************
The next few months passed with a gray, lifeless haze cast over the land. Companionship was what I missed the most. There were many occasions where I collected an interesting item from a passerby and felt the urge to show my lost friend. I did my best to go about my daily life but without his familiar presence, it just wasn’t the same. There were a few times when I had debated going back just to see Leena and Eweln again. I stayed put because I had grown accustomed to living on my own, making my own rules, and choosing what happened in my own life. Besides, what would my mother and my sister say if I had returned to the Island? Who was to say that I would be allowed back? What if the mists ignored my call and denied me entry? It was possible that like the few others before me, I was banished and therefore, prevented from returning. These questions ran through my mind each time the thought of returning struck, but I stubbornly stayed resolute in my decision. I had come a long way from being just Yvaine, youngest daughter of the High Priestess. I was now Yvaine, healer and a free woman. Talen had given me the label one day while we were picnicking near the fish stream. He told me to wear it proudly, like a badge, to always believe in myself and trust in my abilities and never underestimate my courage. His words did not hold much meaning then, not in the way that they do now. I would continue to thrive in this world, even if it meant that I would be alone. For the sake of my friend who had taught me so much, and for myself, I would continue to thrive and live my life to the fullest.
NINE
The following Spring, I was blessed with the gift of two new friends. Reluctantly, I had become a solitary creature, yet it was refreshing to befriend souls that had been just as lonely as I was. The first was a hermit with no name. He arrived the year following Talen’s death. While he spoke the outside world’s language, he also spoke the Island’s tongue which made me wonder if he had not been one of those exiled. I would never know because he would never speak of it. Sensing his desire for secrecy, I didn’t bother him with it. We met on the pathway leading up to my cave. I was on my way to the river to my dinner and he was walking towards me, looking lost, ragged, thin, and in desperate need of kindness.
“Excuse me,” He called out unexpectedly, catching me off guard. “Do you have any food that you can spare?” He spoke in Talen’s all too familiar tongue. Since Talen’s death, I was wary of the few strangers that had wandered into the area, choosing to disguise my presence from most rather than openly speak and trade with them. This stranger had seen me before I had had the chance to hide. I observed him for a moment, taking his ragged appearance and his frail, brittle-looking body. Instantly, I knew that even if he wanted to, he could not harm me.
“I do not have any food on me,” I announced and saw as his heavily burdened shoulders sunk deeper. “But I am on my way to check my fish traps. If you want to help empty them, you are more than welcome to share my dinner with me.” I said, sniffing the air between us. The Hermit’s scent aura of fresh earth and wildflowers instantly earned my trust. Without hesitation, the Hermit followed me to the river. Neither of us spoke while we walked. The Hermit followed me right up to the stream and upon seeing the traps, knelt down to check them for bounty. “This is an excellent design that you have here.” He praised, knees deep in the riverbank mud and elbow deep in the water. “Did you fashion this yourself or did you learn this from someone?”
“I made it,” I gave him the truth. The basket was the one that I had weaved. The one that I had improved upon the original design.
“Genius, I tell you.” The Hermit’s voice was pleasant, kind, and lively despite his outward appearance.
“Thank you,” I chuckled, briefly thinking back to my time with the Acolytes and my grandmother.
“This one has two in it!” He cried out and pulled the basket from the water. In one fluid motion, he snatched both fish from the trap and had slapped them against a rock before I had a chance to react. His action only added to my belief that he was a fellow exile from the Island.
“Where did you learn to do that so quickly?” I found myself in wonder at his agility and speed.
“My father taught me to be fast when capturing these little beauties. He was a fisherman that drowned after getting caught in a storm out on the ocean.”
“One is yours. And as I promised, you are welcome to my fire, so we can cook it.” I said as my newfound friend walked over to me and held both out for me to take. “For your help, you can have one of the fish traps. They are easy to make, and I just started weaving another. I can show you how to make them if you’d like.” The Hermit thanked me profusely and eagerly went to the other—the one that I gave him. I watched as he checked and emptied the other trap with the same proficiency. Once the fish baskets were rebaited and back in the water, the Hermit and I headed through the woods back to the pathway. As we reached the well-worn footpath, I stopped suddenly. The Hermit kept going and I reached out my hand and caught his arm to stop him. “Are you a nomad?” I asked him earnestly. He hesitated before answering me.
“No,” His answer surprised me. “My past is not something that I talk about much though.” I saw the depth of pain in his eyes. It was a pool of emotion that I could relate too and understand to the fullest. I did not press the issue further.
“Do you have a place to stay?”
The Hermit looked at me intensely. For a moment, I was certain that I offended him. “Why do you ask?” This was the first time since we had met that he seemed suspicious of me and because of that, I grew uneasy.
“Because you look like you need a permanent place to rest your head. A place free from worry and intrusion.” I said unaware of what kind of reaction I would receive. The Hermit did not answer me, nor did he leave. His feet remained in place while he cast his eyes to the ground momentarily before meeting my gaze.
