The Island Where Time Stands Still | Sleep Fiction Series

Hello, Jeffrey here, and welcome back to Night Falls. I've got a quick favour to ask. If you're enjoying the show, please do share it with friends and family. We can help them sleep better, and it helps the show a huge amount. Over summer, I read a wonderful book called Cersei, all about the goddess of witchcraft and her banishment to a Greek island, Eia. I was transported into the myths themselves, but also to the heady dreaminess of Greece, a buzz with cicadas, intense heat, and in the case of Cersei's visitors, the occasional pig. It may be winter, but I want to transport you to that warmth tonight with Cersei and Toe. I'm going to tell you about the time the path of time carried my friends and me across the Aegean Sea. We set sail aboard a little boat bound for Icaria, the island where time itself seems to slow down. Under the golden sun and starlit skies, we found rest, friendship, and even the true story of Icarus, discovering how a simple, unhurried life can be the greatest adventure of all. Before we begin, here's the quick ad break that keeps this free content possible, to go ad free, subscribe via the link in the show notes. I'm going to be completely ad free, giving you stories to escape into, meditations to steady you, and hypnosis to help you switch off. 30 days gives you space to try something different and find your own rhythm at night. This extended trial ends on March 16th and it won't be available again for some time, so if this feels like the right moment to take your night seriously, tap Try Free in Apple Podcasts or use the link in the show notes before the weekend. There's no better week to choose rest, I'll be here when you're ready. Alright, now back to night falls. The path of time wound back through the woodland. Pine needles rustled and crunched beneath my feet as we journeyed back through the year, walking steadily toward the summer sun that set months ago, the gentle heat we hadn't felt in moons, and the blues of the Aegean we had all but forgotten. I could almost taste the salt in the air when the path opened out on a creaking wooden dock. It groaned beneath my feet as my friends and I trod carefully toward the boat we would be chartering for the afternoon. Its name, Thalassa, was printed in bold blue letters on its bow. It's the Greek word for sea. Cersei whispered as she passed by me, placed a hand on my shoulder and used it to steady herself as she climbed aboard. I didn't do much sailing as a boy, I didn't do any at all really. Devani had grown up beside a lake and assured me that she was a dab hand when it came to mooring and unmoring, coming alongside and taking down top sails. She was confident enough in her abilities that she took up residence behind the steering wheel before anyone else could and donned a white cap and a black brim and golden trim that automatically made her captain. Thalassa's an interesting name she mused as she checked over the controls at the helm. It's the Greek word for sea. I was a little too quick to supply her with the information and Cersei hid a sly smile but kept my secret. When Devani, who was much cleverer than I could ever claim to be, called my Greek impressive, I made a mental note to thank the demigodess for throwing me a bone when we got back to the falls. Alistair seemed to know his way around a rudder and having survived those waters when Scylla and the Sirens made them much more treacherous to navigate, Cersei knew better than anyone how to navigate the Aegean. With only the sun as her guide, a rough sense of the time and a feeling that we might have been docked somewhere on the coast of Turquia, she gave Devani the coordinates to begin steering us toward Acaria, the island where time stands still. It was wonder who suggested we take a trip to one of Greece's lesser known islands. The harvest had been tough on us all. We had dedicated weeks to cutting and pickling, plucking and jarring fruits for the colder months. When winter had finally drawn in, it had done nothing to ease our exhaustion. There is something about the summer heat that has muscles relaxing and releasing, thoughts clearing and calm filtering into the body. We were long overdue a moment to unravel and wind down and in one of the many books Wanda had buried her nose in that week, Acaria had been described as beautiful, verdant and vibrant. The writer painted it as a place where time had all but ground to a halt and I hoped they hadn't been taking too much poetic license, for I could think of nothing better than a moment to simply be. I had nothing to do and nowhere in particular to be and I was quite intent on keeping it that way. Acaria is one of the oldest living populations in the world, thanks to the rich fruits and vegetables that grow on trees and gardens, groves and the long pathways. The slow pace of life and the residents commitment to stressing less had done much for their longevity, so much so that the island had even been awarded Blue's Own Status. In Acaria, I'll be there at 5pm, can be taken to mean I'll see you around 6, and being late is no big deal when everyone