The Promise Tree

On crisp autumn evenings as people gathered around bonfires dipping apple pastries in spiced teas, at bedtime when parents tucked their children in and kissed their foreheads, during long strolls through the forest as the morning sun cast dappled light through the leaves – these special moments were when the legend of The Promise Tree reemerged from its place of hibernation and once again sparked wonder and intrigue.

There was no real evidence of its existence. As it seemed, not a soul had actually seen it or knew someone who had found it. The general opinion throughout Calturmir was that it was no more than a fairytale passed down through generations to keep hope alive even during the darkest of times. Nonetheless, the story continued to be shared, and there were some who believed in it wholeheartedly and spent their lives researching the variations of the tale and searching for the tree.

It was said that the tree had the power to transport one to another world, a world of magic and prosperity. Other versions proclaimed the tree granted wishes. Some asserted that The Promise Tree provided unending wisdom, happiness, peace. One aspect that everyone agreed upon, however, was the tree’s supposed location nestled in the heart of the woods bordering Loymire. In fact, there were some residents of Loymire that had settled in the quaint village in unspoken and sometimes unconscious hopes that they would become the one to finally discover the tree and all it offered. Time and time again they were left with more questions than answers.

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Hysandra slammed the larder door shut and stomped back into the kitchen to look out the window. White, white, and more white covered all that she could see, broken up only by the few scraggly trees that were scattered throughout the fields behind her cottage. Worse, more of the blasted snow dropped from the sky, flakes as large as pots falling with no sign of stopping.

Hysandra cursed loudly. She’d have to go back out there after what had already been an arduous day in the cold, working on the newest homes in Loymire with the other stonemasons. She hated herself for her mistake – she’d been sure they still had meat. If it were just her, she’d make do with the squash and potatoes. Or, truthfully, she probably wouldn’t eat at all. But her son was all she had left, the only thing in this world she cared about, and he wouldn’t go to bed hungry.

As if on cue the front door burst open letting in a frigid gust as Forian stumbled inside. He closed the door and sank to the wood floor, tears falling down his reddened face, his black hair sticking up in all directions after he tore the hat from his head. He let out a sob and dropped his face into his hands.

Rushing to Forian’s side Hysandra lowered herself to the floor and put her arms around him. It still shocked her when she felt how much he had grown over the past year. At three and ten he was becoming a man – hair sprouted on his face, his voice was changing – but still she whispered words of comfort and rocked the only child she had left. It took everything she had to keep her anger contained for she knew what had him upset.

“I---was riding home---and---and---they blocked the road,” Forian cried. “They said I had to read---from this book or---or----they wouldn’t move. I couldn’t. They rode away yelling ‘animal boy’.”

Forian shook with more sobs and Hysandra held him tighter. The other village kids. He had always been different – preferring to be alone with their cat or horse and struggling with reading and writing. They had never accepted him. She pursed her lips and felt her temperature rising.

‘They’re just children, Hysandra!’ She told herself to stop the images of retribution that flashed through her mind.

After Forian had calmed and was curled up in front of the hearth Hysandra prepared to leave for the woods and forage for dinner. As she sat on the floor lacing her boots she noticed a small pink slipper underneath her bed. She froze. Slowly she moved towards the slipper as if it were dangerous and pulled it out.

Hysandra choked back sobs as a wave of grief crashed over her. The pain was physical, visceral, as if a knife had been jabbed into her side and twisted. She clutched the slipper to her chest and allowed herself just a few minutes to remember.

She remembered Samaryla, her baby girl with her red curls and blue eyes that were clouded the day she died, coughing and shivering from the plague that took so many, including her father, Hysandra’s husband. Samaryla’s sweet face dissipated behind her eyes and was replaced by Waemon’s infant face. Hysandra never got to look into his eyes as he died in her arms just moments after entering this world, less than a year after she lost Samaryla and her husband.

The pain was too much to bear. It threatened to split Hysandra open, rendering her helpless and unable to ever get up again. She’d lost track of how many days she’d spent lying there, on that floor, after Waemon’s death.

“Ma? It’s going to be dark soon. You’re leaving soon?” Forian called from the other room.

Hysandra forced the grief back into the box she had managed to keep it locked in most days. Taking a deep breath and wiping her tears she finished lacing her boots and stood.

“Yes, I’m leaving now,” Hysandra called. She grabbed the pink slipper and crumpled it in her hand. After returning to the sitting room she gathered her supplies and flung the pink slipper into the fire when Forian wasn’t looking. Once she was outside and the door was shut behind her she let out a curdling scream.

