Chapter 1

Courtsey Pixabay.com - Public Domain

The haze on the horizon seemed always to hang there, shielding what lay beyond. She had never seen it any other way, not in her whole life. No matter how golden the day, how clear the sky, a gauzy curtain prevented her from seeing beyond the horizon. Often, she strained her eyes to pierce the haze but there was nothing but gray, undulating mist, like her mother’s silk curtains at the open window on a summer’s day.

The only time anyone ever pierced the mist was when a stranger would wander through and come ashore. They were always startled to find themselves in uncharted waters. Their charts showed no sign of an island. What troubled them more was the discovery that once through the veil, they were unable to return. For months they would try to sail back over the horizon and through the mist that hung there, only to find themselves sailing in a circle back to the island. She knew of no one who had ever escaped.

In the initial stages, they would be friendly and eager to get to know the island people. However, once they discovered they were caught here, they became angry. Eventually, most became resigned to their situation. Then, they would enter the period that the island people called the silence. The outsider would stop talking and withdraw to their quarters where they would stay for days or weeks. One man had once withdrawn for nearly a year. Often during the silence, they could be seen walking the beach and peering at the horizon, some would sit on the sand for hours, until they were burned from the sun. The fear on their faces struggled with confusion. How could a normal sailing trip have resulted in something so farfetched as being trapped in a place that did not exist? Yet, it did exist. It was here, solid earth, elusive water and invisible air.

There were tales of three people who had sailed into the mist and never returned. They were three separate events several years apart. No one knew what had happened to them. No wreckage ever washed ashore and they never returned. It was assumed they drowned but a few held to the story as hope that there might just be a way through the mist, if one were lucky enough to find it. Numerous studies of each escape had been done. The date they left, the time of day, the route taken, the alignment of the stars, the phase of the moon, the position of the sun, the weather conditions, anything that might influence their ability to slip through to the other side was studied and plotted. Several attempts to recreate the events had resulted in failure and one attempt resulted in the death of an entire family.

Usually, it was men who wandered in. Her father had told her stories as a child of the ancient men who frequently came through the mist. Those men had been adventurers seeking new lands. Their excitement at finding it quickly died when they tried to sail away with the treasures they had stolen. Later, men who were hiding from authorities wandered in, pirates seeking safe havens for their crews to find recreation. It was said that in the early times there had been very few women and children were rare. It was only in later years that ships with travelers to other lands, men and women and sometimes, children came through. None had ever been able to leave. The present day inhabitants came from a blending of these peoples. It was no longer known if the original settlers had been indigenous or if they too had been wanderers who became trapped.

Her own people were descended from adventurers and she often wondered what it would be like to sail away seeking adventures. Each new wanderer brought something new with them – new customs, new languages, new experiences, and new inventions. Many times their vessels contained things never before seen on the island. They usually ended up in the viewing hall for anyone interested in seeing and studying them. After all, the wanderers had very little use of them once they came here. Her people had learned to utilize many items and even generate a power to run them but it was expensive and often things broke down. There was no way to replace or repair most. Some things they had learned to make but most of the later items were beyond the island technology. Some required items were unavailable when needed and they did not have enough knowledge to improve on any of them.

She turned back to the well-worn path that led to her cottage. She liked it most when vessels arrived that carried books. Always there was a desire for new ones among the island residents. Of course, some had written their own books and these had been printed and handed about. There was even a library. And once, a few years ago, a ship arrived loaded with thousands of volumes bound for some rich man’s library somewhere. Those, of course had been placed by the government into the National Library for all to enjoy. Because of the access to so many books the people of the island were very well educated and much knowledge of the outside world was known, even though the inhabitants were unable to experience it. Lately, there were many small books arriving and not all of them were good. Several books had been banned for their content. Several years ago, the Council of Nine had passed a law that said no item could be taken from the ships until it had passed inspection by inspectors appointed by the Council.

The council was the elected ruling body. One representative from each province of the Island was elected by that province to serve on the Council of Nine. They served three years and were replaced. No member could serve consecutively but could, after three years, be reelected. The Council of Nine appointed several offices to oversee district government. One of those offices served the entire Island. It was the Port Authority and consisted of nine inspectors, one from each province. Although appointed by the Council, the appointees were selected from a pool of 81 people, nine from each province, nominated by its citizens. The nine inspectors oversaw the port authority and each inspector served as senior officer for six months in rotation. The findings of the senior inspector were reviewed by three of the remaining inspectors. Every three months the set of three inspectors rotated. Every three years the nine inspectors were replaced by new appointees from a newly nominated pool. Anyone challenging the inspectors findings had to appeal to the Council of Nine for a review of the findings. Only the Council could overrule the inspectors’ findings and that rarely happened.

