Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  “We’ll figure something out,” Bran assured him. Irwyn had what he considered the more daunting task of building the ship itself within a tight timeframe, but he seemed unintimidated by it. He was likely more interested in rescuing Creirwy, and the gold he had been promised.

  “I just want some ale and a hot meal,” Maur said, rubbing his belly.

  Islwyn seemed the only one among them with neither worries nor desires. He hummed to himself, gazing at the trees and birds as they rode along, a smile upon his face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  An Unfinished Journey

  Nausea churned in Lucia’s stomach as she and Aveta left the Isle. Ironically, she had felt the same way when she had last returned to it after leaving Bran behind. Now, there would be no more coming or going. I’ll never see it again, she lamented, watching it disappear into the mists.

  She had not expected to be banished from the Isle. She had truly thought her Grandmother would understand and allow her to stay. Now, she would never realize the potential her grandmother saw within her. I’ll never be a Shadowmistress.

  She refused to dwell on it. Instead, she put her focus on delivering the message she had sacrificed so much for. “We’ll need fast horses,” she said, longing for Gethen.

  “No.” Aveta shook her head. “We can’t take the main roads. If what you’ve heard is true, any woman who would travel the main roads is a fool. If we go—and I say if, because I think we should send a swift messenger instead—but if we go, we take the Sisters Trail and go on foot. It’s slower, but it’s safe. Besides, are you certain Bran is even at the Crossroads? Tell me again exactly what you saw—as much as you can remember.”

  Lucia thought back on the strange encounter, summoning every detail she could. “The key to many a mystery can lie in the smallest of details,” she remembered her grandmother saying. “A boy approached me on the path, not far from the Sacred Pools. He was about fifteen, and blindingly blonde. At first, I thought Gwion’s spirit had come to visit me.” She paused, realizing that such a thing might sadden Aveta.

  “Go on, I’m fine.”

  Lucia gave her a half-smile. “He told me the clan had been attacked, and that he and ‘the twins’ had been taken captive. He begged me to tell his father, a man named Lord Elffin, that the ship they were on had sailed south for a day and was now sailing east, under the banner of a raven with some kind of stone in its beak.”

  Aveta closed her eyes and pursed her full lips together, pondering what Lucia had told her in her slow and careful way. She never hurried anything. It was a quality Lucia admired, but frequently grew impatient with. “Oh, another strange thing,” she added. “He called me Queen Lucia.”

  Still, Aveta remained silent.

  “Well? What do you think?” Lucia prodded after a minute. “Was it a trick?”

  “Did it feel like a trick?”

  “No.”

  “Then it probably wasn’t. Besides, tricks are rarely so specific. Your message gave names, places, titles, and a very definite request.”

  “A definite request of me, not a messenger,” Lucia pointed out.

  “Then we take the Sisters Trail,” Aveta stipulated again. “No message will get to anyone if we’re killed or taken captive.”

  “Agreed,” Lucia relented, anguishing at how slow their pace would be.

  They rowed in silence until they reached the familiar banks of the lake that bordered the land Lucia once owned.

  “Let’s pay Colwyn a visit,” Aveta suggested cheerfully. “He may have news.”

  A few years ago, when Lucia had made her decision to pursue the life of a priestess, she gave her land and villa over to her most-trusted neighbor, Colwyn. She told him she wanted to rejoin her family in the village she had grown up in. As her villa was in ruins, she also gave him most of the gold she’d had the sense to bury before fleeing to the Isle that fateful night so long ago. She felt responsible for what had happened to Colwyn’s wife and sons when the cauldron-born had come looking for her and attacked. Though she knew land and gold were no substitute for his family, she had given him the means to make a new life for himself. It was the best she could do.

  Colwyn was well-loved and respected in the community and knew how to run a large farm, having done so on his own land for years. Eager to busy himself with work and leave behind the painful memories at the home he had shared with his family, he took her offer.

