The Changeling

Chapter One

It was a cold March day with a sharp wind and Alisa felt the tears stinging her cheeks as she stood in the shadows and watched the men carry the body of the old chief, Yolair the Eagle, to the funeral pyre. Yolair was the only person in the tribe who was truly her friend, and now he was dead. In a moment, Olven, the priest, would begin the funeral ceremony and Grimbald, the new chief, would take the torch and light the funeral pyre and Yolair's spirit would finally depart.

For a short time, Yolair was alone on his pyre. Alisa crept up, her heart heavy in her breast. She was a changeling - everyone said so. She didn't belong to the tribe. They'd found her at the edge of the forest ten years ago. Some evil spirit had left her there, they said. Grimbald had wanted to leave her to the wolves but Yolair had taken her in and his word was law.

She touched Yolair's cold hand gently. 'Thank you,' she said quietly to his spirit. 'You were a kind man. May the gods reward you.'

Olven, holding his ivy-tipped staff, began to move forward and Alisa stepped back into the shadows. She was not welcome here, she knew. She brought bad luck. Grimbald always made the sign to avert evil when he saw her and his wife, Tissa, openly hated her.

There was a movement behind her. She turned. It was Thorn, the travelling harper.

'I've been asked to stay for the funeral feast but tomorrow I'll move on,' said Thorn, watching as Grimbald lit the pyre and the women began wailing and the men shouted 'Yolair! Yolair!' to speed the old chief's spirit on its way.

He looked at Alisa and said quietly, 'You should go, too.'

'Go?' Alisa shivered and pulled her shabby shawl more closely round her shoulders. She'd been here since she was a baby; this was all she knew. 'I work hard! They need me! Why should I go?'

'Don't fool yourself, Alisa. It's been a hard winter. Animals have died. There have been some bad accidents. People need someone to blame - a scapegoat. You're a changeling - so they say. You're marked.'

Alisa gave an uncertain laugh. Things had got worse since Yolair had fallen ill; she was spat at openly now. But would they actually harm her?

'Grimbald's holding a meeting for the elders by the Watching Stone before the feast. Your future will be decided there. I hear things I shouldn't. Nobody takes any notice of an old harper. Take my advice, Alisa. Leave this place. It's not safe for you.'

Alisa swallowed. 'C ...Could I come with you?'

Thorn shook his head. 'If you disappear, I'll be the first person they'll think of. The dogs will track me down and if you're with me, we'll both die. No, you must go tonight - get well away.' He patted her shoulder and left.

The flames of the funeral pyre were leaping up now. Even at this distance she could feel the heat and smell the pine resin from the wood. Yolair's spirit was going! He was leaving her all alone. Her vision blurred and rubbed her hand across her eyes. Surely, Grimbald would allow her to stay. Tissa knew how much work she did - even if she hated her - and Grimbald was ruled by his wife, everyone knew that. Staying meant that she'd be fed; she wouldn't be freezing to death up on the mountains or be eaten by wolves in the great forest.

There was a noise behind her. She half-turned as a blow knocked her off balance and she fell. Someone laughed. It was Tor, Grimbald's nephew.

'Why did you do that?' cried Alisa, trying to wipe the mud off her hands. 'I wasn't in the way.'

'You're always in the way,' said Tor, nastily. 'You're a rubbish girl. No-one wants you.'

Alisa said nothing. She'd learnt the hard way that protest only made things worse. When they were younger, Tor had been kind; he'd once given her a lucky stone with a hole in it. Then disease came to the village. People called it the red rash and many children had died. She'd had it lightly but Tor was ill for a long time. When he recovered, his eyes were weak and what use was a tracker and hunter who was half-blind? He stopped being her friend. He was fourteen now and the other boys were killing their first wolves and becoming men, but not Tor.

Tor spat on the ground to avert evil. 'Tissa says you're a witch. Do you know what happens to witches?'

'I've never done any harm!' cried Alisa.

'Who cares whether you have or not?' said Tor, cynically. 'You're not one of us. You're a changeling, you're disposable.'

'You're disposable, too,' Alisa snapped back. She shouldn't have said it, she knew that, but it was true. Tor was tolerated because he was Grimbald's nephew, but already he was elbowed out of the way by boys who should have treated him with respect. He wasn't a changeling like her but he didn't fit in - not now.

'Grimbald wants to kill you!' Tor taunted her, 'and good riddance!' He aimed another kick at her and lurched off into the darkness, his dark red hair catching the light of the fire. As Alisa watched him go, he stumbled.

Alisa moved back into the shadows. She looked over to the Watching Stone, standing cold and grey by a clump of alders. Then she thought, if I could hide there before Grimbald and the elders come, I could find out the truth. If they come. And then came another thought, one she'd never had before: if I am a changeling - what's wrong with that?

 

Crouched behind a stone amid the alders, Alisa listened. In the distance, faintly, there came the harsh uk! uk! of a ptarmigan up on the moor. Nearer, she could hear the beck as it splashed over the stones and, further off, the dying crackle of the funeral pyre. Then she heard men's voices, coming towards her.

There were five of them: Grimbald; Dwyn, Tor's father; Olven, the priest; and two lesser nobles who were Grimbald's men. They would side with him.

'The girl must die,' said Grimbald. 'While my father lived I said nothing, but the ill luck has gone on long enough. The gods are angry.'

'Then let us sacrifice a sheep,' said Olven. 'The girl has done nothing wrong.'

'She's a changeling,' said Grimbald, impatiently. 'You forget yourself, Olven. You are an old man now.'

'I think you forget what happened when we sacrificed the stranger seven years ago, Grimbald the Fox,' said Olven sternly.

'Our luck turned,' retorted Grimbald.

