The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “We started to talk, and I asked him the question that I have asked over a thousand people and he was the first to say yes.” My knees buckled and I nearly stumbled. Ralf caught me and helped me back over to the bench where he had found me sitting. “Yvaine?” His hand went to my back to steady me while his voice was filled with worry and concern.

  “I’m all right, Ralf,” I assured him. “My leg is not as strong as it once was.” I pulled up the hem of my dress to show him the wound that I had taken to my knee. “The men that attacked us shot me through, just above here and I suffered a good amount of internal damage because of it. It tends to give out if I stand too long.” I explained.

  “Yvaine, I am sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have stayed with you. I shouldn’t have run off. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have lost so much time.” He pulled me tightly into the sanctuary of his arms.

  “There’s nothing to be done about it now.” I clung to him, inhaling the scent of him and savoring the familiar way of how his body felt under my touch.

  “We are together, now. And I will never leave you again. You have my word on that. Only death can separate us.” His mouth came down and took possession of mine. The passion of youth rested just at the edge of our kiss, but our surroundings kept it at a slow burn.

  “The young man that you mentioned,” I said, pulling back from his embrace to look at him. “The one that you said came to your camp, shared your meal?”

  “Do you mean our son?” His eyes twinkled, and it caused me to squeak out a giddy giggle. It took me a moment to find the ability to say anything. “Our strong, devastatingly handsome son?” He chuckled, reminding me where Ranulf got his sense of exaggeration.

  “He is a fine boy and has grown into such a strong, brave man. He reminds me so much of you.” I said through another round of fresh tears. I ran my hands down the front of his chest, wanting to know how his body felt now compared to how I remembered it. “I was going to tell you that I was pregnant right before we were attacked.”

  Ralf sat back. His chest puffed out proudly and he beamed. “You did a magnificent job raising him. No one could ask for a better son.” Ralf paused. “I am very proud of him. And you.”

  “He looks just like his father, doesn’t he?” I said as I took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “Your daughter looks like you too.” Ralf froze suddenly, stunned, unmoving, and rocked to his core. His eyes met mine and his lips moved but no sound came from them. “There were two?” He finally said, his shock transparent across the features of his face and I couldn’t help but respond to it. “Ranulf didn’t tell me that he had a sister. He only told me that you were alive.” He managed after a short struggle to find his words.

  “We created two brilliant people, my love.” I said through a shower of tears. “After you were gone, I went back to my people. I wanted to raise our child in a world where they would be safe. Only, I didn’t know that there were two at the time.” I reached up to touch the wisps of hair that floated around his head. “It was there with the help of my aunt and my sister that I brought them into the world. Ranulf was born first. He looked just like you from the moment that he came into the world. You should have heard his mighty little cries trying to outmatch the thunder that clapped as he drew his first breaths. Every time I look at him, I can’t help but think of your god, Thor, the master of lightning. Just like every time I looked at you. I find that when I look at him, sometimes it causes this great ache inside of me.” I rested Ralf’s hand upon my lap. “From the time of his birth, it was obvious that he was your son. The same spirit, the same temperament, the same desire to have his name remembered. All of it are aspects of you.” Ralf drank me in as I told him of our children. “Gweneth and her brother favor each other in so many ways. She has your complexion and your eyes, but she has my hair color and she is built like me. She also inherited the gift of healing but always felt compelled to follow the Christian’s ways, rather than the traditions that she was born into. She has become well known for her skill.”

  Ralf brought my hand slowly to his lips and kissed it with deep affection. His eyes closed as I savored the warmth of his mouth against my palm. I took the time to study the man I loved as he was now. Immediately, I noticed that lines marked the corners of his eyes, lines that had not been there when he was younger. Despite the decades that had passed, he still looked as he did back then. His hair was lighter now, the dark chestnut color was now flecked with white, but he still wore it long, hanging down well past his shoulders and bound in a tight plait. His skin was weathered considerably as well. A lifetime of traveling would age the skin. My aunt had told me on my first day back after she chastised for my windburned cheeks. From what he told me Ralf’s people were sea travelers and were often exposed to the elements as they sailed in their ships. This was where the weathering came from. It gave him dignity, along with tangible wisdom that spoke of many tales and many experiences. All of which ultimately brought him here to this garden with me.

  “Thank you.” He whispered softly as he met my eyes. “Thank you for my children.” His voice emotional voice cracked as he laid his forehead against mine. My own throat grew tight and my eyes moistened once again. “They are my greatest accomplishment and I have you to thank for that.” He kissed me deeply, fully on the mouth. His hand slipped from my cheek and came to rest upon the nape of my neck. We sat on that bench, hand in hand, kissing, talking, and spending our first moments together after believing the other was dead for so very long.

