Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (35 page)

The women began to shrink at her onslaught. The power of her words was overwhelming, even against their stubborn pride.

“So don’t pretend like Alder has no standing here. He has earned the right to speak by his actions. It is because of him that any of you are even alive right now to bark at him.”

“That makes him a good servant, not an equal,” Cousin Balsam balked.

“Oh, and you would know all about that, right, Balsam? When the invaders landed troops on the grasslands, you tried to bribe them with money to spare your life. Like a coward you begged, and now you have the gall to tell me that you are ashamed to be associated with me? And brave Aunt Veronica, when the navy came a second time, whilst they were ravaging the east coast with a tidal wave of seawater, where did I find you?”

Veronica lowered her eyes in shame. “Cousin Rose and I were moving our herds into the family caves to keep them safe from the waters.”

Athel leaned forward. “How many people and trees could have been saved if you had filled the caves with them instead?”

The women withered before her terrible gaze.

Athel sat back. “And yet you are ashamed to be associated with me? Well, you know what? I’m fine with that, because quite frankly, I’m ashamed to be associated with you! While I rallied our forces and beat back the invaders, you agonized over cattle, you pothered with tithes, you carped over vases. People were dying and all any of you worried about were things.”

Balsam and Veronica backed off, shamed to the point of tears.

Aunt Butternut held out her hand. “Really Athel, you shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t I? Who was it that made us a fortune trading with the Sotol family? Who was it that first noticed inconsistencies in their recordkeeping, who first suspected that they were laundering illicit gains? Who was it that realized they were spice running and said nothing because she was too elated at all the money we were making? Huh? Who was it?”

Aunt Butternut backed off, the pain clear in her face. “It was I.”

Athel nodded accusatorily. “And yet you think I am the one who has brought shame to our family? The seas are eating away at our shores; the league seeks out our destruction, our very lives hang in the balance. We are surrounded by enemies without and within, and what is our biggest concern according to Aunt Oak? That we might lose our seat on some feckless council?”

Athel looked around, as if she felt herself the only sane person in the room. “What does any of that matter when weighed against the doom we face? Our island is sinking into the sea, and you fret about our credit ranking? I am trying to save your lives, all of your lives. I am trying to save this forest from complete annihilation!”

Her anger spent, Athel’s strength began to give out. She fell back, Alder catching her and setting her down on her pillow. “Honestly, at this moment,” she breathed out in disgust, “I feel like I am the only one who truly cares that our whole world is about to die.”

The women of the Forsythia family were cowed into silence. They looked at each other in regret and remorse, but offered up no apologies.

“This circle was a courtesy to you,” Calla Forsythia explained indignantly. “You are too ill to carry on your duties as head of the household. We have already held a vote. In the morning, we will submit it to the courts, and have the leadership officially transferred to another branch of the family.”

“You can’t do that!” Alder scoffed in outrage.

“They can, so long as I am too sick to perform my duties,” Athel admitted.

Calla nodded coldly. “You have until then to get your affairs in order.”

One by one, the women of the Forsythia family began to file out of the room. Athel watched them carefully, the pain she felt in her body now matched by the sting of betrayal in her heart.

Calla paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. “This will also give you a chance to say goodbye to your husband.”

“Husband?”

“My first act will be to sell him. There’s no place in our house for men who don’t know when to hold their tongue.”

The tall woman turned to leave.

“How much did it take to buy you?” Athel asked.

Calla Forsythia paused. “What an imagination you have.”

“Do I? Even at the height of Solanum’s madness, you didn’t dare depose her publicly, so why me? Why now? Something is different, and you are at the center of it.”

“I’m flattered you have such a lofty opinion of me.”

Athel pressed harder. “The others wouldn’t have gone along with this without you pushing them to do it…”

Athel’s eyes narrowed. “How much did Spirea offer you?”

The tall woman laughed, and tucked a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. “I suppose it makes no sense to hide it from you. Double our lands on Boeth, permanent titles of nobility within the league, and amnesty from the seas,” she said proudly.

