“No. After he found you, he alerted the town council, we scoured the beach for any other survivors or wreckage. I’m sorry, dearie. The others were down shore a bit. Along with some bits and pieces of the boat.” Her gaze turned apologetic. “Nothing worth savin’, lass.”
Sara glanced at the empty bowl, surprised. How could her body still work when she felt so numb? “That’s okay.” What a strange thing to say when I’m talking about my entire life. She cleared her throat. “Pierric, your man, I look forward to thanking him.” No, you don’t. You wish he’d let you drown.
Sara moved to stand, denying the thought, clutching the wooden bowl in her hand. The room steadied even quicker than when she’d sat up but her legs shook. She’d been lying down too long. She leaned against the table, trying not to think. She needed to do something, anything. Ilydearta weighed heavy around her neck. She touched it briefly, the last thing her grandfather had given her. No. She couldn’t think about Grandfather, not yet.
Nolwen was intent on scraping dark purple skin from the white flesh of a large tuber. She looked up as Sara approached. “Take it slow, lass. No reason to hurry.”
Sara acknowledged Nolwen’s concern with a small smile. She watched Nolwen for a moment longer, noticing that one of the half circles on her knife was almost a perfect match for the tuber. “Would you like me to help you?”
“Goodness no, lass, and...” Nolwen looked Sara up and down. “By the Mother, ye’ll need something else to wear. Ye’ll catch yer death going about like that. Your clothing was...well, we couldn’t save it either.” She scratched her chin. “Me son was married once before. She was a small, fragile thing, but with eyes the color of the sea.” Nolwen’s eyes glazed and the scraping paused. “We lost her many winters ago. The sickness.” Nolwen gazed at her hands, which still held knife and tuber. After a loud sniff, she dropped them both in the bowl then moved to a large wooden box, wiping her hands on her apron. Sara did a double take at the bowl holding the tubers. She ran her fingers along the rim, then down the side. A tortoiseshell. Clever.
Nolwen set a few bundles on the table.
“She was a little shorter than ye but let’s see what we can do. I’m fair with needle and thread.” Nolwen unfolded a square piece of fabric with several ties. She shook it once then held it up to Sara’s waist. “Not bad.” A second bundle revealed a white smock. “I’ll let out a few seams and it’ll do fine.”
“I don’t know how to...” Sara began. She felt like she was watching herself interact with Nolwen.
“Tsk, thanks again? We can’t have ye traipsing around the village in me nightie, can we?” Nolwen moved to the door, reached for a garment from a set of hooks and turned. “It’s me coat. Wear it for now and after supper, we’ll work on yer dress. Now go sit down, child, before ye fall. Ye’re weak yet.”
Sara smiled, shrugged on the coat and settled back on her bed. “I meant I don’t know how to sew very well.” Grandfather had done most of the sewing, claiming he liked his clothes in one piece.
“Really?” Nolwen’s eyes grew wide. “Well, that’s okay, lass. I do.”
Pain sliced through her body. What would she do without him? He couldn’t be gone. It had to be a mistake. “So your man is a waverider?”
“Aye, best in the village.”
Sara took a deep breath. “What does he fish?”
“He hunts the great kiku that live near the bottom of the ocean and anything else the Mother sees fit to gift his nets.”
The Mother. Nolwen had mentioned her several times. Many of the southern waveriders, and a few of the northern, worshipped the sea as the source of all life.
“Where are we?” They’d been headed for Jith’s village. What was the name? She couldn’t remember and there had to be hundreds of villages up and down the western coast of northern Anatar.
Nolwen’s knife didn’t pause its careful scraping of the tuber. “Tyrol. Our liege lord lives a bit north in Schafter. But he pretty much leaves us alone as long as we pay our tribute.”
Tyrol. She struggled to remember her geography. That wasn’t in northern Anatar at all. The storm must have blown them south. Tyrol and the lands around it were independent, or rather they attempted to remain so. Located between the large northern and southern kingdoms of Anatar, there was only a narrow strip of arable land between the ocean and the great desert that divided Anatar, and the most likely place for any warring armies to cross.
Still, waveriders got around. “Do you know anyone named Jith?”
Nolwen appeared thoughtful. “No, never heard the name. Is he from here?”
“No. He’s from a village in the northern kingdom. Nicor.” The name drifted into her consciousness.
“Nicor,” Nolwen repeated. “No. I’ve never heard of it but if it’s around these parts, Pierric will have. We’ll ask him.”
Sara took a deep breath and stood. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with supper?”
“I’ve but one knife, but I’ve always said, company cuts any chore in half.” Nolwen looked up. “Aye, ye’re a restless one. It’s all right lass, I can never sit still for long either. If ye feel up to it, I could use some fresh water.”
Sara glanced around the small room.
“The well’s at the back of the house.” Nolwen smiled, pointing one starchy hand toward a wooden bucket next to the door. “Are ye sure ye’re up for it?”
