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

by J. M. Hofer

  “What is it?” Elayn asked.

  “Something’s wrong.” She looked in the direction she felt the strange energy coming from. They soon heard yells.

  “Cauldron-born!”

  The warriors standing guard defended the camp against the attackers, thankfully without too many losses. When it was over, Lucia went to speak with Seren in her tent.

  “Lady Seren, may I speak to you?”

  “Of course. Come in.” Seren motioned for her to sit down.

  Lucia sat down and took the drink she offered. “I think I can feel when the cauldron-born are near.”

  “You can?”

  Lucia nodded. “I felt them coming, and knew which direction they were approaching from.”

  Seren’s eyes widened. “Such an advantage could save warriors. If it happens again, please come and tell me at once.”

  “I will. And—,“ Lucia broke off the moment she thought of mentioning it. I don’t want to give her any false hope. Besides, Aelhaearn might send me away.

  “What?” Seren prompted her. “What do you want to tell me?”

  “Well, I am certain Bran is alive.” There, I’ve said it.

  Seren’s eyes lit up. “How do you know?”

  “I can’t explain it—I just do. I can feel him somehow…the same way I can feel the cauldron-born. I’m certain he’s still alive.”

  Seren looked as if she might weep. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Please don’t mention it to Aelhaearn—I think he might send me away. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  Seren shook her head. “Don’t worry.”

  Lucia nodded and returned to her work.

  ***

  The next night, the same panic seized her again. This time, she felt the enemy approaching from the south-side of the camp. She ran to warn Seren, who warned Aelhaearn and the warriors. By the time the tell-tale eyes of the enemy appeared, the warriors were in position, ready to slay them before they had a chance to attack.

  “You did it,” Seren praised Lucia afterwards. “Thanks to you, we lost no men tonight.”

  Thank the gods. Lucia smiled. I can be of service here, after all.

  Every night after that, near twilight, Lucia sat with Seren in her tent to wait for the warning she knew would come. She got better at listening for it, and never once led their warriors astray.

  Seren insisted on sharing with the clan that it was Lucia’s gift that was giving them the advantage in the battle they were waging. Afterwards, many came and thanked her personally. Even Aelhaearn could not help but treat her differently.

  ***

  The warriors who managed to survive night after night grew more skilled at ambushing and killing the enemy. Occasionally, however, a cauldron-born nearly impossible to overcome would emerge from the caves. The warriors called them the Gythreuliaid—demons. They could not be outrun, were next to impervious to blade or spear, and could climb trees with inhuman agility. The stories around the campfire became more and more alarming as the nights passed. It seemed the cauldron-born were growing ever more cunning, strengthened by the blood of the clansmen they happened to overcome as the battle waged on night after night. Most disturbing of all, however, were the stories of familiar faces emerging from the caves—faces of brothers who had fallen in battle, their eyes turned the tell-tale milky white of the cauldron-born.

  Just when things seemed they could get no bleaker, a messenger arrived from the east. “I bring terrible news,” he said, his head bowed. “Our own village is under attack, and our beloved Pennaeth, the noble Belenus, is dead.”

  The news spread through the camp like a forest fire, and all of the Easterners prepared to leave at once.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Iorworth said to Seren. “We must return to defend our own homes and families now.”

  “Of course,” Seren said.

  Lucia felt a surge of panic. How many of them are there?

  ***

  Two moons had passed since Bran’s disappearance. Einon and the Council regularly urged Seren to officially name Aelhaearn their new chieftain, but she had refused. Now, with the news of Belenus’ death and the Easterners departure, things became worse.

  Einon took her aside. “Please, niece. You know I love Bran as much as you do, but we need a chieftain!”

  Seren heard Lucia’s words in her head. I know Bran is still alive.

  “I hear you, Uncle,” she relented. Although she held out hope, she could not expect the rest of the clan to. “Just give him a few more days, would you? Until Nos Galan Gaeaf—if he has not returned by then, I will concede to the Council’s wishes.”

