98 Iyomelka's Island

After so long at sea, the Al-Orizin sailors were excited to set foot on dry land again, and the two longboats made several trips, delivering parties for shore leave. The old crone and her willowy daughter welcomed the visitors, offering a bounty of fresh fruits and fish, but the men had had enough of fish. Laughing, they ventured into the forests and soon returned with a wild boar, which they roasted over coals in a pit.

Iyomelka happily tore into the meat with her crooked teeth. “What a feast! Ystya and I are unable to hunt such large game.”

Saan took every opportunity to flirt with beautiful Ystya, whose shy innocence fascinated him in a way that typical Uraban girls did not. Her features were neither Uraban nor Tierran, but he was attracted by more than her exotic beauty. Growing up in the soldan-shah's palace, Saan himself had always felt like an outsider because of his blond hair and blue eyes. He knew what it was like to be different, to be considered strange among other people. This young woman, with her ivory locks plaited with green strands, combined the wide-eyed charm of a newborn fawn with the majesty of a princess.

He relaxed next to the young woman as they ate their roast boar. “If you like this meat, just wait until we take you and your mother back to Olabar. You'll have all the delicious feasts civilization can provide. Our master chefs make honeyed lamb skewers, roast game hens stuffed with preserved lemons, and pastries you can't even imagine.”

Grigovar let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a sigh. “Stop, Captain! We still have a long voyage ahead of us—and only ship's rations.”

Saan moved closer to Ystya. “But I'm just getting started. There's a whole world to describe to this girl.” Entirely unaccustomed to so much attention, the young woman listened with fascination to Saan's stories.

“Careful, Captain,” Yal Dolicar said around a mouthful of savory roast boar. “With all the treasure on this island, they could buy the Olabar palace directly from your father. When we take them from this island, we'll have to make room in our cargo hold for all the gold and jewels. These two will be fabulously wealthy from the moment they set foot on Uraban soil.”

Iyomelka turned with narrowed eyes toward Saan. “Do not believe us ungrateful, Captain, but Ystya and I have no wish to be rescued. As remarkable as your coming may be, this island is our home.”

Saan used as much charm as he knew, grasping Ystya's slender hand. “It is a crime to keep such a lovely young woman away from the rest of the world. She needs to be with people her own age. She needs to have a life of her own. We can show her the world. You would not keep your own daughter from that?”

The old woman said, “Ystya is unlike other young women. You misunderstand, Captain. I brought her to this island for a reason.”

Dolicar nearly choked. “You want to be stranded?”

“Why do you assume that we are stranded?”

“We thought you were shipwrecked,” Grigovar said.

“Oh, those other ships crashed on the reefs much later,” Ystya said gently. “My mother came here quite intentionally. And my father joined us later.”

Sen Sherufa frowned in puzzlement. She had been listening and observing, but holding her silence. “Some of those wrecks are centuries old. Exactly how long have you been here?”

Iyomelka avoided the question. “When time matters not, one stops marking it.”

Sikara Fyiri's question was much more of a challenge. “Have you been able to study Urec's Log? Do you follow his teachings?”

The old crone laughed derisively, tossing aside a bone. “His teachings? We came here long before Urec and Aiden sailed on their little boats.”

Yal Dolicar nearly choked on his food. Even he wouldn't have made such an outrageous claim. “I find that hard to believe.”

Iyomelka stroked her daughter's long silken hair, adjusting the seaweed plaits. “Whatever you believe, another person will believe something else. My husband and I left the rest of the world and came here… where we meant to raise our only daughter. You will see that this island is endowed with an aura of power.”

Fyiri rose to her feet, her demeanor confrontational. “If you know Urec and Aiden, do you know Ondun, then?”

Iyomelka made a dismissive gesture. “My husband's name was Ondun—but that was long ago.”

Grigovar laughed aloud. “Now that is quite a tale!”

Iyomelka's expression darkened. “Guests should not speak ill of their hosts.”

“And you should not speak sacrilege against Ondun and Urec,” Fyiri snapped.

Saan cut her off before the discussion could escalate. “We meant no offense, Iyomelka, but you must admit that your claim is difficult to believe. You've been on this island longer than all of recorded history?”

“Longer than your recorded history.” The withered crone did look as if she could be thousands of years old.

Young Ystya said in a mild tone, “Just because something is difficult to believe does not make it untrue. I have been here as long as I can remember. Who is to say how long that has been?”

