What would you do to save your child?
The night whispers of old sins and broken promises. A mother searches, but each step takes her deeper into the places where light dares not linger. Some say the past should stay buried. But the darkness remembers… and it is waiting.

Would you dare follow the shadows if it meant saving someone you love?

The forest keeps its secrets well. But sometimes–in the frost–in the mist–in the space between heartbeats–you can hear the children calling. September is coming and so is The Wraith.

The past has left it’s fingerprints in dust and shadows.

September is coming and so is The Wraith.

All within the castle lay sleeping when they returned to Bargamore. The queen and Lady Blackthorn did not speak to one another, their pain was indescribable and not for sharing. The queen dismissed the wise women as she placed the baby on a mattress that still retained the small shape of her own child. She did not notice the shadowy figure in the corner of the room until he spoke.

   “You have exchanged our child, my love?”

   “I am the queen, I had no other choice,” she bit down on her lip to still the angry word she wanted to scream at her husband.

   “I cannot tell the difference,” he looked down at the sleeping baby.

   “You are not her mother,” it was difficult to keep the anger from her voice.

   “No, but I feel your pain,” he sat down on the bed beside her.

   “You know nothing of suffering,” she started to cry. “You cannot tell the difference, but I can and will do for the rest of my life, and so will Iris.”

   “I am sorry, my love,” he reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

   “Go, leave me alone with my thoughts,” she begged.

The baby, sensing the quarrel, started to cry.

   “Go,” the queen said. “I will see to her myself.”

The sound of the baby’s wails of anguish followed the king all the way down to the throne room. It would soon be dawn and for the first time he feared the coming of day. In the streets below the lamplighters snuffed the flames on the lanterns. Everything seemed normal, but it wasn’t and would never be again.

   “Hush, little one,” the queen picked up the baby. “I am not angry with you. Do not be afraid. I will take care of you,” she kissed her soft cheek. “I promised your mother, and I intend to keep that promise. I will surround you with all the love I have to give, and I pray you will never sense the yearning secret of my heart.”

   “That’s a pretty box,” the nurse said, as Alice sat up in the bed.

How strange, Alice thought, as she undid the bow. Had someone come to visit her while she slept? The beauty of the pendant made her catch her breath. It looked expensive, and was obviously given by someone close to the baby? There was no more time to think as the baby carried in. Alice picked up her handbag and tucked the box inside. She would keep the pendant safe until Juliet was old enough to appreciate such a work of art.

   “She looks different,” Alice frowned, when the nurse handed her the baby.

   “New-borns change from minute to minute,” the nurse said, as she twirled the Id tag on the baby’s wrist. “There you are,” she drew Alice’s attention to it.

   “You’re right,” she sighed with relief. “I am just being silly.”

   “No, it’s understandable,” the nurse smiled. “But, how could you mistake that hair? We were talking about it this morning. It’s so dark red, it’s hard to describe.”

   “I don’t know where her colouring comes from, “Alice said as she kissed her baby. “You’re a bit of a mystery.”

Was it just her imagination or did the baby’s eyes have a slight tilt at the corners that she had not noticed before? Later that night, Alice’s mother confirmed she had an aunt with the same colouring, so mystery solved.

Mary and Bob Dawson had no such qualms when it came to their son. He was perfect in their eyes and neither of them saw anything different about him. The pendant was accepted as a gift from a passing friend, who would, no doubt, reveal themselves in the coming days. Like Juliet, Corey’s hair was the talk of all the nursing staff as it was the whitest, they had ever seen.

   “I must have overdone it on the calcium or the milk,” Mary laughed.

So, the months passed, and all four children thrived on the love they received from those around them. In Bargamore the queen and Lady Blackthorn clapped as their children took their first tentative steps around the furniture in the throne room.

   “They have grown so fast,” Lady Blackthorn beamed.

   “Yes,” the queen sighed.

   “You must accept her, my queen,” Lady Blackthorn said.

   “I love her, you know that,” the queen said. “But sometimes, when I look in her eyes, I see a stranger staring back at me. There is nothing of the king or me in there.”

The queen looked across at her daughter. Amber sensing her mother gaze turned and said her first word. Its sound was like thorns piercing the queen’s heart, “mamma.”

BARGAMORE

1995

King Karone sat on the balcony overlooking the main square and watched as the first ray of dawn broke through the earthen sky. Bargamore, like the mortal world, experiences both day and night. A series of tunnels are designed to let the sunlight in. There are also dark places beneath the earth that never see light. The silver mines where the dwarfs work, are darker than Hades, and they dig for the precious metal with the aid of hundreds of torches.  While those in the hidden world are self-sufficient, they had other needs. Thesale of silver provides for this, and the pureness of the metal is prised by those who trade for it inthe mortal world.

Then, there is the land where the Ereban live, a place of endless night. From his vantage point, the king could see the dark forest forming the boundary to this land, and the eerie shadows of the trees,

   “You have not slept my husband?”

