Cupid’s Vow

 

    Long before the bridge was built, the locals whispered about the crossing at Watson Mill. The river ran shallow there, and the local folks said the place had a hunger. They said it favored lovers. The stories were always the same. A courting pair would slip away from a church social or dance and follow the moonlit path down to the crossing. Several times over the last few years, there were reports where people said they saw couples step into the shallows, but no one ever saw them step out.
   Washington W. King was told these stories when he first arrived in Madison County to build a bridge across the river to the mill. He didn’t put stock in ghost stories, but the townspeople insisted he hear them anyway. They asked him, quietly, to build something strong enough to keep the living on one side and whatever was taking their kinfolk on the other. He nodded, because that was the sort of man he was.
   When the bridge was complete, he chose one of the beams inside the covered portion of the bridge and, using his knife, carved a small inscription he had once heard from an old woman who claimed it was spoken in Valentine’s name to guard lovers on dangerous roads. She said it was meant to keep travelers safe wherever hearts might falter.
   Washington didn’t believe half of what she’d told him. But, because he had promised the people Comer, he carved it anyway.

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It was the first week of February, and a polar vortex that had plunged North Georgia into a deep freeze was easing up and moving back into the northern latitudes. After its departure, and in typical Georgia fashion, the temperatures had risen to an above-average, almost springtime highs and were forecast to remain so for the next few weeks.
   This forecast delighted the organizers of an annual celebration to honor Saint Valentine. This year’s celebration was to be held at Watson Mill State Park. For this event, a group, mostly composed of those who were not married, would gather and walk across the covered portion of the bridge. The walk would be in honor of the saint’s secret weddings with a focus on reminding attendees of ancient blessings, devotions, and vows whispered in candlelit sanctuaries.
   Kay-Lynn Wolfe, a journalism major at UGA, was given an assignment by one of her professors to attend the event and prepare a report to be presented in class.
   She did not really want to make the trek out to such a rural area. But since she was also minoring in ancient history, she changed her mind when the professor told her what the event was about. She also knew she needed to ace this assignment in order to keep up the grade point average she needed to maintain her scholarship.
   In the days before the event, she did some background research by scouring articles and old stories, especially the ones she could find on the internet. On one site, she read a familiar version of Saint Valentine’s story: Between 268 and 270 AD, the emperor Claudius II issued an edict banning marriages for young Roman soldiers, believing that single men made better soldiers. Valentine. In defiance, Valentine performed forbidden ceremonies for Christian couples in secret. For this, the emperor had Valentine executed.
   From her classes in ancient history, Kay-Lynn was also familiar with most of the other “historical accounts” she read. She knew the stories were mostly legends, and they all portrayed Valentine as a martyr for love, standing up to an unjust decree. She wanted to find something beyond these accounts to add a little more flavor to her report, so she continued her search. The farther she went into the distant corners of the internet, the stranger the material became. She laughed at first, but a couple of the tales gripped her imagination. In one post, there were stories from Italy about a winged child haunting midwinter festivals. In another, villagers in parts of France described a small figure with red feathers on its wings. In one of the stories from France, they said the figure was also carrying a quiver of arrows and a small bow. At first, Kay-Lynn was drawn in, but then she remembered that she was reading things from the internet, and everyone knew how unreliable a source it could be. This was not something she would use in her report. Not if she wanted to get an A+ on it.

