol ships nearby. There were two ironclads at the eastern port, but only one had undocked, and a pair of clipper ships on patrol to the north, but none of them would be able to reach them in time before they had slipped out to open skies.

  “Praise the gods,” the Captain called out, rejoicing in his good fortune to have acquired a Stormcaller on his crew.

  His celebration was cut short by a gale of hot wind that hit them broadside, straining the rigging and listing the ship sharply to one side. Mina lost her footing and was thrown back by a hit from growing vines that would have sent her over the side had she not become entangled in the backstay rigging.

  Athel ran up to press her advantage, but the ship was struck again, this time from directly above. An icy gale of wind pressed down on the ship forcing it lower, despite the best efforts of Margaret and Odger to keep them aloft. Barrels froze and cracked, and Athel’s vines died and shattered from the cold.

  “I don’t think they want us to leave,” Margaret called out as she thrust her fists forward, struggling to maintain the wind they were using to make their escape.

  “Aye, we must have pricked them something fierce,” Evere praised, “but I figure we’re nearly at the edge of their range or they’d be able to do a lot more than just throw us around.”

  “Um, no,” Margaret said, pointing forward, “I was talking about what is ahead of us.”

  Evere looked ahead and could only gasp at what he saw. Bolts of lightning illuminated the surface of a vast wall of water that stretched before them, nearly from horizon to horizon. Hurricane force winds were drawing up the roaring seawater from the oceans below and throwing them aloft in a barrier the size of a mountain.

  “Mother’s love,” Evere exclaimed. He had never seen anything so daunting and dangerous in all his life. Excitement welled up inside him and he grinned from ear to ear.

  “Keep her steady, Miss Gerstun, and kick up the keel ninety degrees just before we hit the wall,” Evere called out as he ran across the deck.

  “Are you crazy?” Margaret asked, terrified.

  “Mister Jhonstin, prepare to pull the inertial pins on my mark,” Evere ordered into the call-pipes, receiving an alarmed recognition from Odger in the ship’s core.

  Evere found Athel and Mina rolling around on the deck, attempting to strangle each other.

  “Are you still fighting over the boy?” Evere asked in frustration. He pulled Athel free and shook her before him to get her attention.

  “Let me go!” Athel demanded, trying to squirm free.

  “There’s no need to fight, you already won,” Evere soothed, succeeding in getting her attention.

  “No, she didn't!” Mina hollered.

  “Yes, you won the fight and the boy is yours,” Captain Evere said, “but I need your help. We’re going to ride the winds that are holding up that wall of seawater, and if we don’t have about ten times the amount of cordage, the sails will tear free from the hull. Only you can prevent that.”

  “Only me?” Athel asked, trying to clear her head.

  “Yes, do you have any more of those pistol seeds?”

  “A few.”

  “Then use them like the boy’s life depends on it, because it does.”

  Evere turned Athel so she could see the approaching wall of water. Already acidic tentacles of seawater were reaching out for them, thirsting for their flesh.

  As the Dreadnaught neared the wall of water, Evere could hear its ghostly tortured howls. At Athel’s command, vines sprouted from their seeds and grew outward, grabbing the edges of the sails and then growing back again, linking them to the hull in hundreds of places. Still more vines reinforced the fabric by covering the surface like a spider’s web.

  “All hands stand fast and secure yourselves,” Evere called out. Small loose droplets of seawater landed on his clothes and burned holes in them. Several large tentacles opened before the tiny ship like a gaping maw, ready to snap toward them.

  “Mark, Mister Jhonstin,” Evere yelled into the call-pipes. Margaret created an updraft to cushion their transition, and as the maw of acidic tendrils snapped toward them, the Dreadnaught rocketed skyward, riding the impossibly strong winds that were pulling the water upward.

  Evere screamed with joy as he clutched the binnacle. In the corner of his vision, he could see his compass spinning. Beyond the roar of the wind and water, he could hear the others screaming as well.

  “Fire and lightning it’s good to be alive!” he screamed as the Dreadnaught was vomited out high above the wall of water, loose cargo falling toward the depths as the crew held on to whatever they could, their feet dangling beneath them. After a few moments of blinding speed they sailed straight up past the top of the wall of seawa
ter. The winds slowly weakened and the nose of the ship came down until they were calmly sailing along in a southerly wind. The crew looked at each other and chuckled in amazement, wondering if what they had just experienced had actually happened or not.