There were many stories about the other side of the mist, stories of great continents, lands with strange creatures and vast numbers of people and stories of great cities and the wars that destroyed them. There were often pictures of these places in books, on the walls of the ships, and sometimes, pictures of important officials. But they meant nothing to her people. They were simply tales told for entertainment. Her own history was real, not that of a world she could not see or visit.

The chickens clucked as she came round the barn and she skirted the corral where her horse was rolling in the dirt. Two years ago, her parents had died when the carriage overturned into the ravine along the road to town. She had been on her own ever since. Most of the time, she liked being on her own. She had missed them terribly for months. Even now, there were times she was lonely, sometimes, even afraid. Sometimes, when the night was especially dark, and no moon was visible, she would close the shutters, bolt and bar the doors and huddle in her bedroom and weep. How she hated being alone then. She had no other relative near by, although her uncle Hugh had offered her a place in his home in the next village. She loved her uncle but could not abide her cousin Karia. She was much to full of herself to be pleasant to others. Her three brothers had also offered her a place in their homes but as they were just starting families of their own, she felt it was not fair to burden them further. She had declined all offers and stayed here, in her home, alone.

The sun was setting and it was time to lock up for the evening. Usually she left the windows open on a lovely day like this. But for some reason, she was uneasy and felt a constant nagging to look over her shoulder. Her father used to call her feysic. She had never been sure of the meaning but a friend had once heard it and looked at her with round, frightened eyes. She had laughed and said her father was only teasing and the look faded but she had never forgotten. She had asked her father never to call her that again. He had given her a strange look but had not questioned her or explained what he meant. She had never heard anyone use the word before or since. She just knew that there were times when things seemed strange.

The evening meal was simple. Bread from the oven and a bowl of stew that has simmered all afternoon were all she needed. Night fell and the world, her world, became very quiet. She knew that someone was coming . . . not along the path, not along the road. No, it would be through the mist. Someone was coming through the mist. She always knew. The night had a special sound to it when it happened, and it always happened at night. She knew of no one ever coming through during the day. But on the nights it happened there was a different feel to the air, sound was muffled as in a thick fog, yet the air would be clear and sharp. Sounds didn’t travel and she didn’t think there were echoes either.

Once when she was small, she went to town with her father to pick up a cartwheel from the blacksmith. It was late in the day and the sun was just going down when they arrived. She could remember so clearly. It was the first time she could recall ever knowing that someone was coming. She had said to her father, “Daddy, someone is coming.”

He had looked at her and then looked around the smith’s yard. He looked back at her with a frown and said, “Where?”

Her young mind was not able to grasp the fact that he didn’t understand because she didn’t understand. She had looked around. She would never forget the fear that came over her. Finally, she had looked at him with tears in her eyes and said, “I don’t know. They just are.”

It was at that moment that the smithy’s hammer began to strike the anvil. It was a sound she loved because it sounded like a bell. But that night it sounded as if someone had placed hands around the bell as it struck. There was no answering echo from the buildings nearby.

When the message came the next morning that 20 people had come through the mist the night before, her father had turned in the yard and stared at her in shock while she played with her puppy. Her mother had punched his arm and said, “Jim, what’s got into you?”

He didn’t answer just went back to talking with the messenger. It was after that that her father had begun calling her feysic. He had eventually told her mother and they had begun to mark the times on a calendar. She was never wrong. And tonight, someone was coming.

Those coming to the island were usually taken to a special inn to rest and prepare them for their new life. Experience had taught the people of the island that new arrivals needed a place to adjust to the shock. The fear and confusion that came within a few days of arrival were the worst. Women often became hysterical and needed the doctor. They were allowed to stay at the inn as long as they needed to recover and accept what had happened. After the physician cleared them, they were provided with a choice of employment and a place to live. Families were assigned to the new arrivals to give guidance as needed. Their first six months of supplies were provided free and after that, they were expected to earn their living in some manner. Most managed just fine, even though they might still make frequent trips to the beach.

