Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  One of the guards shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know, my lady. Best riding is near the lake or along the river. She could be anywhere, though. Loves to ride. Doesn’t come back ‘til dusk most days.”

  Lucia nodded. “Thank you.”

  She did the opposite of what he had suggested, knowing if she were in Viviaine’s shoes, she would seek out a quiet, secluded place where none would disturb her. Undoubtedly, the woods would be her choice.

  ***

  Viviane looked up with reverence. All around her stood a temple of ancient pillars, clustered together like dark-robed druids with their arms stretched out to the heavens. In Affalon, the apple trees reigned over the land, but here, that honor belonged to the oaks. A carpet of rust-colored ferns muffled her horse’s hooves as she moved in deeper, letting the woods enfold her. She heard nothing but the breeze moving through the last of the stubborn autumn leaves. Soon, it would be Samhain, with winter right on its heels. Viviaine shivered. She hated the cold. I want to go home. Please, Mistress, help Urien find that wretched girl so I may return.

  ***

  Lucia explored the forest for hours but found no sign of Viviaine. The ride did serve to calm her nerves, however. That had merit.

  The woods consisted mainly of oaks, but there were birch and hazel trees in great numbers as well. The canopy blocked out what little sunlight there was that day, shrouding the earth below in shadow. Mushrooms clung to the sides of rotting tree stumps, forming white staircases into invisible worlds. The birches wore evidence of rutting deer on their silver skin, their trunks scarred by many an antler from a young buck eager to mark his territory. Occasionally, a sparrow or squirrel chattered at her, but animal sounds were few. Most of the birds had flown south already.

  When the afternoon grew late, she turned her horse back the way she had come, all the while counseling herself. When I see her tonight, I must not lose my temper. She cannot know that I suspect her of anything. She was wise enough to know that she was no match for a woman who had served as guardian of Affalon. Elayn told me as much, anyway. But what am I to do, then? She considered befriending Viviaine in the hopes of learning more. Perhaps she could then fashion a way to be invited to her chambers, which might provide clues as to her true intentions. Regardless, Lucia knew revealing her knowledge of the situation was the worst possible move she could make.

  ***

  Dusk approached. Viviaine headed back to the fortress, eager to find out if Urien had succeeded in finding Arhianna. He had been quite certain his men would find her within the week, but a week had already come and gone. She fell to daydreaming about Taliesin and how she would win his heart back, when something alarmed all of her senses. She reined in her horse and surveyed the woods around her. It did not take long before she spied something moving between the dark trunks ahead of her, but she could only see it indirectly, out of the corner of her eye.

  “Who’s there?” she called out. “Show yourself!”

  She sensed someone or something standing in the trees in front of her. How is the horse so calm? Doesn’t he sense it? “I said, show yourself.” She waited, nearly holding her breath, listening and watching.

  Then, her eyes snapped on movement coming out from behind one of the trees. A strange being approached her. He wore no clothes. His skin and hair were the color of bark, and his fingers appeared to be twigs. As he moved further away from the trees and into the clearing, the skin on the bottom half of his body changed to match the green of the grass beneath him. A voice that sounded like wind blowing through wooden pipes whispered, “Nimue.”

  She squinted at him, her heart thumping at the sound of her true name. “Maelwys?”

  “You remember me.”

  Viviaine felt a pang of sorrow. “Yes.”

  “Do not return to Caer Ligualid.”

  Viviaine watched uneasily as the rest of his skin changed to reflect his surroundings. “Why? What has happened?”

  “The Firebrand’s mother knows what you and Myrthin have done. She is here, in these woods, this very moment. Without my help, she will find you. Or, she will return to Urien and tell him not to trust you. Either way, you will not be welcome there any longer.”

  Viviaine turned in all directions, scanning the trees around them. “How does she know?”

  “Your beloved bard told her. And, I regret to say, it seems he blames you just as much as Myrthin.”

  “This is not my fault!” she protested, sorrow and anger wrestling in her heart. “Myrthin is to blame for this! Yet now it is I who suffer the consequences of his greed!”

