by Aaron Yeager
“I don’t get this at all,” Ryin said as he scurried over to join them. “You said Spirea had been in the NP’s detention facility, but that’s on the other side of the island.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Athel praised. “You did study my map after all.”
“What can I say,” Ryin shrugged. “I liked all the little animals and hearts you drew on it.”
“Look out!” Privet yelled, grabbing the others and pulling them back as a water barrel came crashing down right where they had been standing, spilling its contents like a cracked egg.
“Don’t touch me,” Athel snapped, kicking Privet away and straightening herself.
“Look,” Privet said, running his fingers across his brow. “If we’re going to work together we’re going to have to put a few things behind us.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now!” She snapped. “This is Spirea’s magic all right, but it’s different. Something has happened to her while we were gone and if we don’t stop her she’ll destroy the whole city. This is not the time to discuss relationships!”
“I’m just saying it’s dangerous to go into a fight when you are distracted by other things.”
“So, stop following me and I won’t be so distracted!” Athel bellowed, rubbing her temples. “How in the world did you even find us anyway?”
“Alder sends weekly reports to the Queen, I just had her forward them to me,” he said, pulling out a stack of papers.
Athel’s eyes grew wide and she threw a glance to Alder so icy that he took a step back.
“You little spy,” she accused. “How could you betray me like that?”
“I would never betray you, my Lady,” Alder said, hurt. “The Queen gave me strict orders to keep her apprised of your movements.”
“But you knew I would never approve of this, aren’t I supposed to be your matron?”
“Apologies, but until we are married her orders technically outrank yours.”
“I command you to never send her another report of any kind!” she yelled with a trembling finger outstretched.
Alder paused for a moment, processing the conflicting orders.
“So, does this mean you are going to accept me as your husband?”
“No!”
“So, then, how do I obey...”
“Shut up!” she barked, cutting him off.
Fuming, Athel poked her head around the corner of the building so she could see the mountain of wood that made up the trunk of the enormous tree across the courtyard. The bark twisted and groaned tortuously, shapes of writhing faces moving in and out as it twisted this way and that. Far above, the Naval ships were beginning to pull away as the tree hurled pieces of broken hull at them.
“You better not have told my mother about the maid costume,” Athel warned, looking back.
Alder lowered his head.
“Ugh, you did. I hate all of you people!”
With a scream, Athel turned the corner and ran toward the tree, her Wysterian combat dress flowing behind her as she charged.
As the others reluctantly followed, the entire courtyard stirred, razor-sharp barbs sprouting up from the earth, dripping with venom. Athel swung her staff, forcing their points back down into the ground. From above, hundreds of sickly green bulbs splatted on the ground, releasing poisonous yellow spores into the air. Athel spun her staff above her, and the mist of spores parted before them, and they rushed onward unscathed.
Athel planted her staff into the ground and the wood of the giant tree opened before them, sickly green sap dripped down and caused the ground to sizzle.
“Oh, that’s just nasty,” Ryin commented. “Please don’t tell me we’re going in there.”
“The tree is being fed by her rage,” Athel explained. “The only way to stop it is to go into the heart of the tree and calm her down.”
As they rushed inside everything grew quiet and otherworldly. Ryin and Alder looked around in amazement. Through mists of cloud, they could only make out knotted, sinuous walls far in the distance, at the very edge of their vision.
“Okay, I know this thing wasn’t this big on the outside,” Ryin commented, waving his arm around to dispel some mist.
“It’s some kind of illusion,” Athel warned as she slowly circled. “Try closing your eyes; that sometimes helps.”
Ryin closed his eyes. “Great, now I’m blind and in a really big mist-filled room.”
“This is not Wysterian magic, this is something else,” Athel surmised.
“Show yourself!” Privet commanded, holding his saber coolly before him.
They all waited a minute in silence before Athel spoke up.
“Come on, like she’s going to appear just because you say so.”
“It was worth a shot,” he shrugged.
There was a creaking sound like a woman screaming, and the floor bucked upward beneath their feet. Athel and Privet managed to keep their footing steady as hard-edged cones began falling down from somewhere up above and landing on the floor all around them.
“Get them away from you, quick,” Privet called out as he kicked a pair that had landed near him.
Ryin kicked one as well, and just in time. As it flew through the air, it popped open with a crack, releasing needlelike seeds in all directions.
Another landed near Alder and popped on impact. Instinctively he raised his arms, but he knew it was futile as the hurled seeds sped toward him.
Athel stepped in front of him, allowing the seeds to impact harmlessly against the armor woven into her dress.
“Come on, Alder,” she chided, smacking another cone out of the air with the flat of her blade. “This is your big chance to save me and win my heart.”
“And just what am I supposed to do?” Alder asked. “Throw myself on top of a cone before it explodes near you?”
“Actually, that might work,” she said, kicking another cone away from them.
“Twigs, Athel, I was just kidding,” Alder said, amazed. “You don’t actually expect me to do that, do you?”
“Hey, stop arguing with your sidekick and help us out over here,” Privet protested as he cut away at the growing roots that had managed to bind Ryin to one spot.
