Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles (61 page)

Without orders, all the Eriia turned to the west and flew as one towards Boeth, the home of the Stonemasters, determined to either save the world, or die trying.

Ryberts fell over dead, his body rapidly dissolving into the lake of black shakes around them.

“I accept your apology,” Queen Sotol cooed in her stone throne, licking the blood from her fingers which had stretched into long black talons.

Reaching down with her other hand, she scooped up five drops of squirming tar.

The other leaders of the Kabal looked on in horror. Only Dev’in and Blair seemed cool and collected.

Tigera ignored it all, studying carefully the complex chess board before him. “Castling?” he asked.

The Queen shook her head as she let the drops fall onto her tongue. “You cannot castle while in check.”

Dejected, Tigera slid his king aside, exactly where he knew she wanted it to be.

“Number eight…” Jennat snarled.

“Its number four now, actually,” Queen Sotol corrected.

“Number…four,” she continued in disgust. “We just got a message from our observation posts. The invasion force from Wysteria is approaching.”

Queen Sotol picked up her rook and slammed it down. “Time for the next move.”

* * *

“Land-Ho!” the spotter on the command platform called out. Hundreds more echoed the call, like a ripple in a pond amongst the fleet of Eriia swimming through the skies. Gun doors were opened, cannons were loaded and slid into place. Formations were tightened, flags were raised.

In the past, it was customary for even League navy ships to fly only the color of her captain’s island. But, here only one flag flew, the Alliance banner created by Nikki, comprising the symbols of not just the islands in the Alliance, but of all the people of Aetria in a great ring, unbroken, unending.

Athel stood on the command platform, Talliun on one side of her, the Spiritweaver Andolf Kummeritas on the other. No longer was she wearing the royal gowns she had donned for so long, but instead a smart, grey Alliance uniform. No rank insignia adorned her collar. There hadn’t been time to make one. In the past that might have bothered her, but she was past caring about such things. Besides, in a way it felt right like this.

“Are you ready, Mister Kummeritas?” she asked.

The elderly man opened his silver eyes. “Yes, all the spirits are in place.”

“I thank you for helping me. I know it must not be easy to violate your people’s tradition of neutrality.”

He thoughtfully stroked his purple whiskers. “I don’t see it that way. Officially, I am making my services available to both sides in this battle. All are free to come and use my abilities as they see fit to.”

“And unofficially?”

He smiled warmly. “The Whilinham Confederacy is in danger too.”

Athel nodded and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Can everyone hear me?”

Green signal flags were raised from every Eriia, indicating that they could, the spirits instantly relaying her voice to them.

“Very good.”

Athel took in a deep breath. Her stitches hurting her, she reached up and ran her fingers over them, running like a jagged scar over her heart. Despite the dire situation, she allowed herself to think about the people below deck for a moment. Privet, Alder and Mina sleeping in their beds. Evere caring for them, along with Ash and Trillium.

For you, I will try one last time.

In the forward gunnery pit, Ryin set his sights and adjusted them carefully, the domed surface of the two nearest defensive islets becoming visible, like great black marbles rising up out of the broiling seas. One to the left, and another to the right.

For a moment, he caught himself looking over at Ellie as she helped the loader in her gunnery pit. As if she could sense him, she turned around, and for a second their eyes caught each other’s.

They both turned away, embarrassed and sad.

“I estimate we’ll reach the weapons range of their Hollens-cannon in thirty seconds,” Rachael reported, lowering her spyglass.

Athel breathed in deeply. “Thirty seconds…”

Talliun removed a peach from her pack and took a bite. “That means they still have thirty seconds to surrender,” she said, a twinkle in her eye.

Athel chuckled and placed her hand back on Andolf’s shoulder. “All Chidd Imageweavers, activate your circles!”

Guru Inthanos nodded, the carvings in his shell glowing brightly as he touched the intricate layered pattern he had drawn with sand on the deck before him.

They watched as the Eriia before them was bathed in bright, alchemical circles. Their ancient glowing runes burned to life, spinning in the air around them. The sky whale mewed and then split into ten copies of itself.