  Maelwys clucked his tongue in disapproval, sounding more like a nighttime insect than a human being. “So you have no greed of your own, is that what you would have me believe? Both Father and Arianrhod taught you better than that. I fear you have walked Viviaine’s path too long. Be careful, or you will become like me, tethered to the world of men, unable to return home.”

  Viviaine’s stomach tightened with fear at the thought. I could never live here. Never. I would die of sorrow.

  He moved closer, releasing his camouflage. He became the brother she knew long ago, when they were still little more than children. Back before she took her vows to Arianrhod.

  “I know where the Derry Rowan is, sister,” he whispered. “You are wasting your time here. I can take you to her and help you get the babe to Knockma. But we must hurry—my spies tell me the child will come any day.”

  She was about to say yes, but Maelwys held up a long, still twig-like finger to stop her. “Before you agree, you must promise me that, in return for my help, you will let me back into Ynys Wydryn. I am weary. I long to return to the Summerlands of my youth.”

  Her heart sank. “I can let you in, but only through Arianrhod’s grace will you be able to stay.”

  Maelwys nodded. “I know this. All I ask is to enter. It would be enough just to walk through the grove and smell the apples once more.”

  She nodded. “If you swear to accept Arianrhod’s judgment, then I consent.”

  “Good.” Maelwys took out his dagger, cut his hand, and held up his palm. She took his dagger and did the same. They locked eyes and pressed their palms together, sealing their pact.

  ***

  Dusk turned to evening in earnest, making it harder for Lucia to make out the details of the forest. I must be close by now. She reached down and patted her horse, looking around in bewilderment. “Which way back, boy? It’s suppertime. They’ve got a sack of barley ready for you by now, I’m certain.” The horse stood as silent as the trees around them, waiting for her to give him a sign. “Don’t know, eh? Me neither.” She had moved northeast into the forest, so reasoned the only thing to do would be to continue heading southwest. Eventually, they would emerge somewhere.

  Darkness came sooner than she anticipated. Soon, she could see nothing but a few faint stars through the canopy. She grew anxious. “How could I be so stupid?” She turned her horse around a few times, surveying everything she was still able to see around her, which was not much. She led her horse on for a while longer, but they soon came to an upward slope, so thick with trees they could not continue.

  She did not want to accept it, but knew the safest thing to do would be to camp there for the night and wait for morning. But she had no flint, no food, no drink, and no shelter.

  “Helledeofol!” she cried at the trees, startling her horse. She often borrowed Irwyn’s expression when things went beyond frustrating, and none of her own words seemed forceful enough. She cursed as she dismounted and attempted to feel her way around the area, seeking a place she and the horse could feasibly bed down for the night. Bran’s going to be frantic. I didn’t tell him I was leaving. They’ll be sending out the guards with the dogs to search for me. She thought of the poor stable boy she had yelled at earlier, who had merely been concerned for her welfare. Gods, this is embarrassing.

  After a few hours, she forgot her embarrassment. It began to rain. It had been cold to begin with, and now, i
t grew both wet and cold. She took off her horse’s saddle and got up on his back, lying down against him for warmth, her cloak draped over them both. Eventually, she gave up listening for the baying of hounds and fell asleep.

  ***

  Lucia’s eyes shot open to the sound of dogs barking and men’s voices calling out her name. She recalled getting off her horse in the night and curled up under an oak with her cloak. She could have sworn she had tied him to the tree, but now, he was gone.

  “Here!” she cried, moving toward the voices. “I’m here!”

  She stumbled through the bracken, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the morning light. “I’m here! Over here!”

  Her heart leapt with relief as she saw hounds bounding toward her followed closely by two horsemen, one of them her husband.

  She ran toward them and heard the other man call the dogs back, praising them as he dismounted. Bran slid off his horse as if he were injured. She had a moment of anxiety, wondering how much medicine he had left. He planted his walking staff into the ground, using it almost as if it were an oar in a deep lake. He said nothing when he reached her, but instead grabbed her and clutched her to him.

  She felt terrible for all the trouble she had caused. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you I was going out yesterday.”

