Islands in the Mist (Islands in the Mist Series Book 1)

by J. M. Hofer

  I know she tricked me, but I can’t prove it. “Very well.” He flashed her a charming smile. “Claim your prize. What would you have?”

  He felt confident she would ask for the same thing he had been thinking of all day, but she hesitated.

  Oh, no. Maybe not. He felt a wave of anxiety. Gods. I hope she doesn’t ask for my horse.

  She sat back down in her chair. “You have nothing I want at the moment.”

  What? He let out a frustrated sigh. “Is that so? Well, let me know when I do, then. I’ve lost a day of travel and must sleep.”

  He left her, feeling both irritated and aroused by her taunting, but too tired to act on either. How she had managed to elude him he could not fathom, but he was determined to find a way to win back his honor.

  ***

  At dawn he rose to find her sitting by the fire. “I thought you would be up early,” she said. “I’m sorry about yesterday. That was not a wise use of your time. I acted like a child.”

  Neirin appreciated her apology. “Somehow you managed to outwit me. Perhaps you’ve taught me a lesson, which happens rarely, so count yourself clever. However, now I must leave you and make up the time I have tarried here. There is trouble in the South.”

  Her eyes widened at his comment. “Is it Saxons?” she cried in alarm. “Please, don’t leave me here! You cannot leave me!”

  He noted panic in her eyes, and did not want to alarm her by telling her the truth.

  “Yes… Saxons,” he lied.

  “Take me with you!” she blurted. “Let me stay with you until the threat is gone!”

  He considered it. Truthfully, he knew she was in danger far worse than she realized. He wondered how she had survived out there alone as long as she had, with wolves and cauldron-born about. He had already grappled with his conscience over whether or not to bring her with him. Besides, once home, he was certain he could seduce her, and having a woman through the winter would bring him much pleasure. All the servant girls at home bored him with their prattle, and as he was not of the mind to take a wife yet, so the more interesting women were off limits. As long as she would not slow him down, he could think of no reason not to bring her. “How well can you ride?”

  “For days. I can also hunt, fish, skin, cook, weave and sew. I will do whatever you require.”

  Her voice was full of desperation and submissiveness, devoid of the maddening smugness of the night before, and he found her irresistible. “Come, then,” he conceded, pleased to have the upper hand. “I’ll saddle your horse for you.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She grabbed his hand and kissed it.

  ***

  She was indeed a good rider. Even along the narrow trails and thundering across the open fields, she kept pace. They arrived at the great gates of his village not long before sundown, where his father and two male servants greeted them as they rode in.

  “Welcome home, son!” His father looked expectantly at the woman riding beside him.

  “Thank you, Father. This woman seeks refuge.” Neirin dismounted and handed the reins to the awaiting stable boy. He turned to the other servant, happy to see it was Caerwyn, who did everything well and always with a pleasant smile. “Caerwyn, please show the lady to Old Derwyn’s hut. See to it there’s fresh water and firewood for her.”

  Poor Derwyn. He had passed on over the summer. His hut had stood empty for moons. It was not lavish, and a bit small, but it was safe within their high stone walls—walls that kept food, water and livestock in—and cauldron-born, out.

  “Gladly, my lord.” Caerwyn gave him a gracious nod.

  Neirin turned to his companion. “Caerwyn will see to your needs, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  His father watched them go with a wrinkled brow. “Who is she, again? You did not give her name.”

  I don’t even know her name, Neirin realized. “Gods, Father—I don’t know—I met her a few days ago. She was living alone a half-day’s ride from here. She approached me on the road.”

  His father raised his eyebrows in surprise. “She was living alone?”

  Neirin nodded. “I assume her husband was killed by Saxons. She seems to have much fear of them. Somehow, she has avoided being captured or killed, but I did not think she would be so lucky against what roams the countryside now.”

  “No, she would not.“ He raised his hands, gesturing toward the surrounding village. “Our walls are open to those who are willing to work. I’m sure a woman who has managed to live on her own and survive has skills that will serve the clan.”

