The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  I approached the dense copse and a wave of relief washed over me. Insects chirped, frogs croaked, birds sang high up in the trees, and I caught a glimpse of a rabbit darting across the forest floor and into a large group of bushes off to my right. The forest would have been silent if there was the slightest threat of danger. I continued, pushing myself through the dense flora and thick undergrowth. The mouth of the cave was just ahead. Instantly I recognized the large marker that had been set there ages ago. It was what both the Hunter and Huntress used to locate one another. I stumbled the rest of the way and stepped up. I was immediately hit by the cool but thick, humid air. The dense, musty smell of damp earth met my nostrils as I moved blindly down the unlit hallway. A shiver traveled up my back as the memories from long ago taunted me once again, whispering of things that I wanted to forget. Just like before, I could feel a ghost walking at my back.

  “Go away.” I hissed at the ghost and went on to make my way to the open chamber where my life had changed so drastically. I reached the heart of the cave and moved to the far wall, disguising myself behind the platform that had been cut into the wall. I eased myself down, letting out a sigh of relief as my bottom hit the damp hard floor and I rested my back against the solidness of the wall. I drew in a ragged breath and let it out slowly. For a long time, I sat quietly, trying to ignore the tremendous pain that radiated from my knee while I thought about what was happening outside. My eyes welled with tears and slipped down my face. I hated leaving Ibira’s body behind in the boat, but I knew that if she was still alive, she would have urged me to go. Knowing that she was dead tightened my throat and burned my eyes further.

  The Island has fallen. I knew it and there was nothing that I could do. Hiding in the belly of that cave, I realized all the mistakes that our society had made, and how foolish we had been thinking the veil would always protect us from harm. How had the veil failed us? I cringed, thinking of all the dead and the trail of carnage. Images of lifeless bodies lay scattered in the smoke-filled air and Ibira’s dead eyes assaulted my mind.

  For two days I sheltered there, hiding in the depths of the cave, praying to the Goddess to spare my life and to keep my friends and their loved ones safe. The scent of fire had all but faded when I finally ventured out of my shelter. My stomach rumbled loudly from lack of food and my mouth was dry from thirst. Gathering what courage that I still possessed, I withdrew myself from the safety of the First Dwelling and made my way back through the forest. Crossing through the rough landscape, I reached the shore and I found the boat right where I had left it. Ibira remained where she had fallen, only the weather and exposure to the elements had bloated her body and the deterioration process had started. I could barely see through the thick wall of tears as I looked at her lying there in the boat, murdered by those that had dared to breach our shores. Not having any tools or the makings to build a funeral pyre, I dragged her body from out of the boat and laid her there at the shore. I whispered the funeral prayers over her, promising her that we would see one another again. A deep pain filled me, knowing that I had to leave her without the protection of the funeral ceremony or a funeral pyre. I hoped that what I had done would be enough and climbed back into the boat, headed for the Island’s border.

  My damaged joint throbbed as I sat down in the boatmen’s seat and paddled my way across the water. Off in the distance, I could see nothing but smoke and ruin. Silence shrouded the island like a veil of death, and I was certain that most of the inhabitants were dead and the few that survived had fled for their lives. My only consolation was that my children were not here to see this. Ranulf, being the man that is he is, would have jumped in without hesitation and it would have cost him his life. Gweneth would have run but that was no guarantee that she would have survived. I was thankful that they weren’t here to see our world crumble to pieces. I paddled fast and hard, feeling the muscles in my back burn, not used to the stress. When I reached the shore to the outside world, the boat skidded to a stop as it slid up onto the bank. Dropping the paddle into the boat, I stepped onto the shore and made my way up to the same spot where my grandmother and I had stood so many years before. Shock filled my belly as I saw that the heavy, smoky veil that protected us was gone.

  Who had lifted it? I thought and immediately wanted someone to blame. Had one of our people carelessly left it up? Or did someone returning home forget to lower it? Or was it something—or someone else? Had someone discovered our secrets and through that, learned to raise the one thing that has kept us safe for centuries? A shiver ran up my spine as I crossed the border where the fog normally fell. Standing on the outside edge of the border, I attempted to lower it. If the attackers had gone, they would not find their way through the dense fog. If they were still within, they would die trying to get out. With our world destroyed, I felt I owed it to the Goddess to bring down the cover, to protect these once blessed lands from ever meeting that fate again. I stood there, reciting the incantations, singing the songs but try as I may, nothing worked. The veil would not appear. It was like it had simply vanished. A wave of sickness gripped me, and I doubled over and vomited. The Island of Mists was in ruins. Something or someone had destroyed what had kept our people safe for generations and I was the unlucky witness to see it at its end. The weight of that knowledge was too much to bear.

  Close by, I heard the sudden sound of voices and my feet took flight. They carried me across the grassy field and into the outer forest that I hadn’t seen in years. I hid until the bragging, menacing voices were gone and night had fallen. During the long minutes that ticked away, I processed what had happened and formulated a plan on what to do next. There was only one answer. With Ranulf gone off to some far-off, nameless place, I would go to Gweneth. I would seek shelter at the new abbey she had been sent to until I could devise what my next course of action would be. Ranulf had told me that it was North of the Island. With his directions and my daughter as the beacon, I let my feet and the Goddess guide me and hoped that I would find my way to her.