“I am searching for a place to rest my head,” He started to explain. “A place where I can be safe. A place where no one will bother or threaten me. Where I can be alone, with my thoughts. In peace.” His voice trembled as he spoke. I acknowledged him, fully understanding what he said.
“These woods are fairly safe.” I did my best to assure him. “There are strangers that travel through but for the most part, they are kind. The ones that are not can be heard coming from a long way off. If I’m out, I hide in the forest to avoid them. They don’t use the forest roads. The trustworthy people often bring things to trade and sell. They often use the forest road. I sometimes trade with them but that is something for another time. As for a safe place to lay your head, there is a cave just a short walk from here. No one lives there anymore. To get to it, just follow the path until you reach the meadow. Continue on past a collection of stones until you’re at the bottom of the hill. The cave is just up the hillside. The entrance is disguised by a covering of shrubs and branches. There’s not much inside, but I know that its former occupant would very much like you to have it. He always had help for anyone in need.” The hermit’s face remained emotionless and I found myself wondering if my instinct had been wrong in trusting him. What came next caught me completely off guard.
The hermit dropped to his knees and began to cry. I stared at him as he knelt in the dirt as he sobbed hard into his hands.
“Please don’t cry. I only meant to help you.” I said confused by his reaction.
The hermit lowered his hands and reached out, taking hold of mine. “You have given me the greatest kindness.” He said in a low, tear-thickened voice. “No one has shown me compassion or treated me with a shred of basic decency for many years.” He looked up at me and smiled. I could see the tracks of his tears through the filth on his face.
“I was once in need myself. Two people helped me survive. Helping you is the least that I could do to honor their memory.” The Hermit got back to his feet and retook his hold on my hands. He thanked me profusely once more. Armed with dinner, he stated that he preferred to go onto the cave alone, to investigate and that he would eat there. I offered him the use of mine onc
e again, but he graciously declined. With an open offer to help at any time, I sent the Hermit on his way towards Talen’s cave, armed with his fish and the basket I had been carrying. Inside was a mixture of greens—the last of the season—dried berries, nuts, a small crock of wildflower honey, and some of the wild chives that grew along the pathway. All replaceable and in possession of a man who needed them more than I did. The Hermit and I never became as close as Talen and I were. I found out quickly that he was a solitary creature and preferred it that way. If he needed help, he called upon me and I did him, but those times were few in between. Together, we lived as neighbors, sharing bits of information that the other would find useful but keeping our lives separate.
************
That autumn, when the trees turned to lovely shades of red, orange, and gold, and the wind was once again tinged with a cold chill, I happened upon a companion that completely captured my heart. Three winters had passed since I first ventured out onto my own. It was a clear, windy day as I walked back from the meadow. I went there often to visit Talen and to tell him of my life. Over the summer, I started selling to the travelers again, bringing in money—a new concept for me—and bartering for certain items that I needed in my healing work. After sitting for an hour, I picked wild lettuce and nettles for making poultices before heading back home.
I was at the base of the hill, staring up my ascent, debating whether I needed to check the gardens before going in for the night when something brushed against my leg. Startled, I jumped back as something the color of night darted off towards the trees. My heart pounded in my chest, unsure of whether it was an animal or something else far more sinister. It took several minutes to calm down before I headed to the garden.
When I arrived at the small patch of farmed land, the small, dark figure caught my eye a second time. I peered into the distance, trying to ascertain what it was. It too seemed curious about me for it turned and faced me. Never in my life had I seen an animal like that one. A slender, dark-gray, four-legged creature with pointed ears and eyes the color of the harvested grain sheltered in a gorse patch. It moved swiftly, its long, lithe body close to the ground as it skittered away. Whatever could it be, I thought, as it darted across the field and paused briefly at the cluster of stones that hid the garden from the road. The creature and I observed each other for several minutes before a bird sang out suddenly and scared the creature away. It bounded back into the tall grass, its long tail curling up like a snake before it disappeared. I made a mental note to ask the Hermit if he knew what it was.
“It’s a cat. The Northern people call them moggies,” The Hermit explained when we ran into each other at the fishing spot the next day. The hermit traded several bundles of dried herbs for a headache remedy and I gladly accepted. “The Romans, the people that I told you about that invaded these lands long ago, brought cats along with them when they settled here. People keep them in their households to get rid of mice, rats, and other vermin. Some Christians believe that they are the demonic familiars of witches and kill them. Those that think the latter are such stupid people. Religious hypocrisy at its finest. Cats good companions, if you’re fortunate enough to have one. They keep vermin away, as I said. How can that be bad?” He paused with exasperation. “I have only seen them in the wild myself. They will not hurt you if you are cautious around them, but they do claw, and they do bite if you are not careful. If you can get it to trust you, it will be a boon to your home. No more rats in the grain or skittering across you at night. I knew of a man who had trained one to hunt for him.” With that said, the Hermit said goodbye and left me alone.
I remained at the riverbank thinking about the unusual, yet intriguing creature called a cat. I cleaned the rest of my fish and buried the unused parts back into the soil. As my fingers smoothed out the blackened earth, I wondered if I would ever see the small black beast again.