  He pulled away and looked down at her. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheekbones much sharper than usual. If she did not know better, she would have thought he had lost a stone overnight.

  “What do you mean yesterday? We’ve been looking for you for a week!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Morrigan

  “Sea Child?”

  Taliesin heard his mother’s voice beside him but did not turn to look at her. He kept his eyes on the horizon, watching the waves move in and out. “My name is Taliesin.”

  “Taliesin.” Her tongue stumbled over the syllables. “Please, try to understand. I did not want to leave you, but when I learned I was with child, I had to return here to see if he would be born man or selkie—the eyes always tell the truth—they tell the story of the soul. Your brother’s eyes are selkie. He belongs here. His spirit is wild, like the animals. He must be free to swim the seas or he would feel as if he were dying. Your father would have made him a lord, to host feasts and watch over the ships, or trade with merchants—that is not the life for him.”

  “You don’t know that,” Taliesin snapped. “You never gave my father a chance—he would have loved his son, as he loved me, and allowed him to live however he wished. Now, it’s too late. I pity my father. You left him. Then I left him. That alone is more than a man should have to bear, but now I discover you robbed him of his only true son?” Taliesin’s throat tightened as he at last turned and locked eyes with her. “He never loved another woman in his life, do you know that? Only you. You have no idea the sorrow you’ve caused him. Or perhaps you do, and you don’t care.”

  Ula stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. He felt glad to see it. Let her feel some pain for a change—she’s caused more than her share of it, abandoning us, leaving us wondering if she were alive or dead, if she were coming back or not. “You were right about one thing,” he added. “He can never know. It would surely kill him.”

  Ula opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, Taliesin heard an eerie wail that made his hair stand on end. He held up his hand to silence her and stood up, listening carefully. “What was that?”

  Ula furrowed her brow and listened as well.

  The sound came again, floating on the wind—an agonizing wail.

  A jolt ran through Taliesin’s body. “It’s Arhianna.” He listened for it, expecting to hear it again, but it had stopped. All that he heard was the wind and the sea.

  Ula came to his side. “My son can find her. I will get him.” She ran off and dove into the water.

  Taliesin called the hounds, who came running. He offered them Arhianna’s shift as he moved in the direction he had heard her cries. “She’s here. Help me find her.”

  ***

  Arhianna pushed again, as she had seen the women in her village do many times. After she had gotten her blood, her mother had invited her to watch, and, eventually, help deliver the babes in their village. “It’s a privilege to help women bring new life into the world,” she had told her. “It’s the most terrifying thing a woman ever has to do. She certainly should not have to do it alone. That is why we are here. To encourage her, comfort her, tell her she can do it when she thinks that she cannot.”

  But there was no one there for her—no one to comfort her or tell her she could do it. No one to sponge her brow or hold her hand.

  She felt the terrible rising tide of another contraction, and, again, she pushed, but nothing came of it but pain. She collapsed into a heap of fear and tears. I’m too small for this child, Great Mother. He is a giant Saxon warrior, like his father—grown too large for me. I’m going to die. I’m going to die here, in this cave. And he will die here as well, crying for his dead mother, until he freezes or starves to death.

  She let out a wail of despair, cursing Ingvar and Scáthach. As the next contraction came upon her, she begged every goddess she had ever prayed to for help—The Great Mother, Freya, Morrigan—all of them. It was Morrigan she felt, however. Her black wings rose up in response, enfolding her. Fight! The goddess demanded. Embrace the pain and force that child from you! Blood must be shed for life to come!

  Arhianna pushed with everything she had left, feeling her body split open and the burning of her son’s head between her legs. She gasped in agony as his shoulders passed through her, and then, after a few horrible moments, it was over.

  She lay there in shock, heart pounding, hands sticky with blood, until she heard the child cry. She raised her head and struggled to sit up, feeling a gush of fluid leave her body. She craned her neck to look down at the child between her legs. A daughter? She forced herself up further. Yes, a daughter. With shaking hands, she reached for a cloth she had soaked with hot, boiled water before the ordeal. She washed the child as best she could. The water was no longer hot, but at least it was not cold. She wiped the blood from her daughter’s tiny face and body, marveling at how white her skin was—like the sheen of a pearl or the color of moonlight. Her hair was the opposite—dark as coal, a swirl of night atop her perfect head. Tears blurred her vision as she wrapped her in furs and held her close.

