Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (21 page)

Alder’s body coughed and convulsed as Athel helped him to his feet. His skin was slick with sweat, his face burning with fever. Realizing she didn’t have a handkerchief, she gathered up the sleeve of her gown and used it to wipe him off.

“Oh, please, not with your silken…”

“Oh, stop it Aldi,” she said, tenderly wiping his face. “You don’t have to pretend you aren’t sick. I can feel it, you know?”

Alder’s eyes trembled a little. “You can? Like, though the trees?”

Athel chuckled. “No, because I am your wife. That is a connection too.”

“Oh.”

Athel forced herself to smile. “Let’s get you home and have the healer take a look at you. There’s nothing more we can do here today, anyway.”

Alder finally relented. His fears of burdening her with even more worry collapsed in on themselves, and he tried to simply deal with the reality that he could no longer avoid becoming more weight put upon her already laden shoulders.

“All right.”

The royal guards gave her space as Athel got up underneath one of Alder’s arms to help him stand. It was a little awkward, given how much taller than him she was, but they made do.

“I do not understand,” Alder coughed as they hobbled towards the royal carriage. “Why would The Elder tell you nothing? He is a Nallorn tree.”

“Actually, he told me many things, although I’m sure that was not his intention.”

“How so?”

“He said ‘I cannot,’ not ‘I will not’ or ‘I do not know.’ That means he knows something but is under direct orders not to disclose it. Someone has forbidden him from telling me what he knows about this other god.”

Alder tried to reach up to open the carriage door for her, but she swatted his hand away and opened it for him.

“But, who would have the authority to do that?” he coughed. “Who ranks higher than the Queen?”

Athel reached down and gave him a boost up. “There can only be one. Milia herself.”

Alder froze in place. “But, why would Milia do that?”

Athel shook her head. “I do not know. And with her at the point of death, I cannot ask her, either.”

As soon as Alder was seated, he allowed the full weight of his condition to affect him, and he slumped forward, too tired to even hold his head up straight.

“Oh, Aldi,” she said gently, placing a kiss on his cheek and stroking his cute little brow with her hand. “Why did you try to hide how sick you were?”

He shook his head weakly. “My condition doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I help you.”

Athel felt a little flame of anger rise up inside of her, but instead of acting upon it, she allowed it to dissipate. “It matters to me,” she whispered.

Looking over her shoulder, Queen Forsythia called out one last time to the gnarled old tree in her mother’s voice. “I have one last question for you. Every tree of the forest is a twin, a baby and a seed both born of the same fruit. Yet, a handful of the oldest trees are male. Who was your sibling? Was it a man?”

The elder remained silent as Athel looked on suspiciously.

The royal guard reacted long before the approaching footsteps could be heard. The formed up around the carriage, weapons at the ready.

Captain Tallia came bounding out of the woods, her breathing heavy and staggered. Her eyes told them that the news she brought was bad long before she found the breath to tell them

“We have a problem. A tree has been blighted.”

* * *

Athel could feel the agony of the poor suffering tree long before they arrived. Navy security officers kept back the gathering crowds, much to the chagrin of the Wysterian guards, who insisted they didn’t need the help. Captain Tallia led the Queen and her guards past the temporary barricades that had been grown to hide the trunk of the Jacktree family tree from view, where medicinal Treesingers fought to contain the spread of the blight. The royal guards gasped at what they saw. A dozen rusted metal spikes had been beaten into her trunk. Already the bark around each spike was turning sickly and sloughing off in oozing clumps from whatever magic envenomed the tips. Affixed squarely to each spike was a piece of paper with a hand-drawn symbol.

Instinctively, the Queen reached out to heal Hosta, but Sister Caladium Lotebush bade her to stop.

“We have already tried that, my Queen. It only spreads the sickness.”

It was difficult for Athel to withdraw her hand in the face of so much pain. The poor tree was practically screaming. “Do we know who put these here?”

“That’s the problem,” Captain Tallia reported quietly as to not alarm the other women. “We don’t know.”

“How is that possible? Hosta is the matriarchal tree for the entire Jacktree family. Surely she would have felt something or seen someone.”

Captain Tallia shook her head. “No, nothing. We have already spoken with all of the trees in the area. None of them saw anything. It’s as if the spikes simply appeared during the night.”