  “Until then,” Einon agreed. He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  Soon, the day was upon them. To Seren’s deep disappointment, Bran had not returned. Einon came to see her that morning. She nodded at him, knowing why he had come. “I’ll make the announcement.”

  Within hours, the clan had gathered to witness the performing of the rites and celebrate the naming of their new chieftain. Seren raised her hands, and everyone fell silent. “Brothers and sisters, today we accept that our chosen king and chieftain, Bran, son of Agarah, has died protecting his clan, not to return to us in this lifetime.”

  Pained expressions went around the camp followed by shouts to Bran’s bravery and honor, and blessings on his name.

  “Step forward, noble Aelhaearn.” The crowd cheered, and raised their spears in tribute until she raised her hands again. “Should there be any man here tonight that would challenge Lord Aelhaearn for the title of King and Chieftain of the South, let him step forward now.”

  No one moved.

  “So be it. Tonight we celebrate the feast of the dead and drink to our new chieftain!” Seren announced, feigning her exuberance. Cheering erupted in the camp and the drinking began.

  Aelhaearn leaned down and kissed her tenderly. He did such things rarely, but when he did, she could not deny her passion for him. She sighed. He is my greatest weakness.

  ***

  “Well, that’s that,” Elayn said dryly. “I suppose it could be far worse.”

  “It could.” Lucia agreed. To Aelhaearn’s credit, they had accomplished much more than she would have thought possible over the past few months. Somehow, the fighting at the caves had been managed in addition to all of the other preparations for winter. Back in the village, the last of the apples had been picked, the wheat from the fields cut and threshed, the prime livestock selected to be lodged in the barns through winter, and the rest of the pigs and cattle slaughtered. Meat had been set aside for the feast, and the rest salted and cured. He had led them well.

  Lucia sat deep in thought, baking bread over an open fire. It was her favorite chore now that the weather had become so much colder, and she thought back on prior celebrations of Nos Calan Gaeaf that she had shared with Aveta and Gwion. Aveta left her door and windows open all night. She set out apples, wine and a bowl of stew that she made from carrots, turnips, peas, parsnips, leeks, pepper, salt and new milk. Lucia had sat with her and Gwion in her tiny house by the fire that she kept burning all night. They ate, talked, and told stories. Aveta once shared with her that she left her door open for Gwion’s father, explaining that on that night of the year, the veil between the worlds was at its thinnest point, allowing the dead to freely roam the earth.

  Tonight, it would be Bran’s spirit that many in the camp would hope to see, but Lucia knew that would not happen. I can’t prove it, but I know he’s still alive. She could say nothing of this now. Aelhaearn would surely cast her out if she did. It was clear that, however much she had helped the clan, he still did not trust her.

  The bonfire in the center of the camp would be huge, judging from the size of the woodpile that had been constructed. All of the bones from the slaughtered animals that were not stewing in the many pots about the camp were beside it, ready to be thrown into the coals when the fire was raging.

  After the Sisters cast their
circle of protection around the camp, Seren lit the bonfire and called in the Guardians. There would be no hunting of the enemy tonight—tonight, they would celebrate, and the Great Mother would protect them.

  Soon, the fire was a pyramid of heat and light, its flames like the forked tongues of a thousand dragons tasting the stars. Everyone feasted and threw the bones from their meat into the smoldering coals at the heart of it. When they could eat no more, they lay down close to the fire upon furs with one another, their bellies full of meat and drink.

  Then, Aelhaearn made his first request as Chieftain. “Grace us with a song,” he asked Teirtu.

  Lucia smiled. Teirtu the bard had come to the camp at Seren’s request, and, since his arrival, the spirits of everyone in the camp had been lifted. He sang ballads of their most-beloved heroes nightly, bolstering the men’s courage. The songs gave them the strength to return, night after night, to fight against the horrors that lurked all around them.

