Changling
This is not a complete tale- it is the beginning of something that could become a novel.
Life
“We will tell you now.” The old woman said, sitting on the tree stump, as she shifted her weight to find a more comfortable position.
“Before the beginning, there was nothing. Then, from the smallest point, Chaos erupted- filling the void with all that is. From that Chaos grew the first ones- beings in chaos, beings of chaos.”
“As time passed, Order grew from the Chaos. That Order created the world and the heavens, and above all other things, Order created Life.”
“But weren’t the first ones alive?” asked one timid young girl. The others looked at her in disapproval for interrupting the crone’s tale.
“The first ones were alive, but they had no Life.” the old woman said, “They were not life like you understand it, or can understand it. It was only at the last step of creation that Life arose from the ordered universe. Order is necessary for Life, because Life is the ultimate embodiment of Order.”
“The first ones detested order- and because of it they spawned great beings of chaos to fill the worlds Order created. They are the monsters. The ones we call the daemons. We also know of them as the old ones, the children of the first ones. They were Chaos embodied; yet lived here, on the World, amongst the Order of creation. Because they exist within the cosmos, unlike the first ones, they are subject to it’s laws- including the law of death.”
A little boy squatting on the floor by the old woman’s right foot beamed with pride as he said, “My daddy killed a daemon.”
“Yes,” said the crone, “many men of the village have had the opportunity to hunt the daemons of late, as their territory and ours begin to encroach on each other.”
“They have territories?” Said another child.
“They have land they claim as their own, yes. Of course they have no right to it, as the cosmos was created by Order for those who have true Life, not for daemons.” The old woman coughed, and sat up straight, “now where was I? Oh yes- The creation of the ultimate form of Life- Humanity.”
The old woman and the children were sitting in a clearing behind the schoolhouse, on the south edge of the village. She liked to take the children outdoors for history lectures, instead of being cooped up in the classroom. She turned to see a lanky boy of thirteen or so running up to her from the road to the village square. He moved with an urgency that indicated he wished great speed, but that speed was almost negated by his lack of balance and coordination.
He came up to her, and stopped to catch his breath.
“News?” She said.
He nodded yes, and croaked “Bridget.” Then after a breath, “water broke”.
“Fine, take me to her. I hope there is someone with her now- you did not leave her alone, did you?”
“The pastor and his wife are there.” the boy said, as he helped the old woman stand and walk from the stump toward the path. “That doddering fool,” she quipped. “He’d be about as helpful as a shipwright in the desert.”
The group of children also stood up, and began to follow. “Come children,” she said. “Now is time for quite a different lesson on the creation of life.”
The boy, the old woman, and the group of children all proceeded down the path to Bridget’s house.
“Before the beginning, there was nothing. Then, from the smallest point, Chaos erupted- filling the void with all that is. From that Chaos grew the first ones- beings in chaos, beings of chaos.”
“As time passed, Order grew from the Chaos. That Order created the world and the heavens, and above all other things, Order created Life.”
“But weren’t the first ones alive?” asked one timid young girl. The others looked at her in disapproval for interrupting the crone’s tale.
“The first ones were alive, but they had no Life.” the old woman said, “They were not life like you understand it, or can understand it. It was only at the last step of creation that Life arose from the ordered universe. Order is necessary for Life, because Life is the ultimate embodiment of Order.”
“The first ones detested order- and because of it they spawned great beings of chaos to fill the worlds Order created. They are the monsters. The ones we call the daemons. We also know of them as the old ones, the children of the first ones. They were Chaos embodied; yet lived here, on the World, amongst the Order of creation. Because they exist within the cosmos, unlike the first ones, they are subject to it’s laws- including the law of death.”
A little boy squatting on the floor by the old woman’s right foot beamed with pride as he said, “My daddy killed a daemon.”
“Yes,” said the crone, “many men of the village have had the opportunity to hunt the daemons of late, as their territory and ours begin to encroach on each other.”
“They have territories?” Said another child.
“They have land they claim as their own, yes. Of course they have no right to it, as the cosmos was created by Order for those who have true Life, not for daemons.” The old woman coughed, and sat up straight, “now where was I? Oh yes- The creation of the ultimate form of Life- Humanity.”
