The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “Thank you, Mama,” Gweneth looked up at me with gratitude and joy. “Thank you for saving my baby.” I shook my head and waved my hand at her.

  “You did this, my dear girl,” I tried to convince her. “This was all you. You did the hard part. My job was easy.” I smiled a wide, toothy grin as Gweneth fell in love with her newborn.

  “Mama,” Ranulf suddenly burst into the room, surprising everyone inside. “Here,” He handed Gwellen’s tome to me and sucked in heavy, deep breaths of air as he tried to calm himself down. A loud squall from the baby made him freeze and glance towards his sister.

  “Do you mean I missed it?” He said disappointed.

  “The baby came fast,” I told him. “She was in a hurry to be born, just like her uncle.” I motioned for him to come forward. Ranulf went to Gweneth’s bedside and tenderly sat himself down upon the bed. “Sigurd,” He called out loudly, causing Gweneth to flinch and the newborn to issue another ear-piercing wail. “You’re a father!”

  Sigurd appeared instantly. He smelled out outside and I knew he had left the house, unable to bear the sound of Gweneth in pain. We all glanced at him as his large frame took up most of the doorway. His eyes immediately went to the bed where Gweneth cradled their daughter in her arms.

  “Oh my God,” He said as he stepped into the room that smelled of alcohol, blood, and afterbirth. “Gweneth,” He glanced to his wife and then to the bundle that she held in her arms.

  “We have a daughter,” Gweneth gazed up at him as he took the spot that Ranulf had just vacated. “She’s alive and healthy!” She cried, overjoyed and beyond thankful that her child had survived.

  “Ilona,” Sigurd whispered as Gweneth transferred their newborn daughter to her father’s arms. “Your name will be Ilona,” He whispered as the burning oil lamplight reflected in the fresh cascade that wet his cheeks.

  “Ilona?” Gweneth repeated, visibly uncertain at the name.

  “Finnish,” Sigurd explained. “Ilona comes from ilo, which means joy, happiness,” Sigurd sniffed as he caressed his daughter’s cheek. The baby calmed down the instant her father touched her. From where I stood, I saw her newborn eyes gaze up at him, exploring the strange face that matched the familiar voice. “She’s our Ilona because she is our joy.” He announced proudly.

  After treating Gweneth with Gwellen’s simple of blue cohosh root, yarrow, alfalfa, and motherwort, to ease the hemorrhage that occurred after she passed her placenta, I remained for a little longer to admire my granddaughter. As I packed my bag to go, Gweneth called to me.

  “Thank you, Mama,” She reached out to me which I graciously accepted. “Thank you for coming when I needed you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as an unspoken knowing passed between us. Gweneth hadn’t called me the first time. She apologized for not sending for me but explained why. In her heart, she knew that her son would not live. He had come too early and because of that, his tiny little body wasn’t developed enough to survive outside of her womb. This child, however, she prayed would be all right. Gweneth explained that a knowing settled upon her. That she knew if I would come, her child would survive, and she was right.

  “There’s no need to put yourself through that now,” I bent down and kissed the top of her head. “There’s time for that later,” I coaxed her to relax. “Now, I don’t want you moving out of this bed for at least a week. And starting tomorrow, I will send Ranulf over with the metal tub. Sitting in warm water with comfrey, lavender, red raspberry leaves, yarrow, and marigold flowers will help with the perineal pain and help keep you clean and infection free. I’ll come to show you how it’s done and stay with you to help you through the first few times. I’ll also bring mother’s tea, a mixture of blessed thistle, goat’s rue, alfalfa and fenugreek, to help you with your milk production.” I kissed her temple a second time and lovingly touched her cheek.

  “Mama, I don’t know how I could have done this without you,” Gweneth said on the verge of tears again.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” I caressed her cheek a second time before letting my arm fall at my side. “If you decide to do it again, I’ll be there right beside you.” I promised her and reluctantly left her and Ilona to find some much-needed sleep. I went to bed that night and slept for the first time alone without Ralf’s shadow or my depression as company. It was my first night of the newest phase of my life. The first two phases, the maiden and the mother, had passed with blinding speed and now, I had taken my first footstep as the crone. The wise elder of a community, a grandmother, and giver of sage advice. It was the peaceful chapter to a life filled with surprise, change, and a knowledge that nothing works out as we expect it to.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The time after Ralf’s death was the most peaceful of my entire lifetime. I missed and ached for him every day, but I went on because I still had a life that demanded to be lived. Gweneth had a second child, another girl, who was as lively and feisty as her sister was calm. Ranulf, ever faithful to the callings of his heart, continued to voyage and explore, bringing back knowledge that he had hoped our culture would learn and utilize to evolve. When he was in his fortieth year, Ranulf returned from what was to be his last journey. Arriving on our shores, Ranulf wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by a fair-haired, strong-boned, and wise-eyed woman named Helga. She was the sister of a man named Oli that both Ranulf and Sigurd had befriended many years before and who was killed when the boat carrying him home foundered.

