The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “Where have you been, my beautiful boy?” I gently rubbed his head, giving his ears some special attention. The cat purred in response and nuzzled against my hand. It was then that I noticed that something lay on the table beside him. The body of a sleek, black-feathered bird lay just at his side, dead but its body was still in pristine condition.

  “Cats will often bring food to you if it feels bonded to you,” I remember the Hermit saying when I first asked him about my new friend.

  Looking down at the cat with admiration, I gave him another scratch under his chin. He purred loudly in response. “I suppose you will need a name, won’t you?” I continued to scratch his chin while he rubbed against my fingertips. “I will call you Bird, after the prize that you brought with you today.” Bird accepted more chin scratches as he continued to mark me. That night after we were both full of our dinners, Bird and I rested together, him sitting in my lap, me petting his soft body. Two different souls in two different forms, bonded like family. Bird was my constant companion. Everywhere I went, so did he. His presence cut the loneliness from my life and gave me something else that I didn’t know I had been searching for: someone to take care of.

  ************

  When Talen was still alive, my interactions with the passing traders was limited. I bartered only with the ones that he knew, trusting them only because of their acquaintance with him. With my friend gone, I shut myself off from them and because of it, lost the trust of the regulars that came down the pathway. Seeing their increasing numbers moving along the road reminded me of my isolation and the loneliness that came when my beloved Bird passed in his sleep during my fifth winter. With him now gone, I needed interaction with others. Armed with that knowledge, I made myself available again. Getting people to trust me was twice as hard as it had been before but within a few months, the regulars and I were on good terms again and newer faces started to show up after word of my skills began to reach the towns. I realized that remaining there on that road would not be enough to soothe the need growing within me. I had to expand myself to new areas. I had to branch out beyond this small area. If I wanted to help people, I had to expose both my skills and wares to a broader base.

  ************

  During the warmer months, several people passed through these hills, traipsing across the vast, green landscape in search of a better life, seeking employment, or an answer to their problems. During the warmer months, I would stand at where the crossroads forked, one side leading through the forest, one across the meadows, and the other down a trail that led to a collection of villages further north. Passersby regularly traded handmade combs, blankets, thread, cloth, plants, wool, and other assorted items for food and the medicines that I crafted. My trade business kept me provided for and I found the people I met there were often the ones who needed me most.

  ************

  The most memorable was a woman carrying a sickly, coughing child. The little boy couldn’t have been more than four when I first heard the wet, deep cough that rattled inside his little chest. As the woman came into view, she perked up at the first sight of me and picked up her pace.

  “Hello,” She said in Talen’s tongue. At first glance, she was bone-thin, pale, and exhausted to the brink of collapse. I knew she wouldn’t make it if I didn’t intervene.

  “Hello,” I greeted her with a friendly smile and pulled back the cloth covering my basket to show her the items that I had to sell.

  “Do you know how much father it is to the nearest town?” She glanced at the basket with longing but just as quickly, looked away and shifted the child that slept restlessly in her arms.

  “It is a day’s walk.” I answered recalling on my memory for the answer. The woman shook suddenly, defeated and crestfallen, nearly dropped the child she carried.

  “We will not survive,” She said despondently and began to cry. When dealing with the passing traders, I relied on my sensory aura to judge their characters. If a person had selfish or malicious intentions, it emanated off them like putrescence. The woman before me was clean smelling like a sun-lit field. Immediately I knew that she held no wicked intentions and that her desperation was real. “We met a man on the road that offered us help,” She said as her tears fell harder. “While my son and I slept, he stole everything that we brought with us. He took all the food and the water. He even took the few coins my brother-in-law sent me.”

  The child must have sensed his mother’s desperation and woke from the thin veil of sleep. “Mama,” His little voice said with the purest sound. “I’m hungry.” He gave me a quick glance before burying his face into the crease of his mother’s neck.

  “I know my love,” She cradled the back of his head and stroked his fine, sandy blonde hair. “We…we will have to wait until we get to town.” She said as her voice cracked and shattered.

  “No, you don’t,” I thrust a hand into my basket, pulling out a bag filled to the brim with dried fish and a wooden crock of dried, sweetened raspberries. “Here,” I handed them over without hesitation. The woman stared wide-eyed with complete disbelief. “I want you to have these.” I pressed them into her palm, determined to not take no for an answer.

  “I can’t pay you,” She argued back, albeit weakly. “I have no money. That bastard stole it all…”

  “Consider it a gift, then,” I countered. “If and when you are able, you can repay me by giving kindness to someone else in need. I know what it means to be hungry and to not have help. Allow me to do this for you.” The woman burst into tears again. She hugged me tightly, squeezing the young boy between us, all the while thanking me repeatedly. “I live a short distance from here. I will have a warm fire tonight. You and your son are more than welcome to spend the night beside it. If you will allow me, I have a tonic that will help his cough.”

  Gratefully, the woman accepted my offer. For the next week, she and her son slept in my cave. The woman, who went by the name of Bee, insisted on repaying me by temporarily taking over the cooking duties and by showing me a new stitch that strengthened the hem of my dresses. While she worked to show her gratitude, the boy quickly recovered from his nasty cough. By the time that they left, my new friend and her son were both better than when they arrived. I sent them on their way armed with a bag of smoked, dried fish, more of the sweetened raspberries, a basket of other provisions, and some replacement coins that would see them past the end of their journey.

