Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  ***

  Lucia chose to speak to her husband in bed that night, after the herbs had taken his pain away. He always took more in the evenings to help him sleep.

  “Bran?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Now that Inga’s had her babe, I want to visit Aveta. It’s been moons since I’ve seen her. She’ll want to know about the baby.” And then I’ll travel on to Gwythno for Mabon, and send word I’m sailing north with the Ceffyl Dŵr to find our daughter and bring her home. She ached to tell him about Myrthin’s treachery, but knew it would ruin everything. Bran would refuse to use the druid’s herbs any longer, no matter how miserable he became, and he would be lost to her. She could not bear to go through that again. Worse, he would insist on going north to find Arhianna, which he would be wholly unable to do—especially without the herbs. No, for his sake, this is a burden I must carry alone.

  “You can’t go alone,” Bran mumbled, as if he had heard her every thought.

  “No, of course not,” she said, feeling sheepish. “I’ve spoken to Gareth. A number of men are planning to go to Gwythno for the Mabon festivities to do some trading. A few have agreed to leave a week early and escort me to Aveta’s village. There’s trading to be done there, as well. We’ll wait for the rest of them and then continue on to Gwythno together.”

  Bran rolled over and looked her in the eye. “So now you’re going to Gwythno as well?”

  “Well, yes. Unless you want me traveling home alone.”

  Bran looked at her without blinking. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I find it hard to believe you’re willing to let Branok out of your sight for more than a day. If you stay for Mabon, you’ll be gone at least a moon.”

  In truth, it pained her fiercely to leave her grandson behind. She wanted nothing more than to spend every waking minute rocking and singing to him, marveling at his tiny fingers and toes, but she could not sleep knowing her daughter might be in danger. She decided to risk a bit more of the truth. “Honestly, Bran, I want to speak to Tegid and Creirwy about Arhianna. They’ll be there for Mabon and then sailing north to trade with Urien and Ceredig, as they always do. I’m hoping they can make some inquiries for us.”

  Bran groaned. “Ah, there it is.”

  “What?”

  “The truth.”

  Lucia sighed. “I can’t help it, Bran. I have a bad feeling.” She dared not tell him of how she heard her daughter scream while shadow-walking. Though she had tried many times to find her, she had been unsuccessful. It felt as if she were being hidden from her again, just as she had been before during her long sleep. So she’s either back in Knockma, or she’s… Lucia threw the possibility out of her mind. “I need to know she’s safe. The only way to know is to find her. This is the best way I can think of to do that.”

  Bran took her hand in his. “She has her Firebrand, and Jørren is a terror in combat.”

  “I know, but I want to go anyway.”

  “Fine. But if you’re going to Gwythno, I’m going with you. It was my idea to go north in the first place. We’ll call on Urien. The Ceffyl Dŵr can take us.”

  Lucia’s felt elated he had come to the same conclusion she had about what to do, but wished he would simply let her go alone. “But, Bran…what about your heart? You’re not well…” She knew the moment the words left her lips that it was the wrong thing to say.

  He sat up in bed and grabbed her arm as if there were nothing wrong with him at all. She braced herself for his response.

  “Arawn take it, Lucia! I’ll not lie here like a crippled old man while you go off looking for our daughter and take our son away from his wife and newborn child! And if you’re so convinced she’s in danger because you’ve seen something that you’re not sharing with me, you’d best come out with it.” He looked at her in a way that gave her no choice but to confess.

  “I’ve heard her screaming—but I can’t see her—I just hear her screams in the dark. I try to look around to see where she is, but…I see nothing but darkness.” She crumpled down onto the bed and felt him pull her to him.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  She prayed she would not end up having to sacrifice her husband to find her daughter. Bran could not wield a sword or even a bow without difficulty. Great Mother, he can barely walk at times. How can he possibly save our daughter?

