Islands in the Mist (Islands in the Mist Series Book 1)

by J. M. Hofer

  The girls obeyed, leaving quickly to take care of the things Elayn had requested.

  Elayn vigorously rubbed the woman’s hands and feet. “Lucia? Can you hear me?”

  She got nothing but mumbling in response.

  The youngest Sister looked worried. “I don’t think she’s accustomed to being out of doors as much as we are.”

  “Surely not,” Aelhaearn agreed. Observant little thing. “The Romans have weak women—too many luxuries.” He turned to Elayn. “Tell me, how is it that she’s come to be in your company?”

  Elayn seemed offended by his tone or his question. Perhaps both. “It doesn’t matter. She is to be treated with the respect due a daughter of the Isle, and that is all you need to know.”

  Aelhaearn had half a mind to kick all of them out into the cold, but after a moment thought better of it. “As you wish, my lady,” he said sarcastically. “Forget I asked.”

  He went to get water, staying away as long as possible, and returned to find things had gotten worse.

  “She’s still shivering.” Elayn gave him a serious look.

  At least that I can fix. The sooner the woman could be moved, the sooner he would get his bed back. He reached into the fire and retrieved the hot stones, wrapped them in skins and put them near Lucia’s feet. “That should help.”

  “Thank you.” Elayn showed him genuine gratitude for the first time.

  Ina and Ivy returned with blankets, a cup of mead, some stew broth from the night before, and a few vegetables.

  “Allow me,” he said to them, taking the cup of mead in his hands. He had it steaming in moments and handed it to Elayn, who was staring at him. She’s never met a Firebrand, I suppose. She probably ached to ask him questions, but did not dare, knowing he would have a right to some answers of his own. Ah, the webs we weave.

  Elayn raised Lucia’s head. “Here—try and drink this.” Lucia managed a few sips, but the rest dribbled down her neck.

  “Can we stay here until she is well again?” Elayn asked Aelhaearn. “I don’t think it would be wise to move her.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. How long will that take?

  Elayn looked at him as if he were Arawn himself.

  “Fine,” he agreed, “but when she recovers she should return to her people. She’s no help to us, and we certainly don’t need trouble with the Romans added to our problems.”

  “She has no one to return to, my lord,” Elayn shot back in Lucia’s defense. “She is one of us now. Treat her as such.”

  Aelhaearn put his hands up in surrender, surprised by Elayn’s loyalty to the woman. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you. Perhaps there’s more to her story than you’re sharing?” He gave her a look that let her know he was no fool.

  She ignored his question. “Everyone’s hungry. I’ll make us something to eat.”

  Aelhaearn watched her pull a knife from a sheath she wore under her robe. She sliced the vegetables and put them in the stew broth. Watching her reminded him of his wife cooking for him long ago. His thoughts turned melancholy, Seren’s recent betrayal still stinging in his gut. Haven’t I done everything for her? For the clan? How could I have misunderstood so much? A wave of self-loathing overcame him. I’ve been nothing more than a trained dog to her—coming every time she calls. He reached over and took the cup of mead Lucia had not been able to manage. Gods! I’ve been a fool—but no more!

  “The stew is hot,” Elayn announced. Eager faces soon crowded around the pot. The night had been long, and they were famished. They all ate without speaking. Before they had a chance to finish their meal, Lucia began thrashing around.

  “They’re coming!” she repeated, at first softly, then loudly, alarming the Sisters.

  Aelhaearn dismissed her mumblings and went back to his stew. Just the fever talking. The Sisters, however, took her warnings very seriously. Llygoden went to sit next to her and hold her hand. “Who? Who’s coming, Lucia?”

  “She has a fever. Pay her no mind,” Aelhaearn said to her.

  Elayn rebuked him. “Lucia has the Sight, my lord! We cannot dismiss her warnings, fever or not.”

  The Sight? This woman? Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere. Elayn had finally broken, as he had hoped. He was proud of his tactics.

  “Creirwy, go fetch Lady Seren and Lord Bran,” Elayn ordered.

