Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Meeting Eira was the only highlight of the event. She was beautiful with her long straight nearly black hair and eyes large and brown to match. Her touch intoxicated and confused him, and a part of him was still upset with Notus for having left him alone with the woman to check on Tarian. But it was being brought into direct contact with the man who killed Auntie, and recognizing him to be the child who had changed his existence in the glade, that sparked the anger afresh.

  Oh how he wanted to take his revenge - to sink his teeth into Huw’s neck and take his life. Even all that was denied to him with the snap of the God’s name. Never before had he felt so relieved to be out of anyone’s presence as he fled Eira’s home.

  It took no time with his new abilities to find himself back at his cave, and he remembered that it was his, not Notus’. Seeing the monk’s bedding, it reminded him of the trap he had been led into it and without further ado started throwing the musty hides out of his cave with every intention to stock them in the cart. He did not care about what Notus’ wanted anymore. That strange man had not improved his life, only complicated it and brought him into more danger, regardless of the excuses Notus seemed to come up with.

  He had been so focused on his fury and the clearing out of Notus’ things from his cave that he had not noticed when Father Paul Notus appeared at the entrance. The shorter man’s cough spun the younger around and they faced each other across the darkened space alight with reflected moonlight off the inner walls. Enraged crimson eyes matched brown until the shorter broke away, allowing the boy to return to the removal of Notus’ possessions.

  With an armful of hides, the boy rudely shouldered past the monk and dropped his bundle on the grass outside. Ignoring Notus’ query about what was going on, he turned, without acknowledging the man’s presence, and returned to the back of the cave for another armload. It was only when an unyielding hand grasped his arm, freezing him in place, that he heard the words repeated.

  “I asked you what you were doing?” It was unmistakably clear that Notus too was more than annoyed.

  Shrugging out of the grip, the young man glared down at the monk, allowing more of the bedding to fall forgotten to the sandy floor. A tense silence seemed to fill the cave with promised violence as they glared at one another. Jaw tightening, he realized that he was shaking with unspent fury and turned to leave. If Notus would not leave, then he would.

  “Are you just going to keep running away?” hollered Notus, following quickly.

  He spun around to face his maker. “Just leave me alone!”

  “So you can sit in your cave forever?” Notus came to stand almost a hair breath away; glaring up at the one he had broken his Oath on. “Afraid of life, forever? Is that what you truly want?”

  This time the intensity of the monk’s piercing gaze made the young man’s eyes drop as he turned away to flee once more.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Notus grabbed the younger man with the force of strength his centuries provided him and spun the boy around until he was forced to sit on the ground. Without releasing his grip, Notus crouched in front of the boy. “Listen to me.”

  The boy tried to pry the iron grip of his maker off his arm and failed. The pain was just a warning of the fact that had Notus wanted to he could snap the boy’s arm in two with just a little more pressure if he tried to move. Realizing defeat, he could only glare at the man.

  “I’m sorry that things turned out the way they did at Eira’s,” stated Notus, remorse mixed with the firmness of anger checked. “How was I to know that Huw was going to come calling and that he was the one who beat you when you were just a child?”

  Shocked at the knowledge Notus held about him, the boy hissed, “I never told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” angrily replied the monk before his Chosen could fabricate another reason to fault him with. “Eira did. She was also at the glade that day, and after you left she told me about it as if to excuse your behaviour for breaking the Guest laws and attacking Huw.”

  Eira had been there too! That’s why she looked vaguely familiar. Notus had brought him into his nightmare, but Eira had been so nice to him, had she not? Realizing that Notus’ grip on him had lessened, he managed to yank free and stand up.

  “And did she tell you that it was Huw who killed Auntie?” he hissed, anger flaring.

  At least Notus had the wherewithal to look startled and then his face softened, as did his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  It was the heartfelt apology of his Chooser that halted the boy from attempting to leave again. He wanted to blame this man for everything that had gone wrong, but found it difficult for all the good things he had brought. The anger, lessened, was still simmering, but this time at himself.

  “Do you still wish to be alone?” asked Notus, quietly.

  The question cut him more painfully than a knife would have. Shoulders slumping he shook his head, the realization brought unshed tears to his eyes.

  Notus came to stand next to him and offered a sad smile. “I’m glad. We will leave here come the fall. When we do you will have new clothes. Eira still wishes to make them for you, as her own apology for the past—I think. In the mean time dawn is approaching and we best be safe out of its touch.”

  Notus led them back to the cave where he sighed and began remaking his bed with the help of his Chosen. Once it was completed and the first turnings of the sky that promised another hot summer day began, they snuggled into their respected bedding and prepared to sleep. It was then that Notus explained the payment for the clothes and how it was to be delivered. The boy inwardly seethed at how he was being forced into the rest of the world.

  “One last thing, my son,” said Notus, “You are to never ever feed in front of a mortal. If you think that your past differences have caused you such turmoil in your life, doing such will end it, understand?”

  The boy felt a sharp pain centred on his forehead and nodded, glaring at the monk as he rubbed away the pressure.

