In the early dawn, when the sky is still streaked with pink and lilac, and hazy orange sun rays peek through the dusky forest, Neva and her marrows embark on their journey toward the east.
"Papa, where are we going?" Inaya asks, rubbing her eye with a fist, still not amply awake.
Cradling his daughter in his arms, Ishmael glances down at her. "A village where your mother and I grew up," he replies, airily brushing away the lacy strands of hair from her forehead.
Inaya stays quiet, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her chin on his shoulder.
With heavy lids, she gazes at the people in the short distant, walking behind them.
Then, as if sleep vanishes from Inaya's eyes, her big doe eyes concentratedly focus on Rhett. She lifts her head and glances at her father—then again and Rhett.
Ishmael frowns at her behaviour. "Is something wrong?"
Inaya meets his gaze. "Papa, now I can also tell the difference between you and him."
Neva glances at Rhett for any reaction, but his expression remains emotionless.
Rhean and Isaiah walk on either side of her, her fingers gently—yet firmly—closed around the tether of their hands.
Rhett remains close behind her, with Ace further in the rear. The lodge–cabin's two personnel—two different faces from the staff members who assisted them yesterday—follow behind, wheeling the luggage carriers with the suitcases and duffle bags.
Roughly ten minutes after, they reach a dirt road lined with trees and bushes sequencing the path.
A black, seven–seater Ford Excursion SUV is parked slightly ahead, near the avenue of the road—arranged by the lodge owner at Ishmael's request.
Until now, Neva holds the impression that Ishmael is well acquainted with the owner, and that he had visited Miraeth more often than he is willing to admit, atleast—even if it is infrequent.
Neva glances up. The sky is clear, brighter.
The heavens distributes the light across nature; dewdrops on the leaves of shrubs and trees glisten. The leaves sway and rustle, bestowed with aid and reverence by the caress of a soft breeze.
She inhales deeply the sweet scent of earthy morning mist, eyes closed, soaking up the echoes of the singing birds.
"Look, a deer!" Rhean's eyes twinkle in enthusiasm, a finger directing at a spotted, tall axis deer with sharpened antlers, half–veiled by the brush of shrubs accross the path—still and silent, gazing directly at him.
Isaiah gasps. As he unconsciously paces toward the axis deer, the animal, at once, rustles the leaves—like a breath of the forest—and gallops away.
Exhalation withers from all the three children's faces.
"Why did it run away?" Isaiah laments, his heart dejected.
"Because you scared him," Rhean retorts roughly, dissapointment in his eyes.
Isaiah glares at him, then runs toward Neva.
He hugs her legs, halting her steps. His chin tilts up, his eyes catch her soft ones.
He puckers his lips. "I want one, Mumma,"
"They are a part of the forest, it's cruel to tie them up with force." Neva's gentle fingers glides through his hair.
"They flourish best in a sanctuary they favor. Everyone deserves freedom," she affectionately murmurs. "Animals do too."
Isaiah pouts his lips, but he stays obedient and doesn't grieve, for the verity in his mother's words grazes his soul with quiet intensity and awareness.
Ishmael stands close ahead, sedately watching Neva.
Rhett's grim, unsparing stare fixes on Ishmael.
Fracturing the silent wound of tightened tension, the door to the driver's seat of the Ford Excursion SUV creaks opens.
A man comes out and approaches them—standing still by the entrance of the path that leads to the lodge–cabin.
"Good to see you again." The tanned, bearded man with heterochromia irisdis extends a hand to Ishmael.
Ishmael inclines his head in acknowledgement before greeting him with a handshake.
The man passes Ishmael the car key, his expression composed.
The man bows his head at him, then turns to the two men and woman.
He greets them with the same courtesy and moves on, heading toward the path of the lodge–cabin.
Ishmael tosses the key to Ace, who easily catches it.
"Towards the east," Ishmael says plainly.
"You can leave," Rhett says to the two staff members.
They help Rhett unload the luggage from the carrier.
Then they bow their heads in greeting and leave.
Ace grabs the suitcases and heads toward the SUV.
"Come on," Rhett remarks, a soft affirmation in his eyes as he looks at Neva.
Neva nods and ushers the boys along with her.
Ace has already unlocked and accessed the trunk of the car and is loading the luggage.
