Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (58 page)

Blair opened up a door and motioned for them to enter, which surprised the Himitsu, though they dared not voice it. The room beyond was made of crystals of a bluer tone, like arteries beneath the skin. A grove of sharp needles growing up from the floor, walls and ceiling. A single metal culvert sat in the center of the floor like a drain. The whole place was rank with the smell of death and corpses.

Admiral Roapes turned around and straightened his back. “Mister Overtin, when you told me to bring in the criminals, I didn’t stand against it, because it seemed like justice. When you told me to bring in the insane and the infirm, I didn’t oppose you, because I convinced myself it was a merciful thing. Even when you had me bring in the elderly and the gypsies, the seditionists and the dissonants, I didn’t stop you, because you told me I’d see my family if I served.”

Admiral Roapes looked around sadly. “Now, you’ve come for me, and there is no one to speak up on my behalf.”

Blair shrugged and closed the door. The Himitsu panicked, running up and scrambling for a handle, but there was nothing on their side but smooth crystal.

“My family is dead already, aren’t they?” Admiral Roapes asked, sweat dripping down his shaven head.

Blair looked at him through the small viewing port. “Yes. In fact they were hidden among in the first batch you delivered to us.”

The Admiral placed his face in his hand. “By the gods.”

“A nice touch, don’t you think?”

The men and women screamed, throwing their shoulders into the door, clawing at the viewport, scrambling at the drain on their hands and knees, begging for their lives, and praying to their gods.

Blair touched a rune, and the room began to fill with a gangrenous light.

“If it’s any consolation,” he yelled over the screaming, “after you, we’ll have enough black shakes to restore Valpurgeiss.”

As the leaders of the League navy and the Himitsu wailed and howled, Roapes stood there motionless. “Mister Overtin. One day, they’ll betray you too, you know.”

Blair smiled. “I look forward to that splendid emotion.”

The room came to life. Blair watched in morbid fascination, putrid light reflecting off his eyes as the dark magics worked their fetid purpose.

When it was done, a few puddles of black shakes were all that remained, dripping down the culvert into the tanks below.

* * *

“Contact bearing two-five,” came out the call from Left-tenant Iarti.

“Run out the guns!” Captain Sykes ordered from behind the binnacle.

Ryin jumped to his feet and turned the crank, pulling the large mortar into place at the prow of his Eriia’s howdah, training it out at that point of the sky before the fleet.

“One dozen contacts,” Avid confirmed, her keen eyes searching into the skies before them.

Ryin looked over the gunwhale and squinted. From this distance, it looked like a tiny flock of birds in the horizon.

“White wings?” Ryin’s mouth opened. “They’re Hatronesians.”

“The Hatronesians have found us!” Berrimar screamed.

“Signal the fleet, I want incendiary rounds loaded,” Captain Sykes ordered in his steady, brusque voice. “Mister Nacer, calculate firing solution for air burst.”

“Aye, Captain!”

Kathan fired a red flare into the air, signaling that contact with the enemy had been made. The entire fleet responded, moving their Eriia into defensive formations. Like a flock of birds, they wove amidst each other, forming into ranks and files to maximize their firepower.

“They’re the ones who flattened Paxillius,” Karite spat. “They’ll do the same to us if we let them.”

Something didn’t sit right with Ryin.

“Firing solution ready, Captain,” Nacer reported, giving the angles and ranges to the gunnery crews.

Ryin pulled out his spyglass and looked out. At the head of the Hatronesians was Layla. Even from this distance he could see her waving her arms above her head.

“Wait, hold your fire!” Ryin yelled.

“Wha?”

Ryin abandoned his post and scrambled up to the upper level of his howdah.

“Mister Colenat, return to your post,” Iarti barked.

“It’s not an invasion force,” Ryin yelled. “There’s only a dozen of them.”

“So, it’s most likely a scouting party,” Sykes surmised. “We won’t give them the chance to return and report our position.”

“Stand by to fire,” Captain Sykes ordered. “Wait till they are in range.”

“I know them,” Ryin argued. “I don’t think they’re here to fight us.”

Captain Sykes inhaled deeply, his gloved hands at the small of his back. “Mister Colenat, I know you are new to my command, but…”

Ryin snatched the flare gun out of Kathan’s hand.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Shrugging off their hands, Ryin loaded a shot and fired a yellow flare into the air.