else will be too. Wanda, who was when perhaps a little more tightly than the rest of us, was long over due a moment to loosen the screws, stretch out and relax. As she settled under the sunshade at the back of the boat that afternoon, kicked off her sandals and stretched her legs out, she looked more at ease than I'd seen her in months. The wind was fair, the waters were calm, and the journey towards Acaria was an easy one. We had just passed Seimos when I asked Cersei, how long until we make port? Another 10 miles or so, she hummed, chin propped on the hand railing as she looked out over the aquamarine waters. And how long will that take? Lyra, whose sea legs had never fully developed, pressed. In this wind, Alistair licked the tip of his finger and held it aloft his head, about an hour and a half. Lyra flopped down beside Wanda on the sofa and tried her best not to complain too much, as one island drifted out of view, and she watched the horizon eagerly for the next sign of land. Wanda, who had poured herself a crisp glass of wine, tuned out Lyra's complaint, flipped open her book, and began to read. Is there anything I can do to help? I asked Avani, and she didn't take her eyes off the horizon when she said, I have seen your attempt at a half hitch before. As though my misguided attempts to tie the knot the last time we pitched a tent together were enough to take me out of the running for first mate. Can I steer? I asked. Absolutely not, she laughed. Shall I be in charge of dropping the anchor? Perhaps not, she grinned, and with the golden sun at her back, I could have sworn she was glowing. Go and sit down, she nodded toward the back of the boat, where Wanda and Lyra were wiling away the day. This is supposed to be a relaxing trip. We don't need you steering us off course, or keeling the boats over. I joined Wanda and Lyra at the back of the boat, stretching out on the wooden deck, and soaking in the sunshine whilst they wound down in the shade. Every once in a while, the boat would bob with a little too much enthusiasm, and Lyra would white-knuckle the table in front of her, glaring at Avani as if she were responsible for any rough seas we found ourselves traversing. Had we had the misfortune of running into any pirates, I was certain they would have described Lyra as a land-lubber. Thankfully, the path of time had not sent us quite so far back that afternoon. The rest of us did our best not to fuss over the way Lyra's teacup slid across the table every 10 when she forgot to keep hold of it, and the brew sloshed around with every bob of the boat. Lyra didn't seem pleased until we finally saw Ikaria on the horizon, but Wanda, who pinched the stem of her wineglass delicately and balanced a book on her lap, looked very much at ease drifting across the Aegean. Sailing rather suits you, Alistair regarded her as he shifted the rudder very slightly and the boat turned toward the tip of the island. Something like a smile wound its way into Wanda's features, but she didn't look up from her book as she took another sip from her glass. The book Wanda had been reading the week prior went to great lengths to capture the island's beauty, but the slew of flowery words and slow descriptions had somehow fallen short. As we made our approach, I decided that Ikaria's beauty was unparalleled. Unlike the Greek islands I had visited before, it was verdant and mountainous. There were a thousand different shades of green, and I didn't have the words to describe half of them. We had made our approach to Ayos Kerikos, where white stone buildings crowded around the coast, and pink flowers climbed across facades, rooftops, and tangled above terraces to offer shade on the warmest of days. It wasn't particularly adventurous of me, but had we pulled into that harbour and wild away the day there, I wouldn't have minded. It was Cersei who knew that island, and all the rest better than any of us, who suggested sailing around the coast to the other side of the island. It won't take long, she promised Lyra, and you're already through the worst of it. The worst of what? Lyra squinted into the sun to get a look at Cersei. Even Homer wrote about the rough seas of the Ikarian main, she explained, and Lyra blanched. You won't find many waves elsewhere in the Aegean, but here the wind blows the swell all year long, and the sun catches on the white horses as it sets over the horizon. It's quite beautiful really. Cersei smiled fondly at the thought. I suppose we wouldn't want to miss that, wonder agreed, looking up from her book momentarily. Devani, Alastair and I were in agreement, and we looked to Lyra for permission to turn the boat and take the detour. I'm going to sleep, she grumbled. Wake me up when we get there. Leaning back into the soft cushions behind her, and pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, she resigned herself to sleep. Alastair took him one of the sails so we could slow up and cut a steadier course around the coast. Even with the white houses huddled above the coves along the coastline, Ikaria was so vastly different from the Greek islands I had come to know. There was nothing arid