A Fisherman's Oath

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Eamon noticed it before dawn, standing at the water’s edge with his calloused hands on his oar. The current, once as steady and predictable as his breath, now defied nature, pulling upstream in eerie silence. He stared, feeling a chill run through him that had nothing to do with the morning fog.

Still in shock from learning of his Queen’s disappearance, he knew without a doubt that her connection to the river caused the reversal.

It had been years since he’d last thought of the promise he’d made to her, spoken quietly by this very riverbank. A foolish oath, he’d told himself later, meant only for children. But now, watching the river defy its path, he felt that same promise stir to life—a summons, unmistakable and binding. She needed help, and the river spoke for her now, as she had told him it would.

With a heart both heavy and resolute, Eamon pulled his boat into the water, following the silent pull of the river and the memory of her voice whispering his name. Upon reaching the middle of the wide, expansive water, his boat stopped. With a shaking hand, he cast his line and waited.

Unsure what to do or look for, he stared into the water and let the memories overwhelm him. He'd never forget how taken he was the first time he saw the Queen. Even as a young boy, he admired her bright smile, caring eyes that always shone a bright green, fiery red hair, and soft voice. He fell in love before he even understood what that meant.

The devastation of learning she was promised to a prince still haunted him. It was the end of their imagined future but not of their bond. He cherished their secret meetings, their long talks on the riverbank about everything and nothing at the same time.

She enjoyed many perks as an official member of the royal family, but she always seemed fearful. Unsure of the future, scared of an unknown, unspoken force. Knowing that when push came to shove, the royal family would protect their son over her, Eamon made his solemn vow of protection.

He went about his life every day, keeping his weapons shop operational and enjoying meals with friends. It was a quiet, happy life, though his yearning never ceased.

A gentle tug on his line brought him out of his memories. Carefully reeling it in, he watched a subtle green glow emanate from under the water, growing stronger as it approached the surface.

Eamon eased the line back into the boat, catching the gold pendant in his hand. Detaching it from the hook, his breath caught in his throat as more memories flooded back. Each placing a lock of hair inside the pendant, the Queen, betrothed at only 16, told him that when she called on him for help, he’d feel the pull of this pendant. And feel the pull he did; his boat knew precisely where to find it.

She had dropped it in the water for a reason. She’d told him of her family’s connection to the river, but the story was a little different each time. He assumed it to be nothing more than a myth concocted after centuries of the kingdom’s prosperity.

Years ago, as they sat by the riverbank, she spoke of a witch, angered by betrayal, who cursed her ancestors. The witch bound the bloodline to the river, ensuring the death of anyone who strayed from its proximity. Over time, the curse turned bittersweet as the river became a source of strength and vitality for the family while remaining a tether.

She told the story with a chuckle, although it was folklore. But there was a shadow in her eyes.

The pendant’s glow pulsed faintly, like a dying ember, before dimming entirely. With his brow furrowed, he closed it before turning it back over. It left an aching void in his chest as if her presence had slipped further away. Opening it again, he strained his eyes to find the glow, but it had disappeared.

As he lowered it back into the water, he let go of the breath he hadn’t realized was held tight in his chest. As he stared, faint white lines appeared on the water’s surface. Leaning in, he saw the outline of a large, distinctive tree. Eamon recognized this as the tree that sat at the river’s source.

Nodding to the river, which felt alive, he pulled the pendant back and secured it around his neck. Positioning the oars, he set off toward the tree, a feat made easier as the river now ran toward the source for the first time in known history.

“My Queen, my dear, where are you?” Eamon whispered desperately into the wind, his shaking voice barely audible even to himself.

The warm, gentle breeze around him suddenly felt cold and aggressive. The water beneath him stirred, rocking his boat. Steadying himself, his ears picked up a sound on the wind.

“Find me in the shadows, Eamon”

It was low and whispered, but Eamon would know his Queen’s voice anywhere. Clutching the pendant in his hand, he watched it pulse a subtle green glow three times before fading again. She was trying to reach him.

Picking up his oars with renewed strength, he rowed faster. Eamon arrived at the tree as the sky darkened with sunset. He approached the tree and watched in awe as the water crashed into its base, where it would normally flow out peacefully.

Unsure what to do next, he opened the pendant again, careful to keep their old locks of hair secured as the wind picked up around him. A green light rose from his hands and travelled toward the base of the tree. Upon reaching the roots, the light coiled into a whirlpool of shadows as deep and impenetrable as a black hole. Tendrils of darkness licked the air, drawing him closer. The ground beneath the tree seemed to breathe, exhaling whispers that sent shivers down his spine.

