Free Dreams and Shadows by C. Robert Cargill

it.
    The Old Man smiled down at him, a mischievous expression on his wrinkled face. His skin was a coppery brown; his hair was long, knotted, and jet black, streaked with stray grays; and despite his apparent age, his muscles were firm and taut. He wore a deerskin tunic much like the one Ewan was wearing—only adorned with more fur and soiled from years of outdoor living. “Hello, Ewan. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give away your secret.”
    â€œWhat secret?”
    The Old Man raised an arm and wryly pointed a stiff finger past the hill. “I believe you’ll find Nils over in that direction.” He smiled shrewdly, then folded in upon himself, transforming into a coyote. A foot taller than the average coyote, its salt-and-pepper mane was thick, full, and glistened when struck by the sun. Trotting off, he disappeared behind a tree, never to emerge from the other side.
    Ewan couldn’t wait until he was old enough to learn that trick.
    Nibbling Nils. Ewan regained focus and once again took to the trails, eager to find himself the crotchety old Buber before the crotchety old Buber found him instead.

 
    CHAPTER TEN
    T HE Y OUNG C HANGELING K NOCKS
    N ixie Knocks the Changeling was born in the rain under a starless black sky. The moment he opened his eyes he saw her. His mother . Caitlin . She was beautiful, her eyes big and brown, her hair henna red. The very first thing he could remember was the patter of raindrops on his face. The rain was cold but her tears were warm; that’s how he could tell the difference. After three days of sobbing over her stillborn child, rocking and cradling him, praying for him to stir, he’d awakened. He looked up for the first time and saw her, his hunger hollow and angry, crying out for his mother to feed him. He loved her so much it hurt; he loved her so much he fought his way to the land of the living. And when she quickly bared her breast to suckle him, he bit down with all of his might.
    She screamed. It was then that Caitlin knew exactly what he was. And she hated him; she hated him with every fiber of her being. Knocks knew hatred’s flavor better than anyone. He could eat pain, he could live indefinitely on fear, but he couldn’t eat hate. His stomach couldn’t take it.
    She threw him to the ground, screaming, “Aodhan!”
    It was then that Knocks first met his father. Tall, muscular, handsome. He rushed to his wife’s side, placing a caring hand on her delicate exposed shoulder. “What is it, my love?”
    She pointed at Knocks, refusing to look at him. “Fetch the Bendith.”
    â€œBut, Caitlin . . .”
    â€œFetch him,” she demanded with a choked sob. “That is not your son.”
    Knocks writhed on the ground, drinking his mother’s pain. It was the only thing she would ever give him.
    Dithers wasted no time. He took one look, nodded knowingly, and threw him over his shoulder. “What should I bring you?” he asked Caitlin.
    â€œBring me a son. One strong and noble and deserving. One worthy of Sidhe parents.”
    Dithers nodded silently, carrying Knocks off into the night. But as he made his way to the edge of the forest, he found it blocked by a massive stone of a man: Meinrad the Limestone King, Green Man and Leshii of the Balcones Canyonlands.
    Possessing no skin or flesh, he was head to toe tan and yellow limestone instead, beset with flecks of gray and clear quartz, sprouting green flowering bushes where a man’s beard and hair might be. He stood seven feet tall, but walked with a crook in his back from years of his weathered stone settling in. His eyes and mouth were recesses in the rock, his nose a knobby pecan branch with green budding leaves growing into the bush of his beard. Meinrad shook his head, wagging a protesting finger. “Where are you going?” he asked.
    â€œTo fetch Caitlin a new child,” said Dithers.
    â€œThat is not