  Aelhaearn groaned. The last two people I want here.

  Elayn shot him a venomous look.

  Creirwy returned some time later, followed by Seren and her giant brute of a brother.

  Aelhaearn motioned toward the bed. “Seems we have a feverish seer on our hands.”

  Bran walked over to Lucia and smiled. “I knew it was her,” he whispered. He sat down next to her and took her hand. “Lucia? Can you hear me?”

  Seren raised her eyebrows. “You know this woman?”

  “Yes, this is the woman who took me in.”

  “The one whose villa was burned down?” Seren asked. “Praise the Mother she lives, then.”

  Bran took the woman’s face in his hands. “Lucia?” Her eyes were glazed and seemed to look right through him.

  Aelhaearn noted the tender way he touched her. Lovers.

  “She’s too sick to recognize you, brother.” Seren put a reassuring hand on Bran’s shoulder.

  Aelhaearn could take it no longer. “Will someone tell me who this woman is?” he demanded. “How is it she’s come to be among the Sisterhood?”

  “She came with you?” Bran asked, turning expectantly toward Elayn.

  Apparently I’m not the only one who wants answers.

  “Yes.” Elayn paused a moment. “Lucia is one of Priestess Rowan’s granddaughters.”

  Bran’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Interesting! Aelhaearn was pleased with the drama.

  “There is a long story here,” Elayn said.

  “To be certain,” Aelhaearn agreed, finally satisfied. “Let’s hear it!”

  “I suppose it was bound to come out sooner or later.” Elayn pulled a chair up beside the bed. “Some of you may be too young to remember, but Priestess Rowan had a third daughter—the Lady Cordelia. Priestess Rowan told the clans she died of sickness when she was fifteen.“

  “But that’s not what happened?” Seren prompted.

  Elayn shook her head. “A Roman soldier somehow slipped through the mist and ended up on our shores. Lady Cordelia found him and fell in love with him. She harbored him from the fate she knew he would meet if he were discovered, but eventually, of course, he was.”

  Elayn sponged Lucia’s brow. “Cordelia chose banishment and left with him, and Lucia is her daughter.” Elayn looked over and glared at Aelhaearn. “And lest there be any doubt about her bloodline, she has the Sight—that we can all see for ourselves.”

  Aelhaearn ignored her indignance.

  “Lucia had a vision of Cerridwen’s cauldron-born before we knew of them, and Lady Aveta brought her to the Isle.”

  Llygoden had crawled in bed next to Lucia and was listening to every one of her whispers. “She sees the creatures again now, in her fever—she says they are digging beneath us.”

  “Digging?” Bran asked.

  “Gods.” Seren grimaced. “Why would they be digging?”

  Bran looked at Elayn. “You said they hunt at night. Is it possible they sleep underground during the day?”

  “What are you suggesting, exactly?” Aelhaearn asked. “That they live like badgers, beneath our feet?”

  No one said anything.

  Suddenly Lucia sat bolt upright in bed, startling everyone from their thoughts. Her head hung limply back, her eyes focused on nothing, and her voice was not her own. “They are coming, those born of the black womb. They will rise up from the earth beneath your feet and swallow your children from their beds!”

  With that, she collapsed and nearly fell from the bed.

  Bran scooped up her limp body. “I’m taking her to the village,” he announced, wrapping his cloak around her. “The Northmen
should arrive today. Advise everyone to come to the motherhouse and we’ll plan our next move.” He looked over at Aelhaearn and his sister. “See to it.”

  “Right away,” Aelhaearn said. I’ll definitely see to it. The more leadership opportunities he could take from Bran the better. Let him go and fawn over his weak Roman bitch. Granddaughter of Rowan or not, she’s no Sister of the Isle.

  Seren approached him, but he did not let her speak. “I think you should go with your protector and the woman he is obviously in love with, my lady,” he said dismissively. “Pity he can never make her his wife now, thanks to you.”

