Promise and Price

He was late, again. I cursed whatever thread of fate had landed me with such an irresponsible partner for my class project. I stood, eyes rolling, deciding to wander the shelves while I waited. He wouldn’t arrive within the next quarter-hour, anyway. I rarely had time to read for myself during the school year, but maybe I could use this as an opportunity to do just that. As I stepped into the fiction section, enveloped in the soothing labyrinth of old metal shelves, I took a deep breath and soaked in the comforting scent of the library. 

There was the lovely and obvious smell of the books, largely the smell of paper with a hit of ink and maybe the plastic of the library hardcovers, but there was also the smell of the plush carpet, the soft leather chairs in the corners, the tinge of the metal shelves, the unmistakable metallic scent of the computers against the wall, and a lingering hit of dust and coffee.

There is nothing in the world like the feeling of comfort and familiarity in that smell. I often do my best work in libraries. The shelves seem to envelop me as they urge me to let go and dive into the worlds they offer. The sense of peace and possibility in that embrace makes it nearly impossible not to slip into a creative trance, words pouring out of me onto their pages, or tumbling into the pages of a story that comes to vibrant life behind my eyes, my imagination assaulting my senses as the pages draw me in.

I stumbled upon a particular shelf that attracted my attention, and found my fingertips trailing across the plastic-wrapped titles as I closed my eyes and soaked in the peace of my surroundings. Until, suddenly, my fingers caught on one particular title. They must have paused because this particular book, unlike the rest, wasn’t wrapped in the same protective plastic that makes for such easy gliding. Now that it had my attention, I wanted to know more. The binding was clearly aged, and tattered at the edges. It may have once been a deep and vibrant blue, but was now dulled to a dark color that was nearly navy, the tattered edges fading into a dull gray. The lettering had once been a brilliant gold foil, but now it was mostly a blue-gray shadow of the gild that had peeled away under the touch of time. I gently caressed the spine, reveling in the texture of the old binding, feeling the faint imprint of the long-gone lettering. 

Picking up the book, I ran my hand down the blank cover before cracking the spine. Inside, the title read “The Dragon’s Promise,” though there was no by line. I hummed softly and flipped to the first chapter, my feet carrying me to the large leather armchair by the window. Distantly, I recognized a clap of thunder and the soft tap of rain on the windowpane.

I turned page after page, finding myself leaning into the book with more and more intensity with each turn. The rain picked up steadily and sitting in the comfortable chair by the window, the sound had a near hypnotic effect. I found myself slipping deeper into that lovely trance every reader knows, when they get deeply and truly lost in a story that seems to come alive in their hands. Every paragraph pulled me deeper into a world of ancient Celtic magic, Arthurian knights of honor, intrigue within the royal courts of beautiful, magical lands, and a lurking, villainous darkness forming on the horizon.

The rain was pounding endlessly now, a dull roar in the back of my mind, offset by flashes of lightning and their accompanying claps of thunder. But even when the window shook within its frame, I still fell deeper into the story. Time slipped by me, as though I were a rock in a roaring stream. When I heaved a deep breath as the hero’s pawing mount finally launched into battle, my senses were filled with the smell of horses and the clang of swords. The dirt kicked up from a horse's gallop washed over me, and I felt my hair be blown back off my shoulders even as I leaned down even closer to the pages. And when a lady shrieked in terror at the sound of a mighty, flapping wing, I felt the lady’s cry rang between my ears, and was cooled by the shadow of an enormous creature. 

I desperately turned the page, and a sharp pain sliced through my index finger just as the loudest thunderclap yet rattled the world. I jerked my fist into my chest, swaying dizzily at the sensation of hurtling back into myself. I lifted the injured finger to my mouth, sucking on the tiny slice, and looked back to the pages. I blinked slowly at what lay there.

The pages in my hand were completely blank, their smooth uninked surface marred only by a tiny drop of my blood drawn from the page itself. I looked at those blank pages, and I felt apprehension building along my spine as the drop of blood seemed to move and expand. Slowly at first, it seemed to be just the regular seeping motion of the pages absorbing liquid. But as I watched, it began to move faster, spreading impossibly far. At the edges of the blood, the vibrant blood red began leaching into an impossible array of colors, soft greens interspersed with pearly white blending into a dusky twilight. The colors began to take shape, forming a beautiful and impossible illustration of the scene set by the pages before. I tried to glance around my surroundings, thinking perhaps this was a strange hallucination brought on by the storm raging outside, but I could not tear my gaze from the picture that was gaining more and more intensity by the second. With a tang of fear, I realized I could no longer hear the storm outside. The picture was now so realistic the figures within seemed to move.