“I am NOT her sidekick!” Alder insisted as he ran over.
Athel stepped back and removed her boots to link with the tree, allowing her bare feet to touch the living wood of the tree. What she felt sent shockwaves through her, and the room went dark, as if the light itself were being consumed. Rage swirled up through her from the wood beneath, forcing even the tips of her hair to stand up on end. The pure anger was frightening and exhilarating at the same time, and she felt invigorated with strength and fearlessness. Her mind instinctively searched for a target, desiring to vent this energy on anyone and anything around her. After a moment her rage centered on Privet. She wanted nothing more than to make him feel as hurt as he had made her feel. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted him to weep. The joy of her desire for revenge both thrilled and terrified her.
Even as she was about to succumb to the power within her, she felt a growing emptiness inside her. This power was hollow, cancerous, and consuming. As the anger began to turn inward, she realized how alone she was, and that sensation of loneliness grew until it undermined completely the rage it had fueled.
The rage collapsed in on itself, and Athel regained some control over the link they were sharing through the tree. This was not Spirea; this was something else, something evil. Athel began to reach out, looking for the Spirea that she knew. This mind felt thick, like dark webs of greed and loneliness. Athel hacked through the webs, pushing through layers and layers of it, going deeper and deeper, until finally she heard a noise like a faint sobbing. Redoubling her efforts, she tore at the webs before her, discovering a solid spot, like a cocoon. She tore at its surface, revealing a small raven-haired child, curled up in the fetal position, crying to herself. Athel knew she could never understand everything, but she understood what it was to be alon
e and that it was the most painful thing a soul could feel.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Athel whispered softly.
The darkness faded, and the men could see Athel suspended among hanging vines and roots, embracing Spirea's body gently in her arms and speaking to her softly. Spirea shook and resisted, and a root struck Athel's arm, breaking away pieces of the armor. Another root slammed into the small of her back, nearly toppling her over. Although amber-colored blood trickled down her arms and legs, Athel refused to release Spirea.
“We’ve got to save Athel,” Ryin shouted as he was finally cut free.
“Stay back,” Privet commanded, grabbing him by the shoulder.
“But it’s going to kill her,” he argued.
Another vine grabbed a hold of Athel, wrapping itself around her neck and squeezing tightly.
“What you have to understand about Wysterian magic...” Alder began.
Athel coughed feebly, unable to breathe, but did not release Spirea from her embrace.
“No matter how skillful the singer is...” Privet continued.
Athel’s arms went limp and her eyes began to roll back in her head.
“No matter how much rage you pump into a tree...” Alder added.
The vines and roots went slack and lowered Athel and Spirea to the floor.
“No tree can be forced to kill someone who means them no harm,” Privet finished.
Athel gasped for breath and wrapped her arms again around Spirea, nuzzling her sleeping body as a mother would a child.
The mists faded and the room returned to normal size. Outside, the sounds of battle and mayhem settled and a peaceful silence took their place as the tree became calm once again.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Strength and Weakness
Dr. Griffin had examined patients under a variety of circumstances. He had sutured an injured sailor during a howling windstorm on the glacial fields of Iso. He distinctly recalled removing a ruptured gall bladder from a poisoned art critic while riding on the back of a Terraphant while enraged natives hurled stones at him on Falmar.
This was the first time, however, that he could recall doing an examination with a crossbow pointed at his head.
“You know,” Dr. Griffin said as Spirea’s sleeping body was laid out before him. “I love your energy, but this really isn’t necessary.”
“We just want to keep you focused this time,” Athel explained as she gestured for Privet to take a step back, the crossbow still fixed on Dr. Griffin's temple. “We wouldn’t want popcorn or something equally trite to draw away from your medical judgment.”
Dr. Griffin shook his head sadly. He scratched the top of his bald scalp, then grabbed the remaining horseshoe of hair and gathered it together into a ponytail.
“I just wish this could have waited until tomorrow,” he complained. “We only have a few more hours until Odger comes to pick us up and I am missing the breakfast special I won on the accolade.”
“Wait,” Athel coughed. “Spirea is in serious need of help, and all you can think about is whether you’ll be missing a buffet? I don’t even know why I bother being disappointed in you anymore.”
After rescuing Spirea from the ruined eastern plaza, the Dreadnaught crew had reunited in a small room that Ryin had rented in one of the more obscure underground districts in an attempt to minimize their conspicuousness for the time being.
Ryin walked up holding a tray full of bizarre surgical tools, both old and new.
“Hand me the sonic aura divulge,” Dr. Griffin asked, holding out his hand.
“Um, is that the light blue purple one?” Ryin asked, looking over the motley assortment of tools.
“It’s not called light blue purple, it’s called periwinkle,” Dr. Griffin grumbled, shaking his hand.
“What kind of guy calls it periwinkle anyway?” Ryin grumbled, placing the tool in his hand.
Dr. Griffin flicked the device with his finger and held it out over Spirea’s temple. Its sweet vibrations turned sour as it neared her flesh, illuminating swirls of lavender and gray that had been invisible before.
