The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

“Good. Our plan is almost complete. We just have a few more obstacles to overcome.” The male voice, whose face had been shadowed by the absence of moonlight, stepped into a silvery beam and exposed his identity to his unknown audience. Cal. The man who took Tilme there on the pathway was Canwyn’s murderer and my rapist.

  “Once I get to the First Dwelling and kill Yvaine, we can go to the main Island to tell them of the tragedy and that we were able to perform the Rites. I have to get rid of that other fool first.” Emira immediately knew that Cal referred to Canwyn. Emira recalled that a long, silver-colored blade was holstered at his hip. The same blade he used to cut out my Hunters heart. The same blade that forever scarred my leg. The same knife that I sunk deep into his own body.

  “We will be the saviors of the Island.” Tilme lay submissive as Cal loomed above her, powerful and controlled. “And then we can find a way to supplant that whore’s mother and name me High Priestess.”

  Emira silently spied on the two have sex once more and as they parted ways. When she was certain that Cal was no longer near, she got up, stepped out of the weeds, and followed Tilme back to the huts where they lived. Emira valiantly exposed Tilme’s plan to the rest of the sisters but by the time the secret was out, it was too late to do anything. I had already been raped multiple times. Canwyn and my grandmother were both dead and the Rites had been corrupted. Everything that we had worked so hard to get right was irreparably damaged.

  “Iwied sent for the Priests,” Emira whispered as she twiddled a dried plum in her hand. “With Leanan dead, there was no authority left on the Women’s Island. The Keeper of the Priests came himself, along with three of his brothers and dealt with the mess that Tilme and Cal had created. That is why Tilme kept Ibira from telling you what she saw that night.” Emira confessed that Ibira had had a vision where she witnessed my rape and that if it hadn’t been for Tilme, it wouldn’t have happened. “It’s because of her that Tilme was banished and denied the chance at being Woman of the Isle and High Priestess.”

  Gratitude swelled within my heart as I sat with Emira. I took in her beautiful, dark-colored skin and felt a deep appreciation for her kindness, her bravery, and the true friendship that she gave.

  Emira shared many meals in my family’s new home situated on the edge of the market square, just above the herb gardens, and with a view of the heart of the Island. In that home, we were a part of the rest of the community. I loved living among the People. Because of the move, I was forced to become more social, more open to those that I had avoided since coming back. Slowly, day by day, those that refused to speak to me, that turned their backs on me, and those that still blamed me, came to greet me, trust me, and accept me again. Being welcomed fully back into the flock was something that I hadn’t expected. I welcomed it, though, knowing how it would affect my children. There wasn’t anything that I would do see that they had the childhood that I never did. That they were a part of a community. Living in our home was reminiscent of my time in Porthfoist. I returned to work in the herb sheds but also focused on teaching herb craft. I did it to honor Eweln’s memory and to show gratitude for all that she taught me. That small house was where we spent our happiest days until the winds of change blew through our lives, heralding the beginning of a new phase.

  ************

  My children were fifteen when my instinct to protect them reached its zenith. The Choosing Ceremony would soon be upon us. Rumor in the marketplace that morning was that one of the ewes was in labor and the first lamb of the spring was on the verge of being born. The talk was animated and excited. Over the last several years, the festive spirit, the joy, and the anticipation that was the hallmark of each Choosing Ceremony had waned. Today was different. That animated spirit was back three-fold and was on every wagging tongue.

  The lamb was born during the late morning. The Choosing Ceremony commenced the following full moon. I spent most of the day in the market, teaching my students the curative powers of wych elm. We had a firsthand view as the community threw itself headfirst into decorating the Island as it prepared for the festival. I even let my students leave early so they could join in as a figure of the Goddess was paraded from house to house. When it was finally time for me to go and I left. I arrived just as Ranulf was waving the parade off.