  “Yes, let’s go and see him,” Lucia agreed, knowing Aveta was also fond of him. They tied the boat up to the tiny dock and walked up to the house. The garden was flourishing, and the villa was completely rebuilt. Lucia felt a pang of nostalgia. She reached out to take Aveta’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Ho!” Colwyn called from a distance, spying them from the field. They waved and he came running. “Gods be good, ladies!” he gasped when he arrived. “What brings you here?”

  “A long story,” Lucia answered with a smile, relieved to see all was well.

  Colwyn noticed Aveta inspecting the garden rows tenderly. They shared a deep love of growing things, and within that common soil was where the seed of their friendship had taken root.

  “The weather’s been good,” he remarked to her.

  “It looks to have been very good,” she observed, noting the size of the cabbages. He went to her side and pointed out a few more successes, crouching down to pick something here or there and handing it to her to taste.

  “It’s been a lifetime, Aveta,” Colwyn said, standing back up and smiling up at her.

  “It has,” she agreed.

  Lucia noticed Colwyn’s eyes lingered on Aveta. She was surprised she had never noticed it before.

  “It warms my heart to see you both.” Colwyn smiled genuinely. “Please, come in—let’s have a bit of supper.”

  Lucia felt strange walking up to the door she used to call her own. “I’m afraid we can’t stay long,” she apologized. “On our way to visit some old friends. May we leave our boat in your care? We tied it up at the dock.”

  “Of course, of course!” Colwyn gestured it was nothing and went to the hearth. He soon had a fire going. “Now, sit down, ladies—I have something special for you.” He winked at them and disappeared into the pantry. They made themselves comfortable, instinctively sitting where they had sat countless times before, side by side. Lucia felt her throat choke up a bit.

  “The bees have been busier than usual this year,” Colwyn called out. A moment later, he emerged with a flask of his famous mead and set it on the table. He fetched three clay goblets and poured them all a generous amount. “To happy surprises, ladies,” he toasted, looking them fondly in the eye. They smiled and raised their cups. “To happy surprises,” they responded in unison.

  They spoke idly about the weather and the crops, who had gotten married to whom, and any new children that had been born in the community. Colwyn mentioned no trouble, however, in the village or beyond.

  “Colwyn,” Lucia asked, “have you heard of any raids in the surrounding lands?”

  He shook his head. “No, thank the gods. Why do you ask?”

  “None at all?” she asked again, confused.

  “No,” he repeated, concern crossing his face. “Of course we hear tales from the east, but that’s nothin’ new. Warlords and chieftains have been fightin’ over what the Romans left behind for years, now. Sometimes, we catch wind of the Picts comin’ down from north of the wall and causin’ problems—but I’ve heard of no trouble this far west. Why do you ask?”

  “We’ve heard rumors,” Aveta volunteered as an explanation.

  “Well, they’re not true, as far as I know,” Colwyn replied. “Some of the men from the next farm over recently came back from a two weeks’ journey, tradin’ in markets and fairs. I’m certain if there’d been trouble, they would have heard of it. Besides, they said goods were plentiful—wouldn’t be the case if there’d been raidin’ in these parts.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Aveta agreed.

  L
ucia felt sick. Perhaps nothing has happened. Nothing at all. The Great Mother had told her all would be well, but she had not listened. How ridiculous would she look if she returned to Bran’s village to find all was as it should be? He would surely think she had fashioned the whole story as an excuse to see him again. Gods, I’ve been a fool!

  “Lucia, are you unwell?” Aveta reached over and touched her hand.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot how strong Colwyn’s mead is. It’s so sweet, you can drink far too much too quickly.”

  “Aye, you can!” Colwyn agreed with a hearty laugh.

  “We should be going,” Lucia announced, standing up. “Thank you, Colwyn. We’ll be sure to stop and visit again on our way back.”

  “I’ll be terribly disappointed if you don’t,” Colwyn replied. “I hope you can stay longer next time.”

  He gave them a few pieces of honeycomb and some bannocks for the road.

