Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  Then, as if someone else lived within her, a thunderous indignant thought roared up into her head. No, they’ll not have it! This is my kill! She doubled her efforts, urine running down her legs from the weight of the child on her bladder. She cried out in pain and anger. She kept up her battle cries, for she discovered they drove the fear from her belly.

  She ran down the riverbank like a demon, occasionally slipping in mud, or taking a false step, but she did not fall, and she did not stop.

  The howls came again, but this time, they sounded further away. She wanted badly to stop, to rest, to drink—but dared not. She did not stop until she made it back to her camp. She took only a moment to catch her breath and then tied a rope around the doe’s front legs and hoisted it over the smoking hut she had fashioned. Then, just when she had begun to relax, the howls came again. This time, they sounded as if they were but a stone’s throw away.

  Fire! I need fire! She had spent nearly the entire day constructing the wood and kindling she knew she would need to keep a fire burning through the night. All she needed was the spark. With shaking fingers, she took up her flint and struck at it with frantic, violent stabs.

  It was then that she felt the eyes of the wolf upon her. Heart pounding, she looked up to see his fateful yellow eyes pinned to hers.

  She struck the flint three more times, each time with a war cry in defiance of the panic rising in her chest. At last, a spark jumped out that took hold. She blew on the dry brush which encouraged her with several cracks and pops. The wolf took a tentative step backward.

  She ran to the tree where her bow was leaning, put her back against its trunk and shot an arrow through his throat. Her relief made her blind to his brother moving in on her from behind. She became aware of him only as he snarled and sank his teeth into her leg. Shrieking in agony, she yanked her knife from its sheath and stabbed her attacker in the neck. It took four stabs before he loosened his jaw and fell to the ground.

  She looked wildly around for any others, thrashing her eyes in all directions. “Come out and fight, you bastards!”

  She moved out from against the tree, this time with her spear in hand, looking all around. It took but a moment to spy two females that had been hanging back, waiting to seize the carcass while the males attacked.

  By now, the fire Arhianna had prepared so well had spread, growing higher and stronger by the second. It stoked her courage. She gripped her spear tightly, squeezing it out of anger, fear, and pain. She would not have a second chance.

  The fire roared, like an old ally returning to her side. She stood between the she-wolves and her kill, waiting for the beasts to attack. She had heard many a wolf story from her father and mother, who had both been attacked and lived to tell of it. And now, I’ll join them. I’ll not be the first of our family to die from a wolf attack. She summoned her courage as she, for the second time that day, waited for the opportunity she knew she needed for a swift kill. One of the females slunk off at the sight of the fire, but the other merely retreated a bit, her eyes pinned on the deer. She’s waiting for me to weaken.

  But, unlike the she-wolf, Arhianna did not have the luxury of time. Blood was pouring from her leg. She gripped her spear. Great Morrigan, grant me your violence and courage. Dwell in my thighs and keep me planted on the ground. Possess my arms and hands and drive my thrust true. She let out a battle cry and attacked, forcing the female on the defensive until she, too, like her sister, turned and disappeared into the night.

  Arhianna looked down at her leg, crying out in dismay at the sight of it. She ran to the river and slid her leg into its icy embrace. Soon, it was so cold she could not feel it anymore, which was a blessing. Flaps of flesh wavered in the current, bringing tears of shock to her eyes. Gods, oh gods…my leg! When she could no longer stand the cold, she dragged her limb out and rested it limp on the shore. Hands shaking, she tore strips of fabric from her dress and bound it as tightly as she could tolerate. She got up only long enough to feed the fire, worried the wolf bitch would come back, perhaps with other members of the pack.

  Adrenalin kept her awake until the safety of dawn arrived. She threw a fresh log on the fire, dragged herself onto her furs and tried to sleep. We should be dead, child. Maybe we will be soon.

