Promise: The Scarred Girl

by Maya Shepherd

  “I’m going to fall from the tree,” Nea exclaimed while laughing while she peered up the tall apple tree.

  “What are you more afraid of? Falling over or falling from the tree?” Miro asked in a serious voice.

  Without hesitation, he threw the end of the rope through the thickest branch and pulled it tight.

  So gallantly, like a cat, he climbed the tree and grinned down on Nea from the top. “C’mon coward, I’ll help you.”

  With a sigh, Nea gave in and pulled on the rope and climbed up the tree, but she was neither as fast nor as elegant as Miro. She felt more like a wet sack of potatoes. In the last few feet, Miro came to her aide. With a firm handshake, he pulled her next to him on the branch. While Miro acted as though the height did not bother him, as though he had lived his entire life in a tree, Nea had trouble just keeping her balance. Just one look to the ground was enough to make her balance become unsteadied. Desperately, she clung to Miro’s arm.

  “I cannot even stand, how can you expect me to sleep here?”

  “I do not expect you to, it’s your decision.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he spread the sleeping bag on the branch.

  “Also, we only have one sleeping bag,” Nea pressed on.

  “Since when does that bother you? On the ground you would come and sleep in my bed with me every night.” Miro teased. Even if she only saw his back, she could see his cheeky grin. Angrily she gave him a gentle push. Miro stumbled stronger than she would have expected. She seemed so sure that he would have thought something like that might happen. Suddenly he could no longer hold his balance and fell from the tree. At the last second, he managed to grab onto the branch and clung to it dearly.

  “Miro, Miro, I did not expect to,” Nea screamed. She rushed to his side and helpfully held out her hands to him. “Come, I’ll help you.”

  “Never do that again,“ complained Miro once he was back on the branch.

  Almost from the moment he was safe again, his impish grin returned and mimicked Nea’s voice, “Miro, may I please sleep with you? I had a nightmare.”

  Nea refrained from hitting him again, instead she pressed her lips together, pouting. “You’re quite right; I’ve just had a nightmare.”

  “Yes, and every night you steal half of my bed. I pray every night to have my own bed for myself one night.”

  At his smile, she realized that his words were in jest and were not serious.

  “Admit it, without me, you’d be hopelessly lost. Without me, you could not even sleep.”

  “Not at all, I admit. Without you, I would not have to listen to your conceited talk. Without you, I’d finally have peace and quiet.”

  Now she has her peace and quiet. But what would she give to once more hear Miro’s arrogant voice? Furious, she shakes her head to dispel the thoughts of him. A view through the canopy in the clear starry sky is sufficient to allow herself to drift off and sink into a dreamless sleep.

  Dreams often rob one of strength, since you seldom dream of beautiful things. Mostly you’re in a dream world that is not entirely dissimilar to the normal world. The only difference is a permanent fog bank lays over everything and makes the world seem crueler than it already is. In the morning, you wake, drenched in sweat, the fears of the night come through in the day. They hang like clouds on your concentration, which has become essential for survival in this world. You have to listen to every little crack of a twig and pay attention to every shadow, because there could be an ambush hidden in those shadows.

  Two

  A small whimper and whine wakes Nea from her sleep. Dazed, she opens her eyes and sees that it is almost dawn. She hears the pleading whimper again and remembers the trap she set the previous night. Maybe she was lucky and caught an animal in it, an animal that is now desperately trying to escape. Carefully, she unties the rope, which kept her sleeping bag affixed to the tree. She no longer finds it difficult to move safely in the tree or make a camp in one for a night of peace. A long time ago she once lost her balance and almost fell out of a tree herself. When she is back on the ground and looks at her trap, she is more than disappointed. She had expected a raccoon or rabbit, but instead a filthy, half-starved dog is caught in her trap. With sad eyes, he looks up at her and whines pleadingly. In fact, it is a better catch than a raccoon, simply because it is larger, but the poor thing only consists of fur and bones. Never before has she killed a dog. Nea pulls her knife from her waistband and kneels down next to the dog. The dog winces briefly, but looks toward her, helpless, and waiting for her next step.

  “How stupid is he,” Nea thinks to herself. If she was in the place of the dog and someone with a knife knelt before her, she would try with all her might to free herself. She would growl and gnash her teeth. But this dog is sitting there and waiting for her to give it its fate. It would be easy for Nea to slit his throat. Slowly she moves her knife toward his neck to give it a straight, fatal cut. When her hand comes close, the dog suddenly moves. He moves its head with its shaggy, light brown fur, and licks her hand holding the knife with its rough tongue. Nea looks at the dog and knows that she will longer be able to manage killing it. It’s ridiculous, because it is not worth more than a raccoon or a rabbit, but because too often she was told stories of small dogs or cats, so now she has qualms about killing one of them. As a child, she always wanted a dog. Nea slowly withdraws her hand and places the knife back into her waistband. She looks at the dog as evilly as she can in the eye.

