“Extraordinary,” I said and found a seat upon one of the council member’s seats.
“A system of equals,” Ralf strode into the center of the stone circle and stopped. He examined the area, no doubt his inventor’s mine studied the angles and the construction of how the space was laid out.
“A system of equals that’s helped weed out those that only seek a position for themselves, rather than the greater good. A system that I hope that I can persuade you both to be a part of.”
Both Ralf and my heads snapped in unison as we turned to look at Desten. Our nephew stood near the firepit, his hands clasped modestly before him as he patiently waited for our answers.
“We just got here,” I said amazed and slightly flabbergasted. “You can’t possibly think that either of us is capable of—” I protested but Desten raised a hand, quieting my words.
“You are one of the original inhabitants, Aunt Yvaine,” Desten began to state his case and to lay down the foundation for his argument. “You remember what worked and what didn’t. Specifically, you were the daughter of a High Priestess.”
“Reena was not my mother,” I argued back, unsure of all what would be asked of me.
“But Leena was also the High Priestess, was she not?” He countered my argument before it could take flight. “And from what I’ve heard, she was a damned good one. One that people looked up to, one they didn’t question, and one that they trusted completely. That is why I think you should join us. You are her daughter. Whether you realize it or not, the survivors hold you in the same regard.”
“I highly doubt that,” I argued back. “You know what happened during my Rites and how those same people treated me. Let’s not forget the ‘welcome’ that they gave me when I returned the first time. Some of them are still alive. I’ve encountered them several times since we returned. The way they see me hasn’t changed and it never will. I think that you’re love for me has skewered your view, my dear nephew.”
“Aunt Yvaine, we are building a new world. All of us that sit on the Council want to leave the past behind. We don’t want to forget what came before us, but we want better than what we had. You are an integral part of that, whether you realize it or not.”
“Where do I fit into all of this?” Ralf interrupted the volley. He hadn’t moved from where he was but now stood with his hands placed steadily upon his hips.
“Ah, Uncle,” Desten crossed the space to stand next to Ralf. “I’ve been speaking to some of your men. Sigurd told me that you are the son of a jarl, a position similar to an earl. Am I correct?” Ralf acknowledged that he was. “And you are a born commander of men. I’ve watched you and I am very impressed by how easily you take charge and how those same men look up to and admire you. It’s that type of leadership that we need within the Council. Admittedly, none of us are prepared for another attack. What we need is someone who’s not only has seen battle but understands it. From what your men have told me, there is no one more suited to that role than you.”
Ralf peered at Desten for several beats. Whatever went on within his mind, I had no clue. It was one of those rare moments when Ralf’s face didn’t betray what he was thinking. Desten, however, knew exactly what it was.
“Then you accept,” He said enthusiastically while Ralf stood stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
“Aye,” Ralf announced proudly. “I’ll do it on one condition,” Ralf turned and faced the younger man dead on. “If Yvaine doesn’t want any part of it, you’re not to ask her again.” Ralf’s demand left Desten briefly astounded but quickly, he consented to his elder’s demands.
“Agreed,” Desten shook Ralf’s hand to cement their agreement. “And what about you, Aunt?” Our nephew turned to me to seek my final answer. “What have you decided?”
“No,” I said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to sit on the Council, nor do I want to have sway over so many lives. I just want to work with herbs, heal the sick, and eventually watch my grandchildren run through the meadows on the Hilltop.” I gave him a smile, not failing to notice the disappointment that Desten felt, but knowing that he understood my reasons.
“Then that is settled,” Desten said with a clap of his hands. “Uncle, we meet tomorrow morning, just after sunrise. I look forward to seeing you there.” Bidding us farewell, Desten left Ralf and I alone to discuss what had just happened.
“Are you sure, Yvaine?” Ralf strode across the way and sat down beside me. “This is your home more than it is mine. Are you positive that you don’t want a more active role in what becomes of it?”
