By the Black Trees

The black trees outside Rowan's cottage had never been so still or silent in all his years. His life, long yet fleeting, had been spent listening to the leaves cheering when the waltzing winds visited, the serenades of the birds and their ancient, elegant rhythm. From the window he would watch the generations of leap-foxes scamper down and excavate the soil for the juiciest bugs. When rains came he would sit not in his cottage but underneath the tallest tree, and allow the petrichor to caress him. He'd close his eyes for an instant, and be woken hours later by Faye. A scrunched face could not hide the amusement his wife felt in that silly routine. In this silence, Rowan felt knots in his stomach he had never tied before. He pinched some bruised berries and dumped them in his pocket, and then moved to the door. He edged it open millimeter by millimeter, hoping not to interrupt the snores in the next room.

Each step outside became more tentative, and each consecutive breath just that little bit more effort. Rowan jolted in surprise when his foot left soil and crunched the awaiting gravel. He moved up the path, his thoughts running faster than his legs ever had.

"Never seen aught like this 'fore. Trees're quiet like the pond in early Spring." Clouds as wispy as the mayor's wizened beard had dotted the sky above his head. The first day of Autumn was always heralded by the cirrus accumulation after eight cloudless days. But the leap-foxes should have been scraping at the door for scraps, and their chitters should have woken him. Autumn may have come, but she felt like a stranger. "An ill omen, maybe? True, the harvest were awful this year...an' the last..." Rowan thought to himself as he reached the shade of the largest black tree. He placed his hand on the coarse bark and smiled. "Hello, old friend." he said aloud. "What's goin' on with you, ay?"

"Speak tree, do you?" Spoke a woman's voice suddenly. Rowan's heart came close to bursting as he yelped.

"Whozzit?! Don't scare a man like that! Like to stay kickin' 'bout a few more years, I would!" His eyes darted around in search of the voice. Had her voice come from thin air? Impossible as it seemed, he couldn't find hide nor hair of another person.

"Up here, Rowan." Called the voice again. Rowan's gaze turned skyward, and finally found the culprit. She was perched atop a sturdy branch, ready to pounce like a leap-fox after fortune worms. Her clothes were plain, but the quality impeccable. "Dreadfully sorry for the scare. Though I hardly said anything threatening. Perhaps you were embarrassed?"

Rowan blushed. "A little. Who wouldn't be after being caught talkin' to themselves?"

"But you weren't." the woman replied. "You spoke to the tree."

The woman descended the tree. Gravity seemed to hold little control over her. Her bare foot touched the soil, and a light chime snuck into Rowan's ears. As the ringing ceased, the wind blew once again. The scent of lavender wafted into his nostrils, and the chitters of leap-foxes slowly grew in eagerness. One of them crept down the tree, and before Rowan. He scratched under its chin gently, and procured a berry for the beastie. The leap-fox swiftly snatched it with one hand, and scurried up the tree with its prize.

"The leap-foxes like you?" asked the woman. Rowan threw another berry up into the tree before turning to face her.

"Me Granddad built the cottage down the path a century ago now. He'd always try feed the li'l biters but weren't till his hair'd gone white they finally warmed up to him. Dad had it easier after that, then they expected I keep it up. Generations down the line and these guys are always eager for a treat."

"And you've continued the relationship for years now. Could've stopped any time."

"Don't see any need to, Miss. We're all havin' a nice time after all."

The woman chuckled lightly, and produced a small black book from behind her. By the time Rowan blinked, it had wound up in his hand. The cover felt smooth, impossibly so, like silk from some noble's finery. The pages within shimmered with cyan light.

"You're an honest sort, I can read your heart like...well, a book." Spoke the woman. "I feel you're up to the task."

"What's the deal with this book?" asked Rowan. "An' for that matter, what's your deal? Ain't every day some mystery lady floats to the ground and makes bells ring with a footstep."

"Call me...Velle" replied the woman, "and that book is a wish. More accurately, a wish contract."

"A wish contract, hm?" Rowan felt a strange pull as he gazed at the book. Were his soul tangible, he felt he'd have to grasp it to stop it spiraling in. "Heard folktales o' these. Given by wandering deities, able to grant a wish if ye can overcome its trial. Didn't think much o' them, and now I'm holdin' one?"

"Indeed, and I have a simple trial for you." Said Velle. "I know your harvests have been yielding less every year. The times are changing. The black trees will lose their leaves this year."

"You're kiddin' me!" yelled Rowan like a startled hound.

