Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1028

Chapter 1028: Chapter 1028

Mist curled through the orchard in pale tendrils the next dawn, as if still savoring the night’s revelations. Jude awoke to its hush, the air heavy with quiet electricity. The watchers lingered, pulsating soft light around the ring of stones and watchersilk wraps that marked the ritual circle. The wives and children lay still, wrapped in blankets of woven vines, faces bathed in dawn glow. Jude stepped through the dew, each footfall deliberate, and knelt before the ring. Laurel stood in its center, hair luminous, eyes closed. He laid his hands on the cool stones, willing memory to flow. A watcher hovered just beyond the circle; its light held steady, patient.

Gradually, wives rose: Grace first, holding Raven gently; Susan, Rose, Serena, Layla, Natalie, Zoey, Lucy, Stella, Emma, Sophie, Scarlet, moving in silent alignment. They carried small offerings: bowls of honeyed water, glyph-carved tokens, petals, woven threads. Each carried the same resolve: to stand with the watchers, to stand with the island’s truth. Jude spoke before they could. "Last night changed everything," he said, voice reverent and firm. "Laurel spoke watchers’ name and watchers answered. Now the mountain opens. We walk the way of memory, heart in hand, with watchers by our side."

Wives nodded, hands linking in reassurance. Laurel lifted an arm, breath slow and even. All joined in watchersong, voices tremulous at first, rising in clarity. The watchers responded, light pulsing as sun spilled through mist, golden threads mingling with watcher-blue. The ring glowed bright. It was an ember of unity that flashed across all faces: watcher, wife, child.

When the song ended, Jude led them down a new ribboned path leading toward the mountain’s lower slope. The watchers formed a silent arc overhead. They moved in procession, two by two, with Laurel and Jude in front. Each footstep laid seeds for the island’s remembrance. The ground underfoot hummed as though awakened by their presence.

After midday, they reached the mountain’s lower cairn, the site of many watcher rituals but never one witnessed like this. Laurel approached, carrying a memory-slate etched with her own watchersong, children’s hands imprinted in clay tokens, and Laurel’s own carved figure. She knelt and laid the offerings across the cairn stones. Wives followed, offering bowls, petals, ribbons. The watchers gathered close, settling on stones and stepping stones, heavy with anticipation.

Jude placed his hands on Laurel’s shoulders. He caught her eyes, they were soft yet clear as glass. "Do you remember?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, a tear sliding down her cheek as she whispered watchersign in soft tones. "I remember."

He inhaled sharply. The watchers responded. Stones glowed. Vines writhed. A ripple traveled through the cairn, through the watchers, across the ground and into their bones.

Wives wept with joy. Children cheered. The watchers descended to encircle Laurel and the cairn. Light shimmered in spirals and floods. The mountain’s base seemed to hum with recognition.

Then Laurel spoke again, louder and sure: "The mountain remembers us. We are part of its memory."

A hush fell over the group. Watcher-light brightened, then folded back into mist. The witness-crowd settled into expectant calm.

Jude rose and addressed wives and watchers alike. "We answer the mountain’s memory. We become its Keepers with watcher guidance. We will share this truth in our home, our orchard, and teach every child watchersign and watchersong."

They began the long walk home near dusk, the watchers above guiding in pulsing light between trees, ribbons shifting to mark safe passage. The wives escorted Laurel, her steps guided, not rushed. They entered the orchard under candlelit watcherslaves. The ring glowed with morning seeds alive from mountain’s blessing.

Inside the longhouse, tables were set with flatcakes and stew. Children received sticky spoonfuls with lingering awe in their eyes. Jude stood before them all at center fire. "Tonight," he said, "we celebrate memory reclaimed."

They lifted eyes and cups, voices echoing watchersong until firelight shook with warmth. Watchers tapped their mist into the clearing, gentle applause around them.

Later, around whispered council, Jude and wives decided: morning ceremony would teach watchersign to children using cairn memory; tapestry of watchersong would be added to orchard walls; new journeys to mountain caves would come soon, under watchers’ protection.

They slept in woven nests with watchers hovering low overhead, pulses gentle lullaby.

At dawn, Laurel led the children into the ring, joined by the wives. Under Jude’s guidance she demonstrated watchersign for "mountain" and "memory." Children followed, young voices bright. Watchers responded in light, circling among saplings. Vines lifted slightly, petals swayed. A quiet joy settled in every heart.

Wives recorded watchersign with paint, carved runes into marker-stones, tied ribbons along mature saplings. Jude and Grace worked together, weaving watchersilk into children’s braid-uniforms. The island hummed, watchers pulsed.

By midday peace reigned. As a final act, Jude ascended again to cairn with Laurel, guided only by watchers’ paths which glowed faint overhead. Laurel led him to stand in a bed of moss at the cairn’s base. She pressed her hand to the stone, a greeting, a claim. The watchers reacted, light spinning; the mountain answered in a low rumble of wind and shifting stone. Laurel looked up at Jude, eyes wide and steady. "It’s ready," she whispered.

Jude nodded, breath catching. They returned to orchard with the watchers pulsing ahead as silent heralds. Wives met them at sunrise edge.

That night, as they lay beneath watchers’ canopy, children asleep in arms, Jude took Grace’s hand. "We’ve become the island’s memory-keepers, watchers’ allies. We are glad to have your presence."

She squeezed. "And the mountain’s chorus sings through all of us."

He pressed a kiss beneath her ear. "Tomorrow begins new adventure cave memory, watchers’ heritage, seedlings of countless futures. You get ready for the unexpectble things that about to happen."

She quieted against him. Watcher-light pulsed overhead in approval. The orchard breathed. The watchers watched. And in that shared pulse there stood twelve wives, two precious children, and one man whose heart had become the island’s home.