about it, and the further I looked up into the mountains, the richer nature became. We drew close enough to the coast that I could make out the roads winding around the outside of the mountains. They reminded me of the roads that weave around the Amalfi coast, and I could just imagine driving across the island, the sea glittering on my left, the mountains climbing higher and higher up to the heavens on my right. I liked the idea of it, but in practice, those plans might not have suited me particularly well. Drives like that were a joy for some, and dreaded by others. I knew myself well enough by that afternoon to be rather grateful I was sitting in the boat hundreds of feet below, bobbing on the water beneath the cliffs the roads were cut into, and evading hairpin bends in a hire car with no beams and a brake system I couldn't put my full faith in. We rounded the coast to find that the other side of the island was even more rugged. There are only around 8,000 people living in the entirety of Ikaria, and as we neared one of the golden beaches, it showed. I borrowed the binoculars that hung around Davani's neck to get a closer look at the soft golden sands. There were a few sunbeds and umbrellas dotted across the beach, but the sands themselves were empty. A boy sat on the set of steps leading up to a restaurant that looked as though it could have been carved into the mountainside by hand hundreds of years ago. He wore a cash belt and a t-shirt with the name of the restaurant printed across it. He doodled in his notepad, and every once in a while he would scan the beach and look a little less inspired by his surroundings each time. It was as though the charms of his workplace had very much worn off. I wasn't sure how much time had passed when a woman lugging her beach bag and wearing an obnoxiously wide brimmed hat settled on a sunlanger beneath one of the umbrellas, but the young man was quick to come to his feet. He wondered the length of the beach toward her. He rummaged in his cash belt for a change, having charged her for the benefit of the bed and the umbrella, and, seeming a little less lost, he returned to the restaurant. He took the steps up the mountainside two at a time, proudly handing a woman who could easily have been his great, great grandmother the notes from his belt. She ruffled his hair, smiled widely, and shuffled over to the till, where she tucked the euros away. When he returned to his perch at the foot of the steps, the boy looked a little less annoyed to be watching the waves wash in and out, and content enough to have simply made his grandmother smile. Alistair dropped the anchor, and I watched as the chain unraveled. The boat came to a stop and bobbed gently in the waters of that cove. Shall we take a dip? Devani asked, stepping away from the helm. You go ahead, wonder yawn, coming to her feet. Making a few short, slumped steps out into the sun, and stretching out in the afternoon heat. Lyra, Alistair, nudged her shoulder gently. We're here. When her eyes finally adjusted and she came to, Lyra was pleased to see him, but not pleased enough that she would be willing to abandon her slumber. She waved Alistair off. Wake me up for dinner. I'm exhausted, she explained, before she settled into sleep once more. Alistair, who was generally a little more stoic than the rest of us, had something of a soft spot for Lyra. He pulled the canopy above her a little further out to make sure she was tucked away in the shade, before settling on the bench beside her feet, and taking his own book out. I'll join you, I promise, Devani, and her eyes lit up. Soon, we were diving over the edge of the boat, snorkelling goggles at the ready. The sea floor was dusted with sand, and fish seemed to gather around the few rocks that were there. We might have ventured over to them, but just beneath the boat's hull, a pair of turtles drifted lazily through the blue. There was something so sleepy about the way they moved through the water, as though at any moment they might curl up inside their shells and drift off for the night. Turtles live so long, as opposed to its little wonder they always appear exhausted. Devani and I kept our distance, but followed them steadily into the shore. As we swam, I felt the water washing across my skin, easing the tension out of my shoulders, and calming the chaos within. Below the waterline, where it seems as if sound can't travel too far, I've always found peace in droves. By the time the turtles changed course and drifted back into the abyss, we were almost at the shore. We made our way in and stretched out beneath the sun. Over the years, I'd grown so accustomed to sleeping on the beach in night falls, that something about sinking back into soft sand, sent me straight to sleep. As I lay there, drying off, I was quite content to snooze the remainder of the afternoon away. I only awoke because I could feel a shadow settle over my skin. You're in my sun, I muttered, cracking my head. You're in my sun, I muttered, cracking my eyes open, despite the culprit making me cold. You can't sleep through the day, Lyra chided, knowing full well she had done just the same. We were thinking it might be time for a spot of dinner. Care to join us? She asked, as she threaded her arm through one of the holes. I said, I'd love to, but I'll have to swim back for some clothes. No need. Lyra deposited a bag at my feet. We brought some over for you on the pedalboard. