The Promise

Stephen was a normal enough fellow, and he followed a very predictable routine. A toymaker by trade, he woke in the morning, packed his tools, and went to his office to carry on the family business. The sign on the door read “Stephen and Sons,” but that was his father’s sign. His father had passed some time ago and left the store to him and his brother, Daniel. Eventually, Daniel had left to go work in a clock factory, adding to his wind-up toy knowledge ideas in advanced engineering to develop ever more complex clocks, some that only had to be wound once every fifteen years. One of these is what awoke Stephen this morning, chiming with the predictable call of the coo-coo bird. He arose, kissed his wife, once again packed his tools, and left to his modest, if not reliable, job in the little toy shop in the village.

This was his calling, and not some job in the big, bustling city. The gleams of joy on the faces of the children who came into his shop, wondering at every invention that he’d made, and every toy that he’d personally assembled by his own designs. The walls of his shop were adorned with shelves, altogether holding nearly a hundred years of toys. His shop had the fortunate location of being just on the corner of the only bridge leaving Evoation into the wider world beyond, and so a good number of his shoppers were visitors from other parts of the world. He liked the idea that his toys kept children happy outside of Evoation, as well as in the sleepy little town.

But he had a problem. Every year, the materials to build his toys became more and more expensive. He’d noticed it first five years before, when his wood went up to ten dollars a plank. After five years had passed, he was up to nearly twenty dollars a plank. This winter, as he went through his budget, he scratched his head and pushed up his glasses as he summed the profits of the last year. They were not equivalent to his expenses. In fact, he had spent almost half again what he’d earned. One glance at the line that showed his savings told him that he had at most another year or two before his shop would go under.

So on the blustery, snowy evening when the largest toy manufacturer in the known world came into his home, offering to annex his little shop to the toy manufacturer’s already massive empire, Stephen listened.

“You can do everything just as you do now,” promised the portly man with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye. “Just you send me ten percent of the profits, and I’ll send you the wood that I get. I have a massive discount because I use so much, you see, and you can be part of that. It’s an economy of scale.”

Stephen’s wife, Karen, sat next to him at the table, with worry across her brow. She gave him a glance that told him not to do it, and Stephen heeded her glance and said that he would think about it.

“A wise man,” said the boisterous man. “And you married well too, I can see that. I’ll give you a week to think it over, but I really must then retract my offer. Business awaits in other locations. I have only so much time and money, and it doesn’t do to not use both efficiently.”

Over the next week, Stephen tossed and turned, having dreams repeatedly about the man’s offer, and about the red ink on his balance sheets. By the time the week had passed, he’d convinced himself that the man’s offer was good. Stephen sent a letter to the man indicating as much, over his wife’s protestations. The man sent a contract back, and Stephen signed it straightaway, and for the first year, things were spectacular. The man sent the wood at pennies on the dollar, and Stephen made his toys, and sold his toys, and brought joy to the faces of the children.

The next year, the price of wood yet again went up. Along with a letter from the man that said how apologetic he was, and that the price had gone up on him as well. It was still cheaper than before, so Stephen felt that his deal had been a good one. The man also sent that year a few boxes of the man’s toys, manufactured somewhere Stephen had never been or seen, and asked that Stephen display them in the windows alongside his own toys. This Stephen did eagerly, as the man had helped him so much that Stephen thought it was still a bargain.

It was around this time that a different man brought his son in looking for toys for a Christmas celebration. That man, Albert, was a regular and lived on the other side of town, so hadn’t frequented the shop often. But as soon as he walked in, Albert noticed the toys in the window, and pulled Stephen aside.

“Those toys,” he said, pointing. “Those were made by Hinderson Toys, right?”

“Yes,” said Stephen, a bit concerned as to the man’s tone.

“You know I’m a woodworker. I used to chop down trees in the forest just beyond the church to the west. That is, until Hinderson put a fence up. A few years back, Hinderson bought the land back there, and now I have to buy wood from him. The price is so high that it keeps me barely able to feed my son. We saved for months to come buy a toy from you, but I don’t think we can. Not when you’re working with Hinderson.”

