"...Uncle?" Illaden swiftly turned at the troubled voice. It was Arilene, his eight year old niece, and Darin, his six year old son, their eyes round with apprehension, and also curiosity. They stood at the edge of the tool-shed door, staring out at the crowd.
Illaden remembered the small child he glimpsed with the creature, still somewhere inside, and glanced worriedly behind them. He did not see anything. It must have hid. Still, Illaden was trying to overcome his nausea at having witnessed the gory event just outside his door, and felt unwilling to quickly condemn anyone else to the same fate. What if the other child was really human? The changeling could have stolen him for some evil purpose. He did not know for sure. He knew that the wild, excited crowd would not wait to find out.
"Go back inside!" Illaden snapped at his children, unwilling them to see the creature's body still twisting in the flames, its flesh crackling and bubbling out fluids, which ignited in turn with blue and orange shades. Illaden ushered the children inside and with another searching look around quickly bolted the outside door.
The boy started to complain, but his father's brow furrowed, and he obeyed, a stubborn pout appearing on his face. The man's quiet, expressive gaze met with Arilene's, and found an unexpected understanding. She went after his boy upstairs, softly closing the door behind her. Illaden stood for another moment, listening to the crowd outside marveling at their deed. Then, he began walking slowly from isle to isle, searching for the child.
There was a sound of a bucket being overturned somewhere to his left. Sharply, Illaden snapped his head and stared in that direction, tightening his grip upon the metal rod just in case. The candlelight gleamed softly through the door leading into his shop, revealing messy piles of miscellaneous junk that he never had a chance to sort out, a small unfinished boat that still needed to be repaired, and a line of fishing hooks.
There was the overturned bucket, lying on its side, still rocking. Illaden walked forward along that isle, aware of every tiny sound that might come out of the unlighted, cluttered corners. He saw a green curtain covering the old work table. Coming to it quickly, he tore off the curtain and peered beneath.
A very young human child of maybe two or three years old looked up at him, frozen in fear. He was curled up in the farthest corner, with his back pressed against the back leg of the table, and his arms grasped tightly around his scratched knobby knees. At once, Illaden knew with a certainty that he, too, was a changeling. He could see it in the child's terrified, keenly aware eyes, flowing with the same deep unnatural black color as the eyes of the changeling outside. He clearly recognized Illaden as a threat. No doubt he witnessed how Illaden struck the other and saw the unruly mob drag it out, heard them beating it. Outside, Illaden heard their voices, now conversing calmer.
"I think it's almost dead. Go home, you all." He heard the familiar voice of the smith. "It's back to work tomorrow for most of you. Since my shop is right there, my men will stay to make sure..." There was a common murmur of agreement.
The tense moment of waiting was drawing long. The small child's body trembled as he miserably cowered there, a total resignation and bleakness in his dark eyes. He expected only farther cruelty from him, Illaden guessed.
"What are you waiting for? You already murdered once. Call them, let's get this over with." To Illaden, the child's eyes seemed to say. Disturbed by such thoughts, Illaden sighed and lowered the rod.
"I will not call them." He said in a restrained tone of voice, intending to remain unheard by those beyond the door. He looked directly into the young changeling's eyes.
"In the morning... be gone. Or else the same will happen." Illaden pointed outward, to where the other's body still burned.
"Do you understand?" Illaden let his words hang there. The changeling said nothing in response. But, as his gaze switched from the man's frowning face to his lowered rod, his trembling seemed to lessen. Uncertain on whether his mercy was really a mercy, or a crime, Illaden tensely backed away from it.
He immediately locked both doors that lead into the tool-shed, where he left the changeling. Just in case he was wrong about its seeming helplessness, he dared not sleep.
Through the window in his room upstairs, he watched, frowning, how people slowly drifted away. Some still stood and watched, talking softly, as the dancing flames now licked an unmoving, charred form.
Smith with his men, Keethin and Arrold, still stood there, smith's crow-bar secure in his hand. Arrold had a pleased smirk on his gouged face, looking at the flames. Old blind Tereznik, with his long, wise white beard, was another. The black-bearded strongman, Raze, quick on temper even with his wife and children, half-drunk, kept raving to everyone about the demons that attacked him in the woods.
The other two present Illaden recognized as brothers, Phirhat and Azuman, visiting hunters from a close village. They paid very close attention to Raze's stories, Illaden thought with distaste. That was how rumors spread.
Already, this beast they'd just hunted down had become twice its size and killed or mauled at least five people. Having fought with it, Illaden sincerely doubted it could have done that. To Illaden, looking back in his memory, it now looked small and afraid. It hid in his shed, in-jured. It begged him for its life. It hid the little one behind it. It acted so... human.
Illaden sat down wearily on his bed for just a moment, still fully-dressed and with the metal rod ready by his hand.
What were these creatures doing, daring to venture inside the city, inviting their own death? He thought, puzzled.
Why did they come, knowing what people would do to them if someone learned what they were? Illaden shook his head.
Did they have nowhere else to go?
During the winter, he heard hunters mention that they found several strange bodies frozen in the woods. They were probably the few who somehow escaped the battle at the crystal castle. Those that survived through the winter now appeared randomly throughout the valleys, fleeing from one place to the next. Some who were wise doubtlessly hid who they were, and others, like one today, foolishly revealed itself in a thoughtless blunder.