  ************

  The sun was just slipping past the roof line when we realized that it was getting late. Both of us spoke about leaving the courtyard but neither went to rise. We were both afraid that if we left, the dream would shatter and the reality that we both feared would come bounding back. Ralf leaned in, whispering in my ear of my beauty and how age had only enhanced my loveliness when a soft voice spoke in the close distance.

  “Mother?” Gweneth stood under the archway between two columns. She was dressed from head to toe in her plain habit, staring at us in disbelief. “Mother, what is going on?” Her hands were clasped in front of her as she tried to hide her surprise at the stranger sitting beside me. I knew her well enough to know that her holding her hands like that meant that she was irritated, apprehensive, and uncomfortable with her environment. I saw her eyes take her father in, watching him with scrutiny while the inner workings of her mind displayed across the elegant features of her face.

  “Gwennie,” I raised myself up from my seat but the weakness in my knee caused me to fall back down. Ralf caught me and helped me to my feet, holding me steady, and bearing the weight so that I could stand easily. “Gwennie, I want you to meet someone.” I waved at her to come forward, but she defiantly remained in place. My heart fell a little, but I understood. “This is someone that I knew a long time ago. Someone that was very important to me and whom you should know.” I explained. Ralf remained silent there at my side with his eyes fixed solely on our daughter. I sensed the nervous tension in his body as his daughter stood a short distance from him, meeting him with intense bravery that came from his people. “I would like to introduce you to your father, my dear.”

  To our surprise, Ranulf suddenly materialized behind her, stopped at her side, and gave her a nudge. Realizing he was there, she glanced at him briefly before she turned her focus back to us. Meanwhile, Ranulf shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

  “I found him in a settlement along the northwestern coast after we joined forces to fight off invaders that came from the tip of the continent.” Ranulf said casually, as if finding his long-lost father was commonplace. Gweneth’s eyes darted back and forth between her brother and her father several times before she realized the intense amount of similarities between them.

  “This is our father?” Her eyes remained focused on Ranulf’s, but she motioned towards Ralf who held my hands tightly in his.

  “Just look at him, you, silly goose,” Ranulf pointed out, foreve
r impatient with his younger sister and what he called her infuriating way of over-examining every situation. “We look just like him!” He let out a quick, frustrated sigh. Ranulf confidently walked the short distance and stood shoulder to shoulder with Ralf. Side by side, there was no doubt that they were related. The younger one an exact copy of the older, both the same height, each one standing with a confident set to their shoulders. Their bodies were the same. Their stance, even their voices, were similar. Suddenly realizing that I was also present, our son rushed over to me, swept me up and twirled me around. He kissed my cheek and told me that he loved me. Despite his wandering spirit and adventurous spirit, Ranulf was sweet natured and devoted to those he loved. When he was little, he’d disappear for hours, ignoring his lessons as he escaped to the hilltop where he would watch life happen only to return at sunset with a full bouquet of the sweetest smelling flowers for me. He set me back down on my feet, making sure I was steady and then deftly plucked a flower from the gardens. He smiled as he handed me a white daisy with delicate white petals. At that moment, I saw a glimpse of the little boy he had once been. His sister continued to stand unmoving but watching silently. Her stony expression was unreadable upon her face.

  “Gwennie Bee?” Ranulf looked back at her, once again impatient with her reaction. “Well?” He waited briefly for her to speak and then threw his hands up in the air, his patience gone. “What do you think?”

  “I thought you said that my father was dead.” Gweneth finally spoke after a drawn-out silence. “You told us that he had been killed in an attack.” Her replies were aimed directly at me.

  “I thought he was. I thought he was killed by the men who attacked us and shot me. His own people had found him instead. They—” I answered honestly but Ralf interrupted me, taking over the explanation.

  “They took me back to their settlement and healed my wounds. I’ve spent every waking moment since that day searching for your mother.” Ralf’s voice was deep, and he spoke evenly. Gweneth listened carefully, mulling over his words and processing them. “After a long, fruitless search, I went back to the Northlands where I came from, but I could not stay. Yvaine is my home. I needed to be where she was, even if it meant that she was dead. I left the Northlands and came back here permanently. I arrived just before Ranulf came to my village with his men.” He stole a brief glance at his son who now occupied himself with an examination of one of the reliefs in the masonry behind us.

  “And you came to find my mother?” She asked him point-blank. My mouth curled upwards in the faintest trace of a smile. My daughter possessed her great-aunt’s directness and used it frequently without hesitation. Her father acknowledged her and then drew me close to him again.