'And the village was overrun by nightmare. We had gone against the Great Law. We killed a stranger, a man who had broken bread with us. This time, it will be a lot worse; we all know the girl.'

'I agree,' said Dwyn. 'There is no harm her.'

'She is the better sacrifice, then,' said Grimbald. 'But if you're so tender of her, Dwyn, what about Tor instead? He's useless enough now.'

'Tor's my son!' said Dwyn, angrily.

'So? The gods will appreciate it the more.'

There was a pause. Alisa held her breath. It wasn't just fear of what was to come but there was something else. A new feeling. A prickle between her shoulder blades told her that someone else was hiding, too. Someone behind her, someone who knew that she was there.

'We waste time,' said Grimbald, impatiently. 'I'm for sacrificing the girl.' He turned to the two nobles who had not yet spoken. 'And you?'

'I'm with you.'

'And I.'

'The majority is with me. So that's settled.' Grimbald turned to go. 'Dwyn, come with me. Tonight we feast and drink to our father's spirit. Tomorrow we will offer the sacrifice. Olven, you will prepare the ceremony.' With a swirl of his cloak, he left.

Olven stood for a moment, staring out at the funeral pyre, and then walked swiftly towards his hut.

 

Fear poured down Alisa like icy water, numbing her thoughts. Thorn had told the truth; they were going to kill her. Then she heard a twig crack behind her. Tissa? She'd been wrong to think that Tissa would want to keep her alive. Perhaps she was coming to kill her now; at least it would be quick. But, as she strained her ears to listen, the footsteps moved further off. Whoever it was was moving away. There was nobody left to turn to.

Then she thought: there is one person. Did she dare?

The night was cold and dark, the sky was clear and frosted with stars and a thin sickle moon hung in the sky when Alisa scratched on the hide door-flap of the round house at the edge of the village. There was silence. Desperately, Alisa scratched a second time. Then she heard the door-flap being unfastened. 'Who is it?'

'Alisa.'

'Come in, Alisa the Changeling. I was expecting you.' The priest's eyes were silver, like lake water in winter, and piercing.

'You argued for me,' said Alisa, trying to stop shivering. 'I didn't think you liked me, but you were on my side.'

Olven went over to the dying fire and threw a log on it. It flared up in a shower of sparks. 'I'm on the side of the tribe,' he said. 'What happened the last time we sacrificed a scapegoat left a dark scar. Grimbald and his followers prefer to ignore the truth. They have short memories. Bad times come and go and no-one is at fault.'

He went over to a wooden chest and opened it. 'Here.' He threw her some warm trousers, a shirt, a felted jacket and a hat. 'Change.'

'But ... but they're boys' clothes!' Girls never wore boys' clothes: it was the height of immodesty.

'They belonged to my son,' said Olven, as if she hadn't spoken. 'Hurry up, girl. There's much to do and little time to do it in.'

Alisa picked up the clothes and turned her back to change. The trousers were warm, far warmer than her skimpy dress. She pulled the shirt over her head, put on the jacket and looked at Olven. He was holding a knife.

'Turn round.'

With a dry throat, Alisa did so. She could feel the cold blade at her neck and then the chill of the night air as he cut off her long dark hair.

Olven tossed the hair on the fire and looked her up and down. 'You'll do.'

'Where shall I go?' asked Alisa, her voice cracking. Could she could try and get ahead of Thorn and wait for him to catch her up? But she didn't know which direction he was going. In any case, she didn't want to put him in danger.

'Try and find your own people.'

'But I don't have any people!' Was he going to kill her and send her down to the underworld? It was like a nightmare, one of those where you're stuck and struggling to get out and your pursuers are getting nearer and nearer but it's no use and you'll know they'll find you. Here, she couldn't even escape by waking up.

Olven went back to the wooden chest and took out a worn sealskin bag. 'This belonged to your father.'

'My father!' She didn't have a father. A witch had left her there, she knew that.

'Yes, you had a father.'

Alisa stared at him, trying to make out his face in the flickering light of the fire. She couldn't take it in. 'But...but why ...?' Why had nobody told her?

'We found him dying at the edge of the forest. You were curled up beside him. He was a travelling man. He came from the west.'

'The west!' Alisa's eyes widened in horror. 'You mean he came through the great forest? There are giants there - and wolves!' Everyone knew the forest was an evil place.

'That's the way you must go.' He indicated a stool by the fire. 'Sit down. You must eat and I'll tell you what I can.' Olven pushed over a hunk of barley bread and some cheese.

Alisa sank down onto the stool. Fear had closed up her throat. She couldn't swallow a thing.

'Eat, girl,' ordered Olven.

Alisa picked up the bread.

'Your father was one of the Ròn, the seal people. They live many moons away. He died soon after we found him. He told us your name and begged us to take you in. And he did have one thing to say about the great forest: "Never take a short cut.".'

'Never take a short cut?' echoed Alisa.

'There is a way through the forest, Alisa. We know that, though we rarely go into it. Nevertheless, a few people have come through, like your father, though, before him, the previous one was seventy years or more ago. He said the same thing.'

Olven went to the door, opened it and looked across to the great hall, where he could see flickering shadows from the torches and hear the noise of songs and feasting. Then he looked up at the sky. 'Time you were off. It's three leagues to the forest, and you must be there by sunrise. As soon as he finds you gone, Grimbald will have the dogs out after you. If he catches you, I can do nothing. You mustn't be caught in the open.' He wrapped up the remains of the bread and cheese in a linen cloth, tied it in a knot and put it in her father's sealskin bag, then handed it to Alisa, together with a knife. 'May the gods go with you.'

Then he picked up her discarded clothes and thrust them into the fire.

Alisa watched as her past life caught fire and flared up. 'Thank you, Olven,' she said and ducked out of the tent.

She heard the door flap being tied behind her. There was no way back.