Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (51 page)

“WHY NOT?!”

Talliun looked at her softly, tears in her own eyes. “Because Alder made it for you.”

Athel’s lip trembled as she looked at the staff. The intricate carvings, the loving care and craftsmanship. Despite the unorthodoxy of it, he had covered it in images from her favorite stories, because he knew she would like it that way.

Athel thought again of Alder lying in his bed dying, and her heart collapsed in on itself. Her strength imploded, and she crumpled to the floor, and began sobbing wildly. The staff fell from her hands and rolled away, resting at the feet of the High Priestess.

Athel covered her face and curled up into a ball, her entire frame shaking.

“I will never use magic again.”

Athel sat over Alder as he lay in his bed. No matter how long she wept, it didn’t make her feel any better.

“I am so sorry Alder,” she grieved. “I am so sorry.”

A couple of courtiers came to the door with messages, but Talliun turned them away.

Athel placed her head on his chest and sobbed. She wept until her tears ran dry, and then she wept some more. She placed her ear on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was weak, but steady.

“How many beats did I steal from you? How many nights with your child in your arms did I deny you? How many warm summer days, and cool fall evenings? How many laughs, and friendly smiles, how many hugs? How many places would you have gone, how many things would you have seen? How many things would you have enjoyed, had I not ripped them from you?”

Athel’s tears gathered on her nose, and dripped onto the sheets. “Oh Alder, I would give you every one of my days. I would go back and tear out my magic by the roots if I had known what it was doing to you.”

She grabbed his shirt and clutched onto it as tightly as she could. “Why? Why didn’t anyone know? Why didn’t Milia warn us? How could she let us go on like this? How many centuries has she let this happen? It’s wrong, it’s all so wrong. By Milia’s throne I want to scream until I can’t scream anymore!”

Alder stirred slightly and opened his eyes. “Oh, Athi, have you been here long?”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and held him tightly. “Please stay with me,” she pleaded. “Please, I need you. I can’t be without you.”

Seeing her cry made him worry. “Is something wrong?”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, something is very wrong. And it’s all my fault.”

Gently, he placed his hand on her cheek and looked at her lovingly. It nearly killed her to see him look at her like that.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “No, no it won’t be. Not ever again.”

He looked at her with absolute trust and confidence. It made her feel even worse. “You’ll fix this, Athi. You always do.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t fix this. It can’t be fixed.”

“Yes, you can. You are a daughter of Milia. You have her divine light within you. You can do anything.”

“PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT!”

The volume in her voice surprised him.

Her heart crumbled as she looked at his pale face. “There’s nothing holy about us, all right? There’s nothing divine. We’re not angels, okay? We’re not!”

Her anger collapsed in on itself, and she buried her face in his chest. “We’re demons. We steal light, we steal life. We’re thieves of the worst kind. We don’t deserve your praise. Please don’t love me anymore, Aldi, I don’t deserve it. It hurts too much.”

Alder tried weakly to understand. “You are a good person, Athi.”

She looked up at him, her face red with grief. “No, I’m not. Not even close.”

“I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried.”

Alder leaned over and kissed her, her tears running down his chin. She kissed him back as best she could, but it felt wrong, and she pulled away.

He placed his hand on her cheek, preventing her from leaving.

“Promise me you won’t give up.”

Athel’s lip trembled. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Seeing him look at her with total adoration was unbearable. She wanted to throw herself in the deepest dungeon beneath the palace, and never again see the light of day. She wanted to cast herself off the white cliffs and into the sea. Yet in her heart, she knew that would be a futile gesture, and would only hurt him more than she already had.

“Okay,” her voice cracked. “But not for me. For you. I’ll find a way to save you. You just hang on, okay? Now that we know what causes the stillness, we can find a way to stop it. You just stay with me until I find a way to heal you, okay?”

“Is that an order from my matron?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s a request from the girl who loves you.”

Alder managed a weak smile. “Well then, I am honor bound to obey.”

His hand fell away from her face, and he slipped back into a shallow sleep.

As she watched him breathe, Athel felt Privet approach her from behind without even seeing him. She turned around and hugged him by the waist. He held her tight, stroking her head tenderly.