  People greeted them respectfully as they made their way toward the tall stone towers of his father’s house.

  “How go things in the South?” his father asked.

  So much had happened, Neirin did not know where to start. The caves, perhaps. “We found an entrance to a vast network of caves within about half a day’s ride from Bran’s village. We explored some of them but, unfortunately, we lost many men. Bran was the first.”

  “Bran?” His father stopped in his tracks.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  His father looked at the sky and then shook his head. “No. If his body has not been found, I cannot accept that he is dead. He has surprised me too many times over the years.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “What of Owain and Urien? Why did they not return with you? Please don’t tell me we’ve lost them as well…”

  “No. They stayed in the South—every man is needed. That is why I’ve come—Aelhaearn leads in Bran’s place for now, and he has asked us to send whatever men we can spare. They’ve fallen behind in their winter preparations. To show his gratitude, he promised new swords for our warriors, and your choice of ten foals in the spring.”

  Neirin recognized the familiar look of his father doing calculations in his head, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “I can send him forty—perhaps more—but first, I must meet with the Council. Come to the hall in an hour.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  That night, the men of the East met to discuss the plight of the South. All agreed that the threat must be addressed. It was quite possible that they, too, might come under attack and would then need help in return. Aelhaearn’s promise of swords and horses made the vote unanimous.

  ***

  It was about an hour before dawn. Neirin and his father had assembled the additional men and were readying to ride south when Caerwyn came running into the stable.

  “The cattle are gone!” He gasped. “All of them, Pennaeth!”

  “What?” His father flipped his head around, his braid snapping like a whip. “How could they have escaped their pen?”

  The entire herd? He was as shocked as his father. It was a near-deadly blow with winter now upon them.

  “If this is true, you and I must stay,” his father said to him. I’ll have to send Ioworth with the men instead.” He gave him a list of orders and rushed off.

  Neirin was seeing to the things his father had asked of him when he heard his mother’s voice behind him. “Neirin, may I speak with you privately?”

  He turned around. “Of course.”

  She led him across the courtyard and up to the top of the tower his father had built for her. Every morning at dawn, for as far back as he could remember, she had climbed the stone stairs of the tower to welcome her owl back from the night. After receiving her, she stayed to greet the first rays of the morning and pray to the Guardians of the East. His father had told him that the only sunrise she ever missed was the morning she gave birth to him.

  They stood there together, looking toward the rising sun, waiting. As always, his mother’s gaze was serene—as cool and delicate as the winter snow that had fallen the night before.

  Presently, he spotted Blodeuwedd’s white wings leaving the trees below. She soared up to the tower and landed on his mother’s outstretched arm. She gave Blodeuwedd over to the perch by her side and turned to speak to her son.

  “I have misgivings abou
t the woman you have brought here.” Her breath turned to mist in the cold air as she spoke.

  He looked gave her an expectant look, indicating he was listening.

  “You said you found her living alone?”

  “Yes, except for her horse, and a few goats and chickens,” he replied casually.

  “What else do you know of her? Who are her people? Where did her husband come from?”

  He was ashamed to admit he knew almost nothing about her—not even her given name, as his father had pointed out. He had simply nicknamed her Llwynog, ‘fox,’ since the day she had managed to trick him. He had only visited her a handful of times since they had arrived.

  “I have been watching her the past three nights. She comes and goes from her hut at the same times I am here atop the tower. At sundown, she leaves and does not return until very early the next morning. I have asked Blodeuwedd to follow her.”

  “Are you certain?” He looked down at the small hut she lived in.

  “Yes.” Her jaw tightened.

  Not even a week has passed since she took me to her bed, he noted in disgust. Where would she have spent the past three nights, save for another man’s bed? She acted so modest and shy with me! Gods, I’m a fool.

  “I’d like to know where she’s been going as well.” he said, growing angrier by the moment.