That moment, the man took his son and left. The boy’s face was what impacted Stephen the most. He saw the longing, aching pain that he as a child had felt so often when he’d seen toys that he wanted but couldn’t have.

That year, he got another letter. This one said that soon, he would find an entire crate of toys from Hinderson that he was expected to put up. And, the letter continued, that the price of wood had gone up on him again. This time, the price was even higher than he had ever had before, and his entire savings would be wiped out if he made any more toys. So it was with a heavy heart that he replaced all of the displayed toys he’d made with love and affection for the machined things that were now in the window. And it was with an even heavier heart that he realized the truth. He wasn’t a toymaker any longer, as he couldn’t afford to make toys anymore.

The man he’d trusted, he realized, had been the same man who’d caused the price of wood to go up in the first place. He’d been tricked, but now, there was nothing to be done. As he talked it over with his wife, she asked why he didn’t just send the toys back and refuse to sell them. But it was too late. He hadn’t made any new toys to sell, and even if he had, they’d be more expensive to make and sell than anything Hinderson sent him. He told her they’d just have to make do, and for a while, they did.

The next year, another letter came from the man. This one said that things were bad for toys everywhere, and Stephen would have to pay for the Hinderson toys that he now sold in the window. Stephen couldn’t afford to pay for the toys for resale. He told the man this, and the man sent another letter. This letter said that if Stephen wanted to sell his shop, Stephen could stay and work it for a salary. Stephen didn’t see that he had a choice, so he did exactly that. For a while, Stephen and his wife lived off of the proceeds of that sale, but when his savings were used up, he found himself reliant on the money the man gave him for salary. 

When the man sent a letter the next year, saying that the toy business was still suffering, but he was sure that it would be better soon. However, in the meantime, Stephen would have to take a pay cut. Barely able to afford to feed himself and his wife, Stephen threw the letter into the fire in frustration. He packed his clothes and set off across the long bridge.

It took him some time to get to Hinderson Toys Headquarters, and when he did, he was appalled at what he saw. Warehouses were full to overflowing with wood, some of which looked as though it had been there for years. Three separate toy stores were connected to the property, each with lines of people out the door. Through one window, he saw the portly man and stormed in. The man didn’t appear to be suffering at all, despite this supposed blight on toy sales. He confronted the man, and the man only laughed in that boisterous way that made his belly bounce up and down.

“You believed me,” he said, snickering. “It’s not my fault you didn’t check first and find out who I am. How do you think I built my empire in the first place.”

It was then that Stephen realized he’d been tricked, and tricked completely. If you go into Evoation today, you’ll see Stephen and Sons toys, and a wall full of toys for sale, all at reasonable prices. There, however, is nobody named Stephen working there any longer. But just outside the front, under a sheet of newspapers, you may find him still, asleep under a bench, muttering seemingly nonsense words about promises broken.

Bobby’s Bridge

“What’s beyond the river?” Bobby asked his mother, Helen. He flicked his dark black hair over his shoulder. Curls tinged with amber fell against his red collarless shirt. Bobby had a way of turning up his head that made him look as though he were admonishing someone, especially when his curiosity caught the best of him, as it often did.

“Land,” was the quick response that Helen gave him back.

“I know that,” Bobby said. “What kind of land is it?”

“Nobody knows,” Helen replied. “I’ve never seen it myself.”

“Nobody’s seen it?” asked Bobby. His eyebrows narrowed as he latched onto that concept. Nobody knew what was beyond the Cryms. “I want to be a great explorer. I will discover what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“You’re barely twelve,” Helen said. “How do you plan to do that?”

“Ask, of course,” Bobby said, his eyes brightening. He wiped something brown on his coarse brown pants. “If we know there’s land, then someone’s seen it right?”

“Someone? Well, I suppose,” said Helen. She wore a crimson gown that flowed around her ankles like a river. It was a nightgown that Bobby always loved, because of the way the hem floated there. “That would be Roget and Nance. They’re the only two people who have been across.”