“What can I do to help?” he asked.

“Hold me,” she requested.

He nodded solemnly. “That, I can do.”

Lady Bursage forced her way past the guards and into the room. “The forum is in an hour. I came to make sure you’ll be gracing us with your presence.”

Athel looked up at her in disgust. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? The water crisis?”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

Athel couldn’t believe how callous the woman was being. “Shouldn’t I be?” she repeated.

Bursage shrugged. “I mean…this is all been interesting, but it really doesn’t change anything.”

Athel wiped her nose. “Are you insane? This changes everything.”

Suddenly Athel realized the larger implications. All across the island, women at this very moment were blithely using their magic. “They have to know,” she realized. “Everybody has to know.”

Athel looked up at Talliun. “We have to tell them.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She motioned to the other royal guards, who readied their staffs to link to the forest.

“No!” Athel shouted. “Not that way.”

They looked at her. “But…”

“Drop your staffs!” she commanded in her mother’s voice. “Don’t use them.”

“My Queen…”

“I said drop them!” Athel shouted, running over and smacking them out of their hands. One by one they clattered to the floor. “Don’t use your magic, not even a little. That is an order, do you hear me? I will not have you hurt your husbands anymore.”

The royal guard looked at each other in confusion. “We hear you, but…”

Athel had an idea. She sniffed and stood up, gathering her loose hair. “I want every matron gathered to the forum, from every class, Braihmin, Kisatriya, Vayshya, and Suidra. This is a royal decree. They have to know about this.”

“But, how can we…?”

“Run, take the message by foot.”

“To every household?”

“Yes, and hurry. Use the navy people if you have to, send up signal flares, I don’t care, but get it done.”

The royal guard looked at one another doubtfully, but obeyed.

As they ran out, Lady Bursage sniffed. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Wasting my time?” Athel looked at her in disbelief. “Was there never a time, Aspen, even for a moment, that you loved anyone but yourself?”

Lady Bursage opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it again. Ashamed, she walked out of the room without responding.

With Privet’s help, Athel took a few minutes to straighten herself up. He didn’t know how to braid her hair, but he could do a simple ponytail, so she had him do that instead. After all this time, it felt strange to have her hair done up any other way. Even without linking, she could feel the news spreading through the forest. Just by touching the wood, she could feel the electric current of fear and anxiety. Rumors ran like a current on top of reactionary paranoia. Reflexively, she reached out to her staff where it lay to calm it, but then stopped herself.

“No, never again,” she chastised herself, and felt the guilt well up within her anew.

As she finished applying her makeup, she heard the now familiar jingling of armor as the Black Guard drew near.

The High Priestess looked exhausted, her eyes puffy and red. Her daughters followed behind her mournfully. Mina was with her, holding a slumbering Ash, while Evere carried Trillium in his pot.

“I…ah…I thought your sons should be returned to you,” she said softly. “As promised, the church will abide by the discovery of the Spiritweaver.”

Athel looked at her, the shared sadness on both their faces. “Thank you Kerria.”

Athel stood up and straightened her gown, allowing the petals to flow freely down her feminine form. The train of living roses looked a little wilted. She thought to enliven them, but then stopped herself.

“I never realized how casually I used my magic,” she said, guilt in her voice. “I used it all the time, as if it were some free thing. Something I was entitled to. I never thought to think of where it came from, or what price it came at.”

Mina came up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“All right.”

The High Priestess motioned for her guards to leave. “I’d like a moment alone with the Queen.”

Mina and Evere looked at her harshly.

“Please,” Oleander added mournfully.

Athel gave Ash a kiss on the head, and tickled Trillium’s leaves. “It’s okay.”

“We’ll be close by, lass,” Evere cautioned. As he left, Athel noticed him remove the safety on his pistol.

Privet left with them, tying his saber to his belt, and the two Treesinger were left alone with Alder.

“I know what you mean to do,” the High Priestess said sadly.

Athel opened her mouth to deny it, but then decided against it. Without her staff, and with her heart in disarray, she was broadcasting her emotions and intentions all through the wood in here.

Oleander took off her miter and held it in her hands. “I’ve known you for a long time, Athel,” she whispered. “I know how you think. After today, we can never be friends, can we?”

