The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “Mother,” Ranulf said with the calmness that he inherited from his father. He took hold of my arm, but I lashed out at him in a panicked, crazed rage.

  “Get your hands off me!” I hissed and took another swipe at him. “Get out of this room! Leave us be!” I shrieked as the realization of what had happened hit me. “Your father…is…sleeping…” With those words, I fell apart. I threw myself on Ralf’s chest and sobbed, gripping his shirt in my hands, resting upon the hardness of his body one last time. One of the men, a large, red-headed giant tenderly pulled me away from the body of the man I loved. I fought him, lashing out, slapping the man’s face, and clawing at his hands to release me so that I could get back to Ralf.

  “Father?” Ranulf went to the opposite side of the bed and tried to shake Ralf awake. “Somebody, go get Gweneth!” He shouted and immediately went to check his father’s pulse. I stopped fighting the beast of a man that held me tightly and watched as Ranulf sought for something that I already knew wasn’t there. Our son turned around slowly until his eyes met mine and, in that instant, spoke the truth of what I didn’t want to believe.

  Ralf was gone. The light of my life, the love of my heart, the man that relentlessly searched for me, was gone. Something shattered inside me and I crumpled against the man that held me. A loud wail came from my throat as a large, empty tear ripped open within the center of my soul. Ranulf shouted for the man holding me to take me into the other room but he didn’t. Instead, he let me down and I walked over to where Ralf’s body lay. Feeling a tightness in my throat that prevented me from speaking, I lay down beside him and placed myself into his arms. I rested my head against his lifeless chest, feeling the solidness and the familiarity of his touch one last time. Tears pooled in my eyes, missing the slow rise and fall of his chest. Another cry tore from my throat but I warred against it. I wanted this last time to last, to be peaceful, and memorable. I did not want to remember it with tears, even though they flowed from my eyes faster than rainfall. My last moment with the love of my life wouldn’t be spoiled with grief. It would be shrouded in the love we shared and nothing more.

  How long I lay there, I cannot tell you. Surely it must have been moments, but it felt like hours. Gweneth came, alerted by the man that her brother had sent. My heart wept to know that this day, the day that was supposed to be special and sacred was one of sorrow.

  “Ranulf?” Gweneth appeared in the doorway carrying her medicine kit. Without a verbal reply, Ranulf met her in the doorway. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he placed a hand on each of her shoulders and whisper something in her ear. The cry that came from our daughter’s throat widened the tear inside me. Gweneth’s knees threatened to give out but she struggled on, determined to push past her brother but Ranulf pulled her to his chest. Our children stood clinging to one another, crying over the loss of their father. As much as I wanted to go to them, I could not. I wouldn’t leave my Ralf. The time left to touch and admire this wonderful, courageous, affectionate, fiercely loyal warrior that had captured my heart was limited. Soon, his body would be interred in the ground per the traditions of his Christian faith and I would no longer be able to look upon his face. As the sounds of broken hearts filled the air, I rested with Ralf as his body cooled and his spirit moved on.

  ************

  Gweneth and Sigurd postponed their wedding until the next full moon in order to give us time to grieve. The sun shone high in the sky, warming the air around us on the day that we laid Ralf into the ground. Ranulf and his men dug his grave. Sigurd read a funeral blessing from their Norse traditions, while Father Henry read from the Bible as dirt was cast down onto Ralf’s shrouded body. I stood motionless, staring into that deep, black hole where my love would rest forever more. Even though I knew that his soul would be reborn, for the ways of the Goddess taught us that the soul lived many times, I could not help but question whether it was true.

  Ralf was gone. I would never hold or kiss him again, savor the warmth of his skin, listen to his full-bellied laugh, or just sit with him in the sunshine. We would never sleep in each other’s arms again nor would he see his grandchildren be born and grow up. Deep anger welled within me and by the time his grave was filled in, I was ready to howl with rage. I felt as if I had been robbed. Robbed of my happiness and robbed of the time that we should have had left after being separated for over two decades. Tears flowed down my face, hot and burning from the rage that burned inside of me. One by one, the others left his graveside, but I could not find the will to make my feet move. I continued to stand, beside the rounded pile of dirt that forever blocked him from my sight.

