Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (49 page)

“The keystone phase is the key,” Archivist Teak said to herself, looking over the runes carefully. “Ta’i Mi’il arai’i illiunu sa’ai Ver’it. It’s surrounded by the double river, meaning all the rest have to be interpreted through its lens.”

“Yes, but the phrase itself doesn’t make sense,” the High Priestess noted. “Mi’il is the symbol for woman, and Ver’it is the symbol for man, but you can’t begin a statement with ta’i. The whole thing is written wrong.”

Scholar Riverwood nodded, her deep amber eyes studying the words carefully. “This definitely lends credence to your theory that the men’s arch is a forgery of some kind. It seems unthinkable that the goddess would make such an obvious grammatical error.”

“You mean the second arch,” Archivist Teak corrected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Calling it the men’s archway pretends legitimacy to its presence,” Oleander stated. “Our purpose here is to prove that it does not belong.”

Riverwood looked the old woman over across the brim of her glasses. “I thought our purpose was to discover the truth.”

“Milia’s truth has no contradictions, and this…thing…is an absolute contradiction.”

“Then this next test should prove more fruitful than the others.”

Scholar Riverwood motioned to one of her daughters, and she brought up a long root shaped like a spear, tipped with a glimmering bead of precious amber.

“When Milia became one with the royal tree, she left a trace of her essence behind in the heartwood,” Riverwood explained as she took the shaft and held the tip near the runes above the woman’s archway. “So, now the sap from the core responds to the aura left behind from anything she has touched.”

“Holiness calls to holiness,” Oleander quoted.

“Yes, exactly.”

Riverwood moved the tip in closer, and the sap began to hum and glow a deep blue, the runes shimmered brighter in the same hue. “Essentially this proves that the keystone runes on the woman’s archway were carved there by Milia’s own finger.”

“Ver’it arai’i illiunu sa’ai Mi’il,” the High Priestess chanted reverently. “’Man is nothing without the woman.’ This is the first truth of the Goddess, upon which hangs all others.”

“So, by exposing it to the…other archway, we can prove it was not carved by her when there is no reaction.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Teak asked, looking at the second archway suspiciously. “Any time we get too close to it, we are tossed about like rag dolls.”

Riverwood tapped her staff and the shaft tripled in length. “With a very long stick.”

The scholar looked for permission, and received it. The other woman stood far away, so as not to be landed upon. More than a few times a woman had ventured too close and found herself slamming into the far wall, much to Mina’s amusement.

Ash cooed happily as Riverwood braced herself. Carefully sliding the root forward, she pushed through the final few feet.

Everyone held their breath. You could have heard a feather fall. Only the High Priestess remained confident at what they would find.

The tip drew near, and nothing happened.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Oleander dusted off her hands. “Well, that should settle…”

The amber roared to life, glowing brightly in a deep blue, the runes over the men’s archway matching its vibrance.

The priestesses and scholars froze in place. None dared open their mouths for fear of misspeaking.

Orlaya Oleander stepped forward, wonder in her eyes. “What does this mean, mother?”

The High Priestess could scarcely breathe. “I…I don’t know.”

Riverwood pulled the root back away, and the glowing dimmed. “How can you not know? This can only mean one thing.”

The High Priestess held up her trembling hand. “Before we speak, we should probably…”

Archivist Teak interlocked her fingers in prayer. “It means these runes were also carved by the hand of Milia herself.”

Oleander wiped the forming sweat off her face. “But that’s…c-could this have been faked somehow?”

Scholar Riverwood shook her head. “No, not even by another god. That’s why I did it.”

Oleander looked at the bead of amber, her breathing becoming raspy. “This is…impossible.”

“Clearly not.”

Oleander stepped in closer to the men’s archway, looking like she might faint. “But…if there can be no doubt that Milia wrote these words, then why would she have written them? It’s practically jibberish.”

“Could she have made a mistake?” Riverwood suggested.

“Gods don’t make mistakes,” Teak spat.

The Scholar looked ashamed. “Yes, forgive me; that was ill-considered. I am as shocked as the rest of you.”

