Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

Camulos gasped and reached up to run his hands over the rivulets in the stone. “Oh, you sweet, sweet girl…”

  It was true. Bran of the Oaks ruled a mountain of gold. A mountain of gold that they would take from him, as payment for all their years of suffering.

  “You have spoken true,” the Seer said. “I will swear to Hraban that I have seen the golden mountain myself. Now, we must return to the forest.”

  “Why? What are you planning to do?” Camulos demanded.

  “Tomorrow, we will build altars to Woden at the four corners of the forest. At each, we must sacrifice animals of earth, air, and water in his name. Then, I will need a blood offering from each of you to bind you to your oath to Earl Hraban.”

  Though Camulos looked skeptical, Aelhaearn bore no allegiance to any god. He would gladly swear an oath to any deity that might help him exact the revenge he hungered for.

  Perhaps this Saxon god Woden is more powerful than Arawn, he mused. The prospect of it excited him more than anything had in a very, very long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  No Dominion

  “We can’t speak here,” Bran said to Lucia over the noise. The motherhouse was now full of people preparing for the feast. “Let’s go to the Grove.” He motioned to Islwyn and Seren to follow them. There, they would have the privacy to discuss what Islwyn had seen that day. Also, it was obvious to him that Lucia had received a disturbing vision—she was feverish and her hands were trembling. That begged a private discussion as well.

  They were about to leave, when, to Bran’s dismay, Arhianna came running after them. “What happened? Where are you going?” His daughter had a curiosity that rivaled the appetite of a bear after a long winter sleep.

  “We have matters to attend to,” Bran told her firmly. “Stay with your brother and host the feast. You may offer the haunch to Idris tonight—he speared the boar.”

  Bran hoped that one day soon, the haunch would go to Gareth. He had been about his age when he had first earned the honor for himself, and would never forget that day. It was the day he had become a man.

  Arhianna seemed disinterested in his offer, and looked as if she were in physical pain from being kept in the dark. Though it seemed it would kill her, she obeyed and reluctantly returned to her brother.

  Bran led the way through the village, greeting the men and women on their way to the feast, acting as if nothing were wrong. Lucia kept up the illusion by smiling beside him. Islwyn and Seren walked together behind them a few paces, ceasing their whispering whenever someone would pass by.

  They reached the edge of the forest to find Eirwen waiting for them. Her white owl sat perched in the nearest tree, waiting for the sun to go down. Together, they all followed Islwyn to the Grove.

  After the clan of the Oaks had been formed, it was Islwyn who had brought to Bran’s attention that not only did the union of the clans yield increased strength in warriors and resources, but also in spiritual power. They had Seren, a formidable priestess and Firebrand, as well as Lady Eirwen, well-known to have the ear of the Eastern Guardians and knowledge of the spirits of the air. When Lucia became Bran’s queen and joined them, she brought the power to invoke the Western Guardians and the spirits of water, as well as the rare and precious gift of the Sight. Together, they comprised a full circle of power that began with Islwyn, passed through the three women, and ended with Bran, Servant of Arawn.

  It was dark by the time they arrived at Islwyn’s hut. He built a fire, and the five of them took their place in the circle around it: Islwyn in the North, Eirwen in the East, Seren in the South, and Lucia in the West. Bran stood behind Lucia, for Arawn’s realm lay beyond the West beneath the horizon, below that which could be seen.

  The five came together in this way when something from the spirit realm was at play. They joined hands and invoked the powers they had been chosen to represent.

  Islwyn raised his hands. “We ask that the identity and intentions of the three men I saw in the forest today be revealed.”

  They sat silently, all of them waiting for guidance from their Guardians on the posed question.

  Eirwen spoke first, for she sat in the East, where the sun rose and all things began. “The winds whisper to me of a man with shallow and labored breath, as if his lungs were slowly filling with blood. The sky watched as he shot down four of our most sacred birds. He ripped their wings off while they still lived, and hung them upside down from the trees. He believes this will trap our people, like birds without wings, so they cannot flee when his people attack.” Eirwen squeezed Seren’s hand, signaling she was finished.