Like all her kind, the queen moved on airy feet, and he did not hear her come in.

   “Talk to me,” she took his hand in hers. “I sense your fears.”

She knew how troubled her husband was, but she was unprepared by the hopelessness in his eyes when he looked at her. The child in her womb leapt, sensing her distress.

   “The scourge that is killing our people has to be stopped,” he said. “There are many poisons that might cause it, but yet the wise women cannot find the cure. We must strengthen our people before it is too late.”

   “Have the wise ones thought of a way of doing this.” She asked.

   “There is one way of strengthening the blood, but it is so terrible I cannot bring myself to speak its name.” The king said.

   “Tell me. “The queen urged.

   “Changelings,” his voice was muffled by his hands. “We must exchange elfin babies for mortal ones.”

The queen, overcome with horror, groping her way to a chair and fell into it.

   “What have you decided?” She asked.

   “Galten had seen into the future. There are two children who are not yet born, that will suit,” he said. “They will be the first of many. The wise women have gone to the mortal world to watch as the time of birth approaches.”

   “How can you speak of such a thing?” The queen knuckles glowed white, as she gripped the arm of the chair.

   “What is the taking of twenty children over thousands of our people?”

   “It is barbaric,” the queen was trying not to cry. “It is beyond cruel to ask a mother to part with her child.”

   “The suffering will be in this world, my love,” the king explained. “The children will be swapped at birth and the mortal mother will have no idea it is not her child.”

   “So, the mortals will be spared, and the elfin women know the bitter sting of parting?”

   “If there was any other way,” he sighed.

The queen walked out on to the balcony. The square below had come to life, and the elves went about their daily duties as though nothing was amiss. Those who sensed her presence looked up and bowed in respect. In that fleeting moment it was impossible to miss the look of fear in their eyes. She went back inside to where her husband waited.

   “How many babies are to be born in the hidden world?” She asked.

   “Fourteen, according to the wise women,” the king answered.

   “What will you do, go from door to door asking who is willing to surrender their new-born? You will not find your subjects so forthcoming, when faced with such a decision.”

She knew she was being cruel, and her words just added to her husband’s torment. But she was queen and if such sacrifices were to be made, she must lead by example. A knock on the door kept her from saying anything more. One of her ladies-in-waiting peeped in.

   “Forgive me, majesties,” the woman bowed. “But Lady Blackthorn’s pains have started, and the wise women are not here.”

   “I will come at once,” the queen dismissed her, and turning to her husband, asked. “Can you forgive me for the cruelty of my words?”

   “There is nothing to forgive,” he kissed her. “These are terrible times.”

As the queen hurried down the hallway to her friend’s chambers, she tried to ignore the gnawing pains in her back and stomach. Her child was in a hurry to be born, and she could not bear to think about the terrible price she would have to pay to save her people.

CHAPTER THREE

BARGAMORE

1995

The blaze from the funeral pyre threw leaping shadows across the mirrored walls, and the crackling of the flames echoed like thunder around the vast cavern. Those gathered around the sacred lake stood with heads bowed, too sad to watch as the craft drifted closer to the edge of the waterfall, that would take it out to sea. The cliffs on either side of the lake rose in towering heights and beyond them stars glistened in the night sky. All funerals are held under the cover of darkness, so that those who live on the land above, do not see the smoke. Each ledge, each fissure in the rock was crammed with fairies, but their colours were muted. The sombre black they wore to mourn the dead made them look like small blackbirds that had taken roost and might at any time take flight. On the lower level’s dwarfs vied for space, as they tried to see over the shoulders of the elves. Lanterns on long poles hung by the shore, but once the blazing pyre disappeared, they did little to dispel the gloom.

   “It is time to leave, my dear,” Heather, the Queen of the Elves, placed a small, white hand on her husband’s arm.

   “Yes, we will go now, my love,” King Karone’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Forgive me, I was deep in thought.”

   “It is understandable,” she linked her arm through his. “These are sad times.”

As the royal party moved off, those standing behind them bowed, and the assembled throng parted to form a pathway. The dwarfs jumped from rocks and started to walk away with the toddling gait of those whose legs are too short for their bodies. The fairies took flight and moved en masse like a dark swarm swooping over the heads of the elves, as they made for home. Lord Blackthorn, the king’s friend and adviser walked beside his wife. His face was ashen and lined with worry.

   “You must rest when we get back to the castle,” his wife said. “These past few days have taken their toll.”

He looked up at her and tried to smile, but his eyes betrayed him, and she felt the familiar sense of doom gnawing at her heart.

   “It is you who should be resting, Iris” he put his arm around her waist. “Your time is almost at an end.”

Lady Blackthorn smiled and patted the bump in the front of her gown. She, like the queen, was due to give birth at any moment. It would be a firstborn for both families and the imminent births were the only light in this time of dreadful darkness. The funeral was the second one in a year. To mortals this would seem a small amount, but to the Elfin, whose lifespan was many hundreds of years, it spelt catastrophe.

