Mystic Isle

by Patricia Rice

  Did they fight themselves to weariness?

  Tasia sought the captain and found him lounging in the shadows, drinking from a vessel that probably didn’t contain just water. Several of the men had been experimenting with fermenting the fruits and honey they found in the interior.

  “I do not have the wisdom for this,” Tasia muttered, lifting her tunic from the dust and marching into the clearing. If the captain would not demand explanation, she would.

  The shouts of encouragement died down as the audience grew aware of her presence. She was grateful for their respect since she had no knowledge of swordplay or how to prevent it.

  It took a little longer for the heated combatants to recognize that their audience no longer cheered them on and to react to her presence. Heron took a final jab at Georgós, who swung out of danger. The would-be farmer tossed his sword into the fire, almost like a guilty child hiding evidence of mischief.

  “Not a gentle maid’s dream of courtship, sirs,” Tasia said sternly. Privately, she bit back her amusement at this abrupt end to the battle. She was angry at the captain for allowing the fight, but she appreciated that the men had the sense to halt when she appeared. Or perhaps it was Gaia who made them realize they were behaving badly.

  The captain lazily rose from his reclining position. “We’re merely establishing precedence in time-honored tradition, my lady. Have you a better suggestion?”

  She heard hurt and hostility in his once respectful voice.

  He was challenging her. He had let this fight happen so he could show she was not in charge of his men, that she could not hope to tell him or his men what to do. Horror sat like a boulder in her midsection. How did she face his challenge?

  Like the combatants, the captain was half naked. His chest and arms bulged and flexed with the muscle developed over years of sailing and combat. He could easily take her if he so chose. She swallowed and could barely speak at his approach.

  “Bloodshed is never the answer,” she said as steadily as she could, while wishing to babble like an infant once he loomed over her. She hated her helplessness and that he’d take advantage of her inexperience.

  She realized he not only tested her leadership—but Aelynn’s. For Aelynn’s sake, she could not let a man intimidate her with his greater size. Or let her feminine appreciation of a broad chest distract from Aelynn’s purpose. The strong arms that had carried her to safety, and the brave man who had swum a sea to save her was worthy of recognition, but he did not believe in her goddess.

  That realization hit her with the same force as the tidal wave. He could never respect her if he could not respect the goddess she represented.

  In this, she did not doubt her abilities. The line had been drawn beyond which she would not go. “Weapons are unnecessary on a peaceful island,” she said with the authority of her position.

  “My soldiers must practice their skills if they are to defend my ships when they go trading,” he countered, regarding her with the same condescending humor as she’d looked upon his men earlier.

  Aelynn had made her position clear. Only believers could remain. Aelynn’s position on this island was sacrosanct. This argument sailed toward a point of no return, she knew to her horror.

  “Then your men must practice their skills without bloodshed,” she insisted, avoiding the topic she didn’t wish to broach. She glared into his eyes instead of at the vast expanse of his bare flesh. “This is Aelynn’s home, and it must be a place of peace.”

  “We are not weaklings who cower before a woman’s wishes. We are men who fight to keep what is ours.” The taunt was there, in his tone. He defied Aelynn and Aelynn’s priestess.

  This was a moment she should have seen coming. With heavy heart, Tasia pointed to the ships in the harbor. “If you cannot recognize a greater power than your own, then you have no place among us. You may leave this isle of peace and seek a home more to your liking. Depart at dawn, and take those with you who cannot accept Aelynn’s wishes.”

  * * *

  Battening down his disbelief that the priestess would banish him, Nautilus grabbed her arm to drag her elsewhere for this argument.

  In front of his eyes and those of his men, the priestess stiffened. Flinging off his hold, she lifted her arms, and a halo of blue light descended to envelop her, as if she’d been encompassed by a star.

  His men gasped. Gaia immediately placed herself between the priestess and Nautilus, blocking him from touching the woman he wanted as his own. Nautilus clenched his fists as the fragile lady took on the aspect of icy steel.

