He had no name; nobody had ever cared to give him one. So he went into the world with no name, people using the strangest terms to speak of him, when they had to and that was not very often. He lived alone, despite his young age, and his dwelling was the nearest to the moor, in a place quite isolated from the other habitations.
Nobody knew where he came from; one day, he had appeared, a crawling baby, but everybody was afraid to approach him. As he had managed to survive somehow, with no one to care about him, people said there was something magic about him, but the strange gaze of the boy made them add that he was jinxed.
He still could hear the whispers when he was walking into town but they didn't affect him: he didn't understand them. He barely knew how to speak and the few words he really understood didn't allow him to comprehend the insults they were calling him.
He feared nothing; no shout from the townsmen could make him react, no stone thrown by the children could make him wince. He almost didn't move to avoid them, but simply turned the head to gaze at the child who had just thrown the stone. The yellow eyes seemed to never flicker and the guilty child remembered suddenly that he was supposed to be able to cast spells just by looking at someone. If the child ran after each thrown stone, nothing could prevent him from doing it again, not even the bruises he could see on the nameless boy.
Because he feared nothing, he could live near the moors. Everybody else was terrified at the single idea of being near the moors by nightfall, he wasn't, but nobody had cared to explain to him that the moors were dangerous. More than a townsman was hoping he would be carried away by the unknown creature haunting the moors.
He liked to look at the moors by night. Everything was so quiet then, just the songs of the night birds and the soft noises of the little beasts living there. But he was waiting for something each night: he was waiting for the light in the moors. For each night, a light was crossing slowly the moors, till where he knew the marshes were. Sometimes, but not often, when the light reached the marshes, several other lights were appearing and were dancing with the first one. He liked to see it, it was so beautiful, and he would have liked to be one of those lights.
And one night, as he was once again looking at the dance, he took a decision; he stood up and entered the moors, walking straight to the marshes. Marvel swept through him as his feet sank into the wet ground. He had never ventured in the moors till now and he hardly knew the way to the marshes, but, somehow, his feet seemed to know it for him. The moors were known for being treacherous, but he never encountered any hurting stone, any treacherous hole, as if his feet knew how to avoid them all.
Everything his yellow eyes could see in the night was a wonder for him. His lack of vocabulary didn't allow him to express how he felt by being in the moors, but somehow, deep inside, it felt so right for him to be there, as if... as if he was belonging to the moors.
As he was approaching the marshes, he could only see the lights; nothing else mattered for him, just those mesmerising lights which were calling him to come closer. The biggest light - which he identified as being the one crossing the moors every night - was in fact a crown of light and it was worn by a little girl. In spite of the calls of the lights, he stopped, suddenly breathless: this little girl was even more beautiful than the dance. In fact he had never seen something - nor someone - so beautiful in his whole life; she was simply breathtaking.
Bewitched, he came nearer and suddenly, all the lights fled in every direction; the girl started, saw him and prepared to flee too, obviously terrified.
"No!" he cried, afraid he might never see her again.
He knew she wasn't afraid of his strange look, but rather simply of his presence near the marshes, and he hoped against hope that she would listen to him. In fact the hoarse accents of his voice were such that he thought with shame it would rather send her away than entice her to stay.
She stopped and turned to him expectantly, but he noticed she was ready to flee away.
"No fear," he said again, cursing for the first time his lack of vocabulary.
Then he added softly:
"Please."
This was a word that an old woman had taught him, the only word someone had taught him, but this woman was a rather odd person, the only one to dare to venture into the moors. He could see that the girl relaxed a bit when hearing that word and he thanked silently the old woman for teaching him that magic word.
They gazed at each other silently and he was frantically thinking of something he could say to make her stay, to tell her how he felt when watching her dance, to ask her about the lights. Timidly, he held out a hand toward one of the lights flying near her head; the light recoiled and the yellow eyes saddened a bit.
The girl understood his sorrow and opened her own hand; a light came to nestle in it. Then she took the boy's hand and, gently, put the light in it. He stiffened at once: nobody had ever touched him, except for hurting him. He looked at the girl's gentle smile and then, lowered his eyes to the light dancing in his palm. Marvel filled his eyes and he tried to answer her smile by one of his own, even if he didn't know how to smile. He twisted his mouth, but soon gave up, certain that he was only frightening her.
She came nearer and, gently, her little fingers touched the corner of his lips, raising them a bit. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he was frightened by this behaviour toward him. She didn't seem to be afraid of him, of looking at him, of touching him, and her eyes contained no accusation. Everything was so new for him that he didn't know what to do, how to thank her for her gentleness, how to make her understand, without words, what her smile meant to him.
He held her back the light; she smiled, pointed it out with her finger and said:
"Will-o'-the-wisp."
She repeated it several times until he dared to repeat it after her. Then she smiled again, pointed him out and looked at him in wonder. He lowered the head and said:
"Monster."
That was the most common term used to speak of him and he had almost ended by believing it was his real name. Even if he didn't know exactly what it meant, he was clever enough to understand that it was something horrible, which could only frighten little girls like her.
