The Changeling's Journey

by Christine Spoors

The arrival of the cook demanding to know what I wanted for my evening meal roused me from my thoughts. I quickly dismissed her, the thought of eating anything with my churning stomach made me feel nauseous.

  My guard Tormod, who had joined me whilst I was lost in thought, frowned until I promised to eat something later.

  Thinking about Aelwen and her family riding south along the coast made me sigh. As much as I did not want to leave the castle, I felt quite sure that if I never left, then I would never escape my grief.

  A fter a night spent crushed together in the small straw bed at the inn we had a quick breakfast of porridge, which was so lumpy ma would have died had she saw it.

  We then headed out to find the home of the old lady we’d heard so much about the night before. I couldn’t help but feel nervous as we made our way over the small river that ran through the village and out amongst the cottages on the other side.

  I was quite certain that witches didn’t exist, but, from all the tales I had been told I was sure that if we did encounter a witch on our journey, this would be when it happened. An old lady living alone on the edge of a town who knew more about fairies than anyone else, I couldn’t help but be worried.

  “What if she is a witch?” I asked deciding to voice my thoughts before we walked straight into a witch’s lair.

  “I’ve never heard of a witch living in the town, but I suppose this does seem like the place,” Glen said gesturing towards the little wooden cottage we were approaching.

  “I’d rather not be murdered by a witch before we even make it north of the town,” I said, my stomach churning more and more the closer we got.

  “I’m just messing with you. I am sure she isn’t a witch, just an old lady with some stories. That will be me one day, alone in my little cottage telling stories about my adventures in the north.”

  “You better mention your wonderful, beautiful accomplice Morven in these stories,” I elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

  “My most popular story will be about the time I let a witch eat you whilst I ran away home,” Glen said, making us both laugh.

  He was always good at making me feel better when I was afraid.

  All the talking and laughing made the walk to the old woman’s house pass much faster than I would have liked. The next thing I knew we were passing through a small garden filled with white snowdrops. The flowers making it look as if her grass was covered in snow.

  Surely a witch wouldn’t plant a garden? Or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself. Though the tales never mentioned what witches thought of flowers, maybe they all had gardens?

  I bumped into Glen’s back when he stopped. He had to grab my arm to stop me toppling down into the flowers I was so caught up thinking about.

  Glen gestured that he would knock, and the silence as I waited made my nerves grow again. What would da say when he found out that we’d travelled all the way to the town, only to be killed and eaten by a witch that we’d approached ourselves?

  Glen knocked on the wooden door and we waited nervously for it to be answered. The door flew open without warning, revealing a tiny woman with curly grey hair and a chest so large that I was completely powerless to stop eyes being drawn to them.

  “I thought you two were going to stand out here in the garden all day, and I’m bloody glad you didn’t crush my snowdrops!” she said, breaking our stunned the silence.

  “Oh... well... we are sorry,” Glen mumbled.

  “Don’t you worry, well come on into the warmth. No point standing out here in the garden all day like a pair of scarecrows,” she wandered inside, gesturing for us to follow.

  I felt my tension ease and almost wanted to laugh. We were expecting a malevolent witch and instead it was the sassiest old lady I had ever met. Granny Athol would have been horrified by her.

  We quickly followed her in, Glen shutting the door gently behind us. Her cottage wasn’t filled with cauldrons and potions like I had anticipated. Instead there was an old wooden table with matching chairs, each had a little straw cushion and a fabric covering. There were mismatched old woollen rugs strewn across the floor and tapestries pinned to the walls.

  The burning fire made the whole cottage feel cosy and the pot, of what I guessed was soup, on the table made my mouth water immediately.

  “I assume you are here because you want some stories from me?” The old woman said with a smile, picking up the ladle and beginning to fill the two bowls in front of her with the chunky soup.

  “Yes, we heard you are something of an expert on fairies,” I said as we sat ourselves down on the seats across from her, glad to finally put my heavy bag down.

  “If you want an expert then you are definitely in the right place. A story and some piping hot soup is just what the two of you need. A wee bit of looking after on your first big journey,” she passed us each a bowl and a spoon before sitting down to start her own.

  “How did you know that?” Glen asked looking just as shocked as I felt.

  “When you’ve been around as long as me you just know these things,” she replied with a wink. “Now, what would you like to ask me about the fairies?”

  “We wanted to know more about why they create changelings and what they do with the babies. If you know anything about that,” I asked before shoving more of the soup into my mouth.

  The soup was perfect, the vegetables were just the right softness and the meat was so tender.

  “Ah yes, I thought you might have been a changeling lass.”

  “I’m the last one alive in my village so I just want some answers.” I replied, pretending I wasn’t freaked out that she knew so much about us.

  Would a witch know this much? I really should have listened to the stories better.

  “Well, going up north will definitely do you some good. I’ve heard some say that it’s good for you to be up nearer the fairies and their magic. You might even meet your twin.”