  “Only those who abide by my law shall be allowed entry to this sacred land,” the priestess said in a voice not her own.

  Head thrown back, arms seeking to embrace the universe, the priestess stood tall and straight inside the halo of light. Gaia dropped to her knees. So did many of his men.

  Nautilus simply stared in awe at the beautiful woman who had given him reason to hope he might find a true match and a life beyond counting gold. She was far, far more than the woman he wanted for his own. This was the Seer the women obeyed.

  The glowing figure pointed at him. “You dare ask for my priestess while not believing in her or me. Your arrogance and your disrespect are offensive to me and my chosen vessel. Until men recognize that the sun does not revolve around their needs, believe when you are told you have no place on this island. When you are ready to accept me, you must sacrifice as my maidens have. Cast the sword of justice into the flames and prove you are worthy of my approval. Until then, take all your non-believers, and depart.”

  The blue light vanished as if it had never been, and the priestess crumpled. Gaia stepped in to catch her, glaring at Nautilus, preventing him from coming in contact with the lady’s sacred person.

  Struck dumb by her words—the sword of justice?—Nautilus gnawed on helplessness. The lady appeared ready to collapse despite Gaia’s hold, but he dared not to profane a priestess with his mortal hands after so profound a vision. His men would dismember him if the goddess did not—and they did not even grasp half of what she had said.

  Battered by his desire to love and protect the woman he knew, horrified that the goddess not only existed, but did so inside this woman, Nautilus allowed the true believers to surround her. For not believing in her, he did not deserve to touch a hair of her head.

  Georgós rose from his kneeling position, a look of awe upon his square face. The lowly farmer offered his arm to help the priestess, who looked too stunned and depleted to acknowledge him. Gaia nodded approval and took the lady’s other arm. Between them, they led her back to the path to the village.

  Nautilus swallowed his pain and nodded permission to several more of his men to accompany them. Who was he to gainsay a man’s goddess?

  A banished soldier, apparently. If he sailed away, how many of his men would he leave behind? They had been his family since he was a lad of twelve.

  A callused, cynical man, he’d been figuratively brought to his knees by a slip of a woman—and her goddess. And oddly, he didn’t wish to fight back. Some inner part of him stirred and opened to new possibilities—ones that he might not have time to explore unless he acted with swiftness and certainty. The lady had opened his heart to impossible yearning. The priestess had opened his eyes. The goddess had offered an opportunity.

  He loved nothing more than exploration, except the lady.

  Heron approached, a frown of puzzlement creasing his wide brow. “What does that mean, cast the sword of justice into the flames?” He glanced at the sword Georgós had tossed into the fire. “We are all to give up our swords if we wish to stay?”

  Nautilus clasped the jeweled hilt at his side, the blade that had been his constant companion as surely as the men who had raised him. He pulled the sword from his belt and showed it to his second in command. “My father gave this to me when he sent me for training. He told me I must never raise it in anger or revenge but only in defense of justice.”

  Heron read the characters insc
ribed upon it. “The Sword of Justice,” he said heavily. “A real sword, not an imaginary one. Now what do we do? I have no other home but this one. I do not wish to abandon the women we have been charged to protect.”

  Nautilus longed to agree, but he’d been banished for his arrogance in challenging a goddess, apparently. Rightfully so. He’d thought he was challenging a mere slip of a woman. He’d been horribly, horribly wrong and deserved his punishment. Not even the lady could have known about his sword if Heron didn’t.

  The normally silent volcano chose that moment to shoot a shower of sparks into the midnight sky. Both men turned to observe the impressive display.

  As he had the night the lady had rejected him, Nautilus suffered the ripping sensation of having his beliefs torn asunder and cast to the winds.

  But a sword was stronger for having been forged of two metals. His choice was plain. He could remain unchanged, return to the man he had been and the familiar world he had known, or he could grow and learn and become stronger for his knowledge of this new place and time.