  “I will find out,” his mother said. “For now, set aside your jealousy and find the cattle. We need the milk and meat this winter.”

  “I’m not jealous—merely offended! You’d think she’d bear me more gratitude.”

  His mother remained calm. “Well, when you come back, you can send her out on her own again. I imagine you made it clear to her that spreading her legs for you through the winter was the price for her safety?”

  He felt the harsh sting of his mother’s criticism.

  “Let me make something clear,” she added, “her behavior has indeed raised my suspicions, but for now, that is all they are—suspicions. We have no proof of any wrongdoing on her part, just some strange behavior. Your bruised ego and petty jealousy are not grounds enough for you to cast her out.”

  “You’re right, Mother.” He shrugged it off. She’s just a peasant—let her sleep with whomever she pleases. It’s not like I’d take such a woman for my wife.

  He descended the tower, looking toward the small hut he had arranged for Llwynog to live in. Out of curiosity, he opened the door and looked inside. It was empty. Where is she?

  He had no time to look for her. His father was already waiting for him at the stable with Ambisagrus, who had the horses ready.

  Ambisagrus was not one of them by blood. He hailed from the South and had married into the clan. Belenus had asked him to breed and train their horses, and Ambisagrus had negotiated himself a large amount of land and cattle in return. He was highly respected among them, but his hot southern blood often clashed with the cooler nature of his wife’s people. Still, of all the warriors in the clan, he was the one you would want by your side in a fight.

  “Let’s be off.” His father looked up at the sky. “The sun’s been up for awhile already.”

  They rode to where the cattle had escaped their pen. They easily followed their tracks. After about a half-mile, Neirin noticed they changed. “Look there.” He dismounted and pointed at the ground. The impressions were deeper and there was quite a bit of turf thrown up. “They were spooked by something.”

  The tracks indicated that the cattle had run quite a distance, and they rode for some time in search of them.

  “This is no good.” His father motioned toward a nearby hilltop rising up from where they were. “I’m going up there to get a better view.” He kicked his horse and charged up the hill.

  About a quarter of an hour passed before he came back down.

  “I saw cattle grazing directly on the other side of the forest. They look to be ours. If we cut through the forest rather than taking the drover’s road, we’ll save ourselves a few hours.”

  “Done.” Ambisagrus gave a nod. He glanced up at the overcast sky. “I don’t like the look of that.”

  Neirin looked up. Heavy grey clouds were moving in rapidly, pregnant with rain. It’ll be a long, cold night if we have to spend it out here.

  They galloped through the open grass to the edge of the forest. Once within the woods, the trail narrowed and became uneven, slowing their pace considerably.

  “I find it strange this trail is so well-worn,” Neirin remarked.

  His father nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. We’ve hosted no travelers as of late, and there are no villages nearby.”

  The trail sloped into a nearly dry riverbed, where the mangled remains of one of their cows awaited them.

  “Gods!” Ambisagrus exclaimed.

  Neirin noticed huge paw prints next to the animal, and went to take a closer look. “Wolf tracks—the biggest I’ve ever seen. And there are human tracks down here as well.”

  His father came to investigate. He crouched down beside Neirin, studying the mangled remains of the animal. “Strange. No blood. Nothing but bones and hide. I don’t understand—this is a recent kill. There should be blood.”

  Neirin surveyed the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The river had flowed strong through the summer, as the banks on both sides were quite high. He came to a place where the river had washed away the earth from beneath the trunks of several large trees that grew along the bank. Their huge roots were exposed, but they still stood without the earth around them, as every tree’s roots were deeply intertwined with its brothers. He found what he was looking for beneath them—numerous handprints and footprints all over the soft mud in the riverbed. Cauldron-born. He investigated further and noticed something deep behind the roots. He hacked them aside to reveal the telltale black entrance to a tunnel large enough for a man. A chill ran down his back. “Cauldron-born,” he announced with dread.

