The Changeling

a fresh beginning

I headed to the water and washed the paint from my face, and the boy’s eyes warmed, but he did not smile. “Stay,” I told the boy and dog. I headed to the eddy then walked to the edge of the small pool where cattails stood. As I went to cut some for our morning meal, I noticed that the coyote and trapper stood alongside me.  I grumbled under my breath. Then snagged a large fish.  

“I knew this would happen when I killed you! Go away you, crazy old trapper!” His reply was silence, and as I walked, he walked with me. “Well, at least I don’t have to feed you too.” The coyote growled at him as he faded away.

 

My band of misfits and I made it back to camp. I had gathered wild yams, the cattails, 2 eggs, and a bull trout. The fish now smoked. While yams and cattails cooked on a glowing hot stone. The boy would not suck an egg, so I tossed them to Dog and his mate. 

Laughter swept over me as I considered my plight. How I longed to hear another's voice, as only the angry chipmunk ranted at me. Three more days passed the boy neither spoke or ate. He would not come to me but tethered himself around the neck of Dog.  

“Son, I am not a bad man you must trust me and eat.” 

Silence was my answer. I needed wisdom, so a large fire was made. With sunset, I took the pipe and sat in front of the fire. “Come sit with me, my people and guide my hand.” 

My memory filled the circle; the drums played, warriors chanted, maidens sang, and young ones danced. They all watched while I smoked and pondered what to do.  My head grew weary, my hands too heavy to lift the pipe I stared at the sleeping child. The coyote came up to the boy and dog. She squeezed between them, this woke them both up. She gazed deeply into the child’s eyes. Silent tears flowed. Then he shook his head no, as did I. I had never heard of such a thing. His small hand cupped the coyote’s ear, and he whispered something to her. 

She let out a piercing howl. The woods must have been filled with her kind. For it came alive with coyotes calling from every direction. Their calls harmonized with the drums. Soon many coyotes stood around the child.  He crouched in place lifting his hands high and yelled loudly. His brown eyes looked amber.  The boy stretched his hand in front of her. She bit the boy, and his hand turned bright red. 

I stumbled to my feet,  grabbed a log from the fire and rushed them. A large male knocked me down. All the coyotes and Dog ran away. The spot where they stood now empty, except for the boy’s clothes. I stood up once more. I looked around the camp my pipe and flute were gone.  

The music stopped playing, one by one the memory of my people turned to smoke and drifted to the stars. A new sound filled the air an Indian village playing the drums. I freed Cloud from the travois and rode toward the drums, even the trapper turned to smoke and drifted upward. The forest now stood behind me as I continued toward the village, and somewhere amongst the pines, I could hear the playing of the flute.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I have not been steady about my reviewing, so I'm skipping from one thing to another of yours, not following any one series. I'm forgetful, so I can't remember what came before this chapter. That's why I can say that this is a fine stand-alone short story too. You are good about presenting a fulsome scene & not relying on what you think the reader already knows from previous chapters. I also love the way your phrasing harkens to the way natives are depicted as speaking in short phrases & many images to make points (not even sure if this is a good thing or just my hollywood conditioning?) . . . it often sounds like a wise old medicine person speaking. Your writing feels peaceful to read (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you Margie
I do like for each chapter to be a mini story all its own. I don't know if I do that for the overall effect it gives the tale or the satisfaction it gives me.

[barleygirl]

I figure, many avid readers are older (finally have the time) & such folks read a chapter at a time & they don't remember everything from the previous chapter as I don't.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes I think that's true. It gives a harmonious flow to a tale.
Years ago I wrote longer characters and I made goals for each day. Later on I was so busy I found it stressful to have lose threads dangling. So, I began thinking of chapters as a scene, or an episode even. It felt much tighter that way and allowed me to feel like I had achieved something.

[barleygirl]

Love your shares about the process of writing . . .

[Cherrie Palmer]

:) You brave soul you.
Thank you for putting up with me all these years.

[Neville]

some time after the beginning, a legend was born.... thoroughly well read x

[Cherrie Palmer]

Thank you Neville :) a happy ending of sorts.

[Neville]

can beat an egg.. but ya can't beat a happy ending can ya :)

[Shep]

Awesome chapter I was begging for as the fire around me danced with vision as the coyote and dog were going at it as the flute played then it was gone. I was right there in the thick of things.

[Cherrie Palmer]

Once I decided to but the boy in the story I knew i would let him become the legend of the trickster that the Indians tell. At one point I thought I might let the man turn into the trickster...but as he freed himself from the forest this seemed a better path.