Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (42 page)

Elisa hefted the covered device. “She has components from every island in the Alliance. I can honestly say I’ve never been more proud of anything I’ve ever crafted.”

Tallia looked at it oddly as it was uncovered. A clockwork arm, delicate inscriptions made in the brass. Glowing tubes running inside it like veins, pistons like tendons, motors like muscles.

“I call her Lliun. In my tongue, it means, ‘to defy the night.’ As the Queen’s bodyguard, it is only fitting that you be armed with a weapon forged from all our magics. In a way, this embodies our appreciation for all Queen Forsythia has done to bring us together.”

“It is so strange to think that it will be a part of my body,” Tallia said aloud.

Against the instructions of the surgeon, Tallia reached over and picked it up with her remaining hand, testing its weight.

“It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”

“If I made her from lighter materials, she’d be too flimsy for combat,” Elisa explained. “Now, this part I’m particularly proud of.” She flipped over the arm to show off the fingers. “See? I made the hand to look like the armored gauntlets your Treesingers wear. These pads on the palm and fingertips will give you a good tactile sensation and sense of grip. Put a sleeve over the rest and no one will be able to tell your limb is anything but flesh and blood.”

“That is very thoughtful, but it won’t make any difference. Every woman on the island knows what I am without even looking at me.”

“And what are you?” the surgeon asked as he worked.

Tallia handed back the arm and stared at the living wood of the ceiling. “I am a thing without a name. Women use magic, but I am a woman who can no longer use magic, so what am I?”

“You are you,” Elisa winked, cleaning the connections in the shoulder socket.

“If only that were enough.”

“Actually I’m pretty surprised a Wysterian would ask for a prosthesis,” Elisa mentioned as she polished up the shoulder plate, decorated with a flawlessly inscribed Alliance flag.

“It is true. Just a few months ago I would have balked at the very idea. I would have considered it blasphemy, like grafting a diseased branch onto a healthy tree.”

Elisa stopped polishing. “Gee, thanks.”

Tallia turned to look at her. “But I have changed. Being stripped of my magic has forced me to see myself and the world in a different way. The other matrons may scoff at me for using a man’s weapon, but it is the only tool I have left to me, so I will use it.”

“Is that why you came to me?”

“Yes, I have someone I need to protect. Someone who I believe can save my forest, but I can’t do it with just one arm and a saber. I need the strength to keep her safe, and I will endure the shame of being unclean if it is for her sake.”

“You know, I really wish you wouldn’t describe everything associated with me in terms of being filthy. Remember, I did this for you as a favor.”

“We all did,” the surgeon added.

Captain Tallia chuckled to herself. “I am sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“All right. Now, this I actually can’t believe we pulled off.” Elisa opened up the forearm, which contained a spinning cylinder like a tumbler, with glowing gemstones of every shape and color embedded around its circumference. Each one etched with flawless inscriptions that coiled around their surface.

Captain Tallia couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Are those…caster stones?”

Elisa nodded proudly. “Notoriously difficult to create. Basically, they are a bound spell fixed into the gem by a master of their craft. Just channel mana through it and the spell is cast. There’s one here from each Alliance island.”

She turned the tumbler and locked a gem into place. She then hit a switch and the bicep flipped open, revealing a glowing blue crystal inside, rivers of light flowing through it like a spider’s web. “This is equally precious, a synthesis of Hazarian lightning magic and Tirrakian sun magic. The first of its kind. It draws in sunlight and converts it to raw mana to power the arm and the crystals. Without this, you’d need a room full of generators to pull this off.”

“So, will I have to expose it to the sun?”

“It can draw in ambient light, of course, but to trigger the spells you’ll need a good two to three hours of direct exposure. I figured that’s perfect, since you Wysterians are part plant and you like to stand out in the sunlight anyway.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m afraid that’s a common misconception. We Wysterians prefer the shade, we actually sunburn quite easily.”

Elisa shifted her weight nervously. “Ah, I see…well, there’s no way I could start over from scratch at this point, so I’ll see if I can get you some sunscreen instead.”