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of her trying to stay balanced on the pedalboard. I pulled the t-shirt over my head, and Davani slipped into the sundress Lyra had picked out for her. As we wandered up the beach together, I decided there was no one else in the world I would rather be sharing the evening with. We set up camp on the restaurant terrace, and the waitress brought over a carafe of the house wine. I poured out a glass for each of us, as sea blues softened beneath the sunset. It felt like no time at all before the dark of night was sweeping in and drawing the day away with it. The stars showed themselves not long after, and sitting on that little terrace, nestled into the side of the mountain, I felt closer to the cosmos than I ever had. Feeling sunned from my sleep on the beach, I ran my fingertips over the back of Davani's hand, and watched as the salt clinging to her skin fell away. Is it called Ikaria after Ikoras? she asked Cersei distractedly, leaning back in her chair. Cersei nodded, taking a chunk of fresh bread from the basket in the middle of the table. I'm sure you already know the story, she said, before taking a bite. Ikoras flew too close to the sun, wonder couldn't help herself. So he did, Cersei nodded warmly, covering her mouth with the hand as she ate. And he was born here supposedly, Lyra gathered, lathering butter onto her bread. No, after the wax melted and his wings would no longer hold together, he fell into the sea, not far from here. Cersei explained. In the stories you might have heard, she began. Ikoras and his father, a brilliant craftsman called Daedalus, were banished to a tower out at sea as punishment for having helped Theseus escape the labyrinth that Daedalus built for King Minos to entrap the infamous Minotaur. The labyrinth was the jewel in Minos' crown, and in helping to free his greatest rival from within its walls, Daedalus had undermined the king's authority to no end. It certainly survived the ages, but that version of the story overlooks the fact that Daedalus and Ikoras sailed to that isolated tower themselves, and they cut the rope that tethered their boat to the rocks on purpose. Back when Zeus's word was law, life was lived in black and white. There was good and bad, right and wrong, happy and sad, and nothing in between. Daedalus created the labyrinth that Minos' people feared more than anything, and when he saw that he might have been wrong to do it, he helped show them how its walls were. His change of course meant he could be neither the hero nor the villain of his story, and it wasn't long before he decided that a life away from the reaches of Olympus, where everything he did could be chalked up as good or bad, might suit him and his son a little better. Ikoras was young and impressionable, and Daedalus didn't want his son to make the same mistakes he had. He wanted the boy to be able to think for himself and make decisions that felt right to him, even if they didn't make him popular. With the wings his father made for him, Ikoras did fly too close to the sun, but he also flew too close to the sea, and a lot of the time he flew somewhere in between, because he could. Outside of Greece, away from the ever-judging eyes of the gods, Ikoras was free to do as he pleased. Without the pressure to be a hero, Ikoras was free to enjoy the peaks and troughs of life. Perhaps most importantly, he was allowed to indulge in the middling moments, the banality, the mundane morning, and eventless afternoons. Cersei smiled. So he did fly too close to the sun, or he didn't, wonder pressed, hoping her history books hadn't betrayed her. He did. On purpose, Cersei explained. When the wax finally melted, Ikoras dove down into the sea and he swam to shore. He and Daedalus had been so content with the fact that he had found an unpeopled island, they made it their home, and built a life that felt true to them. Life in Ikaria is simple, slow, uncomplicated, and unhurried, because that is how Daedalus and Ikoras designed it. Back on the boat, in the moments before I drifted off to sleep that night, I realized that Ikoras and his father's desire to live on their own terms wasn't all that different to my journey toward a life in the Falls. Granted, I hadn't entrapped a Minotaur, disobeyed an ancient king, fashioned a set of wings out of wax and feathers, or taught myself to fly, but there were other parallels to be drawn between our stories. I took a deep breath in, feeling the boat bobbing gently beneath me, and as I sighed out in relief, I slipped into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. We'll leave our story there for tonight, I hope you enjoyed hearing about Daedalus and Ikoras, and maybe you could feel some of the warmth of Ikaria. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams. Sleep well and sweet dreams.