Some seemed to embrace their new life with a kind of joy. Her friend, Mr. Brokenspar, was such a man. He had come to the island when she was only a toddler. Her family had helped him settle in and he had become a close friend of her father’s and a frequent supper guest. He was a carpenter and built many houses on the island. He had never married and had no children. He said he had left all that behind him when he came to the island. If he wanted a woman, there were women to be had. If he wanted children, well, he already had the best anyone could have. And he would look at her, smile and muss her hair. And each time he visited, he always brought her a piece of furniture for the dollhouse he had built for her when she was six. Mama said her dollhouse was furnished finer than the Council House.

She finished clearing-up her supper dishes and went about the house closing the shutters. The windows could stay up to allow the flow of night air but for safety, she closed the shutters. Shutters designed to shut out bad weather and cold were unnecessary with the island weather. Rarely did the temperature drop below 50 degrees. Her father had fashioned sturdy slatted shutters. They were impossible to open from the outside but allowed the flow of air when the windows were up. No one had ever bothered her but because she lived alone she never took chances, especially on nights when someone came through the mist. There had been one incident when she was ten of a newcomer slipping into a house and killing a woman. The Council had taken swift action.

The stranger had been set adrift in a small boat to do as he wished. He was given one week’s food and water rations. As a rule, Guardsman patrolled the beaches every hour but patrols doubled during this time. A patrol boat monitored him from a distance. He could leave the way he had come if he could find a way out but he was never allowed ashore again. He failed to conserve his food and after week, he begged for more food and water or to come ashore. However, the patrol boats were forbidden to approach him or heed his cries lest they join him. He never found a way through the mist, although he sought it with increasing desperation as the weeks wore on. For three weeks he drifted, the sound of his voice fading to silence. Only when carrion birds appeared did the patrols approach. They weighted the body and sunk the boat.

Mother had been horrified. Such a thing had not occurred in her memory. Father had asked her, “What would you have them do? Send him back through the mist? Let him live among us? We have laws regarding this behavior for a reason. There must be a way to prevent such behavior or you, our children, none of us, will be able to live without fear.”

My mother’s voice broke with her next words, “But this cruelty, to starve a man to death. Is that not a crime…a sin?”

“He beat, raped, and killed my neighbor in such a fashion I cannot speak of it in front of the children. The crime he committed when he came to our shores was cruel and unprovoked. He did not even know her. He would have been welcomed and treated well and anyone who attempted to harm him would have been punished in a similar fashion. Who has committed the greater sin?

“This incident alone has forced me to build shutters to protect my family. I have trained the dog to behave violently if there is danger. This has never been our way. I do not wish to live in a prison. We must have boundaries to protect those who wish to live in peace. Those who do not must not be allowed to stay. They have rejected their humanity when they kill another.”

It had never been spoken of again but she remembered her mother standing on the beach watching the small boat drift. Her mother had prayed fervently during those days, for God to hasten the man’s death so he would not suffer needlessly, and for forgiveness for our people. My father had become furious with her but remained silent on the subject. For many weeks afterward, the ministers preached many sermons on the Ten Commandments.

She stepped out into the night and looked up at the stars. They twinkled brightly. The trees swayed in the breeze that had picked up since the sun set. Although she could hear the rustle of the leaves, they sounded strange, as if she had something in her ears that blocked the sound. Yes, someone was coming. She hastened back into the house and bolted the door behind her. She banked the fire in the stove and put out the lamps. This was one night she would not sit up reading. Instead, she would wash up and go straight to bed and pull the sheet over her head.

Even after a lifetime of the ability to predict when someone would come through the mist, she could not feel it was a gift. She did not like the feeling, had never liked it. It made her an alien, different from everyone else. She knew no other person with the same ability. There had been a few stories of a woman on the island whom they said had a gift. They did not say what the gift was but she too, had the ability to predict when someone was coming. She had heard the stories when friends of her parents came to visit. They would sit around in the yard laughing and talking and telling stories of all kinds of things, sometimes of life beyond the mist. She had always found a place to sit unnoticed so she could listen. Those had been her favorite times.

She lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. The night was never quiet, even when it had the strange flat timbre that was familiar only to her. Not until the small hours of the morning did it change. All night the song of night birds drifted in on the breeze, through the shutters and the chorus of a million crickets accompanied them. And in the middle of it all she knew when they had arrived. Sounds became clear, sharp, and loud. Only then did she fall into a deep sleep.