I looked over at him with a tender smile. “I don’t want any more complications in this life,” I said. “I’ve had enough to last several lifetimes, let alone one, but it makes me happy to know that you will have a place. I want this Island to be as much your home as it is mine.”
“And it will be, my darling,” He grasped my hand and kissed along my knuckles. “It feels like home with each passing day. I suppose that’s all because of you. My home is anywhere that you are.” He leaned in and kissed me softly. His hand stroked the hair back over my ear as he affectionately pressed his lips over mine once more.
“And wherever you are, that is my home, too.” I said, content and hopeful. As I sat there, hand and hand, alongside my dearest Ralf, I knew that the quiet time of my life had finally arrived, and I vowed to cherish every moment of it.
TWENTY-TWO
Several years passed and life was blissfully happy. Ralf and I were married in a small, quiet Christian ceremony during the new moon after our arrival. At the onset of winter before our nuptials, the monk tending to the Christian’s Holy Island fell ill and refused any attempt at care. He died horribly, resolute in his belief that God alone could save him. Even knowing that Gweneth was once a nun, Father Alfred refused any medicinal help to soothe the ague that settled in his lungs.
For months, the Christian’s Holy Island was without a leader and had begun to fall into ruin. One day, while a band of us were trading with passersby, a monk had come looking for food and had agreed to marry us. The monk performed the ceremony in the heart of the Unused Forest. We took our vows next to the stream surrounded by our friends and family. That day was one of the happiest of my life. Ralf glowed throughout the entire ceremony. He was so tall, so strong, yet tender as he stood before me, combed and dressed to near perfection. Runa made my wedding dress. Possessing a talent for stitching, she embroidered the hem with the Sacred Doe and the Stag, adorning the two figures with mistletoe, yew, and other flora that all paid homage to the Goddess Divine.
After the ceremony ended, Ralf and I thanked the monk profusely. To show our gratitude, we gave him gifts that saw his bag overflowing with stores that would last him for months. Finding what he called ‘paradise’, he decided to stay, ultimately taking up residence in the small chapel that stood on the Christian island. He took the name, Father Henry. Despite the differences in our beliefs, we became good friends. Father Henry’s passion was growing herbs and flowers, particularly the medicinal kinds. When not at his chapel, he was in the gardens on the back part of his small island, tending to the numerous crops that he had planted, collected from wild cuttings from various points across the islands, as well as seeds he was able to procure during the trades. When the sheds did not require my presence, I sailed out to the Holy Island and help him.
Slowly and steadily, with hard work, the Island prospered once again. Thanks to the establishment of new laws, the trust built within our community, and our willingness to cooperate, the Island evolved into something far better than it had ever been. With the newfound trust, we kept up successful trade with trustworthy outsiders, ensuring our ways enriched and our lives bettered.
We were no longer helpless against those that meant us harm. Ralf and his men constantly trained the others to fight. With their help, we crafted weapon, trained in the ways of combat, and each citizen was taught self-defense if the time ever came to need it.
The marketplace wa
s revitalized, although it was nowhere near where it once was. There was always hope that it would continue to grow. Ranulf still went out on expeditions, seeking new adventures and coming back with new ways to cook, different fruits, vegetables, flowers and trees that we added to our gardens. The men who went with him, carried back new methods of weaving, advanced farming and agricultural techniques and most of all, spouses and families in tow. One by one the men married themselves off, going on to establish families that seamlessly integrated into our society. As I watched this happen, I often wondered when my son would do the same. A love for Ranulf was still a long time away but for Gweneth, it was right around the corner.
************
In the spring of my fifty-eighth year, Gweneth surprised us all with a sudden announcement. “Sigurd has asked me to marry him.” She announced one night when she, the man in question, her brother, her father, and I sat down to a dinner of roasted rabbit, herbed and buttered root vegetables, and wine that we had learned to make from the grapes our son brought back from Francia.