The surgeon set down his tools and wiped the blood off his hands. “She’s ready.”

Tallia gave her consent, and the surgeon took the arm and connected it to the cables protruding from her shoulder, and attached the joints to the bone clamps he had grafted on.

“Is this all?” Captain Tallia asked apprehensively.

They shook their heads. “No, we haven’t sealed you two together. This is your last chance to back out. Once this is completed, your flesh and bone will be one with Lliun.”

Elisa flipped a couple of switches and the bronze and brass generators whirred up to speed. “You may feel some…discomfort as the nerves fuse.

Captain Tallia steeled herself. “I am ready.”

Elisa threw the lever and the rows of vacuum tubes beneath the bed hummed to life. Captain Tallia’s body was bathed in lavender light, arcs of energy raking over her. The pain was so severe her mind whited out. Her body bent like a bow. She screamed so loud she blew out her own eardrums. Elisa had to step back and shield her own ears from the noise. Even the living wood around them withdrew as far as it could.

* * *

The royal palace of Stretis had fallen into disrepair. The channels of water that fed the waterfall towers had clogged through with mildew, the mineral stains on the dark stones the only evidence that clear waters once flowed there. The stately gardens, once harboring a beauty that brought pilgrims from all corners of the League, were now dried husks. Not even weeds dared to grow in the poisoned soil now.

Discarded protest signs littered the entrances, along with the festering bones of those who had dared to oppose the crown. The once bustling streets of the surrounding capital were now barren, the only life the clinking of armored guards enforcing curfew. Everywhere, disbelief and despair hung in the air.

Tigera Hissledorf perched atop one of the castle gargoyles, his sculpted goatee swaying in the parched atmosphere as a crow flew up and landed upon his extended hand. He listened carefully as it cawed its message, the magical necklace of carved bones about his neck glowing faintly as he touched it.

Nodding, he gave the bird a morsel of food, which it happily gulped down, before flying off again.

Fearlessly, Tigera jumped off the parapets, falling a full story towards the ground before catching himself on a windowsill with one hand. He hung there for a second, taking in the lovely view, then launched himself inside with a kick of his feet.

Queen Sotol sat at her massive glass vanity, her chambers oddly bereft of slaves. Only her drooling fly traps stood guard at the doors as she brushed her raven-like hair.

Tigera placed his hand over his breast and bowed on one knee, waiting as he knew to do for permission to speak.

“Have you learned where the Gods will be gathering?” Queen Sotol asked darkly.

“I have,” he announced proudly, standing up and gazing upon her. “They could not agree on a meeting place, so to end the bickering they are creating a small island in neutral waters. My birds have spied the new land rising up out of the seas. Their conclave will take place in one week’s time.”

Queen Sotol set down her diamond-crusted hairbrush. “Excellent.”

“Shall I have the Seawolf readied for travel?”

“Yes, and recall the Agnita Kaito. I now have sufficient political clout to control them.”

She seemed diminished somehow. Hollow, like something was eating away at her from the inside. Around her neck, she wore two necklaces. One, The Eye of the Storm, was a fringe design, the diamonds hanging down like rising columns of air. It was a transferrable birthright that gave the throne to anyone cunning enough to claim it, even a foreigner like her. The other, was a Hoenite necklace, nearly identical to the one Tigera wore. As she adjusted the Eye, her hands ignored the Beastmaster necklace completely, as if she didn’t even know it was there.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said in a sultry purr, standing up and letting her royal robes fall to the floor, revealing the slinky gossamer nightgown she was wearing.

Tigera gave a debonair smile, revealing his white teeth. “Yes you are.”

Inside of Queen Sotol, the real Spirea could only look on in horror.
Oh no, I can feel her hunger. She means to take him to her bed. No, this is disgusting. She can’t do this, she can’t do this in my body!

Queen Sotol glided towards him, her eyes hungry like a tigress. “You know, you didn’t have to spy for me. I never asked it of you.”

He looked on her young body keenly. “I know. I did it because I wanted to.”

The real Spirea silently screamed, banging around as if rattling the bars of a cage, but it did no good. She was a prisoner inside of a shell that was not hers. She could not look away or turn her gaze. She could not even blink.

