Homecoming
The ship's sail lusted outward toward land; the smaller clipper ship had been at sea for the past five days from the bustling port of Rey'un Tar. But now, the reticent ship, manned only by three women, all wearing crimson sashes, was closing in on its destined dock: The Island of Shadow. Isuelt stood on the bow, as the Sisters she had rendezvoused with in Rey'un Tar prepared the ship for arrival. The salty-sweet breezes lifted her dark locks and caressed her face, the warm scent of incense and fresh fruit were almost palpable to the long-awaited Scathachian as she ventured forth on the last leg of her extensive journey. Isuelt, who would be referred to as Illea by her Sisters as soon as she disembarked, could not remember the last time she had made her way to the Island. After receiving the training of Scathach, her path had taken her far and wide, and rarely had she found occasion to refuel her soul back on the Island that she considered home.
She wished that this trip was what it should have been: a welcomed respite for a world-weary woman. Her position and her conscience had always driven her to the near brink of sanity, patience and morality. More than a few times, she had crossed that line; all occasions she fought to forget on a daily basis. As the outlines of the domed temple roofs and the ivory columned halls made their impressive marks on the scenery, Isuelt watched the Scathachians on duty at the diminutive port on the south side of the Island. The Scathachians had little need of a fleet of ships, two were what they had at their disposal at any given time. There had been those Sisters who had brought of the argument of a need of more, but their viewpoints were always overruled by the High Priestess and her governing circle. But what of an invasion? We will fight to protect our home, not flee like cowards. But what of a natural disaster? The Island of Shadow is watched over by Scathach, and if She deems that the Island that houses Her warriors be destroyed, we should be honored to die at Her bidding. Isuelt never engaged the Council on this issue, she often thought that the debate was nothing more than time wasted in political one-upmanship.
Anchor was weighed, and the rowboat that had been tied to the side of the ship was lowered into the water with an unceremonious splash. Isuelt's arm was tapped as the first of the two Scathachians climbed over the rail and down the ladder of rope into the rowboat. Isuelt nodded and followed the Sister who had served as captain. As soon as all three women were settled, the rowing toward the pier began.
The ship slowly glided across the water, doing its best to be still. The choppy sea made sure that the rowboat's effort was in vain. The sun above, however, showed her face in vast approval. Isuelt smiled as the heat of the day hit the bridge of her nose. Gone were the salty bursts of sea air, now the fragrance of orchids, ginger and lilies were carried on the breeze. The Island of Shadow put on its most regal gown for this homecoming. The hills were saturated in color from the recently ended rainy season, the morning mist was all but evaporated, and even the shadows somehow created a more massive, more imposing scene. The glistening architecture seemed to grow in stature, as if rising to greet its long, lost daughter. It had been a very long time.
The raven-haired Scathachian on the pier, preparing to receive the rope from the rowboat must have recognized the surprise passenger. Her lips parted in shock and her breath was stolen from her. The boat knocked against the wood and stone pillar of the dock, Isuelt was the last to stand. "Illea?"
Isuelt grinned as she looked up, "Hello, Eva." She reached out her hand to Eva, who pulled her the last step up to the dock.
"It's been a long time, Sister," Eva kept hold of Isuelt's hand for a bit longer as she looked at her old friend. Indeed, it must have been years since they had seen each other; Eva's usually ever-rich ebony tresses had fallen victim to a spattering of grays. Isuelt was not untouched by time, either. Her skin, which had been a lustrous bronze in her youth, battled fine lines and wrinkles about her lips and eyes.
"It's good to see you, Eva," Isuelt squeezed her forearm before letting go. Eva nodded her agreement, and the pair followed suit from the dock to the awaiting horses. The Temple was atop the highest peak on the Island, and the High Priestess would be waiting, with her Council. Isuelt was not home solely out of pleasure, but on business. Any socializing would have to wait.
The ship's sail lusted outward toward land; the smaller clipper ship had been at sea for the past five days from the bustling port of Rey'un Tar. But now, the reticent ship, manned only by three women, all wearing crimson sashes, was closing in on its destined dock: The Island of Shadow. Isuelt stood on the bow, as the Sisters she had rendezvoused with in Rey'un Tar prepared the ship for arrival. The salty-sweet breezes lifted her dark locks and caressed her face, the warm scent of incense and fresh fruit were almost palpable to the long-awaited Scathachian as she ventured forth on the last leg of her extensive journey. Isuelt, who would be referred to as Illea by her Sisters as soon as she disembarked, could not remember the last time she had made her way to the Island. After receiving the training of Scathach, her path had taken her far and wide, and rarely had she found occasion to refuel her soul back on the Island that she considered home.
She wished that this trip was what it should have been: a welcomed respite for a world-weary woman. Her position and her conscience had always driven her to the near brink of sanity, patience and morality. More than a few times, she had crossed that line; all occasions she fought to forget on a daily basis. As the outlines of the domed temple roofs and the ivory columned halls made their impressive marks on the scenery, Isuelt watched the Scathachians on duty at the diminutive port on the south side of the Island. The Scathachians had little need of a fleet of ships, two were what they had at their disposal at any given time. There had been those Sisters who had brought of the argument of a need of more, but their viewpoints were always overruled by the High Priestess and her governing circle. But what of an invasion? We will fight to protect our home, not flee like cowards. But what of a natural disaster? The Island of Shadow is watched over by Scathach, and if She deems that the Island that houses Her warriors be destroyed, we should be honored to die at Her bidding. Isuelt never engaged the Council on this issue, she often thought that the debate was nothing more than time wasted in political one-upmanship.
Anchor was weighed, and the rowboat that had been tied to the side of the ship was lowered into the water with an unceremonious splash. Isuelt's arm was tapped as the first of the two Scathachians climbed over the rail and down the ladder of rope into the rowboat. Isuelt nodded and followed the Sister who had served as captain. As soon as all three women were settled, the rowing toward the pier began.
The ship slowly glided across the water, doing its best to be still. The choppy sea made sure that the rowboat's effort was in vain. The sun above, however, showed her face in vast approval. Isuelt smiled as the heat of the day hit the bridge of her nose. Gone were the salty bursts of sea air, now the fragrance of orchids, ginger and lilies were carried on the breeze. The Island of Shadow put on its most regal gown for this homecoming. The hills were saturated in color from the recently ended rainy season, the morning mist was all but evaporated, and even the shadows somehow created a more massive, more imposing scene. The glistening architecture seemed to grow in stature, as if rising to greet its long, lost daughter. It had been a very long time.
The raven-haired Scathachian on the pier, preparing to receive the rope from the rowboat must have recognized the surprise passenger. Her lips parted in shock and her breath was stolen from her. The boat knocked against the wood and stone pillar of the dock, Isuelt was the last to stand. "Illea?"
Isuelt grinned as she looked up, "Hello, Eva." She reached out her hand to Eva, who pulled her the last step up to the dock.
"It's been a long time, Sister," Eva kept hold of Isuelt's hand for a bit longer as she looked at her old friend. Indeed, it must have been years since they had seen each other; Eva's usually ever-rich ebony tresses had fallen victim to a spattering of grays. Isuelt was not untouched by time, either. Her skin, which had been a lustrous bronze in her youth, battled fine lines and wrinkles about her lips and eyes.
"It's good to see you, Eva," Isuelt squeezed her forearm before letting go. Eva nodded her agreement, and the pair followed suit from the dock to the awaiting horses. The Temple was atop the highest peak on the Island, and the High Priestess would be waiting, with her Council. Isuelt was not home solely out of pleasure, but on business. Any socializing would have to wait.