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Ista stood on the prow of her father’s ship and stared across the choppy grey waters at the island that approached. It was cool but windy, and the swirling breeze added edge to the temperature that bit through Ista’s woollen dress. It looked as though it might rain.

“I’m doing this for you, my child.” Ista’s father approached and stood beside her looking across the sea.

“Most girls are sent to convents.” Ista commented. Her father frowned at her. Her attitude towards authority and her lack of respect were something he had hoped would leave her upon gaining maturity, but that didn’t seem to be so.

“Aye, well. You are not most girls, my Ista. You will be duchess some day, perhaps even a lady in waiting to the Queen!”

“If you left me at court I might be the queen, daddy.” Ista replied sweetly, grey-green eyes not leaving the island before her.

“Enough.” Her father shook her head. “This island will be perfect for you. It’s on my main trading route so I may come see you often, and bring you supplies and everything else you might need.”

“What about a house?” Ista snarked. The island was much closer now, and she could see it clearly. It was very tall; the cliffs rose out of the ocean and at the top Ista could just see a green haze which she assumed was grass.

“This will teach you skills no other girl at court will have, Ista.” Her father continued. “Self-sufficiency. Independence. You will never depend on a man for anything.”

“I’m sure my future husband, provided one will take me, will deeply appreciate that.” Ista turned from the island to face her father. “There is no need to make this anything more than it is, papa. I angered Lady Marlow, whose father has significant influence at court. You’re sending me away so I don’t cause any more trouble and so all may see you punishing me for my behaviour. Also, leaving me here keeps me out of the way of any long reaching strings of intrigue that I might get involved in.” She paused. “And I very much doubt any convent would take me. Especially at the no doubt paltry price you offered.”

“Ista!” Her father snapped, finally at the end of his tether. “That is enough! Go below deck and prepare yourself, we will anchor and disembark shortly.” Ista stared at her father, then swallowed hard before brushing past him and heading below deck to do as he said.

Ista was fifteen. She’d been at court for two years and had already made something of a name for herself, which probably contributed to her father’s decision to exile her like this. She was considered very pretty, with her long red curls, pale skin and slim figure, but she had a temper that she did not always control as she should. She also preferred boys sports, such as weapons, horseriding and general running about to what was considered more ladylike, such as needlework, formal teas and the primping that went with having to keep up fashionable appearances in court. She didn’t care, she was sure she’d be much happier as one of the servants at court than as one of the ladies. But a girl must play the cards she was dealt.

Unfortunately, she was now being dealt cards that spelt exile until a time when her father saw fit to return her, if ever. Her mother had been dead for most of Ista’s life, so Ista couldn’t even entreat her to make her father see reason. It was only herself and her father and brother now, and brother dearest was at war, making the kingdom and court proud.

Goodness forbid she tarnish the name.

“Weigh anchor!” Ista heard the call from above with a sigh and tucked her few belongings into her trunk and shut the lid, wrapping her cloak around her and securing her red curls with a clip to keep them out of her face. Then she sat on the bed, folded her hands in her lap, and waited, paying close attention to her breathing to prevent her thinking. She could feel tears pricking but she would not cry in front of all these sailors, though she knew many of them sympathised with her. Only a few nights ago she’d been on deck, looking at the stars, when the night watch had come up to her.

“You’re the lady Ista?” He asked softly, coming to stand next to her. He was very tall, and darkly tanned. His cheek was scarred but his blue eyes glittered in the dim light.

“There aren’t any other ladies on this ship.” Ista had replied, looking back to the sea.

“He’s really going to leave you on the island?” The watch had continued. She’d nodded.

“Looks like.”

“That’s not right. Beggin’ your pardon, lady, but no father should leave his daughter alone on an island.”

“No.” Ista had agreed, and they’d stood in silence until her father had found her, and once below, he had given her a thorough scolding.

“It is behaviour like that which is the reason I feel this is my only option!” He had ranted. “Talking to a common sailor!”

“He’s still a human being, papa.” She’d replied. “He may speak and listen the same as everyone else.” Her father had given that impatient huff of breath he did whenever he felt she was missing the point entirely, had muttered something about propriety, and sent her to bed.

“Ista?” Her father knocked quietly on the door and stuck his head around. “We’re here and ready to disembark, if you’re ready.” Ista gave a weak smile and stood, standing back as two sailors came in to take her trunk above deck. “I hope you understand.”

“Of course, papa.” She replied softly, not looking at him as she followed the sailors out. Her father sighed behind her, but didn’t try to speak to her again, merely following her in silence.

Above deck it was too quiet. Not silent, by any means, but the normal shouting of the sailors had been quieted to soft words, and Ista swallowed. She felt like one of the tragic heroines in the novels she occasionally read, as they crossed the gallows in silence to the rope before their death. That’s how she felt now, as though she were going to her death. She was a pampered, wealthy fifteen year old girl. She knew nothing about caring for herself on a wild island in the middle of nowhere, and chances were she’d die of starvation before another of her father’s ships passed. And what if it was pouring with rain? How would she deal with the inevitable bad weather or tropical storms or anything? How was she going to stay alive?

The sailors were giving her furtive glances as she crossed the deck, and suddenly struck with an idea, she quickly scrambled onto one of the crates ready to be taken off the ship.

“I’d just like to say thank you.” She said clearly, in a voice trained from singing and speaking lessons. “I’ve never been on a ship before but I’ve heard of the horrors and you have made this journey quite manageable.” She smiled engagingly and there were a few chuckles. Her father was staring at her aghast at her conduct; again. Well, she wouldn’t be his problem for too much longer now. “You’ve all been quite decent and friendly folk to me.”

