Page 166 of Into the Isle

Clamping my dropped jaw, I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and stepped into the mouth of the cave. This chaotic fucking man. For all I knew, he’d been leading me on a wild goose chase.

Then again, I appreciated him taking the time to bring me here. At the very least, I got some much-needed fresh air away from the stuffiness of the academy. It gave me the chance to clear my head.

The cave seemed ancient. I felt a strange sensation when I walked in, darkness taking hold completely as the sun was swallowed up past the mouth of the cave. The craggy walls were alight with strange flora—mushrooms illuminated with dim glows. Little bugs or creatures fluttered around with similar bright wings, like fireflies.

The cave went deep into the hillside it sat under. I walked hesitantly for a few minutes, with only the faint glow of the wall-fungi and fluttering bugs to light my way.

The narrow walkway widened, until I came to a small room that smelled of spices, oils, and herbs. A tree had taken root—thick, burly roots gnarled and twisting around the room, making it hard to walk through. The girth of the tree trunk was thick, and it seemed to stretch up past the top of the ceiling and jut out of the cave into the open air beyond.

Sitting in the middle of the tree, where the bole had been hollowed out, was the oldest looking person I’d ever seen.

Her face was a mass grave of wrinkles, her skin sagging and eyes impossible to see beyond the folds. She was a slight thing, sitting in a posture that made her look like a ball. She wore a black, tattered gown, had woven white hair in plaits down her back that reached the ground. All along her waves of hair were fetishes and ornaments—bones, studs, wooden objects.

Her chin was dropped down to her collar like she was resting.

I hesitantly approached, stopping ten feet away.

“Miss Elayina?” I called out. My rough voice bounced off the walls of the circular, carved room, sending more colorful bugs fluttering, until there was a cloud of them separating us.

The woman’s face slowly lifted. A strange hum escaped her chest. Though I couldn’t see her eyes, I noticed the way the wrinkles folded when she blinked.

“Ah. A visitor.” Her voice was as ancient as she looked—the kind of voice that comes from a life lived too long, or a life lived with constant chain-smoking.

“I was told you, um, only speak with those you choose to speak with,” I said. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed your sleep.”

Slowly, a bony hand lifted, just as wrinkled as her face. She flapped it in the air, waving me forward. “Yes, yes, child. Step forward so I might see you. You are a special case, are you not?”

My head lurched, yet I did as she commanded. “Am I?”

“Yes, yes. I can sense it.” She gave me a toothless smile.

I made my way up the gnarled roots she roosted under, wincing in pain, until I was face to face with her.

“Sit,” she ordered. “You are hurt.”

“You can sense that, ma’am?”

“I can see it plain enough on your face, child.”

I took a seat in front of her. The ripe smell of earth, herbs, and smokiness settled over me. It wasn’t a bad smell, necessarily, as much as it was an old one.

Elayina grabbed a bowl from somewhere off to her side. She threw some herbs and pinched off some liquids into the bowl, and began absentmindedly stirring it and crushing it all together while she spoke.

“You are here for many purposes,” she said. “Some you may not even realize yet.”

I cocked my head, wondering if she had a peculiar way of speaking to everyone, or if I truly was a “special case” that she could sense.

The clacking of her mortar and pestle calmed my nerves. It was a sound I was used to from Selby Village, when my mother would make certain meals.

“You are both full-blood and no-blood,” she said.

I still couldn’t see her damned eyes, so I had no idea how she came to that conclusion. Perhaps she could see more than she was letting on.

“A bog-blood, they call me,” I said with a nod. “Half-bred from humans and elves.”

“Is that so? Not such a rare thing in my day. But in this one? Hm.”

She didn’t finish her thought. I had to wonder when “her day” began, because it looked like it could have been a hundred years ago, if not more.

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