  Seren took a deep breath. “All love has been burned from Aelhaearn’s heart by the inferno of hate that rages within it—“ She winced, clearly struggling with the message. “It has left nothing but ashes and a ravenous hunger for revenge. He craves the utter humiliation and destruction of his enemies. He has forged the way for the man the winds speak of.” Seren squeezed Lucia’s hand.

  “The waters have revealed to me the third man in the woods. Within their reflection, I have seen the face of Camulos, my former husband.”

  Bran stiffened at the mention of the man’s name.

  Lucia continued. “I fear the day I’ve dreaded will soon be at hand, and that it’s the Raven King the Seer serves.”

  The Raven King was the name they gave their phantom enemy, for Taliesin had not given Lucia his name when he came to her on the Isle—only his sigil. The five of them had agreed to keep Lucia’s vision a secret, but knew they needed to ensure the clan was prepared for an enemy attack. Instead of sharing her vision, they let the clan believe that the gold within the mountain was the reason for their deep concern. Over the years, the Oaks had taken extreme measures to protect their home. They had forged thousands of spearheads, daggers, arrowheads and swords, and had caches of weapons hidden throughout their lands and homes. Wherever their people were, there was a weapon within reach, and every man, woman, and child old enough to wield one had been trained to fight. They kept their gold buried outside the village, lest it find its way into enemy hands. If they were unable to defend the village, they could flee to the mountain fortress, which had been expanded to hold the entire village safely for a week. Finally, in the unlikely event they were unable to defend the fortress, they had carved an escape route through Mynyth Aur that they could use to flee into the safety of the forest.

  Lucia squeezed Bran’s hand, and he addressed his master in his mind. Lord Arawn, if you will speak of it, what will become of my people? Within moments, he felt the dark, cold presence of Arawn looming behind him. It sent a shudder down his spine, as it always did.

  On the day your enemies come, Bran of the Oaks, many of your warriors will fight bravely and be sent with honor into my hands, but those who die in the lands of your enemies will be lost to me and forced to bow before their gods, for I have no dominion there.

  Bran was shocked. How could that be? He had believed up until that moment that Arawn had dominion everywhere. He swallowed hard, fear churning in his gut at the thought of his children being sacrificed to the gods of their enemies. They would be forever beyond their reach, their souls trapped in a realm even Arawn could not go.

  Bran was silent for so long that Islwyn finally asked, “What message does Lord Arawn have for us?”

  Bran repeated the first part of Arawn’s ominous message, stating that they would lose many warriors, but he could not bear to add the rest to the weight of Lucia’s portend.

  The Guardians were thanked and bid farewell, and then Seren voiced the question on everyone’s mind. “What do we do now?”

  ***

  Taliesin had not stayed for the feast. Instead, he set out to find the fourth altar in the woods where Islwyn said he had seen the three men. He could not suffer it to stay there. The birds led him to it, and he burned it down and blessed the tree that had been the unfortunate witness to the horror.

  It was dark by the time the grotesque structure was reduced to ashes. Talie
sin finished his work by starlight, for there was no moon to light his way. He took the ashes to the river, where he scattered them. When the last of the ashes had risen on the breeze or flowed into the river, he washed his hands and sat down on the bank.

  The baby fox had followed him all night, staying close to his heels. She came and curled up happily in his lap. He unslung his harp and brought it to his knee to play it.

  He sang a song for the Grove, feeling it emanating forth from him as ribbons of golden light, rising from the top of his head and unfurling from his heart. The ribbons spiraled into the sky toward the stars, undulating like waves over the rippled surface of the river toward the sea, ever upward and outward.

  He sang of the hidden moon and the sleeping sun moving in the heavens, gulls soaring on the winds near the seashore, and salmon fighting the river to return home. He sang of wild horses running in herds, their thick manes in a tangle, spring lambs gamboling through green heaths, and the sweet nightingale serenading the stars.