  “Don’t you dare try to follow me,” she hisses at the dog. In response, however, she gets a friendly wagging tail. With a sigh, Nea frees the little dog out of the trap and is glad that the dog is not too hurt. The dog stands next to her and looks expectantly with its ears pricked up, attentive. He’s not big enough to protect her. Nea lifts her leg and stomps firmly on the ground and tries to shoo the dog away with her hands and a loud voice. “Get out!” The dog stops wagging its tail and its ears fall, but the dog does not move, so Nea just runs off.

  After a few meters, she turns around, and of course, she sees the little dog directly behind her. Although he keeps a distance from her, it is clearly following her. She should have killed the dog when she had a chance; this would have been best for both of them, but now it is too late. The dog will not be happy with her; she is too selfish to care about the welfare of another. The dog will soon notice this and leave The sooner the better. At best, she will no longer notice the dog.

  Nea continues with a steady view of the compass and her map. She makes sure not to turn to see if the dog is still following her, and pretty soon, she has forgotten about it.

  She runs through the forest at a brisk pace all morning. It is even colder than the day before and the sky is a single gray mass. The sun is no longer able to break through the clouds, so that, even at noon, many leaves still have frozen edges. It is a clear sign that snow will soon fall. Nea can only hope that Dementia is closer than the map makes it seem.

  Her hope soon feels vindicated as the forest begins to slowly thin out. But as she comes closer to the edge of the forest, she hears the loud noise of a river and soon she finds herself at a riverbank. It is not a small creek, like the one in which she had caught the fish, but a ravening, wide, and apparently, deep river. It flows down the mountain, down the valley. From the riverbank, she can peruse its course and finds that there is no bridge in sight, despite the slight mist.

  Using the map, she can pinpoint her exact position. The map states clearly that the path on the other side of the river would be the shortest route, but if she tried to swim across the river and managed to make it to the other side, her hair and clothes would be completely soaked. The risk of severe hypothermia is elevated in this cold. So Nea's choices are a detour that could delay her for hours, or possible pneumonia from which she might die.

  It took years before she could bring herself to actually leave her home and travel to Promise, so she should not take any unnecessary risks. Finally, she wants to arrive in Promise and
not die on the way there. Therefore, she chooses the detour and hopes that the flow elsewhere will become shallow enough to be able to cross.

  The good thing is the path to follow the river is all downhill, so she will move faster on the leaves and moss-covered forest floor. Although the grass on the riverbank is a bit slippery from the moisture, her boots will protect her feet and keep her footing sure.

  After some time of running down the path, Nea never saw the river become shallow or came across a bridge, her stomach started rumbling and her strength begins to wane. So she stops to take a deep breath. She pulls her water bottle from her backpack and takes a big swig. The water gurgles in her empty stomach. She now thinks about the dog for the first time since the morning, if she had not become sentimental over the dog and decided not to kill it, she would now have something to eat and not have to go hungry. She won't make the same mistake again. Hesitantly, she turns around expecting to see the dog behind her, but he is not there.

  There is no trace of the dog further into the distance. Apparently it knew what was best for it and went away. Nea's chance of a hot meal has dissolved into thin air. Again she tries to see the good in the situation and says that she would not have had time to cook the dog and eat it. After another long sip of water, she starts walking with hasty steps. She puts one foot in front of the other and begins to run. The riverbank is changing. To her right, steadily and wild, the river flows. To her left is the forest. It is also getting darker.

  She continues to run, even though her feet hurt and long for a break. Her steps become slow and cumbersome as the sky above slowly continues to darken until Nea feels the first cold drops on her cheek. She stops her slow walk and lifts her head to the sky. It's snowing. A flake falls onto her cheek. Small, scattered flakes fall from the sky, but she knows these are only the harbingers of many more. Quickly she enters a bit deeper into the forest to have at least some protection from the snow. It is unlikely that the river leads directly to Dementia, but she has little choice but to move on.

  She continues through the forest near the river. Snow falls in masses from the sky. It has become so dark that Nea cannot even see her hand in front of her eyes. The snow smothers the whole landscape. Nea has not noticed that the loud roar of the river has become weaker. It is freezing cold and she feels that her fingers and feet will fall off from the cold. Nevertheless, she continues to put one foot in front of the other. Instead of running, she is stumbling due to exhaustion. She cannot remain still; the snow would bury her soon.

  She keeps her head lowered, so that the snow or wind does not blow into her face. From the corner of her eye, she sees a glow from the other side of the river. Even turning her head to look hurts now, but it’s worth it. She can see three tents close together, and in the middle of them, a large bonfire flickers, which seems to be protected from the wind and snow by the tents. Just the sight of the fire is enough to make her feel a little bit warmer. She also notices that the river is much shallower for several meters, it might only be knee deep, she could easily wade through to the other side. Nea wants to just run and warm herself up by the fire, but despite her hunger and fatigue, she cannot forget the danger that can come from approaching a camp, she does not know what kind of people inhabit it.