  ***

  At dawn, Lucia woke to find herself alone in bed. Bran’s walking staff was gone. It’s true. He means to come. She collected her things and walked out into the cool morning. The birds were beginning to sing, and soft dew clung to everything. Smoke rose from Gareth and Inga’s hut. No doubt they had been up off and on through the night. She remembered those nights well. With the twins, she and Bran had suffered a four-moon streak of sleepless nights.

  She hitched her pack over her shoulder and walked down to the stables. Bran and Gareth were there, along with Neirin, Laust and Idris. Maur sat at the head of a wagon loaded with goods. Bran already had her horse saddled and ready for the ride.

  “Morning, Mother,” Gareth said.

  “Morning. How’s Branok?”

  “Kept us up half the night with his healthy appetite. He’s letting Inga sleep now. I’ll see you off and go back for some sleep myself.” He came over, helped her into her saddle and addressed the party. His eyes were bloodshot and face a bit pale. “May the Great Mother bless your journey. Stay safe, give everyone my best.” Gareth stepped back so they could ride off.

  “Thank you, son,” Bran said. “Take care of the village while we’re gone. Sleep whenever you can.”

  Gareth rubbed his eyes and nodded.

  “And kiss Branok for me every day,” Lucia said, turning her horse toward the gates. “I miss him already.”

  “I will.”

  Neirin took the lead, Laust rode behind him, and Maur drove the wagon out the gates. Lucia and Bran rode side by side, Idris bringing up the rear.

  Now, Daughter, one way or another, I shall find you, and if that demon-woman, Viviaine, has dared to touch one hair on your head, I shall rip her limbs from her little white body with my bare hands.

  ***

  As they neared her old home, Lucia spied Aveta walking down the road to meet them. “I’m riding ahead,” she said to Bran with a smile. She galloped off before he could answer. The sight of her aunt eased her heart. Soon, she was jumping down off her horse and into her old friend’s open arms, swallowing her up in a tight embrace. “Oh, Aveta. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

  Aveta squeezed her in response. “I’ve missed you as well. I often think of our time here together, when it was just you, me and Gwion.” She pulled away and looked Lucia up and down, her eyes dancing. Her once-dark chestnut hair was now shot through with streaks of silver. “I’m so pleased to see you. Why didn’t you send word you were coming?”

  “We’re on our way to Gwythno. I wanted to stop on the way. There was no time.”

  A young man came running toward them.

  Lucia squinted in his direction. “Who’s that?”

  “You don’t recognize him?” Aveta’s crow’s feet crinkled. “That’s Dylan.”

  “No! Oh, my. He’s huge!”

  Aveta nodded. “All the children we took in are grown now. Some of them married with children of their own, if you can believe that. Dylan found himself a beautiful bride just this spring. Lovely girl. They share the cottage and look after the horses. I expect a babe will be on its way soon.”

  “Speaking of babes, we’ve a grandson, now—Gareth’s wife had a son just a few weeks ago. They named him Branok.”

  Aveta’s eyes widened, but she did not have a chance to comment before Dylan arrived. “It’s good to see you again. Been a few turns since we last saw your clan. Let me take your horse for you and get her settled in the stable. I’ll send a few of the lads down to see to the rest of your party.”

  Lucia handed him the reins and watched as he led her horse off. “It’s only when I see all
the children I once knew grown into men and women that I realize how old I’ve become. I don’t feel so old, Aveta. I still feel like a young woman inside. But then, I look at my hands and my skin…”

  Aveta chuckled. “I’ve felt like an old woman for as long as I can remember.”

  “It’s because you were born wise.” Lucia kissed her on the cheek.

  Aveta squeezed her hand. “Come. We two old crones are going to have some of Colwyn’s mead. We’ve a few hours before the men come in from the fields, and your lot will be fussing with the wagon and such for a while. I know you’ve got something to tell me. I can see it all swelling like the sea in those green eyes of yours.”

  ***

  Aveta led her to the fireside and handed her a mug of mead, as promised. A meal was already laid out on the table. “Bit of luck you came today. One of the lads got a buck the day before yesterday. Plenty of stew for everyone. Just finishing up the harvest work.”

