The first sight of Duffield Island made Yvette feel as though she had stepped into a forgotten world. Nowhere had she seen "decay" and "vitality" so tightly intertwined. The island bore almost no trace of human activity, save for a crumbling stone structure that had stood atop its highest point for nearly two millennia since the time of Christ's birth. Once a formidable fortress fulfilling its historical duty, it now lay abandoned and rotting in solitude atop the hill. Its pale walls were overgrown with creeping vines, beneath which glimpses of coarse, massive stones and narrow arrow slits could be seen - remnants of Roman glory that also prophesied the empire's eventual fate.

  At the island's foot lay a natural harbor where a weathered wooden jetty quietly extended from the serene pebble beach into the shallow waters. The merchant ship carrying Yvette dropped anchor beside it, and the previously idle sailors bustled about, inventorying goods and hauling heavy sacks of provisions.

  "We'll do our utmost to depart before sunset. Should your exploration prove disappointing and you wish to return with our ship, you must make your way back here before then," the captain cautioned Yvette.

  "Does unloading require this much time? Would hiring your crew as guides inconvenience your operations?"

  "Not at all. It's just that the hermits here observe strict ascetic rules. They farm, weave, and maintain everything themselves - eating but one meal in summer and two in winter, owning no personal property. We can only barter goods with them, which takes somewhat longer. But while you explore, do remember to adhere to the island's regulations..." The captain emphasized solemnly.

  Just then, a gaunt hermit clad in coarse tan fabric with a simple hemp rope belt descended along a path hidden among overgrown weeds and approached the captain in silence.

  "The hermits here cultivate virtue by maintaining silence to heed the Holy Spirit. Their reticence stems not from displeasure but pious devotion," the captain paused his explanation. "Geoffrey will brief you on other matters. I must attend to inspecting this batch of beer from the cellar, so I'll take my leave now."

  "Pardon my intrusion. A friend of mine is receiving treatment here. Might I see her? Also, do I require permission to land on the island? Whom should I approach?" Yvette inquired of the brown-robed hermit.

  "Mr. Fisher, the hermits generally maintain silence during daylight..."

  Before the captain could finish, the brown-clad hermit unexpectedly spoke, though his answer felt deliberately distant: "This land belongs to the Holy Spirit. We possess no authority to prevent visitors."

  Having uttered these words, he quietly sealed his lips again. In any other context, this might have sounded like polite refusal, but the familiar captain merely shrugged. "The hermits neither oppose nor encourage outsiders. By day they labor and pray, typically neither speaking nor receiving guests. After nightfall you may engage them in brief conversation. Should you stay overnight, they'll prepare vegetables, fish, and bread for you."

  Yvette gaped in surprise as Geoffrey suddenly appeared from nowhere, gently tugging her sleeve. "Mr. Fisher, let's go ashore first. Once cargo handling begins, you wouldn't want the stench and rats from the hold ruining your mood."

  Startled, she followed the nimble-footed young sailor across the gangplank onto the jetty, stepping from the pebbled beach onto this land seemingly frozen in time.

  The ground rustled beneath her feet. A thin, almost imperceptible mist drifted across the meadows as dew-laden trailing plants and weeds affectionately embraced her footsteps. The vegetation grew so densely that barely any soil clung to her shoes. Unrestrained trees and shrubs flourished wildly across the island. The pale spring morning sunlight filtered peacefully through the canopy, casting indistinct luminous patches as cold as moonlight. A breeze set the leaves whispering like clandestine murmurs.

  "Mind your step. I've never seen vegetation this dense anywhere. These grasses are sneaky rascals - trip you up when you least expect it," Geoffrey obsequiously advised.

  An overwhelming abundance of life, Yvette mused. The ground lay buried beneath layers of plants and their remnants, with last year's dead leaves and branches concealed under this season's verdant growth. Every step produced faint crackling sounds as desiccated twigs yielded beneath her weight.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  An absurd association surfaced: she trod upon shattered bones - the skeletons of deceased flora.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "Just ahead! Beyond these trees lies the island's blessed spring! Rinsing your belongings there transforms even common crafts into talismans that bring good fortune. Trust me, you won't be disappointed!" Geoffrey enthusiastically promoted.

  Beyond the trees? The perfect secluded spot for an ambush. Was this where the sailor planned to strike?

  Yvette maintained composure, following without comment.

  They entered an ancient oak grove filled with massive, gnarled trunks that seemed untouched since time immemorial - eternal monuments petrified against the passage of ages.

  At the grove's edge, the murmur of running water reached them. Geoffrey exclaimed excitedly and dashed toward the sound.