Oleander reached for her handkerchief, but it fell from her grip to the floor. “Even if Milia could make a mistake, it would not be our place to correct her.”

Orlaya stood up straight. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Don’t you see, mother? It’s not a mistake, and it’s not jibberish. You cannot begin a statement with ta’i, but you can finish the second clause of one.”

The High Priestess looked at the runes anew. “Daughter, there is no other clause.”

“Yes, there is! Look.” She pointed to the women’s arch, and they turned their gaze to it. “The first half is on the woman’s archway, the second on the other. That’s one of the uses of the double river; they’re meant to flow into one another.”

Ver’it arai’i illiunu sa’ai Mi’il,” Oleander read, then looked to the second. “…ta’i Mi’il arai’i illiunu sa’ai Ver’it.”

It now read perfectly.

“Man is nothing without woman…” Orlaya translated.

“…As woman is nothing without man,” Riverwood completed.

The High Priestess stumbled. She reached out for something to brace herself, but her eyes were so locked on the words, she found nothing but air, and collapsed to her knees.

She knelt there in utter disbelief before the two archways.

“Why would Milia have written this?”

“This really is the men’s archway,” Riverwood said carefully, backing away.

“Carved by the finger of Milia herself,” Teak added, bowing her head.

“An inner sanctum made by the goddess, which only reveals itself to Wysterian men with magic.”

“And beyond it, a chamber holy beyond holy, only reachable by a married couple, joined hand in hand.”

Oleander’s miter slipped askew on her brow. “How can this be?”

A deep bell tolled, causing everyone to lift up their heads.

“What is that?” Mina asked, covering her ears.

The bell tolled a second time.

“The Spiritweaver is ready to share his findings.”

* * *

With one hand, Athel held a damp towel, gently placing it on Alder’s sweaty forehead to give him some relief. His breaths were short and ragged, as if his body was forgetting how to breathe. With her other hand, she gripped her staff, holding court. Privet and Talliun stood watch at the foot of the bed. The rest of the guards sentried the doors, checking each navy doctor and nurse as they came in and out, taking samples, checking auras, and divining spirits.

Privet looked on skeptically at the whole process. “How are the matrons reacting to the water rationing?” he asked, trying to distract himself.

“Not well,” Talliun answered, her hand at her hilt. “The Buckthorns and the Bursages are calling for a full forum this evening. They want every Braihmin matron present so the matter can be discussed and voted upon.”

“The song of the forest is weakening,” Queen Forsythia mentioned through closed eyes. Her attention was split a dozen different ways, yet she seemed serene as she applied balm to Alder’s panting chest. “Never before have so many removed their voices from the link.”

Privet swallowed hard. He had convinced himself that he didn’t care what repercussions would come from returning to Wysteria and proposing to Athel. He had prepared himself to accept any consequence. But, listening to the constant throng of voices from protesters yelling up from the base of the royal tree; watching the poor children accept their meager daily rations, was eroding his resolve. “And the others?”

“The navy people are taking it better than I thought they would,” Talliun praised. “They are made of sterner stuff than our scriptures would indicate. Clearly, we have been misled about them.”

“Don’t let the church hear you say that.”

“During the second invasion, they were deprived of food and water by the Stone Council for some time,” The Queen added. “They are sadly accustomed to such treatment.”

“Yes, but don’t forget, when they were deprived before, they switched sides,” Talliun observed.

Privet felt guilty. He realized there was no use in denying it. Despite all the problems, all the harsh words levied at her, the constant current of criticism she endured on the throne, Athel had not attempted to lay any of the blame on him. A part of him wished she would. In a weird way, it would have made him feel better if she had. He felt like he had returned to stand by her side, but all he had accomplished so far was to add to her burdens. That he had hurt everyone just to acquire what he wanted. “Have you had any luck using the gate to my front door?”

Talliun shook her head. “It seems like that key was never intended for continuous use. We managed to get a few water barrels through, but it appears about ten minutes a day is the most we can hope for before it has to rest.”

“And the aqueduct gate has failed completely?”

“Yes.”

