THE
ISLAND
OF
MISTS
Works by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair
The Unfortunate
The Island of Mists Series
The Island of Mists
The Voyager (Coming December 2019)
Short Stories
The Fianna
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Copyright © by Wendy Nelson
Cover Design by BetiBup33 Studio Design
Dedications
To Mom and Dad, all my love, always
John and Robert, you, too.
To my Grandma Katherine, I love and miss you with each passing day. Thank you for giving my first typewriter and giving me the box of all my early writings that you kept for all those years. You were my first fan and never failed to give me the encouragement that I needed.
To Judy Nelson-Fried, Lorrie Austin, and Sherry Evans—the best aunts anyone could ask for.
Steven Ottmar and Mauricio Quiroz. I love you and cherish you.
Christina Dickinson, thank you for your feedback, advice, and for encouraging me when I took a step out of my comfort zone and followed my passion for this genre.
To my dear, sweet Arthur, aka my Honeypot, my sweetest boy—you live forever in Bird.
Dusti Gregory, you herb master supreme. You are the inspiration for Eweln. She is a testament to your unbridled passion for making people’s lives better and healthier. Someday soon, The Dandy Lion Emporium will see the fruition of all your hopes, hard work, and indefatigable determination. Your strength always leaves me in awe.
To Everyone else, especially my fans—thank you for your love and support. This wouldn’t be possible without you.
“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”
― John Muir, John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir
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-Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
-Khalil Gibran
PROLOGUE
Life is a journey. A journey with a start and an end. Every being is born. Every being dies.
My name is Yvaine. I am a child of the Goddess. I have lived when nothing was certain except birth and death. Across each lifetime, I’ve witnessed peace and I’ve tasted violence. I have traveled the world, immersed in exotic, unique places, teeming with culture, and one-of-a-kind traditions. Life has been mine to taste many times. Each incarnation was exceptionally different than those that came before, but what remained was the all-too-familiar unpredictability of human nature. The Island of Mists was where I was born, but it took looking beyond its shores to discover myself.
PART ONE
ONE
The Island of Mists was located on the edge of the western coast of England. My home was not a single island, as one might believe but rather a series of islands. One large, several small, all disguised by an outcrop of rocky crags and massive, heavy cliffs that jutted out into the ocean. Both on land and by sea, a dense misty shroud protected us from view. Any stranger who trespassed into the veil remained lost until they found their way out. The unsuccessful perished. The steadfast lived to see another day. The fog was imbued with a magical knowledge of who belonged and who did not. The veil chose who could lift its shroud and who couldn’t.
Our world was isolated, reclusive, and distrustful of those that lived beyond our borders. Despite those reservations, we maintained limited contact with the outside world. To survive, we were forced to trade. Trades were conducted two days’ walk from our shores, situated close to the entrance to the forest and a footpath that forked in three directions. Several generations before I was born, the leaders of the community were faced with a shortage of food. Out of options, they became desperate. Hungry mouths begged for food as new crops withered and died in the fields. Fruit rotted while still clinging to the trees. A blight quickly turned concern into impending disaster. Faced with a life-or-death crisis, they were forced to look beyond. For our protection, we mirrored the dress of the outside world and never made mention of the Island. Camouflaged and eager, we learned new medicines, farming methods, adapted updated tanning techniques, construction methods, philosophies, legal systems, customs, acquired different seeds, new saplings, and roots that all led to our society’s renewed prosperity. From the knowledge we gleaned, cartmakers created better wheels. Weavers crafted better thread and cloth. Other tradesman, gardeners, healers, and many others all utilized the advancements to ensure our survival. We were a society that loved to learn, but one where learning was very limited in scope.
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The Island folk were a devoted group of people. The people worshiped the Mother Goddess. In our homes, we created altars bedecked with small, hand-carved wooden images of the Goddess’ likeness. Those figures accentuated a plump feminine body with abundant, swelling breasts, and a belly rounded with the promise of life. We adorned the statues with items that represented the four points of the elements. Herbs, flowers, and other plant life symbolized the Earth. A bird’s feather represented air. Ash and charcoal honored fire, and fish bones signified water. As a people, we had no doubt that our Mother Goddess controlled the balance of life. She offered us all that we needed and provided abundance and propagation. We owed our very existence to her.
The first of our kind, those that we called the First People, heard the Goddess’ voice in a cave located on the Sacred Island. The Sacred Island was a small, independent islet just a short boat ride west of the Main Island. The Sacred Island was home to the Woman of the Island, also known as the Keeper of Women, as well as a band of devoted acolytes responsible for the Spring Rites training. When the First People arrived, they passed through the misty barrier as they followed the voice of the Goddess. One woman in particular was compelled by the melodious sound of Her call. Our Great Mother whispered the promise of protection, proliferation, and sustainability in exchange for a specific ceremony that was to be carried out at the beginning of every spring. If a child was born from that ceremony, the Goddess bestowed the First People and their descendants with plenty. If we failed, it meant a risk of ruin, starvation, even death. For the sake of ourselves, we vowed our lives to Her worship.
