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

by J. M. Hofer

  He instantly liked what he saw. The head was thick and creamy, and the aroma greeted him like a lover in the morning. He took his first sip. As he swallowed, it was as if the summer sun had returned to shine solely upon him. He smelled vast fields of grain swaying along with wildflowers in a warm breeze, and then the golden aftertaste of honey filled his mouth. He was overcome.

  “Not a bad effort.” He pretended not to be impressed. “But I’ll not serve it to my warriors on a feast day. Bring out our best!”

  The men cheered again. The clan’s best ale was brought out and served all night, but it tasted like pig slop to Taranis. He could think of nothing but retiring with the barrel at his feet and drinking it alone. Where did the wench come from, and where did she learn to brew ale so fine? I must know!

  The feast carried on late into the night, until all fell asleep on the great piles of furs beside the coals of the fire pit in the hall. Taranis then enjoyed another cup of the ale he had kept for himself, smiling at its perfection. He eagerly looked forward to welcoming the woman into the clan.

  ***

  Taranis waited anxiously for the woman to return, but the morning came and went without her. As the day wore on, he regretted that he had not granted her request the day before.

  What if she had found another clan to winter with, and has decided not to come back? He berated himself for his foolishness, but much to his relief, just before sunset, she returned.

  “Ah, woman. You’ve returned! Let’s speak in private.” He dismissed everyone from the motherhouse and then beckoned for her to come closer.

  “You don’t boast of things idly. Your ale was indeed some of the finest I’ve ever tasted. Who taught you the craft? I would meet him, and bring him here to live with us in the North!”

  She laughed. “I was taught long ago by one who now brews for no one but the Lord of the Otherworld, I’m afraid.”

  “Just my luck!” Taranis was sorry to hear such a master had died. “Then, you shall stay through the winter, and teach my brewers.”

  She shook her head. “No, I will not teach my craft to others, but I will gladly brew for you, my king,” she countered. “You must understand how teaching others would lower the value of my wares.”

  Shrewd. Taranis was irritated that he had been denied, but had to admit he respected the woman more. “How much more of that ambrosia do you have right now, woman?”

  She motioned outside. “There are ten large barrels in my cart. These are what I have brought for your clan. For you, and you alone, I have the ale you tasted yesterday. Only the finest for a king. There are but three more barrels of that. If you require more, you will need to give me a place to brew alone, as well as a place to sleep.”

  I know exactly where I’d have you sleep. He pictured her lying in his bed, but did not reveal his intentions. “Done. As agreed, lodgin’ and food for the winter, in exchange for you keepin’ me in my cups. I warn you, I drink heartily.”

  “That’s not a problem, my king. I’ll keep you far from thirst,” she promised with a smile.

  ***

  Within a few days, the woman had her workplace arranged. Taranis gave her everything she requested and visited her often, usually in the evenings, when the demands of the day were over.

  One night he said, “You’re no common woman. Tell me of your family. What’s your name?

  “I wish to forget my past,” she quipped, and then softened. “I would have you give me a new name, my king, if it would please you to do so.”

  “Very well.” Taranis smiled. After giving it some good thought, he announced, “You shall be known as Enyd among my people.”

  “So be it,” she gracefully bowed her head.

  ***

  Night after night, Taranis drank the elixir Enyd brewed for him, hoarding it like liquid gold, but even that which she brewed for the clan far surpassed any they brewed for themselves, and Enyd was heartily welcomed at every feast and table.

  Soon, King Taranis could scarcely think of anything but the ale and the bewitching woman who brewed it. He summoned her frequently to sit with him at meals, finding she had knowledge he had only known men to possess. She could also make him laugh, full and loud, with clever talk about what struck her as absurd or entertaining. These things alone would have been enough to captivate him for some time, but then one night he asked her to do something that would unwittingly serve to enslave him to her completely. Taranis loved music almost as much as he loved ale and women, and he asked her to dance for him.