Once in the dense woodland bordering Loymire all Hysandra could hear was her heavy breathing and the crunching of her boots in the snow. She seemed to be the only one fortunate enough to be out here in this weather and at this time of day. Snowflakes continued to dump from the sky, blurring her vision as she attempted to scope out the area.

Hysandra’s mind wandered, as it always did when she was out here, to the legend of The Promise Tree. The magic tree that was supposedly in these woods and that her father had fiercely believed in – he had always dreamed of living here and being the one to find it. How excited he would have been if he were alive when she moved here after marrying Nemeric. Nemeric grew up in Loymire, and like Hysandra’s father he had also been enraptured by the tale of The Promise Tree. They had spent many an afternoon looking for the tree.

And then there was Zumaura. The beautiful woman with golden hair who had come to Loymire the year after Hysandra’s baby died after leaving her womb. Zumaura was playful and loving. Forian and Hysandra both fell in love with her and for a time she thought maybe things could be okay. Hysandra and Zumaura searched for The Promise Tree as well, strolling the trees hand-in-hand, giggling as if they were young girls. Zumaura was killed in battle fighting for the Spring Queen. Hysandra never got to say goodbye.

Now Hysandra knew the likelihood of her finding that wretched tree was no greater than her seeing her father, her lost children, or her lovers ever again.

Hysandra kept walking, the cold seeping into her bones and intensifying the aches in her joints and back. She had another long day ahead of her tomorrow. She used to enjoy being a stonemason, the way it strengthened her body, and the pride in seeing a finished project. But now it was just what kept food on the table and she knew she was getting too old for such work.

A flash of movement caught her attention. Hysandra halted, crouching behind the brush and slowly nocked an arrow in her bow. The rabbit remained in place as it searched for food. She drew the bowstring, aimed, and then the rabbit bounded away. She released the arrow and cursed when it missed.

Fuming, Hysandra gathered the arrow and went on with her search. Her mood only became fouler as time progressed. She had been hoping to find some of the berries that Forian loved but had not. It was nearly dark and all she had found was a handful of mushrooms.

Hysandra had to force herself to change direction when she realized she was once again walking towards the cliff on the edge of the woods. The last time she had found herself there she had stood at the edge for far too long, staring down at the river that was so distant that the trees looked like ants, tears streaming down her face. She had almost taken a step forward when she was sure she heard Forian laughing. He wasn’t there; Hysandra never would have went near the cliff with him. But the phantom laughter broke her out of her daze and pushed her to turn around.

Hysandra trudged forward, wanting to scream, cry, kick things, but remaining silent so as not to scare away any potential game. She eventually found a bird’s nest with four measly eggs that she pocketed with a sigh. She stood there by the empty nest as the wind howled and she pulled her coat tighter around her, realizing she would have to go back or she’d get stuck out there in the dark. The eggs and vegetables would have to be enough until tomorrow morning when the shops would be open.

Something strange happened on her way back. A glowing green light blossomed in the distance in front of her. She paused, then continued walking slowly, telling herself her eyes must be playing tricks on her. But the light didn’t disappear. As she moved closer she realized it was coming from a tree whose branches were luminated in emerald. She stood and stared at the glowing tree, unsure what to think, when a door materialized in the thick trunk.

She laughed out loud. Was this it then? The Promise Tree? Clearly, she was losing her sanity. It wasn’t hard to believe given the cold, her fatigue. The grief. The hours spent on the edge of the cliff. It was only a matter of time until she started seeing things.

Hysandra decided it wouldn’t hurt to amuse herself so she stepped forward and was surprised when her hand made contact with the silver doorknob. The illusion was powerful. Certain nothing would happen, she turned the knob and pulled.

The door opened.

She couldn’t see anything inside the trunk of the tree other than the green light that it was bathed in. It was at this point that Hysandra started to think that maybe this wasn’t in her imagination.

Hysandra stepped through the door and everything went dark.

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I open my eyes and shake my head. I’m standing in the woods, snowflakes floating around me. What just happened? I remember making the decision to head back home after finding the eggs, not wanting to be out here at nightfall. I check my pocket and the eggs are still safely inside. But shortly after leaving the bird’s nest my memory seems to stop. Everything is blank until just now when I opened my eyes. It is as if I fell asleep.