As soon as the words left Gweneth’s mouth, Ranulf coughed loudly, choking on his wine, completely caught off guard. Ralf watched Gweneth closely while I searched my daughters’ eyes and no longer saw the dedication and the desire to remain a bride of Christ. The man who sat at her side, who looked at her in a way that I often gazed at Ralf, had captured her heart. He was a man who would devote his life to her happiness and never ask for anything in return.
“I love her, and I ask for your blessing.” Sigurd met Ralf’s eyes straight on without breaking. Ralf agreed with a single nod. With an excited smile, Sigurd picked up Gweneth’s hand and kissed it affectionately.
“We want to be married in a month’s time. When the moon is full. Sigurd is going to go speak to Father Henry tomorrow about reading the banns.” Gweneth announced while Sigurd looked on. Ranulf, on the other hand, sat motionless in his seat, staring mouth half-open in disbelief.
“You are marrying him?” Ranulf pointed his finger first at her and then at him. “What happened to the ‘I want to be a nun’ business?” None of us expected Ranulf to take the news as badly as he did. “The last time I checked, nuns were forbidden to marry, Gwennie.” It was obvious that Ranulf was blind to the fact that Gweneth’s heart and mind had changed. A lifetime spent with his twin waxing poetic about God and the Christian faith had left him with serious doubts.
“I have ceased being a nun, Ranulf!” Gweneth shouted, her cheeks aflame and her eyes wild with the eagerness to fight. “When the Abbey was destroyed and we came home, I gave up my vows. It’s not like it was a secret. And it’s not like you didn’t know. I told you myself after Mama was stabbed by that mongrel. With all that’s happened, you would think my brother could at least feign being happy for me, even though it’s obvious that you’re not.”
“Oh, so you just stopped being a nun, did you? And now you want to be married? The last time I checked, you can’t just stop being a nun.” Ranulf argued back, squaring a pointed finger directly at her.
“Yes, they can,” I interrupted their exchange. “A nun can give up her vows just as easily as a monk can. It’s looked down upon but not impossible. I’ve seen it done several times myself.” Gweneth’s face was scarlet red and each of us was witness to the moment she completely snapped.
“The last time that I checked, my dear brother, you had absolutely no say on what I do with my life! I love Sigurd and he loves me. We are going to be married whether you like it or not! And if you keep this up, you are not invited to the wedding!” She shot her brother a look that only stoked the fire that matched her own. Their two voices raised, filling the front room with a cacophony of noise. What happened next left both Ralf and me speechless.
“Enough!” Sigurd’s usual gentle, tender voice rose higher than both of theirs combined. Both Gweneth and Ranulf stopped in mid-shout and turned towards the gentle giant that had grown tired of the fighting and was intent on re-establishing the peace. “There is no need to fight about this.” He chastised them in a tone that harkened back to their formative years when I would scold them both for doing just what they were doing now. “Gweneth and I are getting married. We are both adults and we love each other. It would mean a great deal to us if you approved. But if you don’t, it will not bear any weight on our decision.” He explained to Ranulf although I suspected it intended it towards Ralf and I as well. “And you my love,” He kissed her hand again. “Do not waste your anger on such things. Fighting leaves you in a foul mood. All it does is steal your joy and robs you of your happiness. Not everything has to be a battle. Sometimes it is better to just let it go than continue to fan the flames.” He spoke in a low, calming tone and before my eyes the fight-ready wildcat transformed into a contented, relaxed house cat.
“How did you do that?” Ranulf stood mouth agape, shocked that someone had the ability to calm Gweneth’s terrible temper with just a few words.
“For starters, I don’t shout. I talk to her. Shouting never solved anything. Oli told us that, remember?” Sigurd called Ranulf out without angering his brother-at-arms, reminding him of the man that they had both befriended and had lost. “Her happiness is my happiness and vice versa. I will not allow someone to steal it.” He looked at Gweneth who, in turn, gazed back at him. A blind man could see how much Gweneth adored the man at her side. Sigurd was her match. His calm, inviting nature complimented hers. It was the perfect companion to the fire that burned so intensely in her belly but was often disguised with ice. Most of all, he had found a way to do what none of the rest of us had ever been able to do. Sigurd had tamed Gweneth.