  EIGHTEEN

  The journey to the Abbey was brutal. The roads—ones that appeared after my return—were tough to navigate but that didn’t deter me. Lessons that I had learned when I was younger came back to me, providing some aid further into my trek. For days I walked, hoping that I was moving in the right direction, trying with the best of my recollection to recall the path that Ranulf had taken when he had last gone to visit her. My body ached and throbbed from the days that had led up to my leaving. My knee pained me most of all. Running on it was difficult and the exertion from the attack left it stiff, swollen, and made every step excruciating. As I moved slowly, I prayed to the Goddess that this was the right road and it would lead me to the one place where I knew I could be safe and that there was a pair of loving arms to welcome me.

  The sun was setting on the final day of my trek. It had taken seven days instead of the three it had taken Ranulf. He was a young, physically fit, unencumbered man. I was fifty-two years old and my body was not as strong as it was when I was younger. In the distance, I saw the massive, unfamiliar stone edifice of the Abbey. As it came into view, I regaled at the beauty that man could create. The sight reminded me of when I had stopped with Valon to gaze at Glastonbury. How humans could erect something so tall with mere tools was hard to fathom but was an awe-inspiring experience. Ranulf had described it at great length just before his last visit. As I recalled his words, I found that he had undersold what he saw rather than his usual overappraisal. The lofty, cut stone walls reached the height of at least twenty men stacked atop one another. Archways lined the bottom floor, allowing one to see openly on one side, while a sturdy stone wall lined the other. In my mind’s eye, I could see a cloister behind that wall, that opened to a sparse, badly maintained garden in the rectangle-shaped courtyard. The abbey complex was massive—so big that it boggled my mind at how such a small band of women could live inside such a large structure. Back on the Island, the largest dwelling had been the cave where the High Pri
estess lived. Standing in the field, staring at the immense structure, I was humbled by its sheer size.

  According to Gweneth, it took a Master Builder over thirty years to build the abbey and the quarters attached to it. Thirty years to build such a grandiose achievement. A place that was now my daughter’s home. Gweneth had been sent her to treat the parishioners after a plague had killed off many of them and the holy people residing at the abbey. After the sickness had run its course, she remained. It was the only place that would allow her to continue to work in her herb craft, she had said in one of her letters. It was where she felt she could benefit God the most by healing those that made pilgrimages to the chapel and who occasionally stopped when following the trade route. It was there, inside those walls, I would find my daughter. It was where I would find sanctuary. Gweneth often urged me to visit, stating that her sect did not believe in turning ‘heathens and non-believers’ away.

  “All are welcome here. The arms of Christ do not deny succor to anyone.” She had written. When I first read her words, I was angry. To be called a heathen was so derogatory and negated what I believed. It took me several days to work through it. I came to see that it was my own misgivings and misconceptions that were clouding the beauty that Gweneth saw. I had to be better than that if I wanted to continue to have a close relationship with my daughter. I let the words go. I let them drift off into the wind as if they were meaningless.

  The sound of women’s voices caught my ears. The sun was just dipping below the western horizon when I realized I had been standing in one spot for far too long. I pushed myself through the tall grass, hearing the far-off bleats of sheep and the cries of goats grazing in nearby pastures. Slowly, I moved across the open fields as my lips moved in silent gratitude to the Goddess who had seen me through yet another trial and kept me safe on my way here. A bell rang out and in the distance. The voices from earlier grew louder.

  “Someone is coming!” A clear, young female voice called out. Just ahead of me, outside one of the alcoves of the house of God, I saw several people, all women, come out to meet me as I hobbled across the muddied field, propping myself up on the crutch that I had made from a fallen oak branch. One of the women, dressed head to toe in a pale gray-colored gown stood unmoving, her eyes staring into the distance, taking in every move as I struggled across the rough, uneven terrain. When I drew closer, the collection of nuns who had first been apprehensive came rushing towards me, seeing that I was a woman and that I was injured.

  “My dear?” A red-haired nun came towards me. “Oh, you poor thing! Do not worry about anything. Please, come with me. We will help you.” Without explanation, she took my makeshift crutch and replaced it with her sturdy shoulders. Another asked me if I was thirsty and ran to get water before I could answer. Relieved, I was thankful for my early years. The language the nuns spoke was the same language that I had learned from Talen. It was a language that I had taught the children, knowing that it would only give them an advantage in this world. It was the language that I used to speak with my beloved Ralf. My eyes moistened as I felt his presence beside me and thanked his spirit for looking after me. “We need to get her inside. Somebody fetch sister Gweneth to look at her wounds.”

