The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

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  The island I was sent to was solely inhabited by women. The women who lived there dedicated their entire lives to serving the Goddess. Their most important role was to prepare the Huntress for the great task ahead of her. The Women of the Isle, as they were called, were forbidden to have any contact with any men, save their male counterparts that lived on a separate island. And then contact was only admissible during the celebration of the Rites. Here, under the Women’s tutelage, I would undergo their training, learning what would be necessary for me to properly perform my role. What was it that was expected of me, other than to lie down and allow Canwyn to impregnate me? I had no idea and to be honest, it terrified me. No one who had gone through the training was allowed to speak of it once their time was through. The Rites were sacred, ancient secrets that were only meant to be known by those who experienced the Rites. Secrets that were expected to be safeguarded. When I was a child, I had asked my mother about them, but she responded harshly by telling me to mind my own business and not ask such questions again. I was obedient and never broached the subject with her again. That didn’t stop me from wondering what exactly went on, though. For all my wondering, I was about to find out.

  The boat gently sailed through the thick rowans and whitebeam groves that grew up from the banks of the surrounding islands until we came into a small clearing where the moonlight reflected silver upon the water. I could feel the Goddess with me at that moment. She was a tangible form, sitting on the seat beside me, holding my hand while gently explaining that there was a purpose for this, even if I didn’t quite understand it yet.

  Several moments passed before we arrived at the small, isolated land situated a good distance from the far western edge of the Main Island. It had remained separate and alone from the rest of our society since the First People came to live here. We pulled up to the makeshift dock where the water and the land met. Three women got out first. I exited next, along with my new companion. Behind me followed three more women, including the one that had been so comforting to me back at the Choosing Ceremony. From the shore, we traveled up a dark trail covered by a thick canopy formed by the numerous trees that covered the area. Bits of the moon’s light peeked through the open gaps and dotted the ground at my feet, providing a small distraction over the course of our walk.

  The lone island was small but was enough for its inhabitant’s needs. The women lived in the center of the island, only venturing to its shores to fish or to greet a visitor. From what we knew through our education, the women here were self-sufficient. They relied solely upon themselves and eschewed any offer of assistance from the Main Island or their male counterparts. They grew their own food, crafted their own clothes and wares, and had long since broken with the meat-free traditions observed on the Main Island. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I wondered if they would feed me such fare while I was with them. Since I had learned of their rebellious tradition, I had wanted to try cooked fish. I was curious as to how it was caught and how it was prepared.

  A gentle hand suddenly touched my back and my new guardian was there, walking in time beside me staring straight ahead. I felt the tenderness of her nature through our connection. She was a wise woman who had seen many things. There was also something very familiar about her that I could not place. I took in her appearance as she passed through the scattered beams of light. Her hair had once been a dark brown. While most of it had gone to a frosty silver, a few streaks of its former color still striped her pale-colored mane. I don’t know how I could have not noticed before, now that I had the freedom to openly examine her. Her eyes were a soft-green and their distinct olive hue left me eager to find out where I had seen their color before.

  The path opened, and we came to a fork in the road. The group of young women assembled together and headed off down the right lane, disappearing wordlessly into the night air. The older woman stopped just at my side and turned me to face her.

  “You will be staying with me, Daughter.” She said sweetly and laced her arm around mine. “Tradition requires that the Huntress Initiate resides with the Acolytes, but we are breaking with that. I want you to stay with me.” The touch of her skin was warm as she took a step forward and led me down the left pathway. We walked in silence for the rest of the short journey.

  At the end of the dirt-covered trail was a small, earthen house decorated with two large lit braziers flaming on either side of the doorway. Vines hung down from the surrounding trees and formed a canopy over the home, blanketing the ground, and growing up the walls of the dwelling. My host escorted me inside. What I found was not only surprising but also, familiar and comforting. Two sleeping palates rested against opposite walls while several long tables laden with books, herbs, cookware, and tools were placed randomly about the rest of the room. A large cauldron and two matching chairs rested in the center of the open room. This space closely resembled the front room of the Grotto. The only differences were that our home had more long tables and the floor there was adorned with intricately woven rugs and color-rich tapestries decorated the walls. Our home also bore a large, communal table that stood in front of the large hearth that constantly burned. Although far simpler, this place possessed the same comfortable aura.

  “I do not live in luxury. I prefer simplicity.” She announced and showed me which bed would be mine. “I know that is not how you were raised but I know that this will not be hard for you to endure.” This strange woman knew of Mother’s insisting that we did not live modestly but rather grandly. My host went to one of the chairs and sat down. She pulled a blackened, charred branch from out under her chair and used it to stoke the dying embers of the fire.

  “This will be more than fine,” I said. They were the first words that I had spoken since leaving the Choosing Ceremony. The older woman smiled as she motioned for me to join her.

  “I have tea at night before bed. Would you like to share a pot with me?” She gestured to a clay teapot that sat just out of my reach and two small matching cups. I sighed, thinking nothing would suit me better at this moment.

