Isle of Wysteria: The Monolith Crumbles by Aaron Lee Yeager Page A

Queen Forsythia, but you appear to have a rodent infestation. I will not sit in the presence of a Mertrion one second longer!”
    And with that, the two delegations left by separate exits.
    This is very bad. “Ladies, gentlemen. I know that passions can boil close to the surface in the face of old enemies. But, think on your people. When the seas swallow up your lands, what good will your pride do them then? Now is the time to set aside our feelings and do what is necessary to save our families. Your wives, children, and husbands.”
    Many more tables began gathering up their things and packing their bags.
    For the briefest of moments, a look of despair passed through the Queen’s eyes.
    Then the delegation from Kwi stood up. Old Chief Maaturro with his son Naanie, and his grandson Nuutrik. “The tribes of Kwi have already decided,” he announced in his raggedy old tones. “We will sign your treaty. If Tidnaa doesn’t like it, he can come and complain to us about it himself.”
    Their seal was placed on the treaty, and they walked up to present it to Queen Forsythia.
    “Thank you, friends,” she said in relief.
    The process of packing slowed amongst the other delegates. Some began to reconsider, looking over the treaty anew, but they still hesitated.
    Guru Inthanos scratched at his long craning neck. “Queen Forsythia, I cannot authorize this myself. I will have to commune with the Goddess Maa’aat first.”
    He looked up, determination in his eyes. “But I will try to convince her.”
    “I can ask for nothing more.”
    “Well, I could care less what Rendas says,” King Dolan bellowed out angrily, slapping his seal on the treaty. “Where was our God Rendas when the Stone Council sent their secret police to punish my people? Eh? Where was he when my own son was taken from his bed at night? If Rendas wouldn’t protect us then, then I say to the pit with him now! Madaringa will sign your treaty with or without his approval.”
    The passion of his words enlivened the room, encouraging those who were on the fence.
    President Kaln looked up, resolved. “As will Sutor.”
    “Hazari too! King Buni called out. “The God of Lightning prefers a good fight any day.”
    “And Hoeun,” added King Frians. “Sponatrion owes me a few favors anyway.”
    “Hauntailia also,” Proconsul Neriise stated.
    Queen Forsythia realized that she had been holding her breath. The tide had turned. A dozen more declared their affirmation. As the treaties were signed and brought up to the Queen, Alder took them and began making stacks around her throne. The Queen sincerely thanked each of them in turn.
    As the Wysterian Alliance was formally created, the room took on a celebratory mood. More wine was called for, and enthusiastically given. Delegates greeted and conversed with each other warmly, no longer as rivals, but as brothers. An hour ago, they had each been the masters of their own islands; now they were voices in a new choir. It was a good day.
    Even King Orens’shaw of Lahiti and Kaiser Duncan of Almany laughed and shook hand and paw with one another, ending three hundred years of bad blood between them. Duncan’s clockwork arm clicked and clacked as the Lahitian pumped it energetically, his mane flopping about.
    Princess Turino produced a multi-fluted Zithero; Prince Francisque took out his seal-skin lap drums. Duke Relivan brought out his lute, and spontaneous music began filling the hall. People laughed, told stories, and exchanged gifts. It became so festive, that those that stayed paid little attention to the delegations who quietly slipped out the back, their treaties left unsigned.
    When she was finally afforded a break between shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, Queen Forsythia took a second to lean back in her throne.
    “How bad is it?” she whispered to Alder, who was organizing the paperwork.
    “Nineteen islands have formally joined with us,” Alder said back, stifling a cough.
    The Queen closed her eyes.