  Carefully, she leaves the edge of the forest and approaches the river, trying to see the camp more clearly. Through the snow and darkness, Nea can only recognize outlines. She believes she sees a male shape. The man seems to see her because he begins pointing in her direction. A second person appears, and while she cannot see much, this second person seems very large, and unusual for these times, well fed, almost fat.

  Nea turns around to flee into the woods, but before she can make a run for it, she hears a voice calling, “Hey, wait up, don’t go, come back and sit with us by the fire!”

  Under any other circumstance, Nea would have never accepted such an offer due to her fear of strangers. But with her strength nearly depleted, she agrees. The snow continued to fall relentlessly and her stomach growled so loud it could be mistaken for a bear’s growl. Nea stopped and anxiously turned to face the strangers across the river. The two figures approached and could be seen clearer now. The first figure turned out to be a man, while the thicker of the two turned out to be an impressively large and strong woman. They too look at her anxiously.

  “Sit down with us next to the fire; you’ll catch your death out here,“ the woman said worriedly as she raised her hand, as if to reach out to Nea.

  “We have some hot soup you can have,” the man yelled against the strong wind.

  Nea hesitates for a moment, but then wades into the icy water without first taking off her boots and moves toward the strangers. The water comes past her knees and the flow is different than she expected, but still very strong. She soon has the feeling that she can no longer withstand the water and tries to somehow keep her balance. Soon she tips over and her entire body submerges under the water.

  Cold water penetrates her throat so she can barely get air in her lungs. Suddenly, she feels strong arms pick her up from under her armpits and drag her to the surface. Nea’s feet are unable to move alone, they just hang useless. One of the strangers supports her and pulls her through the raging water. When they reach the shore together, it’s colder. The cold wind whips the wet clothes against Nea’s body. It’s enough to rob her of consciousness. Everything fades to black.

  Three

  Quiet voices and the cozy crackle of a fire penetrate Nea’s consciousness. The smell of cooked vegetables rises into her nose, her mouth begins to water. She is warm and feels that she is wrapped in a soft, fluffy blanket. It has been years since she felt so comfortable and safe. At that time, she really had pneumonia.

  A loud cough came from Nea’s chest; it hurt so bad she had tears in her eyes. She was ice cold, although sweat beads stood on her forehead. Under her were two sleeping bags and under her head was Miro’s folded jacket, it smelled of him, a smell that always reminded Nea of juicy oranges. The smell was comforting. She closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply, which immediately caused a renewed coughing attack. On her cheek, she felt his hand, which was unusually soft for a boy. She opened her eyes and looked right into Miro’s bright blue eyes. Concerned, he looked down at her as he felt her temperature on her forehead with his hand. The coldness of his skin was pleasant on her glowing face.

  Sleepily she blinked at him and saw that he was only wearing his black knit sweater, this was winter, it was cold. Of course, his jacket was under her head.

  But when she made a move to return his jacket, he held her hands and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; I’m not as girly as you.”

  Because she was too ill to speak, she was only able to angrily wrinkle her forehead at him.

  Miro understood without words. “The main thing for you to worry about is getting well.”

  He bent down to her and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. This tiny touch caused a pleasant shiver to run down Nea’s entire body. Previously, only her parents kissed her in this way, but with Miro it was different. Although she had known him since they were young, she both hated and loved him. Her feelings for him were changing lately.

  Drowsily, Nea opens her eyes and looks at the ceiling of a tent, illuminated with the light of a small fire. Her gaze wanders further and she sees that the tent is open and is wrapped in blankets and furs. On the fire a pot sizzles with some kind of food. In addition to the bed, there is a storage bin with her shoes and coat. On the opposite side of the tent is a large fully packed carriage, next to it is two well-fed brown cows plucking grass from the partially snow-covered ground. Nea remembers what happened only vaguely. She remembers the snow and feeling helpless and being forsaken by the world. She remembers coming upon a raging fire on the other side of the river. She remembers failing to be able to cross the river and losing her footing and would have drowned, if someone hadn’t helped her. A low chuckle awakens her attention and cautiously she looks around. She sees a littl
e boy squinting at her from behind the tent door at her.

  “Did you rest well?” He asks with an impish grin and enters shyly out of his hiding. He cannot be much older than ten years old. His skin is tanned by the sun and there are few freckles on his nose. When he speaks, Nea notices a revealing flash of a small tooth gap.

  “If I would lie around lazing all day, my mother would tan my hide. She says we must all pitch in if we want to survive.”

  The little boy approaches closer and closer. Nea does not know what to say. He looks toward her expectantly.

  “Where is my backpack?” is the only thing that exits her lips. At the moment she said it, she realizes how rude it must have been.