Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  The boy listened as well as he could, while at the same time, picking out their path back home. Ducking to avoid a tree branch tilted the cart dangerously. Notus lowered his end in response to the sudden imbalance and both straightened themselves once past the obstacle.

  “That won’t be possible,” replied the boy, the smile long gone.

  “Now don’t underesti— oh. Sorry.” The monk saw the boy’s head lowered and realized he was right. He could help this young man learn to moderate his new gifts, but it was doubtful he would be fully accepted, even amongst the Chosen. Notus worried his lip at the thought of how to help the boy. He was caught off guard when the cart suddenly dropped to the ground, pitching him forward and almost on top of the pile of hides.

  Straightening, he saw the boy, bent over in obvious discomfort and walked over to see what was wrong with his Chosen one. “Are you alright, my son?”

  The deep ache that had taken away his breath diminished enough so that he could look up at the man. If he did not feel so rotten all of a sudden he would have noted the concern on Notus’ face. Instead he let himself slide down to kneel on the ground, pressing his head against the rough wood of one of the wagon’s arms.

  A cool hand touched his cheek and then pressed against his forehead. It felt good. Then something was pressed to his lips and he was told to drink.

  At first he choked on the thick liquid that ran down his throat, but the flush of renewed energy was enough for him to take the water skin from Notus. The taste was exquisite, unlike anything he had before. If pure energy could be turned into a taste this would be it. He gulped down the contents despite Notus’ insistence to go slow.

  When he had drained the container, he opened his eyes to see Notus take it away and loop it to a belt he wore between the layers of his robes. He felt much better and tried to stand. Notus motioned for him to stay where he was for a few more moments.

  “I was wondering when you would need this,” remarked the monk, his brows came together as he frowned. “Usually the need is instantaneous upon waking. If not, then shortly thereafter. Never before had someone Chosen gone most of the night without the need for first blood.”

  The boy wiped his mouth and glanced at the red smear on his pale skin. His first reaction at the idea of having gulped down a skin full of blood was nausea, but the lingering taste negated it. Licking his lips, he swallowed before looking back up at the man. The warmth and sense of strength permeated every part of his being.

  “That was the hunger you felt, my son,” commented Notus. “Mark it well, and consider it your first lesson. If you do not feed regularly and allow this to happen and go on, eventually the need for blood will encompass your mind and you will lose your humanity until you are satiated. The havoc you could wreak in such a state would be devastating, not only to others, but to yourself, and to your own soul.”

  He held out his hand, and the boy grasped it, allowing himself to be pulled with ease, to his feet.

  “That was deer,” explained the monk. “When I went back to the grove before finding you, the stag had come back. Little did I hope that you would need this before I. Tomorrow night I will begin to teach you to use what God gave us during the transformation.” Notus tapped his own elongated and pointed canines and the incisors directly in front of them.

  The boy ran his tongue across his own teeth, seeing if he had been given new teeth, but only felt the same ones he had always had since his baby teeth fell out and his adult teeth grew in. The sharp points of his own canines and two incisors still pricked his tongue. Did not everyone have teeth like Notus and he? The memory of Auntie and Geraint smiling answered that question. No.

  “Are you ready to continue?” asked Notus.

  The boy nodded and went to take up the front of the cart again as the monk took his position at the back. Again with a count of three they lifted and began their journey once more.

  “These are the gifts that God has granted the Chosen,” continued Notus from behind. “Simply put they are increased strength, increased endurance, nocturnal sight, superhuman speed, increased sensitivity of all the senses, and of course, immortality; if you consider immortality as a gift. The curses are extreme in comparison, for they will always separate us from all other living creatures. We are never to behold the sun and bask in its glorious radiance, for if we do our flesh will burn and we can die. There are others, of course, more that affect one on a personal level, but I am sure you will learn those in time. They tend to be in accordance to outliving friends and loved ones, and even family. To never having a family of your own. There are others of course. And for the strong ones, we learn to adapt, for it is adaptation that allows us to survive and live.

  “I’m saying all these things again, so that the point is driven home. You are not what you once were.”

  Then indeed I have been given a gift, thought the boy.

  The boy had not realized how far they had come as they broke through the line of trees and faced the clearing that led to the cave. Listening to Notus talk most of the way made the time fly by, but not fast enough for the first hints of dawn to subtly change the air around them. The sky was still dark, but he could feel a shimmering of energy that made his skin tingle and itch. Some part of him knew that the first rays of the sun would be peeking over the horizon very shortly.

  Letting the cart regain its own weight on its two wheels, he rubbed his arms, not to alleviate any ache, for there was none, but to try and rid himself of the strange sensations of the predawn. A press from behind told him that his work was not done. This time he grasped the arms of the wagon and pulled it along new grass and flowers.

