The Promise

Once there lived a girl in a forest. The forest was deep and secret, full of shade and light, cool streams and fragrant meadows. Mists clung oddly to rough tree trunks, and moss grew lushly green.

The girl was tall and slender, graceful as a deer, with a strength that belied her willowy frame. She was truly a girl no longer, but in many ways she felt a girl still. And as there was no one to tell her otherwise, in her own mind, “the girl” she was.

Sometimes, she felt as though there was more to herself than she knew, more than “the girl,” but though the feeling tickled and niggled at her deep in the night, it never turned into more than a sudden wakening in the dark, heart pounding, breath quickened, and a void in her heart where a dream should be.

The girl was out foraging, picking plump berries from a dense patch of tangled brambles. She placed a small handful in her basket beside clusters of pale mushrooms and bunches of late, bitter greens. The next few she popped in her mouth and smiled as the heavy sweetness burst on her tongue. It wouldn’t be long before these last, late berries were spent, and the sweetness was no longer to be had.

She shivered. The light in the forest was swiftly fading. It was time to go.

The girl gathered a few more handfuls of berries and left the rest for the denizens of the forest. She tied her basket tightly closed and slung it over her shoulder so as to free her arms. The thick woolen fabric of her cloak bunched under the basket, keeping it from digging into her back. Weary in the way that only those who work hard are weary, she took a deep breath and started down the path that would take her home.

Home.

A small cottage, tidy, cozy, filled with the detritus of her life and the treasures from her woodland rambles. She provided for herself, and had done so for as long as she could remember.

The girl shifted her basket on her shoulder, settling it more comfortably as she walked. Night slipped quickly out of the shadows and the cold nipped at her skin, sending her snuggling deeper into the warm folds of her cloak. When she spotted the familiar outlines of her cottage against the trees, a sigh of relief misted white in the air.

She stopped, no more than a dozen strides from her door, brow furrowed. Something was strange. Something didn't look right.

There.

On her front step. The familiar silhouette was contorted, twisted, wrong.

The girl slipped her hunting knife out of its sheath and held it at the ready, hands low. She approached quietly, heart racing, eyes wide.

Nothing moved. A breeze rustled the treetops, sending flurries of leaves spinning to the ground. She crept closer and the darkness shifted.

It was an owl.

A very large barn owl with white and silver feathers sprawled on her front step, eyes closed, one wing thrown wide.

Owls didn't sprawl, did they?

The girl frowned, resheathed her knife, and stepped carefully closer to the bird. It seemed to be in pain. Even as she watched, it shivered and gave a piteous mew. It tried to pull its wing in, but jerked to a stop. The girl had crept close enough that she could see why. The owl had a large thorn, a thorn almost the length of her hand and the thickness of her little finger, stuck in its wing.

The girl knew that she should not touch the owl. Owls were strong and wild, and no wild thing suffers the touch of a human lightly. Still, she couldn't stand to see the bird in pain when she might be able to help it.

She set her basket down, then took off her cloak and used it to gently pick the owl up. The bird stirred and thrashed weakly. The girl waited a moment, watching, then used the corners of her cloak to wrap the talons of the owl and to tuck the unharmed wing closely to the owl's body. The owl seemed to know she was trying to help. It stopped thrashing, and, instead, snuggled into the warm folds of the girl's cloak.

The girl took the thorn in her hand. She glanced apprehensively at the owl, but it made no move to lash out at her. It made no move to do anything, which worried the girl even further. Quickly, she pulled the thorn free. A single red drop welled from the wound. The girl blotted it with a handkerchief, pulled hastily from her pocket.

Gently, she set the owl down, cloak and all. But the owl still showed no sign of stirring.

The girl chewed her lip thoughtfully. She stepped around the bird and opened the door to her home.

She upturned her basket on the table, and set it, now empty, beside her as she crouched at her hearth. With brisk motions she struck a flint to light the fire she'd left laid in the fireplace. After she was sure it had caught and would continue to burn, she went back outside and gathered up the bird, still in her cloak, and brought it inside. She set it down in the basket by the fire and sat on her bed, settling in to wait and watch.