  Aelhaearn could tell by Seren’s face that his words had hit the mark. She said nothing and left with the others, leaving him to enjoy the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her.

  Finally, I have my house to myself again. Before enjoying his solitude, however, he would need to replenish his wood stores. He set out into the forest, axe in hand. For some strange reason, he no longer felt tired.

  Where was that glade—and who was that woman in the pool? He took off in the direction he remembered it to be, but to his dismay found only the ever-familiar woods and trails he had known since boyhood. Did I dream it?

  He gave up on finding the glade and set to work on a brittle dead tree, most of it sheltered from the recent snow by the trees around it. It would provide good wood. Blow after well-placed blow he chopped at it, watching the blade cut into the trunk and small chips of wood fly from his axe. Soon his worries were dulled by the rhythm and exertion of his work. The tree finally succumbed to his efforts with a huge crack. It made a noisy journey to the ground, taking branches and leaves from its brothers around it as it fell.

  Aelhaearn wiped his brow and leaned on his axe to rest a moment, smiling. He loved hard work. He always had. He had never complained while growing up and working in the forge as Einon’s apprentice. The forge had been his favorite place to be as a boy and still was. The heat, the hypnotic, repeated hammer blows, the need for focus, strength and accuracy when forging a blade– these things came easily to him and the rewards were great.

  “Firebrand,” A woman’s voice whispered behind him.

  He whirled around to see the woman he had met before but a few feet from him, and the scene behind him completely changed. What lay in front of him stayed the same – the tree was felled, his feet were still planted firmly on the same grass—but behind him, everything was new.

  Her face was framed by the large cowl of her robe, her green eyes and pale skin nearly glowing within it. She held out a flask. “You’ve been working very hard. I’ve been watching you for some time.”

  He was taken aback. He had not felt her eyes on him. He could usually sense when he was being watched. He took the flask she offered and looked at it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

  “A honey mead. I brew it myself.”

  The flask was warm. He uncorked it and the delicious aroma of honey and summer flowers rose up to meet his nose. “It smells good, but I don’t trust you.”

  She took the flask back, put it to her lips, and drank deeply—and then offered it back to him.

  Finally satisfied, he drank. “An elixir fit for the gods!”

  “I am flattered, Firebrand. Go ahead—drink it all.”

  He tipped the flask a few more times, and felt as though he had been infused with sunshine. “Who are you?” he asked with a smile he could not help. “—and this time, don’t pretend you don’t hear me. I’ll have an answer.”

  She took her hood off and ventured a bit closer. The smell of amber and roses met his nose. “I live alone, Firebrand. I have no village and no people. I grow my own food, and brew my own drink. I keep myself hidden from the brutal men who roam our countryside and would take what is mine and enslave me. That is who I am.”

  He did not know what to say to that, so said nothing, and finished off the flask instead.

  “Come with me,” she said, taking his hand. “I want to show you something.”

  He pictured her breasts floating in the water. I want to show you something as well.

  “I am pleased you have come back.” She smiled.

  Gods, she’s a beauty.

  “How do you fare among your people?

  “I’ll have my way in due time.”

  “That is good to hear, but do not wait too long,” she cautioned. “If you remain agreeable to this new chieftain, he and your priestess may believe you are content with things.”

  “Content or no—it matters not.”

  He noticed as they walked, the sun seemed to be growing brighter, and there was no longer any snow on the trail. The air seemed warmer as well, and his fur cloak was becoming a burden. Strange.

  The trail left the woods, and they entered the glade where he had first met her. The sun was now shining fully upon its green field which had come alive with wildflowers. The pool he had seen her swimming in was there, and he could hear birdsong coming from the trees around them.

  “Impossible,” he whispered.

  She turned around and looked up at him. “If your chieftain were to die or abandon your clan, do you believe they would make you chieftain in his place?”

  “Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “I have no doubt.”