  They halted before the cave. What remained of the fire was little more than almost used up coals, and the boy ran to rebuild his only source of heat. Grabbing several dry sticks from the back, he laid them on the coals and blew until the flames caught. Yellow light exploded into the cave, illuminating every nook and cranny like never before. It was then that he felt the man’s stare into his home. He looked up to see Notus’ nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “I guess this will have to do,” remarked the man, as he walked to where the food was stored. Bending, he picked up the strip of dried meat and the few apples and carried them out of the cave.

  “Good food still smells good to us, but food that has gone bad… Well…” answered Notus after noticing the boy’s look of surprise. “Well,” clapped Notus. “Let’s unpack, shall we?” He turned to the cart and began to take out the hides, one at a time, to make a pallet at the back of the cave.

  After the first three, Notus turned back to the young man. “I would appreciate your help in unloading my cart before the sun rises. I do not wish to sleep on stone.”

  Rising from the warmth of the fire, the boy went to help. Silently the two worked a short while until all the hides were placed at the back of the cave, and then the boy left the monk to arrange them however he wished.

  The boy stood by the mouth of the cave, watching the colour of the sky shift into a deep indigo and then into a shade of purple he had never noticed before. The colours were magnificent and he stood enraptured by the kaleidoscope he was presented. The sky brightened, filtering to pink, preparing itself for the blue of the daytime sky. He squinted into the growing brightness. Leaning his hand against the side of the cave’s entrance, he stood mesmerized.

  The makeshift bed finished to his satisfaction, Notus flopped down on its soft skins and noticed the boy at the cave’s entrance. “Get away from there!” he cried, bolting up.

  At the sudden explosion from the monk, the boy turned his head around to see what was wrong and in that instance a faint beam of sunlight struck the mouth’s edge, igniting the back of his hand in blazing heat. The shock of the burning pain forced a shout from his lips as Notus yanked him to the safety of the back of the cave.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” angrily muttered Notus and forced the young man to sit on his pallet, taking the burnt hand in his own.

  Tears str
eamed down the boy’s face. He did not want to look at the blackened charred skin of his hand. Each movement brought more pain and caused the burnt remains to flake off. The sight of his ruined hand mingled with the pain made his head swim. Gritting his teeth, he tried to will the pain away.

  Angry red blisters lay exposed where the charred remains fell off. Notus clucked while he examined the boy’s hand. “Sit still,” he ordered, and the boy ceased his rocking. The boy hissed in a breath as his hand was turned this way and that.

  “This is most peculiar,” remarked the monk, studying the burnt flesh. “This should be healing.” He looked into the pleading pain filled eyes of the young man.

  “Please,” hissed the boy through gritted teeth. “Oatmeal and lavender.” Taking another breath he managed in a rush. “It worked before.”

  “Before?”

  “Please,” pleaded the boy. He had never felt pain like this before. The whole of his hand was ablaze.

  Notus shook his head. “Even if I had those things they will not work on you anymore.”

  Forcing a sigh, Notus knew exactly what would work. Uneasy at the prospect, Notus gently put the boy’s hand down on his knee. Hesitantly, the monk brought his own wrist to his mouth and bit deep. Feeling the flow of blood, he held out his dripping wrist to the boy. “Drink.”

  The horrified look on the boy replaced the veil of pain.

  “Drink,” demanded Notus. “I’ll not do this again. Drink before my wound heals.”

  Reluctantly, the boy took the dripping wrist with his good left hand and wrapped his lips around the self-made puncture marks. The taste of his Chooser’s blood thundered through him as its energy shot through like lightning. The deer blood was nothing like this! Images and feelings not his own rushed through him; fears, loves, hates and ecstasies encompassed and moved through him at a blurring rate. He never wanted this ecstasy to end. It was pure rapture and he wanted more. He sucked harder on the warm sweet nectar.

  Notus’ eyes went wide at the contact. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He felt the connection between them solidify and then before he could do anything about it, feelings and images from the boy’s short life poured into him in a swirling and confusing mass. This should not be happening. It could not be happening!

  The intensity made him gasp as the images and feelings pounded into him, threatening to envelope him. Over and over the feelings of burning pain, solitude and loneliness threatened to sweep him over the edge; the images making no sense to his battered brain. He had to break this connection lest he be devoured completely.

  Using all his strength, Notus ripped his arm out of the boy’s grasp, feeling teeth rip flesh before falling backwards, gasping for breath.

  All he could do was stare aghast at the white creature before him, cradling his rapidly healing wrist. The boy seemed not to notice. His closed crimson eyes opened slowly, the pain gone, leaving something else that made Notus shiver.

  “Thank you,” the boy said, huskily.

  Managing a half smile, Notus regained a sitting position and went to slip into his bed for the day. “If you let it alone, it will be healed when we wake.”

  He watched the boy lay down, fully clothed, on his own pallet and waited until the boy’s breath became deep and even.

  Sleep eluded the monk.

  Something was wrong with his Chosen. At first he had dismissed them, but now he could not. He should be able to follow the link between them and read the boy’s thoughts and feelings. Instead he encountered a wall, and when sharing his blood with the boy… He shuddered at the memory. He had never had that happen to him. He had felt the boy pull his life from him, if that was what he could call it, and replace it with confusing images and emotions.