The rest of the sailors looked at it, slightly confused.

“Yellow?” Berrimar asked aloud.

Ensign Avid scratched her neck. “We’re supposed to…break for lunch?”

“Give me that!”

Ryin was slammed to the deck, his arm wrenched behind him.

“Left-tenant, fetch some irons for Mister Colenat,” Captain Sykes ordered in disgust. “Never in all my life have…”

“Sir, the Hatronesians have stopped.”

Everyone looked over to Emar, who was looking out at their target.

“They’re bearing the white flag.”

Captain Sykes took out his spyglass and confirmed. Sure enough, Layla had a robe tied to a stick and was waving it about as she hovered in the air, her white wings flapping wildly.

“Signal the fleet to hold fire,” Captain Sykes ordered reluctantly.

When they was satisfied that they weren’t going to be shot, the small ground of Hatronesians flew up to the fleet, landing daintily atop the howdah of Ryin’s Eriia among the nervous sailors.

“Ryin?” Layla gasped clapping her hands. “Oh, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he groaned as he was held down, a knee at the back of his neck. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

“It wasn’t easy; we’ve been looking for you for days.”

“Please state your purpose, if you don’t mind,” Captain Sykes said diplomatically.

Layla became saddened. “Poe finally called off the war against your Alliance,” she explained.
“He did? I mean, that’s great news but…why?”

Layla stepped aside, revealing Ellie riding on the back of one of the others.

Ryin picked his head up. “Ellie?”

Ellie looked down, ashamed. “Um…hi, Ryin.”

Captain Sykes motioned for Ryin to be released. “If you would explain.”

Ellie tugged at her fingers remorsefully. “I…”

“She turned herself in to Poe,” Layla explained.

Ryin furrowed his brow. “You did what?”

Ellie nodded quietly.

Layla stepped forward. “She told him that she made you and Hanner defile his temple, and she told him the League made her do it.”

All eyes turned to Ryin.

“That’s why they’ve been attacking us?” Captain Sykes accused. “Because of you?”

“I’ll get those irons after all,” Iarti snarled.

“Hey, I already told Alliance Command, I didn’t destroy the temple,” Ryin defended. “I was trying to save it!”

Layla folded her wings back contritely. “I…I didn’t know Poe was capable of such things. He was…terrifying.”

“So, does this mean Poe intends to join our side?” Sykes asked hopefully.

Layla shook her head. “No. Once he was done punishing her, he went back to Paradise to be alone. He told us not to join either side.”

“So, why are you here?”

Layla and the others looked at each other. “We talked about it, and a few of us decided to go against Poe’s wishes. We want to help, if you’ll have us.”

Captain Sykes sighed. “Well, I’m not sure what a handful of you can do, but we need all the help we can get. Come with me, I’ll take you to see the council.”

At the Captain’s behest, their Beastmaster brought their Eriia up alongside the command platform where it hung, straddled behind the two largest Eriia like an enormous chariot in the sky.

“I’ll take it from here,” Captain Sykes explained as a boarding ramp was lowered before their howdah. “Left-tenant, you have the con, the rest of you back to your stations.”

As the two groups separated, Ryin walked away, ignoring Ellie entirely.

Hesitantly, she reached out her hand. “Um…Ryin?”

Without a word, he climbed down into his gunnery nook.

Ellie’s face pinched in guilt and she ran after him

“Ryin, I’m sorry,” she hollered, sticking her head down through the hatch.

Ryin rolled his eyes and grabbed the crank. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, jumping down and grabbing his shirt. “I ruined everything.”

He turned his face away. “Yes, you did.”

Ellie wiped the tears from her freckled cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

Ryin breathed in sharply. “Fine, you’re sorry. So what?”

She looked up at him, crushed. “So what?”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything, kid.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he snapped. “We’re not friends anymore, okay? Hanner was the only real friend I ever had.”

“Hanner?”

“Yeah, the big guy, the one you betrayed. The one whose son you kidnapped. You remember him?”

She grew upset. “Of course I remember him.”

Ryin backed away and clenched his fists. “I never fit in back home. My family thought I was a joke. Even on the Dreadnaught, I wasn’t really part of the group. I was just the dumb guy who kind of floated around. It was really just me and Hanner, and now he’s gone, thanks to you.”