She hopped down from the crate and headed for the rowboat as though nothing had happened. But where there had once been an ominous quiet as she had walked across the ship there were now soft whispers for good luck and safety and one soldier even pressed his talisman into her hand. She didn’t have time to refuse so she merely thanked him as she was hustled away, holding the gold charm tightly in her hand. He’d worn that charm every minute she’d seen him, and she’d do him the same favour. But not while her father could see, like as not he’d take it from her. Well, this was her island, with her rules, and as soon as her father had gone she’d make it so.

Perhaps this whole independence thing could work.

The rowboats had to navigate some tricky reefs before they came ashore on a slightly gravely beach. She was helped out by sailors and she waited patiently as her things were unloaded.

“Be careful, lady Ista.” A sailor had scurried up to her. “Hear tell the island is haunted.”

“Oh? By what?” Ista asked curiously.

“Ista!” she turned and saw her father standing at the base of a winding path that worked its way up the cliff and she smiled at the sailor with quick thanks before she followed him up the path. Halfway up she was gasping and her legs were burning, unaccustomed to such exercise. When she finally reached the stop and stood on the grass, she couldn’t help but gasp and smile.

The island was beautiful. She stood on the cliffs on the north side, and in front of her the ground sloped down and flattered out. There was a thick clump of trees growing in the centre of the island, and there was presumably a spring of some sort in amongst them. There were boulders scattered around at random intervals, and a small circle of stone pillars on the eastern side. She could see the entire perimeter of the island from where she stood, with the exception of where the trees blocked her view. It was beautiful.

“Do you like it, Ista?” Her father asked. “I don’t want this to be too hard for you.” Ista looked at him and saw he was nearly close to tears, and that was enough. She flung herself into his arms.

“I don’t want to be left here!” She cried out, sobbing uncontrollably. “I promise I’ll behave, and I’ll be good and I’ll never disobey you again, just-“

“Ista.” Her father gently extracted himself from her frantic hug. “It’s for the best, my darling. And it isn’t for forever, just a few years.”

“What if you forget about me?” Ista whispered.

“I shall miss you every day you are gone, my dearest.” Her father promised. Ista swallowed and scrubbed at her tears as she saw the sailors starting to come up the path with her belongings and the six sheep her father was leaving her with. There were also several crates of non-perishable foods, and one of crockery so she wouldn’t have to craft her own crude bowls.

“Let’s leave things in the trees.” Ista said, pulling herself together. “That way it’ll give me shelter until I can sort something more permanent out.”

“You’ve got several more weeks of good weather.” Her father promised, helping her take the sheep from the sailors and leading three each down the grassy hill to the trees. “So make the most of it.”

“Alright.” She nodded. “Is the weather in this part of the sea good?”

“Usually, but occasionally there are some unpredictable storms. Keep yourself and the sheep in the trees and you should be safe.” Her father nodded, looking concerned briefly but masking it with a smile. “It’ll be an adventure, Ista, like you said you always wanted.”

“I never seriously wanted adventure.” Ista commented, tying the sheep’s leads to a low branch on the edge of the wood. “I just found needlework and gossip so dull.”

“Well, now you shall have to suffer neither.” Her father said brightly, surveying her island with his hands on his hips. All of her things had been brought up and were tucked just inside the treeline, and the sailors stood around, awaiting orders.

“There is no reason for you to stay.” Ista whispered. “If everything is here. And you need to get back for the tide.” Her father smiled at her, drawing her close and kissing her forehead.

“Be brave, little Ista.” He commented, and she held his hand as they all trooped down to the beach and the waiting rowboats. He hugged her one last time before releasing her and climbing into one of the boats, and she stood on the sandy beach, watching as the boats were pushed out and slowly rowed away, returning the sailors and her father to the ship which floated beyond the reefs. She fastened the gold talisman around her neck and as her hands dropped back to her sides the reality of it hit her.

So it had truly happened. She’d truly been left here.

Ista felt a strange sort of emptiness, a kind of shock at the reality of it. She closed her eyes tightly, willing it away, but the sound of the gulls and the feel of the sun on her face never faded, and when she opened them again the rowboats were gone and the ship seemed more distant, and she was still alone on the beach.

With a resigned sigh, Ista turned and headed back up the path to the top of the cliffs, where she stood again, taking in the view. This was hers, and it was her life. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be frightened or elated. Instead she turned to the west and began a walk around the island, following the cliff line and acquainting herself with the geography of the island. On the south side the trees grew right up to the cliff edge, as though half the ground had fallen into the sea and left the trees behind. She pushed through the brush near the cliff edge and found the wood clean and healthy. She stepped through it and found herself soon on the other side and then continued her walk.

She made it around the island in several hours, by which time the sun was setting. The sheep seemed perfectly happy to graze and bleat at each other, but as each minute passed and then sun set lower, Ista felt fear creeping up on her. What if there was something in the woods she didn’t know about? Was the island really haunted as the sailor had said? How on earth was she going to survive?

Before it was totally dark she made a protective circle of the crates around the trunk of a tree, wrapped herself in her cloak and a blanket, and leaned her back against the trunk and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. It took her a long time: the sound of the trees was unfamiliar to her, and the occasional bleating of the sheep seemed to wake her every time she dozed off. But finally, she did, and she dreamed of stone circles and mazes and a lilting pipe melody.

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Please tell me what you think, I think this could turn out well. Openheadspace, thanks so much for the review, you’re my first ever reviewer for this story! Nannon