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On the night of the event, Kay-Lynn arrived early. She wanted to interview some of the people gathered inside the shelter before the ceremony began. As she walked from the parking lot to the shelter, she could hear, over the sounds of the flowing river, a subtle rustling sound in the branches of the surrounding woods. Even though the weather had turned warm, she felt a slight chill just before entering the shelter.
   Inside, there were a few married couples, but most were unmarried singles who were there hoping they would meet their “soul mates” or at least make some new friends. After interviewing several people, she heard the organizer announce that the “walk across the bridge” portion of the celebration was about to start and that the unmarried attendees should go and gather at the entrance on this side of the covered bridge. Kay-Lynn followed the group as they left the shelter, made their way to the bridge entrance, and stopped there listening to the organizer’s speech before entering the bridge as a group.
   In places along the long enclosure of the bridge, small battery-powered lanterns had been hung from some of the rafters. The lantern light gave the underside of the roof an amber tone and created shadows around the wooden beams. As the group began to walk, they could hear the water cascading underneath the bridge, and the smell of river water drifting up through the cracks between the planks of the wooden floor.
   Kay-Lynn walked with the group, jotting notes and listening for human details she could use to bring her article to life. Near the entrance, she paused to jot a few notes on her ever-present notebook. In her notes, she wrote that the timber beams inside the structure rose like ribs around the participants. As she was writing, she noticed a shallow pattern cut into the wood on the beam closest to the threshold. It did not look like new graffiti or a juvenile defacement. It was older and faded by time. The grooves formed loops and slashes that, if she looked more closely, might have been letters or prayers. She remembered reading something about it in her research. She didn’t read the entire article, only that the builder of the bridge had carved an inscription on one of the beams after he had completed construction. Thinking that might add a little color to the article she needed to write, she tore a blank page from her notepad. She was just about to reach out and make a tracing of the carving when one of the participants called out to her. “Hey, you coming?”
   Kay-Lynn straightened and walked farther into the entrance. She could get the tracing after the walk through the bridge was finished. As she walked toward the center of the bridge, she looked up at the lights. The breeze that had been blowing earlier had stilled, and there was no wind inside the enclosure. Yet one of the lanterns moved back and forth, just a little, as if something invisible had brushed past it.
   Ahead of her, a scream shattered the quiet. People started running back past her, trying to reach the entrance. In the confusion, Kay-Lynn saw a man turn his head as if he had heard someone speak to him. As he turned, his mouth opened to speak, but whatever he meant to say did not come out. His hand lifted to his shoulder. He reacted as if he had been stung.
   There was a slight shimmer in the air, then he was gone... vanished into nothingness.
   Then, a woman disappeared the same way and, while Kay-Lynn watched, more people inside the bridge structure vanished.
   Red feathers drifted down and came to rest on the planks. They looked soft, almost delicate, yet people, who were now running to escape whatever was happening, recoiled from the feathers as if they carried a threat.
   Those who managed to make it back across the threshold and off the bridge ran back to the shelter seeking safety. Kay-Lynn was among those who had escaped, and she hurried into the shelter with her recorder and notebook ready. She knew she needed to catch words before shock took over and blurred people’s memories.
   “I... I felt like I had been stung,” Said one woman. She was shivering and kept pressing her hand to her shoulder as she continued to describe a sharp stinging sensation beneath the skin.
   A man talked about a cold touch; about being gripped by a hand he could not see.
   No one who had made it back to the shelter could explain why some of the participants were missing. They could only repeat fragments of sensation while the lights blinked overhead in the park shelter.
   Fear scraped at Kay-Lynn’s emotions, but something from her training as a reporter helped her keep her composure. She couldn’t just walk away; she had to report the news rather than let rumors and alarms spread. She knew she had to return to the bridge.