  “If it pleases you, my king,” she agreed, re-filling his drinking horn.

  “Music!” he yelled joyously. “Enyd will dance!”

  The clan cheered and clapped, and several men picked up their drums and instruments.

  Enyd removed her shawl and unpinned her hair, letting it tumble down her back. As she began to move, the king felt time suspend. He was transfixed, unable to take his eyes off her. Her arms rose and fell with the grace of birds in flight, and her hips moved like a river flowing over smooth white stones. As she turned, faster and faster, her hair and many-colored skirts lifted to reveal her white neck and long legs—and she slowed, they all flowed delicately back down. Small tendrils of hair fell softly against her rosy cheeks, which grew damp and flushed. She danced and danced, possessed by the rhythm of the music, until the musicians finally released her from their grasp and she emerged from her trance.

  From that night onward Taranis asked her to dance for him, which she did happily. He began lavishing her with gifts of clothing and jewelry, which she always accepted with a gracious smile. Over the next few weeks, she grew to look more and more like a queen, which heightened the king’s desire for her.

  “Come to my bed,” he said to her one night after everyone had left or fallen asleep.

  “No, my king.”

  What? Her answer took him by surprise. He had never been refused by a woman, not before he became king, and certainly not after.

  “You dare refuse me?” he asked, doing his best to mask his bruised ego.

  “I do.”

  “Enyd!” He reached for her and she backed away. “Don’t play with me!” he growled.

  “I will not be your possession,” she said in defiance, turning her back on him and leaving.

  Taranis was unaccustomed to such behavior. Have I not provided her with everything? Shelter, food, clothing, jewelry? Where would she be without me now? Out peddling her ale in the clothes of a peasant! He fantasized about forcing himself on her, but his pride would not allow him to chase after her.

  Overwhelmed with desire, he stood and threw his drinking horn on the stones of the fire pit, shattering it into pieces. He stormed out of the hall and visited the hut where his servant girls slept. He had them all in turn, but none could quench his desire for Enyd.

  Bitter over her refusal, Taranis spoke very little to Enyd. He no longer asked her to dance for him, and took a different woman to his bed each night. He hoped she would fear losing his favor, but, night after night, she seemed unaffected by the withdrawal of his attention. She simply brought him his ale, smiled, and took her leave. His pride let her go every night without a word, but hidden behind his kingly stature, her nightly departures burned into him like hot iron.

  One night, he took his seat among his people in the hall to preside over the evening meal, as was his custom. He had no appetite for anything. He stared blankly at the flames in the fire pit and the smoke rising up through the ceiling. The songs began, which was Enyd’s cue to bring in his ale. When she turned to leave, he found he could feign disinterest no longer.

  “Wait.” He reached out and took her by the wrist.

  “How may I serve my king?”

  He looked at her in exasperation and sighed. “Enyd, have I not given you everything a woman could want?”

  “You’ve been most generous, my king,” She did not look up from the ground.

  “Do you not find me to your taste?” he ventured.

  “I fin
d you the most desirous man I have ever laid my eyes upon.”

  A passionate joy filled his heart at her remark, but it confused him more than ever. Could she be a virgin? No, that’s out of the question—no virgin can move the way she does. Perhaps she was taken against her will? He reached down and lifted her chin, looking into her eyes. “Do you fear lying with a man?”

  She did not look away from him. “I do not. On the contrary, I enjoy it very much.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head.

  “Damn the gods, woman! Why do you refuse me! What is it that you want?”

  “I do not refuse you, my king—what I refuse, is to be one of many. If you truly want me, you must make me your queen, and have only me in your bed. There can be no others. That is what I desire.”

  She rose and turned to go, but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. This time, she let him kiss her.

  Finally tasting her brought his blood to a boil, and as his tongue and lips dominated her mouth he felt her melt, sweetly yielding to him. She’s mine! He grew more excited by the second, but it was not to be. She pulled away and ran from him, and King Taranis was left with a hunger so great, no number of women could satisfy him.