  My head snapped up at the mention of my daughter’s name. A song in my heart cried out, causing me to let out a strangled whimper. Relief washed over me as I realized I had come to the right place and that the other half of my heart was here. My rescuers led me into the thick, darkened stone walls, escorting me down long, wide open hallways and into a chamber where a large wooden table had been placed in the center of the room. The walls were lined with several shelves that held hundreds of bottles in a variety of colors, each filled with different dried bits of plant life. I drew in a deep breath of the warm, sweet, and spicy air. The familiar scent reminded me so much of the herb sheds back home.

  Home. I thought. It was only then that I realized that I no longer had a place to call home. This Abbey was now my home now, only because Gweneth was here. The hot sting of tears burned at my eyes as what I had just witnessed hit me with its full force. I cried out as the nuns helped me up onto the table and then took the wrappings from my feet that had served as shoes after my own had started to quickly disintegrate two days into my journey.

  “Sister Eve has said that there is someone that is need of my help?” Gweneth appeared in the doorway. A shockwave went through me, seeing her for the first time in over six years. I would not have recognized her, save for her beautiful, full-formed mouth and her high-set cheekbones. She was dressed in her habit. The simple, crude, dull, grey-colored, ugly gown, along with the wimple that only left her face uncovered made her look far older than her twenty-five years. As a child, Gweneth’s complexion had always been rosy and warm. Her cheeks were always pink, highlighting the soft blue of her eyes. Now, she looked so cold, so harsh, stern and rigid. Lifeless. That was the word whispered in my mind. Lifeless. My daughter’s appearance was void of any vitality and spirit while trapped in those ridiculous clothes that hid all, save her face.

  “Yes, she’s right here,” One of the other nuns, who was bathing my dirty feet, said in return. Gweneth went straight to the basin of water and washed her hands. She dried them, all without looking up at me. As she came around the corner of the table, I watched anxiously as she raised her eyes and stopped abruptly as she recognized me.

  “Mama?” Her face blanched of what color it had. I was the last person that she expected to see, and it showed. Tears welled in my eyes and ran, leaving streaks in the dust and grime that covered my face. Gweneth stood motionless, her eyes locked on mine before she surprised everyone by ordering them from the room, an order which no one obeyed.

  “Mama, what are you doing here?” She immediately checked me over, inspecting my face, neck, my chest, and finally, my leg. She hissed through her teeth as she saw how grossly swollen my knee was.

  “The Island was attacked.” I managed to say before my voice broke completely and emotion kept my tongue from speaking further.

  “Attacked? What do you mean ‘attacked’?” She said worriedly, as her fingers worked furiously as they pressed and plodded along the old scar of the arrow bolt wound and the swelling around the kneecap—the result of a week of near constant walking.

  It took several minutes for me to calm down to the point that I could find my voice again. “The Island was destroyed,” I told her, and my voice crackled again. “So many people were killed. Ibira is dead. One of the attackers shot her through the heart with an arrow. The marketplace was ransacked. All the stalls were burned. The houses were lit on fire. Some were still burning when I left. All the boatmen had either fled or were killed. Everything is gone. There’s…there’s nothing left.” I broke down and Gweneth’s arms encircled me. I sobbed against her shoulder, mourning the loss of my home and for all the friends that I had loved dearly.

  “What about Ranulf? Was he with you?” She pulled away from me, suddenly concerned about the welfare of her brother.

  “No. He’s been gone for several months. No doubt he’s off exploring overseas again,” I answered and saw the sudden tightness in her shoulders relax. Gweneth continued to check me over, meanwhile asking me about the attack.

  “I have no doubt that he’ll come here once he discovers what happened.” She said to comfort me. “How did it happen? Do you know who did this? Were you able to see who it was? The people that attacked you?” I shook my head.

  “All I could see was figures, and that was from a distance. I never got close enough to describe them.” I paused, taking in several long, deep breaths to help keep my nerves steady themselves. “I was up at the herb sheds making elixirs when a scream ripped through the air. I looked up and saw them charging into the square.” I said honestly. Explaining what happened made me nervous. My body broke out in a thick layer of sweat as my heart beat wildly in my chest. I felt as if I was going to faint. Sensing my panic, Gweneth pulled me close to her once more.

  The soun
d of the door opening caught our attention. Gweneth and I both turned as a tall, looming figure hunched in the doorway. My eyes widened with wonder as I struggled to believe who I saw before me.

  “Mother Adeline?” I whispered her name, filled with disbelief that the woman I had known long ago was not only here, but still alive.

  “Yvaine,” Mother Adeline said with equal surprise. “Yvaine, my friend. It has been many years since I saw you last.” Her aged mouth curved into a pleasant smile. “How is it that you have come to us, my child?” Mother Adeline crossed the room and came to stand before me. She took my hand in hers and held it empathetically. Her skin hadn’t lost its softness or its warmth. “What has put you in such a state?”

  “I came here to seek refuge,” Mother Adeline glanced over me and then placed a supportive hand upon my daughter’s shoulder. “Gweneth, please see to my old friend. Yvaine, I am entrusting you into the care of my mentee. This young woman possesses a keen knowledge of herbs and medicines. I’ve often wondered who it is that she reminds me of and now, I can confidently say that I remember. Young Gweneth here reminds me of you.”