  "Mr. Fisher, this is the place!"

  Yvette approached leisurely to find Geoffrey removing his clothes.

  Noticing his employer's arrival, he chuckled sheepishly. "Got carried away! Forgot I should distance myself. Wouldn't want to offend your eyes with my nakedness! This spring truly works wonders. A sailor like me needs all the luck I can get - figured I'd dunk myself completely. I'll move along now. The purest springhead is right before you - perfectly safe for use. I'll bathe in that pool over there."

  Clutching his half-removed garments, he disappeared into oak-shrouded thickets.

  So not murder and robbery after all? Yvette's assessment appeared mistaken. Until moments ago, she'd resolved to rid society of this potential menace, only for the young sailor to voluntarily depart.

  Yet she sensed ulterior motives - purposes unrelated to herself.

  Could the spring hold answers?

  Yvette gazed into the crystalline water gushing from stone crevices. Sunlight danced upon tiny waves, scales of radiance luring her vision. Peering closer, she discerned distorted reflections of unfamiliar skies and rapacious forests with creeping tendrils.

  Was she becoming alien, or was it the world itself?

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply before reopening them. The vision had vanished, leaving only murmuring waters as though the impossible realm never existed.

  Transparent objects always exuded mystery, like gypsy crystal balls. These waters ran so clear that sunlight illuminated pebbles below like gemstones. No fish or waterfowl dwelled here. Upon closer inspection, she noticed metallic glints between stone cracks.

  What's this?

  Brushing aside pebbles revealed a flattened, heavily corroded copper cup beneath. The turquoise ornaments from its bezel had scattered among ordinary stones, yet surprisingly matched empty settings in number.

  Had someone intentionally crushed the cup by the spring? Otherwise, bezel distortion from flattening wouldn't have preserved decorations so intact.

  Investigating another peculiar stone cluster uncovered more: a jewel-encrusted broken horn, a shattered onyx amulet, a twisted silver bracelet.

  Confirmation solidified her theory. While other items might have broken accidentally, the silver bracelet certainly hadn't.

  Perhaps these were nature's offerings, destroyed to deter theft.

  [Never take treasures from sacred waters.]

  Aboard ship, Dr. Monis had alerted her to local archipelago taboos.

  Even without such warnings, respecting local customs was basic courtesy. Not needing wealth, she'd never pilfer obvious offerings.

  Could the spring truly possess the enchantment Geoffrey claimed?

  Rustling shrubs announced Geoffrey's return, his face beaming.

  "Mr. Fisher! Sorry for the wait - all done here. Would you like to stay longer?"

  "No, let's explore elsewhere."

  Apparently Geoffrey's only purpose had been blessing himself. Yvette noted subtle attitude shifts as he now compliantly led her about, casually describing island life rather than urgently pushing toward destinations.

  "You're truly staying overnight? Our ship departs before sunset. Though hermits provide visitors supper, it's just plain bread, vegetables, and fish - hardly fit for someone like you."

  "Necessary, I'm afraid. They only work and pray by day - my friend can only receive visitors after dark. Fortunately the scenery's splendid - a week's stay wouldn't bore me."

  "Stubborn hermits! Such beauty squandered! If not for their insistence on feeding visitors their meager fare, housing them in those shabby huts, and permitting fires only on Christmas in winter, genteel holidaymakers would overrun this place. Lucky you're visiting in spring - winter would be brutal."

  "I've heard...local islands observe certain customs. Like 'never take treasures from sacred waters' or 'never chase sanctuary beasts' - true?"

  Geoffrey's expression flickered briefly before cheerful laughter took over. "Those old tales...Heed them or not - makes no real difference...Ah! Look yonder - those must be the patients! The hermits actually trained them to tend cows!"

  From their hillside vantage, they observed fenced meadows below where cattle were being led between grazing plots. The grass grew remarkably well - grazing density exceeded any Yvette had seen, yet pastures remained lush and uneaten.

  Patients wore identical brown homespun as the hermits, hoodless. Some milked cows, others herded them, movements clumsy yet steadily progressing.

  Was Miss Thore among them?

  Conditions appeared superior to many London asylums - an ideal sanitarium, absent ice pick psychosurgery.

  Suddenly, one patient below seemed to sense their gaze, lifting his head from fieldwork to stare vacantly at Yvette.

  "Hehe..."

  "Hehe..." Another patient echoed mindlessly.

  "Scales...wiv scaly tails...la-la-la..." He pointed at Yvette, cavorting wildly.

  "The Scaled One...she comes."

  Watching the patients laugh foolishly and gesture excitedly toward her, Yvette responded with a friendly wave.