  “You just missed them, Mama,” He said enthusiastically. “They came in, blessed the house, and will soon be headed towards the Sacred Well.” His long, gangly frame loomed in the doorway as I drew near to him. “And I can’t wait for the bonfires tonight. Everyone is so excited. Everybody but Gwennie, that is.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. Moving past him, I stepped inside and saw that Gweneth had made herself a place at the table and was busily putting together tonight’s dinner.”

  “I’m making oatcakes, if that is all right?” She said as I caught a whiff of dried currants and freshly mashed apple.

  “That sounds delicious, my dear. Thank you for getting dinner started, as well.” I set my basket and work bag down upon the floor.

  “I figured that we would want to eat early since the Choosing is going to take place tonight.” Gweneth tried valiantly to hide the trace of bitterness that rested on the edge of her voice.

  “That’s right! And we’re all going too!” Ranulf came in behind me and shut the door tightly. “Brawyn said that the people will gather at sunset.” He clapped his hands in anxious expectation.

  “Just like we do every single year.” Gweneth baited him with a partial growl.

  “Why do you have to be so miserable all the time?” Her brother took the bait and shouted at back at her. “This is why you don’t have any friends. You’re such a grump and no one likes a grump!”

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “The both of you!” I gave them each a warning look. “I will not have you two bickering all the time. It solves nothing, and it grates upon my nerves. My sister and I fought, and it divided us for a long time. I won’t have you two suffer that same fate.” I snapped. The two of them had been shouting for days. Not only were my nerves worn thin but the ache from missing my sister was nagging incessantly at me.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” They said in unison. Gweneth truly meant it. Ranulf, I knew, said it only to keep the peace.

  “Now, let’s get those cakes finished so we can join the others tonight at the Ceremony.”

  Ranulf sat whittling on a piece of wood while Gweneth and I baked our dinner in the clay oven I had built over our hearth. Once we had eaten and cleaned up, the three of us left and made our way down to the Sacred Well to anxiously awaited the start of the ceremony. The low hum of the crowd was eerily reminiscent of when I was chosen. Without thinking, I glanced to my side, half-expecting to see Ravene standing there, eagerly awaiting to hear her name called. I swallowed hard as the knowledge from long ago settled into my bones. Tonight was too much like that time. The hum of the crowd, the décor draped on every available surface, even the air was too familiar. Towards the back of the crowd, I sensed Cal’s spirit watching it all venomously. All of it combined left me edgy and tense for the first time in years. Silently, I watched Emira and her helpers begin the ceremony.

  The selection of the Hunter was smooth and occurred without incident. Haden, the son of the baker, was selected with an uproar of congratulations. Haden eagerly accepted being chosen, celebrating with a full-toothed smile, just as Canwyn once had. Emira immediately quieted the crowd. She returned to the Scrying Well and patiently waited for the Goddess to name the Huntress. I waited with bated breath as the moments ticked away. Finally, with an easy grace, Emira lifted herself from the well and immediately met my eye.

  “Mother Goddess!” Her voice met my ears, sounding hollow and muted from the water beneath her. “Blessed be the Chosen for they will bring us life.” Emira’s voice rang out. The words she spoke were very different from when my mother stood in her place, but they caused the same shiver of fear to ripple down my spine. “The Goddess spoke of only one name tonight. She whispered the name of a young girl whos
e existence is the very promise of this world. A young girl who will honor us all with a successful completion of the Spring Rites. Gweneth, daughter of Yvaine, you have been selected to be the Huntress.”

  The words echoed in my brain for several heartbeats until I realized just what had happened. Gweneth. The Goddess had called my Gweneth. My daughter was to be the Huntress, just like I was many years before.

  “NO!” A voice rang out, abruptly ending the cheer that rose from the crowd. It took a moment to realize that the voice was mine. “No!” I said again, feeling the grip of fear try to squeeze my throat. “Gweneth will not be participating in the Rites.” I stated adamantly. “If you insist on forcing her, then we will be gone by morning. My daughter will not be a pawn in any game. There are plenty other names to choose from, but Gweneth isn’t one of them. My daughter is off limits. Our line will never take part in the Rites again.” I half-growled as the crowd stared dumbfounded and awed. No doubt, most of them remembered the night and the unspeakable event that I suffered long ago. Due to a decree, the people were forbidden to speak of it in public, but I was sure that it was frequently mentioned in private.