  Two moons passed and he was still angry – at himself and at Notus, but mostly because his life was changing and it scared him. Soon the clothes would be ready and Notus would take him back to Eira’s to face her once again, but this time with the knowledge of who she was. No longer could he hide from her. Not even the animals they hunted and killed in payment brought him in contact with her when they deposited them either in the slaughter shed, or if he were without Notus and someone was coming out of their home, wherever he dropped it, before returning to the forest.

  He did not relish the idea of having contact with anyone from the village. He did not understand why he and Notus could not just stay in the cave and not travel to unheard of places.

  The rain turned to a light drizzle, changing rivulets into pregnant beads of water across his body. Wearing only the kilt due to the late summer’s heat, he ignored the slapping of the branches across his skin as he traversed an ill-defined animal track into a bramble filled with gorse.

  Cursing his mindless heeding of what the forest had been telling him, the boy found himself pricked, head to sole of foot as he turned around to escape what he should have never gotten into had he been paying proper attention. The smell of his own blood winked in and out of existence as each thorny branch jabbed holes through alabaster skin, creating ruby jewels before the wounds quickly closed, allowing for others to take their place.

  Almost out of the thicket, the sound of a stick cracking halted him to stone stillness. It was the sound of a deep-throated snort that brought a new fear and tightened the boy’s chest as he reached for the hunting knife that was not there. Damning himself for a fool, he searched the night for the source of the sound, but even with his new gifts of night vision he could not penetrate the dense foliage.

  Cautiously taking another step out of the gorse brought a grunt of pain as he stepped onto another fallen bramble. A squeal and the crashing of leaves and wood responded. Too late in the realization that he had blundered onto a boar’s nest, the boy felt himself crash
to the ground. A cry tore from his lips as the boar tore into him, ripping the skin and rending muscle of his thigh.

  Panic gripped in the waves of blinding pain, the boy barely managed to catch onto the fleshy folds behind the boar’s ears and with the strength imparted to him by his new nature he grasped the enraged beast. With a sobbing heave he yanked the creature out of his ruined groin, pulling another bellow of agony from his being. A sudden twist of the great beast’s head and the night filling with a popping sound was rewarded by presence of the boar’s dead weight on the boy.

  In pain, all he could do was lay there, suddenly grateful that he was now Chosen otherwise he would be dead. Agonizingly he heaved himself up onto his elbows so that he could finally take a view of the creature as he tried to extricate himself from its corpse.

  The boar was huge, heavy and judging by the length of the bloodied tusks and how they curled into spirals, it was old. It had lived long on its strengths. Pushing the beast off of him with a grunt, the boy’s head swam in pain as he contemplated the deep gash in his inner right thigh. His own blood smell filled the night air.

  As if by magic, he watched as muscle began to knit together with muscle, sinew to sinew, and gradually skin to skin until all that remained was a redness and tenderness to the area. Pain diminished into a dull ache until the only evidence that remained of the attack was the tattered kilt that left more leg exposed to the elements and the dead boar beside him.

  At this rate, he would have nothing to wear and he sighed, reminded of the clothing Eira was making for him and his payment due. Tentatively, he bent his legs to get them under him. Rewarded by only a slight twinge, he stood and breathed a sigh of relief that he did not topple over.

  Gazing down, he welcomed the sky as it released its torrent, heavier than at any other time in the night. Broken leaves and sticks washed down and over him, mingling with red to pool around his bare feet. Pulling his fingers through long tangled hair released more debris until his hair provided a cloak to his back as he carefully crouched to take stock of the boar lying prone in the path.

  He could not consume its blood. To do so would be his death sentence. Grateful that he had fed earlier he could ignore the light hunger pains his blood loss caused, but he did not revel in the thought that he should take the meat to Eira’s hamlet. He preferred to go with Notus or not at all. Unfortunately, it would be a waste of this great beast’s life to be left to decay in the forest when so many others could benefit from its meat.

  A flash of distant sheet lightening illuminated and exposed the yellowed curling tusks. The boy stared at them and at the boar. If it had not been for being Chosen he would have been dead to his own self defeating anger and the strangest of feelings came unbidden.

  Did our paths cross so that you could teach me a lesson? he thought and was answered by a prickling at the back of his neck accompanied by the low rumble of thunder. For the first time in two months the boy felt ashamed for having placed his anger upon a man who obviously cared deeply for him, and upon himself for his continued allowance of old fears to drive him. He allowed his angers to wash away in the downpour until all that was left was just himself and the gift of the boar.

  With two fingers to his lips and then to the boar’s brow he gave a silent thanks to its spirit for the lesson learned and the self-forgiveness it had given him. Lightning flashed again, this time giving the tusks an iridescent glow and he knew that the spiralled bones were a gift to him. Without his knife, but with his strength, he carefully ripped them out of the skull so as not to break them. Thunder met as the final tusk was released.

  Under the brilliance of the night, the boy could see they made natural bracelets and with great reverence to the gift he was given, placed one onto each wrist before hoisting the boar onto his shoulders. He would go to Eira’s and give it as a gift so that the boar’s wisdom would be carried to others, and not just to himself.