Athel looked down sorrowfully. “No, we can’t.”

“I didn’t want to be your enemy, Athel.”

“And I didn’t want to be yours.”

Oleander looked up, her eyes swimming. “Why did it have to be this way? You were my hero.”

Athel’s eyes became moist as well. “I know. It’s all wrong. All of it. But after what we learned, there is no going back.”

“Are you sure you’re not overreacting?”

Athel laughed darkly. “It feels almost impossible to overreact. The entire core of our society has been shown to be a lie. Our tree is rotten to the core.”

“No, it’s not. It’s the same as it has always been.”

“So, we didn’t know the bark was diseased, but it was still there. In the end, we were just whitewashing a nightmare.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Athel. You were right about many things, okay? Men did have magic, Milia did create an archway for men in the knot, but all of that merely adds more nuance and knowledge to our history, it does not change the present situation.”

“How could it not?”

“Authority is not given us to change the order of things.”

“We are murdering our kin. We are killing our fathers, brothers, and sons!”

Oleander threw down her staff. “You think you’re the only woman here who loves her husbands? Huh? I nearly died inside when we found out the truth.”

She turned away and looked out the window. “I visited the graves of each of my husbands. Especially Linden. He was my first. Him I cried over most of all.”

Athel looked at her tenderly. “Then, why can’t we agree, you and I?”

Oleander sniffed. “Because I swore an oath. An oath to uphold Milia’s justice.”

“Milia’s justice? Do you even hear yourself?”

She turned back around. “Yes, I do. My loyalty is not so shallow that I would abandon Milia’s will just because it becomes inconvenient for me.”

“Neither is mine. I swore an oath, too. I resolved to do what she wanted, no matter what. I gave myself over to her completely. I resolved to stop doing what I wanted, and to only do what she wanted.”

Oleander looked her over. “So, what changed?”

Athel looked back at Alder. “I never imagined in a million years that it would be this horrific. Milia is supposed to be a goddess of love, a mother goddess.”

She walked over and stroked Alder’s clammy forehead. “What mother would do this to her children?”

Her grief overwhelming her, Oleander had to turn away. “I…I don’t know. Sometimes it can be hard to have faith.”

Athel shook her head. “No, no. This is way past ‘hard.’ This is completely beyond ‘inconvenient.’ This…this is evil. This has to stop.”

Oleander’s brow twitched in offense. “Hold your tongue.”

Athel chuckled. “You know, in my whole reign, I feel I have done nothing but hold my tongue. Against a constant barrage of insults, accusations, spite, and condescension. I don’t recall my mother being treated as I have.”

“You are supposed to be an example of faith, Milia’s choice daughter.”

“And I am trying to be just that. I refuse to believe that it is Milia’s will that we are to continue on the way we have. I refuse to believe that Milia would want us to continue killing our men just so we can grow oranges and bananas real fast. I refuse to believe that this was Milia’s plan for us.”

“If Milia wanted our island to be otherwise, then she would have made it so.”

“Or maybe she wanted it to change, but was too weak to change it.”

Athel stepped in close. “Did you ever consider that? Huh? What if Milia wants us to change it? What if she desperately wants us to change it? What if it is her will to restore men’s magic to them and rebuild the cycle?”

Oleander looked back at Athel without wavering. “If she wanted it changed, why didn’t she say anything? Nothing, not a single word in a thousand years of recorded history. She even commanded the trees to withhold this information from us. What does that tell you?”

The two women stayed locked, their wills immovable, their resolve absolute.

It was Athel that broke away first. “We’re going in circles. I’m tired of having this argument with you.”

“No, don’t leave. You were plenty eager to use this line of argument against me. You even made me translate the arches to make me face things I didn’t want to see. Now, face them yourself.”

Oleander stepped up behind her, looming over her. “As you are so fond of asking me, Athel, what if Milia wants this? What if killing the men is her will?”

Athel hesitated. “I…”

“What if the current order is exactly the way she wants it to be?” Oleander pressed harder. “What would be your response to that?”

Athel struggled to form a response. A lifetime of doctrine and duty fought against her heart. But, in the end, there could be only one victor.