Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

Taking his silence as affirmation, she continued her exuberant story telling as she picked up the milking beat. “That must have been scary. Weren’t you afraid –”

  “Bronwen, who are you talking to?” came a voice approaching the pen.

  Attention snapped away from the polishing, panic rushed in his ears to be followed by a loud crack and pain accompanied by flashes of light and a momentary nausea. He could not remember rising quickly to his feet, but it did not matter now that he was crouching and grasping the top of his throbbing head. What he did remember a little too late was that the pen was made for much shorter people.

  A hand lighted onto his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  Taking his hand away from the crown of his head, red jewels glittered darkly on his milk white hand before he rubbed it away in the straw.

  “Here, let me take a look.”

  Before he could so much as utter a single syllable of protest, the woman was looking for the wound. “That’s strange,” she mumbled after finding none.

  Carefully this time, he stood up to find himself staring down at Eira. She was as beautiful and as intimidating as he remembered. He forced himself to swallow as he looked around for an escape, finding it blocked.

  The repetitive splashing of milk into the bucket stopped as Bronwen watched in fascination the dynamic unfolding between her ma and the tall white young man people in the village believed to be Gwyn ap Nudd returned.

  Silence thickened the air between the two adults as Eira took stock of the young man’s appearance. She had not expected to see him here with her daughter and was not too sure how she felt about that. She had not expected to see him at all until Father Paul said they would come at the harvest celebration. Noting every detail, she frowned at the kilt shredded at the right thigh and the pinkness of new healing skin. Healer’s instincts taking over, Eira’s face relaxed into concern as she stepped closer for a better look at the once wound and stopped when the tall pale youth stepped back with a thud against the wattle and daub wall.

  Heart pounding in his ears, he realized too late the trap he found himself in. This time one of his making, but at least the path to escape was now cleared. He noted the slight tingling, the precursor to dawn, and knew he had to leave, now.

  Mistaking his trembling, Eira explained, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to examine your wound.”

  Quickly taking his gaze off of Bronwen’s mother to look down at his thigh, he found it a ragged and red. It felt perfectly fine and thought it was completely healed, as it did not pain him. The sound of her kneeling in the hay was the only precursor to her warm gentle touch on his thigh. Closing his eyes in abject embarrassment, he rested his head against the thatch as he felt her light touch probing the afterthought of the wound.

  With years of experience as the area’s only healer, and having seen several of similar types of wounds, Eira quizzically commented, “It looks as if you were gored not long ago, but in this placement, you would have died.” Brushing her long flowing hair back from her eyes, she stood up and stared into his. “I know Paul well enough to say that he would have brought you to me for healing as this is out of his range of expertise. He doesn’t know about this does he?”

  Mouth gone dry, he could only stare back, fear flashing, and swallowed. Notus told him what would happen if those not Chosen found out about them, and he had enough experience to know the truth of it.

  “What are you?” Her voice fell to an intense whisper, her eyes boring into his.

  The question hit too close to a nerve he thought was well walled up, and he turned to escape the pen and those it contained. His progression came to a halt as she grasped his forearm and he turned to face her once more.

  Noting his frightened crimson eyes flickering to the wide expanse past the pen to gaze into the forest, sympathy filled her voice. “I’ll let you go if you answer my question.”

  Allowing her to continue her grip on his arm, he searched this tall beautiful woman’s eyes for any hint of maliciousness and found none. He still could not bring himself to trust her.

  “One question,” Eira pleaded.

  Appraising her, he cocked his head, milk white hair flowed off his back, and he nodded, inwardly hoping that it was the right decision. He would answer her question.

  The faint hint of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth and she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she would not have to extract the second half of the payment from Paul. Ever since that time in the grove a lifetime ago, this young man captured her attention like no other and she wanted to know why. “Who and what are you?”

  Removing her hand from his arm, he replied. “That’s two questions.” Relief washed over him as he took a step out of the pen. Sunrise was still a little time away. If he hurried he would make it back with moments to spare.