  ************

  After meeting Bee, I built a modest trading business. Through trade, I met people from all corners of the land, each one unique and different. Some were kind, pleasant, and friendly. Others were not, but they were few and far between.

  “Be extra cautious of the kings’ soldiers,” Christian, one of the travelers warned one day after I had traded a crock of fresh honey and dried fish flakes for three spools of thread and an assortment of fish bone needles. “They’ll kill you if you get in their way or if they suspect you for any reason.” Christian, of course, was right.

  My first encounter with the soldiers was on a cloudy day, just before autumn arrived. The heavy scent of rain was fresh in the air and I was foraging for herbs when the sound of heavy footfall and horses panting heavily rumbled like distant thunder. Afraid and heeding Christian’s warning, I hid myself in a thick patch of wild gorse. Within seconds, the entourage of horse-riders charged down the wet, muddy road, screaming past me, destined for some unknown destination. I watched as they suddenly came to an abrupt stop just a short distance from where I remain hidden. One man, a tall, broad-shouldered soldier wearing an embroidered tunic called out for several men to dismount. I watched in horror as they dragged a filthy, mud-covered man out from behind them and tossed him into the center of the road.

  “Trying to steal a horse, eh, thief?” The first soldier, whose fiery red hair was both mesmerizing and distracting, landed a harsh kick to the raggedy man’s stomach. I flinched in response as the hardness of the man’s foot connected with the tender muscles of the man’s
stomach. I lurched and swallowed a groan, feeling as if it were me being kicked. “Do you know what happens to horse thieves?” The soldier sneered and withdrew a long, pointed blade from a scabbard that hung at his side. “They are sentenced to death.”

  What happened next occurred so suddenly that I was barely able to comprehend what happened before it was over. The soldier, staying true to his word, sunk the blade through the other man’s chest, striking him through the heart, all with a warped, malicious smile. In a final act of cruelty, he twisted the blade viciously, causing the impaled man to cry out what I knew was his death moan. Leaving his body where it lay, the soldier remounted his steed and then ordered the rest of his men to follow suit. Moments later, they were off again, headed down the road, leaving the man that had been accused of theft to rot and decay.

  I waited until I could no longer hear the horses panting or feel the vibrations of their hooves striking the earth. Slowly and cautiously, I walked over to where the dead man lay. Immediately, I detected the metallic scent of blood in the air and bore witness to the stain of said blood mixing with the damp earth under his lifeless body. Reaching down, I felt for a pulse. The man was dead. As I looked down the empty length of the lane, my anger rose deep in my stomach that this man, guilty or not, had been accused and punished without the benefit of being able to defend himself. I tried not to become emotional as I recognized the fallen man’s face.

  Alfred was a nomadic man who had had his tongue severed from his mouth years before. I found him to be a caring, tender man who had no capacity for deception or malice. I traded food for the odd trinket. Surprisingly, he communicated in a form of sign language similar to what Mira used. We had had no trouble in understanding one another. I knew then that Alfred had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and that the soldiers who killed him were only out for blood.

  Hatred rose in my breast towards the merciless murderers, men that were supposed to be the peacekeepers of the roads and lands. Having witnessed an innocent man’s execution, I realized that they were nothing more than merciless butchers, men who killed without compassion and without the benefit of clemency. Sickened at their heartlessness, I dragged the dead man from of the road and buried him just beyond the tree line. Once he was buried, I covered his grave with stones, gathered a funerary bouquet, and sang the funeral songs of my people. It was the least I could do to give a kind man dignity in death. The dignity that he deserved but was denied by savage, beastly men whose cruelty left a sour taste in my mouth.

  From that point on, I disappeared whenever the soldiers passed through. The last thing that I wanted was to suffer the same fate that Alfred had. The people from the towns viewed them as a necessary evil. Their increased presence in the world did not stop me from selling my wares or keep me from trading. It just made me much more cautious. I lived alone, after all, and that meant that I had to continue to support myself if I wanted to survive. And so I continued with my trade, bargaining and dealing for necessities. Throughout Winter and into the start of Spring, I traded, bought, sold, and swapped. I continued through the winter as the routes grew leaner and leaner. Little did I know that my life would change dramatically.

  ************

  “Good tidings, Yvaine,” The voice came from out of nowhere. I turned and saw Sibbe, a wife of one of the most honest men I knew, approaching me. Just behind her, I could see her honest husband, Daffyd, a builder and carpenter, along with their two children in tow and a stranger bringing up the rear. “How has your trade been?” She asked as her feet crunched across the frosty yet thawing grass beneath her feet.

  “Poor but it’s still early yet. The heavy snows greatly diminished trade over the course of the winter, but I think we are due for a bountiful season.” I said and waited for the words that I knew would follow.

  “You should have taken yourself into the towns,” She encouraged me and gently patted my shoulder. “You would see your business expand tenfold and the winter wouldn’t have been so harsh.” Her optimism always left me feeling joyous only because of her infectious tone.