The castle loomed in the distance and was set high above the land on an outcrop of rock. Steps were carved on each side and the queen’s ladies-in-waiting helped both the pregnant women with the climb. This gave their husbands a chance to speak without frightening their wives.

“It is a sad time,” the king shook his head.” Lord Ashwen was so young; he had just reached his hundred and sixty-eighth year.”

   “It is no age,” Lord Blackthorn sighed.

   “Have you asked the others to assemble in the throne room?” The king asked.

   “Yes, majesty, they will be waiting for us,” Lord Blackthorn assured him.

. Both men have the fair colouring of their kind, and their shoulder-length hair shimmered in the light of the many torches lining the steps.

   “Is there something else bothering you, majesty,” his friend asked. “Something other than Lord Ashwen’s death?”

   “You know me too well,” the king stopped and looked at him.

   “I should do, majesty, after all this time,” Lord Blackthorn’s laugh seemed alien.

It was a long time since the sound was heard in the land of Bargamore.

   “Did you see them?” The king asked.

   “I did majesty. They tried to stay hidden in the shadows, but they failed.”

The creatures the elves referred to are the Erebans. Dark, soulless beings born out of men’s darkest thoughts and desires. They inhabited a land beyond the forest; a place of endless shadow, shunned by the others who share the hidden world. The Erebans are the elves only enemy. Though the elves are of normal size, the Erebans tower over them, and stand at almost eight feet tall. Dressed from head to toe in a cloak of black, they make a frightening spectacle to those unlucky enough to meet them late at night. For this is their time. When others sleep, the Erebans come to life and roam the darkness. Their eyes are completely black, so they are blind during the day, but when the sun sets, they can see further than most. It is unusual for them to stray into the land of Bargamore, and the king knew they had done so only to mock him. They knew the elves were weak and like any predator they circled, anticipating the kill. The king sensed their sneers. He knew if something was not done to strengthen his people, then Perius, their leader, would lead his men in to battle against those in the hidden world. At any other time, he would not fear this, but now, as his people grew weaker, he could not bear to envision it.

In the throne room, Galten, the Seer, stood at a table and gazed into a crystal bowl. He stirred the water to dispel the images that gathered.

   “Has the outlook changed?” Mistress Doogood asked.

   “No, nothing has changed,” the old man shook his head.

   “Nothing?” Her sister healers Mistress Gamp and Mistress Tweed chorused.

   “We have a little time left,” Galten said. “Not very long, perhaps forty years.”

   “Forty years,” the wise women gasped. “But that is, but a moment.”

   “Nevertheless, it is what I see,” he sighed.

   “We are working hard to find a cure for this wasting malady, and I pray we may do so soon,” Mistress Doogood said.

Lord Fabien, the ruler of Faranord, the land of the fairies, snorted. Mr and Mrs Furze, who were there to speak for the dwarfs lumbered over to where he sat on the arm of a chair.

   “Whatever is the matter?” Mrs Furze asked.

   “I do not think anything is the matter,” her husband said, before Lord Fabien could speak.

   “But he made a noise, my dear,” His wife said. “At least I think it was him.”

   “Perhaps it was someone else,” her husband said. “I may not have been him after all.”

   “You are quite right, my dear,” his wife said, “Maybe it was…”

   “Enough,” Lord Fabien roared. “We will be here all night if this continues.”

Mrs Furze blushed and turned away. Lord Fabian realising how rude he had been, apologised. Everyone loved Mr and Mrs Furze, but it must be admitted, they are the most absentminded couple. They rarely get to the root of a problem. The dwarfs did not have a ruler and worked together as a happy little group.

   “What I was trying to say,” Lord Fabien said. “Was that I think my plan is the best.”

   “The king will never hear of it,” Galten said. “It is a barbaric suggestion and one that belongs to olden times.”

   “It might seem so,” Lord Fabien said. “But it has worked in the past. If you listen to me the elfin bloodline will be strengthened, and you will be saved all this misery.”

The wise women turned to look at Galten.

   “Do not tell me you agree with them?” The old man said.

   “Well…” Mistress Dogood muttered.

   “Can you imagine the sorrow it would cause?” Galten asked. “The king would never agree to such a thing.”

   “He will, if he wants to save his people,” Lord Fabien said.

    “What if we could do it without causing suffering on either side?” Mistress Gamp asked

   “I can see no way around it,” Galten said. “No matter what we do, someone will have to suffer.”

   “But what if…” Mistress Gamp started to whisper in his ear.

The others watched as the old seer’s eyes grew wide in astonishment.

   “The king will never allow it to happen,” he said.

   “The king will never allow what?”

 They were so caught up in their planning; they had not heard him enter the room.

   “Well?” He looked at the seer. “I am waiting.”

   “Changelings, majesty,” the old man stuttered. “They want to exchange elfin babies with those from the mortal world.”