  The goddess had actually offered him more hope than the priestess. She had said he could be saved, if he accepted her.

  If he dared to love a priestess, he must accept that which he didn’t understand—and make it work for him, as always. Staring at the sword abandoned in the dying fire, Nautilus realized that Aelynn had shown him what he must do now.

  His hand curled lovingly around the sword that was all he had ever loved in this world—before Lady Tasia and her goddess had entered it.

  “We start trusting in a power greater than ourselves, as the priestess commands—even if it’s only the power of fellowship,” Nautilus replied with new certainty. “That sounds like a solid place to start.”

  “The women will tell us that miracles sprout from the power of love and the goddess,” Heron said gloomily.

  Nautilus smiled for what felt like the first time in a long, long while. Or perhaps it only felt that way since the feeling came from deep in his heart. He’d not wanted to sacrifice what was his—until he realized that sacrifice for the greater good made everyone stronger, including himself, he hoped. He prayed the lady would approve.

  “There is a difference between love and fellowship?” Nautilus asked cheerfully. “The point the lady makes is that we must think of others as well as ourselves.” He shoved his sword back into its belt. “I will lead an expedition up the mountain to the fire god, if you care to join me.”

  * * *

  After returning to her cave, Tasia sipped the strengthening drink that Althaia offered, and fell soundly asleep afterward.

  In the morning, she woke to the voices of her women milling around outside her make-shift door. Khaos’s bed was already empty. The welcome aroma of fresh-baked bread had apparently drawn her out.

  Feeling light-headed and uncertain of exactly what had occurred the night before in the men’s encampment, Tasia hurriedly dressed, wrapped her waist in her purple belt, and stepped into the sunshine.

  Her maidens dropped to their knees and offered up platters of bread, fruit, and honey. Puzzled that they were not all about their tasks, Tasia gratefully accepted a bit of bread and honey and a steaming cup of herbal tea.

  “I assume you have gathered here for a reason?” she asked, trying not to sound too ignorant. She was learning much of the task of leadership was knowledge and behaving as if she possessed it.

  Gaia pointed at the mountain surrounded in swirls of morning mist. “The men are proving their dedication to Aelynn, as Aelynn asked.”

  Tasia gazed upward at the horrifying mountain and nearly choked on her tea. “They are climbing a volcano?”

  “It apparently makes sense to them,” Gaia replied.

  Staring upward, Tasia wanted to ask if Nautilus was among the climbers, but to do so would reveal her weakness for the man she could never have, the man she had banished from her life. That much, she recalled with a pain so great it felt as if her heart had been clawed from her chest.

  Through her anguish, she studied the thick green foliage. Perhaps she fooled herself, but she thought she caught a movement of white here and there, and an occasional flash of silver.

  “They intend to show their dedication by falling off a cliff?” she asked skeptically, hiding her fears with pretense and by turning her face away to study the steep bare ridges above the jungle. A plume of smoke drifted lazily around the highest peak.

  “By throwing their swords into the flames,” Gaia explained. “The goddess told the captain he must cast his sword of justice into the fire, so they thought it would be a good thing if they all did the same.”

  Khaos offered a platter of neatly peeled fruit. “Georgós said you turned into a pillar of light and spoke with the voice of Aelynn. I don’t want the goddess to banish the captain. He’s good to me.”

  Tasia didn’t want to banish the captain either, but she dared not question the goddess who had saved their lives and provided paradise. A pillar of light? She was fairly certain no former priestess had ever done anything so dramatic. No wonder the women hovered uncertainly.

  “Aelynn has brought us to her home,” Tasia said with a confidence she was gradually learning. “She must have done so for a reason that will be revealed with time. It seems we are closer to Her here. Have you not noticed that we are all stronger now? Let us put our strengths to following Her will and building our new home.”

  She glanced mountainward, still hiding her trepidation at the arduous task they’d set themselves. “And let us pray for our brave soldiers as we go about our chores.”