The Queen calmly surveyed the wounds. Through the link she could feel the blight slowly spreading towards the heartwood. Already fear and panic were spreading through the city, rumors catapulting off of rumors, growing with each telling. Gripping her staff, the Queen reached out in a hundred directions at once, steadying the hearts of the women nearby, paying particular attention to the grieving Jacktrees. With each tendril she drew the pain and fear into herself, like drawing poison from a wound. It flowed into her, hurting so much that she nearly gasped from pain, and she replaced it with her own resolve. The pain swirled around inside of her, mixing in with her spirit, weighing her down. It felt like broken glass inside of her very soul. She forced her body to show nothing, and stayed on task.

“Can they be removed?”

Caladium exhaled in desperation. “This magic is strange to me. I am not certain that removing the spikes won’t make things worse for her.”

Captain Tallia leaned in closer. “We must banish these filthy foreigners from our lands before they can harm any more trees. They do not respect the forest, nor do they understand it.”

The Queen gave her a sideways glance. “You believe the navy is responsible?”

Captain Tallia’s face pinched. “Well, of course. Why are you always so quick to side with those people?”

It was difficult for Athel to hide how deeply her words had cut her. At times, it felt like she didn’t have a single ally on the island among the women. Where was the confidence they had placed in her when she took the throne? Where was the faith they had displayed when they all decided together as one to take in the navy as allies? It seemed that with each passing day the song of the forest grew ever harder to maintain. She felt soaked with doubt, painted by it until it seeped into the very marrow of her bones and she could no longer tell which of it was hers and which of it belonged to another. In her heart, she began to secretly wonder if she was succumbing to the madness that had taken her sister.

“I am not on their side, Azalea, I am simply following the evidence.”

The Queen reached out towards the nearest piece of paper. “Would the navy have left this message written in our own tongue?”

Captain Tallia opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again.

Nikki walked up and gave a smart salute. “Queen Forsythia, thank you for allowing us to participate in this investigation. If one of our people harmed this tree, we want to see them brought to justice.”

“Are they to police us in our own lands now?” Captain Tallia scoffed.
Queen Forsythia turned to her. “If the culprit does turn out to be from the navy, then it is essential that this be a joint operation. If Wysterians only were to prosecute navy personnel, it would create a political disaster. Both sides would cry foul. Only by working together to punish those responsible can harmony be maintained.”

“Whose harmony? Theirs or ours?”

The Queen ignored Tallia and motioned for Nikki to continue.

“We are questioning everyone within the perimeter we have established. With your permission, I know a couple of Buleans from the Indominable. They may be able to scry what happened here last night.”

The Queen nodded. “You have it. I thank you for treating this with the seriousness it deserves. It can be difficult at times for outsiders to understand that these trees are as much a part of our families as our own children and parents are.”

Nikki shook her head. “No, I can never understand it.”

Captain Tallia snickered in satisfaction. “I told you so.”

“…but that does not mean I cannot respect it. If these trees are family, then any attack on them is as serious as an attack against a person, and Alliance security will treat it as such.”

The Queen did not turn to look at Captain Tallia. She didn’t have to. Captain Tallia clucked her tongue in defeat, and breathed out a few curses under her breath. What she said through the link was even worse.

Nikki motioned to the notes affixed to the sickly tree, careful not to come too close to them. “It would help our investigation if we knew what that is.”

“That is the symbol of ii’ainta, it means a broken vessel.”

Nikki crinkled her nose. “And what does that mean?”

“It is a warning,” The Queen said coldly.

Nikki’s eyes told her that she understood the seriousness, if not the specifics, and began copying the symbol onto her tablet.

The tall and wiry, Madam Jacktree was allowed to approach, her two eldest daughters flanking her on either side. Athel had been in constant communion with them since she had first heard about the damage, and now that they were face-to-face, there really wasn’t much left to say, but the gratitude in their eyes was most appreciated.

“What shall we do then, my Queen?”

Queen Forsythia turned to Captain Tallia. “There is no foreign magic that I know of that can allow someone to pass through our forest unseen and harm our tree sisters. In my heart, I do not believe this was an external attack. In fact, I can think of several instances in the recent past where a similar magic was used by our own.”

Captain Tallia’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean…?”

The Queen nodded. “The Sotol house was able to move unseen for years, smuggling and selling ruper spice among our people.”

“But they were tried and executed by your mother,” Madam Jacktree insisted. “Their treachery was eliminated, root, stalk, and leaf.”

The Queen’s eyes fell. “Not all of them. You may recall one still lives, and she leads the armies of our enemies against us.”

Nikki’s head came up. “But, who spared her?”

“A fool,” Athel whispered. “A fool who has put us all in danger.”

Nikki furrowed her brow.