The old woman and the children were sitting in a clearing behind the schoolhouse, on the south edge of the village. She liked to take the children outdoors for history lectures, instead of being cooped up in the classroom. She turned to see a lanky boy of thirteen or so running up to her from the road to the village square. He moved with an urgency that indicated he wished great speed, but that speed was almost negated by his lack of balance and coordination.
He came up to her, and stopped to catch his breath.
“News?” She said.
He nodded yes, and croaked “Bridget.” Then after a breath, “water broke”.
“Fine, take me to her. I hope there is someone with her now- you did not leave her alone, did you?”
“The pastor and his wife are there.” the boy said, as he helped the old woman stand and walk from the stump toward the path. “That doddering fool,” she quipped. “He’d be about as helpful as a shipwright in the desert.”
The group of children also stood up, and began to follow. “Come children,” she said. “Now is time for quite a different lesson on the creation of life.”
The boy, the old woman, and the group of children all proceeded down the path to Bridget’s house.
Birth
“Arrugh!!!” Bridget screamed, as she pushed.
“The pain comes from sin,” said the pastor. “think only of the Creator, and it will subside.” The pastor was a tall, slender man in his early fifties. He had a calming voice, stern, but with sympathy.
Bridget was lying on her bed, with the pastor acting as midwife until the old woman arrived. His wife held Bridget's hand, to calm her and provide support.
“Gruugh!!” Bridget screamed again. The pastors wife wiped her forehead with a damp cloth and eucalyptus leaves as she whispered “there, there” to her.
“The baby is coming, I see it’s head. Push some more.” Said the pastor. “It is coming, I have the head and shoulders, it’s almost out.” It’s…” the pastors voice trailed off.
The pastor's wife said “My, that was a fast labor, no time at all!” she grinned as she looked at her husband, and noticed he was not smiling.
“What is it?” Said the pastor’s wife. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
He said nothing.
The group heard a commotion at the door- “Out of my way!” the old woman said as she pushed aside a gaggle of children at her feet to enter the bedroom.
The pastors face looked troubled. He wrapped the baby in a washcloth, and showed it to the crone. It’s skin was gray and pale, and was cold to the touch. However, it was not stillborn- the child’s eyes were open, and it’s hands were grasping at the air, as if trying to find a teat for it’s first feeding. But it did not cry. Its face was expressionless- just large, cold, black eyes.
She looked at the baby and quietly said, “Pastor, escort the children out of this room. Hand the baby to your wife, and have her bathe it in the lavatory. I will need to speak to Bridget alone now.”
Bridget tried to sit up, and said, “what’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby? Show me my baby!”
“Be calm.” said the Crone. She took a small metal wand out of her pocket, and pointed it at Bridget’s abdomen. It began to glow, and cast light down across Bridget’s body, ending her pain, and healing the effects of the birth.
“What’s wrong with my baby?” She said.
The crone looked at Bridget with compassion. “It has been two seasons since your husband left us, yes?”
“What does that have to do with my baby?” cried Bridget. The wand, which was still in the crone’s hands as she sat in the chair beside Bridget’s bed, began to glow again. The beam cast on her head, calming her.
She sat back. “Two seasons, yes.”
“In all that time, you have had no man here to watch over you, to protect you?”
“No.”
“While with child, have you spotted fayefolk or daemon-kind?”
Bridget looked puzzled. “From time to time, yes, I have seen faye, but no daemons. My home is on the edge of the village, the faye lands border ours. The elves do not make war upon us. They have, on occasion, stolen cattle and pigs, but I have simply gone and taken them back.”
The old woman took on a stern look. “Are you saying that you went into the elvish village?”
“I had my dagger.” Said Bridget, not understanding why this was such a concern.
“When they spot intruders, they cast their magic upon them. They love to steal the unborn babes from within the mother’s womb, and switch them for monsters of their own creation.”
“What are you saying?”
The crone stood up. Just then the Pastor’s wife entered the bedroom with the baby, and handed her to the old woman. “I am saying that you did not birth a baby, but an abomination.” She held the bundle at an angle, so Bridget could see it’s face.
The child had eyes as black as the night sky, which were huge and leaf-shaped, and almost wrapped around the sides of the head. There was no nose but for two small holes, and no ears but for two slightly raised circular patches like on a toad.