  According to Sigurd, Ranulf had loved the strong, stubborn woman but she refused his advances until he had proven that he was no longer a reckless boy constantly searching for something that he would never find. She would only accept the man that had nothing left to prove and wouldn’t abandon her to raise a family alone. In the beautiful, blonde woman’s arms was a small, screaming child. Their son, Ranald, was named for both of his grandfathers. Another son, named Ibard, followed two years later and instantly captured my heart with his fiery curls that came from his mother’s people and his brilliant blue eyes that were the exact color of Ralf’s. Ranulf and Helga never formally married here on the Island. Their marriage ceremony was celebrated in the old ways, the Norse traditions that both Ranulf and Helga believed in.

  Helga was good for my son. She calmed the ferocity that growled inside Ranulf’s heart. She gave him something that he hadn’t even been looking for: serenity. Helga gave him the courage to remain still after a lifetime of movement. Both of them received the shock of their lives when their daughter, Agna-Yvaine, was born just before Helga went through the change.

  During that time, I relinquished authority at the pharmacy. The running of it temporarily fell back into my hands after Mira died in childbirth. Heartbroken at the loss of my friend, I eagerly agreed tend what she so loved as a way to honor her memory. Months later, I handed it over to Runa’s daughter, Meara. Ravene’s granddaughter flourished in the running of the dispensary. It was easy to see that Meara, raised as a devout Christian and who sometimes wasn’t fully welcomed by the others, thrived in the position, running the place with authority, discipline, and order. Runa’s other children flourished as well, each finding their own ways and leading happy, prosperous and contented lives. To see them all grown was one of my great sources of pride. I could never express the depths of joy it gave me to see my blood, my relatives living upon this island, thriving, seeing to its continuation and calling it home. Every so often, I cast a prayer up to the Goddess, asking her to continue to bless our family through the ages so that they may never have to know the hardship, the pain, and the loss that I had had to experience. My prayers also gave thanks for all that she had given us through her many forms and through her many names.

  ************

  The most marked moment of that time happened the morning after Ilona’s birth. I rose to meet the day, ready to be free of my shadowy chains and to reintroduce myself to the world of the living. Out of respect for my grief, neither Ranulf nor Gweneth had removed any of Ralf’s things. Instead, they left it f
or me, knowing that I was the only one who should perform that task. After a breakfast of porridge with dried berries and nuts, I went about cleaning my house. Thick layers of dust and cobwebs had formed due to my neglect. I spent most of the morning reinvigorating the space, rearranging it slightly to honor the change in my life.

  Once the main room was done, I went back to our bedroom, stripped the bed of its sheets and linens, eager for fresh ones to adorn the bed. Just as I was flipping the mattress over, something shifted beneath the goose-down and hay-filled pad. It struck the floor with a dense, muted thud. Leaving the mattress where it lay, I bent down and found a leather-bound tome resting just at my feet.

  “What is this?” I said aloud, curious as to why a book had been hidden under out mattress. “How did I not know this was there?” I asked again but instantly knew the answer. My grief numbed me to all feeling. A boulder could have rested under my bed and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  Curious as to its contents, I carried the book to the kitchen table and sat down in Ralf’s former chair. I opened it with bated breath and gasped at the sight of a familiar hand.

  “For Yvaine—” The inscription read. “The love of my life, the keeper of my soul. No woman that has ever walked the earth can compare to her beauty, her valiancy, and the sweetness of her soul.” Ralf’s written words blurred my sight as I turned the page. On the pages that followed, Ralf had chronicled my life’s journey. As I read about myself through his eyes, I saw that he focused on my triumphs as well as my tribulations. The one thing he did not mention was Cal or his rape. As I thumbed through Ralf’s last gift to me, I wondered why he had chosen to keep silent on the moment that changed my life and shaped the woman that I was today. The answer came from a note tucked into the back.