  She smiled. “It would thrill my heart to know a Firebrand sits upon the Southern throne, and that I had his favor. What if I could lure your chieftain away? In his absence, you would have your opportunity. Once you became the chieftain of your clan, if you wished it, I would fill your hall with my mead, and devote myself as a healer to you. There is no wound I cannot heal. You would be safe from any who would try to take your throne.”

  “No harm would come to him?” Aelhaearn asked, considering her offer.

  “No. He will live, but I will see to it that he does not return for a very long time.”

  “And what would you want in return for such a favor, woman?”

  “I would do it for but one of your possessions—so I can prove I have your favor, should I ever encounter any trouble.”

  “I care nothing for possessions,” he scoffed. “What do you covet? Gold? A house? Jewelry? You shall have it.”

  “When you are named Chieftain of the South, I shall let you know.” She moved closer. The smell of her made his manhood rise. “I seek nothing from you until I deliver what I have promised.”

  I must have her. Emboldened by drink and the idea of becoming chieftain, he pulled her body to his and tasted her lips. He no longer cared what manner of woman or creature she was.

  He picked her up and carried her to a place in the full sun, took off his cloak and threw it on the grass, and then took off her robe, revealing her beautiful breasts and everything beneath them.

  She smiled up at him. “Yes, Firebrand, take what you want!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Into the Caves

  Bran made his way to his sister’s house, where he had carried Lucia that morning. He walked through the door to find Lady Elayn still at her bedside.

  Lucia still looked pale and unwell. He could not help remembering how his mother had looked on that same bed. “How is she?”

  “Her fever has broken, thankfully. I expect she’ll be over the worst of it by tomorrow.”

  “Good.” He felt a wave of relief. “I must ask, did she know I would be here? I never told her where my village was.”

  “Yes, she knew.”

  Bran nodded. “I’ll be at the motherhouse if you need me—the Northmen have arrived. When she wakes, tell her I wish to speak with her.”

  “I will, my lord,” Elayn promised with a smile. She let out a sigh and rubbed her face. Her eyes were puffy.

  She’s so tired, the poor woman. “You need some rest—Seren can watch her.”

  Elayn nodded and Bran left, knowing she would do no such thing.

  ***

  Bran could hear the boisterous voices of the Northmen long before he made it to the motherhouse. The Northmen were robust, stocky in build, and ever-e
ager to fight. They always brought laughter in their wake—even in the worst of times—and that was something that had been sorely missed over the past month. He smiled and ducked under the dragon arch, to the loud cheers of their newly-arrived guests.

  “Bran!” a familiar voice called out, “My old bones jump for joy at the sight of you.”

  He looked up to see Maur lumbering toward him like a bear from across the hall. He laughed and clapped his arms around him. Well, around most of him—Maur had always been a man of wide girth, even by Northern standards, but he was solid as a rock and could beat many a man to a pulp. He had witnessed the truth of that more than a few times. As boys, he, Gareth and Maur had been inseparable when their clans met. He had always loved visiting their village. Their tables were always heavy with roasted meat, the ale never stopped flowing, and they loved music. They were simple, hard-working people who said exactly what they meant and knew how to hold a banquet.

  “How’ve you been, my friend?” Bran asked, grinning.

  “Well, we’ve had some misfortune, as you have, but it seems to have passed, at least for the moment,” he said and then lowered his voice. “Seren gave us the news that the Sisters brought, but I must ask, do you really believe it?”

  “I admit it’s difficult to swallow, but I’ve never known Talhaiarn to be wrong about anything.”

  “But cauldron-born, Bran?” Maur replied with skeptical brows. “Come on. I’ll bet my bones we’re just dealing with savages from the deep North or across the sea!”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but those who have seen them insist we are not dealing with men.”

  “Hmmmm.” Maur clucked his tongue, still unconvinced. “Well, whoever or whatever they are, I’m ready to carve my way through their bowels.” He spat in disgust. “I was so grieved to hear about your mother. And Cadoc, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Bran appreciated his friend’s genuine compassion. “Now, back to what you were saying—are you telling me the enemy has disappeared completely from your lands? You’ve seen no trace of them since the attack?”