  She wanted to fall down on her knees and pray fervently until the men returned, but that would not feed the women and children left behind. Sometimes, the goddess required more practical worship.

  Excitement and sheer terror built throughout the day as the men could be seen emerging from the jungle and making their way up the barren landscape near the peak. Tasia took a moment to visit the altar and pray for their safety, but what she really wanted to know was Nautilus’s intentions by taking them up there.

  Did Nautilus believe in her goddess now? Could he stay and learn to listen to Aelynn’s laws? And if Aelynn truly accepted him and he was no longer banished—could Tasia learn to work beside him without losing sight of the goddess’s desires while awash with her own?

  Kneeling before the secluded altar, she studied the once-crude planks. The wood now grew lush with moss and flowers, as if an unseen hand watered and fertilized the foliage. The broad, velvety emerald planks looked more like a bed with each passing day.

  She did, indeed, feel closer to the goddess in this natural bower than she had in the marble and masonry temple at home.

  That evening, as the expedition neared the peak at sunset, Tasia called everyone to the altar bower so they might pray as one for the safety of the men. Surely, Aelynn would approve of the soldiers’ courage, no matter how foolhardy.

  Above them, the sides of the volcano glowed in a fiery red-orange that eclipsed the tropical sunset. Sirene broke into a hymn so piercing, it ought to reach the heavens, or at the very least, the mountain’s peak. The murmur of prayer filled the clearing in the hush following the hymn.

  Darkness descended as the men reached the furthest heights. Silhouetted against the glowing peak, Tasia saw a man stand on the brink to fling an object into the fiery depths.

  The peak exploded in showers of embers that turned the night into day. The women gasped and halted their prayers to gaze in awe at the amazing show of fire. Sparks lit the heavens and molten flames seeped down the barren sides.

  The men didn’t flee but one-by-one, stood outlined against the flames to fling down their weapons.

  Tasia wept, knowing the pride with which the men had kept their steel sharp and gleaming. Heaving the swords into the fire was akin to burning her scrolls. She didn’t know if she could have done it.

  The children didn’t want to leave when they were chased to their beds. They stumbled down the path, glanci
ng over their shoulders as the volcano’s fiery sparks died down and the silhouettes disappeared in darkness.

  There was nothing any of them could do until morning except pray that the men did not fall into the mountain’s maw during the night.

  Tasia stayed up well past everyone’s bedtime, praying and wondering what she had done by banishing Nautilus.

  Khaos fell asleep at her feet.

  Chapter Nine

  Awed by their experience, exhausted by the day’s trek down the mountainside, the soldiers collapsed in their encampment the next night. Women arrived bearing platters of food and vats of warm water for bathing—the priestess wasn’t among them.

  Nautilus hastily availed himself of the water and changed into a tunic not pock-marked with burnt holes from sparks. He wrapped bread and fish together and hastened down the hill.

  The impossible magical metal swung weightlessly along his thigh.

  He had a desperate need to talk with the lady. And to see that she was well. And . . . just to see her.

  In the village, Gaia pointed him toward the grotto where the Healer took her patients. “Lady Tasia asked that you meet her there.”

  Had she been hurt and he’d not been here to help? Heart pounding in anxiety, Nautilus increased his pace through the jungle.

  A single torch illuminated the grotto. In the distance, the heavenly singer’s soprano reached out to the heavens. He could have sworn he’d heard her last night, when they’d been on the volcano’s brink. Her voice sounded as if it came from the gods.

  Now that he was on solid ground and near the sea again, he reveled in the music he’d known from birth—the blessed lap of surf and roar of waves.

  No guard watched over the grotto. Frowning that the women would leave their priestess unprotected, he cautiously entered the darkness. A torch illuminated the healing pool. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to light and shadow before he saw a woman’s head bobbing above the waters, hair sleek from bathing. No Healer kneeled at the edge with her potions and herbs.