  “You've earned your place here,” a voice out of the darkness said.

  Arhianna let out a cry and stared toward where it had come from.

  There, stood Scáthach.

  “Courage, sacrifice, strength, sorrow—you have proven yourself worthy of my training. Now, I shall take you in and teach you all I know. You will learn how to fight and how to see. You shall know how to defeat your enemies in all ways. None will be able to hurt you again.” She looked down at the bundle in Arhianna’s arms. “But, as I’ve said before, this is no place for a babe. The child cannot stay.”

  Arhianna felt sick and held her baby to her chest.

  “Don’t worry. I will take her to the selkies. They’ve fostered all of our children. They will raise her until she comes of age. Then, she may join us here.”

  “No!” Arhianna cried. She felt shocked by the sound of her voice. She had not used it for so long.

  “Or, you can return home with her, but you will not have her for long.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  Scáthach came closer and looked down at the babe. “The Daoine Sídhe seek this child. They’ve gone to great lengths to find her. Their spies roam my lands in greater numbers than ever before. If you wish to protect her, you must do as I say. Or, I promise you, you will never see her again.”

  Arhianna’s heart took off galloping. “Who are the Daoine Sídhe? And why would they want my child?” She suddenly felt strange, as if she had eaten the wrong kind of mushrooms. Images from her dreams leapt to mind, but, like a reflection in moving water, they came to her in short flashes
, distorted.

  Scáthach shook her head. “I don’t know why. They steal children all the time—any they believe will help their cause. I can tell you only one thing for certain—if you learn to fight and see as I do, she may have a chance. And, perhaps you’ll learn why they want her. You have strong natural powers, but you’re still clumsy. You are no match for those who wish to take her. And even after you’ve mastered what I teach you, you will still need the assistance of the gods to defeat them.”

  Arhianna considered Scáthach’s counsel. “I pray to Morrigan, now. She favors me. She will help me.” She looked down into her daughter’s face. “That is what I shall name her—Morrigan. In tribute.”

  Scáthach gave her a nod of approval. “Then she shall be fierce and strong, a true warrior.”

  Arhianna held the child close. “She’ll not suffer as I have. I shall see to that.”

  “That will be up to her, I’m afraid.”

  Now that her babe was born, Arhianna wondered if she might have regained the power of her Firebrand. She hesitated, frightened to try and discover it had left her for good, but ignored her fear and threw her mind at the torch in Scáthach’s hand. To her immense joy and relief, it jumped up and stretched toward the top of the cave in obedience. She reveled in its return almost as much as she had reveled in her daughter’s birth.

  “I shall teach you to control that power, as well. There is so much more to it than you realize.” She glanced down at Morrigan. “Are you ready? It will be better for both of you if you give her up now. They are waiting in the grotto to take her for you.”

  Arhianna looked down at her daughter, trembling with confusion and exhaustion.

  Scáthach’s expression softened somewhat. “I understand. I once had to give up my own daughter. But when she came of age, we were reunited, and now, she rules by my side. Your daughter shall be safe, and she shall be loved, but you must trust me.”

  Still, Arhianna could not bring herself to hand her daughter over.

  Scáthach’s face turned back to stone. “Listen well. If you don’t accept my offer, you will never reach your potential. You’ll be like your mother—and her mother before her—who both sacrificed their power for the love of a man. Don’t offend the gods by refusing your power as they did! Say you take your babe and leave this place, and, somehow, by the grace of all the gods, you make it home with her—what awaits you there? Even if you manage to evade the Daoine Sídhe for a while, they will come. I promise you. They know who you are, and they will hunt you down until they find you. And you’ll have no way to defend yourself. Say that you even manage to keep your daughter safe—what then? A marriage to a man who will overlook your bastard daughter, and take you to wife? Go, if this is the life you wish. But you must decide now. I will not ask again.”