  ***

  Pain reached into Arhianna’s fitful sleep until she could no longer ignore it. She hobbled to the river with the bag of herbs she had been collecting for her impending childbirth, dragging her leg with her. She examined her leg and applied the herbs and mosses she hoped would heal it, but the bite was bad. We may die of this wound, child—but not quickly. It will eat at us slowly, with fever and festering. Would have been better if the wolf had sunk her jaws into my neck. Yet, she did not give up hope. She had seen men heal from worse wounds. But they were strong men. Warriors without babes in their bellies. And they had me and the other women to cook for them and change their bandages.

  To keep her mind off the pain, she skinned the two male wolves she had killed—and not without a fierce sense of pride. Their furs would keep her and the baby warm. Yes, child, one for you and one for me. And we have their meat as well. Meat we nearly died for. Give thanks. She looked up at the fortress, no longer harboring the hope that someone might notice her camp and come to fetch her. “To hell with you, Scáthach! To hell with you and your women and the wolf bitches who roam your land!” she cursed.

  She put a strong, resolved hand over her belly. No one is coming for us, child. We must be strong. It’s going to be a long winter.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Grotto

  Once her leg healed to the point where she could walk again, Arhianna put all her efforts into finding a way up to the fortress. Day after day, she explored every possible approach from the side of the mountain she was on, until she became convinced the way up could only be on the other side—but the other side could not be reached without sailing or swimming around the treacherous outcropping at the end of the beach, where the mountain stretched its sharp, rocky feet into the raging sea.

  She did not have a boat and was wise enough to know only a fool would attempt to swim around it. So, for hours, she observed how the sea moved around the daunting area—where it pooled, where it surged, and where its waves hit the rocks with the most force. Most importantly, however, she watched how the many seals in the area navigated the tricky currents. They came to bask on the rocks, as if they were no more dangerous than feather beds. After several days, the seals began to take notice of her. A few of them swam closer to shore, watching her from the waves with their large black eyes as they bobbed in the surf. Somehow, their playful nature and fearlessness encouraged her own.

  It’s not going to be easy. Especially not with this child in my belly. Her balance was already challenged as it was. The waves smashed ruthlessly against the rocks, whirling spray with fury and slickening their surfaces. She could not afford a broken leg or ankle. And there’s probably nothing but more of the same on the other side. What if it’s all for nothing? But I must try. She took up two spears to use as walking sticks. To ensure she would not lose them, she bored holes into the top of their shafts and strung strips of fabric through them to tie about her wrists. Then, there was nothing to do but wait until low tide.

  When the sea receded and revealed the rocks, she waded out into the water, cursing its icy bite as she made her way toward them. The closer she got, the more her heart fluttered against her decision. This is folly. The currents are too strong. I’m going to be smashed against the rocks and drowned. Or worse, get injured and suffer a slow, terrible death out here.

  As if the sea smelled her fear, it rose up and swallowed her, funneling her toward a merciless rip current that pulled her out to sea with the power of a hundred horses.

  Cold terror coiled around her heart and stomach like a serpent as she struggled to free herself from the sea’s grip. She fought her instincts and relaxed, remembering Taliesin’s advice. As children, he had taught both her and Gareth how to swim in
the ocean. “Don’t fight her,” he had counseled. “She will always win. Wait until she lets you go, then swim in the direction the shore stretches. Not toward it. You’ll just get caught again.”

  But she had never been swimming this far from shore. The beach seemed miles away. She praised herself for having thought of looping her spears about her wrists, but her foresight had only managed to save one of them. The sea had claimed the other.

  Her muscles began to cramp from the water’s icy grip. I don’t have much time. She put all her effort into moving her awkward, seven-moons’ pregnant body diagonally toward shore, but seemed to be getting no closer. Inside her, her baby kicked, as if trying to help her. Exhausted, she turned on her back, staring up at the grey sky overhead, panting and praying to Morrigan. Give me courage. Take my fear away. Salt water sloshed over her face, choking her as she lost feeling in her limbs. She could no longer tread water and sank down, overcome by the currents. We’re going to drown, child…I’m so sorry. We’re going to drown.

