Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (47 page)

She took a second to look around. Many of the gods lowered their eyes in shame.

“But, we were right, weren’t we?” Zelica continued. “We gods should have given the light back to Father when we had the chance. Now, Valpurgeiss wants vengeance as much as he wants his power back. We couldn’t cut a deal with him now if we tried.”

She pointed a long, clawed finger. “Your arrogance doomed us all.”
Quetah’s flames roared, tripling in size. “It should have worked! The spell they concocted to steal the light of creation from us required command of all our magics at the same time. To fuse together every fragment into one complete whole. With Arian’s power lost, it should have been impossible for them to complete it.”

“But they found a way around that, didn’t they? Without Arian, no one had power over the waters, so they cursed the seas with their Rubric, forcing the waters to draw in more and more minerals until finally they would become saturated like mud. Then, the Stonemasters could command the waters as if they were earth, and complete the circuit.”

“And they will succeed,” a mortal voice said. All the gods wheeled round, and found a tiny solitary figure approaching them, her body hooded and cloaked.

“In three months’ time, they will activate the final phase of the spell,” the newcomer continued. “They have a hostage from each of your islands encased in stone, and they will sacrifice them, releasing the piece of you that resides within. They will use that piece to create a connection between you and their alchemical circle, siphoning the light of creation from you by force.”

She reached up and removed her hood, letting loose her raven black hair. She looked ill, like she hadn’t slept in days, yet her eyes were crisp and dangerous. “You will become gods who cannot create life…demi gods, useless gods, gods in name only,” Queen Sotol concluded.

“What is this?” Semas crackled with electricity.

“Who let that in here?” Ikkchit complained.

“She’s the current Queen of Stretis,” Odesi said recognizing her.

Maltua fingered his hammer. “You brought one of your toys? The agreement was to come alone.”

Nehirana looked over the rim of his flagon. “I did not break my word.”

“Nehirana did not bring me,” Queen Sotol clarified, stepping closer still to the conclave. “He hasn’t even bothered to meet with me since I took the throne.”

“Why would I? You are one of Milia’s witches. Your prayers don’t sustain me.”

“Because you’ve got a problem.”

Odansire laughed. “Clearly, we have a pest control problem. Sponatrion, that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Dispose of this rodent.”

The gods laughed.

Sponatrion gave an aloof scoff. “I’ve had enough of your scheming, Quetah. I will take no part in this war.”

And with that, he vanished.

Odansire waved his hand. “Who needs your Beastmasters anyway? Masters of rats, what a joke.”

“This is no laughing matter, you all have a problem,” the Queen continued, focusing their attention back onto her. “The problem is, you’re about to lose this world forever. The Kabal has almost everything it needs to steal the light of creation back from you, and with the void magic they wield, there’s nothing you can do to stop them.”

She stopped, standing fearlessly before their glowing forms. “But I can.”

The gods burst out in laughter.

“I am a part of that Kabal you so rightly fear.”

The laughter stopped.

Quetah’s fire burned white hot. “You admit that in our presence? You have just sealed your own fate.”

Without hesitation, he released a jet of fire at her.

“Killing me won’t stop the night of rebirth,” she shouted. “But listening to me might.”

Just before the fire hit and turned her to cinder, Rendas stepped in the way, the flames parting before him, cutting deep charred gullies into the landscape.

All the gods looked her over carefully.

“Let her speak,” Rendas suggested.

Queen Sotol gave a superior sniff. “Like I said, I am deep in their counsel. I can stop the Night of Rebirth, or I can stand back and let it happen.”

Semas sparked into a flurry of lightning. “You insolent little flea. We are the gods of this world. You do not offer us terms. We offer you terms, and the terms are these: You exist at our pleasure and you cease to exist at our displeasure.”

Maltua looked around in amazement. “Has Milia completely lost control of her brats? Where is she?”

“She’s dying,” Zelica said sadly.

“Oh…right.”

Queen Sotol held out her hands. “Gnash your teeth all you want, but the fact is, you desperately need what I offer.”

The gods grew quiet, looking at one another in dejected acquiescence.