As the seconds passed, images appeared in the black hole's center. He saw a vision of his Queen, imprisoned in blackness, weak and defeated. As quickly as it appeared, the light exploded into dust as the earth shifted beneath the tree. The pendant warmed against his chest, pulling him forward. As the earth moved again, it revealed a glowing path at the tree's base. Water crashed angrily at the entrance.

The Queen’s whispered plea rang in his ears. “Find me in the shadows.” Eamon knew that to save her, he must cross this threshold. He also knew that in doing so, he would leave this realm.

Steadying his breath and steeling himself, he stepped through. Greeting him on the other side were winding paths shrouded in inky darkness. To his left, he noticed a tall, dark figure holding a long, spindly sceptre. He kept it in his outstretched arm, absorbing any light that tried to push through.

The figure didn’t move as Eamon passed, so he kept his gaze straight ahead and walked, the light from the pendant his only guide. The pendant warmed and cooled in his hand as he navigated the maze of shadows. After what felt like hours, he arrived at a tall, narrow tower. Dragging open the heavy door, he stepped inside to see his Queen surrounded by thick, shimmering clouds of darkness. She sat on the ground, unmoving, head hanging.

“Lirienne, my dear…” was all Eamon could choke out.

Slowly raising her head, the Queen’s eyes flashed with recognition.

“Lirienne,” he repeated, “Can you get up?”

“Dravorn, the council,” she began, her voice empty and defeated. "They told him I would steal the crown from his bloodline now that my parents have passed. He… left me here. The shadows… they feed on fear and despair. He ensured I remain powerless.”

Kneeling, Eamon tried to meet her gaze. “Lirienne, you are not powerless.”

“Eamon…” she choked, entirely defeated.

The pendant grew hot against his chest, alive and insistent.

He held it up so she could see. “Do you remember this, the promise we made?”

Seeing it seemed to strengthen her. Smiling, Eamon slowly opened it as it's light expanded to fill the room. As her gaze found what they’d tucked inside over a decade ago, colour filled her cheeks, and she rose from the ground. Her cell of thick, cloudy darkness hardened as she stood and shattered around her with a series of heavy thuds.

After a quick embrace, Eamon took her arm and held the pendant before them, its light guiding them back to the river.

Eamon couldn’t contain his smile as they approached the portal, “Are you ready to go home?”

His eyes met hers, now bright and happy. But before she could respond, the shadowy figure guarding the entrance lowered his sceptre, blocking their path.

Eamon’s earlier anxiety turned to an angry pang in his chest as he threw his hands up, turning to face the Keeper of Shadows. He heard its rumbling voice before he could protest, “You may not remove something from my shadows without leaving something in its place. Such is how we balance the realms.”

Meeting Lirienne’s eyes again, now stricken with fear, he turned back to the Keeper, voice shaking. “What do you mean?”

The Keeper pointed his sceptre to the Queen, “If she leaves, you must stay.”

“Stay where?!” Eamon exclaimed, “Stay here?”

“You will serve me as a Keeper’s Assistant, guarding the human side of the path.”

Eamon was so stunned into silence that he barely felt Lirienne taking his hands in hers. “Eamon, I cannot ask you to do this.”

Meeting her gaze, he felt a jolt in his chest as his knees weakened. His vision grew bleary with years of suppressed tears, both of joy and sorrow.

“Lirienne, my love. You do not have to ask. This is how I keep my oath to you. Your youth was stolen by a man you did not love and a life you did not ask for. Let me give you back the rest of it.”

Shaking her head, she gripped his hands even harder. “I’ll visit you,” She whispered, tears spilling onto her tattered dress.

“No,” He said, shaking his head vigorously. He turned to the Keeper and spoke, keeping his gaze cast downward, “If I agree to the exchange, will she be freed from the witches' river curse? Can she leave?” He lifted his eyes to look at the Keeper, trying hard to drive home those last three words.

With a gentle creak, the Keeper’s head gave a single, subtle nod.

Turning back to the young Queen for a final embrace, he spoke in her ear, “Lirienne, get as far away from this kingdom as you can. Run and do not look back. Dravorn will seek you, so you must disappear.” He stepped back to look her in the eyes again. Pulling the pendant from around his neck, he placed it in her hands. “Take this and get into my boat. It will guide you to safety.”

“Eamon, I can’t leave you here!” She exclaimed, her tears thick and heavy.

Squeezing her hands one last time, he looked back at the Keeper and nodded.

The figure approached them, lowering his sceptre to guide Lirianne forward and through the portal. She fought and tried to turn back, but the Keeper’s strength was inhuman.

“Lirienne!” He called, meeting her eyes a final time. “I love you.”

The Keeper ushered her through the gate before she could respond, but her eyes told the truth.

The Keeper returned, placing his sceptre on Eamon’s shoulder. With a mix of love and despair gripping his heart, he felt a numbness overcome his senses as the light left him, replaced with a heavy black cloak.