  “I will not go to the towns,” I told her for what seemed like the twentieth time. Her face always fell with disappointment but that did not stop her from asking me repeatedly. “I have no desire to travel and I fear how the people would receive me.”

  “There are good people there, Yvaine. Talen would tell you that if he were still alive.” I couldn’t stop the twinge of sorrow from shadowing my features. Nor could I stop her from seeing it.

  “Leave her be, Sibbe,” Her husband’s jovial tone restored balance to the moment. “Yvaine, how are you?” Daffyd stepped forward and took my hand in both of his. “You look well.”

  “Thank you, Daffyd,” I answered, pulling my hand away more abruptly than I had intended to, feeling the eyes of a stranger bore into me. I tried to suppress the revulsion that I felt and tried to not think about the putrid smell that accosted my nose. “I see that your children have grown since I saw them last.” The youngest one, Samuel, rushed ahead and hugged my leg. I patted his light-brown hair and fished a couple of honeyed-plums from my basket to give to each of the children.

  “You spoil them,” Daffyd said, urging his children to thank me for my kindness, which they did but only once the plums were devoured and resting in their bellies.

  “You haven’t introduced us.” The stranger stepped forward, roughly brushing Daffyd aside as he placed himself directly in my view. I met his eye and suppressed the urge to sneer. The coarse, bushy-bearded, obese man eyed me as if I were goods to bid on, rather than the vendor trading them. “Byron.” His arm snaked out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it while one finger tickled my palm.

  Yanking myself free, I scowled at him and refused to give him my name. Byron laughed and then winked, sickening me further. Daffyd was oblivious to what was happening, but Sibbe was not. “Yvaine is reserved.” She tried to explain. A peacekeeper. It’s who she was. “Her ways are different from ours, Byron, but she is an honest and humble person.”

  Byron blatantly ignored Sibbe as he continued to stare at me, his eyes slowly moving up and down the length of my body while licking his crusted, dried lips. Revulsion rose at the base of my throat and I wanted nothing more than to be out of this man’s presence. Before I could invent an excuse to leave, Daffyd announced that they needed to be moving on. Their goal was to reach the lake halfway between the nearest town and the crossroads before nightfall. Wishing me luck, Daffyd and his family left with a promise that we would meet again soon. I waved at them as they set off down the road again. Byron walked behind them, moving slowly due to his size. I remained where I was, not wanting him to see which direction that I took back to my own dwelling. They were almost out of sight when Byron turned around suddenly lifted his split fingers up to his mouth and wiggled his tongue in between them. Horrified, I stared after him, angry that he would dare such a rude gesture. Instead of reacting visibly, I turned my back to him, showing him that I would not acknowledge his disrespect. After a few minutes passed, I saw no sight of the party and with a sigh of relief, turned and took the long path back to my dwelling.

  ************

  Twilight was slowly giving away to darkness when the sound and smell of soft rain falling outside filled the cozy cave interior. A pot of vegetable stew—onions, carrots, herbs, parsnips, turnips, cabbage, and sweet peas—boiled in a pot of broth made from dried fish scraps and bones. The mouthwatering aroma, combined with the fresh earthiness that clung to the air, put me at ease. I worked steadily, grinding wheat kernels to make flour that would be turned into bread later. I started to hum softly while I ground the kernels into the fine, speckled powder that would be combined with water, kneaded into a sticky textured dough, and left to sit overnight to rise so that I could bake it in the morning. I enjoyed simple tasks like this. It gave me time to think—or not to—just the ability to relax within the moment and enjoy life.

  A loud snap shattered my peace, forcing me to turn, thinking that a
n errant ember had escaped the hearth. Instead of a smoldering, fiery chunk of ash, I found something else entirely.

  “Now, that’s a woman. The kind that cooks food to fill her man’s belly once he’s had his way with her.” Byron loomed in my door, staring me down, his fat hand fumbling at the engorged lump in his pants.

  “How did you get here?” I demanded as a river of fear flowed down my back. Behind me, I grasped my knife, shielding it from his view, certain that I would soon have to use it. “How did you find where I live? Where are Daffyd and Sibbe? Where are their children?” I hissed through my teeth, fearful of my friends’ safety.

  Byron laughed hysterically, scaring me further. “I ditched those naive idiots. I left them, claiming that I needed to piss and followed you back here. I know that you wanted me. I could tell by the way you looked at me.” He licked his lips as he dared to take a step towards me. The sight was revolting, and disgust nearly choked me. “That tight little body. I bet you’re a virgin, aren’t you? How some man hasn’t taken that tight pussy yet is mindboggling. Maybe that dear Lord that you all are so fond of was saving it for me? I like the taste of young, untouched kitty.” He drew closer and I instinctively moved in the opposite direction. I was not in a good position to defend myself. I knew it. There was nowhere to run, and Byron blocked the only way out.

  “If you come any closer, I will kill you.” The words flew from my lips effortlessly. “I mean it. I will kill you. I’ve killed before. I won’t hesitate to do it again.” I warned. The bulky, greasy beast snickered, unphased by the seriousness of my threat.