  “Please,” she pleaded, following him out into the pre-dawn, once again catching onto his arm.

  Something in the tone of her voice caught him, and he turned. Maybe it was the hurt, but there was a longing easily read even by him. “Why do you want to know?”

  This time Eira broke the gaze to land on her hand resting on his arm. In the silence, she moved her hand down his muscled arm, and reaching his hand, and lifted it in hers. Long delicate fingers, belying a greater strength, lined up one against the other. Two hands similar except hers were smaller and sun touched. Intertwining her fingers with his, she tightly clasped his hand.

  The warmth of her grasp surprised him. Large ruby eyes shifted from their interlocked hands to meet deep brown ones. He found himself speaking without realizing. “I do not know what I am.” He halted, disturbed by the truth finally spoken aloud. Frowning at their hands he continued, “As to who I am? I am whom Llawela raised. I am whom Geraint trained. I am whom Notus has made. I am crimbil made Chosen.”

  The litany of names bit at Eira as surely as if he had and she pulled back her hand with a cry of surprise. Half remembered memories, snatches of conversations and reasons snapped into place, revealing the truth her soul felt but never gave thought or feeling to.

  “A real changeling!” exclaimed Bronwen.

  Having realized they had both forgotten the child in the pen, they both quickly turned their attention to her. Ignoring her inquiry, the young man looked down at the cleaned boars tusk in his other hand and gently placed it into Eira’s. “For the girl,” sadness consumed his voice and he turned to leave.

  Eira ogled the rich gift, her mouth slack with dumb shock. When she looked up to thank him he was nowhere to be seen. Heart beating faster than it ever had before, Eira clutched the curling tusk to her chest and sank to the ground, allowing tears to flow.

  Chapter XIV

  The orange moon hung over an eastern horizon clear of clouds and bespeckled with brilliant stars. The light from the heavens illuminated the forest and the village beyond it in a spectacular display of vivid colours to the two standing at the wooded edge. Greens, yellows, reds and oranges of the new turning trees promised a winter not long in coming. Everything was awash in a cold fiery light.

  He stood beside his Chooser, staring at the village bustling with the exuberant celebration of a successful harvest. Orange shadowed figures flitted in and around the round houses carrying trays of food, musical instruments and other items to share. The bonfire in the centre competed with the sky in its brilliance. The sound of drums carried the higher pitches of flutes and voices in song. Laughter rang out, filling the night. The noise did nothing to cheer him. Mouth gone dry, he rubbed his hands on his ratty and stained homemade doeskin shirt and let out a huff into the cool clear night.

  It had only been that morning since seeing Eira and her daughter, and he wished more time had passed. Having never been to a harvest or even a festival, he had no clue as to when such an event would take place and was surprised to find upon waking that Notus would be taking him back for the promised clothes. That would also mean they would soon be leaving his cave for a world unheard of to him.

  S
o many changes in such a little time threatened to crush his chest to take away his breath. Unfortunately, feeding tonight had not provided the sense of freedom it usually did and took away none of the trepidation he felt. He looked down at the monk.

  Keenly aware of his Chosen’s fear and why, Notus patted the young man’s forearm and smiled.

  “Just like the first time,” he commented jovially, “but this time we go to meet friends.”

  Giving a curt nod, he audibly swallowed down his fear and desperately hoped that this time would not be like the first. He watched Notus noisily step from the entanglement of the woods, brown robes brushing at his ankles, to make his way to Eira’s home. Moving silently out of the wood, the boy quickly caught up to him.

  Firelight flared from the huge bonfire, casting dark undulating shapes moving rhythmically around it to the cascading sounds of the musicians. Consumed in their own enjoyment, the villagers were unaware of the two strange outsiders coming to the home of their healer.

  “Let go of my arm,” whispered Notus.

  Not realizing he had grasped his Chooser’s arm, he let go with a muttered apology.