Within minutes, I was at my door when something rustled inside. Someone has entered my home without permission. I thought, my hand instinctively going to the handle of my knife. My first inclination was to shout, to warn them but I knew that it was a foolish thing to do. Instead, I set my basket down and pulled my knife from its sheath. Another loud crash sounded, and I drew in a deep breath, ready to face the intruder that lay just on the other side. Slowly, I drew back the blanket of vines and peered into the darkness. I had let the fire die out this morning because I didn’t want it to smolder unattended. Even without the light, I could see something moving atop one of my worktables.
Thinking it just another rat, I stepped inside and yelled to shoo it away. To my surprise, I found the cat that I had just been thinking about. The same one that brushed against me on the pathway.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, immediately feeling foolish once the words were out. “Did you decide to invite yourself in?” The cat turned in my direction and froze. It hissed and when I stepped towards it, it jumped from the table and hid underneath it, staring at me from under its darkened depths with its golden eyes aglow.
“This is my home, cat,” I said, moving further into my living quarters. “If you are going to come in here and rudely knock things about, you are not welcome. If you want to visit, you must mind your manners!” I will admit that part of me felt ridiculous talking to this small being as if it could understand my speech. Crouched under the table, the cat continued to observe me as I went about building a fire to cook my evening meal. I moved towards the table to cut up the vegetables to add to that night’s stew. The cat, seeing my movement in its direction, bolted from its hiding spot and darted across the floor, escaping through the main doorway. I paused a moment to see if it would come back but after a few minutes of nothing, I went back to my work.
That night I went to bed, drowsy from a full belly and strained eyes from patching holes that had worn into my clothes. Cozy from the warmth of the embers burning near me and the thickness of the blanket, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and did not wake until the morning came. As I woke, I stretched but stopped because something weighed the end of the blanket down. Something solid and heavy rested against my leg and gently vibrated. Opening my eyes, I started with genuine surprise. The intruder that had knocked everything off from my worktable the night before rested against my leg, eyes closed, legs tucked in, with its long, slender tail wrapped protectively around its body. I didn’t want to move, lest I disturb it. For the span of an hour, I sat and watched it sleep, fascinated as its ears constantly moved and its body twitched as it dreamed. I itched to touch its fur but did not, in case it suddenly bolted away again.
How odd, I thought, watching this strange animal, curious at how it had trusted me enough to seek comfort with me. The time came when I knew I could not rest in bed any longer. Moving my leg slightly, the cat woke up not with a start nor did it bolt as I expected. Instead, it raised its head and watched me with its inquisitive eyes.
“I have to get up,” I told my newfound sleeping companion. “There is work to be done and I need to go to the stream to check the traps.” The cat continued to stare, and I found it a bit unnerving. Knowing that daylight was burning, I pulled my legs back, but the cat remained in place. I got up, dressed, and prepared for the day just as I normally would. All the while, the cat, still comfortable where it was at nestled in the blankets, lowered its head and was asleep again in minutes. I left my home armed with the belief that the cat would not be there when I came back. How wrong I was.
After picking a large bunch of wild lavender, a small bushel of wild strawberries, and a small bouquet of honeysuckle to perfume my home, I entered my sanctuary only to be astonished yet again. The cat that had slept beside me was now sitting on my worktable licking its front foot. I walked over and set my goods down. Just as it had done before, the cat jumped down and crouched under the table’s security.
“There’s no need to hide. I won’t hurt you.” I spoke to it as I sorted through the lavender and began to ready it to be hung and dried. The cat darted out from u
nder the table again and ran to the door but stopped suddenly and turned back to face me. It meowed and licked it’s fur again. I shook my head, exasperated with how fickle its behavior was. Once the cat left, I went back to my work and tried to pay it no mind.
The next few weeks passed in the same way. I woke up each morning with the cat fast asleep on my bed, next to my feet where it would stay until after I left. Once I came back, it would be waiting upon the table and would scramble once I approached it. What I found peculiar though was how each time it jumped from the table, it would hesitate longer and when it would dart, it wouldn’t run as far. I started to leave scraps out for it, concerned that it wasn’t eating enough. Winter had come and it made me happy to see its sides start to bulge out. Its coat also thickened, no doubt to protect it from the cold. When the snow finally came, the cat and I had become friends. It had learned to trust me and knew that I would not hurt it. In turn, the cat provided me the company that I sorely missed. It had even started to accompany me whenever I left the cave. To the stream, through the woods, down to the gardens, even to Talen’s gravesite, it was at my side often rubbing against my legs or suddenly bolting ahead of me only to stop and wait for me to catch up.
“Meeeyooww!” He’d call as he waited patiently. Soon, no matter where I went, I was never alone.
One morning, a week later, when the landscape was blanketed in a thin layer of white frost, I woke up and the cat was gone. I found its absence strange and a nagging sense of worry came over me. I continued my day as normal, getting dressed, eating breakfast, and attending to the daily chores. It was early afternoon when I came back and to my joyful surprise, there was the cat, perched upon the table, waiting for me. I walked in and called out to him, happy that he had returned.
The Island of Mists Page 19
