Beyond Clear Sight

“I promised no such thing!” I scream turning to chase after my hounds. I make it three steps before I am cocooned by utter darkness.

“Oh, love, but you did.” I spin back towards Artus who now holds up a small bottle and I recognize it as more memory wine.

“NO!” I scream as they seize my jaw and force the liquid down my throat. I flail and try to spit it out, but Artus is faster, covering my nose and mouth with their hand until I have no choice but to swallow. I am blind with rage as the last of my memories begin to come back to me, like a long-forgotten dream.

I remember.

I am cold, so very cold and want to go home. Tears are frozen to my face, and I look up into Artus’s familiar smile. They appear so kind.

“Now, now, Ada, it will be alright, but we cannot just let you leave.” They tell me. I am frozen and so afraid. I remembered the stories Nana had been telling us about the Forest’s Folk, terrible stories about their cruel ways. 

“But I cannot stay, I’m so cold.” I whine, genuinely distressed.

“Tsk. I will not let you freeze, little one.” Artus kneels before me and takes my frozen woolen mittens in their hands. They peer over their shoulder and drop their voice to a whisper. “They would demand we devour your flesh and use your bones to make the next feast.”

I recoil from them and nearly topple into the snow before they catch me.

“I can save you! And I will only need two things from you. Nothing really. The first is a promise, the second is a memory.” My six-year-old self does not think there is much substance to either and readily agrees to escape the cold, the Forest and the Folk.

“You promise to marry me?” They ask, making it sound so innocent and silly, I laugh.

“Yes, Artus, I will marry you.” They look at me expectantly and I roll my eyes, giggling. “I promise.” 

The smile lighting their face feels like the sun coming out from behind storm clouds. They seem incredibly pleased.

“And the memory, may I have today? The day you promised to marry me, so that I can find comfort in it as I wait for you to grow?” They remove a small vial from their jacket, the same strange jacket they are wearing now. “It will not hurt. I truly mean you no harm, love.” My skin crawls as I hear those words again. They tap vial on the middle of my forehead and then I am on the edge of the Forest.

This part I know. These memories are ones I did not give away. I am back in the present, now realizing it is not darkness that holds me but the feathered cage of Artus’ wing.

“I was a child!” I howl, mad with anger and cold fear.

“A promise is a promise, Ada.” They reply, calmly as if this is a simplest of things.           

“I did not know what it meant! I was too young!” I rage at them.

“You should not have made the promise then.”

I roar in frustration. Only once I have released my fury into the wind does my mind clear and a realization strikes me. Artus has touched me with their hand and is now holding me - with their wing. They have broken our terms, and their hand and wing are now mine by right of bargain. But I must make good on my own end for this to work. I let the tempest of rage and fear inside slip my restraint and let the tears begin to fall; I let them clear my mind. Human tears are a thing to treasure, no doubt. Though perhaps they are too easy to wring from mere mortals and less enticing to collect. I lean my head back against the wing and let the tears flow down my face, wiping my nose on my sleeve.

“Oh, dear lovely Ada.” Artus seems enraptured by my outbursts, besotted by my tears. “Come my love, this is a joyous thing. It is a fair few mortals who garner the honor to wed one of the Forest’s Folk. Gift me your pleasures, pledge me your sorrows, grant me your fears, and I will be your servant, all of your days.”

“You are right.” I reply softly, slowly reaching towards my dagger. “I am just…distressed.”

Artus looks at me curiously. I move forward until I can rest my head against their chest. I drag the dagger from its sheath, hiding it in the folds of my skirt and wait.

“I’m sorry Artus, please forgive me,” I say, looking up into their strange golden eyes. They are squinting at me in confusion but still give me enough room to come closer to them.

I throw my arms around their neck, dagger still in hand. Pulling myself up to touch my lips to theirs for a moment, I sigh. Then, placing both hands on the hilt, I drop to the ground with all my weight; dagger sliding through joint and muscle, severing the wing from its owner.

Artus screams as greenish-black blood spirts from the wound. The wing is light, and I grasp it as I run towards the whining of my hounds.

I find them encased in a bramble patch, bleeding but mostly unharmed. Artus’ howls of anguish do not seem to follow me, but I still hurry, eager to be out of the Forest. Hugo makes eye contact with me in a not-very-hound like fashion and then looks down at the wing. He repeats this twice before I realize he wants me to do something, something to free them. I study the thorns and discover an area where they lay a little lower than the rest. I place the wing over the depression and watch with wonder as Hugo herds the other two up and out of the patch. Once free, he snatches the large wing and takes off, his pack following behind him. Yelling for him to come back, he only slows to look back at me expectantly.

I hear Tifis’ shrill call for me, and I streak after the hounds.

The further from the glade we get, the warmer I feel. Saffie and Miks fall back to flank me as we race after Hugo, the wing still in his mouth.

More voices join Tifis, and great crashing noises follow close behind us. I do not look back for fear of what I may find. The trees do not block my escape, but neither do they pull aside their branches to aid me. They snag my hair and dress more than once, the hounds doing their best to keep me going.

I know we are nearly clear of the forest when Hugo, so very far in front of us, stops and turns to watch us. He sets down the wing and rushes back towards us, teeth bared, snarling. I am certain he has turned on me when he tackles something to my left and takes it down, the creature howling at the attack.

I pump my legs harder as I feel a pressure between my shoulders and know Artus is nearby. Breaking through the stone boundary of the forest, I scoop up the wing and march twenty feet further before turning to look back. There, on the other side of the broken stone wall is Artus. They are covered in their own blood, left wing hanging limply as they stare at me, mournfully.

I hold their other wing in front of me like a shield and glare back. I can hear Hugo still battling and I wait with tears in my eyes to see if he will return. The fight seems to drag on, and then there is only silence. I feel tears slide down my cheeks.

“If only those were for me, my love,” is all Artus says as they turn and walk away. I watch as they fade into the forest, and all is silent once more. Saffie whines and Miks steps toward the forest.

“We have to go.” I command, and they both return to my side.

There is sudden movement off to the right and I spin to face it as Hugo leaps over the stone wall and collapses. Slinging him gently over my shoulders, we slowly walk home.

That night, I pluck the feathers from Artus’ wing and prepare to sew them into a cape. They were strong enough to protect the hounds from thorns and I imagine what they can do for me. As I pull the last feather, the skin and bones dissolve into mist which drops to the floor and skitters out under my door. A bandaged Hugo snarls at it from his bed near the fire and my skin crawls as I watch the mist race for the forest from my window.