  “That’s okay,” replied the monk, rubbing his upper arm. He did not need to see the boy’s face, nor read his mind to sense the tension borne from fear, and silently prayed to the Good God that this visit would not end as horrendously as the first.

  With the second knock on Eira’s old weather beaten door, it opened on hinges squeaking in the humidity of the night air. Eira smiled and bade them enter. The tall young man was more than pleased to be out of plain view of the villagers and was even more surprised to be pleased at the being welcomed back.

  The sight of Eira captured his breath and threatened to never release it. Her fine cerulean gown embroidered in white delicate flowers clung tightly on her slim frame, accentuating her soft round features. Abashed to find himself staring, he quickly looked down to the freshly swept and new threshed floor. Her smile was not lost on him as she closed the door behind them and motioned the two to sit by the blazing fire.

  Well versed in proper etiquette, Notus graciously accepted the offer from his friend, bowing to her generosity. The boy, on the other hand, continued to stand and played with the single boars tusk on his wrist in the hopes he could just disappear.

  Noting his discomfort, Eira sighed. A slight frown marred her features for a brief moment before she turned to take the other chair by the fire and flashed Notus a glowing smile. “I’m so please that both of you were able to come. I was afraid that after this morning you wouldn’t have. I’m glad that I was wrong.”

  Notus turned in his seat to glower at his Chosen.

  The young pale man had hoped that this morning’s incident would remain in the past and had wished not to share it with anyone. Conscious of Notus’ disappointment in his secrecy, he abashedly dropped his eyes back to the floor.

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, the monk faced their hostess and smiled. “My dear, nothing you could ever do would drive us away.” Whatever had transpired between the two of them that morning could be discussed in private with Eira. If the boy had not told him, given the opportunities throughout the early evening, Notus doubted that he would be told now, knowing the young man’s predilection for long silences.

  Having the good sense to know that he had been chastised for not telling Notus what had gone on that morning, he squirmed uncomfortably, shifting his stance from one leg to the other, gazing only at the dirt floor. He was not used to be accountable to anyone else since Auntie died and the monk made him feel even more self conscious in Eira’s home.

  Aware of the growing tension, Notus decided a change of topic was necessary. Glancing around the brightly lit home he noticed the tapestry separating living from sleeping quarters were pulled back to make the roundhouse appear more spacious. It also revealed that the three of them where alone except for Eira’s sleeping infant son.

  “Where is everyone?” asked Notus.

  Cheerfully, Eira replied, “Tarian took Beti and Bronwen to the bonfire. I thought it would be best for all concerned.” She glanced up at the boy with understanding in her eyes.

  Her smile returned and with a clap of her hands the sombre mood dissipated. “But enough of that, you came here for your end of the agreement, though I must admit that you have more than kept up your end of things.”

  Confused and concerned that there was more going on here than he knew about, Notus asked, “How so?”

  “We agreed to an exchange of services, clothing in exchange for meat for the village, not the whole entire region.” Her laughter brightened the mood even further. “The extra meat we traded and I think you will like the results.”

  She stood up and gracefully walked to the back, the white flowered embroidered hem floating around her ankles. “I will need some help here.”

  Since all of this was for the boy who had nothing, Notus caught his Chosen’s eyes with his own and mouthed, “Go help her,” and sighed in frustration. He really needed to be able to communicate with the boy as other Chosen communicated with their own.

  Glowering incredulously at Notus’ order, but daring not to incur anymore of Notus’ disappointment he moved reluctantly to join Eira at the back of the roundhouse between the two beds. Beside the wicker cradle housing the sleeping infant sat a large wooden chest, finely carved with knot work and stylized animals similar to the ones carved into the posts of the house. Eira stood beside it and smiled and with some direction they lifted their ends of the chest and brought it before Notus.

  Placing it gently on the ground, Eira came over to her helper and whispered her thanks under the surprised whistle Notus let out. Shocked at her sudden closeness the young man tensed and moved away as she turned back to the monk.