Privet breathed in sharply. For a moment, he thought to regret ever coming back, but in his heart he knew he truly didn’t. He needed to be near her like he needed air. He just wished it hadn’t come at so high a cost. The guilt he felt was on the surface. Beneath it lay a warm layer of relief. A feeling of rightness. This is where he was meant to be, where he wanted to be. This is what he was born for. If anything, it made him feel guilty that he didn’t feel guilty enough about all the people who were suffering because Setsuna left, and the part he’d played in that.

Nikki made it past the guards, a worried look on her face as she double checked the figures on her slate. “Um, your Highness. Maybe my math is off, but it seems like, even with the water heavily rationed, there won’t be enough left for your spring planting season.”

“Yes, that is correct. The forest has prioritized, keeping everyone healthy in the short term. The forest will need massive shipments of water in the spring to make up the difference.”

“But, if the invasion fails, we won’t be able to safely bring in water by airship.”

The Queen opened her eyes. “Nikki, if the invasion fails, there won’t be a spring planting season.”

Nikki inhaled sharply, as if she realized for the first time what was truly happening. The Alliance was gambling everything on one massive attack. There was no backup plan. There would be no second chance if it failed. The weight of the world hung in the balance, yet the Queen seemed as confident as the day it had been planned. She was like a monolith of courage, undaunted by the unimaginably high stakes.

There was a scuffle at the door. “You must let me through!” Captain Sykes called out, his voice shrill as the guards demanded he remain still while the checked his intentions through the trees.

Everyone could tell something was wrong.

“What is it?” Nikki asked.

Finally allowed to pass, Captain Sykes bust into the room, his Alliance uniform askew from running all the way from the top of the royal tree. “We just received this message,” he panted, holding out the piece of paper as he panted. “After that, the light beam blinked out.”

Nikki took the paper and looked it over. The blood drained out of her face. “Paxillus has fallen,” she whispered.

The Queen stood up. “What?”

“Poe led the final assault personally. He possessed a mountain and made a body of rock for himself. The reinforcements we sent never had a chance.”

Nikki’s knees failed her and she stumbled against the wall for support. “Everyone we sent was wiped out.”

No one could believe what they heard.

“No,” Rachel whimpered, covering her face. “It can’t be.”

“No wonder the Stone Council didn’t try to stop us when we sent the transport ships,” Captain Sykes observed. “They must have guessed this would happen.”

The Queen realized she was standing there, her mouth agape. “I-is there any chance the transport crews were able to escape?” she asked, a note of desperation seeping into her voice.

“The Berrighan and the Holderbraugn both had light carriers connected to Artice. If they were still in the air, they would have checked in by now.”

The Queen’s eyes dropped. “Thank you, Captain. That will be all.”

“If I may, your highness, right now we need you in the command room to…”

“I said that will be all,” she repeated sternly.

Alder stirred, the cloth falling free from his brow. She sat down next to him and reapplied it, softly stroking his cheek. “My husband needs me.”

Captain Sykes threw Nikki a worried glance, then gave a proper salute and walked out.

Talliun and Nikki watched the Queen as she tended to her husband, but dared not say anything. The room was silent, save for the swish of the doctors moving about, and Alder’s shallow breathing.

Finally it was Privet who spoke up.

“Athel…”

“You will address her as Queen Forsythia,” Talliun corrected.

“Yeah, I’m not calling her that. Look Athel, I know this isn’t really my business, but it sounds like they really need you up there right now.”

“They do,” Nikki whispered. She reached up and rubbed the patch on her uniform. She felt her heart collapsing in on itself. “The people we lost, from the 29
th
and 31
st
divisions; we trained together, we served together for years. They were our friends.” She couldn’t stop the memories from flooding up inside of her. Thousands of faces, thousands of voices, all gone, all silenced. She looked up, pain in her eyes. “The invasion launches in a week, there’s a million things left to do, we can’t have everyone mourning the dead right now. If we do we’ll fall behind schedule and all will be lost. They’ll need your strength, your Highness.”

The Queen clenched her staff tightly. “But…Alder needs me too. The doctors can’t figure out what is wrong with him. I need to stay with him until they can do more tests.”