More circles burned to life around each sky whale in the fleet as their Imageweavers did the same.

* * *

Inside the defensive islets, Stonemasters waited in anticipation, the cannons they manned so large that the people were like ants on their scaffolding.

“The fleet is in range!” came the call from the spotters above.

The commander raised his hammer over his head, and the impossibly thick stone of the domed roof above them opened like an iris. “Prepare to fire!” he shouted.

“Sir, the number of targets is increasing!”

“What?”

The commander shoved the squat man aside and the stone became transparent so he could see. There in the air, the number of sky whales was doubling, then tripling, then quadrupling again. Hundreds of thousands of whales filled the sky so completely that it blocked out the sun.

The gunners looked at their commander, unsure of what to do.

“Which ones do we aim at?”

The commander was speechless.

“Sir? Sir, they’re coming closer!”

He ground his teeth. “I…I don’t know. Just…just shoot at everything!”

* * *

From the command platform, Athel looked on as the two defensive islets erupted in a hail of cannon and rocket. So many bolts and shells struck out towards them, it was like watching rain fall. Streaks of hot shell whizzed through the air, passing harmlessly through the illusions and streaking off into the distance. Rockets corkscrewed through the sky whales, searching for anything to trigger their detonation as they passed though the copies.

There was an explosion to her left. The Eriia squealed in pain, her entire form bathed in fire as a rocket found its mark. Crippled, she fell down out of the sky with her screaming crew, plunging into the thirsting seas.

“It’s like we feared,” Talliun observed. “Our float stone belts don’t work anymore either.”

Rachael stepped away from the edge of the platform, fearful of falling overboard.

A second Eriia was hit, then a third, then a forth, but the fleet pressed on, weathering the storm of iron and fire.

Athel clutched her screaming heart, trying to block out the shrieks of agony coming from the dying soldiers, but nothing would stop the ghastly sounds from reaching her ears.

“Split formation!”

The seemingly endless swarm of Eriia divided themselves, half making a run on each islet, a steady rain of shattered people and howdahs falling away from them like a gruesome snowfall.

In the air above them, the clouds reformed themselves into the six-armed form of the goddess Maa’aat. She held out her hands and the people of Chidd fell to the deck, their shells cracking under the strain as their magic was torn from their souls and absorbed back into her.

* * *

Inside the islet, the Stonemasters whooped in cheer as the illusions faded away, leaving the true Eriia vulnerable.

“They’re almost on top of us!” the spotters warned.

“Fire the heavy mortars, tear them to shreds!” the commander yelled.

* * *

From the command platform, Athel felt her blood run cold as dozens of iron balls rose up into the sky around them, their glowing veins pulsing brighter and faster as they prepared to detonate.

“Sutorians, hard light armor now!” Athel yelled.

President Kaln nodded and clapped his hands together.

The sound of the mortars exploding was beyond description. It was so loud that it overpowered Athel’s senses, and all became silent. She was thrown to the deck, the shockwave like a punch to the gut. She opened her eyes just in time to see expanding spheres of white-hot metal growing all around them.

But the Sutorians had finished their spells in time. Each Eriia was coated in layers of glowing translucent plates, like an armadillo’s. The metal and fire from the mortars ricocheted off. The terrified Eriia bucked and jinked, their strained Beastmasters barely managing to keep control over them as they were hammered from all sides, but they and their crews survived the blasts.

The clouds parted and the god Kohta appeared, his glassy form turning red as he fulfilled his threat, tearing the souls of his people in the task force to shreds, and permanently robbing them of their abilities.

* * *

Inside the islet, the Stonemasters looked on in horror as the fleet of Eriia moved above them.

“They’re right on top of us!”

The commander slammed his hammer down, and the stone ceiling hardened. A second layer closed beneath it, and then a third. A full hundred feet of magically reinforced rock now protected them.

“Reload for the next volley!” he ordered. “Without their armor, they’ll be shredded to pieces!”

* * *

Athel’s cheeks were wet with tears as she listened to the poor people of Sutor and Chidd as they writhed about. Guru Inthanos lay on his back, his wrinkled face wracked in agony. President Kaln curled up into a ball, screaming in pain. Athel clutched her racing heart to see them, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

Talliun tucked herself under Athel’s arm and held her up, making herself a crutch.

