WHAT A NEWCOMER MIGHT BRING

April 2056

In a twist of irony that would only later become apparent, they were learning about the Irlas Dam confrontation when Sandy first arrived. Although it could be difficult being the teacher's daughter, Glesni admired her stepfather, Tom, for telling the story in a way that held the attention of all nine in the older class. Yet however convincingly he told it, she struggled to believe that this violent incident back in 2036 - twenty years ago! - was real. The wider civil war that it heralded also felt like a distant tragedy in another world, yet she was aware that several of the adults were here on Ynys Hudol because of it.

Tom said it was common knowledge that the Irlas Dam bomb was a stitch-up, designed to brand all those occupying the doomed village as terrorists. Most of them, and the activists who came after them, were effectively silenced, many eventually dying in jail. Glesni wondered how this would be taught on the mainland. Would Tom have been imprisoned, too, for teaching the whole Irlas Dam incident, bomb and all, as a deliberate government infiltration of a peaceful protest, in order to incite an independence war that they knew Cymru could never win?

As they left the school building for lunch, she saw Gwylan making her way down the track towards the small harbour. Despite her aura of calm authority, the community's current co-leader was striding out faster than usual. The jetty was concealed from view by a rise in the land, but the sea beyond looked choppy, a dark bank of cloud gathering on the horizon. Glesni thought of Taid out there checking the tidal turbines and began to worry.

A few more people passed in the direction of the jetty, and she hurried down to the track.

'What's going on?' she called, her words falling over themselves like her feet on the slope as she ran towards her mam.

Helyg turned to her. 'Sounds like your Taid's rescued more than the faulty turbine,' she said with a familiar hint of disapproval. 'Someone saw him towing a boat.'

Trying not to betray her eagerness and run ahead, Glesni joined the trickle of people, fast becoming a stream, down to the water's edge.

Stopping on a rise above the stone jetty, she saw the community's boat, Berta, towing another that looked so run-down it was a miracle it was still afloat. She could see Taid as a shadowy presence in Berta's cabin and imagined him standing tall and straight as he always did, his agility belying his seventy-three years and pronounced limp. A woman in a flimsy waterproof jacket sat on the deck of the second boat, her red, curly hair blowing out in all directions, even at this distance looking sullen. Or maybe seasick.

As they neared the quieter waters of the little bay, Taid veered away, heading beyond the rocky promontory that sheltered it. The woman stood, calling something Glesni couldn't catch. He stopped the motor and let the boats drift as he went astern to try and explain. The two boats eventually moved out of view behind the promontory, heading towards the inaccessible islet that was the Quarantine Rock. Glesni moved across the hillside until the Rock came into view. She felt sorry for the poor woman, since she'd be there on her own for a couple of weeks at least.

Glesni was doubly annoyed: not only had she not been allowed to go out with Taid to bring in the faulty turbine for repair, but she'd missed the chance to be a part of this, the first arrival of a stranger since her friend Tahira and her family were washed up on their shores four years ago. No doubt she'd meet the new woman in due course, but growing up in the shadow of her pretty, confident older sister Haf meant she'd have relished the opportunity to help Taid bring her in.

It seemed to take an age for him to sort the woman out, gesticulating while keeping a safe distance. Glesni didn't envy him that part: confining the newcomer to the desolate Quarantine Rock.

Strange to think there'd been a discussion and a vote about it only a few days ago. Protective of their community but unwilling to appear hostile, the Seeders salved their consciences with the knowledge of the rain- and windtight bothy, fully stocked with essentials and a few home comforts. From time to time between the increasingly rare arrivals, when the weather was calm and the sea as innocent as a meadow of breeze-rippled grass, they would take the boat over to the Rock and stock up, making sure the place was kept habitable for the next visitor. Or for their own people after they'd been on one of the infrequent foraging trips to the mainland. That made it seem fairer, somehow.

As if there were some collective knowledge in the air that another arrival was due, the matter had been discussed at the last weekly Gathering. A wet winter and rogue late frost had played havoc with their spring crops and there was a strong prospect of another drought this year. Had the time come to abandon the Rock and use its tinned and dried provisions? Whether it was an even more deadly strain of the flu virus or this new pandemic that was emerging in a cloud of antibiotic resistance and sweeping its way around the globe, wouldn't they be able to tell if a new arrival was a carrier? Didn't their principles compel them to extend a hand of welcome?

The vote had been only narrowly in favour of keeping the Quarantine Rock. The margins reduced every time. Those who had experienced the waves of zoonotic pandemics and their aftermath on the mainland had no doubts about upholding the system. For some of the younger ones, who knew nothing but island life, compassion was stronger than fear. Compassion or no, in favour they voted. Glesni looked back at the growing crowd watching from the jetty. Though the newcomer had her sympathy, she was sure they'd all be relieved.

Back on the Rock, the woman was standing in front of the sign, apparently resigned to her fate. Written bilingual instructions at the landing point invited new arrivals to make themselves at home for the quarantine period. At one stage, someone had pointed out that the system assumed the unfortunates could read and understand Welsh or English, the island's languages; their best artist, Cerys, had added simple but expressive diagrams to the sign. There was a system of flags for signalling. If they wanted to leave, their boat would be returned to them; otherwise, it was kept on the jetty of Ynys Hudol itself, no doubt as a precaution to stop them from sneaking across and infecting the community in the middle of the night. Many of the Seeder community members, including Glesni herself, were uncomfortable with the system, hence the sporadic debates about the quarantine, but a carrier of disease would be bound to devastate their small population. Some islanders had contracted and survived one or other of the pandemics in the past, or had up-to-date vaccinations at the time they came, but no one knew how effective any of it was against what a newcomer might bring. And unless they had a miracle natural immunity, the island's children were a clean slate.

Glesni made her way down to the jetty in time to see Taid pull up with the stranger's boat in tow. The crowd were keeping a respectful distance, their wariness of someone who'd been close to a quarantined newcomer stronger than curiosity. She even heard someone mutter that he should have stayed on the Quarantine Rock himself after being in contact. Glancing at her mam, Glesni moved past them to help Taid tie the boats up. Gwylan was ahead of her and gestured her to stay clear. Her look, combined with Taid's reassuring smile, succeeded in holding her back.

Glesni was close enough to detect his irritation as he assured Gwylan, from a safe distance, that of course he hadn't been in contact with the stranger or any of her possessions - he'd thrown her the rope and he was now using a different one to secure the boat - let alone got close enough to breathe the same air as her. His protestations seemed to satisfy Gwylan, though she insisted he wore a face covering and isolated until the matter had been fully discussed at an emergency Gathering to be held that evening.

Forbidden from approaching, Glesni busied herself in the paddock close by the little harbour, coaxing one of their sturdy ponies into the harness of the cart that would be needed to bring the faulty turbine back to the workshop. She took comfort in his warm, homely smell and the feel of his tangled mane. Handling one or other of the small, semi-wild cobs was one way she could truly be useful to Taid, who was wary of the ponies. It brought solace to her now as she parked the cart at a safe distance instead of giving Taid her usual hug.

The crowd parted to let him through and he glanced at Glesni with a mischievous look in his eyes above the mask. He set off up the track, leading rein in one hand, walking stick in the other, and she followed him at a safe distance, until they met Haf and her friend Angharad coming towards them. By the time Glesni had stopped to tell them the news, pleased that for once she was a step ahead of her sister, Taid was well on the way to his workshop and cottage. She paused, and turned to look at the Quarantine Rock, feeling a brief pang of hostility and fear towards the woman, before chiding herself that it...