  “Yvaine, daughter of Reena,” Emira’s eyes were locked on mine. In them, I saw the struggle that she faced. She was an Acolyte during my Rites. She remembered what happened with vivid clarity. She bore witness to the savagery at its root. The truth of what happened would have never been discovered if it wasn’t for her. Now, she stood in the highest position this world had. Emira was the High Priestess, and because of it, she was to convey the Goddess’ wishes to the eager populace. In her eyes, I saw that she wanted to speak another name but remembered the consequences when the Goddess’ wishes were altered.

  “Reena was not my mother,” I said, surprising even myself with the sudden confession. “I am the daughter of Leena. Reena, my aunt, ordered a handmaiden to switch me for her stillborn child on the night of our birth.” Both Gweneth and Ralf stared at me in disbelief. Since Leena confessed the truth to me, I had kept it as my secret, refusing to share it with my children. I did not want to make ripples that could become waves. Now that we were facing a large wave bearing down upon us, I decided it was time to tell the truth. “When Leena died, she told me of Reena’s deathbed confessional. That the woman that I had long known as my mother was an imposter. A thief that stole her sister’s child and forced that sister to believe that the dead child was hers. A loud gasp sounded from just behind me. The presence of a warm, comforting hand suddenly appeared upon my shoulder. Ibira, I saw her in my mind’s eye. My friend was there, supporting me through yet another tumultuous moment in my life.

  “As for my daughter,” I continued. “She will never participate in the Rites. The women of my family saw their last Rites when Ravene was chosen many years ago. My daughter and my son will be spectators and nothing more. If the rest of you choose to condemn us for this decision, keep in mind what happened the last time you turned your backs upon the innocent.” It was the moment that I had waited for, even though I did not realize it. “A failed Rites is not the fault of the person who was victimized. Instead, the blame falls on the one who dares to corrupt it. Remember that when you gossip amongst one another. Remember the hardship, remember the sickness, and remember who it was that you cast out because of your blind ignorance. How many people died that winter because I was not there to help? The Goddess should not care who participates, as long as someone does and that they do it willingly, without hesitation, blemish or fault.” The crowd stepped back from me, allowing me space to move as I professed on. “Remember that we are all children of the Goddess. It is not our place to judge. That place is Hers. Our Mother’s.” I turned my attention back to the bronze-skinned incarnate that stood several feet from me. “Emira, please select another Huntress. If I am owed anything, I am owed this. The Goddess will understand.” Reaching out, I took hold of Gweneth and Ralf and led them from the ceremony.

  Together, we three walked hand in hand until we reached home. Gweneth went willingly, often walking ahead as if she couldn’t put enough between herself and the festivities. Ranulf protested each step of the way but after a quick reprimand, fell silent. Once we were home, I kept silent as I moved to the table and sat down. Ranulf immediately went back outside, no doubt to join in the feasts and the bonfires. Gweneth, however, sat down beside me. A lengthy pregnant silence between us until she finally spoke.

  “Why did you do that?” My daughter asked, her face showing both the confusion and relief. “When they called my name, I was certain that you would force me to go.” Her voice thickened as she tried to contain the pent-up, stew of emotions brewing inside of her.

  “I know that you didn’t want it, and I would never subject you to that,” I told her honestly. “I do not believe that anyone should be forced to participate. I have seen it all too often. Many years ago, a young woman was killed during her Rites. A woman who didn’t want to be the Huntress any more than you do. One of the Acolytes forgot to light the braziers. The braziers are lit for two reasons, you see. One is to light the way to the First Dwelling where the ritual is performed. The second is to scare away the wild boars that sometimes swim over from the other islands.” I told her, choosing to give the story of Valon’s sister, Gweneth’s namesake, rather than my own. The truth was, I was not ready to share my story with my daughter. At fifteen, I did not feel she was mentally mature to understand my pain and I feared that she might try to carry that burden as her own.

