The Island 12

Codex of the Riverborn Path, Verse XIX

“Seek the stones that the river has carried,
for they remember the mountain’s first breath.

Crush them with patience,
mix them with the ash of yesterday’s fire,
and the colors of forgotten dreams will rise again.

For every hue is a memory,
and every glaze is a truth revealed.

Those who follow the river upstream
walk toward the source of their own becoming,
and the vessel they shape will one day shape them in return.”

David crouched near the kiln, turning a handful of small river rocks in his palm. The morning was bright and clear, the kind that made the air taste clean. The creek shimmered under the sun, and the musical sound of water over stone was steady and soft.

“These are good,” he said. “Look at the color.”

Renate leaned closer. “They’re beautiful. Red, green, blue, even this one.” She picked up a stream polished crystal with a deep purple hue. “Look at that beautiful purple.”

David nodded. “If we crush them and mix them with ash, we might get glaze.”

She smiled. “You think we can crush these fine enough to make glaze?”

He grinned. “That’s how it’s done. I’m sure we’ll find a way.”

Renate picked up a smooth green stone and held it to the light. “It’s like glass already.”

David turned another over in his hand. “They must come down from the mountains. The river brings them.”

Renate looked upstream. “Then there must be a waterfall. That’s where the river cuts through the mountain. We’ll find even better samples there.”

David stood and brushed the silt from his hands. “Let’s find it.”

They packed lightly; water, summer sausage, a pear, and a bit of bread, and started up the stream. The path followed the creek, winding through trees that leaned toward the water. The air was warm, and the light filtered through the leaves in shifting rays.

Renate walked ahead, her hair catching the sun. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

David looked around. “It’s the kind of place you could easily forget the world. My kind of place.”

They stopped often to pick up pebbles, small, smooth, and colored like jewels. Renate found one deep blue, another pale pink. David found a red one streaked with black.

“These will make fine glazes,” he said.

Renate laughed. “You sound like a pro already.”

He smiled. “I’m sure we both will be master pottery throwers before long.”

The creek grew narrower as they climbed. The banks rose higher, and the trees thinned. The sound of water changed—deeper, louder.

Renate stopped. “Do you hear that?”

David listened. “It’s close.”

They walked faster, the sound growing until it filled the air, a steady roar that made the ground tremble faintly.

When they reached the clearing, they stopped and stared. The waterfall dropped from the mountain like a sheet of white fire, crashing into a deep pool below. Mist rose from the water, catching the sunlight in rainbows. The canyon walls were steep where the water had cut into the mountain’s solid rock. The steep cliffs were green with moss and vines.

Renate stepped forward. “It’s magnificent.”

David nodded. “It’s the heart of the island.”

The pool below was clear and deep. Bright flowers grew along the edge, and iridescent insects with wings like stained glass windows flitted among them.

Renate smiled. “We should swim.”

David looked at her. “We earned it.”

They stripped down and waded into the water. It was cold and clean, the kind that made the skin tighten, and the breath catch.

Renate laughed. “It’s freezing.”

David splashed her lightly. “You’ll get used to it.”

She swam out toward the center, her strokes smooth and strong. David followed, the water closing over his shoulders.

They floated near the falls, the mist cool on their faces.

Renate looked up. “It’s like the island begins here.”

David nodded. “This is a little paradise inside of paradise.”

They swam back to the shore and sat on the rocks to dry. The sun was warm, and the sound of the falls filled the air.

Renate opened their pack and took out bread, sliced summer sausage from the sailboat’s supplies, and fruit from the orchard. “Lunch,” she said.

David bit into a piece of pear. “We’ll come back here. There’s more to find.”

Renate looked at the stones scattered near the water. “We’ll have colors no one’s ever seen.”

He smiled. “You are going to be the pottery master of the entire archipelago.”

She leaned against him. “And you’ll help me, won’t you?”

David looked into Renate’s eyes, her pupils dilated and wet, shining like the stones they collected. He brushed aside her damp hair and touched her warm cheek before kissing her with a tenderness only a deep, abiding love can provide.

“I knew you would,” she said.

The waterfall roared behind them, steady and endless. The air smelled sweet with floral hints and the misty coolness of the water.

David looked at the canyon walls. “The river carved this. Slow and patient.”

Renate nodded. “Like us.”

They sat together, eating quietly, watching the light shift across the water. The island seemed alive around them, green, bright, and full of promise.

When they finished, David stood and looked upstream. “Tomorrow we’ll gather more stones.”

Renate smiled. “And maybe swim again.”

He laughed. “That too.”

They packed their things and started back down the river, the sound of the waterfall fading behind them. The sun was high now, and the creek sparkled like a trail of light leading home.

It was a good day, one that would stay with them, like the color of the stones they carried in their packs.