  “We’ve just finished ourselves. It’s been a good year. Might be our best yet. Plenty of grain to trade.”

  “The weather’s been kind this year,” Aveta agreed.

  “Aveta,” Lucia ventured, changing the subject, “I don’t have time to explain before the others arrive, but how much do you know of the Daoine Sídhe of Connacht, over in Eire?” She felt anxious to get as much out of Aveta as she could while they were alone.

  Aveta wrinkled her nose. “Beyond the songs and stories? Not much, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?”

  Lucia’s heart sank. “I need to learn as much as I can about them. Do you know anyone who has had dealings with them?”

  Aveta’s face twisted into a frown. “Dealings? Only fools have any dealings with the Sídhefolk. Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  Lucia did not get a chance to answer, for Bran appeared in the doorway. “Aveta!” he growled, lumbering toward her like a bear about to attack.

  Aveta smiled and stood up to receive him. “Bran. You’re as handsome as ever.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m old, and I’m a cripple, but thank you just the same.”

  She scolded him, led him to the table and set a mug of ale in front of him. The rest of the men filed in, and soon the house was full of voices and laughter. Lucia sighed. She and Aveta would have to wait to continue their conversation.

  ***

  Lucia and Bran slept that night in the wing of the villa that Colwyn had built for all of the children he and Aveta had taken in over the years. The villa was now twice the size it had been when Lucia had first come to live there with Camulos so many years ago.

  As soon as the dawn began to lighten the edges of the rough window Lucia had been staring out most of the night, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, eager to make the most of the day.

  Bran groaned. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Aveta and I are going out to the Isle to visit the Sisters today.”

  She heard her husband sigh heavily into the darkness. “And why are you doing that?”

  “I want to ask Elayn about Arhianna. And about you. I don’t like depending on Myrthin’s herbs. I don’t trust him. I’m going to ask her if I can take a flask of the water from the Sacred Pools. It might cure you, if all the stories are true.”

  “I’ll try anything, if they’re willing to let you take some.” He struggled to roll over and propped himself up on his elbow. “Just promise me you’ll not get your hopes up. Myrthin’s not the only one I’m indebted to. I’m far more worried about Arawn than I am about some crazy old druid.”

  Lucia’s heart froze. “He hasn’t come to you lately, has he?”

  Even in the half-light Lucia could see Bran’s raised brows.

  She sat down next to him on the bed and looked into his eyes. “Has he?”

  “I’m afraid so. More and more. Sometimes he appears to me even in my waking hours.”

  Lucia did her best to quell the panic she felt in her breast. “But why? He said you could choose the hour of your death. Why does he torment you?”

  Bran shook his head. “He’s not tormenting me. It’s my suffering that brings him near. They say when the soul tires of this world, it whistles for his hounds. I’ll not lie to you, love—I’m weary.”

  “What do you mean? Lucia swallowed hard. “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you or the children. It’s just true.”

  She squeezed his hand, gathered her things and left the room. Great Mother, please, let there be a cure on the Isle. Please.

  ***

  Lucia and Aveta made their way down to the small dock. An empty rowboat bobbed up and down on the lake like an eager puppy. Lucia got in first and steadied the craft for Aveta, who settled herself at the bow and untied them. Lucia took up the oars and rowed out into the lake. “I’ll never forget the first time we rowed out to the Isle,” she said to Aveta. “I couldn’t believe it. I’d spent so many hours wondering what secrets it held. Never did I think I’d ever see its shores. Do they still tell those stories?”

  Aveta laughed. “Oh, yes. They get more fantastic and bloody with each generation. You would think a tribe of man-eaters lived on it from the tales they tell—seems they get worse with every church the Christians build.”

  Once they reached the middle of the lake, Aveta held up a hand. “Stop a moment.”

  Lucia put up the oars, watching the water drip off them into the lake in a shower of small jewels. Small waves buffeted the sides of their small boat, causing it to creak a bit. Aveta closed her eyes and whispered something into the wind until the Isle appeared to be moving toward them.