  Mina and Margaret stood up and cleared their heads. They looked at each other as if they could not remember why they had been fighting so fiercely only minutes before.

  “Oh good,” Dr. Griffin said as he scurried up on deck, holding a bag of popcorn. “It looks like the spell wore off on its own.”

  “Hey, weren’t you supposed to be working on an antidote,” Evere accused.

  “Oh, yes, I was,” Dr. Griffin remembered, slapping his palm against his head then taking another mouthful of popcorn. “I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

  “You got distracted by popcorn?” Athel asked.

  “Do you want some?” Dr. Griffin offered.

  As the others groaned, Ryin found his pillowcase and greedily dumped its contents out on the deck.

  “Good idea, Colenat,” Evere praised as he sat down next to the pile and began sorting through it.

  “Hands off,” Ryin snapped. “I risked my life for this loot.”

  “Aye, but on a pirate ship all things are had in equal share. You know that.”

  “But you said you had gone straight.”

  “Aye, but I also said I wasn’t very good at it,” the Captain chuckled, examining a beautiful porcelain brooch.

  “I can’t believe after all that work we came out with nothing,” Athel said, sitting down in defeat. “I suppose I’ll have to call my mother after all.”

  “Perhaps not, lassie,” Evere corrected, holding up a beautiful silver necklace with lavender and jade crystals.

  “Is that The Eye of the Storm?” Athel asked in disbelief.

  “Aye,” Evere affirmed. “She must have thrown it into the pile that Mister Colenat looted.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The Eye of the Storm

  The following morning, the crew of the Dreadnaught was in high spirits as their tiny ship sailed through clear, inviting skies.

  “Not a sign of pursuing ships,” Evere boasted as he sat down at the galley table next to Margaret and slapped her on the shoulder. “What did I tell you? 90 degree turns always throw them off the scent.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased, sir,” Margaret smiled as she adjusted her glasses, “because they’re exhausting to summon.”

  “Well, you can forget about our troubles,” Mina said excitedly as she skipped into the room. “I just finished talking with Duchess Erin Strenlan, and she’ll be making the formal announcement in an hour declaring our Spirea as her successor actual to the throne. Not even the Stone Council can deport her now.”

  “That’s all we need around here,” Ryin grumbled as he sipped his coffee, “another princess.”

  “...and after she made a few calls to the Naval Command Board, all charges against our ship and crew have been dropped and our records wiped clean. All we have to do now is go back to Thesda and pick Spirea up,” Mina stated, clasping her hands together. “I only wish I could be there when they break the news to Recaldier, the midget-witch.”

  “To the Dreadnaught,” Evere toasted, raising his cup, “the only ship to go five and a half years without seeing any action. May she continue for another five just the same.”

  Mina, Margaret, and Ryin returned the toast.

  “By the way,” Ryin asked, lowering his glass. “How did Duchess Erin steal the necklace for herself, anyway?”

  “Oh, that.” Margaret responded. “Queen Karie was attending the Heaven’s Bowl finals four years ago when the necklace fell from her balcony into the discount bleachers below.”

  “And it landed on her head?”

  “Almost. It landed on her beverage tray. She was selling refreshments.”

  Evere and Ryin couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Sweetie, it’s okay to laugh,” Mina encouraged, brushing her long tail against Alder’s cheek. It was only then that the others noticed Alder sitting dejectedly at the table with them.

  “How long have you been there, Bursage?” Ryin asked.

  “I’ve been here the whole time,” Alder responded quietly.

  “Well then why are you sitting when my breakfast needs cooking?” Evere complained.

  “It is being taken care of,” Alder responded glumly.

  The room went quiet and everyone became aware of sweet singing coming from the kitchen area among the clatter of pots and plates.

  “There’s something very wrong with Miss Athel,” Alder proclaimed.

  Before anyone could inquire further, Athel glided into the room, a large pink apron tied about her waist with an oversized bow at the back that bounced and swayed as she moved from person to person, placing before each of them a plate of hot breakfast.

  “Eat up everyone, before it gets cold,” she announced, before gliding back to the kitchen area.

  “There’s nothing too strange about that,” Evere appraised. “Perhaps she just felt like doing something nice for you for a change, as thanks for all your hard work back on Stretis.”

  “Nothing too strange?” Alder asked incredulously, looking at Evere as if he were watching ants crawl out of his mouth.

