Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (2 page)

“A boy?! How can Arolla be a boy?!”

The courtiers whispered to one another as they milled about the great hall of living wood, exchanging worried glances and hushed accusations.

“Is it an ill omen?”

“Have we displeased Milia?”

“Surely taking in those disgusting foreigners has caused this.”

They all snapped to attention as they felt the Queen draw near. Her honor guard stepped in first, clad in glistening armored gowns of silver and white. Even in her own throne room they checked every inch and covered every exit. During a time of war, no precaution was too great.

Queen Forsythia glided purposefully into the hall, a picture of regal beauty and dignity. With a graceful wave of her hand, the living wood that made up the walls and ceiling pinched closed, sealing off the sunlight from outside. The crystal chandeliers responded by humming to life, bathing the hall in a gentle amber light, reflecting off the pearls in her flawlessly braided auburn red hair.

The courtiers studied her closely. A hundred eyes searching for any sign of distress or worry on her face, but her calm and icy demeanor betrayed nothing. Forsythians were famous for that. Even at funerals, they shed not a single tear. The courtiers reached out through the living wood beneath their feet and touched her heart, probing for any doubt, but they could find none, or if there was any, she kept it hidden too deep for them to see. They met only her confident resolve, her indomitable will to protect the forest. Without a word, she reached back into them and soothed their worries. Her unwavering spirit steadied the heart of every woman on the island, reassuring, comforting, harmonizing. Within moments, the song of the forest was restored, and while the mystery of a male-child being born of a tree was still present, it was now accompanied with the faith that in time the mystery would be solved.

Queen Forsythia stood before them, a pillar of strength, and a monolith of purpose. She had saved the forest from complete destruction at the hands of the navy. They could not help but feel a beloved trust towards her.

For the benefit of the men in the room who could not link through the trees, she spoke aloud. “Metheren of the court, citizens of Wysteria,” she said in the same commanding feminine tones her mother was famous for, “I want to thank all of you for coming to witness the sprouting of new life into my house. We will be planting my child’s Ma’iltri’ia seed this afternoon. In the meantime, I hope you will understand my desire to spend a few minutes alone with my newborn.”

The courtiers bowed respectfully and began to file out of the hall, many of them carrying stacks of scrolls and papers, urgent matters that required attention, but they would have to wait for a few minutes. Dahoon and the other men of the court scrambled out as well, frantically trying to reschedule the rest of the day to fit everything in.

Queen Forsythia sat on her throne and watched them with her penetrating hazel eyes until the last of them left. The guards took up positions outside the exits, leaving her alone. Only once the doors closed did she remove herself from the link.

Her staff fell from her grip, rattling to the floor.

“A boy?! How can Arolla be a boy?!” Athel asked herself, the panic coming through in her voice. She brought her knees up to her chin and hugged them, sweat forming on her brow. She wanted to run, but where could she go? Her eyes darted about. For a fleeting moment, she thought to sprint down to the catacombs beneath the palace where the Goddess Milia lay. Surely she could explain this to her, but Athel rebuked herself. It would be a wasted effort. Milia was at the point of death, and beyond communion. She vainly thought to run to her mother and ask for her counsel, but she again scolded herself. Her mother was in a coma, and was not expected to recover.

She was alone.

Athel chewed on her thumbnail nervously. She could almost hear Alder’s voice correcting the unladylike habit, but she ignored it, spitting out the piece of nail and gnawing on a fresh one. She was the queen now. Everyone looked to her to see them through this, but she was without rudder or sail. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

“I don’t know what to do…”

A gentle knock on the door startled her out of her fear.

Athel wiped off her brow with her sleeve and scooped up her staff. At her command, a little rootlet grew up from the floor and grabbed the discarded bit of fingernail, pulling it down into the wood below.

“You may enter,” Queen Forsythia announced formally.

The guards parted the living wood from without, and Alder came in, carrying the freshly cleaned newborn close to his heart in clean white sheets. He stumbled a little, as if he were dizzy, but managed to make it over to her. His shoulders were narrow and bony, his back a little slouched, but the way his eyes bathed the baby with a gentle and pure love made him handsome beyond words.