  ***

  Arhianna opened her eyes to a dance of firelight. Her head throbbed. She willed her fingers to move and felt pebbles beneath them. In a surge of gratitude, she gripped handfuls of them and held on, as if the water might come and pull her back out to sea at any moment. Her left ear rang, but she moved her head the other direction and felt water drain out of it. It was then that she first saw the man sitting across from her. Her heart lurched.

  He leaned closer, into the light of the fire, his giant black eyes pinned on hers.

  She bolted upright. “Stay there.” She struggled to her feet and realized she was in a grotto. Firelight flickered on the dark black surface of the salty-smelling cave, casting ominous shadows. “Leave me alone, or, I swear to Morrigan, I’ll kill you.” Her spear was still tied around her wrist. She grabbed it and aimed it at his chest. No man will ever touch me again.

  He moved closer, like a wolf about to pounce, cocking his head and staring at her without blinking. His eyes were so black and round, she could hardly see the whites of them. That creature is not a man, her fear cried. Kill him! She felt hot fear rise up in her throat. “I said, leave me alone, or I’ll run you through.” She poised her spear, intent on doing just that.

  He was up in a moment, but rather than attack her, he turned and leapt off a ledge into the darkness. The sound of a splash followed.

  Heart racing, Arhianna ventured to the edge of the ledge and peered over its lip. A deep, sheltered pool of seawater lay some ten feet below. The light of the moon was strong enough to reveal the strange man surging through the pool, heading out to sea. The speed with which he darted through the water seemed as unnatural as his eyes. She shuddered.

  Her hand began to throb. She looked down and realized the loop holding her spear about her wrist had been twisted so many times her hand had turned blue. She unwound it in a frenzy, fighting back tears. The cold now came in earnest, driving her back to the warmth of the fire. She peeled off her wet clothes, wrung them out, and then hung them from various protruding features in the rock walls around her. Then she sat down in front of the fire to warm herself. Who was that? Or what?

  Once her skin and hair were dry, she stood up to explore her surroundings. She spied a torch lodged in a crevice nearby, thrust it into the fire and held it aloft. Its light danced on the damp rocks as she moved deeper into the grotto. An occasional flash jumped out at her from the rock walls. She moved closer to investigate, and saw there were several natural pockets in the walls. Tucked inside of them was an array of small treasures—pearls of all sizes and colors, gold coins, strings of beads, small stone carvings, arrowheads, colorful shells, brooches, raven feathers—she followed the treasures along the wall, moving ever deeper into the cave. The path began sloping upward. After twenty minutes, the air changed, and natural light met her eyes. She found herself standing within another large cave with an opening high above the sea. She peeked out over the edge of the cliff and sucked in her breath at the sheer drop-off. The cave was the size of a small hut, with a large smooth natural bowl in its center. That bowl had been filled with animal furs. Around it, in the pockets of the cave walls, were the waxy remains of several hundred melted candles. Gods, does that thing come here to mate with these women? She thought of his strange black eyes and how he had swum away with the speed and grace of a porpoise and shivered. I’ll sleep here. Far from the water.

  ***

  Arhianna made the grotto and the cave with the furs her home, hoping it would not be long before one of the women came down seeking the company of the strange merman she had met. That was what she had decided to call him in her mind. She slept up in the cave with a dagger nearby, just in case he came looking for her. The furs kept her blissfully warm at night, and the sound of the ocean crashing on the rocks below soothed her. Though the cave provided far better shelter than the hut she had built by the river, it was much harder to gather wood and water. Thankfully, there was a small rowboat tied up within the grotto, and she put it to good use. Each morning she rowed out at high tide, spent a few hours collecting wood and whatever else she found that might be useful, and then returned at high tide each evening to unload it all.

  Many days passed, but no one came to the grotto. No one but the seals, that is. They loved the sheltered pool just beneath it. Its calmer waters attracted fish seeking refuge from the rougher water, and this meant an easy dinner for a lazy seal.