Athel shook her head in disbelief. “And you believed her?”

Calla turned away. “When I am done, the Forsythians will be more powerful and wealthy than they ever were under your mother.”

“She’ll betray you in the end, you know that, right? Spirea will string you up and hang you from a sour apple tree in front of everybody.”

The tall woman paused for a moment in doubt, then continued on into the shadows of the corridor.

The guards closed the door from without, leaving the two of them alone.

Quietly, so quietly it was as soft as a feather against the wind, Athel brought her bony knees up to her face, and began to cry.

It was so sad to see, Alder could not stop his own tears from falling. He wrapped his arms around his wife and hugged her, praying that somehow he could take the pain away from her, praying that somehow he could hold her so tightly that everything would be made right again.

But in his heart he knew that nothing would help.

“Are they right, Aldi?” she asked between breathless sobs. “Have I brought shame to my house? Have I disgraced my mother’s name?”

Alder placed a finger under his chin and raised her eyes up to meet his. “No, of course not, my lady. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

Athel’s face pinched in agony. “Then why does it feel like they’re right? I’ve made so many compromises, bent so many rules, trampled on so many traditions. I just don’t know anymore what it is I’m supposed to do. It seemed necessary at the time, but now…I don’t know. Maybe they’re right; maybe I am mad like my sister.”

Alder pulled her face into his shoulder and caressed her balding head. “I think if you were mad, you would know it.”

“Would I? Solanum never did. What if I am just like her and I just don’t know it?”

“Don’t say such things. You are a good person, Athi. You have always tried to do the right thing.”

Athel pressed her cheek harder into him. “Have I?”

Alder pulled her away and cupped her sunken cheeks in his hands. “Yes, you have,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “And I believe that you will save us all.”

In that moment, she took courage from his strength, and tried to wipe a tear from her cheek, but the pulling tore open a dry patch on her cheek, and a drop of amber colored blood began to well up.

“Oh, let me see to that,” Alder offered. He reached into his pouch and pulled out some bandages, but they fell free from his grip and scattered onto the bed sheets.

Alder coughed painfully. “Oh, pardon me. I seem to have dropped them.”

Alder reached down to pick them up, but they fell away again, his fingers lacking the strength to grip them.

Athel looked down at him in concern. “Aldi, are you okay?”

Alder coughed again. “Yes of course,” he insisted, gingerly picking up a bandage with his thumb and forefinger and tending to her wound.

The room grew darker, and particles of black fire rose up from the writhing wood, forming into the shape of Spirea’s face as she loomed over them.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting a tender moment between you two lovebirds?” Queen Sotol asked hatefully. “I would have made a much better wife to you, Alder. You know that, right?”

“As I recall, your Ma’iltri’ia Sumac rejected me and threw me across the deck,” Alder coughed.

“Did she?” A look of confusion passed over her face, as if she couldn’t recall where she was.

Athel reached out to grab her circlet, but then thought better on it. “What do you want?”

Queen Sotol snapped back into focus. “Oh, so coarse this time. Having a bad day, are we?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Sotol smiled wickedly, black fire erupting from her eyes. “Oh, it burns you, doesn’t it? To know that there was a time when I was cowering beneath a table. Pursued by the authorities, awaiting execution, and all you had to do was raise your voice and seal my fate. But you said nothing. It burns you that all the people who have died, all this suffering, is completely your fault.”

Spirea’s words hurt Athel deeply. And as her pain turned to anger, she lashed out. “Nothing has changed, Spirea.”

“That’s Queen Sotol to you.”

“No it isn’t. You’re still just Spirea and you are still cowering beneath a table. You’re not in charge of anything; you’re just a dog following someone else’s orders.”

Athel chastised herself for losing her temper as soon as she said it, but the declaration brought an odd reaction out of Spirea, as if some deep troubling memory surfaced for a moment in her eyes, then sank back down again.

“Wha…what was that?” Sotol asked, rubbing her temple worriedly.

Realizing she was dangerously close to revealing her scheme, Athel reined in her temper and made her face an inscrutable mask.