“I have finished the purification rites,” he announced proudly. Just looking at him made her feel a little better.

“Thank you, Aldi,” she said gently.

Ryin was the next to enter, his short dusty hair catching for a second on a low hanging branch. He swatted it away as best he could, but the branch angrily swatted him back.

“Ouch. Well, this has been quite a morning,” he complained, plunging a finger into his ear to fish out a piece of stray wax. “I’ve never heard five thousand Wysterians scream before. You people even blare in unison.”

The Queen stood up, her long flowing dress clinging to her like delicate flower pedals. “Of course they were shocked. Only women are born from the trees. It has always been that way. What just happened is not possible.”

Captain Evere came in next and placed a strong hand on Alder’s shoulder. His wife Mina joined alongside him, her long white tail flicking about. “Clearly it is, lass.”

The Queen’s shoulders relaxed a little. Her subjects were so deferential around her, so careful in their speech. It was refreshing to have someone simply speak their mind. It made her feel a little bit normal again, if only for a moment. “Indeed, but this is most troubling. A man being born from the trees defies every scrap of scripture we still have.”

Ryin snickered. “Yeah, the baby really should have double-checked the canon before being born.”

Dr. Griffin entered next, wheezing from exertion, his aged grey ponytail sticking to the back of his sweaty wrinkled neck. “Are you sure it’s a boy?”

Everyone turned to glare at him.

“What?” he defended, straightening his oily, stained smock. “I’m a doctor, I ask questions. It’s what I do. Maybe we should double check.”

Captain Evere pinched his black eyes. “All right, man. I’ll go ask if the baby prefers hunting or dolls.”

Dr. Griffin brightened up. “That’s a good idea; you could use your Tomani magic to…”

“Of course we’re sure he’s a boy, you bald twit! You don’t think we’d notice his twig and berries!” Evere barked, cowing the old man into a corner.

Ryin snorted in laughter.

The newborn stirred at the noise.

“I would ask all of you to please keep your voices down,” Alder bade as he prepared a bottle from the supplies in his bag, filling it with an amber-colored liquid. “The baby is trying to sleep.”

Queen Athel softened as she looked down upon her child. His perfect little head, his clear and soft skin. His tiny dusting of light brown hair with just a hint of red highlights. When the little one reached up and rubbed his cheek sleepily, all of her fears and doubts melted away.

Setting aside her staff, she sat down on the bench next to her husband, and placed her arms around him and the child. “You’re right, Alder, of course,” she said, her voice now soft and feminine. “This is our child; that is all that really matters.”

She lowered her face and gave their son a gentle kiss on the head. The smell, the wonderful smell of a clean newborn washed over her. It filled her mind and her heart, more powerful than any magic ever could. It was the scent of family.

As she sat back up, she caught a glimpse of Alder smiling at her. The adoration in his eyes, the solemn love he showed her, without condition and without reserve. It made her feel richer than any amount of gold ever could. She leaned over and gave Alder a loving kiss, the sensation lingering on her lips long after they parted.

As Alder stroked the nipple of the bottle against the baby’s tiny little lips, the baby arched back, and gave off an adorable little sneeze.

Everyone could not help but coo at it.

She felt like crying tears of joy, but her eyes remained dry. Already she had grown so used to suppressing her emotions, they didn’t always switch back on again, even when she wanted them to. “You know, in a weird way, I am a little relieved he is a boy,” she admitted, stroking his beautiful little head as he drank his Hai’i Milia Carminie sap from the royal tree.

“How so?” Ryin asked, poking at a gemstone mounted in the throne to see if it was real.

The Queen looked around to make sure no other Wysterian was in earshot. She looked up at Mina and Captain Evere, a little reluctant to share her doubts, but their reassuring faces let her know she could speak freely without fear of judgment.

“I was afraid,” Athel admitted. “So afraid that she would have to be trained and prepared to take the throne one day like I was.”

Everyone looked at her sympathetically.

Finally a tear broke through, and rolled down her cheek. Athel wiped it off, smearing some of her makeup. “I thought she would hate me for it, like I resented my mother.”

