Page 23 of The Changeling

‘She cared?’

‘She cared only for her own wicked ends,’ Mam cried. ‘She begged me to keep you, to feed you and look after you, and make sure you lived, for her people were starving and their babes did no’ thrive. And she said she needed Sorcha, she needed a child to take your place, to pay the price, she said.’

The seventh daughter of a seventh daughter is the only one who can stop the slaughter. Only she can break the curse and pay the price …

‘I said I would gladly keep you and care for you,’ Mam said, ‘but only if she gave me back my own bairn. At last she agreed, but most reluctantly. She told me that the time would come when she’d return and take you, for you were her only living child and her heir. Then she said something strange. She said I must teach you …’

‘To laugh, love and sorrow,’ I interrupted.

‘Aye.’ Mam sat wearily, her hands clasped together in her lap.

‘Caiti, you need to ken that Lady Egidia’s child was stolen from her cradle by the faeries the very same night. Because Nan and I got Sorcha back, another mother lost her babe, and that is something I find very hard to forgive myself for.’

‘Why did she steal the babe? What do the faeries want with them?’

Mam hesitated. ‘Nan heard a tale, a long time ago, that the faeries once ruled in this land till they were beaten in battle and many of them slaughtered. Their queen made a bargain with their dark gods, to open the gates to the Otherworld and let her people take refuge there. In return the faeries had to make a blood sacrifice to them, every seven years.’ Seeing my look of horror, she added hurriedly, ‘But it’s just a tale. I dinna ken if it’s true.’

‘They killed the babe?’

‘I dinna ken.’

I could not stop shivering. ‘What does she want with me? Does she want to kill me too?’

‘I dinna think so. You are the heir to her throne; she told me I must keep you safe. I have tried, Caiti, I promise you. That is why no-one could ken you were a faery child. Lord Patrick went half-mad when his bairn was stolen. He would have taken you and thrown you in the fire if he had kent. If he and the pastor were to ken the truth … I dread to think what they might do.’

I stood up and went into the kitchen, took down an old kirtle from the drying rack above the fire, put it on over my torn chemise and fastened my girdle about my hips. Then I sat and put on my stockings and boots, both set to dry on the hearth as always.

Mam followed me, her face puckered with anxiety. ‘Caiti, what are you doing?’

‘I must go.’

‘Go? Where?’

‘Does it matter?’

I caught up my satchel of cooking utensils, and tied my iron pot to it. The dirty bit of string was lying on the table. On impulse, I shoved it into my pocket. Mam clutched at my arm, begging me not to go, begging me to listen. ‘Hold your wheesht!’ I said fiercely. ‘There’s naught you can say that will make me stay.’

She began to weep. Taking down my plaid from the hook, I wrapped it about my shoulders, picked up my stick and whistled for Carlin. A thump as her paws hit the floorboards above our head, then the clatter of her claws on the stone as she raced down the steps. I opened the front door.

‘Caiti, wait!’ Mam ran after me with a small brown loaf wrapped in a napkin. ‘Be careful, my lambkin,’ she pleaded as I paused to thrust it into my satchel. ‘It’s a dangerous world for a wee lassie.’

‘Dinna fash yourself,’ I said, trying to smile, for her gesture with the bread had touched me. ‘I go to seek my fortune.’

With those words, I left the only home I had ever known and went out into the night, with nothing but the tools of my trade, my faithful hound, and a limp grey cord made of nettles.

A vast starry sky above, fields silvered with frost on either side. Carlin trotted beside me, occasionally turning to look up at me in puzzlement, wondering where we were going and why. Her eyes glowed a strange greenish colour.

I was afraid the faery queen would see us. She had said she had been watching me. I wanted to hide, somewhere far from her sight, somewhere she could never find me. I had few choices. I could head north or west into the wild rugged Highlands, or east to the coast with its few poor fishing villages, or south to Edinburgh. If I went to the city, I could disappear into the crowd, perhaps find work as a cook, perhaps sing for my supper. Mam had always said I had the voice of an angel.

It had to be south.

But the path to Edinburgh ran straight under the Knock. I could see it already, looming dark against the stars. If only I had a cloak of darkness and shoes of swiftness, like the hero in one of Nan’s old tales, I could hide myself from the faery queen’s searching eyes. But all I had was a bit of old string. I tied a knot in it and began to play cat’s cradle with the loop as I walked. As I wove the string in and out of my fingers, I thought about the story of my birth. The faery queen had conjured mist so thick that Nan could not find her way home; she had stolen one child and replaced it with another without anyone seeing. How had she hidden herself so uncannily?

I remembered a charm I had read in Nan’s cunning book, and began to chant it to myself silently, over and over again, as I wove the nettle string in and out of my fingers. I canna be heard, I canna be seen, I am but a shadow, I am but a dream, darkness cloak me in night, keep me hidden from sight.

Carlin suddenly growled, deep in her throat. I looked up in alarm. Fog poured all around us. Above me, the stars were swallowed, the dark hump of the Knock faded away. My fingers froze, then I hurled the nettle string away from me. My pulse thundered in my ears. Had I conjured this mist with my spell?

I was cloaked in fog, the whole world hidden from my sight. This was powerful magic. I’d be a fool to discard it when I could learn to use it. Picking the nettle string up from the ground, I coiled it and thrust it back into my pocket. Step by step, I limped onwards, my dog leading the way.