Morning on the island was usually a busy time and this morning she was late because she over slept. She hurried out the get the eggs from the hens and she had to milk the cow, who was not happy at all by her delay. Then, she dressed and hitched up the cart. Her trip to town passed quickly. She knew that no one would really notice her tardiness because all eyes would be on the newcomer. The dock would be teeming with the curious. The vessel, whatever it was, would be tied or anchored just off shore.
When she arrived in town, she was surprised to find that the no one appeared to be interested in a newcomer. The normal morning crowds hustled and bustled along the sidewalks, in and out of shops, and along the street. No groups stood about talking excitedly about the newly arrived vessel and passengers. From her vantage point at the top of Front Street, she could see no crowd of curious swarming the dock. In fact, she could see no sailing ship of any kind at the dock.

After putting her cart behind the store and turning her pony into the paddock, she entered Sea Side Supplies. She hurried to don her apron and begin her morning of work dusting, sweeping, arranging shelves, restocking items, and running the register. Money on the island was unique. Hundreds of different currencies had arrived over the decades and it was impossible to use them without some standard. At some point in the distant past, someone had decided on a currency made of precious metals. They had devised a coin stamped with an image of the island. The bank had a rate of exchange so newcomers could obtain currency when they arrived. Once absorbed into the economy, they would earn the island currency and the old currency they had exchanged went into a vault. After all, it did have an intrinsic value . . . somewhere.

“Morning Samantha. Glad you came in a bit early. I am thinking of going fishing this afternoon and wanted to know if you could mind the store and close up this evening.” Mr. Parker said, giving her a gentle smile and twinkling bright blue eyes at her.
He was a bit of a gnome. A small man with slightly bent shoulders from years of carrying merchandise up stairs and ladders to shelves and back down again. He always spoke softly. She had never heard him raise his voice, even when the Wainwright boys came in together and tried to steal candy. He usually caught them, gave them a sweet each and sent them home to their mother. He never told on them even though he knew that Ms. Wainwright would beat the daylights out of them, or maybe because he did know. At any rate he was a kindly man.

“I’d be happy to, sir. I’ve nothing to hurry home, too.” She paused and then asked the question. “I thought I heard someone had arrived last night. Who was it?”
He looked at her over his glasses. “I heard no such rumor. Where did you hear it?”
She looked away and began to straighten pots on the shelf. “Oh, a couple of boys along the road as I came into town. I guess they were just having me on. Now, what do you want me to do this morning.”

He chuckled. “Aside from organizing those shelves? Well, the stock room is a mess. If you can take care of the counter I will work on that.”

She smiled, nodded in reply and he left in pursuit of order for the stock room, a constant pursuit. The day was busy and many people came in. Not one mentioned a newcomer. She couldn’t believe it. Always, a newcomer was a thing of great interest. There was invariably items they brought with them that everyone wanted to see. Each time someone came people ask, “What did they bring through.” But today, not a word at all.

She worked hard at her job. The shop provided assorted household items made by the islanders. On occasion a shipment from one of the vessels had come through that contained fancy items but for the most part, all their necessities had to be made by locals. Some had started a pottery business and all island dishes came from there. There was a scrap yard in one district and they salvaged whatever they could from the ships that came through.

At six she locked up the store and after hitching up her cart, she drove home. The sun was just setting as she arrived in her yard. Once she had put the pony in the barn she gathered her eggs and went in for the evening.

She seldom worked this late and she was tired. An early night was all she wanted. While she finished the supper dishes she heated water for a nice hot bath. It had been a while since she had worked so hard. The muscles in her shoulders and legs were sore and would benefit from a nice hot soak.

She let the dog in and barred the door. The bath was just off her bedroom and she loved the big tub her father had fashioned for them. It was made from an old boiler he had found in the salvage yard. It just big enough to stretch out in. He had worked hard on it to shape it and then, he had created a drain and set it up with running water from their water tower. The brick kiln beneath it allowed one to heat water in large quantity with very little fuel and no danger to the main house. Once the fire died down if the water was too hot, cool water was added to adjust the temperature. She loved soaking in the huge tub. When she finished, she quickly dressed for bed and slipped beneath the covers. She was asleep before her head touched the pillow.

The sound of something falling in the living room startled her from her warm doze and she opened her eyes to the darkened room. The dog lay across her feet and she felt him stiffen and the rumbling in his chest as he growled.