  “Why did you leave me?” I half-whispered, half-sobbed, hoping that his spirit could hear my words across the chasm. “I wasn’t ready to lose you yet. There should have been many more years for us to share.” Tears ran down my lips and dripped from my chin as I spoke. I winced at the bitter cold wind upon my face instead of the familiar warmth of his skin. “We were supposed to celebrate the marriage of our daughter, but you died, and we buried you instead.” My voice shattered completely with the last word. A tightness caught in my throat and was followed by a deep, dull ache that brought a new wave of tears. My grief, intense and primal, overcame me and stole what I was to say next. My knees buckled from under me and I dropped down onto them. I lay upon Ralf’s grave, crying for all that had been taken from us and all that we had experienced together. I wasn’t ready to lose him, but I had, and there was nothing that would give him back to me in this life. I don’t remember the journey home. Whether it was by my own feet or the kindness of someone else, the journey from Ralf’s grave will remain a black hole in my memory.

  The days that passed after Ralf’s burial drudged by in a long, unending dark blur. I would not eat, no matter how much Gweneth urged me to. I refused to venture outside, even when Ranulf stood over me threatening to toss me out. I avoided all contact with my friends and family. In truth, I wanted nothing to do with any of it. All I wanted was to live in my black, emotionless void where the pain of Ralf’s loss didn’t rip away chunks of my soul. All that I craved was to lie in the darkness with only my memories to accompany me. Days, weeks, and months whittled away as I refused to leave my misery. Gweneth came to me several times during the day, telling me how worried she was and often demanding that I stop feeling sorry for myself and come back to the world of the living.

  “What would Father say?” She would scream but her words were wasted upon my deaf ears. Ranulf only came sparingly. I knew that it he could not bear to see me grieve so.

  Ultimately, it was Gweneth that finally pulled me back from the brink. I was stretched out on my bed, clutching Ralf’s pillow to my chest, inhaling the fading scent of his hair ingrained into the fabric. The front door burst open and the pounding sound of feet approaching caught my attention after months of disinterest.

  “Mama!” Ranulf shouted several times before appearing in my bedroom doorway.

  “Go away! I don’t want to be bothered!” I shouted, upset that my despondent solitude was being interrupted.

  “Mama! Gweneth needs you! She’s in labor and it’s too early for the baby to come!” Ranulf’s fear was tangible in the space between us. I stared at him briefly while my brain comprehended the serious predicament that my daughter was facing.

  “Grab my bag,” I leapt out of bed and moved to the chest where our clean clothes were kept. “It should be by the door alongside my cloak and my shoes. Go and fetch them.” I waited until he was gone to change my dress. Tying my long hair back with a leather strip, I rushed to the front door where Ranulf stood waiting, holding everything that I asked him to fetch.

  “Where is she?” I snatched my things from him as I met his eye.

  “At her house,” Ranulf replied weakly, visibly frightened.

  “Take me there,” I said as I realized that I didn’t know where my daughter lived. My desire to remain in my dark cocoon kept me from seeing my daughter establish her own home. I barely remembered her
wedding. As Ranulf took my arm and led the way, I recalled what I could from that day.

  Gweneth and Sigurd were married quickly. Glimpses of her dress, a white woolen gown with silver threading stuck in my mind. Voices spoke all around me, but I was so lost in my grief that I didn’t pay attention to who they belonged to. Other than a glance at the married couple at the end of the ceremony, the dress and my children’s still-grieving faces was all that I could remember.

  “What is wrong with her?” I asked as I struggled with what Ranulf had said earlier.

  “She’s pregnant, Mama,” Ranulf stopped me abruptly and took me by the shoulders. “That’s why she and Sigurd wanted to get married so quickly. They found out that Gwennie was pregnant and wanted the baby to be born within the confines of marriage.”

  “And the baby is coming early?” I asked for further clarification.

  “Yes. We were eating dinner when a pain seized her. Gwennie was washing a bowl when she clutched her stomach and doubled over. At first, she thought it was her body preparing for the upcoming birth but when the second one came just minutes later, we all knew that something was wrong. There was a great rush of blood.” Ranulf added as his skin paled.

