The Island of Mists

by Wendy Nelson-Sinclair

  “That is because she is my daughter,” I announced with an immense measure of pride. “Ralf was her father. Do you remember him, Mother?” The Mother nodded her head as the smile on her face softened.

  “I remember him fondly. He was kind and gentle for a Northman. Most that I have met haven’t possessed the compassion that he had. “I have often wondered what happened to you both through the years.”

  I could not keep the shadow from settling across my face. “Ralf was killed before Gweneth and her brother were born. With him gone, I went back to the Island to raise my children. I made peace with my family.” Mother Adeline captured my hand again and gave it several maternal pats.

  “Then I will leave you. Gweneth, I trust that you will see to it that your mother is properly attended to?” Mother Adeline met Gweneth’s eye. My daughter gave her a single, decisive nod.

  “Can you all give us leave for a moment?” Gweneth asked the remaining figures in the room. “My mother needs room to breathe and time to collect herself.” Gweneth wiped away an errant tear that slipped from the corner of my eye. I broke down again, sobbing harder than I did before. Everything hit me again. The shock, the fear, the uncertainty—but most of all, the violation from experiencing a sudden, unexpected assault. The attack had disturbed memories of my rape and brought them to the surface. Gweneth held me tightly to her as we sat there alone. With a light knock, one of the nuns appeared at the door, armed with a small cup of what I discovered was hot mulled wine, and a piece of dark, crusty bread. “Your mother needs to eat. The warm wine will help her get over the shock.” The initiate said meekly as she handed me the said items.

  “Could you please see to it that a chamber is made ready for my mother?” She gave orders as I was unable to stop the flow of tears from my eyes. The initiate promised to do so immediately and left. I sniffed loudly as Gweneth handed me a plain, rough-textured handkerchief. “I’m glad that you came to me instead of stubbornly staying there. God knows what would have happened if you stayed. You could have been killed…” Gweneth’s voice trailed off as she struggled against her emotions. Giving her head a shake, Gweneth pushed her emotional side away temporarily and morphed into the healer again. As she examined my face, she grimaced at the source of pain in my right eyebrow.

  “Mama, how did you get such a nasty cut? I’m afraid that I might have to sew it shut.”

  “I don’t know how I got it,” I said truthfully. “It could have been a low hanging tree branch. I fled down the back pathway to the water’s edge. The woods are very overgrown, so it is possible that is what cut my face.” I took a sip of the wine and savored its warmth as it slid down my throat and how it spread out across my chest. “Everything just happened in a blur. I didn’t want to stay there, and I knew that I could come here. To you.” I managed to say through my sobs, finally allowing myself to thoroughly fall apart after holding it for so long.

  “It’s going to be all right now, Mama.” She promised me, stroking the back of my neck, just like I did to her when she was a child. “You’re here and we will take care of you. You aren’t alone in your sanctuary. We have another that has sought sanctuary with us. They’ve been here since before I was born.” Her hand stroked the length of my hair. My ashen blonde had long started to give away to the onslaught of silvery streaks. “I know that Mother Adeline will let you stay as long as you desire.”

  “Nothing in the world sounds better than that, my darling. There’s nothing more that I want right now than to be here with you.”

  Gweneth finished tending me and once she was satisfied that I would mend, she led me through the halls to the room that would become my permanent lodgings. The initiate had left a bowl of hot, steaming stew as well. Changing into a nightgown that had been laid out for me, I ate ravenously, despite the bread and wine that I had eaten earlier. Once the bowl was empty and my stomach was full, I changed clothes and climbed into bed and instantly drifted off to sleep. The combination of the rough journey, combined with the lack of sleep from having to constantly be aware of my surroundings had left me exhausted past the point of comprehension. The last few hours, I had been running solely on will and now that it was spent, my body quickly surrendered to the dreamless, pitch-black sleep of the weary.

