Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1010

Chapter 1010: Chapter 1010

He made his way to the river, where Grace already stood, crouched at the bank. Her hair, dark and damp, framed her face, and her cloak, woven from vine fiber, shivered with droplets. Spotting him, she smiled softly, pushing damp strands behind her ear. "Morning feels different today," she said, voice light.

Jude knelt beside her and cupped the river’s clear water. As he lifted it to his lips, he noticed blue sparkles reflected beneath the surface, tiny fragments of watcher light. Grace dipped a bowl, offering it. Their fingers brushed in water, the contact sending warmth through both.

They drank in silence, eyes on the water. Underneath them, ripples pulsed gently, more than mere current. The river seemed alive with soft memory. Grace traced patterns with her finger and whispered, "They left something..."

Jude watched watchers drifting just above the water, bending and straightening like reeds. "Not just passing through," he mused. "They’re leaving pulses... paths." He tipped the bowl into the river. "They opened a channel. We need to follow it."

Grace nodded. "And record it." She glanced at him, love warm in her gaze. "Like everything else."

They rose and walked back to the orchard, where the wives began to stir. By the hearth, Susan stirred grain porridge, Rose stacked fresh fruit, Rebecca arranged wildflowers. The children laughed outside as Emma and Stella taught them watcher gestures, hands raised in greeting, bows expressing thanks.

Jude called them to gather in the clearing. "Today," he began, "we follow the watchers’ pulse through water, earth, stone." He traced their plan in the air, names of places to visit and symbols to record. Lucy stepped forward, carrying blank slates and pigment pots; Natalie brought soft brushes and water; Zoey held ribbon spools for markers.

Soon they assembled, Jude, Grace, and ten wives, each with a task. They moved through orchard, watchers drifting overhead, their pulses lighting up glyph ribbon markers. They followed the glowing ribbon trails into wild spaces, past saplings and stone shrines until they reached the river’s deeper pools, where hidden channels burrowed into the forest.

They trod carefully as the river widened into a shallow stream lined with mossy rock. The watchers hovered low here, beams of light dancing across water. Jude knelt by a swirl of currents and held out a finger. Blue pulse slipped over his skin, traveling up his arm. Voices hummed in his mind, picturesome memories of rain, roots drinking deep, fish slip-streaming around him. He touched again, urging the signal forward. Grace pressed her palm next, and images warmed her mind: seed pods bursting, new growth, children laughing in dance.

They continued upstream, placing ribbon markers at each significant twist, river bends, submerged stones, small waterfalls that caught watcher light in arcing spray. Each ribbon tied with a glyph symbol representing what they sensed: growth, rebirth, connection.

The wives looked on with reverence. Rebecca found a pool so clear she could see stones beneath, etched by centuries of flow. She placed a candle near the bank, lit it with care, and watched watcher light reflect on water.

Jude paused and watched watchers gleaning shape from candlelight. He spoke softly. "They see our offerings. They guide network of water."

He sketched glyphs in earth near ribbon. "Let’s continue."

They moved deeper into forest, the stream wending through ancient trees whose roots hugged water. Birdsong echoed faintly, mixing with watcher hum. The ground dampened, scent of mushrooms and fallen leaves rich and heady.

At midday they paused in a natural clearing shaded by towering ferns. Emma brought out food, bread, fruit, broth, light fare. They ate in silence, feeling presence all around. Children darted and fetched water, carrying bowls lined with blue-crimson ribbons. Grace taught them watcher names: Murma, Gleam, Naira. Each name whispered into the sky.

After lunch, they split into pairs. Jude and Grace headed toward a hidden cave entrance where watcher light flickered like lanterns. The wives followed streams to record patterns of light in shallow pools. Rachel, Susan, Stella, Lucy, Zoe, Rose, Scarlet, and Natalie followed separate channels, making notes, taking slates, tying ribbons where pulses seemed strongest.

Jude and Grace entered cave carefully, torches in hand. The watcher glow refracted from cave walls, turning moisture into glowing strands. They moved deeper until they reached an underground chamber; here water dripped in steady rhythm, forming a small pool. At its center floated stones wrapped with watcher silk and luminous moss. The water’s surface shimmered with glyph-light.

Jude knelt and dipped his hand. The pulse surged, memories of generations past, of watchers guiding seedlings, protecting souls. Grace touched the water beside him; warmth and laughter rose: weddings, births, stories of peace.

They filled small vials and dipped ribbons in the pool. The Moss on stone formed patterns that imprinted onto them when dried, tiny shapes like eyes or stars. Grace spoke his name quietly. The watcher lights bent closer in arching paths overhead for a single moment, an affirmation.

Outside, the wives emerged with careful markers; parents cupped sounds of the caves, felt texture of moss; children watched and breathed. An electric hush held them together.

Then Jude called out. They returned from different caves to the clearing guided by ribbons. Night fell around them, but watchers lit the way. Rooted overhead, a canopy of soft blue light traced the creek path they followed. The wives entered one by one, ribbons tied through hair and around wrists like beacons. They emerged into the orchard as a procession of luminescence.

At the far edge, they built a small shrine, stacked stones from river, ribbons dripping into water bowls, moss-wrapped stones lined with glyphs. They placed watch-light vials around it, turning it into a glowing heart in the dark.

Jude spoke again, voice quiet: "We carry their memory through water and stone. We learned their name-song. Our voices are now their voices."

Wives stepped forward, each placing offerings, flowers, candles, ribbons, shards of memory slate. Grace poured water from the cave pool into the base bowl. Ribbons reflected watcher light like dripping sky. The shrine pulsed in resonance.