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   As she walked back onto the bridge, her footsteps produced small echoes that rolled into the darkness.
   Halfway down the bridge enclosure, Kay-Lynn saw a shape near the center of the passage. At first, she thought it was just a decoration. Something that had been put there for the celebration... until it moved.
   It was small, the size of a young child, and it had wings. They were red, almost like the feathers of a cardinal, but broader and stranger, the color too saturated to be natural, glowing in lantern light. It had curly, light-yellow hair and a face so smooth and pale it seemed made of wax. A smile sat on that face without changing. The creature resembled a cherub only by the simplicity of its outline.
   At first, Kay-Lynn was frightened, but her analytical reporter side was fascinated by what had appeared before her. She moved closer.
   “What are you?” she asked.
   The creature’s head tilted as she spoke. The carved smile never shifted, yet Kay-Lynn felt herself somehow being pulled toward the hollow darkness behind its mask.
   The creature replied. “When the world was new, and light was learning how to shine, I was called Phanes. But mortals made me small so they wouldn’t be afraid. I am the keeper of the vows... vows that were made centuries ago by those who made them to receive Valentine’s promise,” it answered. “They wander still because Valentine was killed, and their pleas were never answered. To honor Valentine, I find the lonely and bind them to the ones who were given a promise and still wait.”
   Kay-Lynn felt the urge to run, but her reporter instincts made her ask, “Is that what happened to the people on the bridge tonight? Was it you who took them?” she asked.
   “Not took,” it said. “Delivered.”
   “Delivered to who?” Kay-Lynn asked.
   “To the waiting,” it said. “To those who made the vows but did not receive what was promised.”
   “The ones taken are not harmed,” it continued. “They are to be joined. My arrows open a path that binds a living person’s soul to a partner who lingers on the other side of the veil. A wound from my arrow invites the waiting spirit. The union seals itself. The promise of Valentine will be fulfilled.”
   Kay-Lynn frowned. “I cannot believe that this is what Saint Valentine intended.”
   Its voice sounded almost reverent when it answered. “You are wrong. I complete what was left unfinished.”
   “You are twisting what he meant,” she said.
   “No. Even though life has left them, I can hear the lonely. They call to me. They call me Cupid. I hear their ache. To honor Valentine’s promise, I must answer them.”
   The creature began to move toward her. Kay-Lynn continued to face the creature as she began to retreat toward the bridge entrance. She looked to one side and realized she was standing next to the carved beam that she had examined earlier. She stepped sideways, slow, keeping her body angled toward the creature while her hand reached out to the carving. Moving slowly and deliberately, she wiped some of the dust from the grooves. When her hand touched the marks, a pale light appeared around the letters and highlighted them in the shadows that enveloped the beam. She spoke the words aloud.
   The words seemed strange to her and she could not read the language cleanly, but she could feel its intent like a pressure against her chest, but she somehow knew that the words were about blessings and boundaries.
   As she said the words, the bridge stirred. A pale light began to shimmer along the interior walls, and a protective boundary awakened around her as she read.
   Cupid stepped forward and raised his bow. The smile on the cherub’s face did not change, but Kay-Lynn saw its stance tighten. The translucent barrier flickered, and when the creature touched it, the temperature inside the bridge became even colder. The barrier expanded, and the figure, unable to withstand it, was driven back as if by an invisible current. Its wings trembled, scattering red feathers in disarray.
   Lanterns began to swing as a gust of wind blew down the length of the bridge. Whatever spell had hidden the missing participants unraveled. The vanished began to reappear on the planks. They appeared confused and were unable to recall what had happened. Some reached for their arm where Cupid’s arrow had struck, but did not know what was causing the feeling that they had been wounded. None could see the creature, and none carried memory of it or of the darkness of its purpose.
   Cupid faltered near the boundary. Its outline flickered, almost like smoke exposed to harsh light. The protective force held firm. Turning away from the barrier, the creature disappeared in a flurry of red feathers that whirled through the air. The feathers scattered across the boards and then vanished.
   The remnants of the boundary faded, and the carving returned to its old and faded state as Kay-Lynn lowered her hand from the beam. The rest of the participants who had disappeared reappeared on the bridge. The group was visibly shaken as they all returned to the park shelter, even though all of them were totally unaware of what had happened to them.
   Kay-Lynn stayed a while on the bridge. She studied the marks on the beam with a gratitude that steadied her breath. She was the only one who knew the creature’s misguided purpose, and that she had saved these people from the strange unions it wanted to impose.
   When she left the bridge, she returned to the park shelter. There, the celebration was ending with hurried departures. As they were leaving, someone asked her if she would still write her report. Kay-Lynn answered that she would, but she knew she was not being completely truthful. She would give her report about the interviews she conducted before the group gathered to walk across the bridge, and then describe how an unexplained panic had caused the event to be cut short. She would not make any comments about her encounter on the bridge. She would not reveal that the real truth was about a blessing carved by mortal hands that had pushed back an ancient, misguided creature.
   Before leaving, Kay-Lynn walked back to the bridge alone.
   Standing at the entrance, she made a promise. She promised she would make sure the marks were not sanded away by well-meaning restoration. She also promised she would make sure the words remained legible and that the carvings were fully restored.
   That was when she saw it.
   A single red feather appeared on the plank near the beam where the words had been carved.
   At first, there was nothing, and then the feather was simply there. It appeared like a punctuation mark placed at the end of her promise.
   She did not touch it. She only stared until her breath came slow again.
   Then she backed out of the bridge and into the pale winter evening, careful not to look over her shoulder too many times, careful not to let the bridge hear the fear in her prayer.
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