  “When we get to her house, I will need you to go fetch Mira,” I instructed, all thoughts of commiserating in the darkness gone. Guilt settled in my bones as I thought of how I had neglected my children. My selfishness denied them the comfort of their mother’s arms while they mourned their father. My grief forced my daughter to go through this pregnancy without my advice and support. To say that I felt horrible is an understatement. Guilt, shame, and disgust at my behavior swirled through me and I suddenly wondered whether or not Gweneth would welcome my presence.

  “We’re here,” Ranulf pointed to a small, fieldstone-walled home nestled on the edge of the Forest. Without another word, Ranulf escorted me inside. As the front door opened, I caught sight of Sigurd sitting at the table, his red-rimmed eyes were bleary, and he sat with his large hands buried in his long, thick blonde hair.

  “Where is she?” I asked, pushing past Ranulf.

  “She’s in our room. Runa is with her.” I glanced towards the door and heard Ranulf’s feet turn and run towards the herb sheds. Giving Sigurd a reassuring nod, I gripped my bag and headed into the bedroom they shared.

  Gweneth lay on the bed, screaming. Beneath her, a pool of blood had soaked into the mattress and linens. My stomach dropped into my feet seeing her sweating, struggling through the pain that had her in its grasp.

  “Gwennie?” I called out to her as I moved to the bedside.

  “Mama!” Gweneth’s head shot in my direction and her face crumpled with relief. “Mama!” She went to reach for me, but another spasm seized her and bent her embattled body in two. “Oh!” She howled as she gripped her belly.

  “We think she’s losing the baby,” Runa whispered so that Gweneth couldn’t hear. “I don’t know what to do. I had Ranulf go for Mira…”

  “But he brought me instead. Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I tenderly touched her cheek. “Aunt Leena was an excellent midwife. I’ve watched her work enough to have learned a few things. And I’ve sent Ranulf to bring Mira to help us.” Runa’s face was tight with worry. Gweneth moaned again as she rolled onto her side.

  “No, Gwennie,” I turned her over onto her back. “You cannot lay on your side. It’s best if you lay on your back or if you get onto your hands and knees.” I explained but Gweneth had a surprise in store for me.

  “Or walking.” Runa blurted out.

  “No. We don’t want to aggravate the bleeding. She needs to remain on her back for now.” I corrected her. “First deliveries can be difficult.”

  “This isn’t my first baby, Mama,” Her words were brittle and hallow. “I lost my first—a son—just after Sigurd and I were married. When I lost him, it happened just like this one…” Her voice trailed off, indicating she feared that this child’s fate would be the same.

  “That doesn’t mean that this child is in any danger,” I knelt on the bed beside her and smoothed her sweaty hair back from her forehead. “Everyone woman’s labor is different. Some have it easy like Runa,” I pointed at Ravene’s daughter who stood behind us. “Other’s go through hell, like I did with you and your brother. I promise you, this baby will live. I will do everything within my power to see it draw breath and live.”

  “Mama,” Ranulf appeared suddenly in the doorway. His chest heaved from exertion and sweat ran down his face. “Mira’s nowhere to be found.” He said as he struggled against the urge to panic. “I asked her husband and he said that she’s gone trading with the others. What are we going to do?” His eyes shot to his sister who let out an agonized moan.

  “We’re going to deliver this baby,” I said firmly as I rolled my sleeves. “Ranulf, I need you to go back to the sheds and bring my Gwellen’s medical journal on childbirth.” I pointed towards the door and Ranulf took off again. “Runa, put some water onto boil and then go fetch a couple of women to help us. If I’m going to see my grandchild born, we’re going to need more hands than what we’ve got.” Runa acknowledged her orders and like her cousin, disappeared from the room.

  “Okay, Gwennie,” I moved to the foot of the bed. “I’m going to have to examine you to see what’s going on,” I said as Gweneth shot me a worried look. “It’s okay, my lovely girl,” My voice went low as I tried to soothe the terror and the worry that threatened to overtake her. Lifting the hem of Gweneth’s blood-spotted dress, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. All signs indicated that Gweneth was on the verge of delivery. Immediately, I checked how far she was dilated and surprisingly, Gweneth’s body was ready. The blood loss that she experienced, although abnormal and extensive, appeared to be tapering off. I held onto a small amount of worry, but I kept my composure, not wanting to alarm my dearest Gweneth.