  “I came back because I intend to marry your mother,” He declared. The shock rocked me to my core. Dumbfounded, I stood with my mouth hanging open. Ranulf did not react which lead me to believe that he was aware of his father’s intentions. “Yvaine, I want you to marry me.” His eyes searched mine as his thumbs caressed the skin on top of my hand. “I will live here with you or wherever you choose. I don’t care as long as we are together.” My eyes grew moist as he spoke to me. I had long since given up the thought of ever being happy like this again. I had renewal of hope. The same hope that was extinguished when I thought that he had died.

  “And Mother, do you intend to marry him?” Gweneth asked me directly. I nodded enthusiastically, not trusting myself to speak. “And would you consent to be married in the Christian faith?” Gweneth surprised me with her request. Before I could try to object, Ralf spoke once more.

  “I am a Christian now,” Ralf confessed as he gazed into my eyes. “I turned away from the old gods after you were taken from me.” He turned and looked at our daughter. It was only then that I caught sight of the silver cross that was hanging around his neck. My truest love had told me once that his people believed that there were many gods and goddesses, each one representing a different aspect of life, but all responsible for the balance of the world. To hear that his faith had shifted surprised me, but I did not care. I knew that this man in front of me would never ask me to convert like other followers of their faith had done so many times. The respect he held for me and my beliefs was genuine, and it was not in his nature to convert others.

  “There is much that we need to discuss then,” Gweneth finally stepped forward and came within inches of her father. “The evening meal is about to commence. The food bell has been rung. That was why I came to get you, Mother. Sir, would you please join us? We may speak while we eat.” She bade Ralf welcome, even though her face remained like stone.

  The three of us followed Gweneth to the dining hall. Once inside, Gweneth led us to a far table, tucked in the corner of the spacious room. We sat down on the long benches that Ralf said reminded him of the ones in the great mead halls of his people. Sister Cephilia, a young Roman descendent and a newly vowed devotee, brought us each a bowl of the vegetable stew, along with a roughly torn hunk of brown, sourdough bread. Ranulf dove into his food without hesitation. His sister shot him a look of complete disapproval, but he paid her no mind. Ranulf did not share her beliefs and did not regard the sanctity of Christianity as she did. Each meal that Gweneth partook began with a prayer of thanks for the nourishment that she had been provided, as well as gratitude for those who had their hands in its preparation. She and her father both bowed their heads and said grace. Out of respect for them, as well as the other women that I lived with, I bowed my head as they did but offered up my thanks to the Goddess instead. Once they were finished, we began to eat. Silence filled the room as we chewed the chunky stew of parsnip, potato, carrot, and onion that was seasoned with savory herbs that were cooked slowly in a savory beef bone broth. The flavor was rich upon my tongue. I watched Ralf eat as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He kept pace with his son while Gweneth and I ate slower.

  “Tell me of your people,” Gweneth asked her father halfway through the meal. She set her spoon down beside her bowl and placed her hands in her lap as she prepared to hear what he had to tell her. Ralf leaned back and laid his spoon inside his empty bowl. He took a drink of the water that we had been offered just moments before.

  “I was born in the mountains of the Northlands. My father, Ranfal, was a jarl, it is like what an earl is in this country.” He said for clarification, seeing the confusion on her face. “The village where we lived was at the edge of a long, narrow fjord.” An image of the map he had long ago drawn in flour flashed momentarily in my mind. “Some of our people were fisherman while the others farmed and tended animals. My father oversaw that peace reigned within our community and successfully fought off many raids.” My dear one spoke while his daughter listened to him with increasingly rapt attention. Ranulf’s eyes roamed around the room but I knew that he too listened to the story that their father told. “When I was in my eighteenth year, my father died after a long illness and it was assumed that I would become jarl after him. Leading people was not something that I ever desired, I declined the honor, as did my younger brother. My uncle took the throne because I simply was not ready for the responsibility. Instead, I followed my heart. My soul longed to explore, and I took to the seas with a party just before I turned nineteen. That was how I came here and how I met your mother when she found me near death, lying on the forest floor.”

  Ralf’s face looked far away as I watched him tell us of the great ships that he sailed in and all the foreign, exotic places that he had seen. Both of our children listened to him, enchanted under the spell that he wove. I had missed Ralf’s flair for storytelling. When we lived together in the cave, he once said that storytelling was something that both came easy and natural to his people. Each generation had great orators and they often passed the long night recanting tales of adventures, of battles that they had seen, and spinning yarns about the trials and tribulations of the great pantheon of gods and goddesses.