  ************

  I woke to the soft chanting of the morning Lauds two days later. I lingered in bed, mindful of the aches and pains in my body. Ready to face the day, I rose and dressed myself in the gown that had been left on a chair sitting at my bedside. The cloth was made of rough, undyed wool and immediately itched when I put it on. I would have to show the nuns how soaking the wool in urine, then washing it several times, wore the woolen fibers down, softening them until they laid smooth against the skin. Someone had also left a wimple for me to wear. Turning my nose up at it, I left it untouched and combed out my hair and plaited it just the way Eweln once did, letting it hang down the length of my back. With more curiosity than apprehension, I left the room and went out to explore my new surroundings.

  The day was uneventful. Around me, the sisters of the convent went about their routine. They worked, prayed, tended to those in need, saw to their responsibilities, and studied with complete devotion to be closer to their God. It was the first time that I had ever seen Gweneth so passionately dedicated to something other than healing. Mid-day, while they convened for worship in the small, modest chapel, I silently watched my daughter as she knelt, head bowed, and hands clasped obediently before her. Even though her face was shielded from my view, I envisioned her lips moving steadfastly as she prayed to the God that she had pledged her troth to.

  My daughter’s devotion filled me with respect and wonder. Even though I carried the Goddess deep within me—nothing could ever alter that—I found my own faith somewhat lacking while observing Gweneth. I was not the true, profound, ever-faithful passionate devotee that she was. I was a freer spirit. Gweneth was obedient. She did as she was told, followed her instruction, and gave herself to the duties called upon her. During what little time she had to dedicate herself to study, she continued to work with herbs, experimenting, discovering what properties were curative and what were deadly. As I watched her through the day, helping her grind a large amount of lavender to be added to the washing, I saw something that she was sure that the Church would have taken away from her. The large, leather-bound book that Ranulf had given her rested open at her side and after each step, she would carefully jot down notes upon its pages, detailing what she had just done for future reference.

  “It’s my medicine book. The one that Ranulf gave me,” She said proudly, sprinkling the ink with sand so that the freshly written words would not run across the page. “Back at the other abbey, one of the sisters taught me to write and read Father’s language.” My daughter looked at me, beaming with pride that she could speak, write, and read in two languages. Gweneth reminded me so much of her father. The way her head hung over the pages, the way her elbow stuck out at an odd angle, and the way her hand delicately flew across pages were all reminiscent of the many nights that I watched him write down the tales of his homeland. Stories that he had not wanted to be lost. Stories that enthralled both her and her brother as they grew up.

  “I see that it gives you purpose, my darling girl,” I kissed her cheek and left her to continue her work.

  Through the days that followed, the Abbey allowed me my freedom in exchange for helping with the daily work. Having learned that I was able to work a garden and that I could assist Gweneth with her healing, I found a purpose for my days. My work was usually done by noon, leaving the rest of the day to be filled as I saw fit. I made friends with the other sisters of the convent. Many were from different cultures, each unique with their faith. At the hospice, the Abbey welcomed all, especially those looking to trade or seeking shelter for a night. Life was never boring, although it was never filled with grand spectacle. I was thankful for the peace, as well as the companionship.

  ************

  I had been at
the Abbey for just over a week when I came face to face with someone that I had never expected to see again. I was standing outside one of the rooms where one of the terminal patients slept. I had just spent the last few minutes speaking to the initiate who had fed me and given me water—Dinah, who was named after the daughter of an ancient man named Jacob—telling her of the relaxation of properties of lavender.

  “If you place a small pouch of the flowers under your pillow at night, it will help you fall asleep faster,” I told her, placing a pouch that I had just made into the palm of her hand. “I used to give it to Gweneth when she was a young girl. She used to have fierce night terrors but don’t tell her that I told you that.” I winked at the girl and held my finger to my lips, asking her to keep that a secret. “She would kill me if she found out that I told anyone.” We shared a laugh before Dinah left, stating that she needed to finish with the milch goats before the afternoon meal.