  “My darling, Yvaine,” The note began. “If you’re reading this, I did not live long enough to place my gift into your hands.” My throat quaked as it tightened. “I am sure that you have read the inspiring story that is your life. I also know that you’re wondering why I didn’t write about that monster who dared to steal your power. That is not my story to tell, my love. That story is yours and yours alone. If anyone is to hear it, it needs to come from you. I want you to know that I love you far more than words could ever say, and the honor of my life has been being loved by you. Take care of yourself in the years that come, my sweet, and remember that one day, we will see each other again.”

  I refolded the note and tucked it in between the back pages of Ralf’s gift. I wept at the table, my face buried within the support of my folded arms. I sobbed until there were no more tears to be spent and the promises that I had made to Gweneth came calling. Picking up the tome, I held it tightly to my chest and carried it into our room. I set it down on the table next to Ralf’s side of the bed and lovingly touched it for a moment before getting back up. For the rest of my life, I read Ralf’s account every night before I went to sleep. I did so partly to always have a part of him with me as I greeted my slumber. The other part was to remind myself that no matter how much distance separated us, Ralf would always be with me.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Some say aging is a curse. The mind is still young while the body slows down, no longer able to do the things that it used to. When my grandchildren bark at me, “Nanny, hurry up!” or “Move along, Nanny,” I simply smile and offer them the words that I knew to be true.

  “When one ages, one trades in youth and vitality for wisdom and clarity, my dear,” I said one time as Ilona sat upon my lap, her small fingers twisting white petal daisies through the strands of my ashen-white hair. Ione, who sat just a short distance from us, was too young to understand the lesson that her sister was being given. “When you get my age, you will understand but remember, do not rush to grow up. Enjoy each moment you have and live it like it’s your last. And never forget how much your Nanny loves you.” I whispered as I leaned in and blew a raspberry against her rosy cheek.

  My sweet, blonde-haired poppet squealed at first but then looked up at me with complete adoration. She pressed her sweet nose to mine and promised that she would. She and her sister then ran off to the lower, daisy-covered fields to join their cousins in play. I watched as her golden curls trailed and disappeared behind her down the hillside.

  That was my last day upon the earth. Bone-deep fatigue settled in me, but I decided that I would not let the weariness defeat me or dampen my spirits. Leaving my tender little ones in the care of their mothers, I ventured up to the highest hilltop that had been my refuge for so many years and through so many trials.

  Dying was easy. It came with sleep. There was no way to distinguish the two at the beginning but then, there was a rush of warmth. The blissful sensation reminiscent of long naps spent in the soft, springtime afternoon sunshine. Then came the sense of calm, peace, and absolute happiness. There was no pain. There was no fatigue. Just contentment and a want for nothing.

  Some say that you walk down long tunnel with a white, bright light at the end but for me, this was not so. It was more like lying down and then waking up to find that you’ve suddenly been transported from one place to another. A place beyond the physical, with no bodies, just spirits flocked together joyously. As I basked in the warm light, I sensed the presence of those that I loved around me. I looked but I could not see them. Their souls were free like mine, unrestrained by the confines of a physical body but they were present, nonetheless.

  Ravene was there, radiating the love we shared when we were at our closest. Leena, the mother who had been denied her child but who had been such a faithful, protective aunt was beside her. Everyone else was there, too. Eweln, my grandparents, Talen, Ibira, Archard, Eadlin, Aethelyn, Dorcas—even Reena whose mortal mistakes no longer burdened her.

  Ralf was the last to greet me. When one is reunited with the person that they have loved the most, the soul sings the most beautiful song. There is no note on earth that could ever capture the beauteous melody that it sings nor can it ever be explained outside the ethereal realm. It is the song of pure and absolute bliss. Its joy is heard by all and whose heartbeat lives in the very depths of your being. The reunion with my loved ones completed the journey of my life. At the end of it, I found myself looking back and contemplating all that I had learned. At the end of my journey, I came to realize many things.

  The first being that love is the most important gift that you are given. To love another soul and to be loved in return brings the greatest fulfillment possible. Who you love will either be your life’s happiness or misery. To love is the greatest gift that you can ever give or receive and if you are lucky to have it, even if it’s just for a moment, you would be foolish to let it go.

  The second lesson I learned was to treasure those close to you and be thankful for them. Family, friends, even strangers are all given to you for a reason and by knowing them, you know yourself.

  The last lesson is that your life never turns out exactly how you plan it. Life is an adventure that will take you down many roads, some that you could never imagine. If you heed the lessons that life teaches, you can triumph over anything and can achieve things that you believe aren’t possible. Life will take you through every range of emotion but ultimately, it will lead you to where you are destined to be. That was what I learned, and I carried those lessons with me through each life that was to come.

  THE END