Lucy touched her arm. "We all did."
Emma exhaled. "It tried to enter with the dawn steam, only we nad it."
Jude put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. "Stay with . Speak your mory: what did you see?"
Grace exhaled again and spoke softly: "It looked like my reflection in water, but as I spoke my na, its face changed. The edges blurred. It stepped away."
"When I spoke your na, it lost shape," Lucy said. "That’s our strength."
Jude looked at them. "We have three more nodes to mark. Let’s go. Climb together."
They resud, stepping close, no one more than arms’ length apart. The trail grew steeper. Occasionally they found fungus rings, carvings in bark, spiral fractures in stone. At each, they paused to reapply offerings and pledge again.
They reached the ridge as the sun leaned toward midday. Beneath them lay the volcanic crater, rim blazing hot above living magma. A deep humming echoed beneath their feet. The island’s heart.
They allowed themselves a mont’s awe. Even now, this world felt alive, not as a dream, but as sothing much older, sothing with bones unbroken by faith. The crater’s bell rang inside their chests.
Jude gestured to the ridge’s edge. "We na ourselves here. Since first we entered this place we’ve claid individual dreads, personal mories. Here we commit to one another. One sentence, one na to hold each other together."
They ford a circle, backs to the crater’s edge, facing each other. The heat radiated from the slope, but they stood firm. Jude looked first at Grace, then Lucy, then Emma... around to Helena that kept their line alive. Eleven voices, one at a ti:
Grace: "I am Grace Matheson, wife to my love Jude, and I stand no longer lost in smoke."
Lucy: "I am Lucy Roro, guardian of the first fla, and I hold my na in mory’s light."
Emma: "I am Emma Caldwell, healer of wounds both seen and unseen, and I return to myself through give and love."
The pledges continued: Sophie, Zoey, Serena, Nefertari, Stella, Scarlett, Susan, Alia, Natalie, each spoke. Each gave na and vow.
Then Jude, last: "I am Jude Ashmore, husband, guardian, witch once, but reborn by my wives, rembered by us all, and I bind my soul to each na, each mory, each promise. We stand together."
They linked hands at last, raising arms as a single living circle. The earth tremored, quiet, strong. Steam rose; light danced across magma edges.
A hush. Then the ridge wind moaned softly. The island exhaled. They felt it as warmth, threat, welco. All at once.
Jude pressed his head into Grace’s shoulder. "We have nad ourselves more than once," he breathed.
They held each other tight. Then stepped away slowly, moving in pairs down the slope to return.
Mid-afternoon they reached a copse of young palms and found a hidden pool, clear and still. It had been dry before, but today it brimd, reflecting the sky. Around the rim were carvings: small human shapes dancing around circles. Spiders. Spiral carvings echoing the ones they’d made. The watchers.
Jude paused. "They left a ssage."
Lucy traced a spiral on the mud rim. "This is welco."
They knelt and wrote new symbols in the clay. Grace dribbled small flowers, they carried mory, scent, colors. Natalie pressed seeds. Emma placed water from the spring. Together they wrote in the mud: All nas present. Together. Rembered.
They watched the carvings. Water rippled as though stirred by unseen hands but remained otherwise undisturbed. Birds called from above.
Sophie whispered, "This place listens."
Jude nodded. "Yes, but now it hears us."
They dipped cloths in water and rose to carry back water across nodes, sprinkling at each site for each na spoken. They marked each.
By that evening, their steps led them ho under a golden sky stained with echoes of pink. The forest glimred in dying light. Paths they’d never walked before opened to them, less nacing, more welcoming. The watchers stayed silent, forms distant and respectful.
Dinner was quiet but calm. Smoke drifted lazily from the firepit. Each sister-wife shared humbly: Emma’s hands still trembled, but resolute; Grace’s eyes were bright, but soft; Lucy humd as she poured water. Natalie tied another ribbon to the treehouse post. The wooden record box lay at the center, filled again by morning’s mapping. They circled it with small candles, still lit.
Jude stood. "Tonight, we share details: what we saw, felt, feared. We speak them aloud in trust. One at a ti, no judgnt, no feelings held back. We keep awake together. Then tomorrow, we make a map. A real map."
They nodded. One by one, they recounted what they’d noticed, glimpses, thoughts, emotions, hand tremors, stray shapes, dream echoes, nas they couldn’t place, faces they did. Each confession drew them tighter.
Then Jude chid in: "We have three maps now: ntal vows, physical nodes, shared mory. Tomorrow we build the actual map, on bark. Then maybe, just maybe, this island can no longer hide its shapes."
They sat silent then, firelight dancing across resolve and exhaustion. The island sighed once more; breeze carried the taste of rain.
They slept little that night; the watchers ca but remained outside the floodlight’s edge. Occasionally an ember drifted; sotis every wife shifted uneasily. But they held vigil, body to body.
By dawn, the air was thick with steam and sothing like hope.
Jude woke Lucy with a gentle shake. "It’s ti."
She nodded, sleep in her eyes, but clarity beneath. Today they made the map.
They gathered bark and charcoal, water-based pignts from crushed plants. Sophie laid out a wide sheet of bark on the wooden floor. Everyone sat around and, under Jude’s guidance, began drawing: the path they’d walked, nodes they’d nad, offerings placed, carvings traced. Each wife added her symbol at each node. Each mory was inscribed: iron stake, fungi clearing, fish trap, dried circle, ridge vow, palm pool.
When a wife couldn’t rember exact position, another stepped forward. No judgnt. No condescension. Only soft guidance.
Reviews
All reviews (0)