  “Oh, what have I done?” Lucia cried once she knew they were out of earshot. “The Sisterhood will never take me back, and it’s been for nothing! Worse, you’ve come with me!”

  Aveta put her arm around her shoulders. “It could be as Colwyn says, and there’s no threat roaming the countryside, but we don’t know anything for certain. Either way, what’s done, is done. I do know one thing—worrying serves no purpose. Whatever mess you think you’ve made, the Mother can always lead you back to your path. Don’t worry.”

  Lucia nodded, knowing she was right. She said no more of it, but inside, she was withering with anguish. Poor Aveta. She won’t admit it, but she must regret coming with me.

  Aveta stopped, as if she had heard her, and took ahold of her hands. “I want you to know that whatever happens, I don’t regret leaving. I was hiding there—hiding from my pain. I don’t belong there. I never did. I’m a woman of the earth, not the water.”

  Lucia threw her arms around her and squeezed her tightly.

  “I miss the villa so much,” Aveta added wistfully as they resumed their journey.

  “Me too,” Lucia admitted, musing. “Perhaps we should speak to Colwyn about living there again. There is more than enough land, and your cottage is still there.”

  The idea seemed to brighten Aveta’s spirits, but, ever-cautious, rather than agree to it, she said, “Let’s see what comes of the next few weeks.”

  Though it had been afternoon by the time they had finally waved good-bye to Colwyn, they still managed to cover quite a distance by grace of the long summer day and a quick pace. As the day wore on, however, Lucia found she could no longer keep up with Aveta.

  “Wait—” she called. She ran to the edge of the path and retched.

  She was leaning against a tree, spilling all of Colwyn’s lovely mead upon the ground, when she felt Aveta touch her softly on the shoulder.

  “Lucia?”

  “I’m fine now. Too much mead…”

  “Lucia?” Aveta said again, waiting for her to look up.

  “What?” she asked, irritated.

  “Have you bled since Beltane?”

  What Aveta was suggesting hit her, followed by a wave of despair. “Oh, gods,” Lucia moaned, walking away from her sickness and sitting down on a boulder. She put her head between her knees and clutched them. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh, gods!” she moaned again. She wanted to cry, but wanting to cry made her angry.

  “Tell him. He would be glad of it, don’t you think?”

  Lucia’s mind snapped back to their parting, reliving each moment.

  “How can you make such a decision so quickly? Am I nothing to you?”

  The words still stung. She could see his face in her mind as clearly as if he were right there, speaking to her.

  “I’ve thought of no other woman from the moment I set eyes on you, Lucia—no other woman. I can’t believe this is what you truly want. Everything but your words tells me something else. I want you, and I know you want me. Trust me, you’re not meant for that life. This is where you belong—by my side.”

  He had known her true desires, yet she had denied them. She had refused him. He had closed his heart to her in that moment, becoming impenetrable. He had been polite, yet cold, which had felt worse than cruel. She had lamented the loss of his favor, and she lamented it still. There was no decision she had ever regretted more.

  “No, I don’t, Aveta,” she finally answered. “I don’t. I shamed him. He won’t have me back now.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Aveta, why would he believe I love him now, when but weeks ago, I refused him? I went on and on about how I felt I needed to serve the Great Mother, and how I didn’t want to be anyone’s wife again. Don’t you see how suspicious it looks, now that I’m with child, and banished from the Isle? He can’t possibly help but think I’m simply a ruined woman with no choices left, returning to him out of desperation!”

  “But Lucia—“

  “He’s a chieftain now, and surely has his choice of women. He has no reason to settle for a pregnant Roman widow who refused him. Frankly, I’m not certain I could respect him if he did.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I might,” Lucia said, but inwardly she was desperately hoping he had not forsaken her. She was afraid—afraid for all the common reasons a woman with child is afraid, but for other reasons as well. Outside the Clans of the Great Circle and their old ways, a child born out of wedlock was a bastard, and did not have much hope of finding fortune in the world—and how would she raise the child on her own, without the help of the sisters? She no longer had a home of her own. Yes, Aveta would stay with her, but, still, it seemed a sad prospect. “It’s nearly dark,” she said, not wanting to speak of it anymore. “Let’s stop for the night.”