Queen Sotol purred, and traced her sharp fingernails up his arms. The flytraps by the door snapped their jaws hungrily. “You know, I have many slaves, but no servants. None who would obey if the threats and fear were removed.”

Ugh! I can see her thoughts. She’s thinking ahead, not just a few days. Months, years, decades. She knows that one day my body will get old and die. She’ll need to prepare a new vessel to move into. Someone with the Sotol bloodline. Oh no. She wants to get pregnant. She’s actually trying to get pregnant, with my body. No! Yuck! Stop! I don’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want a baby with him. I only want Alder’s baby.

He glanced over to her bed. “Perhaps you would like to have a real servant?”

She traced her nails across his chest, cutting into the fabric. “Perhaps I would.”

No! This is a nightmare. She’s going to carve into the baby’s skin, cover the baby with spell channels, to become her next host, just like I was. That poor child will grow up with this thing as a mother, treated as nothing more than an empty vessel. No, I don’t want anyone to go through what I went through. Someone please stop her!

Queen Sotol looked up at him with wanton eyes. “And you know, a servant has special privileges, rewards that come from loyalty.”

No.

“Is that so?”

NO.

She flicked a nail against one of his buttons, popping it off and exposing his hairy chest. “Yes, it is.”

NO!

Queen Sotol traced her fingernail across his chin, and grabbed the scruff of his neck, drawing him in to kiss her deeply.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Spirea screamed, shoving Tigera away. He stumbled backwards, tripping over the nightstand and crashing down to the floor.

He looked up in shock, and she looked back, equally shocked.

“What…what just happened?” he blathered.

Queen Sotol looked at her hands in panic. “Did my host just…take control?”

Did I just...move my body?

Tigera stood up and tried to comport himself. “I…I’m sorry. Perhaps I should leave for now.”

Queen Sotol sat on the edge of her bed, biting on her thumbnail worriedly. “Um…yes. Perhaps that would be best for now.”

Tigera bowed humbly, and left through the door, the flytraps snapping at his heels, their venom dripping to the floor.

When the doors closed again, Queen Sotol ran over to the vanity, and looked at her reflection.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me,” she said aloud. “I don’t know how you are doing this, but this is my body now, and I’ll never give it back.”

She’s afraid. What is happening? Am I getting…stronger?

* * *

The door to Privet’s room was kicked open, and a panicked Setsuna burst inside. “We’ve got a problem!”

The noise so startled him that he nearly fell out of his bed.

“Blast it, you moss-eater!” he cursed, shielding his eyes. “You’re in my room again!”

She disappeared then reappeared balancing atop the bedpost. “I know, I promised I’d stop coming in here at night, but this is an emergency.”

“Ugh.” Privet threw off his covers and rolled to a sitting position, his rippling back muscles glistening in the moonlight coming in through the window. The raw masculine beauty of it made her completely forget why she had barged in.

“So, what’s the problem?” he barked, noticing her standing there, ogling.

She shook her head. “Dwale’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“What do you think I mean? He’s not in his room.”

“You went in his room, too?”

“To check on him.”

She reached into the pocket of her black leather jacket and pulled out a pair of artificial jade eyes. “Look, I found these on the counter. I thought he had misplaced them.”

“He’s probably just pouting in a cupboard somewhere.”

“No, he’s not, I’ve checked them all.”

Privet rubbed his eyes and glared up at her. “Is this another trick?”

“What? No, why would you think that?”

“Why indeed?”

“Why doesn’t anyone trust me? You’re just like Sawyn sometimes, I swear.”

Now Privet was panicked too. “He snuck out. He’s gone back to Madam Freesia.”

“You don’t think he’d really do that, do you?”

Privet stood up and searched around for a shirt. “Check the airship.”

“Got it.”

She opened a swirling gate and stepped through.

* * *

In his cabin, Dr. Griffin lay on the floor, his ankle red and chaffed from where it was chained to a steam pipe. The door was cracked and scratched, pummeled just enough to open it a crack, revealing the mountain of crates on the other side holding it shut.