The mouth was small, just a slit with no lips.
And it had not cried. It had never made a sound. It simply stared blankly with those large featureless black eyes.
“Where is MY baby? The baby they took from me?”
“That we do not know.” Said the old woman, as she handed the baby back to the pastor's wife. “Some say the elves change them into their own kind, other say they become slaves, others say they use them as sacrifices for their rituals." The crone paused, and held Bridget's hand. "Whatever they do, it is assured you will never see that child again."
As the old woman left the house, the pastor's wife followed hurriedly, holding the infant.
As she stepped outside, she heard the pastor speaking to the children; "Do not fear", he said. "Just have faith in the Creator, and all will be well."
"It seems your faith did not do much for Bridget." Said the crone.
The pastor's wife asked the old woman, "What should I do with... this?" as she held up the child.
"Take it to the large rock at the edge of the Elvish village. If they want it, they will take it. If not, then leave it's fate up to the Goddess." Then she turned to the pastor- "Or the God, as the case may be."
"Come children," she said, as she led them away from the house.
“The pain comes from sin,” said the pastor. “think only of the Creator, and it will subside.” The pastor was a tall, slender man in his early fifties. He had a calming voice, stern, but with sympathy.
Bridget was lying on her bed, with the pastor acting as midwife until the old woman arrived. His wife held Bridget's hand, to calm her and provide support.
“Gruugh!!” Bridget screamed again. The pastors wife wiped her forehead with a damp cloth and eucalyptus leaves as she whispered “there, there” to her.
“The baby is coming, I see it’s head. Push some more.” Said the pastor. “It is coming, I have the head and shoulders, it’s almost out.” It’s…” the pastors voice trailed off.
The pastor's wife said “My, that was a fast labor, no time at all!” she grinned as she looked at her husband, and noticed he was not smiling.
“What is it?” Said the pastor’s wife. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
He said nothing.
The group heard a commotion at the door- “Out of my way!” the old woman said as she pushed aside a gaggle of children at her feet to enter the bedroom.
The pastors face looked troubled. He wrapped the baby in a washcloth, and showed it to the crone. It’s skin was gray and pale, and was cold to the touch. However, it was not stillborn- the child’s eyes were open, and it’s hands were grasping at the air, as if trying to find a teat for it’s first feeding. But it did not cry. Its face was expressionless- just large, cold, black eyes.
She looked at the baby and quietly said, “Pastor, escort the children out of this room. Hand the baby to your wife, and have her bathe it in the lavatory. I will need to speak to Bridget alone now.”
Bridget tried to sit up, and said, “what’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby? Show me my baby!”
“Be calm.” said the Crone. She took a small metal wand out of her pocket, and pointed it at Bridget’s abdomen. It began to glow, and cast light down across Bridget’s body, ending her pain, and healing the effects of the birth.
“What’s wrong with my baby?” She said.
The crone looked at Bridget with compassion. “It has been two seasons since your husband left us, yes?”
“What does that have to do with my baby?” cried Bridget. The wand, which was still in the crone’s hands as she sat in the chair beside Bridget’s bed, began to glow again. The beam cast on her head, calming her.
She sat back. “Two seasons, yes.”
“In all that time, you have had no man here to watch over you, to protect you?”
“No.”
“While with child, have you spotted fayefolk or daemon-kind?”
Bridget looked puzzled. “From time to time, yes, I have seen faye, but no daemons. My home is on the edge of the village, the faye lands border ours. The elves do not make war upon us. They have, on occasion, stolen cattle and pigs, but I have simply gone and taken them back.”
The old woman took on a stern look. “Are you saying that you went into the elvish village?”
“I had my dagger.” Said Bridget, not understanding why this was such a concern.
“When they spot intruders, they cast their magic upon them. They love to steal the unborn babes from within the mother’s womb, and switch them for monsters of their own creation.”
“What are you saying?”
The crone stood up. Just then the Pastor’s wife entered the bedroom with the baby, and handed her to the old woman. “I am saying that you did not birth a baby, but an abomination.” She held the bundle at an angle, so Bridget could see it’s face.