"Aye. These trees have lives longer than any other, from trunk to leaf. But they have only one. And they're coming to an end. They are offering less life energy to the soil, to the air. Your harvest will fail, and you and Faye will starve. But I offer a chance to you. Count the leaves that fall from this tree until I return. Note down only the ones you see fall in that book. For every one hundred thousand leaves counted, I shall reward you with two thousand coins. Should you surpass five hundred-thousand, I will breathe new life into the black tree grove." Velle placed her hand over her heart, and stared deep into Rowan, who met her gaze. "Do you accept my challenge?"

Faye ran outside to a shuddering Rowan and draped an itchy blanket over his shoulders. The deadliest eagle's keen eyes was no match for hers; she had spotted her husband's trembling all the way from the cabbage patch. Purple knuckles and vaporous gasps of air betrayed the hours he'd spent outside.

"You told me you'd go inside an hour ago, you lummox!" Faye yelled. Her voice trembled, though the cold never hampered her in all her years.

"W-wind picked up, love." Rowan replied while shuddering. "More wind means more fallin' leaves. Have to...keep countin'." He etched another mark on his current page, scraping the shimmering sheet with a small metal needle as he had done every day for two laborious months. Faye clutched him tight and hoisted him to his feet. The pair shuffled swiftly in side; the shivering man stole several glances back at the trees, catching three leaves descending.

Faye sat him by the window, where the chair had practically fused with the creaky floorboards. She made her way to the pungent stew they'd been rationing for the last week. She scooped up a bowlful and hurried back to Rowan's side. He barely noticed the wooden spoon raised to his mouth and only opened wide after the smell of sweaty cabbage reached his nostrils. He chewed slowly, and did not wipe his face when broth spilled from his lips. All that mattered was the next falling leaf.

"You can't keep pushing yourself so recklessly." said Faye as she lowered the bowl. "We'll make ends meet somehow, I can appeal to the mayor!"

"No one can spare us the charity, Faye." said Rowan. "We need the money, an' for the farm to endure." He squinted out the window, knowing the daylight was quickly fleeing the approaching moon. Every leaf counted. Every mark in the contract was one step closer to salvation. The minutes passed, and not once did he blink. The tears amassed as the stinging intensified. It was as though he'd been slapped in the face with a nettle bush. Eventually the blurs in his eyes became too much, and his eye-lids locked down. He sobbed quietly, stopping only after Faye took gentle hold of his hand. Still clutching the needle, he slowly leaned into her.

"That's one falling." she said as she lightly tapped on Rowan's hand. He wiped his eyes and opened them, barely catching the faint shape flutter to the earth. He etched a shaky line into the page.

"And over there, dear." said Faye again. She pointed to a tree wreathed in sunset's shawl. Rowan marked it down, and the needle dropped from his hand. It landed not on a creaky floorboard, but a calloused palm.

"To bed now, lummox." said Faye. For the first time that day, Rowan felt warm. "We'll continue tomorrow. We'll do our best, as we always have." Rowan kissed his other half tenderly, and gestured for her to aid him to his feet.

On the day of the first snow, a chime painted the wind and swirled through the cottage. Then came a knock on the door. Though the seconds turned to minutes there was never a second knock, yet Rowan still shambled along. Were it not for Faye holding him, he'd be reduced to a crawl. He held the wish contract closely, using it as a barrier to hold the butterflies in his stomach. The day had finally come.

"S' unlocked, Velle." he muttered. "Come on in."

The door opened gently, and Velle entered like a breath of fresh air. Her plain clothes appeared untarnished down to the smallest fiber.

"I am pleased to see you both, Rowan and Faye. Your work and suffering are evident."

The pair had slimmed below an average state, and Rowan's strength had all but left him. Faye placed him on his chair, which was still facing the window. He looked out at the near nude black trees, lives that had seen more sunrises than he ever could. He smiled as he looked down at his bony hand.

"Will you count the marks, Velle?" He asked, his voice a feeble whisper.

"I already have, and you did not disappoint." replied Velle with a gentle, motherly tone. The small black book had returned to the grasp of its owner before Rowan had finished his sentence. "Two million leaves, counted with sincerity, dedication, and pain. Twenty-thousand coins are yours, and the grove will have its second life. You performed admirably. Far beyond what I expected of you, you more than earned this."

With that, the stress that Rowan held and that held him for the whole season melted from his body. As he let out a lengthy sigh, his body felt light again, and he smiled his toothiest grin. Faye came to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The pair watched the sea of fallen leaves rising from the ground, whipped up by the breath of nature.