The longer I looked, the more certain I was that there was movement within the picture. But that was impossible and must have been a trick of the eye, brought on by the shaking of my hands. Though the picture itself could not be explained away so easily. No amount of storm-induced hypnosis or caffeine overdose could explain the clarity of such a hallucination. I slowly lowered the hand I had cradled and nursed, but I could not stop the way it’s shaking. A soft buzzing filled my ears as I neared the pages, and as I brought my vibrating fingertips to the beautiful and terrifying picture below, a roaring like a million bees rattled in my ears. The sound snapped into abrupt silence as my hand caressed the beautiful sunset depicted below, and suddenly my stomach dropped steeply and a rushing sensation filled the air, wind rushing at me so fast and hard that tears ripped from my eyes unbidden until I squeezed them shut.

The sensation stopped as quickly as it had begun, and I stumbled and fell, blind and unbalanced. My eyes flared open as I took in the soft grass I had fallen on, and before me was a set of hooves belonging to a mare with a beautiful dark brown hide and a black mane. My eyes tracked higher, widening impossibly as I took in her rider. He appeared to have stepped out of a renaissance festival, wearing real metal armor, chainmail rustling beneath the hard clank of metal as he lifted his reins and turned his horse toward me more fully.

My mind seemed to catch up to my senses then and I finally scrambled up and back away from the strange rider, only to meet a solid wall of animal behind me, whirling to see a second mare. This one was gray, and her rider appeared to be a Robin Hood cosplayer, complete with the green v-neck shirt with laces untied, and a bow and quiver slung across his torso. I rushed back from both animals and found my back pressed against a tree as I faced the two men. 

They appeared confused as they looked at me, but not fearful or shaken as I did. The armored man — presumably a knight — dismounted and stepped cautiously forward, extending a hand toward me as he spoke, “My lady, are you alright?”. His accent sounded British, his voice rich and rolling.

I opened my mouth to answer but found myself unable to form words. Was I okay? I didn’t even know where I was. Or when. I looked down at my shaking hands and started to find that my comfortable jeans and sweater were gone, and I wore a soft blue dress instead. It had long, belled sleeves, with a full skirt that fell to the tops of my slippered feet, swishing around my ankles as I sidestepped the tree and moved further away from Sir Knight. The dress appeared medieval and Celtic, without corsets or petticoats, only a simple shift beneath the dress. Ribbons tied the bodice and sleeves closed. Above the soft, rounded neckline of the bodice lay a necklace, its pendant falling heavily between my collarbones. I felt for it, as I could not see it, but I only discerned that it was an oval.

“My lady?” Sir Knight spoke again and my head whipped back towards the men, remembering they were the more immediate concern. They had stepped closer, and I stumbled back another step in kind. Robin Hood scoffed and dismounted as well, coming to stand beside Sir Knight. “Very droll, milady. Truly, an excellent jest. But we really must be going now.” His accent was much the same as the knights, but his voice was far more melodic, pitching through his sarcasm like a song. His bright blue-gray eyes swept skyward as we finished his sentence, tension lining his face. I glanced back at Sir Knight and saw a similar urgency in his expression, an edge of desperation in the hand he stretched toward me still.

Some of my fear and disorientation shifted into suspicion and I narrowed my eyes at the men as I asked “Go where?”. The men glanced at each other, sharing their surprised and concerned expressions. Robin Hood opened his mouth to reply as they turned back towards me, but I beat him to it.

“In fact, where is here anyway? And who are you? What are these strange clothes?” I used the moments they spent absorbing their shock at my strange questions to glance around and take in more of our surroundings. We stood at the edge of a massive wood, hidden maybe a dozen feet within the treeline. Before us was a vast field, covered in the soft grasses and wildflowers that had cushioned my earlier fall. Cutting across the greenery was a wide, dirt-packed road, complete with wagon ruts and the occasional patch of horse droppings. Tracking the road from the trees it poured out of on the right, a large arena surrounded by tents and wagons of all sorts opened some distance to the left. Ok, so definitely some kind of renaissance festival - complete with jousting knights, apparently.

“My lady Eleanora, we must get you to safety. Now.” I turned back to Sir Knight as he spoke, and noted his hand still reaching toward me, even as he glanced back at the sunset kissed sky to our left. Robin Hood gave a curt nod and took another step toward me as he said, “Yes, we can sort out…” his lips pursed and he settled a deep and searching gaze on me as he continued, “whatever this is, later. Night is falling fast, Milady. We must go.”