“I thought you said we don’t know?”

“We don’t,” Helen assured him, shaking her head. “You’ll see why.”

Bobby thought about Roget and Nance. He knew that Roget lived closest, at the water’s edge, and thought that might be his best shot for an answer. And so, he set out that day in the shimmery sunlight to walk through the forest toward the water’s edge, where Roget’s house was.

When he broke through the clearing at the edge of the water, Bobby saw a little shack. It was half torn down, and around it were posts with painted rocks atop them, each decorated stone with an eyeball peering away from the house. At first, Bobby thought he might need to leave. He didn’t really know Roget. The man was rumored to shout at night random musings into the air, almost stream-of-consciousness stuff. Bobby knew this, but he had to find out what lay beyond the river, so he swallowed and pushed past the creepy structures toward an opening he hoped was the front entrance.

“Who’s there?” came a voice, quivering and full of bitterness.

“It’s me. Bobby,” Bobby said.

“Why are you here, Bobby?” asked Roget.

“To seek knowledge,” Bobby said. “I want to understand what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“Death,” said Roget. “Chaos. It’s a world that won’t be understood.”

Bobby sucked in his breath. “You’ve seen it?”

“The far shore? Indeed I have. I set foot upon it.”

“What happened?”

“I got back into my boat, and I returned.”

“And you saw—”

“Some say that there’s a jabber that lives in the woods there. Some say that it will sneak into homes at night and steal babies.”

“And you saw one when you were over there?”

“I saw trees that stretched into the sky, behind which jabbers could easily hide. I saw caves where jabbers like to roost.”

“What does a jabber look like? I mean, you know, when you saw one?”

“I saw a shadow move.”

“Shadow of a jabber?”

“Shadow of a bear. But it could have just as easily been a jabber. What if the bear ate the jabber?”

Bobby blinked. He mulled the conversation over in his mind, pulling at the strings of it and trying to weave something meaningful from the dribble. The truth, the best he could make it out, was that Roget had seen nothing. Maybe he’d stepped foot on the other side, maybe he hadn’t. But either way, he hadn’t seen anything at all, and yet, oozed this fear, the same fear that Bobby had heard repeated constantly in his village. But if it was only Roget, then what?

“Coffee?”

“I’m twelve.”

“Still. Would you like some? I could tell you about the time a jabber almost got me.”

His eyes popped open wide. “Really?”

“Yes. I heard it outside of my tent when I was sleeping.”

“How do you know it was a jabber?”

“Well, people say there are jabbers out there. I believe them. And I was in my tent and heard something, so it had to be a jabber.”

Bobby’s heart fell. Another non-jabber sighting.

“I’m going to talk to Nance.”

The old man wrinkled his nose at this. “What would you want to talk to her for? She doesn’t know anything. Like she’s ever been over the river.”

“Mom says—”

“Your mother doesn’t know anything. I never liked Nance. You can’t trust her. She doesn’t speak the truth.”

It was half a day between Roget’s shack and Nances little hut, farther down the river, and with a front porch covered in flowers. Bobby felt happy approaching the hut, just by virtue of the plethora of different colors that presented themselves there. He felt uplifted, as though there were something peaceful there that he might discover. He had no apprehension approaching, and even found a knocker on the door so he didn’t have to just wander in.

“Come in,” came the woman’s voice from inside. Bobby entered the hut, which sat against the river in very much the same way as Roget’s shack. As he passed through the little hut, he saw paintings adorning the walls, some of towers and high city walls that didn’t exist in Evoation. When he came out the other side, he saw a bridge extending a few feet into the water. An older woman leaned over it, hammering down a plank into place. When Bobby raised his eyes, he couldn’t see the opposite side of the river from where he stood.

“Nance?”

“Yes, child. I’m Nance. What can I do for you?” the woman said, brushing sweat from her eyes and her gray hair out of her face.

“I want to learn about what’s beyond the Cryms.”

“An entire world,” Nance said. “A world of trees and wonder and fruits we don’t know. It’s a world of splendor and potential trading partners. There are cities with streets laced with gold and paved with marble stones.”