  “That’s my good girl,” I soothed her. “You’re almost ready. It’s almost time for us to meet your babe.”

  “Mama, I’m scared,” Gweneth whimpered, her usual confident voice was now a fragile and frail. “There’s so much blood and the pain—” Her words were silenced as another contraction seized her. Gweneth rode it out until it subsided. She lay breathless, eyes closed as I coached her to focus on her breathing. Seeing her in such pain made my blood run cold. Having witnessed other births before, I was never affected as I was now. Those other women had no connection to me other than being acquaintances or the fact that we all lived here. This time was different. The woman laboring was my daughter and even though I put a brave face forward, inwardly I wanted to come apart.

  “Runa said that Gweneth’s gone into labor?” Elisa, a fisherman’s wife, said as she appeared behind me. “Yvaine?” She was surprised to see me there. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She added as she fully entered the room.

  “Elisa, thank you for coming,” I said as I motioned for her to move to the head of the bed, and to sit alongside Gweneth.

  “Gwennie,” I redirected my attention to my daughter. “The time is come to push, but I’m very sure that you know that.” I stroked her the soft skin of her foot as an added comfort. It was something that I did frequently when she was a very young child.

  “I need to push, Mama. I can feel the head coming.” Her voice trembled as her contractions came upon her and stole the breath from her lungs.

  “I’m here,” Ibira’s daughter, Abela, announced her presence and upon my direction, took up position on Gweneth’s opposite side.

  “Runa, how is that water coming?” I shouted.

  “It’s ready,” Runa answered as she joined us, carrying a basin of steaming water and several clean clothes draped over her arm.

  “Gweneth’s ready,” I filled her in on our present situation. “Do you happen to have any raw alcohol on hand?” My question was aimed at my daughter who furiously bobbed her head and pointed towards the kitchen.

  “On…the…shelves,” She panted. “Next…to the…dried…lavender.” Runa rushe
d out of sight momentarily and reappeared with a small clay amphora in her hands. Taking it from her, I undid the cork and poured the raw brew all over my hands, scrubbing them furiously just as Eweln had taught me many years before. Once my hands were clean, I directed Elisa and Abela to support Gweneth’s sides, holding her feet so that she could brace against them as she pushed. Runa climbed onto the bed and positioned herself behind Gweneth, allowing her cousin to use her body for support as she brought her child into the world.

  “All right,” I announced to everyone. “The time has come.”

  For the next twenty-two minutes, Gweneth labored, bearing down and pushing valiantly. When the head crowned, I cried out joyously. “The head is out!” I cried. “All we have left is the shoulders,” I rubbed Gweneth’s foot once again and felt her body relax momentarily under my touch. A minute later, Gweneth’s daughter—my granddaughter, entered the world. Tears streamed from my eyes as I watched her slide out. Instantly, I cleared her airways and then began to rub her tiny body furiously to coax her first cry out of her. As I rubbed her small back, alarmed at its faint blue color, I worked fastidiously, refusing to give up until moments later, a small, powerful cry wailed through the air, instantly shattering the tension.

  Gweneth choked out a sob as I raised my eyes up to meet hers. “You have a daughter, Gwennie,” I said as I held up her baby, still covered with afterbirth and blood, for Gweneth to see. Her daughter screamed and writhed in my hands, angry at the loss of the warm comfort of her mother’s womb.

  “Can I see her?” Gweneth half-whispered, overcome with emotion. Abela temporarily left Gweneth’s side and fetched a blanket for me to wrap the baby in. Once she was cleaned and thoroughly swaddled, I experienced a moment that I would have missed if I had chosen to stay asleep in my depressive slumber. Placing my granddaughter into the arms of her mother is something that I can never describe in words. Tears poured from my eyes and the smile that stretched my mouth left my cheeks sore. What I felt went far beyond pride, far beyond joy. I can only compare it to rapture. Being a part of three generations joined together was an ecstatic moment that would stay with me throughout my life and beyond.