I had already noted the sunset, but the weight he gave the word “night” gave me pause — a small chill running up my spine as if my body knew some danger the rest of me was yet unaware of. I glanced behind me once more, knowing that none of the summers I had spent camping with my family would serve as proper preparation for whatever might await me in a dark and unfamiliar forest, especially without any supplies to my name. So I nodded and turned to take Sir Knight’s hand, and then suddenly my feet were no longer on the ground. Thankfully, the sharp and involuntary intake of my breath choked off my cry of alarm before I could truly embarrass myself. Robin Hood gave me a smirk and said “I am sorry, Milady, I only thought to help you on my horse before you changed your mind.”

I realized then that, having never been on a horse before, riding one was potentially just as dangerous as rushing off into the forest alone. My heart rate quickened, and I felt my fisted palms grow slick. I unfurled my fingers to push on the man's chest, desperate to stand on my own, but he only held me tighter to his chest, the bands of his weaponry pressing uncomfortably into my own side.

“Let her down, Eb, no need to cause the lady any more distress." Robin Hood — Eb? — sighed, but he listened and helped me settle back on my own two feet. Sir Knight knelt before me and presented his like hands to me, presumably to use as a step to mount the gray horse beside us. Looking between the strangers, I said, “Um, I don’t think I should.” The men shared another glance before Eb said “Milady, surely you don’t plan to walk to the manor?” Sir Knight still knelt, waiting, as I shook my head and admitted I had never ridden a horse before. The shock returned to the faces once more, before Eb shrugged and shook off the surprise, and swung himself into the saddle. “Well, no time like the present, then.” and he reached down to take my hand. I hesitated a moment longer before allowing the men to deposit me in front of Eb. 

Sir Knight shook his head as he mounted his own mare and we started down the path. “Surely, Lady Eleanora, you remember riding with us to the tournament?” I felt the color leech from my face, and a cold shiver ran down my back as I recalled him calling me Eleanora earlier. “No. I have never seen you, or these horses, or this place before ever in my entire life. How do you even know my name? What festival is this?” My voice shook, which I hoped they would credit more to the rocking of the animal beneath me than to the panic washing over me.

Silence settled over the three of us, interrupted only by the gentle sounds of the horses as we rode with the setting sun at our backs, stars just beginning to peek out above the treeline before us. Finally, Eb spoke, “Well, Milady,” he paused to hold me steady atop the mare when I jumped at the nearness of his voice, “this is the forest surrounding your family’s manor. We were attending a tournament in honor of your sister's birthday.” I shook my head as his words washed over me (literally, as his voice rumbled from his chest into my back). “I don’t have a sister. It’s only my mom and my brother and me, and we live in a little suburb in Colorado.” And a birthday tournament was certainly not what I had meant by “festival”.

The men shared another look and Sir Knight finally said, “I am sorry Lady Eleanora, but I have never heard of any place called ‘Colorado’. However, if what you say is true, and you do not know us, then introductions are in order.” He twisted in the saddle to face me more fully, and even managed a stunted bow in my direction after saying “My name is Sir Niallghas, though most call me Sir Niall, and I am a knight in service to your family. My friend here is a hunter, also in your family’s service, known as Eber.” I felt Eber nod at my back, and he said “Though you may call me Eb, Lady Eleanora.” I nodded to each of them in turn mumbling a “pleased to meet you” as my mind turned over and over to hear them refer to my family here in this strange land.

Sir Niall cleared his throat and said “It is late my Lady, and you must be tired. We have much to discuss, it seems, but those discussions will be better had at the manor, with your family present.” Eb nodded once again, and Niall added “It’s a little while yet, Milady. You should rest.” I glanced at the horse nervously, unsettled by the idea of losing consciousness while so far from the ground. “I will not let you fall from the saddle, I swear it,” Eb’s promise held the unmistakable lilt of amusement, and I heard his smirk even if I could not see it. I turned my glare to Niall instead and was surprised to find him holding back amusement as well. They were right, however. I was exhausted. Soon I found Eb’s warmth and the mare's gentle gait to be an irresistible lullaby and my eyes slid shut unbidden.

And somewhere very far away from this strange new trio, a librarian was bustling through the shelves, preparing to close. She tsked when she turned the corner to find an abandoned backpack leaning on a chair. As she walked closer, she noticed the open book on the seat of the chair. Leaning in to see the title, she saw the pages open to a dedication page the previous reader had passed by. It read,

A tale for those who wish to dive deep into worlds fantastic and fearsome — and far removed from their own. 

That is the promise, and the price.