  “I would love some.” I thanked her and thought of how Aunt Leena ritually brewed tea each night. She claimed it was a tradition that she was raised with and wanted to see us carry it on. I leaned back, resting against the chair’s steady support and closed my eyes, thinking of Aunt Leena and wanting to know what her thoughts were about all of this. A flash of Ravene appeared in my mind’s eye and tremendous guilt swept like a wave over me. I could only hope that she would come to understand that I had no choice in any of what had happened. Selected against my will, I was pressed to go forward, the unwilling recipient that I was. Part of me was still in disbelief over what had happened, as well as what would happen to me in the future. This was more nightmare than a dream. For the first time in my memory, I was anxious and apprehensive and bound to something that I could not dislodge or separate myself from.

  “Tell me what troubles you.” The woman spoke as if she could read what was on my mind. I watched her as she prepared our tea. Her movements were graceful and elegant. The way her fingers worked with such delicacy was like a song in physical form.

  “What will happen to me?” I asked her bluntly, wanting to know what to expect.

  “All in good time. There is much for you to learn. You are not to worry yourself. I will make sure that you are fully prepared for what lies ahead of you.” She took my hand again, giving it a solid, reassuring squeeze before letting it go. “There is something else that is on your mind, though.” She saw straight into the heart of me. “I can see it hiding behind the light in your eyes.”

  For a moment, I hesitated, unsure whether I should ask her what had been bugging me since the moment we met. “I feel as if I know you. How is that? I am sure that I’ve never met you before.” I said without hesitation, surprised that the question had come from my mouth before I realized I was speaking. “But your eyes. I know their color from somewhere, but I cannot place it.” The older woman
grinned and slowly blinked as she briefly turned her face towards the flames. The fire’s shadows danced across her well-defined features.

  “Do you remember anything about your father?” She asked me honestly, surprising me with the sudden mention of a man that I didn’t remember. I shook my head. The High Priestess was allowed a consort to father children and to take as a lover, but she was forbidden to marry him, or even live with him. My father, the man who had been my mother’s Consort, had fallen ill when I was three and died from a sickness that had quickly devastated his body. Neither Mother nor Aunt Leena would speak of him.

  “She nearly died from grief,” Our former housemaid, Risa, had explained mother’s reaction when I had innocently asked during my sixth year why most of the other children had fathers and Ravene and I did not. She went on to explain that Ravene and I were children of the Spring Rites. Ravene had been conceived during the ritual and the man who fathered her was alive, with a wife and other children. My conception was similar with one exception. I was conceived during the Main Island ceremony, not during the actual Rites. Risa carefully explained it all in a way that made it easy for my young mind to understand. My parents had been in love. That was what I had always been told. For most of my life, I believed Ravene and I had the same parents. To know that we only shared our mother was something that occasionally nagged at me.

  “Have you ever noticed how your mother will sometimes sit and stare at you with that far-away look in her eyes?” Risa said later that same evening. I nodded, realizing that my mother had looked at me that way, so many times and it always left me unnerved. Aunt Leena too often stared pensively into the fires during moments when she thought she was alone. Both of them took on the look as though their eyes were seeing something that wasn’t there. “You look like your father. Your hair, your eyes, your nose, and the shape of your mouth, the shape of your hands, even the way you walk all comes from your father, you see, and reminds her of him.” That was the last anyone had ever spoken of him.

  “I see pieces of your father when I look at you.” Leanan, my guardian and newfound friend, brought me back to the present. Her eyes watched me lovingly as she spoke in a hushed voice thickened by emotion. “Your father was my son.” She announced unexpectedly as shock struck me with a tremendous force.

  Leanan was my grandmother. That explained the connection that I had felt standing beside her. I smiled widely, elated and joyous at her declaration. My eyes went dewy as happy tears formed and then rolled down my face. In return, she gathered me to her.

  “Before he died, your father and I lived in the dwelling at the bottom of the path, located at the base of your home. It made it easier for them to meet.” She winked with a slight playfulness. “When the sickness took him, I could not stand to live there anymore. Seeing you every day, constantly asking where your father had gone, searching for him, crying out for him. I could not bear to witness that, nor could I bear how helpless I felt towards the grief that consumed your mother. There were times where the people believed that she would follow him to the pyres. And so, with a heavy heart, I came here, to help teach the younger women the rituals of the Rites so that they could carry on the traditions when I was gone.” She paused briefly before finishing. “I do not regret coming here but I do regret having missed the chance for us to know each other.”

  My grandmother confided her remorse and I could see it clearly expressed across her beautiful, delicate features. I examined her closer. Instantly I could see my high-set, well-defined cheekbones in hers. Our mouths both possessed a full bottom lip and an upper one that formed the shape of a heart. From my examination, I could see why Ravene and I were so different, even though we were sisters. Ravene was dark-haired and possessed soulful hazel eyes. I was light-colored in both my pale blonde hair and the gray-blue hue of my eyes. Ravene did not resemble our mother in any way. Our mother was golden; much more so than I was. Aunt Leena said Ravene favored the Hunter that sired her. He was a man with striking hazel eyes, a shock of jet-black hair, and was devastatingly handsome. A man, who ironically, hated Reena to his core. Save for my blue eyes, I was a near match to the woman who sat beside me. Even though I could not remember much of my father, I shared a connection to him just by being with her.