Rendas turned around. “What is your bargain, mortal?”

She smiled devilishly. “Well, for starters, you’re going to do something for me.”

* * *

Rising up out of the sea like a great black fang, the lonely tower stood amid the mist. Hungry seawater slapped against its obsidian surface, but could do little more that dull its sheen. It didn’t exist an on any map, and was far enough from the sea lanes to insure that no one would stumble onto it. It was a thing that was not found, except by those who knew where it was. Part of the Augilus network, providing the dark energies that kept airships afloat through the only energy source void magic utilized. Living souls.

Inside, a pair of rancid Stonemasters sat on watch, their heavy boots propped up on the crystal panels, their caps resting down over their eyes. Stacks of empty ale bottles and ration packs had grown so high around them that the once-sparse observation room felt tight and claustrophobic. From outside, the black glassy stone was opaque, from but the inside, one could look out in all directions as if it were a clear day.

Not that there was anything to see. Buslin had been stationed there for two years, and had yet to see a soul beyond the monthly supply ships. Kupper had been there even longer, and Buslin hadn’t seen him look out the windows once since he got there, even though it was ostensibly the only job they had.

A stack of rotting ration packs finally had enough, and collapsed in on itself, disturbing Buslin. He sat up and rubbed his beady eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of something that should not have been there.

A black airship was approaching through the mist. Wondering if he was drunker than usual, he looked over at the calendar.

“Oi, Kupper,” he grunted. His partner did not stir except to pass gas noisily.

“Oi, ya stinky curd, wake up.”

Buslin threw a bottle and connected with his head.

“HEY!” the old man yelped, sitting up and rubbing his noggin. “Have you gone mad?”

“Aren’t we not due for resupply until next week?”

He took a moment to disassemble the question. “Yeah, why?”

Buslin pointed out the window, and Kupper looked out drunkenly. “Is that one of ours?”

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah...it is. What’s it doing out here?”

Excited to do anything besides poison both his livers, Kupper slid his hand across the panel, clearing it of enough discarded wrappers to reveal the runic symbols.

“Should I call em?”

“I’ll say.”

Buslin entered the incantation and looked on as the ship drew closer.

“Augilus fifty-two calling incoming vessel, please give your name and intentions.”

The crystals shimmered dark, indicating that the crystal array on the ship had awakened, but no response came through.

Now the pair started to worry. The gun ports were all closed, and they could see no crewmen on the yardarms. What’s worse, instead of slowing down to dock, the ship appeared to be picking up speed.

“Augilus fifty-two calling incoming ship, who are you?” he repeated, worry in his voice.

Buslin got to his wobbly feet as best he could. The ship was getting really close now.

“Shall I just pop over there then?”
“Yeah, please do.”

Buslin hit the emergency rune and the array drew power from the reservoir of black shakes below. The room filled with the faint screams of children, the moans of the dying at the point of death, and then flew apart. The bits of black crystal swirled around, reshaping themselves into a storm of black liquid, and Buslin stepped through.

He found himself onboard the mysterious ship, its own crystal array having gone through the same transformation. He pushed open the door and found the cargo spine filled with tight shelves and shackles meant to hold people bound for liquidation. But there wasn’t a soul to be found. All was eerily quiet as he stepped out into the creaking room, bits of rope and chain swinging about. He shoved a hanging bit out of the way, then stumbled into something. He grabbed a bunk post to keep from falling over, and found a small black barrel of something at his feet. Not just one, but many. What he thought was the floor wasn’t the floor. The entire floor of the cargo hold was covered in a layer of these barrels, hundreds of them.

Worriedly, he reached down and wiped off some of the grease, revealing utellk, the Boeth symbol for high explosives.

“Oh no.”

Climbing on top of the barrels, he ran across the room and up the stairs to the main deck, and found exactly what he feared. The Stonemaster crew were tied and gagged. When they saw him they gave muffled screams, and pointed with their eyes towards the helm.

There, Buslin saw a tall blonde woman, tying the wheel in place with a length of rope.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, running across the deck. From the corner of his vision, he could see the tower speeding towards them. He tripped over the capstan chain, and came crashing to the deck.