  The clap of thunder far overhead masked his first steps towards the village.

  The thunderstorm had mostly past by the time the canopy of dripping trees relinquished the night to expose the boy to the hamlet in which Eira lived. He had not seen her since that first meeting, and even though a part of him now wanted to see her again, there was still a larger part that was glad he lived in the night. Silence reigned over the village, to which he was grateful. All he could see was the heavy silver smoke lifting out of the chimneys of the roundhouses, only to fall to the ground and mingle with the rising mist. Burnt wood, ash and the metallic scent of the rain washed earth mingled in the smells of night, over riding the deep earthy fragrance of the woods.

  Noticing the stillness of the village and of Eira’s home in particular, the boy easily picked out the round shed that was for butchering, which happened to be connected to the covered pen where several cows sleepily chewed. If he could get to it, drop off the boar and be welcomed back into the embrace of the forest before anyone could take notice, he would be pleased, and he headed out of the protection of the foliage.

  He crossed the open expanse without incident and stopped next to the shed. Easily hoisting the carcass off his shoulders, the boar landed with a heavy thud, leaving him feeling naked to the sky without the protection of the foliage the woods readily provided. Pleased with his benefaction, he turned to leave and go back to the cave and to Notus.

  “Don’t go,” implored a small voice from the covered pen.

  The smell of the night mingled with the scent of the boar must have prevented him from noticing the young girl in the separate shed. Tension encircled his chest as she stepped out into the light rain. Not well equipt to guess the age of others, he could only imagine she was about four or five. Her long brown wavy hair glistened with pearlescent raindrops as she stared up with large brown doe eyes ringed with thick long lashes.

  “Where’s Father Paul?” she asked, looking around into the night and seeing nothing but darkness. “I thought he usually comes to leave the meat.”

  Mouth dry, he replied huskily, “He’s praying,” and turned to leave. It unnerved him that even a young child could make him feel so self-conscious.

  “Oh,” she replied softly, obviously disappointed, and then hesitantly, “Will you stay with me while I milk the cows?”

  Stunned at the request, he turned and took stock of the little girl before him. For the first time in his life, someone he had never met offered no fear or trepidations at his presence, nor the threat of violence. Eyes ephemerally touching, he was more comfortable gazing at her mud encrusted bare toes peeking out from the bottom of a grey woollen robe obviously too large for her slim frame.

  He so desperately desired to disappear into the late night where the darkness would be his refuge but the hopeful look on the girl’s face obliterated his fear and he nodded.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Her voice took on the air of singing bells as she brightened, obviously having expected the worst, and grabbed his pale hand in her sun darkened one as she led him into the pen where a single lantern gave off a bright yellow glow, illuminating the brown milking cows chewing their cuds.

  With a stumble at being pulled by one so much shorter than he, he barely managed not to hit his head on the edge of the slanting roof before finding a safe place to sit in the straw. For the first time he was amazed at how a little girl evoked his long hidden desires for acceptance and how much relief he felt in its reality.

  A faint smile traced across his face as he watched her pull out a small three-legged stool and a wooden bucket to the nearest cow and began her expert milking. She began a litany of the goings-on’s of the little world she participated in. Most of her stories were of her annoyance with a boy named Tegyr.

  With the nights becoming longer, dawn was still some time off, and finding a pile of clean hay by the entrance, he took off one of the boar’s tusks and began to clean it. Milk squirted past her strong small hands, filling the bucket slowly.

  “…and he just started learning to use a sword,” she continued. “Of course
his Da won’t give him one until he can learn not to slice off a toe. Can you believe it?” Her giggle brightened the pen more than the lamp. “Yep, that’s what Tegyr did. Took his Da’s sword and tried whirling it about. Ma said Tegyr’s lucky he didn’t slice off something more important than a toe.” She broke into peals of laughter that slowly dwindled when she realized no one was laughing with her.

  At the halt of her delicious laughter, he brought his attention away from his cleaning job, only to bring it quickly back to the straw bed at the sight of her staring at him.

  “You don’t say much, do you?” Her question was more a statement.

  Suddenly uncomfortable with her directness, he continued to buff the tusk so that it would shine. Only the rhythmic beat of milk splattering into the bucket made him distinctly aware that the little girl with brown curly hair was observing his every motion in great detail.

  “Is that a boars tusk?” she inquired without stumbling in the rhythm of her milking.

  Without looking at her, he nodded as he continued to clean the tusk that was already gleaming. He was starting to become uncomfortable at her scrutiny.

  She exhaled in amazement. “Wow! Ma says that tusks from a boar are powerful and are to be treasured. Only Chiefs are allowed to wear them. The more they curl the more the power. Did you get it from the boar you brought?”

  Splash. Splash.

  Again he nodded into the pause, wishing she would return to her narrative rather than focus on him.

  “Did you kill it all by yourself?” The milking ceased as her expectation of a possible story caught her young attention.

  Quickly glancing up at her, her brown eyes beamed with excitement and he dropped his gaze back down without so much as a nod. He had to get out of there, but was surprised that he did not want to hurt her feelings.