  ***

  A week passed with no sign of Enyd, and Taranis felt as if all the light in the world has been taken from him. He tried to forget her in every way possible—drinking, hunting, whoring, dancing, music—but nothing helped. Thoughts of her vexed him ceaselessly, day and night.

  Finally he went out searching for her, asking in all of the villages and farms within a day’s ride in every direction, but no one knew whom he spoke of.

  Heavy-hearted, Taranis returned to his clan, and resolved that if he ever saw her again, he would make her his queen. There was no woman on earth he had ever wanted more.

  ***

  The air grew cold. Snow was falling outside, yet Taranis lay alone without a woman to warm his bed. In fact, he had not taken any women to his bed for some time. He could no longer muster any desire for them, and refused to be known as a man who could not satisfy a woman.

  Suddenly, Taranis heard someone approaching and jumped up naked, blade in hand. He could see the form of someone creeping softly outside. In one swift move, he reached out through the furs covering the opening of his hut and grabbed the intruder, throwing him down on the ground inside his hut and putting a blade to his throat.

  “My king!” a woman cried, holding her hands out in fear.

  Recognizing the voice, Taranis dropped the blade and pulled Enyd up off the floor, relief rushing through him.

  “My queen!” He clutched her to him, overjoyed.

  “But I am not your queen.” She frowned.

  “You will be! Say you’ll be mine!” He squeezed her like a madman.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why do you insist on torturin’ me!” he whispered angrily. What more do you want from me?”

  “Your seed, and a promise.”

  There was nothing he desired to give her more than that, and so he laughed. “Woman, you shall have it! More than you can carry!” he said, throwing her down into his furs.

  She crawled quickly away from him. “And a promise!” she insisted.

  “Anything you wish, you shall have it—I swear it.”

  “Should I bear a son, you shall promise him the Shield of the North.”

  Taranis beamed at her demand. “Oh, indeed he shall have it! I shall lay the boy upon it and hold him up to the Guardians of the North, who will gasp in wonder at him!”

  Before she had a chance to say anything more, he found her mouth and stripped off her clothes. Then, like a thunderstorm, Taranis overcame every inch of her, finally tasting her, possessing her, taking her…..

  Finally. Finally, she is mine.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Bonfires of Samhain

  “I’m sorry to hear about the cattle,” Aelhaearn said to Iorworth, while escorting him and his men to the motherhouse. “I hope Lord Belenus finds them. Should your clan need any meat this winter, we are of course in your debt. Thank you for coming.”

  Iorworth nodded. “What would you have us do?”

  Aelhaearn led them to the fire in the center of the hall, offered them ale, and beckoned to Owain, who came striding over. “Your kinsmen need your help mapping the entrances that lead into the caves.”

  “Greetings, Iorworth.” Owain nodded. “Where’s Lord Neirin?”

  “Seems the cattle got loose. He and his father are seeing to it.”

  Owain nodded. “Well, we’re glad you’ve come. We’ve managed to find many entrances into the caves—but, for every one we find, it seems there are ten more. Urien and I can’t do it alone.”

  Iorworth nodded. “And once we find them all? Then what?”

  Aelhaearn motioned to the warriors in the hall. “We’ll post warriors at every one you find. Eventually, the bastards will have to come out to hunt. When they do, we’ll be ready for them.”

  “Sounds simple enough.” Ioworth nodded. “When do we start?”

  “As soon as the dawn breaks. We’ll set up a battle camp at the base of that cursed mountain they live in.”

  ***

  Aelhaearn led everyone south the next morning. Between the trackers and the warriors, they numbered nearly three hundred. Many of the Sisters and clanswomen who did not have young children came as well, to cook, gather firewood, and dress wounds.

  The trackers used every hour of daylight to search for entrances to the caves and tunnels, and the warriors guarded every one of them through the night.