  “Hello? Hello, is someone there? Could you please come here? I am in need of someone to speak to.” A strange, feeble voice called out from the doorway as I watched Dinah disappear down the hallway. Glancing around me, I saw no one else and decided to look in on the patient myself. The door was open slightly, and I pushed it back, hearing the large, rusty metal hinge squeak as it swung back. A small, thin form lay stretched out on a bed that lied flush against the back wall.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to be as warm and compassionate as possible. Gweneth had told me about this part of the convent. The ones who were dying, those with no relatives or friends to look after them. The brave souls that made the pilgrimage here to be embraced by their God in their final hours. The thought gave me comfort—not from them being close to God—but that they found empathy and love in their final moments. “Do you need some assistance? I can get one of the sisters for you?” I stepped further into the room. The figure wriggled and scooted upwards on to the bed. Watching, I saw that moving was an exhausting, laborious process for the patient but that they were determined to do it, nonetheless. “Please,” I said. “There is no need to do that on my account—” The words fell from my mouth as I connected eyes with the occupant of the bed.

  “Why, Yvaine!” Valon’s dark eyes lit up, smiling even though his face told the full story of his body’s agony.

  “Valon!” I said in disbelief, shocked at who sat before me. “How?” I rushed towards him, unable to stop myself and wrapped my arms gently around his fragile body. “How can this be?” I pulled back and checked him over, even though I knew that he was in capable, competent hands. “The last time that I saw you was almost forty years ago! I don’t mean to sound rude but how is it that you’re still alive?” I sat down on the bed beside him and reached out for his long, slender, bony hand.

  “A firm faith in the powers that be, my dear. Even though I am ancient, I have managed to survive,” He sighed, slipping his fingers through mine and giving them a squeeze. His grip was weak but determined as we sat together, hands connected. “In truth, I should have been dead long ago.” He sighed again, allowing himself to lean back against the pillow of his bed. It had gone flat and I plumped it up behind him, to give his back more support than what it had. “But it was you that helped me get through.” His words rippled through me and left me wondering and slightly confused.

  “How did I help you get through? We barely knew each other.”

  “It was your strength that helped me see that I was wrong in the choice that I had made.” He glanced away momentarily, staring at something on the wall. “Before I met you, I had decided to eat nightshade berries and kill myself.” His voice quivered as his hand held mine and refused to let go. “You saw the state that I was in. I was not well, and I knew that I was not long for the world. I was going to eat nightshade and die. When I left you there at the pathway, just before the cave, I was unable to say goodbye. My intention was to go off to the meadow, where the grasses grew high and birds swooped and glided across the sky to eat the berries and go to sleep. I didn’t want you to know that I was about to commit suicide.” He paused again as he dealt with the flux of emotions that played out across the features of his face. “But when I got to the meadow, I began to think. Maybe there was a reason that you came into my life. Why would God—I am a long-converted Christian—place you in my way if I was meant to die. It was then, sitting there in the sunshine, with the wind rushing at my back that I realized that our acquaintance was no accident. Meeting you, seeing how you were so eager to help me and how you didn’t hesitate to offer to ease my suffering was no coincidence. They were all signs from the Almighty. I still had many years to live yet and he placed you in my path to remind me of that. It was the hope that you embodied, despite having recently experienced something horrific, that gave me the courage to continue to face the days and to seek help.” His chestnut brown eyes shined with the flow of unshed tears. “That was when I met a young man in the meadow. He helped me to get here to this Abbey and this is where I have been ever since. The nuns and the monks—there were many monks before the sweating sickness killed them all off—took me in and healed my body. But it was God who healed my soul. I found the same spirit within Him and his Son as I once did the Goddess. It was within these very walls that I realized that we all worship the same Protector, we just give it different names.”