  They found a safe place to camp, but Lucia did not sleep. She prayed. Slowly, through the night, she untangled all of the anxieties in her heart.

  From the moment she was asked to leave the Isle, she had felt as if she were slowly awakening from a dream. She realized she had not been banished. Through her actions, she had chosen her fate, based on a truth she could no longer ignore—that her heart wanted something more than what the Isle offered. Bran was part of it, there was no denying that, but it was more than that. Since returning to the Isle, a gnawing sense of restlessness had chewed at her. She had not known the source of it until the moment she met Taliesin. His plea had filled her with purpose—and like a starving man who smelled food, she had moved toward it instinctively. Using her abilities in the war had given her a taste for serving in the world, and it was something she missed. What good was growing in power and knowledge, just for the sake of it?

  The following morning, she awoke feeling a bit more at peace. “I feel better today,” she said to Aveta as they resumed their journey.

  “Good,” Aveta said, offering her a handful of berries. “Does that mean you’re going to tell him?”

  “No,” Lucia shook her head, at both the question and the berries. She could not even think about eating without feeling sick. “Besides, I might lose the child.”

  Aveta sighed. “Please don’t say such things, Lucia.”

  “Well, it’s the truth.”

  “You must tell him,” Aveta insisted. “He deserves to know.”

  “I will,” she promised, “just not yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Mererid

  Elffin, Bran and Irwyn returned to Caer Gwythno without Maur. Bran had insisted he get home to his wife and children. They arrived just as the sun was setting. Bran breathed deeply as they approached the castle gates, exhilarated by the smell of the ocean. The sea had always captivated him. He often wondered what lay to the west, beyond the Isle of Eire. He knew what lay to the south and east, for there were many tales about those lands, but west—what lay beyond that horizon? Legends said it led to the Summerlands, yet no one had ever returned to confirm it. It was a mystery he longed to explore, and one he would not mind dying for.

  The guards at the gate let them through and called out
to the stable boys who came and took their horses.

  Garanhir met them just outside the castle. “Welcome home,” he said to Elffin as he embraced him. “How did you fare?”

  “Well, I think, Father.”

  Garahir stared at his son, clearly expecting more of an answer. “Is Ula released from her betrothal?”

  “There’s much to the story—let us get some food and ale in our bellies, and I’ll explain. We’re famished.”

  Garanhir nodded. “Well, you chose a good day to return. The boats hauled in good catch today. I was just about to sit down to a meal.”

  They followed him to the hall, and a servant approached.

  “My son and his companions have returned. Tell the kitchen. And bring more ale.”

  Bran looked forward to Garanhir’s fine ale, and the good meal he could smell was on its way. They sat down with eager stomachs. Before anyone had a chance to say a word, huge bronze bowls of mussels and clams swimming in hot broth were set on the table.

  They all groaned in delight as they dug out the sweet morsels of flesh and popped them in their mouths, tossing the empty shells in the middle of the table. Soon, there was nothing left but the salty broth, which they sopped up with warm bannocks and washed down with ale.

  “We must build a ship for Tegid Voel,” Elffin said to his father, after everyone was sated. “Then Ula will be free to do as she wishes.”

  That was blunt, Bran thought. Apparently, direct was best when dealing with Garanhir. He would remember that.

  Garanhir looked across the table at his son and raised his eyebrows. “Have you any idea what it costs to build a ship?”

  A log cracked loudly in the enormous fireplace in the hall, seeming to emphasize Garanhir’s point.

  “Yes, I do. I realize it’s quite costly.”

  Garanhir shook his head and chuckled. “Much more than you have to your name—of that you can be quite sure.”

  Elffin let out a long sigh, and looked at his hands.