She nodded then hesitated before the bucket, once again seeing the angry waves and hearing the deafening roar. She clenched her jaw, took the bucket and walked out into the twilight, her skin shivering unrelated to the cool air. Stars peppered the sky and tears pierced her eyes. She fought them back. She loved to sit outside with her grandfather on warm nights and listen to his stories about the stars.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deep. The air was laden with reports of brine and fish. The ocean, the only thing familiar to her and the one thing that had taken everything away. She refused to even look in its direction. Her heart beat with the voice in her head. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.
Now what? What was she supposed to do? She’d insisted she was ready, begged him to leave the island. But now she knew the truth. She wasn’t ready for anything. She needed her grandfather. This was her fault. Her lust of adventure, for change, had killed him as sure as the waves. This was a dream; it had to be. She’d wake up soon and tell her grandfather about it while they shared breakfast.
He’d tell her that dreams were significant and she should write it down. She’d tell him he was silly, but obey. Her throat clogged with tears she refused to shed. If she cried, that meant it was real. He was gone. For as long as she could remember, they’d been a team. Now he walked the deadlands without her.
She turned to face Nolwen’s house. Like a ghost, an image of her house on the island shimmered over Nolwen’s cottage. Flanked by vegetable and herb gardens, it nestled under towering trees and sat not far from the edge of a brook with waters still icy from the trek down the mountain. Crushed seashells, weathered smooth by the elements, shone under the gentle moon, leading from the beach through a copse of trees and ending at their door. A door that was usually open to catch the ocean breeze. Why did I want to leave? Jith’s words echoed in her mind. The mainland isn’t some kind o’ paradise. Some’d say you found that here.
She blinked a
nd the image disappeared, replaced by the small white house, lonely under the waning moon and shadowed by a gentle hill crested with trees. Grandfather was gone. Had he found his peace in the deadlands? Reunited with his son and wife? She was alone on mainland Anatar. The temptation to sit down and cry, not really caring if she ever got back up, became overwhelming. But something held her back. She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t.
“First things first.” Sara studied her surroundings, pausing at a wooden platform. She lifted it to the scent of wet earth and sweet water and hefted it aside. Under the moonlight, she spotted a twining rope that disappeared into the depths. Sara pulled on it until it hoisted the largest conch shell she’d ever seen. She poured the water from the shell to the bucket, inordinately proud of herself. “See, I can live on the mainland just fine,” she said to the breeze, her voice loud against the silent night while the well blurred through unshed tears.
* * *
After their meal, the women tidied the cabin’s only two rooms. Sara replaced the bouquet of familiar flowers on the table. “These are Shooting Stars.”
“If ye like them, they grow wild by the river out back.”
Sara went to the window to feel the evening breeze on her face and breathe the sea deep into her lungs. Shooting Stars grew behind their home on the island too. On the horizon, moonlight rippled in the water as though the sky poured into the ocean.
“If ye like, ye can take the cloth down.” Nolwen’s voice broke through her reverie. “Ye see, it comes down easy.” Nolwen moved to the window, exposed a groove carved into its frame, pulled a wooden rod holding the curtains up then down and set it on the ledge. “I only have it there because it’s pretty. Doesn’t stop a lick of wind. Pierric tells me— Are ye feelin’ poorly again, lass?”
She was tired and overwhelmed and Nolwen was right: grief came in waves like the sea. “No, no I’m fine, thank you.”
“Then let’s get started on yer dress.”
Sara’s face warmed. “Remember, I don’t know how to sew very well.” At all. She hadn’t improved her skills beyond a simple hem.
Nolwen smiled. “That’s all right, dearie. You wouldn’t be the first I’ll teach.” Nolwen gathered the clothing and a woven basket, rummaged for a long string and turned. “First we must measure ye.”
Sara shrugged off the coat, holding still while Nolwen wrapped the string around different parts of her body, but at great pains to avoid touching Ilydearta.
“Are you familiar with the necklace?” Sara asked.
Guarded eyes met her gaze. “To be sure, I don’t know. Where did ye come by it, child?”
Grandfather had said they needed to be careful. She wasn’t very good at subtle. “My grandfather gave it to me. My father gave it to him.”
Nolwen nodded and moved to lay the skirt out on the kitchen table.
“It’s called Ilydearta,” Sara said to Nolwen’s back. She watched as the woman froze then continued smoothing the fabric as though she hadn’t spoken. “You’ve heard of it?”
Nolwen faced Sara, glancing around the room as though to ensure they were alone. “I’ve heard the name to be sure. A children’s tale not often told. Ilydearta is one of the stones of old.” Behind the light tone, there was fear in her words.
“The stones of old?” Sara prompted.
“Legend, lass.” She waved her hand.
Sara hesitated. Maybe she was wrong but Nolwen seemed afraid—and if she was afraid then she must believe in the legend, at least a little. She must know something more than Sara did. “Legends?” she ventured. “Could you tell them to me?”
“Tales for children, lass. Better left untold.” Nolwen moved toward the stove, her back to Sara.
“It’s one of three stones.”