For many centuries, our society held steadfast to our vow. As far as I knew, there was very little failure and every Spring we gathered with the hope of success. Our Goddess held the ultimate power over all that we did. Everything was dedicated to pleasing Her, and we thrived because of it.
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Order and peace were kept through the creation of the High Council, a group of elders led by the High Priestess. The High Council was established just after the First People inhabited the Island. Men and women both served on its panel. The High Council created and enforced the laws that dictated how we interacted with one another. If there was a dispute, they listened to the complaint and ruled on how it would be settled. At the helm of the High Council was the High Priestess. The High Priestess was our spiritual advisor and the final voice in all decisions. The High Priestess provided a tangible, flesh and blood connection with our Creator and Protector. Ten generations of my family held an unbroken rule as the High Priestess. Ours was the longest line to ever hold that distinction. The title is almost always passed down from mother to daughter unless there are no female heirs. In that c
ase, it went to the next female relative in the family. The women of my family bore the title with distinction and honor. A title the male line was forbidden to hold.
My mother was the High Priestess during my youth. Reena ascended to her position at just twenty years old when the current High Priestess, Raenna, her mother, died. Tradition dictated that the eldest inherited the position. As the oldest twin, Reena didn’t hesitate to embrace the role destined to be hers. Reena was steadfast and dedicated to her studies. Her twin sister, Leena, was a carefree spirit who possessed remarkable intuition and foresight. Leena studied herbcraft and became a midwife while Reena was molded to lead.
My sister, Ravene, and I mirrored them in many ways. As children of the High Priestess, our lives were strict, ordered, and left little time to be a child. Ravene did not mind. She craved the rigid structure chosen for her. I resembled like Aunt Leena. Independent and solitary, I wanted nothing more than to flee to the hilltop. I wanted nothing more than to look down over the Island. To watch the people move about or just simply lie back in the grass, gazing at the sky while I twiddled lavender and rosemary sprigs in my hands.
My sister was a born leader. Her command of an audience was breathtaking, even to an introvert such as me. Ravene inherited Reena’s charisma, her grace, and her intelligence but she lacked Reena’s frigid nature and ruthless cunning. Ravene was an earnest, beautiful, and loving spirit whereas Reena was cold, closed-off, and distant.
As for me, I had an affinity for healing. From the time I was small, I was fascinated with flowers, herbs, and plant life. My propensity for healing didn’t show itself until I was walking through the woods one pleasant, sunny summer day. I happened upon a single intriguing flower peeking out amongst a larger group of other plants. I was eight and was completely captivated by its bright, deep, rich color amid a field of flat, muted green.
“What is this?” I asked Ravene as I stopped to examine the fascinating dark blue petals.
“Some plant. Just leave it be and quit stopping so much. You’re slowing me down!” Ravene yelled as she eagerly tried to keep up with her friends and classmates, clearly not bothered by leaving me behind. I was entranced by the delicate power emanating from the single bud. Magic lived within its petals, leaves, and stem. A magic that I knew could be harnessed to treat the broken, cure the ill, and bring peace to the dying.
“You have found a cornflower,” An unfamiliar voice spoke suddenly, startling me so that I stumbled backward and fell on my backside. I looked up to find a woman, a crone of our culture, watching me with amusement. “Cornflower is used to treat high fevers and clear chest congestion.” She crouched down easily, despite her advanced age, and reached out to gently caress the tender petals. “Do you have an interest in healing?” She asked me honestly.
At my young age, I was instantly at ease with her docile spirit. I was entranced by her wild look. This woman was far different than the rest of the Island folk. Her long, soft silver-gray hair hung at her waist, secured by a bind halfway down the length of her back. She wore the same, loose, flowing dress the Acolytes wore during the Spring festival. Her face, though wrinkled and matured, was supple and possessed a grace that I had never seen before. Her most enchanting feature was her eyes. The left eye was a light, brilliant sky blue and the right was a dark, vivid green reminiscent of the pastures in late summer. I had never seen someone with two different colored eyes before. That was when I learned that I possessed a unique ability. I learned that I could smell the nature of a person’s soul. The woman before me was intoxicating with the scent of sweet mint, lavender, honey, and wood betony. I was spellbound by her and the healing magic that coursed through that flower. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to absorb all that she could teach me. Eager to get started, I enthusiastically nodded my head.
“That’s good,” The crone petted the length of my ashen-colored hair. “My name is Eweln and I know that you are Yvaine. I will teach you all that I know, but we should ask your mother first. I don’t think that she will object to my teaching you but it’s best that we ask for her permission as a courtesy.” Yu-ln. Ee-vain. I sounded her name out silently and smiled at how different it was from mine when was pronounced. With instant trust, I set off hand-in-hand with Eweln towards the main pathway. Ravene and her friends were long gone and forgotten as we walked to the grotto where I called home.