  After a few nights, their efforts paid off. A lone cauldron-born ventured out of the dirty hole that Aelhaearn and his party stood guard over.

  Vermin! Aelhaearn grabbed it by its hair and slit its throat before it had a chance to scream or yell. He and his men waited in silence, expecting more to emerge, but none did. After ten minutes, Aelhaearn lit a torch and inspected his victim. All of them stepped back in disgust.

  “Ugh!”

  “What in the Great Mother?”

  “Gods, help us!”

  Only Aelhaearn looked closer, inspecting the face of the rotting corpse in his hand. Grisly and ominous, its milky white eyes stared into nothingness. He remembered what the Sisters had said about the need to sever the head. He unhooked his axe from his belt and swiftly decapitated it. “No one goes anywhere,” he commanded.

  He and his party remained by the hole for the rest of the night, taking turns standing guard over the entrance. No more came.

  In the morning, Aelhaearn grabbed the head and body of his kill and dragged them back to camp. Everyone backed away in horror as he made his way through. He tossed the head and corpse of the cauldron-born next to the fire where all could see it. The heat and smoke carried the smell of rotting flesh into the air.

  Seren pushed her way through the crowd to where Aelhaearn stood with his prize. “You got one,” she said under her breath. She walked up next to the corpse, her face grim. She moved the head over with her foot, and looked down fearlessly into the dead creature’s eyes. “Does anyone doubt the word of Talhaiarn or the Sisters now?” she challenged, addressing the ocean of shocked faces that had gathered around the scene.

  No one said a word.

  ***

  Once the enemy knew they were being hunted, they proved to be stronger and more elusive than any had anticipated. They never made the same mistake twice. Somehow, they managed to come and go every night, but never through any of the entrances guarded by Aelhaearn and his warriors.

  “What are we going to do?” Seren asked him. “Every morning, you and the men return less in number.”

  “We’re doing our best!” he exploded in frustration. Goddamn vile things. “The bastards are indifferent to being set on fire, so me being a Firebrand gives us no advantage. Arrows only stop them long enough for their brethren to drag them back into the mountain to be—I don’t know—resurrected again, I suppose.”
<
br />   He had not slept in days. Every muscle and bone in his body felt like it was made of stone.

  Seren sat down and put her head in her hands.

  “Look,” he said, sitting down next to her, “the only way to truly stop them is to remove their heads from their bodies—that requires close combat—and close combat means casualties. Why don’t you ask Talhaiarn to come and help? He’s the one who knows about this sort of thing.”

  Seren followed his advice and sent one of the Sisters to Talhaiarn, asking him to come and lend his counsel. She returned a week later. Seren and Aelhaearn received her in his tent.

  “Lord Talhaiarn dares not leave the Crossroads at such a crucial time. He says we must rely upon the Sisters for guidance.”

  The Sisters. Aelhaearn scoffed. “That’s it?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’m afraid so. He said you may want to see if Lady Lucia might be able to help you.”

  Lucia? Aelhaearn shook his head. “Looks like we’re on our own here.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord.” The Sister bowed her head.

  Seren asked her, “Will you please ask Lady Elayn to come and speak with us?”

  She nodded and rushed out.

  Seren turned to him after she left. “Why are you so against Lady Lucia being here?”

  “She’s no Sister—and I don’t trust Romans.”

  Seren let out a sigh of exasperation and he ignored it. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.

  Lady Elayn then came into the tent. “You asked for me, my lady?”

  “Yes.” Seren shot Aelhaearn a glance. “Lord Aelhaearn and I would like to request that you and the rest of the Sisters stay to help us in the camp through the winter. Is this something you might consider?”

  “Yes, of course.” Elayn nodded. “You should consider asking Lady Lucia to stay as well.”

  Aelhaearn resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

  ***

  The first night Lucia spent in the camp, she noticed something rather strange. She was sitting by the fire, stirring a stew, when a feeling of panic came over her, as if a thousand bells were tolling inside of her.