Nolwen froze.
“My grandfather... I’m to find the other two—”
“Aye, I remember the story.” Nolwen faced Sara, her gaze far away.
“Then you do know it.” Sara leaned forward. If she could find the other stones or perhaps even the Siobani then... Then what? Give them the necklace? Go home? What was there to go home to? Their island? The island without her grandfather would be intolerable.
“Only in legend and song.” Nolwen moved forward and pulled another cloth from deep inside the basket. Despite her even tone, her hands shook.
“Please, tell me about them.”
Nolwen hesitated then sighed. “Me grandmother sometimes told the ancient legends. She spoke of the Siobani only once or twice on the coldest winter nights.”
Sara’s heartbeat sped.
“The Siobani were keepers of the stones long ago before humans were in these lands. Three stones of great power, Ilydearta, Crioch and Eolais.”
“The Siobani are not human?”
Nolwen’s forehead creased as she narrowed her eyes. “No, they are not like me and ye.”
Maybe this would be easier than she thought. She knew better than to sound like an expert on the Siobani. It was better to ask questions, coax information slowly. “Oh. Then what are they?”
“Siobani.” Nolwen shrugged. “There’s not much else to tell. War came to the Siobani, as it does to all creatures. It’s said two of the stones were lost. The third, Eolais, the Siobani took with them.”
“Where did they go?” Sara’s heart raced. This she needed to know. Nolwen knew more about the stones and the Siobani than either she or her grandfather thought any mainlander would.
“Child, most people don’t believe the Siobani ever existed. They think they’re a legend, a story told to scare your children and keep them safe at home nights.”
Sara’s heart sank. “And what do you think?”
Nolwen’s hands fluttered over the cloth. “I’ve always wanted to believe in them. And in Teann, who they serve. Pierric says I’ve got too much imagination for me size.” She patted her ample waist. “Which is saying something.” Nolwen stepped closer, eyes on Ilydearta. “’Tis only a pretty bauble. Her voice held a note of regret. “But now, if that truly is Ilydearta, maybe the legends are to be believed, at least in part.” She shrugged. “I suppose stranger things have happened.”
Her grandfather’s voice echoed in Sara’s memory.
What once was, will be again
The three will be one
War will end
Not by a king’s hand
The story is told
When Siobani walk the land
Peace is restored.
He’d read that to her from one of his books. “When the Siobani walk the land, peace will follow?” Sara watched Nolwen’s needle dip beneath layers of material.
The woman looked up. “Aye, it’s part of the legend.”
Sara tensed. “Are you at war?”
“Not here in Tyrol, not since I was a wee lass. Elsewhere? I’d not know. Pull the light closer, child. We’ll teach ye to sew yet.”
Sara moved an oil lamp to the table and stared at the wood grain in its halo. “If they exist, my grandfather wanted me to find them, the Siobani.”
Nolwen looked up from her sewing. Reverent fear danced in her eyes with the lamp’s flame. “Aye, if the legends be true... But Sara, heed me advice, we waveriders are simple folk. Not many tell tales of the ancients and less want to hear them. Don’t show that necklace...or whisper a word about it, or what you think it is, to anyone.”
/> * * *
Moist sand crumpled under her feet. One foot in front of the other. Slowly, she made her way up the gentle rise. Small insects flittered around her borrowed sandals, disturbed by her intrusion. One moment there was only sand and the occasional purple foliage, the next, water ebbed around her toes, teasing her with its icy touch. The ocean.
A cold breeze brushed her skin. The soft hairs downing her arms tingled as if charged with static.
Her stomach churned. She searched the pale sands for any sign of wreckage, half expecting to find her grandfather walking toward her to embrace her and tell her everything was going to fine but knowing he never would again.
Removing her sandals, she walked to the foam crust left by the last wave, breathing deep to seek the peace she’d once found on the shore. The ocean had once been her companion, her friend. Now it had taken away everything.
Everything. Everyone. Gone without a trace.
She’d woken before dawn, her limbs frozen as her heart pumped a staccato rhythm. No memory of her dream remained, but the remaining sense of unease convinced her it was time to face the ocean. Am I looking for comfort? She didn’t think so but the irony was not lost on her. “You once gave but then you took everything away. Do you expect loyalty, forgiveness?”
The steady roar of the waves didn’t pause. Sara glanced toward the house, now hidden by the dune. When she left, Nolwen still snored softly from her room, but she didn’t know when she’d waken. Sara didn’t want to worry her.
Sara pulled the borrowed cloak around her shoulders. Her new skirt and blouse hung from a peg behind the door but she hadn’t bothered to change. It was still a long wait until morning.
The waves unleashed a torrent of memories. Snippets of conversation, warnings, lessons her grandfather taught her barraged her mind.
The cool sand sent shivers through her body. Sara regarded the night sky where thousands of stars glowed in unison. She refocused her gaze across the inky depths. The waves fell in one long splash, like a wall falling, a wall of dark stone capped in white.
Journey of Awakening Page 4