  “There,” Lucia pointed to the shore. The mists thinned, revealing patches of land and trees. “I see someone.”

  “Elayn herself,” Aveta noted. She turned around and looked at Lucia. “What are you not telling me?”

  “You’ll know soon enough. I dare not whisper a word of it until we’re safely on the Isle.”

  Aveta raised her brows. “Row, then.”

  ***

  The fire in the motherhouse cracked and sent sparks into the air, startling Lucia from her tale. She clutched the flask of water Elayn had given her for Bran, worried she might drop it. “I swear, they’re listening.”

  She had spent the better part of an hour telling Elayn and Aveta about Myrthin’s shifty dealings with the Daoine Sídhe and her growing concerns for her daughter’s welfare.

  “How long has it been since Arhianna and Jørren left Mynyth Aur?”

  “Just over two moons now. Maybe more.”

  “Well, that’s not so very long, but I’d not ignore your feelings on the matter. Have you tried scrying or shadow-walking?”

  Lucia nodded. “I only hear her screams in the dark. I can’t see where she is. And, for some reason, I don’t know why, but I fear that if I do find her in the shadows, I’ll somehow lead them to her.”

  Elayn raised her brows. “I’m not sure about that, to tell you the truth. I’ve not had dealings with the Sídhe of Eire. All I know of them I’ve learned through tales. I do know much on the subject of Affalon, however.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “The Lady of the Lake is a title bestowed upon only the most trustworthy of women, requiring she dedicate herself completely, body and soul, to the protection and preservation of Ynys Wydryn. I find it hard to believe such a woman would concern herself with anything happening beyond its shores.”

  “Is she like you, then? A priestess?”

  “Of sorts, yes, but more of a gatekeeper, for lack of a better word. She alone decides who shall pass in and out of Affalon, taste of its fruit, and worship at the feet of her mistress.”

  “Her mistress?”

  “Arianrhod of the Silver Wheel. Great care must be taken in choosing those who are permitted to approach her. The knowledge she imparts can be maddening for one not ready to receive it.”

  Lucia felt more confused than ever. The woman she had met did not seem like such a
woman. “Is it possible other women dwell in Affalon? Perhaps this woman Taliesin met is not the Lady of the Lake.”

  “Either she is, and has become unworthy of the office, or she isn’t, and has fooled your young Taliesin. Either way, the result is the same, is it not?”

  Lucia leaned on her knees and put her head in her hands. She rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe her exhausted mind. “I don’t know. I just want to find my daughter and bring her home.” She felt Aveta’s arm wrap around her shoulders.

  “It seems what we need to know is how much power these Daoine Sídhe have and where it comes from. Then, we can work around it.”

  “Or find something they want more,” Elayn offered. “That requires speaking with them, however. Such a journey would be risky. You must realize if you enter their realm, you may never find your way back out again.”

  Lucia thought of her newborn grandson and sighed. “Why is it I’ve had no visions on this matter?” she cried in exasperation. “It seems I’ve lost the Sight.”

  Elayn laughed. “But, Lucia, all your visions have brought bad tidings! You should be grateful you’ve not had one in years.”

  “But this is bad!”

  “Is it?”

  Lucia’s mind whirled. Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps everything’s fine. Perhaps I’m going mad.

  “One more piece of advice,” Elayn said. “I would advise you not to make an enemy of this Viviaine. If she is indeed the Lady of the Lake, I can assure you she has a command of magic that surpasses any we possess. Underestimate her at your peril.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Village

  “Alright, Bard,” Gawyr growled, “we’re moving deep into Saxon territory, now, so you do as I say, that clear? If you must speak, which I don’t advise, speak only in their tongue. Urien told me you know it. Ingvar’s village is a few days from here. The good thing is that he’s got no shortage of enemies. I’m sure I can round up a few who’ll be more than happy to raid his village for a share of his spoils. Hengist is dead—so there’s no Saxon warlord for them to answer to anymore. It’s every clan for themselves, now, and that bastard Ingvar has offended nearly all of them.”