The bound Stonemasters screamed. Buslin lifted up his head just in time to see the woman pick up a young girl and dive off the side. Her flesh came apart and she became an eagle, the girl riding on her back.

The airship hit the stone of the tower midsection. For one, agonizing moment, the wood of the ship and the black glass merged together like an accordion, then the explosives detonated.

The fireball engulfed the ship. The tower broke in half, the top sliding off, until the shockwave shattered it outwards in a hail of shrapnel. A silver wave of power fanned out in a perfect sphere, parting the heavens and scattering the thirsting seas like the inside of a bowl. For a heartbeat, all stood still, like a frozen moment in a crystal globe, then the silver sphere dissipated, and the ruin came crashing down. Sail, stone and wood--a dust cloud of debris, all falling and dissolving into the ocean below.

When the fires went out and the mist crept back in there was nothing left but mewling, shrieking waters, and a young girl riding an eagle as it flew off into the west.

* * *

“Seven towers in the last two weeks, she’s destroyed,” Marc hollered, throwing the map down on the table, red marks indicating the towers that were no more. “Seven towers!” he screamed again, his long colorful beak snapping.

The other Kabalists winced and flinched under his rage.

“Already we’ve got so many holes in the flight web we’ve had to redirect the shipping lanes. It’s only a matter of time before merchant vessels start slipping down into the sea because their keystones get out of range.”

“It’ll be worse than that,” Ryberts explained, sweat beading up on his brow. “She’s only hitting the towers in League airspace. At this rate, she’ll render the Augilus web useless to the islands loyal to us before the end of the year. No airship will be able to fly.”

“There won’t be an end to the year,” Dev’in mentioned. They all turned around to the enormous pool of black shakes that dominated the cave. Around its perimeter, transparent rocks like coffins, each one holding a single magic user from each island, frozen in glass. Dev’in sloshed around in the black tar, his skin bubbling from the touch of it.

He leaned against a throne of stone as a woman sat upon it. He circled her slowly, gently touching her brown hair. “Soon, my love, my oath to you will be complete,” he said tenderly. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. My son is replenishing our supply of black shakes; our new inner circle member will kill the rebel leader. What have we to fear?”

Marc tapped on the map. “We can’t activate the Night of Rebirth if we can’t get the black shakes where we need them. Look at her pattern.”

The others leaned in. Jennat was the first to realize it, her stringy grey hair spilling out of her hood as she stood up. “She’s not trying to bring down the shipping lanes, she’s trying to cut off our ships from our facility on Boeth.”

Marc tapped again and leaned back, clicking his beak. “Exactly. She doesn’t have to stop us completely; she just has to make us fall slightly short of our goal. She knows we’ll have to wait another thousand years if we miss the double eclipse.”

The Kabalists all looked at each other in fear. “Valpurgeiss would have our heads.”

“No, he’d swallow your soul whole,” Dev’in snickered, whispering something into his wife’s ear.

Jennat covered her mouth in fear. “What are we going to do?”

“We are doomed,” Ryberts whispered.

“Who could have thought that one person could tear down a millennia of work?”

“Not a person, a changeling,” Blair corrected as the heavy doors swung open and allowed him to enter. “A true inhabitant of Aetria can do a great deal. Long before your gods invaded this world, it belonged to our people alone.”

“We have cast off the worship of the false gods,” Jennat hissed. “We worship only the true god now.”

“Do not group us with the usurpers,” Ryberts warned. “We are true believers in Valpurgeiss.”

Blair held up his hands. “So touchy, even after all these years.”

“What are you doing here?” Dev’in asked, running his fingers over his wife’s hand.

“I brought us a visitor,” he said, snapping off a quick bow.

Queen Sotol and Tigera walked in, escorted by Himitsu guards.

“Or two,” Blair corrected.

“Where have you been?” Marc accused.

The Queen removed her hood. The deep bags under her eyes were painful to look at; her skin had taken on a sickly yellow pallor, like a person who hadn’t slept in so long it hurt just to look at her. “I’ve been setting up your victory, while you sit here and fret over maps.”