Journey to the Forgotten Island

Chapter 18 - Shadow People

'Don't go down the path!' Toma screamed.

There he was again, thrashing in the dark, vines and giant palm leaves weighing him down as he flailed in the mud. If only he could stop his squadron from pushing south, he would never meet the lone warrior, never feel the strange spell of warmth and connection, never kill the man who spared him.

'Don't go down the path!' he screamed, again.

But they wouldn't listen. He thrashed, felt the furs of a Sola leopards pressed against him. Soon the leopard would bite his neck, release him from his pain.

A cold, soft hand pressed against his cheek. He froze. Was it the Veutstan goddess of death, Muertali, whose soft fingers led men to the sandy depths of the underground world of the dead?

'Shhh,' the woman's voice said. 'It's just another dream.'

Toma squirmed. His eyes were open. He saw a silhouette sitting beside him on the bed. The cold hand caressed his cheek. Fingers ran through his hair. He exhaled and let his head fall back onto his pillow. Through the heavy curtains he could see the faint glow of daybreak.

'Do you know where you are?' the soft voice said.

'I think –' Toma stammered. 'I think I am on the island of Magoa. In our villa. These are my chambers.'

'And who am I?' the voice said.

'La-Lady Ximena,' Toma said. 'Your chambers are on the other side of the hall.'

'Good,' Ximena said. 'You are safe. All is well.'

'All is well,' Toma whispered.

Ximena called his attendants in and told Toma to join him for breakfast. The attendants entered the dim room and bowed before helping him from his bed, washing and clothing him, giving him water, and opening the curtains of the chambers.

Toma would never have accepted the help of attendants were it not for the weakness he had felt in the mornings since they had entered the woods. It had been half a month since Stefano had dragged him from the forest and into the plains. Since then, Toma had spent each day trying to recover, to regain his strength, only to find that by nightfall his mind was haunted with those same images. The first night, he remembered, he had slept in his pavilion tent. In the trance of his dreams, he had risen in his sleep, grabbed his sword and cut through the cloth and furs of the tent, running through the camp, caught in his dreams. Stefano had found him by the river attempting to cross the rapid currents. The following nights, Toma had asked to be strapped to his bed and watched by a guard. Soon, the first villa had been constructed and despite the protests of the nobles and Toma himself, Stefano and Sir Miro agreed that Toma should be inhabit the first of the grand houses to aid his recovery. Toma had no strength to protest further and Ami had assured him that the other villas would soon be built, the indignation of the nobles soon forgotten.

Toma shuffled down the stone steps to the hall and the dining room, where he found Ximena sitting, drinking hot ginger tea and reading a pamphlet by Moledo Normis. An attendant brought him tea and a slice of venison with dark bread.

'I have never lived in such luxurious quarters,' Toma said. 'And I have neither the strength nor clarity of mind to appreciate my luck, nor the materials to make this grand structure worthy of your presence.'

Toma gestured around to their open dining hall, large enough for forty guests, which remained undecorated and unfurnished. The bare grey Magoan stone made the house look more like a dungeon than a villa.

'And when a Lady of your standing should be dining on fine cakes, fruits, soft cheeses and honey... Instead we are stuck with endless hunted deer and wild wheat bread,' Toma grumbled.