“What about jabbers?”

“Those childhood stories? No, they don’t exist, Bobby. You’re old enough to know better than that, aren’t you?”

“Roget says—”

“Ah,” Nance commented. “Roget hasn’t been to the other side.”

“Helen said he has.”

“Roget’s told everyone that he has. Some people believe him. A lot of people believe him, in fact. So many, that I haven’t managed to convince anyone to help build a bridge and connect us to the world.”

“I’ll help,” Bobby said.

“Before you do,” Nance said, eyeing him up and down. “Before you do you should ask yourself if you trust me either. What if I’m lying to you and there’s nothing but death and destruction beyond the Cryms?”

“It seems to me that if that was the case, you wouldn’t be building a bridge.”

“Smart boy,” she said. “No, while Roget keeps his lies up, I can’t get anyone to help. So it’s just me, just working on this bridge.”

“Why?”

“To show them. Once I get it built, people will be able to see for themselves.”

“No, I mean why do people believe him?”

She shrugged.

“I’ve wondered that. Hand me that plank.”

Bobby dutifully grabbed a nearby plank. It was much heavier than he’d expected, but he managed to tug it over to Nance’s side. She wedged it into place, reached into an apron, and produced a handful of nails. She talked as she hammered.

“I think that maybe it’s too much for people. They can’t see it for themselves, so they have to believe someone. Roget’s convinced a lot of folks that I can’t be trusted, so they won’t even listen to me. Those are the people who keep coming by to try to sabatoge my bridge.” She pointed to an out of place plank that looked a little uneaven. “Had to replace that one yesterday. If anyone does discover what’s on the other side, then nobody would listen to Roget. He’d have no power, and we could be part of the world. Imagine the things we could discover.” Her eyes sparkled when she talked.

“My mother doesn’t believe Roget.”

“Helen doesn’t, you’re right. If she had, she wouldn’t have mentioned me,” Nance said, smiling, though Bobby could see a pain in her eyes.

“Why are you sad?”

“Because she won’t support me either. Do you see her here, helping? Hand me another plank, will you?”

Bobby ran to grab another plank.

“I’m helping,” Bobby said. “And she sent me.”

“Fair,” Nance said, chuckling as she nailed the plank into place. “As long as you remember to come back, you’ll be a great help.”

“But don’t some people believe you?”

“Some do,” she said, nodding. “But most have decided that Roget’s story and my story are too different. They can’t believe that the world could be as beautiful as I’ve described it, and their fear keeps them from wanting to find out. They build walls around their own hearts and minds. Whether they believe me, or believe Roget, their inaction supports Roget. After all, if you want to find out what’s beyond the river, you really have to look, don’t you?”

“I will,” said Bobby, laying a plank down for himself. Nance handed him the hammer and a few nails.

“The hard part will be setting the next post,” she said. “The one after that is even harder.”

“When will the bridge be finished?” Bobby asked, staring out over the water.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But as long as we keep laying planks, it’ll get to the other side.”

So Bobby helped. Every day, for the rest of his life, he helped work on the bridge, one plank at a time, until it stretched nearly halfway across. Nance died before the bridge was completed, and Bobby inherited the hut. His mother, eventually, began to use the bridge building as an excuse for them to stay close, and Bobby liked that. But eventually, his mother died too. Bobby kept working. It was when Bobby was as old as Roget that he finally reached the other side, and laid the final plank. As he stepped foot over, he felt a warm gust of air caress his leathery skin, which he likened to the gentleness of Nance, thanking him for the work he’d done.

The bridge was the first of twelve to be built over the next few decades. Trade flourished for Evoation, and visitors from all over came to the little village, turning it from a village, into a town, and then from a town into a city. All of the growth was possible because of the little bridge that Nance had started, a tool that allowed the people of Evoation to see the truth, despite being inundated with lies. And once it was finished, and the people could see for themselves what lay beyond the water, then all the talk of jabbers became resigned truly to the storybooks and children’s tales from which they’d come.