Why did it attack that man? Illaden wondered, remembering the girl he glimpsed over the body of the old man. There was no doubt in his mind that she had done something evil to him. "Demon!" Someone cried out fearfully, and the hunt was on…
***
The laughter of children awakened him.
Arilene and his son were already awake, and it was just slightly past dawn. Illaden startled with an oath, then grabbed the metal rod and hurried out of his room. He ran past the kitchen, glimpsing Arilene and Darin there, eating at the table. He bounded downstairs, threw open the door leading to the tool-shed, and strode straight to the table in the far right isle. There was no one underneath. The door of the tool-shed was open. Sunlight broke in from the outside.
Illaden signed with relief. With a relaxed grip on his rod, he checked outside. The town seemed to have already returned to normal. There was the usual hustle and bustle in the street. For a moment, Illaden's eyes lingered on the dark spot not far from him, where some ashes still remained. Then, he slowly closed the door, bolted it, and headed back upstairs.
Walking into the kitchen, he met his niece's bright smile with a tired smile of his own. Then, his smile slid off his face.
"I found him in your tool-shed." His niece said with innocent delight. The changeling child sat in her lap, eagerly eating vegetable pieces from her plate.
Angry, Illaden strode toward them, then held himself back when he saw that his mean look frightened his niece.
"Uncle Laden?" She asked. The little boy looked up without fear. Unmindful of Illaden, he took another piece off the plate.
"Put him down, Arilene." Illaden commanded strictly. His niece obediently slipped the child to the floor.
The changeling held on to her skirt. He looked up at Illaden again with mild, innocent eyes that reflected Illaden's towering, frowning reflection back at him. The strange, fluid, trembling black that he had seen previously was replaced with more ordinary hazel, flecked faintly with blue and green.
Seeing in the child's eyes his own reflection and the menacing way he gripped the iron stick, Illaden forced himself to relax his hand. Maybe, he thought, his niece found the changeling before it could leave. Perhaps, the locks on the outer doors were too high for it to open on its own, he realized, noticing how small the child was and remembering that he left the outer doors bolted.
"I'm sorry, uncle Laden. I heard him crying. I don't know how he got in there. I thought maybe he was hungry, and we were eating breakfast. I was going to ask you, but you were still asleep."
"I know this child. He doesn't belong here." Illaden said to Arilene, while still staring at the boy. Silently, he forced himself to extend his hand toward it. After a moment, the young changeling let go of Arilene, stepped forward, and trustingly grasped his finger, instead. His hands were too small to hold more.
Illaden led him out of the kitchen to the stairs. There, the child let go of him and lifted up his hands, as though expecting to be picked up. Illaden paused, remembering that a monster hid somewhere beneath that harmless guise.
The child kept his hands up, unaware of Illaden's misgivings. Finally, he picked up the child, and the little boy clung to him. Illaden could feel his little heart beating close to him, and felt a momentary doubt stir within himself. Then he clearly remembered that the child's eyes had changed color, and stifled that doubt. Downstairs, Illaden glared at his niece.
"Keep an eye on Darin. Don't leave anywhere. I won't be gone long. And lock all the doors. If you had done it yesterday, as I bid you, he would not have wandered in." Illaden snapped at Arilene in a strained voice and stepped out.
His niece guiltily dropped her gaze at his glare and obediently closed the door after him. The child leaned against Illaden's shoulder, hiding his face against Illaden's shirt. Illaden almost patted the child's dark curls to comfort him, but stopped himself.
Saying nothing, Illaden carried the little boy past the curious gawkers still lingering on street corners. He knew some of them, and feared that they would ask him about the child. They paid him no heed, too engrossed in their gossip. Illaden walked past them, then blended into the market crowd and breathed with more relief. He walked with the throng of pedestrians and carts heading out of the city, past the guards.
Some distance from the city, obscured by the trees, he quickly turned unto a less-travelled path. Just over the little hill everyone called Jimmy's Bend, he went off the road entirely and into the woods. There, he put down the changeling child.
He stared at him for a moment, darkly, and the child held his gaze with quiet, waiting eyes that seemed to Illaden to hold little comprehending. Illaden began to wonder if perhaps he was wrong to think that this young changeling really understood what was going on. A thought occurred to him that this little one might be as helpless as human children his age. Without its older sibling, or mother, whatever that other creature had been to it, there was no one left to care for it. By leaving it here alone, he was likely leaving it to perish as surely as if he had surrendered it to the hunters.
Wavering, Illaden watched the child, considering what else he could do with it. He could surrender it to the priests and let them worry what to do with it. But he feared becoming involved. What if they questioned him and found his actions somehow at fault, because he had not immediately surrendered the changeling to the hunters? His own children depended solely on him. Who would care for them if the priests detained him for any reason? No, he simply couldn't afford to take any risks. It was easiest to simply leave it here, let it fend for itself.
It was not his responsibility, Illaden decided, and firmly turned from the boy. He started walking away. A moment later, he couldn't help himself and glanced back. He saw the little boy running after him, a worried look on his face.
"No!" Illaden yelled at him, and the little boy froze still, frightened. He started to cry. Illaden started walking again and walked for awhile, until he was about to cross over the hill. Then, he unwillingly looked back again. This time, he saw the boy still standing where he left him, now far back. He was still crying, but no longer looking in Illaden's direction. He seemed lost, looking uneasily around himself, the wind gently stirring his dark curls.
The man felt a stirring of pity, but hardened his heart and turned and strode away. He walked over the hill, down the hill, back along the road leading into the city. He didn't look back again...