  “Valon, I am so happy to know that you’re all right. I worried about you so over the years.” It was all I could say. My throat constricted as I thought of the right words to say but found them startling absent. “I have always wanted to thank you. Meeting you, traveling with you, and your showing me the cave helped me grow into the woman that you see before you. I lived a rich, full life because of you. I’m not sure if that would have been possible if we hadn’t run into each other.”

  “And I have always wanted to thank you, too. For your strength, for your courage, and inspiring me to not quit on life but rather to embrace the courage to continue living. But tell me, how is it that you’ve come to be here? You’re not ill, are you?” There was a momentary flash of concern in his eyes and I quickly calmed any fear.

  “No. I am very well, I can assure you of that. When I was living in a cave, I met a man. A man that I will love every day of the rest of my life but who was taken from me unexpectedly. I went back to the Island, carrying his children and raised them there in the safety of that world until they each decided that they needed to follow their own fates. The Island was attacked just a few weeks ago, and as far as I know, I may be the only survivor. The invaders that attacked us burned everything to the ground, slaughtered the livestock and stretched a blanket of ruination across a once peaceful place. I could not stay there knowing that life as I had known it was gone. I chose to come here. To be with my daughter. She is the Healer.” I said, giving him a brief history of the last thirty-odd years of my life.

  “Gweneth,” He sighed. “Your daughter is Gweneth.”

  “I named her after your sister. To honor to the young woman that you knew and loved.” I admitted, glad to have the chance to tell him.

  “I thank you for such a beautiful tribute. She is a lovely girl, your Gweneth. I can see that you are very proud. And so am I.” His hand shook in mine as he tried to control himself but failed miserably. I did the same and found it difficult too.

  “She has a brother, Ranulf. He is the exact image of his father. I would not have them if it had not been for you. I wouldn’t have had a lot of things. My Bird—he was my cat. My success on the trade routes. All the people of Porthfoist. The man I loved, Ralf. My friend Talen—”

  “Talen was the man who I met in the meadow!” Valon perked up, hearing mention of the familiar name. “He was the one who brought me to the Abbey. He would come and visit me when the snows came, before he traveled southward. But he stopped visiting after a few years. Do you know what happened to him? Did he decide to take up residence in the South? I knew that his back bothered him so.”

  I swallowed hard and fought the urge to cry. “Talen was killed by an
unknown man in the woods. He went to collect raspberries but instead stabbed in the belly and left him to die.” Valon’s eyes widened with sorrow as he heard me recount the story of Talen’s murderer’s death at my hands, and Talen’s subsequent suicide. “I think he was afraid of the pain. He had lived most of his life troubled by it and I believe that he wanted his death to be easy.”

  “I cannot blame him,” Valon said, knowing all too well how Talen must have felt in his final moments. “When I say my evening prayers tonight, I will say one for his soul. That he is at peace and that he is with his family.”

  Valon and I spoke over the course of several hours. I spoke about my life, what I had experienced and the people that I had met while he told me about his missionary work. After arriving at the Abbey, he remained as their guest, a permanent resident not unlike myself. Valon bartered with traders on behalf of the Abbey. In his tenth year here, Valon met and fell in love with a lost wanderer. When his lover died from a deadly bout of influenza, Valon took the name of Gabriel in his lover’s honor. Unable to continue with his old life, Valon took vows and entered the faith, answering the call to carry the word of the Lord across the hills, valleys, and meadows, to all the people of this country. He had lived within these walls, when not trekking across the country, visiting and spreading the word that he so wholeheartedly believed in. It was late last year when he noticed that he was losing weight and that the normal aches and pains of his aging body began to get worse.

  “Your daughter is the one that diagnosed me.” He held my hand affectionately as he proceeded to break my heart. “She told me that I have what your people call ‘the wasting sickness.’ Something that we call cancer.” I listened to him as he told me of how he continued to do what he loved to do until his body no longer afforded him the ability. “I have been bedridden for months. I know that I only have a few days left.” He admitted, and its hefty weight nearly crushed me.