It was cold. She'd left her door open so that when the owl awoke it would be able to fly outside. Her bed creaked as she pulled her clumsily patched quilt up around her shoulders. The fire snapped and crackled cheerily in the hush. The girl felt her eyelids grow heavy. She shook herself, blinking quickly, determined to watch over the owl. But the warmth of the quilt and the sound of the fire conspired with her weariness to cast the simplest of spells over the girl, and before she realized it, she was asleep.

~~~

A pounding at the door.

The girl sprang to her feet and sped over to it, flinging it open to a most astonishing sight. A woman stood there. But the girl knew this was no ordinary woman. She was tall, her bearing regal. Her skin was petal pale, her neck long and delicate as a swan's. Hair as brown as doe’s eyes cascaded in gentle waves down her back, here and there glimmering and shimmering with threads of gold and silver. Wide, bright eyes shone like deep wells the color of unknowable mysteries.

The girl fell back a step. Her breath caught in her throat at the woman's loveliness. The woman smiled a warm, wide smile with lips as dark as ripe red berries.

“Little one,” said the woman in a voice like wind through the leaves, “tonight you saved one of my own, though you did not know it. For that I thank you."

The girl shook her head, confused.

The woman smiled. "That thorn was driven deeply into that wing by spite, and could only be removed by someone pure of heart. If you hadn't pulled it out, it would have spread its poison and blackened the heart of the one it pierced. I owe you a debt, and the debt shall be paid."

She held out a hand to the girl, and her fingers seemed to spill soft sparkles of light that trailed through the darkness.

The girl hesitated. The woman smiled even more warmly, even more broadly and held out both hands in invitation. Her pale gown hung gracefully from her arms and shoulders like a robe of feathers. The girl chewed her lip thoughtfully, then stood a little straighter, and put her hands in the woman's.

The woman's eyes twinkled delightedly. She turned away from the small cottage toward the forest, and the girl allowed herself to be led into the night.

As they walked, the woman let the girl's hands slip from her own. Away from the gentle light of the fire, the glimmer around the woman was even more pronounced. Her hands seemed to draw pale, fire-less sparks from the darkness, bright twinkles that disappeared before they ever touched the ground.

Where was the woman taking her? The question barely had time to form before it was swept from her mind, because at that exact instant the forest around her began to glow. Tiny motes of light lifted from the leaves all around, dancing upward, like fireflies, and some of the lights fell back down to cover the woman and the girl.

The woman began to move more quickly. The girl had to run to keep up. They sped through the forest, fleet as foxes. No. Faster. The woman spread her arms and swept them downward once, the girl found herself doing the same, and suddenly they were flying. The girl soared upward on feathered wings limned in golden light. Below her, the forest spread outward like a mossy quilt. Above her, the stars shone brightly, and the moon sailed serenely through the crisp night air.

She spent an eternity soaring, free upon the wind. But when the time came to land, it seemed it had been only moments. The girl felt exhilarated and strange standing on two feet before the woman who had come to her door in the middle of the night. The woman smiled her gentle smile and caught up the girl's hands in her own.

"You have magic in your hands and love in your heart," said the woman. “Your kindness shall never be forgotten. Much still remains to be repaid.”

The girl shook her head in denial. Her brow furrowed, and she squeezed the woman's hands in an attempt to convey the emotions that swept through her.

The woman's smile saddened around the edges. She cupped the girl's face in one hand and looked deep into her eyes.

"You don't even realize how much you've lost, do you?" The woman's voice was gentle as a spring mist. "It will be all right now. You will see. All shall be mended."

The girl realized that the forest had grown dark, not as night grows dark when the moon sets, but that absolute darkness of dreams and nightmares. As she looked around in confusion, the woman began to fade. The girl reached out for her, but the woman was gone.

~~~

There was a knocking at the door.

The girl woke warm and safe in her cottage, her quilt tangled around her limbs. Disoriented by memories of beating wings, a gentle smile, and the lightness of soaring through a moonlit sky, it took her a moment to disengage herself. She stepped over to the basket by the fireplace, now cold and quiet, and peered inside.

The owl was gone. In its place was a single feather the color of starlight and magic.

The knocking at the door grew more insistent. She left the feather where it was and went to open the door. On the other side, she found a man, a man covered in the dust and despair of long and hopeless journeying. His posture was weary, his shoulders broad, his hair dark as night. At the sight of her, his eyes lit with joy and disbelief. With a whoop of happiness he swept the girl up in his arms and spun her around.

"It's you! It's really you! I've found you!" he cried, nearly crushing her with the strength of his arms.

The girl pushed him away, breaking free of his embrace. She held up a hand to keep him back. Her eyes gleamed fiercely in the light that streamed through her open door. He looked at her, face fallen, confusion in his eyes and voice.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head at him and pointed at the door, motioning for him to leave.

"Leave?"

She nodded.

"No. I can't. Not now." The man shook his head in disbelief. "I'd almost given up hope. Then, last night I looked up, and I saw the most beautiful thing. I saw two silver owls soaring through the sky. And I thought of you. I followed them, and I found this place..." He looked deep into the girl's eyes "I found you."

He reached a hand toward her gently, softly. She backed away, eyes wary. His breath caught in a half sob. All the strength seemed to leave him. He sagged to the floor and cradled his head in his hands.

"Oh, Violet," he whispered through his tears. "Violet. I'm here. I've found you. I promised you. Don't you remember?"

Violet.

Violet. A single word and more than a word. A name that sang through her like the tolling of bells, like lightning and rain. The word shattered the dark emptiness in her heart and memories crashed over her like a flash flood. She remembered her parents' smiles. She remembered her friends' laughter. She remembered a castle and a curse and a promise. She remembered this man, this wonderful, brave man.

She remembered.

Memories welled up. They coursed down her cheeks as tears and caught in her throat, until...

"I remember," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse from disuse.

The man looked up at her. She reached out to him, no longer the girl with no name and no memory. Violet reached out and they caught each other.

Later, the owl's feather, a feather the color of starlight and magic, would help them get home. Later, Violet would find a perfect ruby the exact color of owl's blood wrapped in her handkerchief. And later, there would be the most glorious wedding the kingdoms had ever seen. It would be attended by one and all, including a woman with eyes like deep wells the color of unknowable mysteries, and her lips, lips as dark as ripe red berries, would curve into a wide, gentle smile.

But that was later. For now, there was Violet and the man she loved, a man who loved her, and the story of how a promise was kept.

And that was enough.