“I did,” the Queen clarified. “She was my friend. I did not want her to face judgment. But I was naive. I let my feelings get in the way of my duty, and now I have endangered us all.”

The Queen gathered up her gown and bowed deeply before the ailing tree. The women present were startled by such a gesture.

“I am so sorry, Hosta. This is all my fault.”

With surprising gentleness, the Nallorn tree lowered one of her branches, and rested its tip upon the Queen’s shoulder. “Please, my Queen. Do not bow to me,” she shimmered. “Find those responsible. Prevent this from happening to others. That will be enough for me.”

Queen Forsythia nodded and held out her staff. Captain Tallia rested her remaining hand upon it and their eyes flashed in unison.

“I shall assemble a special squad,” she said, snapping into action. “We will search through every former Sotol household and possession. No stone shall remain unturned.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Nikki watched anxiously as the Wysterian women got to work, their voices curt, their speech short, their movements quick and purposeful. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?”

Queen Forsythia stood up and gripped her staff tightly. “It means we must hasten our plans to attack the monolith. This forest is no longer safe…for anyone.”

The Buckthorns kept their manor sparsely decorated, preferring mounted weapons, armor, and heraldry to the lavish murals, pottery and golden filigree preferred by most of the aristocrats. Only the occasional silver climber filled with black roses hung near the windows, and headless statues holding glowing crystal candelabras lined the corridors.

Dahlia Buckthorn leaned back and kicked up her boots, resting them on the back of a man trying to polish the table legs as she inspected the flawless silver flintlock pistol in her hand. The man froze in place in fear as a bit of dirt rolled down his shoulder.

“Supposedly this new strain of stranglevine seed is pretty impressive,” she mused as she pulled out the ramrod and forced the seed down the muzzle. “The shell is thick enough to handle more powder, giving you almost twice the range. In fact, it’s supposed to be so strong you could actually fire it unsprouted through the torso of a full grown man.”

“Well, when the foreigners turn on us, we’re going to need something a lot stronger than what we’ve been using,” her sister Barberry chuckled as she packed away the family ledgers, each containing meticulous records of all their vast holdings, “We lost a lot of good Treesingers during the invasion.”

“Yes, we did,” Dahlia said distantly. “A Nallorn tree will not kill someone who means it no harm, but a seed is still asleep, and will kill whoever we need it to.”

The walls of living wood shifted in disapproval, but Dahlia ignored it. She perked up and looked down the length of the barrel. “Do you think these really can go through a man like a lead ball?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Lady Orchid has proven herself to be a skilled cross-breeder, despite her disadvantage.”

Dahlia smiled knowingly. Lady Orchid’s grandmother had taken a man from a Vayshya-class family as her first husband. And while that may have been a good move politically at the time, it violated tradition, and that was not something so easily forgiven, and never to be forgotten. To the Buckthorns, the Orchid line was forever tainted.

“Of course,” Dahlia sneered as she set the primer and cocked the hammer, “there’s really no way of knowing whether or not that is just an idle boast.”

“I suppose not, unless you were to test it,” Barberry chuckled as she slid the box of ledgers back into the safe. With a snap of her fingers an impenetrable layer of amber sealed the door shut.

Dahlia kicked the man in the head and rose to her feet. “Well said, sister,” she growled, rising to her feet.

The man tried to get back to work, he tried to ignore the barrel being lowered towards his back, but the fear took him, and his hands trembled as he fumbled with the polishing wax.

The humor left Barberry’s face. “Sister, I said that in jest.”

Dahlia’s eyes filled with pleasure. “Man, rise to your feet. I need to get a clean shot for this experiment to be any value.”

The man’s entire frame shook, but he obeyed, slowly rising to his feet.

“He’s one of our best polishers,” Barberry protested. “Go try it on some foreigner, don’t throw away a good worker.”

Dahlia licked her lips as she tightened the grip on her pistol, aiming it straight at his heart. “Man, you will not move or defend yourself. That is an order. Do you understand?”

There was no pleading in his eyes. No request for mercy on his lips. Only the sadness of a long and painful life, now at its end. “Yes, my Lady.”

He dropped his hands to his side and stood up straight. Even Barberry had to admit, there was almost a nobility in the way he held himself. That was fitting and proper for a servant of the Buckthorn household.

The front entrance bell rang out, startling all three of them. The shot went wide, clipping his arm and embedding itself into the carved mahogany entryway. The entire mansion rocked in anger.

The man trembled as blood dripped down from his wound, pattering on the floor around his feet.