“People of Kwi, now!”

Chief Maaturro cackled fearlessly as he stood before a large stack of pulsating synthesis crystals. “Come on, lads, this will be our last spell, let’s make it a good one!”

Naanie and Nuutrik agreed and they cast their shadow magic over the explosives. The crystal shells became shadow, and fell down through the deck, passing right through the Eriia itself and out the other side. The other Kwi did the same, and thousands of shadowy, glowing shells rained down from the fleet at the islet below them.

* * *

Inside the defensive islet, the Stonemasters looked on in disbelief as a hail of crackling shells passed right through the layers of stone that guarded them, becoming solid again just before they hit the floor.

The commander closed his eyes.

* * *

From the command platform, Athel watched as the gigantic black marble beneath them shuddered from within with a titanic crack. The seas split like a riverbed as paralytic lightning leaked out of every hole and crevice. Every Stonemaster within screamed in unison, then was suddenly silenced.

“Bet they felt that one,” Talliun snickered.

“They’ll be out for days,” Athel noted.

Looking over, she saw a similar explosion occur on the second islet, and the two halves of the fleet swam towards one another to join up.

As the glowing form of the god Tidnaa appeared, Chief Maaturro hooted wildly, rocking back on his haunches and sticking his dirty feet up in the air. “Lick my feet, Tidnaa,” he hollered. “You’re too late.”

The god snarled in anger and held up his fist, sucking painfully away at every Kwi in the fleet until their powers were taken.

Despite the suffering, despite the losses, the men and women of the task force cheered as the seas rushed back around the silent islets that had once been impregnable defenses. Many of the delegates shook Athel’s hands and congratulated her, but she could find no voice to celebrate. All she could think about were the people they had lost to fire and water, and the thousands who had had their magic forever purged from them. In her heart, she knew she would hear those horrible screams as long as she lived.

As the two groups of Eriia became one, Athel nodded to King Issha. “We’re moving on to the next layer. Can you make some shade for us?”

Issha gave a deep reptilian laugh. “Of course we can.”

He raised his head and gave off a throaty, chirping sound, and all the other Tirrakians responded in kind from their Eriia.

Just as the fleet began swimming as one towards Boeth’s inner islands, the Tirrakians raised their hands, and the fleet vanished.

* * *

“What do you mean they’re gone?” Queen Sotol asked incredulously as she leaned forward in her throne.

“I mean they’ve disappeared,” Marc reported, his image rippling in the floating orb of black shakes.

“Yes, I know what the word means, you bird-brain, I mean how did it happen? Tidnaa took away their shadow magic.”

Marc clacked his beak angrily. “I don’t know.”

Tigera happily picked up his bishop and set it down on the board. “Check.”

* * *

Athel could not believe how perfectly dark it was. Even on a moonless night, even with her eyes tight shut, there had always been a background glow of faint red. But this was utter darkness. She found herself blinking to make sure they were still there, but the lids made no difference, opened or closed.

Deprived of sight, she became more focused on her hearing. The seas bubbled and sprayed them, their acidic, watery tentacles occasionally reaching up, only to drop back down, angry at finding them just out of reach. The wood of the platform creaked lazily. The wind still touched her face; the salty air still nipped at her tongue. She could feel herself rise and fall gently with the swimming of the sky whales, but despite the evidence, the world around her didn’t feel like it existed anymore.

“How is this possible?” she heard Talliun marvel. Athel could hear her prosthetic arm clicking as she waved it about before them, but could not see it.

“My people are bending the light around us,” King Issha explained. “We cannot be seen, but it leaves us as blind to them as they are to us.”

Athel squeezed the Spiritweaver’s shoulder a little tighter, afraid that if she lost her grip she might never find it again. “Are we on course?”

Andolf whispered to himself, communicating with the spirits nearby. “We’re drifting to the left.”

“All right, five degrees,” Athel commanded through the network. “And do it slowly, we don’t want to collide with each other.”