  He sang until the sun rose, dispelling the last of the darkness, and then returned to the Grove to sleep under the Sacred Oak, as he always did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  An Invitation

  Moons passed. Soon, it was nearly a year from the day the Black Three had come and defiled their sacred space. In that time, there had been no attacks on the village, and no further disturbances near the Grove. Although Lucia still lived under the dark shadow of the fateful day she knew would come, the others had gradually returned to living their lives as they had before.

  She found solace in her ever-growing relationships with Islwyn and Taliesin, for they seemed to be the only ones who gave her visions and nightmares the respect she felt they deserved. She loved Taliesin as much as her own children. Over the years, she had watched him grow into the young man who had come to her in her vision, so many years ago upon the Isle.

  When she felt overwhelmed or upset, she would go to the Grove. Taliesin had taught her how to find it. There, she would sometimes spend hours praying to the Great Mother under the Sacred Oak. Taliesin would only disturb her if the sun began to disappear. Then he would come and invite her to share supper with them in the small hut they shared on the edge of the Grove. After that, she would always plead for a song from him, which he never denied her. Then, he would light a lantern and accompany her back to the village. Sometimes he sang as they walked, and it seemed the entire forest leaned in to listen.

  When she was in the Grove with them, she felt whisperings of the priestess she could have become, certain all the gods and Guardians were listening when the three of them were together. There, she was neither mother nor wife—she was simply Lucia, servant of the Great Mother. It brought her deep satisfaction.

  One night, as they walked to the village together, Taliesin told her about how he and Islwyn had begun to meet in the Shadows, and visit faraway places together.

  “You’re shadow-walking?” Lucia asked him, intrigued.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Yes.”

  Taliesin nodded. “That seems like a good name for it.”

  She had never heard of two people shadow-walking together. “How do you find each other?”

  “We sit down and imagine a place together, in every detail. We describe the earth beneath our feet, the color of the sky, what we hear, and what we see around us. Then, we close our eyes and focus on that place until we find ourselves within it.”

  She considered this awhile. “I want you to be able to find me in the Shadows.”

  He did not ask why. “Yes, I’d like that. Where shall we find each other?”

  “Upon a path, in the woods—very much like this one.”

  She described the place where she had first met him, for she did remember every detail. “It’s very early in the morning, and it has just rained, so there’s a loamy smell in the air. Quickbeam trees are flowering along the narrow pathway that I’m walking on, and rust-colored lichen clings to their bark. I’m wearing a dark blue robe and you’re wearing a brown tunic and a green cloak. I’m standing in a clearing of early dappled sunlight—the kind that happens when the sun begins to rise over the mountains on a spring morning.”

  “Yes, I see it!” Taliesin smiled with his eyes closed. “I can see you standing there!”

  She smiled and put her arm around his shoulders. “If we’re ever separated, and you have need of me, now you know where you can find me.”

  ***

  Lucia kept her concerns about the Black Three to herself, for the most part, until one afternoon, when one of the Oaks of Gwythno arrived in the village with a message for Bran. Curious, she went to the motherhouse to hear what he had to say.

  “Pennaeth, we shall complete the Twin Sisters in a week,” he announced proudly. ”They’re truly the most magnificent ships we’ve ever built. Lord Elffin has planned a special celebration for the occasion and invites you and your family to come.”

  Lucia’s heart sank. She knew neither pleas nor chains would keep Bran from Caer Gwythno. There were three men who walked the earth whom he denied nothing: Maur, Elffin, and Irwyn. Irwyn had come often to feast with the Oaks in Mynyth Aur. Every time he left, she knew Bran longed to go with him, though he would never admit it to her. She felt a pang of sadness in her stomach. Are we not enough? Why must he always lust after the horizon?

  “Gods, this is good news!” Bran bellowed exuberantly, blind to her struggle.