Athel leaned over and gave the baby another gentle kiss. His skin was so wonderfully soft. “It was tearing me apart, to think that this perfect little person would grow up to hate me. Now, I don’t have to worry about that.”

Alder looked concerned.

Captain Evere placed a strong hand on her shoulder. Mina leaned in and gave her a quick little hug. “Oh, sweetie, you shouldn’t beat yourself up like that. You’re a momma today; this is a time to celebrate.”

“I know,” Athel sniffed, “but I can’t help feeling that way, and there’s no one I can talk to about these things.”

“Except us,” Mina reassured tenderly.

Athel put her hand on top of Mina’s. “Yes, except you.” She looked around at her friends gratefully. “I’m so glad I have you guys, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m surrounded by people all day…but sometimes I feel so alone.”

Alder’s consternation boiled over, and he could hold his tongue no longer. “My Queen, forgive my impertinence, but surely you don’t mean to strip away our child’s birthright?”

Athel was a little stunned at the suggestion. “Well…yeah, I mean, it’s not like he can inherit the throne. The law says…”

Alder gently shook his head. “The law says that the first child born of the Queen’s tree shall be her heir.”

“Well, yes, of course it says it that way. Obviously when it was written the possibility of a male being born of the trees wasn’t even considered.”

Alder tilted his head. “Do we know that?”

Athel opened her mouth to correct him, but a knock at the door interrupted her. She quickly scrambled to compose herself, and redonned the mantle of queen. Mina pulled out her compact and touched up her makeup for her.

There was another knock at the door, lighter this time. The wood parted and a white-haired woman stepped in, the bells on her long sacramental robes rattling about.

“Athel Forsythia, you are my Queen,” High Priestess Oleander greeted her formally with a deep, respectful bow.

“Kerria Oleander, you are my High Priestess,” The Queen received her gallantly.

The High Priestess looked a little concerned, shy even. “Please forgive me for intruding during this private moment. I know this has been an exhausting day for you.”

The Queen nodded thankfully.

“…however we are in quite a pickle here. By law, I am supposed to anoint your firstborn to the throne, graft a strand of Milia’s hair into her seed before it is planted, draw water from the sacred spring to make it sprout, and a dozen other things. Only now…”

“Yes, we were just discussing the same thing,” The Queen acknowledged.

Oleander became furtive, as if something was bothering her.

The Queen tilted her head and studied the aged woman with her hazel eyes. “You knew?” she intuited.

The High Priestess nodded. “Forgive me for prying into your privacy like this.”

Ryin perked up. “She heard us? How?”

“The trees are always listening,” came a strong voice from a corner. Everyone turned to the source, where Privet stood, leaning up against the wall. He was a stallion of a man. Tall and broad, his body covered with a layer of rippling muscles that was beyond generous. There was a tension in his frame, like a bent bow ready to loose at a moment’s notice, yet he seemed as calm as a summer’s day.

“Whoa, how long has he been there?” Ryin asked, dumbfounded.

“He’s been there the whole time,” Alder affirmed.

“You Wysterian men are pretty light on your feet, aren’t you?”

“We have to be,” Privet commented.

Dr. Griffin looked at the living wood around them ominously. “The trees are…listening?”

“Queen Forsythia calmly rested her hands atop her staff. “The royal tree must have been relaying our words to her. Normally, she respects my privacy quite a bit more than this,” she noted, casting an icy glance at the nearest wall.

“Please do not blame her; she was only following my orders,” the High Priestess explained, taking half a step back. “As Defender of the Faith, it is my responsibility to root out any disloyalty.”

Mina was outraged. “You mean, after everything she has done to save this island, you still don’t trust her?”

The old woman held up her creamy, wrinkled hands. “Please, do not misunderstand me. Queen Forsythia saved this forest. She saved all of us from certain death. She has our admiration, our loyalty, even our love. But, much of her behavior is…strange.”

Mina looked at her, slack-jawed. “W-what? That doesn’t make any sense. You trust her, and you spy on her? Those are like, opposite things!”

The High Priestess took another step back, becoming flustered at the pressure Mina was putting on her.