Ralf was the first to congratulate them. Rising from his seat, he offered Sigurd his hand, a sign of acceptance and fraternity in their culture. Ralf pulled Gweneth into his arms and kissed the top of her head. I could see his lips move as he whispered to her, wishing her great happiness and bestowing blessings upon her future.
Ranulf was next. Still surprised by his future brother-in-law’s ability to weave magic, he and Sigurd clasped hands and embraced, no longer just brothers-in-arms but now, simply brothers. I went last. I got to my feet and walked over to both Sigurd and Gweneth. Taking each of their hands in my own, I closed my eyes and offered up a prayer to the Goddess that they be happy and that they never part until death came for one of them. Gweneth showed her gratitude by hugging me closely. Sigurd kissed my cheek and asked if he may call me Mother. A round of laughter came resounded from his request, which I promptly agreed to. We spent the rest of the night as one family, passing the hours sipping wine, telling stories, and reveling in a familial love that had no idea that its first heartbreak was just on the horizon.
************
The next full moon arrived faster than expected. The day had started in a frenzy of activity. From the moment the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, many people flitted about preparing for the nuptials later that day. I kept busy creating garlands of flowers that would decorate the ceremonial stand that had been erected at the edge of the marketplace where both Gweneth and Sigurd had chosen to be married.
For hours, I threaded a needle through hundreds of blossoms until my fingers were tender from being repeatedly pricked by the sharp point of the needle. By mid-day, the all too familiar ache in my bones had grown unbearable and I knew a nap was just what I needed to get me through the festivities later. Leaving the house of the woman handling the flower arrangements, I made my way home. Many of the residents stopped to offer their congratulations and I thanked them for their kindness. When I walked inside, Ralf was at the table, sound asleep with his head resting on his arms upon the table.
“Hello, my love.” I kissed the back of his head. I ran my fingers through his newly lovely dark brown shorn locks that was quickly fading to a frosty, silver gray.
Ralf groaned in response to my touch. “Yvaine?” He said groggily.
“It’s me.” I leaned down and whispered softly in his ear. Ralf’s hand reached out and affectionately gras
ped my thigh. “I need to lie down a spell before the wedding begins.”
“I think I will join you.” His mouth curved into a slight smile as his hand stroked my thigh one more time. “I’ve not felt myself today.”
“There’s a cold going around. You’ve spent a lot of time in the Forum recently. I’ve no doubt that’s where you’ve picked it up from.” I smoothed my hand over the roundness of his head once more.
Ralf rose from his chair and slipped a light, gentle arm about my waist. Together, we strolled to the bedroom we shared. Ralf held me close as my head rested against his side. We each lay down on the bed that he had built us. Ralf snuggled against me and rested his long arm upon my hip. I sighed deeply as the ropes laced beneath us held tight. With a long, purposeful sigh, I relaxed with the promise of sleep.
************
I napped for several hours. The darkness of slumber hadn’t yet faded before I sensed a disturbing change within the room. As I came out from under haze that comes from sleeping too long, I stretched out fully, enjoying the sensation of my muscles reawakening. My hand brushed against the side of Ralf’s face and immediately, I froze. Ralf was always warm. The heat that radiated from his skin was one of the things that I loved the most about him. Instead of that intense, familiar and comforting heat, his body was cool. Too cool. The same coolness as Leena was when I discovered she had died during the night. I sat up, filled with alarm.
“Ralf?” I nudged his shoulder. He lay silently without any response. “Ralf?” I said again, alarmed at the worry that had threaded itself into my voice. I shook him hard, but my dearest love remained unmoving. That was the moment that I knew. I flung myself on him and shook him with as much strength as I could muster. “Ralf!” I screamed, panicked as I shook him over and over, pleading with him to wake up. By the time Ranulf and two of the men entered our room I was hysterical. I clung to Ralf’s body, pleading with the Goddess to wake me from this nightmare.
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