  “Gladly, Pennaeth.” Teirtu pulled out his harp. Everyone fell silent in anticipation. His fingers began moving along the strings, long and graceful, yet commanding. They were calloused from endless hours of playing. His harp wept and sang, telling a story without words. Just when you thought the music could not possibly become any sweeter, his voice rose and filled the air like an ancient perfume, as rich and deep as dark honey.

  Suddenly, Aelhaearn stood up and swiftly unsheathed his sword, breaking Teirtu’s beautiful spell. Every warrior among them jumped to his feet, doing the same.

  Cauldron-born? Lucia thought in horror. How could I not have known? No… not cauldron-born…not this time. Everyone looked in the direction of their king’s gaze to see a dark figure on horseback slowly approaching the camp from the forest.

  “Name yourself! Friend or foe, man or spirit!” Aelhaearn called to him.

  “I am man, and friend.”

  “We feast in honor of the dead tonight, and all are welcome who mean no harm,” Aelhaearn ventured in a warning tone.

  “I come peacefully.”

  “Then come and eat, and share our fire this night,” Aelhaearn offered with a generous sweep of his arm.

  The man came into view, an impressive figure astride a white horse, and Lucia gasped. It can’t be! Her heart jumped, many thoughts flooding her mind at once. A part of her wanted to run to him; another told her what she saw was surely an apparition. The dead truly walk among the living tonight!

  “I am Lord Camulos,” he announced to the crowd. “I come seeking my wife, the Lady Lucia.”

  Lucia felt sick to her stomach. Something’s not right. She quietly moved to leave, but it was too late.

  “There she is!” the man cried, pointing in her direction.

  Lucia shook her head in disbelief, looking at the man on the horse. “This can’t be. My husband is dead.”

  Aelhaearn looked the stranger up and down. “It appears not,” he said. “Unless his spirit has come for you instead.”

  Lucia considered the latter, but the man in front of them was as solid as the ground beneath her feet.

  The stranger dismounted and approached Lucia, but was stopped by half a dozen warriors with spears.

  “I am no ghost, you pagan fools! I am Camulos, a Centurion of the Roman Legion!” He pulled out his dagger and cut himself. Blood dripped down his arm onto the ground to prove his point.

  Lucia saw the anger in Aelhaearn’s eyes at Camulos’ gross disrespect. She ran to her husband’s side, knowing the new chieftain would not suffer his insult, especially on the night of his feast.

  “Pennaeth, please, pardon my husband—he doesn’t know his place.” She embraced Camulos to protect him and then distracted him with her affections. “You are indeed flesh and blood! My prayers have been answered!”

  Aelhaearn sheathed his sword and glared at Camulos. “My hospitality expires with the morning sun, Roman dog. Be grateful your woman is well-loved among my clan, for otherwise you would not live to see it rise again.” He walked off and left them.

  Lucia demanded her husband be quiet or else plan on returning to the grave he had somehow overcome.

  “Superstitious fools,” he said under his breath, looking with disgust at the people she now considered family, and then turned to face her. “You look at me as if I am a stranger, wife. Have I changed so much?”

  Truthfully, he had not changed at all, which was most disturbing to her. He looked no older than when she had last seen him. In fact, he looked younger.

  “Are you not pleased to see me?”

  “I am pleased, of course!” she said, forcing a smile and embracing him so he could not see that she was lying. “How did you find me?”

  “It’s a long story that doesn’t matter right now. There will be much time for stories tomorrow,” he replied, smiling.

  His answer did not satisfy her, but she asked no more questions.

  Soon everyone was carrying on, drinking and dancing, as if nothing had happened. Everyone but Seren, who looked over at her as if to say, “Do you need my help?” But Seren could not help. No one could. Bran hasn’t returned and my husband has come back for me. Lucia felt as though she had fallen through a crack in the earth and was sliding down rocks and loose soil, unable to find anything to grasp onto and crawl back out. “I’m tired. I must go to bed,” she said suddenly in desperation to Camulos.

  “I will come with you.”

  His eager tone and smirk made her skin crawl. Camulos had never looked at her like that before. “No. I sleep in a tent you cannot come to.” Thank the gods my bed lies with the Sisters.