Dahlia’s face twisted with disgust. “Clean that up, you filthy pig,” she cursed, cracking him over the side of the head with her pistol as she walked over to the front entrance. The butler was already there to open the lavishly ornate door, but she shoved him out of the way.

“I got it,” she snarled, flinging the gate of living wood open with a flick of her finger.

The woman on the other side had eyes as large as dinner plates.

“Did…did I just hear a gunshot?” she asked aloud.

“Hmm? Oh that. Yeah, probably.”

Barberry joined her sister at the entryway. “Oh, hello Iris, what brings you here?”

Dahlia cut her off before she could answer. “We’ve already been ransacked twice. Once by the navy and once by our own. Going through our books, tearing apart our storerooms. What exactly are you people looking for anyway?”

“Oh no, I’m not here on business. This is…um, may I come in?”

Dahlia turned around in frustration. “Sure, I guess.”

Iris stepped into the immaculate entrance hall, looking surprisingly sheepish for her.

“You don’t look well,” Barberry noted.

“I haven’t been sleeping much. It’s taking its toll on me, if you know what I mean.”

Dahlia plopped herself down, the floor rising up to meet her, forming itself into a lounge chair. “Actually I don’t. I sleep well every night. I have one of the men fan me with a palm leaf. Keeps me out like a whicker beetle.”

Dahlia stretched and gave off a self-satisfied grin. “The sleep of the just.”

Iris forced herself to smile. “I’ll have to try that.”

Three men scurried in and set out a beautiful tea for them, complete with an array of sandwiches and pastries. The aroma rising up from the expensive herbs filled the room.

“Is…is that man bleeding?” Iris asked, motioning to the hasty bandage wrapped around his arm.

Dahlia shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Without thinking, Iris reached into her pocket and unwrapped a packet of expensive soma leaves to make a compact, but when she held it out to the man, he scuttled away.

“This will heal you,” she assured.

“No ma’am, that should be saved for use on a woman,” he said, eyes downturned. “Soma leaves are very difficult to grow, even for an experienced Treesinger. They should only be used on that which is worthy of them.”

Iris looked on him sadly as the man poured her tea then left. The Buckthorns forbade their men to turn their backs on a woman, so he and the others had to carefully walk backwards until they were out of sight.

“What is his name?”

Dahlia looked up from eating a crumpet. “Him? Oh, I don’t know. Man, what is your name?” she shouted.

“Woad, my Lady,” came the urgent response from the study.

“There you go, his name is Toad,” Dahlia said, stuffing a scone into her mouth.

The jingling of armor preceded the imposing form of Lady Buckthorn as she strode in, accompanied by her sister and aunt. Dahlia and Barberry shot up and crossed their fists over their hearts in salute, looking like statues when Lady Buckthorn finally arrived.

“I heard a seed-pistol discharge,” she asked in her powerful gravelly tones.

“I was conducting a test of the new seeds from Lady Orchid,” Dahlia reported smartly, her eyes fixed forward, unwavering.

Lady Buckthorn gave a low snort, accepting the explanation. “Iris Bursage, Daughter of Aspen, Daughter of Cliffwood, it pleases me to see you here.”

Iris stood up as well and gave a shallow bow. “Lady Buckthorn, I am sorry for coming by unannounced.”
Lady Buckthorn raised her gauntlet. “Braihmin families are always welcome here. Only lesser families have to make appointments, you know that.”

“Yes…I guess that makes sense.”

Lady Buckthorn motioned for them to sit and return to drinking their tea. Iris took a bite of an apple tart, but couldn’t taste it. All she could think about was the fact that while they stuffed themselves with sweets, the men who prepared them in the next room were eating bowls of rotting cornmeal. It had never bothered her before, but now…

Iris shook her head and tried to change the subject. “I was very sorry to hear about your daughter, Lady Buckthorn. Aden was…”

“My daughter was a fool.”

Iris was so surprised she didn’t know what to say.

“She gave her love beneath her station, and she shamed us all for it. But that does not mean I did not care for her.”

Lady Buckthorn scooped up a hard-boiled egg and cracked the shell between his fingers. “In the end, my daughter died a warrior’s death, and I will always honor her for that.”

Iris tried to accept that explanation.

“Why are you here?” Dahlia asked, growing impatient.

“I came to see about the man we sold you.”

Lady Buckthorn sat down and took a sip of tea. “You mean Akar?”

“Yes…I’m surprised you remember his name.”

Her face softened. “Of course I know his name. He is quite simply the finest houseman we’ve ever had.”

Iris crinkled her nose. “He is?”

“Without a doubt.”