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Eweln was much more than just a teacher. She was my second mother, my confidant, and most importantly, my best friend. Her instruction began the next day. From the onset of my lessons, I practiced my newfound craft on anything that I could find. My family constantly scolded me for bringing wounded animals’ home to nurse back to health. It wasn’t the healing that bothered them. It was how I spoiled the animals while they recuperated. My doting left us with a vast menagerie of pets including doves, foxes, rodents and even a young wood pigeon that I discovered on the grassy hill with a broken wing. No matter how they protested or complained about my animals, everyone knew that I was destined to be a healer.
While Ravene relished in socializing with others, I thrived in the solitude of the herb sheds. I spent endless hours working and devouring many exciting things from the Island’s collection. Within the first decade of inhabiting the island, the First People developed a system of writing and reading. From them, we developed a record-keeping system through bound parchment books and scrolls. Thousands of each filled the shelves of the walls of the herb shed libraries. Each one contained knowledge and wisdom of healers long past. Eweln steadfastly used them in every aspect of her instruction. Not a day passed when she didn’t seek out an answer or to use them as a teaching aid. I absorbed what they offered me and soon, I possessed a deep knowledge of roots, herbs, and botanicals, their uses, their dangers, their treatments, and their preparations.
Learning was my escape. Learning was something that gave me freedom and deep contentment. I was uncomfortable being in the public eye. I did not take pleasure in the duties required of me because I was a child of the High Priestess. I was not allowed to be like the other children—free and wild—without a care in the world. Instead, I went home or ran to the solitude of the hilltop where I spent hours relaxing and studying my craft. As I spent my days isolated in one herb shed or the other, Ravene and I grew distant. While I labored away, completely contented with being alone, my sister was educated in other ways, surrounded with a multitude of friends and immensely popular. Whether it was because of our differences or the influence of her friends, Ravene often teased me for my rosemary-scented hair or my berry-stained hands. She constantly ridiculed me, often lecturing me to consider others and wash up before coming home.
“Your hands are too filthy to be eating at the table with the rest of us,” Ravene frequently snapped as her long, feminine nose wrinkled up with disgust. With each bark, I remained quiet, refusing to be antagonized. Aunt Leena sent reassuring smiles to me during our nightly meals. Secretly, she knew that the stains and scents I bore were a badge of honor. They were physical proof of the pride that I took in my craft and my willingness to know as much as the healing men and women could teach me.
When I turned fourteen, the Island’s healers gathered to discuss my future and in a surprise decision, unanimously agreed that I could begin assisting patients. No one my age had ever assisted before. It was a distinct honor, Eweln said, and soon word spread and praise for my skills arose. Eweln was confident that I was capable of handling the simpler cases, but it quickly became apparent that I could easily deal with the worst as well. In the evenings, my mother would often invite her to eat with us. Eweln would join the four of us at our table while thanking Reena for allowing my education. It embarrassed me when she would humbly boast that my gifts were divined from the Goddess herself.
“Yvaine’s skill is unlike any others that I have seen,” Eweln said one night at my family’s table. My aunt Leena radiated with delight. Ravene raised her cup in a toast to my accomplishments. Reena, however, couldn’
t have cared less. I did my best to ignore her lack of enthusiasm and absence of pride. Instead, I focused on the camaraderie that surrounded me. That night, we feasted on a tender green salad covered in herb-infused sweet nut oil tossed with wild onion, fresh mushrooms, walnuts, fresh-picked wild berries, and dried apples gathered during last autumn’s harvest. Aunt Leena had baked a dense, seeded bread and made a mouthwatering vegetable stew to accompany it. We devoured the fare as if we were all starving. “Your daughter is destined to be the greatest healer that we have ever seen.” Eweln watched me with a radiant mixture of joy and affection. Little did she know the depth of truth in her words.
My sixteenth year brought abrupt, drastic change to both the Island and me. Everything that happened sent me reeling, like I had been tossed onto an ever-spinning course, confused and uncertain on how to find my way.
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The winter season came early and was the harshest we had seen in a decade. In my memory, I could not remember such breath-stealing freezing air, thick snow, or miserable sense of isolation. Due to the frigid temperatures, the bone-chilling mixture of sleet and rain, and the incessant winds that blew, a sickness gripped the Island. One by one, people fell sick. The first to fall ill was a member of the High Council, Aenya.
Aenya was the oldest on the Council. The slender, silver-haired woman with sky-blue eyes was wise, funny, and the kindest person that I have ever known. Aenya loved children and possessed a generous, gentle heart. Her kindness didn’t mean that she was a fool, though. She was keenly perceptive and could smell a lie like one could smell oncoming rain in the wind. Her judgment was clear, concise, and she never wavered once her mind was set. Most importantly, her spirit was pure. One that smelled like clothes dried in the warm summer sunshine.
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