  “What do you mean?” he barked. “Have you taken another husband?” All the kindness disappeared from his face in an instant and he looked as if he might strike her.

  She backed away from him. “No! I sleep with a company of women,” she replied indignantly, angered by both his threatening manner. “And what if I did have a husband? I was told by men in your command that you died upon the battlefield! Did you expect me to never marry again? I am not yet a crone, Lord Camulos!”

  She turned to leave, but he reached out and pulled her back. “Of course not, Lucia—forgive me. It has been a long and wearisome journey to find you, and I am afraid I am not myself. Go and sleep.”

  She did not know what to say, confused by his rapidly changing temperament, so simply turned and left.

  She entered the tent she shared with her sisters, relieved to be away from him. Llygoden, Creirwy, the twins and Elayn’s daughter Anwen were already asleep, but Elayn was waiting for her.

  “Lucia,” she said simply. “Are you happy your husband has returned?”

  Lucia paused a moment before answering. “I am glad he lives,” she began, “but he’s—different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lucia tried feebly to think of a way to express how she felt. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “More than likely it is you who has changed,” Elayn offered kindly. “You are no longer the child he married.”

  “I have, indeed, but that’s not it.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  She thought about it, still unable to identify the source of her apprehension. “I don’t think he would strike me…it’s just that I don’t…recognize him. He makes me uneasy.”

  Elayn nodded and put her hand over Lucia’s. “Well, you do not have to decide whether or not to go with him now. Sleep on it and decide in the morning,” Elayn advised. “Perhaps, with some food and rest tonight, he may yet become the husband you remember by morning. Who knows what he’s been through these past few years.”

  “Perhaps.”

  It had been a long and arduous day with all of the feast preparations on top of their regular duties, and Lucia was indeed exhausted. She followed Elayn’s advice, willing herself to think on it no more, and fell asleep to the sound of the men celebrating. She was happy for them. There hasn’t been enough laughter lately.

  ***

  The sun had not yet rise
n when she was awakened.

  “Lucia, your husband is insisting you leave with him now,” Elayn said gently. “He is outside.”

  Lucia grew sick at the realization that she had not dreamed everything that had happened the night before.

  “If you do not wish to go with him, I will speak with Seren. I am sure she would agree to have the warriors send him on his way, but you must know it could end in his death if he refuses to leave. He made the mistake of insulting Aelhaearn last night, and there will be no patience granted to him if he causes any further trouble.”

  “I don’t know what’s happened to him,” Lucia lamented. “He was a stern man, but always diplomatic. Not like this.”

  “War hardens the heart of every man,” Elayn said, “but a woman’s love will often soften it again.”

  Lucia thought on this. Camulos had been generous and allowed her freedom where most men would not have, and a part of her still loved him. “Tell him I will go with him,” she finally said.

  At that, Llygoden sat up. “Lucia, no! You can’t go!” she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “You’re one of us now, and the Sisters don’t have husbands!” She crawled over and put her arms around Lucia, refusing to let go. “Tell him to go away!” she insisted.

  Llygoden had become something of a daughter to her, and Lucia had to hold back tears. Creirwy and the others were all awake as well, their faces somber in the pale light of the small lantern Elayn held.

  “You’ll be back,” Creirwy said simply.

  “I believe so, too,” Ina agreed.

  Ivy said nothing, but went to give Lucia a parting embrace.

  “I’ll return as soon as I can,” Lucia promised. She collected her few belongings, embraced each one of them in turn, and left the tent. Elayn accompanied her to the edge of the camp, where Camulos and Seren were waiting. She was surprised to see Gethen saddled next to Camulos’ horse. Seren smiled at her. “I have decided to give him to you, Lucia. He is a strong horse, and he trusts you. Besides, he’ll let no one else ride him.”

  Lucia was overjoyed at the gesture. “Oh, thank you!” She had cared for Gethen and rode him much over the past month, and the idea of having him with her on this journey made all the difference in the world.