Lady Buckthorn stood up, her daughters did the same and she strode off. It took Iris a second to realize that she was to follow, and she had to run to catch up.

“To be honest, I should have spoken to you about him already. Four thaain is a paltry amount for such an excellent worker. I really must commend you for training him so thoroughly. Madam Bursage’s reputation is well earned, to be sure.”

“Oh well…you’re welcome, I guess.”

Lady Buckthorn led her past the study, through the training halls, and past the larder, into what had been until recently a filthy series of storerooms. Now, flawlessly clean shelves and racks lined the sparkling walls, each item cradled into an individualized seat. It was so organized and tidy it could have been a museum.

He built these shelves himself, can you believe it?” Lady Buckthorn boasted as she walked up to a podium housing a thick bound book. “Each item accounted for and its location labeled in this register,” she explained, flipping through the pages. “Things that would have taken us hours to find before now take only seconds.”

“Akar did this?” Iris mused, unable to reconcile what she saw with the defiant biter she knew.

“Yes. In fact, I have placed him over all our storerooms. From here all the way to Sweetdale.”

A light rattling alerted the women to his presence. Akar was in the adjacent storeroom mounting a Wysterian armored gown onto a special form he had built, allowing it to stand as if it were being worn.

Iris stepped out anxiously to see him, but was surprised at what she saw. His bruises were fading, but his nose had not healed properly. It now had a crimp to one side. On his cheek, a cruel black branding of ii’ainta. But, it was his demeanor that was most startlingly different. He stooped over, eyes downturned, palms facing the ground. When the women approached, he moved to his knees and bowed completely, allowing his broken nose to touch the sparkling marble floor.

“My ladies,” he said in reverential tones.

Lady Buckthorn strode over to examine his work. Around the armor, a tasteful shrine had been built, containing portraits and letters about its former owner.

“Tell, me Akar,” Lady Buckthorn asked, reaching out and touching several fresh links in the armor’s mail, “did you repair Aden’s armor yourself?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Did anyone ask you to?”

“No, my Lady. It seemed proper.”

“Well said.”

Lady Buckthorn turned back to Iris, who was flabbergasted beyond words.

“If it wouldn’t be such an abject shattering of tradition I’d bestow him with our last name right here and now. As it is, he will have to wait the requisite two years first.”

“I look forward to it with every breath I take, my Lady.”

Lady Buckthorn smiled warmly. “I’m sure you do.”

Iris could hardly believe what she was seeing. In all her years, she had never before seen Lady Buckthorn smile.

From the doorway, Dahlia glared at Akar as he knelt there submissively, disgust on her face as a pair of men scuttled in and presented Iris with a small chest.

“Here, ten thousand thaain,” Lady Buckthorn announced proudly.

Iris looked up. “But…I…”

“No, I must insist. No Buckthorn has ever received anything without honorable compensation, and I do not intend to be the first. Even twice this amount would still be a fair price for him.”

Iris reluctantly accepted the chest. “Well...okay. Do you mind if I speak to him?”

“I cannot fathom what for, but do as you like.”

Lady Buckthorn turned to leave, the other women following her.

“Oh,” she said, pausing at the door. “Akar, after you speak with her, I would like you to draw up a proposal to reorganize our wine cellar. It could benefit greatly from your touch.”

“It is already finished, my Lady.”

“Is it really?”

“Yes, you will find a copy there, next to the register.”

Lady Buckthorn found the scroll and glanced over it. “How did you know I would ask this of you?” she said, impressed.

“I didn’t. It only seemed proper.”

“Good lad.”

And with that Iris and Akar were alone. She knelt down to get a better look at him as he knelt before her. Through the holes in his coarse clothes, she could see the deep scars covering his body. It bothered her to realize that she had inflicted most of them.

Iris wrapped her arms around herself. She was finding it surprisingly hard to speak to him.

“Um…I wanted to ask you if they are treating you well…” She regretted asking it as soon as it left her lips. “Are you…happy here?”

“A man’s truest joy in life is to serve his Lady. Her joy is his joy. I am unworthy of your concern. Please rest assured that I am perfectly happy.”

“Oh…o-okay.”

She caught a glimpse of his eyes. The fire was gone. The fire that had haunted her every waking moment. The fire that had stood up to a Treesinger as powerful as she was without flinching. The fire that had called her a coward. The fire that kept her awake at night.

Her lips parted. “Look, about the way I…the things that I…”

She shook her head and stood up.

“…never mind.”

Akar bowed deeper as Iris left with the chest, confusion in her eyes.