  “My twin...” I mumbled shocked enough that I managed to stop eating.

  “Morven doesn’t have a twin,” Glen explained.

  “Oh, yes she does. Up in the north there will be a girl with wavy brown hair and big blue eyes who looks just like your friend Morven. A changeling is simply a copy of the human baby that the fairies took, so there is an identical girl to you somewhere up there,” the woman said, looking pleased to have shocked us both again.

  “What will she be doing? What do they want her for?” Suddenly I was worried for this girl who looked just like me, a girl I had never even met.

  “She will be old enough to be working for a family of fairies by now I suppose. Fairies don’t much like working and humans make good workers, especially if they can be raised from birth to do a certain job.”

  “That’s awful!” Glen said.

  “Oh, it won’t be too bad. She will have food and clothes and a nice warm bed to sleep in. Much better than being eaten by a fairy don’t you think?” the woman said kindly, obviously trying to soothe the disgust we were both feeling.

  “Who do they think they are?!” I exclaimed, horrified.

  Realistically I knew that there were fates much worse than a life of arduous work, but it made my chest ache to think of her alone, working for fairies with no family around her.

  No choice about what she wanted to do with her life. No adventures. I was also sad for ma and da, they would be heartbroken when they knew what really happened to their baby.

  “Oh hush, eat your soup. The girl might even like it,” She said with a smile that definitely wasn’t as reassuring as she intended it to be.

  I couldn’t help but feel shaken by our visit to the wise old lady, we realised after leaving that we had never even asked her name. Everyone has always known that the fairies take our children, but never the reason why. It was horrible to finally know.

  Before it was easy enough to speculate and dismiss all the upsetting suggestions, now we couldn’t be ignorant and it was awful. I almost wished we had never asked.

  Glen p
ointed out that the old lady could have been lying as we had never asked how she got her information, but she’d known so much about us without being told which me believe her.

  Before we left, she used a piece of charcoal from her fire to sketch us a map on a piece of spare fabric. It showed the journey we would be taking and she explained that, although it wasn’t very common for people to travel north, there were still paths we could follow.

  After another night in the inn, we decided to go and see the castle. The streets leading towards the castle had banners draped from building to building, proudly showing the tartan favoured by King Torin. We followed the banners down through the streets until we came out at the bottom of a steep grassy hill. There were a few worn paths leading up to the castle gates.

  As we slowly walked up the path we spotted many guards wandering around in pairs, watching the people closely, looking for any trouble. We could also make out guards on the castle walls.

  I wished there was some way for us to get up there with them as the view must have been spectacular, overlooking the town and all of its surroundings. I wondered if they could even see our village from up there.

  We strayed off the path and made our way around the front of the castle walls. Glen pointed out a large patch of grass which was sparse and trampled compared to the rest. He explained that was where the annual games were held.

  During the games hundreds of people, from villages all around, travelled to the town. We had all heard stories about the caber tossing and the hammer throw where the strongest men and women from all over Tirwood gathered to compete. Then there were the dancers with their flowing skirts and of course, the unimaginable feast. Glen and I would be long gone by the time this year’s games occurred, but I could almost imagine what it would have been like as we stood there on the field.

  We overheard a group of women complaining about rain being on the way and decided to stay one final night before setting off. It would take a few days for us to travel from the town all the way up to the small village beside Loch Fai, where we would be taken across the loch in a boat, for a few coins.

  From there, we would have to travel through the Fairy Hills, but I decided not to think about that until nearer the time. The thought of spending days in amongst the mountains was strangely nerve wracking.

  Glen suggested we have another look through the market at the stalls, rousing me from my thoughts. The sellers changed every day and so did the items on sale.

  As we were looking at one stall which sold wooden runes and an especially peculiar set of stones, that the owner claimed they were from the queen of the sky fairies, we heard raised voices coming from the street we had followed towards the castle.

  Glen grabbed my hand and we hurried off towards the source of the noise to see what was happening.

  People were lining the streets and so Glen had to pull us both up onto a stack of barrels so we could see over their heads. I leaned my head against his arm and closed my eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths and cursing my changeling body for becoming breathless so quickly.

  “Morven look!” Glen exclaimed pointing down the street where riders on horseback were making their way through the streets. “It’s the King.”

  At the front of the procession sat King Torin, he had grey hair and a beard that Glen was likely jealous of. It reached halfway down his chest. I decided at that moment that if Glen ever tried to grow one as long I would cut it off whilst he slept.

  Beside the King sat two younger men that I assumed were his sons, the Princes. Both looked to be around the same age as Malcolm. The eldest had his dark hair tied back like the King, whereas the younger of the two had curls which seemed to stick up in every direction.

  They all wore their favoured tartan of purple and blue. Some of the men carried bows and knives, making me wonder where they had been and why they needed to be so heavily armed.

  “Probably returning from a hunt,” Glen explained as if reading my mind.