  “She was killed by one of the wild boars. That girl’s name was Gweneth. I would not curse my Gweneth to the same fate.” I pulled my daughter close and held her tightly until she pulled back. “The night that Gweneth was killed, Reena, the woman that you’ve known as my mother, took the place of the Huntress that night. From that union, she conceived a child that was not destined to live. The same night, Aunt Leena, gave birth to me.” Gweneth furrowed her brow in confusion. “Reena was a very jealous person.” I tried to explain simply. “She could not stand the thought of Leena delivering a strong, healthy child while she delivered one that never drew breath. Because of that jealousy, she stole me and passed me off as her own child.”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” Gweneth’s confusion was tangible. I reached out for her hand and took it firmly within mine.

  “Because Rites have consequences. I don’t want you to ever have to know that they are. Not like the other Gweneth did. I want your life to be your own. I want you to be able to make your own decisions. To determine the course of your own life. Most of all, I want you to have the freedom to be who you are. I don’t want your childhood to be like mine. That is why I want you to know all of this, my dearest daughter. You deserve to decide who you are and live by your own choices.”

  “Mother,” Gweneth’s voice was soft and timid, reminding me of when she was a small girl. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There is nothing to say, my dear. I just want you to know that the only reason why I intervened was to protect you. That I know that you’ve feared being chosen for many years but were too afraid to give it voice.”

  Gweneth leapt up from her chair and flung herself into my arms. I hugged her back, stroking the long tendrils of her golden hair. Holding her close, I was beyond grateful for my decision. Over the past three seasons, I had watched Gweneth tense up into a nervous ball of anxiety when the Choosing ceremony occurred. Each time her name wasn’t called, her body let it all go until the ceremony was upon us again. Tonight, as Gweneth’s name was called, I felt the deep-seated terror flood out from her stressed body like a burst dam. Normally, she smelled of lavender, sweet herbs, and sunlight. During that tense moment, her normal scent was replaced with the stench of sweat, rancid water, and the sour scent of panic. Gweneth was terrified. Far more than I was when I stood in the same place. No one stood up for me in my time of need but I sure as hell was going to stand up for her. My own mother had thrown me to the wolves, a sacrificial lamb to suit her own desires. As Gweneth’s mothe
r, I would face any consequence if it meant protecting my child from the horrors that I had seen.

  That night, Gweneth went to bed and slept soundly until the dawn peeked over the horizon the following morning. As she stepped into the kitchen, there was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before. Her all-too-familiar scent had also returned. I knew that it was the result of knowing that she would never be forced to do anything against her will. That she had the freedom to choose. That she would be the one to navigate the course of her life and that I would not let anyone interfere, including me.

  ************

  The twins were in their nineteenth year when Gweneth made an announcement that shocked me to my core. Ranulf had left the island two years before. The desire to wander, to explore the world had become too irresistible and he had slipped away in the middle of the night, leaving a note explaining his actions, promising that he would return soon and that we had his love forever. Gweneth remained behind. She worked diligently in the herb sheds, learning the skills of a healer and assisting in teaching those that followed. Gweneth’s teachings skills reminded me so much of Eweln’s. Every so often, I would look at my daughter as she applied a salve or treated an infected boil. Watching her work made me miss Eweln to the point that it hurt. The way that they both moved was elegant, knowledgeable, purposeful, and graceful. Through that, they both remained compassionately methodical. It was just short of miraculous. Both had a certain magical aura about them, and both were like beacons to those who needed their talents. I told Gweneth about Eweln and how much she reminded me of my former teacher. Gweneth possessed Leena’s kindness and gentleness but had my quietness. Ranulf was purely his father’s son, through and through. Ranulf was loud, fearless, and wild but also disciplined and reserved when the situation called for it. He possessed a warrior’s soul. Wanderlust surged through his veins. His life called for him to explore and to experience the world around him. It also urged him to aid, protect, and defend those that could not protect themselves.