  Chosen could not do that. If he did not figure out what was going on, he knew he would not be able to resist being pulled into the boy’s being.

  This was something much more than he had expected and he played with the idea of just abandoning the boy, but he knew in his heart that he could not. He had received enough information from that one brief but intense connection to know that to leave the boy after promising to help him would devastate him. He did not know how he knew. He just did.

  Whatever bond they had before had grown stronger with the sharing, and Notus feared that he, as the Choser, no longer held the reigns. Closing his eyes, he fell into silent prayer, praying to the Good God to give him the guidance of what to do.

  Chapter IX

  FLASH!

  The winds rushed past him as he ran through the woods at night. Something was chasing him. He did not know what. Blurred branches slapped and ripped into his skin. Blood flowed. He knew he was leaving a trail for whatever pursued, but he did not care. He had to get away before he was found.

  Lungs laboured for each ragged breath. His legs pounded in rhythm to the throbbing ache that was his heart. The forest swirled about him. He could hear his pursuer crashing through the foliage in an attempt to catch up. Pleading with his body, he pulled upon rare resources and managed to put on a little more speed.

  Tears ran down his face. He had to get away. Far away. A tangled root caught his foot, threatening his escape. Stumbling, he barely managed to regain his aching feet. His legs could hardly support him but he ran on. The whipping of the trees and bushes stung him in an attempt to slow him down. He could not let them. Pressing past he trusted what he could not see.

  The sound of the crashing came closer.

  Pain caught him in the side. He was fighting to breathe. His legs were slowing down despite his insistence to keep going. His own body was betraying him. Stumbling forward, he forced his body beyond all reserves. His breath was gone. There was nothing left.

  The forest opened up to nothingness.

  His foot caught air and he fell into darkness.

  FLASH!

  The bright day beat down, warming his supine tiny form under the giant oak. A concert of birds sat high above in the branches, singing their song for him. Lazily he half-heartedly bat at a fly buzzing around his ear, hoping it would go off to find someone else to bother.

  Suddenly the birds halted their chorus. Something had disturbed them and in a flurry of wings, they all took off at once. He watched them go, saddened at the loss of their music.

  Out of the sunlight a single feather fell, gliding down on the breeze, to land before him on the grass. A long tail feather from a raven glistened like midnight in the day. Tentatively, he reached a small white hand to grasp the feather. Its sharp edge glistened, reflecting nothing. White against black, the contrast astounded the boy.

  A thundering called to his ears and he stood up. It did not come from the sky, but from the land. Following the sound with closed eyes he could tell it was heading towards Auntie. Fear washed through him. It was Ninth day, but this sound scared him. Running, he left the oak tree in the hopes he would get home before the source of that sound could.

  Skidding to a halt on a mound before the opening expanse that led to his home, the boy realized what the sound was caused by. There, beside the house, were what he could only assume were horses, and beside them were men. Leather creaked and metal jingled and the voices filtered through the air.

  The boy flopped belly first onto the mound hoping he had not been seen, the raven feather in his hand. His heart hammered against the grass as the scent of horse sweat and human sweat came to him. Could this be what Auntie was afraid of? If it were, then he would be there to protect her.

  He rolled away to hide behind a fallen trunk and stood, gazing at the men. Quickly and quietly, he ran to the side of his home, away from the men. He could hardly hear the conversation for the pounding of his heart.

  “So Geraint, when are you gonna take Morwen for your wife?” chuckled one of the men.

  “When she grows some brains,” countered the thick set man with a long black moustache.

  “Oh come now.” One of the shorter men bustled up to Geraint. “That’s not a nice thing to say about my sister.”
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  “If your sister were nice to me the way she is to Geraint, I wouldn’t want her!” laughed another. Others joined in.

  The boy could see the man called Geraint did not seem pleased. Pulling his attention away from the company, he looked to see if the entrance to his home was clear enough to enter, and bolted through the door.

  “Auntie! Auntie! There are horses outsi—”He stopped short at the sight of a large black haired man sitting at the table. He could not dismiss the fearful and shocked expression on the man. Slowly the stranger pushed the bench away with the backs of his knees and stood.

  The boy looked over to Auntie. He knew he had made a serious mistake. He did not think there was anyone in the house. He was wrong. Auntie’s angry glare was proof of that.

  “Get to the back and do not say another word,” she ordered through gritted teeth. The boy had never seen her this angry, and meekly he obeyed.

  Tears welled up and overflowed as he shuffled to his pallet. He could feel the man’s eyes follow him, only to be cut off as he rounded the curtain. He sat heavily on his bed, crying silently, listening to Auntie pleading with the man for his oath of silence.

  After what seemed a long time the man relented and swore to Don he would never reveal the presence of the boy. It was the slamming of the door followed by shouting and horses thundering off that indicated that the strangers had gone.

  Auntie yanked the curtains open to glare down at him. “What on earth were you thinking?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry.” He tried and failed to still his sobbing.