  “My dear child, this is the most exquisite work I have seen in a very long time,” proclaimed Notus.

  “I’m glad that you like it,” she beamed with pleasure. “It’s now yours, or rather his.” She brought her smile to the shocked young man.

  “What? No. That cannot be.” The chair groaned and squeaked as Notus sat back, astonished at the generosity. “This is by far too priceless an item.”

  “Nevertheless, it is yours, otherwise how else do you expect to carry all the clothes.” Unlatching the elaborate lock, Eira lifted the lid. Inside, carefully folded, lay richly tailored clothing fit for a king.

  “My goodness,” exclaimed the monk as he stood to take a better look at the finery. The boots lying across the clothing were black as night, yet mirrored the flickering light from the oil lamps. Picking them up, he could feel the well-worked cow hide before placing them back down so he could lift up the spectacular indigo shirt embroidered with silver ivy. Amazement filled his eyes as he turned to Eira. “My undying gratitude, my dear, but—”

  “But nothing,” she interrupted, picking out a pair of dark brown trousers. “The village has accepted your fine gifts of meat, ensuring for the first time in a very long time, that we and the children will not starve for lack of meat this winter. In return we hold to our end of the bargain.”

  “Eira, my dear friend, I can only thank you for your generosity and bless you in the Good God’s name,” said Notus, flabbergasted.

  “I will gladly receive both.” Eira bowed her head reverently then looked at the young man gawking at the clothing made for him. “Come, it’s time to change.”

  Gazing down at his dilapidated kilt, he shyly took the pants and boots from her outstretched hands. Instantly, he recognized the high quality at the feel of the soft leather. Respectfully, he took the shirt from his Chooser, very aware of brown eyes beaming at him. The silver on the deep purplish blue was stunning and upon examining the stitching he found that it was indeed very thin silver wire held by thread.

  “You can go to the back and change.” Eira broke his concentration at the fine details.

  Never before had he had anything so beautiful. Clothing was meant to be practical, made from whatever materials wer
e easiest to find, at least that was what he and Auntie had to make do with. The richness of the apparel astounded him and made him wary to even wear it for fear of ruining such craftsmanship. Keenly aware that the other two were watching him, he took his new raiment to the rear and pulled the tapestry closed, providing a false sense of privacy.

  Silence reigned in the house, as Eira and Notus waited patiently for him to change, only to be occasionally broken by sucking sounds coming from the cradle. Slipping out of his stained doe hide shirt, his long milk white hair splayed against his scarred back before being replaced by the soft fine woven wool shirt.

  The fit was perfect. Taking off his ruined kilt to be replaced by the trousers was a relief. Though he had never worn clothing such as this, he found them exceedingly comfortable, yet somewhat more restrictive. Using the edge of the bed, he managed, with a little struggling, to pull his boots on before standing to pull back the tapestry, leaving the tattered clothing of his past on the floor.

  Eira’s eyes widened as she let out a gasp followed by a brilliant smile matched by Notus.

  “My son, you look stunning,” grinned Notus, before turning to Eira. “My dear, you have out done yourself.”

  Tearing her eyes off of the transformed young man, Eira sombrely replied, “No, not yet.”

  She returned to the side of her bed and pulled out from under it a large swatch of heavy cloth with a large glittering bronze clasp lying atop, its artwork of intricate knot work standing out. Gently placing the clasp onto the table she unfurled a long cloak so deep a green that it was almost black, and at night it was as good as such.

  He tried to take a step back as she flourished the cloak to land heavily upon his shoulders, and swallowed at the close proximity of his benefactor standing on tip toes to reach his height. Their eyes locked for the barest of moments before Eira turned to pick up the clasp.

  “This used to be my fathers,” explained Eira as she hooked the clasp through the fabric, linking them at the young man’s collarbone and fastening the cloak firmly on his shoulders. “He wore it up until his death a couple years ago. My mother had it made for him when I was just a little girl, before the madness took her.” She gazed up into ruby eyes. “I want you to have it now.”