Dr. Griffin grunted worriedly and handed the tool back.
“And you said she felt like a different person to you when you linked with her?”
“No,” Athel clarified. “It was like there was another person inside with her.”
“Like mixed together,” he said to himself, his aged forehead wrinkling in thought. “I need the Catalime balm,” he asked, keeping his eyes on Spirea’s skin as the swirls slowly faded.
“Which one is that?” Ryin asked, confused as he stared at the tray.
“Man, you are a terrible apprentice, do you know that?” Dr. Griffin moaned as he pulled a jar out of his pocket.
“I am not your apprentice,” Ryin insisted. “It’s just that no one else will work with you.”
Dr. Griffin took out a dab of the glowing salve and rubbed it on his hands. Whispering an incantation between his pressed palms, he pulled his hands apart, slimy tendrils of balm pulling taught between his fingers like a spider web.
Slowly, he lowered the web until it touched the top of Spirea’s neck, and then snapped his hands away, allowing the mesh to fall around her like a scarf.
There was a sizzling noise as the web burnt away, and hundreds of faint lines began glowing brightly along her neck and slowly spreading across her chin and chest, like an enormous hedge maze.
“What did you do to her?” Athel asked. “Why did you put those cuts on her?”
“I didn’t put them there,” Dr. Griffin said gravely. “These cuts were made in her skin the day she was born. I just made them visible to us for a moment.”
“Well, what does that mean?” she asked, watching the lines slowly fading.
“This is forbidden magic,” Dr. Griffin explained. “I could be executed just for looking at it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, mate,” Captain Evere said from the couch where he and Mina were sitting. “There be no shortage of folk who want to execute the lot of us right now.”
“This is called Ina Umbra Kallah Dirgina, and it is a form of void magic,” Dr. Griffin said.
“The heritage curse?” Mina said in recognition. “I remember hearing about some gypsies offering it to the guilds years ago, but I never though anyone would have taken them up on the offer.”
“Obviously someone did, many generations ago,” Dr. Griffin said sadly.
“So, what did they do to her?” Athel asked.
“They prepared her body so that when the head of their family died, the Dirgina within her would be transferred to Spirea.”
“Dirgina? Is that like a demon?”
“Basically. At first it was just the soul of the head of the family moving to a new body, probably tricked into thinking that she was achieving some sort of immortality, but with each transfer the soul would become more twisted by consuming the soul of the new host. You just can’t do that to your own daughter or granddaughter without it tearing you apart inside. I don’t know how many generations this has been going on in the Sotol Guild, but by now the Dirgina is so twisted it might as well be a demon.”
“I can’t believe Madam Sotol could be so coldblooded,” Privet said, disgusted.
“Don’t blame her,” Dr. Griffin added. “She was just a shell for the Dirgina as well. The real Madam Sotol was probably consumed long before you ever met her.”
“So, is Spirea gone too, then?” Ryin asked, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Griffin said, shaking his head. “The spell is designed to completely destroy the host’s soul, leaving their body an empty shell for the Dirgina to inhabit.”
“No, I definitely felt her, she’s still in there,” Athel insisted.
“I know you think that, but this spell is far stronger than anyone’s individual will could ever be.” Dr. Griffin said as he took a packet of herbs from the tray.
“What are you doing?” Evere asked cautiously.
&n
bsp; “The hardest part of my job is knowing when to put someone out of their misery. These herbs are very gentle, she won’t feel a thing.”
“You can’t,” Athel insisted.
“I have to. This isn’t your kin anymore, Forsythia. It’s a demon.”
Athel stepped forward and grabbed his hand to stop him.
“If I let it live,” he explained, “it will just find someone else to prepare as its next shell. The only way to stop the cycle is to end it now.”
“I’m telling you it didn’t work correctly this time,” Athel persisted. “She’s still in there.”
Dr. Griffin stomped over to the table and grabbed Sumac's pot and handed it to Athel. “Spirea's Nallorn tree died when she did,” he said soberly.
Athel was visibly hurt and sat down with the pot. Athel stirred Sumac's dead leaves with her finger. The tiny branches and trunk were dried and lifeless. When she gently grabbed a tiny stem it snapped off dead in her grip. Athel felt Alder's hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with her own. She appreciated the way he silently supported her. It was as if he knew exactly what she needed to hear and could communicate it to her without words. He gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze and she knew what he meant. Brushing the dead leaves aside, Athel dug into the potting soil, revealing the roots underneath. The first roots she found were dead and broke the moment she touched them, but she dug further. Finally she uncovered the core of the roots, and when she touched them she could detect the presence of life there.
“Some of the root is still alive!” Athel exclaimed excitedly. “Sumac is not completely dead. That means Spirea is alive as well.” She looked up at Alder and he smiled at her tenderly.
“I’m telling you that’s not possible,” Dr. Griffin maintained, throwing his arms into the air.
“Maybe it is,” Mina spoke up. “What if she had one of those Afet things inside her like Athel did?”
Dr. Griffin’s arms dropped down to his sides in puzzlement.
“You said they were found unconscious together when we think Athel was infected, right?” Privet asked.