Ellie shook her head in ignominy, grabbing her now-short hair. “I tried to fix it!”

“There are some things you just can’t fix, Ellie!”

She reached out to grab him, but he snatched her hand and pushed it away. She stepped back, wincing in pain.

Ryin looked at her tussled sleeve. The skin of her arm that peeked out from within was covered in fresh scars.

Ryin furrowed his brow. “Where did you get those?”

“It’s nothing,” she sniffed, buttoning down her sleeve.

“Did Poe do that to you?”

“It’s none of your business,” she insisted, looking up at him, aggrieved.

She turned away angrily. He noticed more fresh scars peeking out from beneath her collar and the hem of her pants.

“Like you said,” she sniffed. “We’re not friends.”

Ryin lifted up his hand, as if to contradict her, but then it dropped down again.

He turned his back to her. “You’re right, we’re not friends.”

As Ellie climbed back out of the nook, both of them had regret in their eyes.

* * *

Sir Justeen Albashire climbed up to the top of the howdah and looked around at the sea of Eriia flying around him. They had a natural rhythm to them, like the gently crashing waves on a lake, or the rolling grass on the plains of his homeland.

Everything seemed so peaceful up here. Quiet, serene. Even the seas far below were masked by a carpet of white cloud beneath them. Only the cannons mounted to the howdahs, and the occasional soldiers walking about chatting to one another reminded him that this was an invasion force headed for war.

He walked over to Odger, who was nervously picking at his fingernails, as if he had lost something and was desperate to find it, although what could possibly be hidden beneath his fingernails Albashire didn’t dare to guess.

“Where is Athel Forsythia?” he asked.

Odger flinched, as if the author had intentionally startled him. “You shouldn’t interrupt when I’m talking to Jhoss.”

Albashire looked around. “Is Jhoss…here?”

“Yes, of course he is. We talk every day.”

“Um…okay. Does Jhoss know where she is?”

Odger rolled his eyes. “Can’t you ask him yourself?”

Albashire pursed his lips. “Jhoss, do you kno…”

“He’s over there,” Odger corrected.

“What?”

Odger pointed to a corner with his filthy hand. “He’s over there. You’re talking to an empty chair.”

Albashire clucked his tongue. “Yeah, because that would be crazy.”

“I know, right?”

Turning to the corner, Albashire asked again, overemphasizing each syllable. “Jhoss, do you know where she is?”

Albashire waited for a response, then realized how silly it was to do so.

“He says she’s in her tree,” Odger relayed, pointing over one shoulder.

Albashire looked out. One of the howdahs had been specially modified into a great bowl and filled with earth. Deutzia happily rooted inside of it, her tall branches fluttering peacefully in the open sky. She tilted back and forth as she sparkled, like a child pretending she could fly. It struck him as very odd behavior for a tree to be so at home in the sky, but then he had to remind himself that he really wasn’t sure what kind of behavior one should expect from a sentient tree to begin with.

“The former queen still refuses to meet with the other Alliance leaders?”

“She meets with them, and by that I mean they go and try to talk to her. She just doesn’t really say much back.”

Odger looked up, concerned. “Are they going to be able to do it without her?”

Albashire looked around at the swimming fleet. “No, they won’t.”

Odger looked down. “Then what’s going to happen to us?”

He patted the short Stonemaster on the shoulder. “We’re going to lose.”

Albashire asked the Beastmaster to bring them up alongside, and with a careful hop, he jumped into Deutzia’s waiting branches and climbed up to where Athel was sitting.

Her eyes were empty, her long cape of roses wilted as they fluttered in the sky.

She didn’t acknowledge him as he approached. She just sat there, a cheerless porcelain doll made by some grieving artist. He could not recall ever seeing anyone who appeared so utterly lost. The only thing that belied life was her hand, carefully tracing the edges of the long jagged stitches running over her heart.

“It is sad to see your lovely cape all wilted,” he commented as he sat down next to her.

“Once a flower has bloomed,” she said softly, “all that is left for it to do is die.”

He reached into his pouch and took out his bound book. “I’ve been waiting to give this to you. I was looking for the right time, but now I don’t think that will ever come.”