  “Yes, Pennaeth,” the young man smiled, “and there’s more.”

  “Go on.” Bran was beaming.

  “Master Irwyn has returned from sea. He bids you come and join his crew this summer for the maiden voyage. He shall captain one of the Twin Sisters, and Elffin, the other.”

  “Of course, I’d be honored!” Bran grinned. He yelled at the servants to bring the messenger food and ale.

  Lucia was stunned he had committed so quickly, without so much as a glance her way. Arawn take that man! Furious, she stood up and left him to drink in the hall with the others. May your ale taste like piss, she cursed under her breath.

  She walked to the stables to visit Gethen. Being with him always calmed her. She visited him every day and took him two of his favorite apples. He had aged, as they all had, and she knew he suffered from echoes of the wounds he had received while protecting her. She stroked his muzzle, looking at her weathered hands with dismay. “I fear I’m to become like you, old friend—no longer loved the way I once was.”

  Again, anger rushed through her, flushing her neck and face. Am I worth so little now? To not even consult me? And what about the children? Bastard! She wanted to throw the apple she had in her hand at the ground and smash it, but refused to deny Gethen his treat.

  Her grandmother’s words from years ago crept into her mind like poison: “I can only tell you that a man’s love fades with time, as does his ardor…”

  “No,” Lucia said aloud, defying her grandmother. “No.”

  She took a deep breath. I need to fix this.

  ***

  Lucia walked home and found the house empty. Bran and the twins were likely still at the motherhouse and would not come home for some time, so she took advantage of the solitude. She lit a fire and sat in prayer. “Please, Great Mother. Help me find the right words to say to my husband.”

  She knew she would not hear the Great Mother’s response unless she could manage to set aside her anger. A long time passed before she heard an answer.

  It is not words a man craves from the woman he loves. He craves her trust and respect. He craves her invitation to love her.

  She felt a wave of rejection, and then her anger returned. I’ve done more than my fair share of inviting him to love me! It’s he who’s become more interested in ships and trade than in me!

  Choose love, or choose solitude. The choice is yours.

  She knew she was hearing truth, but could not swallow it. Unable to resist, she gave in to the tears she had been holding in since that morning
. She convulsed into sobs, letting them carry away her anger and frustration until they no longer gripped her so tightly.

  That night, when Bran came to bed, and for many nights following, she did not speak to him of her fears, or nag at him for his decisions. Instead, she wrapped herself around him as she had before the march of days that had slowly suffocated their passion. That night did not kindle the immediate results she desired, but she did not give in to her self-pity or resign herself to her grandmother’s prediction.

  After a few nights, her efforts paid off, and the tide turned. She found there were still coals where fire had danced before, still hot enough to burst into flame, if given fuel for it.

  By the end of the week, they were making love the way they used to, and talking more than they had in some time. Things continued to get better until the eve of Bran’s departure for Caer Gwythno. Somehow, she had deluded herself into thinking that if she managed to rekindle the passion between them, he would stay.

  That night in bed, the only place it seemed they had any privacy, she tried again. “Please, don’t sail with Irwyn! Summer is the perfect time for a raid or attack—how can you ignore that? It’s only been a year since we found those horrible altars.”

  Bran let out a sigh of frustration, but followed it with a tender gaze. “What would you have me do, love? Never leave the village again? I can’t do that.” He kissed her forehead. “Neirin and Idris are here, and everyone has been trained to fight. There are weapons in every house and every field. We’ve done all we can to ensure the clan can defend itself. We have to face our fate with courage—surely, you know that better than most! We must all meet Arawn someday—and it’s far better to go to him from the battlefield than from the warmth of our beds!” He shook his head. “Gods forbid I die that way!

  Lucia felt desperate, as if her entire world were suspended by a small thread. I must make him understand. “You speak of men! What of our women and children? The men who go to their graves nobly in battle are not my concern, but rather them—they’ll be raped or enslaved! Your daughter among them!”