  “I cannot tell you what it means to have you here with me.” Leanan took the kettle from the fire and deftly poured the water for our tea. A quick flick of the wrist sent the delicately scented herbs into the steaming water to steep. “As for the Rites, I will make sure that you are well-prepared for what lies ahead of you. Anytime that you feel nervous or scared, or if you feel uncertain, do not be afraid to let me know. I went through the Rites, as did your mother and your aunt. Your sister will also go through them, too. I am sure that the next one is when the Goddess will call her. This time, is yours. There is magic that dwells inside you, Yvaine. That is something that Ravene will never possess, no matter how long she lives or how much she wishes it. Her magic is very different from yours. Because of your indefatigable work and selflessness in the healing of the sick, you are favored by the Goddess. I have no doubt that you will be an excellent Huntress. After all, it’s in your bloodlines. You see, you aren’t just descended from Maren. You are also descended from Old Mother Alayda, through her granddaughter, Imeria. My side.” My heart skipped a beat as a shiver surged through my body.

  Old Mother Alayda was the greatest healer in the history of our people. Not even the famed Gwellen during her golden years could come close to matching her ability. There were very few that did not benefit from the old mother’s knowledge of herb craft. Those that didn’t were beyond help. Alayda’s skill was unmatched, even though her line consisted of many experienced and adept healers.

  “Your skills run in your blood, my dear.” Grandmother kissed my cheek. “I believe that is why you were able to do what you did for the people on the island. When I learned that you were instrumental in saving so many lives, I was so very proud. Your father would have been, too.” Grandmother smiled at me once more as she brushed a loose strand of my forever wayward hair back behind my ear. “Channel that confidence into what is required of you. If you do, you will conquer the challenge laid at your feet. Trust in us, learn from us, and you will have no problems with the challenges that lie ahead.”

  Her words reverberated through me like a low, constant hum. I could not change what was going to happen but under her guidance and her tutelage, I could do my best to ensure a good harvest and blessings for our society. Together, we drank the herbal tea out of clay cups that I learned she herself had made. She lovingly regaled stories of my father, as well as my early childhood, filling in the moments that were lost to me. I still carry those cherished memories and the sound of her melodic voice with me today. I went to bed upon my pallet that night wrapped securely in their love and for the first time in a long time, fell asleep with a smile stretched across my face.

  THREE

  The following morning, an unfamiliar scent woke me from my sleep. The enticing aroma filled my nostrils, reminding me of the journey across the lake. Curiously, I was urged from bed, brimming with expectation. I sniffed the air. Combined with the sharp, smoky tang was the savory enticing fragrance of wild green chives that grew along the water’s edge back home. The combination left me salivating and my stomach rumbling. Just outside, Grandmother sat on a felled tree stump before a small campfire roasting something over the open flames. I approached her and greeted her good morning. She turned, sincerely pleased to see me.

  “Good morning, Yvaine,” She waved to me to join her. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes. Whatever that that scent is, it’s making me hungry.”

  “Fire-roasted fish stuffed with herbs and chives. How does that sound?” She pointed towards the silvery-fleshed water-dwellers skewered on a long-blackened reed. My stomach answered for me. “Do you object to eating meat?” She asked, although I was positive that she knew the answer. “I can find something else for you.” She gave me a smile as I sa
t down.

  “No, I don’t. Fish is more than fine,” I replied watching the food glisten over the open flames. A rush of excitement swept through me. I had always wanted to try meat. I had pondered it many times over but not knowing how to catch it, how to prepare it, or whether it would make me sick prevented me. I observed my grandmother as she cooked. Grandmother kept the creatures intact, save for the innards that rested in a nearby bowl.

  “I coat them in sweet nut oil,” Grandmother said, confirming what I had already guessed. “It crisps the skin but keeps the flesh moist.” She explained, noticing my study of her. “Just before we eat, I’ll sprinkle them with salt. It makes the flavor come alive in your mouth.”

  Ten minutes later, I found myself sitting on a tree stump beside her with my portion of the food sitting on a clay plate in front of me. Just like she promised, I found fresh chives stuffed inside the cavities of the creatures, along with ground rosemary and thyme leaves. Unsure how to eat my meal, I watched Grandmother tear the flesh apart with her fingers and followed suit. The first taste left me wanting more. The marine flavor that I had expected had completely dissipated and was replaced by a smoky fragrance that enhanced the additional ingredients.

  “How is it?” Grandmother asked.

  “Mm, good,” I licked my lips in between bites, not wanting to stop until my food was gone. I savored every bite. Once I went back home, I would miss this. Because of the strict tradition, I knew that if I brought up incorporating meat into our diet, it wouldn’t be well received.

  “Don’t you find it strange to eat the flesh of another living being?” I said suddenly facing an existential moment.

  “Here on this island, we believe that the fish’s purpose is to offer sustenance. That the Goddess created it so that it could help propagate life by offering its body to maintain ours.”