Turning in all directions I survey my surroundings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Or at least, not immediately or obviously unusual. What I do notice is how beautiful everything is. The white snow blanketing the forest floor and the trees sparkles and softens the landscape. I stare at the snowflakes that land on my coat and notice their intricate patterns, no two flakes being exactly alike. The markings on the tree trunks remind me of flowing streams. A bird sings in the distance.

I set the questions about my memory gap aside and continue towards home, reveling in the winter wonderland and using all of my senses to take it in. How had I failed to notice all of this beauty before?

I keep my eyes peeled for Forian’s favorite berries and as I do I think of him and all of the heartaches we have suffered. I realize that I’ve never much thought about how it was not only me who lost so much, but my son as well. His sister, his baby brother, his grandparents, his father. His ‘auntie’ Zumaura. Too much loss for one so young. I decide it’s time to talk to him about these losses, to let him know we can talk about them. And not only the tragedies of their deaths, but the lives they lived when they were still here. There are so many stories about his father and his grandparents that I have never told him. Stories of laughter, of joy. I have paintings of all of our lost loved ones that have been put away for years, not a soul seeing them but for the spiders that make webs around their corners. Tonight, after dinner, we will dust and hang these paintings. I don’t want to go another day without seeing all of their faces.

Before I reach home I find a different type of berries, not Forian’s favorite but I think he will be excited to try something new. I even manage to get a squirrel. We will have meat after all.

My back aches as I climb the stairs to our cottage. I am suddenly grateful for the strength of my body and how it has provided for us. I can’t remember the last time I was thankful for something.

When I come inside Forian is asleep in front of the fire with our cat. He stirs as I move about and I go to him and hold him. When we pull apart and I look into his brown eyes tears well in my own eyes. How I love this sweet boy of mine.

The cat wakes as well, stretching and yawning. He leaps up onto the table in the sitting room where I keep my letters and parchment and quills. He stares at one of the quills for a moment before batting it off the table with his front paw and then curling up into a ball on top of my parchment. Forian and I laugh.

Then I notice the letter from my sister Rowina under the stack of parchment, only one corner of it visible. Rowina and her husband are farmers. They live about a week’s ride from Loymire. I’ve mostly lost touch with her, simply because I stopped responding to her correspondence. I know she’s been worried about me but I haven’t had the energy to do anything but work and take care of Forian. This letter came weeks ago and I tossed it aside and forgot about it after skimming it.

I pull the letter out from under the parchment now and pause to actually read it.

Dearest Hysandra,

We miss you and Forian! It has been so long. We had hoped to see you last month at the market in Loymire but you weren’t there. I know you’re not well, sister, and I’m so terribly sorry of all you have lost. Please know you’re not alone. You and Forian are welcome to live with us at any time. We know how much Forian loves animals, and, I hope you haven’t forgotten how much you love gardening. We would have work for you here. Work that’s easier than what you’re doing now. And you know how well Forian and his cousins like each other. Think about it.

Love,

Rowina

I remember vaguely registering Rowina’s offer about coming to her farm and quickly deciding that this wasn’t a good idea. This home had been my husband’s home. Our horse was old and likely wouldn’t make the long journey. The work on the farm would be easier but the pay would be lower. But if I’m being honest, the biggest reason I tossed the letter and the offer aside was because I didn’t want to live with someone and have to talk to them every day. It had just sounded exhausting.

Now I wonder if maybe this move is exactly what Forian and I need. A fresh start. Rowina was right, I did used to love gardening, and Forian did love animals and his cousins.

“Forian, this is a letter from your aunt Rowina. She wants us to live with her and her family, on their farm. How would you feel about that?” I ask Forian.

Forian stares at me, eyes wide, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Really?”

“Really,” I say, smiling along with him.

“Yes!” Forian shouts and I laugh.

I grab a quill and parchment and scribble a quick response to Rowina, letting her know we can be there in a month, if we’re still welcome.

Forian and I stay up late, enjoying our dinner, laughing and crying and talking like we never have before. We get out the family paintings and dust them off, but we hold off on hanging them until we hear from Rowina. We share memories of Samaryla and Zumaura, and we hold each other and cry because we never got to know Forian’s baby brother. I tell him about how I met his dad, and how he looks like his grandfather but inherited his grandmother’s best qualities.

When I finally climb into bed I fall asleep instantly. I have a strange dream about a tree with a hidden door that transports me to a magical world. I wake and smile. It seems there’s a part of me that still believes The Promise Tree is out there somewhere, that someday I may actually find it.