Welcome to this month’s Full Moon Tale.
Every month, on the full moon, I offer you an original story, in the style of ancient folk tales but very much of my own creation, that I imagine us all reading as we sit around a campfire. I imagine the moon illuminating the sky above us, the fire warming our faces and casting shadows behind our little circle. We sit together, and we tell a story. Won’t you join us?
The Keymaker
Once, a woman was exiled to an island. A group of men rowed her there in a small boat from the mainland; they pushed her out onto the shore with a few meagre possessions, and then rowed away. She stood, silently, on the beach, watching the little boat disappear into the horizon, until the sky swallowed it up completely. Then she turned to examine her new domain.
The woman set about learning to live on the island. She built herself a shelter, she foraged nuts and berries, and she found what animals shared the land with her. But she longed for her home. Every evening, she climbed to a cliff overlooking the beach she had arrived on, and took a piece of paper from a bundle she had brought with her. With a twig that she had sharpened into a point, and an ink made from the juice of berries, she wrote a letter asking for help. Then she folded her note and held it out until the wind took it from her hand and threw it towards the mainland. Night after night, she sent out note after note, and, as she watched each one float away on the breeze, she sent with it a silent prayer for rescue.
Days, then weeks, passed by. No rescue came, and the woman found herself with no more paper. Since no one was coming for her, she decided she would have to save herself. She collected branches from around the island, and used vines to tie them together into a raft. She took another long branch to use as an oar. Then she pushed off from the beach, out towards the mainland.
It was a long way to sail, in changeable seas, on her delicate vessel. When the woman saw another small island on her route, she decided it would make a good place to rest and replenish her stores of food and water. She steered her raft towards it, then hauled it up onto the beach, out of the reach of the tide. She walked further inland to investigate this new place. As she climbed a tall hill, she saw a beautiful tree with large branches spread out wide as if to point in all directions around the island. Walking towards it, she saw that the branches of the tree were studded with pieces of paper, caught between the leaves like subtle jewels.
Her heart sank. This must be why no reply had come to her messages - here they all were, caught in the branches of a tree before they even reached the mainland. She reached up and took down a note from a low-hanging branch, expecting to see her own handwriting. But, before she even opened the note, she knew it wasn’t hers. The paper was quite different. Inside was the writing of a stranger, in completely different ink. Yet, as she read, she realised it was written by a woman. A woman asking for help.
She took down several more notes - they were all from women asking for rescue. From so many different situations and in so many different ways, but they all wanted to escape. As the woman looked around her, and back down the hill towards the beach where she had left her raft, she understood that she had come to hold something very precious - freedom. She could use this gift to help her sisters who remained trapped.
The woman took a twig from the tree, and took a small knife from her pocket. She carved the twig into a key. Then she wrapped the key in the first note that she had taken down, and gave the little parcel to a bird to take back to the author. Then she made another key, wrapped it in another note, and gave it to another bird to take to that note’s author. She made key after key, until she grew tired. Then she built herself a shelter, found water and food, and lay down to rest.
The next day, she made more keys. And the day after that. More notes arrived in the tree, and she made more keys. This continued for many weeks, perhaps months. In between making keys, the woman explored the island and fell in love with the beautiful forests and beaches she found, all rich with food and water as if they had been provided just for her. Then, one day, a note arrived that wasn’t a request for help - it was a thank you. In the note, the woman thanked the keymaker for giving her the tools to break free, allowing her to live a life of joy. The woman’s heart swelled to read this, and she threw herself into making keys even faster. The requests for help kept coming, but so did the notes of thanks. Notes came praising the keymaker, and even offering her small gifts carved from wood. More and more women wrote to her from their personal prisons, begging for rescue; and more and more wrote to her to thank her for setting them free.
She is still there today, receiving women’s cries for help, and sending them the key to their own escape. You can send her a note any time you want - just write your request on a piece of paper, and let it be taken by the wind. Then watch for your key to be delivered.
A great story, inspirational. But I still wonder why those cruel men abandoned her. Was she better off without them anyway?
Someone should take away their birthdays
Goosebumps all over. My how I am grateful to have received your words at the right time and opened them. The perfect full moon read. Thank you!