The child had eyes as black as the night sky, which were huge and leaf-shaped, and almost wrapped around the sides of the head. There was no nose but for two small holes, and no ears but for two slightly raised circular patches like on a toad.
The mouth was small, just a slit with no lips.
And it had not cried. It had never made a sound. It simply stared blankly with those large featureless black eyes.
“Where is MY baby? The baby they took from me?”
“That we do not know.” Said the old woman, as she handed the baby back to the pastor's wife. “Some say the elves change them into their own kind, other say they become slaves, others say they use them as sacrifices for their rituals." The crone paused, and held Bridget's hand. "Whatever they do, it is assured you will never see that child again."
As the old woman left the house, the pastor's wife followed hurriedly, holding the infant.
As she stepped outside, she heard the pastor speaking to the children; "Do not fear", he said. "Just have faith in the Creator, and all will be well."
"It seems your faith did not do much for Bridget." Said the crone.
The pastor's wife asked the old woman, "What should I do with... this?" as she held up the child.
"Take it to the large rock at the edge of the Elvish village. If they want it, they will take it. If not, then leave it's fate up to the Goddess." Then she turned to the pastor- "Or the God, as the case may be."
"Come children," she said, as she led them away from the house.
Dawn
Bridget arose early the next morning. She felt well, better then she had felt in a long time. She did not feel like she had just given birth, but of course she knew that she had.
She refused to believe her child was gone. The crone was wrong- Faye are not that different from people. They live in a village, they eat food, and they can be killed. They are even smaller and weaker than humans, and she was larger and stronger than most. Bridget was a tall woman, broad shouldered. Having lived alone for so long, she had to chop wood and plow the field- the hard labor a man would normally do, and her body showed it. She has had to take care of herself long before her husband died, since he spent half his time hunting daemons, and the other half in the tavern drinking and telling tall tales of his heroism.
She never saw much need for the menfolk to hunt the daemons. While they can be a nuisance, they are a minor one. As long as you bring your animals in at night they are no bother. They don't know how to pick locks like elves can.
Killing daemons has no value since you can't eat their meat, or make leather from their hides. The only things taken from their carcases are their horns, teeth and claws, which can be used as arrowheads and small blades. Since metal is better for such uses, they are mostly just hunter's trophies. The most prized trophy is a daemon skull complete with horns. Her husband had a dozen of them. Since he died in the vain attempt to gather more, she was left with the meaningless trinkets of his wasted life.
This also means her life was wasted by marring him. Not that she had a choice- her father and his made an arrangement. From her perspective as a young girl it was a good match- he was handsome and strong. At that young age she lacked the maturity and perspective that age brings. She did not know a handsome face meant nothing when it was passed out in a tavern. Now she did not even have the main purpose in a woman's life- a child. She was the childless widow who lives on the edge of town, plowing her own fields, planting her own crops.
She refused to believe her child was gone. The crone was wrong- Faye are not that different from people. They live in a village, they eat food, and they can be killed. They are even smaller and weaker than humans, and she was larger and stronger than most. Bridget was a tall woman, broad shouldered. Having lived alone for so long, she had to chop wood and plow the field- the hard labor a man would normally do, and her body showed it. She has had to take care of herself long before her husband died, since he spent half his time hunting daemons, and the other half in the tavern drinking and telling tall tales of his heroism.
She never saw much need for the menfolk to hunt the daemons. While they can be a nuisance, they are a minor one. As long as you bring your animals in at night they are no bother. They don't know how to pick locks like elves can.
Killing daemons has no value since you can't eat their meat, or make leather from their hides. The only things taken from their carcases are their horns, teeth and claws, which can be used as arrowheads and small blades. Since metal is better for such uses, they are mostly just hunter's trophies. The most prized trophy is a daemon skull complete with horns. Her husband had a dozen of them. Since he died in the vain attempt to gather more, she was left with the meaningless trinkets of his wasted life.
This also means her life was wasted by marring him. Not that she had a choice- her father and his made an arrangement. From her perspective as a young girl it was a good match- he was handsome and strong. At that young age she lacked the maturity and perspective that age brings. She did not know a handsome face meant nothing when it was passed out in a tavern. Now she did not even have the main purpose in a woman's life- a child. She was the childless widow who lives on the edge of town, plowing her own fields, planting her own crops.