  “And we’ve just sent our best men south with Iorworth.” His father sighed in defeat.

  “How do you explain the wolf tracks, then?” Ambisagrus asked.

  “I don’t know,” Neirin admitted, striding back to his horse. “Perhaps a lone wolf made the kill and the cauldron-born took it. It doesn’t matter—we need to be as far from here by dusk as possible.”

  He had never actually seen the cauldron-born—his job had simply been to track and find the entrances. How many of them might be sleeping in that dirty hole? And how many more entrances are there? The one I found is surely not the only one—there’s never only one.

  “Father, we need to bring whatever men we have left to explore the forest and locate as many of these entrances as possible. We must hunt them before they begin hunting us.”

  His father nodded and glanced up. “It must be mid-day by now. If we find the cattle quickly, we can make it home by sundown and return with more men tomorrow.”

  “And if we can’t?” Neirin thought of the dead and wounded he had seen inside the caves—bitten or torn apart. He shuddered. “Perhaps we should turn back now.”

  “What?” Ambisagrus exclaimed. “And risk those worms taking more of our cattle? I’ll lead them back myself. Let the bastards come! My sword hasn’t tasted blood in awhile.”

  “Easy, my friend. I’m not ready to abandon our search quite yet,” his father said to Ambisagrus.

  To Neirin’s relief, the trees thinned out over the next hour, allowing them to travel faster. As they made their way out into open land again, a thunderclap boomed and a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. Moments later, the inevitable rain came, falling steadily from a grey and cloudy sky. Blinking the raindrops from his eyelashes, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon. Thankfully, it was not long before he was rewarded. “There,” he said, pointing with satisfaction.

  His father squinted in the direction he indicated and smiled. “Eyes of a hawk, my son. Ride on!”

  The three of them galloped swiftly through the tall grass toward the herd, approaching from
different angles. Neirin felt dismayed to count only fifteen head, about half their original number.

  They maneuvered around the small herd and were soon leading them back along the drover’s road as planned, but the cattle stopped frequently, slowing their progress.

  “We’ll not make it back at this rate,” his father said, frustrated.

  “They’re spooked,” Neirin remarked, worried. “There isn’t much daylight left.”

  “We’ll get them to the old hilltop fortress,” his father announced. “It’s big enough for all of us.”

  The old hilltop fortress was where the clan had lived in his grandfather’s time, until the clan had outgrown it. Its walls were tall and solid, so they still used it from time to time, keeping a small amount of supplies and caches of weapons hidden within it for times of trouble.

  His father then wrote a note, fastened it to Gwyn’s foot and sent her off. “A message for your mother to send whatever warriors remain to meet us at the fort before nightfall, just in case,” he explained.

  They found water, let the animals drink, and refilled their goatskins. They drove the cattle as hard as they could around the forest and up toward the old fortress, and managed to be well-settled by sundown.

  Ambisagrus stood at the wall, looking out anxiously in the direction of their village. “Where are the men?” he asked finally. “They should have made it here by now.”

  “Yes, they should have,” his father replied with a heavy tone. “Perhaps they received the message too late. We’ll have to do without them.”

  They rested in the early evening after a quick meal, not knowing what the night might require of them. They took turns watching at the wall.

  “Lord Neirin,” Ambisagrus said, “as you and your father have eyesight, I’ll take the first watch.”

  “That’s fine.” Neirin sat against the wall of the old fort, occasionally looking over at his father, who was sitting with his back against some of the old stones that had fallen out of place. He knew he only appeared to be sleeping. He had found that out the hard way plenty of times as a young boy trying to sneak something past him. The great Belenus saw all, heard all, and, it seemed, knew all. No one could outwit him, with the exception of his mother. He suspected that was why his father had chosen her for his wife. He had longed to earn his father’s respect for as far back as he could remember. When given, his praise was like bread to a starving man. Today had been no different. He nibbled at it now in his mind, deeply satisfied that he had managed to impress his father earlier.