  Athel slid back into the room with a pitcher of lemonade and began filling everyone’s glasses.

  “How are your eggs?” she asked Ryin sweetly.

  “They’re charred,” he answered, poking at them.

  “And the bacon?”

  “It’s raw.”

  “And the coffee?”

  “It’s cold, and has lumps in it.”

  “Oh no, that’s the oatmeal,” Athel corrected.

  “Then what’s this?” Mina asked, holding up a plate of dripping brown grease.”

  “Oh that? I’m really not sure,” she said happily, gliding back into the kitchen.

  “Okay,” Evere admitted, “maybe she is acting a little strange.”

  “Could she be experiencing some side-effects from Dr. Griffin’s potion?” Margaret asked as she slid the food from her plate onto Mina’s.

  “Not likely,” Dr. Griffin assured as he walked in and sat down in his chair. “In my professional medical opinion...”

  “Oh, come off it,” Mina ordered, scraping the food from her plate onto Evere’s. “After what you’ve pulled you’re not allowed to have medical opinions anymore. I still can’t believe you substituted black tea in the potion.”

  “Wait, was it black tea?” Dr. Griffin said, scratching his bald head. “I don’t remember. What kind of tea did we have on Wednesday?”

  “We had green tea on Wednesday, you crazy old man,” Mina complained. “In fact, I’m demoting your old hide. You’re not ship’s doctor anymore, you’re ship’s custodian.”

  “But isn’t that Pops’ job?” Margaret asked.

  “You’re just sore because Forsythia beat you and Gerstun called you an old hag,” Ryin teased.

  “Where is Pops anyway?” Margaret asked, looking around.

  “You want a cut in pay as well, Colenat?” Mina threatened. “Because I’ll do it.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re showing your age.”

  “Who cares why it happened?” Evere interjected, raising a hand to silence the fighting as he slurped down the brown grease on his plate hungrily. “She hasn’t bossed anyone around all morning. Don’t look a gift Y’darni in the mouth, I say.”

  “I can’t believe you’re eating that, honey,” Mina retched.

  “Come on,” Evere encouraged, licking his lips, “give us a kiss. With Athel doing the cooking I feel like a real captain again.”

  “There is no way I’m kissing that oily nasty face right now,” Mina insisted, pushing her husband backward with her feet.

  “This really isn’t a big problem,” Ryin explained as he leaned back in his chair. “All we have to do is make her mad and she’ll snap out of it.”

  “Will that work?” Al
der asked, concerned.

  “It should,” Evere considered. “And it won't be that hard. Normally the woman has a temper like a powder keg. It’s one of her core character traits.”

  “But if we make her mad she might tear up the ship again, and we’re starting to run out of spare wood,” Alder warned.

  “So, how do we make her mad?” Mina asked, watching Athel scrub the dishes.

  “I can think of a few ways,” Ryin said with an evil grin.

  * * *

  After cleaning up from breakfast, Athel backed her way out of Ryin’s quarters, carrying a large bag of dirty clothes and humming to herself. As she walked down the hall, a blue marble rounded a corner and rolled up next to her feet. Calmly, she looked down at it.

  “It’s me!” Dr. Griffin yelled out from another room, “and I’m looking up your skirt again!”

  “Hello Dr. Griffin,” Athel said cheerfully. “Could you please gather up any of your dirty laundry? I’m on a crusade to rid this ship of the dingies.”

  “Um, I suppose so,” Dr. Griffin answered back.

  The marble rolled away sadly as Ryin walked out into the hall carrying Alder’s golem, which was now wearing an exact replica of Athel’s Navy uniform.

  “Hey Athel,” Ryin said, setting the doll down. “Look what Alder taught it to do.”

  Bunni began dancing around, pointing her tiny finger this way and that in imitation of Athel, singing, “I’m a spoiled princess, I’m a spoiled princess, do what I say, do what I say!”

  “Are you crazy?” Alder called out, snatching Bunni up in his arms. “Please don’t tell Athel that I taught her to do that!”

  “I want you all to bow down to me,” Bunni commanded, “and stick your bottoms up in the air when you kiss the floor!”

  “What are you talking about?” Ryin asked innocently. “You said you were so proud of Bunni’s new trick.”

  “Oh, Ryin,” Bunni gushed, clasping her tiny hands together. “You’re so handsome; you’re the only man for me.”