It’s working. Tigera must have found her and adjusted the Beastmaster necklace. The real Spirea is still in there…and growing.

Alder raised his hand. “Please, my wife is very ill, can you not speak to her at a better time?”

Queen Sotol shook her head. “But that is why I have arranged this little communication. I want to offer you a trade, Queen Forsythia. I mean, that is, while you still are Queen and a Forsythian. From what I hear you won’t be either for much longer.”

“What kind of trade?”

A hand made of black fire appeared, holding a bubbling vial. “I have here the antidote for the blight that afflicts you.”

“So you are behind this.”

“You only just now figured that out? If that is all you bring to this game, I’m afraid this isn’t even going to be much of a challenge for me.”

“Yeah, right. In exchange for what?”

Sotol gave a superior sniff. “In return, you disband this pathetic Alliance and return to the League. Then we shall have peace, and end to the fighting. That is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? And, you can even save your own life in the process. That should please even your Forsythian sensibilities.”

“And then what? We all sit around and wait for the seas to claim us? What kind of deal is that?”

“It is the only deal I am offering you. The gods have given up on this world, they plan to wipe it clean and make a new one. There’s nothing you can do to change it, so you might as well make good with the time you have. Shall you spend your last weeks healthy, basking in the light of your family, or slowly withering in a sea of pain? I thought you’d be smart enough to see which choice is better.”

Athel’s eyes darkened. “And what about you? What do you get out of all this?”

Queen Sotol laughed. “Really? You think I would tell you just because you asked? What would I gain by revealing my plans to you?”

This surprised Athel. “Well, in my books the villain always…ahem. Never mind. I decline your offer.”

“So you have elected to die in pain? Really? You are such a fool.”

Athel tried to rise up to her feet, but her strength gave out, and the best she could manage was wobbly rising up on one knee, her thin limbs shaking in pain. “Call me what you want. Think what you want. Do what you want. I will never stop fighting you, Spirea. Never!”

Queen Sotol smirked. “I love how defiant and fiery your eyes are right now. It won’t be long before they are broken, and full of grief. Speaking of which, there is someone who would like to say hello to you.”

The image scattered and reformed itself into Margaret chained to a wall, her clothes tattered, her flesh bruised.

“Hi Athel,” she said weakly, forcing herself to smile. “My new job didn’t quite work out as well as I’d hoped.”

Athel’s eyes went wide. “Margaret…”

Margaret coughed, blooding trickling out of her mouth. “I keep telling them I don’t know anything, but they don’t believe me.”

Instinctively, Athel reached out, but her hand only scattered the image like mist.

“Release her at once! She has nothing to do with this, she’s an innocent.”

The black fire reformed itself into Spirea’s face. “Release her, eh? Had you taken my offer, I might have thrown her in as a good faith payment. Now, her blood is on your hands as well.”

The black embers fizzled out one by one, until the room was again alone and dark. Athel slammed her fist into the bed stand, cracking it.

“We’ve got to save her,” Alder said.

“We will, we just have to figure out how.”

Suddenly Athel gasped in pain, and placed her hand over her heart.

“What is it?” Alder asked, propping her up. “Are you all right?”

She gasped for breath. “They’ve begun the ceremony with Deutzia.”

“We have to do something.”

Athel’s face pinched in fear and regret. “Yes, we do. If they graft them together, my rule will end. If we stop the ceremony, I will be deposed from my household. Either way, whoever takes my place will certainly take Spirea’s offer and sue for peace with the League, and the war will be over until the seas claim us.”

Alder’s eyes flicked back and forth in panic. “What can be done, then?”

The decision made, she looked up, her hazel eyes steady and resolved. “Call the guards.”

A few minutes later, Athel was carried by her bodyguards to the balcony of the Buckthorn family tree. There in the moonlight, the blight caused her by the glowing iron spikes was clearly visible.

As Athel’s chair was set down, one of the guards raised her staff, and with a mighty flick, the Royal Tree’s crystal array was flung out into the horizon where it came crashing down into the thirsting seas.