---
After a tranquiled yet painfully long ride of three hours, through a forest clearing and hills untouched by a trace of humanity—at end, a hope, a light, an outskirt of a village offers them grace.
Neva peers through the window, attentive to the surroundings. A winding dirt road crosses their path—lined with towering trees, distant blue hills, and tiny stone and wooden cottages peeking through nature.
As the car slows—moving further ahead, weathered wood and stone cottages with thatched roofs, veined with ivy and creeping flowers, spread across the lush tapestry of greenery, blending harmoniously with the natural landscape.
Tall trees cast dappled shadows on the wooden fences, while the gardens along the edges erupt with blooming flowers, wild herbs, and vegetables.
Verdant, wandering wildflowers drift kaleidoscopic colours—blossoming across the village.
Livestocks are reared further away in the fields, and a few people go about their morning along the paths and in the gardens.
Their faces hold bewilderment and fear as the beastly black SUV—discouraging in contrast to the spirited nature of the village—gradually ventures forward and eventually comes to a halt by the stream, panelled with shadowy trees and wildflowers.
Ishmael steps out from the passenger's side of the SUV, then Ace from the driver's seat. Rhett and Neva follow, the children ushered along.
"Now what?" Ace mumbles, roving his gaze at the people poking their heads out from their windows and gardens—some frozen on their paths or at the corners they stand—though wary, curious to catch a glimpse of the unusual intruders.
"We find someone to talk to." Rhett ordained, his gaze vigilant and analytical.
He turns to glance at Neva, but a frown strains his features at her stiffened form.
Neva, in her heart, utters a quiet prayer at what she sees.
A little euphoric girl runs through a meadow.
She giggles as a grinning boy runs after her.
The night in the clearing is solemn and cold.
Wintry wind and snowflakes whistle by.
In the hushed thatched cottage,
The warm fire in the hearth they sit by.
The charactesitic white–haired grandpa,
With heart, expresses pure Bible stories.
Two young souls, with their chins on their palms,
Explore him, entranced by the sacred lore.
The blessings from the good villagers,
The dreams of becoming the essence of all art.
The nap under the trees,
A freedom is a wishful reverie.
The miracle of light on this Island.
This Miraeth—that is a shadowed prison.
The memories drift like a sweet whisper of breeze through her mind. Not forced, not astonishing.
She sees them—a sudden, faithful nostalgia beautifully sinking in.
"Neva," Rhett says as he cups her face, his brows creased in worry.
She is still, eyes astray and unblinking.
Neva feels his warm hands, and slowly she lifts her eyes, threading them with his.
"I think," she swallows. "I think I just saw my past."
"What?" His voice is barely above a whisper.
They anticipated a dream the first night in Miraeth, but she didn't receive any.
And this sudden declaration surprises the men around her.
"I just saw my childhood." Neva says, her eyes straying to Ishmael, who looks at her softly—and with quite hope.
Rhett lowers his hands. "Did you see anything else?"
Neva glances at him. She purses her lips and shakes her head.
He doesn't say anything more, and Neva doesn't miss the tinge of dissapointment in his eyes.
Neva grabs his hand and smiles reassuringly.
"It will all come to me, gradually."
Rhett nods, and mirrors her smile.
"I don't believe it." Ace frowns, quietly muttering to himself.
Neva glances at him. "I did see my past, vivid and clear."
The twins' chirping dilemmas go unanswered as all attention is on their mother, while a silent, analyzing Rhean stands observing the adults, and the strange land around them.
"Take us to a villager that we can trust," Rhett instructs to Ishmael.
Before Ishmael can reply, Neva perceives an old–woman with a boy walking beside her, holding her hand.
She is approaching them, her hair is the colour of grey and white, and she wears a deep blue sweater with a lacy collar and a long brown printed skirt.
"Apphia," Neva murmers, and subconsciously she treads toward her.
The old–woman squints her eye, walking slightly hunched over, gradually drawing closer to the group.
Neva feels a hand around her wrist. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Rhett eyeing her carefully.
"Do you recognise her?" Rhett asks.
"I think so," Neva replies, uncertainty in her voice.
"Neva, it's you."
Neva turns to the source of the warm, lullaby–like voice calling to her.