Iyomelka regarded all of them as though they were mere children and she a teacher who had almost given up on them. “The wellspring of this island's power originated from my husband. His whole body was infused with it, and he could create things, change things. I had powers, too, but he was by far the stronger.” She gazed wistfully up at the sky. “After many millennia, even the greatest love fades, and here all alone on this island, he and I eventually grew tired of each other. But now I miss him very much.”

“What happened to him, then?” Saan asked. Fyiri looked greatly offended, not wanting to hear the answer at all because it contradicted her core faith.

The old woman levered herself to her feet, leaving the rest of the boar carcass over the still-warm coals. “Follow me to our spring at the heart of the island. Then you will know why I am so old, and why… much has changed over the centuries.”

Iyomelka moved through the jungle at a surprisingly rapid clip, following a well-worn path flanked by crowded weeds. Saan walked at the head of the group, curious to see what the old woman had to show them, and Ystya stayed close to him.

Iyomelka continued to talk, over her shoulder, as she brushed leaves and vibrant flowers aside. “The soul of this island is contained in a spring of pure water that bubbles up from great depths. For most of our lives, after Ondun came here to join us, my husband, my daughter, and I took our water from this source, and it kept us young and powerful and content.”

As the path wound uphill through thick underbrush, it gave way to pale limestone outcroppings. Iyomelka took them to the top of a rise, the crest of which had been cleared of vegetation, where lovingly placed white rocks encircled a hole seven feet wide.

When Saan peered over the edge, he saw that the hole vanished into darkness, like an empty well. The old woman stood at his side, regarding the dry shaft. “This spring was once a silvery fountain, a bubbling source of life—and death. My husband fell into the spring and sank to the bottom. He drowned, and his body still lies there, far below.” She didn't seem much bothered by the fact. “However, the magic in his body infused the water, so when Ystya and I partook from the well and bathed in it, the water revitalized us, nourished us, restored our youth.”

Iyomelka knelt at the edge. “But you can see something has changed. The water level in the spring dropped, and we can no longer purify ourselves. That is the only reason I have begun to grow old. Ystya remained a mere child for countless centuries, an innocent young girl, such a joy… and now, as you can see, she's matured.”

Saan looked admiringly at the young woman. “Yes, I can see that very well.”

Dolicar grinned. “Well, the passage of many years does tend to make one grow old.”

“The passage of years had no effect on me, until the water was gone,” Iyomelka retorted.

Sen Sherufa made no comment, taking in the information; Fyiri, though, did not hide her scorn. “Foolish superstition. That is not the way the blessings of Ondun are given to humans.”

“And who said we were human, Priestess? Ystya and I weren't created in the same way as the rest of you.”

The haughty sikara was not at all intimidated. “Perhaps the spring dried up because of your false beliefs—as a retaliation from the true creator. A curse.”

The crone lowered her gaze. “Perhaps there was a cause. Perhaps there was a retaliation. I do not know why the magic faded, why it forsook us. But see what has become of me.” Iyomelka indicated her wrinkled, spotted hands, her large-knuckled fingers, then turned her imploring gaze to Saan. “That is why I cannot leave this island, Captain Saan, because the last remnants of power here are the only things that keep me as strong as I am.”

Yal Dolicar dropped a pebble down the well, listening as it plunked into water far below. The splash was quite clear, amplified by the narrow stone walls. “Ah, there is still a spring down below. Maybe we can lower a bucket?”

“It would not be enough,” Iyomelka said. “The water level continues to drop.”

As the others crowded around the well, Dolicar whispered to Saan, “Captain, we might have an opportunity here. The old woman is convinced, yes, but… just because the spring is drying up doesn't mean there's a curse, or any kind of magical explanation. We could rig a rope and have someone climb down to investigate. There might be a blockage we could fix.” He shrugged. “If it's a fountain of youth, shouldn't we try it for ourselves? I'd give it a go.”

Saan called out to the old woman, but directed his smile toward Ystya. “Iyomelka, I have a proposal for you. If my men and I discover a way to make the water flow again, would you be grateful for that?” He glanced at Dolicar, knowing full well what the other man would do. “Would you offer us some kind of reward?”

The crone's expression was of hope laced with caution. “Captain, if you can fix the spring for us, I will let you take any treasure on this entire island.”

“Any treasure?”

Grigovar and Yal Dolicar gasped and clapped. “Now that's a worthy incentive!”

“Any treasure,” the old woman said, “so long as you and your ship are on your way afterward. This place is not for you.”