  Arhianna sat fishing for her own dinner one night, watching the seals make much quicker work of it. As if one of them had taken pity on her, it popped up beneath her with a fat fish locked in its jaws. It looked her in the eyes, tossed the fish up onto the ledge where she sat, and then dove down and swam away. Astonished, she realized she had seen those eyes before. Gods be good, I think the merman’s a selkie.

  ***

  Later that night, as she was watching the sun sink into the sea, the silhouette of a large seal’s head emerged from the calm pool of the grotto. She recognized him as the one who had thrown her the fish, for he was much larger than any of the others who came to hunt there. Her stomach leapt. “I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I want to talk to you…” The seal swam a bit closer, never taking his eyes off her. Encouraged, she slowly held out her empty hands to show she held no weapons. “Please, I didn’t know—shed your skin and come speak with me. I want to know more about the women who live here.” She wished she had something to hold out as a peace offering, but she had nothing. They stared at one another for a spell, the sounds of the water lapping and fire crackling echoing all around them in the rocky chamber. Just when she thought he might swim closer, he dove beneath the water and disappeared.

  Damn it! She let out the breath she had been holding, and then thought about how ridiculous it seemed. It was just a seal, and there I was, talking to it. I’m a fool. Discouraged, she put another log on her fire, cooked and ate her dinner, and climbed up to the cave to sleep. She admired the view for a while, watching the moonlight glitter on the sea, until the cold wind drove her to seek refuge in the pit of furs. She took off her boots and burrowed in, then pulled her wolf pelts over the top of her. There, in the warm safety of her fortuitous bed, she pulled her tunic up to examine her belly.

  I’m getting bigger every day. Bigger than I should be. She caressed her middle with concern, then had a horrifying thought. Oh, Great Mother, don’t let it be twins—gods help me—please, don’t let it be twins. There were plenty of stories from the midwives of women who had died trying to give birth to babies who were too large. It was quite common. Please, Great Mother, I don’t want to die here, alone. She caught herself. I wouldn’t be alone. This poor child would die with me. What am I doing here? These women care nothing for me.

  Panic rose in her stomach as she pictured herself giving birth right there, in that very pit of furs, blood everywhere, her screams echoing through the cave. Her fear caused her to heart to quicken, and soon the furs around her felt as if they were suffocating her. She bolted upright and took som
e long, deep breaths, her face in her hands. No more. No more. If you’re to deliver this child alone, so be it. No woman in your mother’s line has died in childbirth, and you won’t be the first, she counseled herself. She felt a now familiar surge of anger eclipse her fear, and with it, the sensation of Morrigan’s black wings rising up behind her. She cried into the mountain with fury, “May Arawn’s hounds rip you to shreds, Scáthach! You and all your bitch warriors, who would abandon a sister with child and leave her to give birth alone!”

  Her throat burned from her scathing curse, but it felt good. She felt strong and powerful again, her blood coursing through her body like a swollen river after a torrential rain, smashing through the dams her fear had built.

  She put her hands on her belly. We don’t need them. We don’t need anyone, child. The sooner you learn that, the better.

  ***

  Some nights later, at evening high tide, a dark form entered the waters of the grotto. Arhianna gripped her spear and watched intently until it surfaced. It was the merman. Or selkie. Or whatever he was. He looked at her spear with disdain.

  She set it down and held her hands up, as she had done before. “I want to speak with you. Will you come out of the water?”

  He answered by diving down, gaining momentum, bursting up to grab the lip of the ledge she sat upon, and effortlessly bringing the rest of his body out of the water.

  His movements were so forceful and swift that she instinctively grabbed her spear and jumped backward. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, standing before her, shamelessly nude. His skin was as dark and smooth as polished yew wood, and his night-black hair hung nearly to his waist, streaming with seawater. He looked at her as if he were scanning her mind for secrets. She averted her eyes but did not turn her back on him, moving back toward the fire. She sat down. He sat down across from her.