  As they got closer the noise grew to an almost deafening level as people cheered and shouted all around us, as if they would somehow attract the attention of the King or one of the Princes. People were holding their children up towards them and it made me smile to see that the younger prince was waving and smiling at the children he passed. I could imagine that for years they would be retelling the story of the time they met the Prince of Tirwood.

  I couldn’t wait to tell da about the King, he often spoke of him and from what I could gather he was a good ruler.

  We hadn’t been called to war against another kingdom in a lifetime and he was fair with the coin he gave in return for food and wool from the farmers.

  As I watched him ride past, I wondered if the King knew about the changelings and if he had ever tried to stop our babies from being stolen. It didn’t look like his own sons were changelings and for a moment, I had the horrible thought that perhaps he worked with the fairies and allowed them to steal our babies. I hoped not.

  “Wave Morven!” Glen shouted over the noise as he grabbed my hand again and waved it wildly in the air, making me laugh.

  The youngest Prince waved in our direction as he passed, although almost definitely not at us. Glen cheered ecstatically and was likely already creating the story he would tell. We had only travelled to the town and already we had gathered so many stories to tell.

  After the excitement of seeing the royal family, we decided to head back to the inn for food. It was still strange not to return home every evening to see what ma had cooked.

  We decided to drink, as it was our last night in the town, and with it we got a soup so thick I didn’t even want to know what it was made of. Taking a seat at the long table, in the same place we had the previous nights, I was excited about the intriguing people we might meet.

  We didn’t have to wait long before a man with long black hair sat beside us with a bowl of equally thick looking soup. His skin was brown, darker than Bonnie’s, so I knew he was from the far south. His worn clothes made it clear that he was on a journey like us, or had at least been travelling for a long time. He seemed to sense me watching him for he looked up with a smile.

  “First journey away from home eh?” He asked with a grin.

  “How is that so obvious?” Glen asked frowning.

  “When you’ve been around this land as many times as I, you just get to know people, and you two are far too excited to be here in this shit little inn,” he said before laughing at himself.

  “Where have you journeyed?” I asked, eager to hear all about his adventures.

  “Where haven’t I been? I’ve been wandering since I was younger than the two of you.”

  “Well, we are heading north into the fairy kingdoms,” I said, wanting to impress him.

  “Good thing you decided to go in the spring. It’s a dangerous place to be in the winter, almost froze solid so I did.”

  “Did you ever meet a fairy?” Glen asked, hoping he could have useful information for us.

  “Aye met a few. Not the nicest of folk, they look down on humans, even the more gifted of us,” he frowned.

  “Are you? Gifted I mean,” I asked, feeling my eyes grow wide.

  Granny Athol had told me stories about a woman who visited the village once, she could make the ground crack and crumble simply by touching it.

  The man smiled, looking pleased to have been asked and looked around for something he could perform his gifts on. He plucked a wilted flower from the pot halfway down the table and held it out in front of him, making sure we both had a good view of it.

  Then, before our eyes the flower straightened, the petals uncurling and losing their brown hue. It was as if he had just plucked the flower from the ground.

  He had brought it back to life.

  Beside me Glen choked on his drink and spat it across the table before having a coughing fit. I simply gasped and then froze. What else could I do, seeing magic for the first time. The man looked even more pleased with himself and placed the flo
wer back into the pot amongst the brown and wilted ones.

  “Don’t see much magic, do you?” he chuckled.

  “No, not at all,” Glen explained between coughs.

  “Where do you come from?” I asked curiously, his question making it seem as if you often saw magic wherever he was from.

  “I grew up in a village, west of the twin lochs in Finclaw. They say the link to the Otherworld is just through the standing stones in our land. You see a lot of gifted folk down there, a gift from the Others I reckon.”

  I glanced at Glen, who looked absolutely thrilled to learn more about magic. I thought to myself that if our first adventure went well, perhaps we would make our way down south to Finclaw. To see more magic and maybe even try to learn some ourselves.

  “You would make a great farmer,” I blurted out without thinking.

  The man howled with laughter.

  “Aye, maybe I would. One day I might settle down and start my own farm when I get bored of travelling.”

  To my relief, the subject changed from his magic to Eilean Trì as Glen was eager to hear more about the islands.

  Bonnie had told us stories about them in the past, but this man seemed to know all about the trouble brewing down there. Three kings were after one crown, he told us. It all sounded very exciting but I soon found myself wishing for bed.

  Depending on the weather, it would take a few days for us to reach the village beside Loch Fai and so we wanted to make the most of comfortable beds while we could.

  T he weather was thankfully dry when we woke the next morning, meaning we were free to leave and start the next part of our journey. I couldn’t help but be nervous about leaving the town. The loch-side village would be very different to what we were used to and too far for us to quickly return home. As we travelled north we would soon be entering the fairy kingdoms, which was more than a little terrifying.

  Before leaving, we had one last browse of the market and bought food we hoped would last, plenty of bread and dried meat. We wanted to have a good supply in case our journey to the loch-side village took longer than expected.