"No!" she exclaimed.
He looked up at her and her face wore an expression of shock, but not of repulsion. She shook the head.
"No," she said again.
She took his other hand in her two little hands and added:
"Friend."
He stared at her in disbelief and she repeated, still smiling:
"Friend."
He repeated the word obediently and she nodded. She took him by the hand and said:
"Come!"
Then she took him into a dance with the will-o'-the-wisps and he couldn't know anymore what surprised him more, to be dancing with a so beautiful little girl or to be in the middle of a faerie of lights. His eyes weren't enough to see everything there was to see and suddenly, his sight blurred, his eyes being invaded by tears.
Feeling concerned, the little girl stopped her dance and came to him, touching his tears in wonder. He was as surprised as she, for it was the first time he had ever wept.
"Don't cry," she said softly. "Don't cry... please."
She wiped away his tears with her fingers and, leaning forward, gently placed a kiss on his cheek.
"Why do you cry?"
No need of vocabulary to understand her question, but then, he hadn't the words to explain, the words to reassure her. He cursed himself for his stupidity and then, with his hand, showed everything around him: the moors, the marshes, the will-o'-the-wisps still dancing around them, tears still shining in his eyes, twisting his mouth painfully into a smile.
"Beautiful?" she suggested.
Seeing his incomprehension, she tried something else:
"Want to see it again?"
'Again'! He knew that word; generally, it meant for him to receive another blow, another insult, another stone. He nodded and she said, smiling:
"Beautiful."
"Beautiful," he repeated carefully and he pointed her out. "Beautiful."
She blushed in the light of the will-o'-the-wisps and sighed. The lights went to dance around her head, as to entertain her crown of light and she suddenly gazed up at the sky, uttered a small cry of dismay and looked around her in near panic. She leaned toward him, kissed him again on his cheek, waved her little hand at him and ran away, only visible in the night because of her crown of light. The will-o'-the-wisps remained near the marshes, danced a last time, as to say goodbye, and then disappeared in the marshes. He was alone again.
He went back to his dwelling slowly, looking more than once behind him, almost expecting the little girl to appear there, smiling and dancing. But only the night was there and the wildlife of the moors.
After that, all nights, he felt happy each time he saw the light crossing the moors. He knew exactly what this light was and sometimes, he even murmured the name:
"Friend."
The other people still continued to fear those lights on the moors by night and more than one did the movement against evil spirits when seeing it. He had not yet found the courage to go once again in the moors, near the marshes, but then, each night he saw the dance of the will-o'-the-wisps, he knew, without knowing how, that she was calling him back. Her dance was drawing him to her, enticing him, asking him why he wasn't here. Then, after a month, or perhaps two, the dance - which was happening more often than before - changed and he felt his throat tightening when seeing it. He almost wanted to cry, because the dance was so sad, and he understood that she was believing he didn't want to see her again.
The following night, he went into the moors, almost running to the place where he knew she would be. He saw the light coming toward him, the light in the moors, and then, suddenly, her pace quickened and soon, she was running to him.
"Friend!" she exclaimed.
She threw her arms around his neck and then, smiling happily through her tears, she took him by the hand to dance, all the will-o'-the-wisps joining them to celebrate her happiness.
"Don't cry," he said, his voice hoarse as ever, "please don't cry."
"I'm not crying," she answered as a tear fell down her cheek.
He stopped to dance, took her face in his hands and wiped away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. Suddenly he felt both sure and afraid.
"Don't cry," he whispered, "please..."
He would have liked to kiss her as she had done for him, but he didn't dare: she would probably be horrified in the same way she had been horrified and had fled the last time. He took her hand to dance with her, tried to smile to her and said:
"Beautiful."
She smiled through her last tears and followed him in the dance of the will-o'-the-wisps.
This time, she didn't lost track of time and knew when to leave. Instead of fleeing she just stopped to dance, looked at him and smiled gently.
"Friend," she said, her eyes shining almost as much as her crown of light. "Thank you."
She leaned toward him and, once again, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she waved her hand and left in the moors. He would have liked to follow her but didn't dare. He just stood where he was and wonderingly, he touched his cheek with his fingertips.
He went back to his dwelling, his heart tangled with unknown emotions. The joy she showed when seeing him seemed so true, she had no fear of him, no repulsion for his odd look, but then, he knew that it wasn't normal. She hardly acted in a normal way, looking a bit like a little imp, a child of the little people, slender and swift, but so graceful. Back home, he sat on the threshold of his door and, chin in his hands, he looked at the moors, losing track of time.
During the day, he wandered in town, head down, not caring a bit for the insults and the stones, not even looking at his torturers; this behaviour even more strange than usual surprised them so much that they stopped bothering him and he could resume his walk without receiving any more stones. He didn't even notice this improvement for he was lost in his thoughts. Some people murmured that he was thinking of his next evil spell to cast, but he didn't hear them and would he have, he wouldn't have understood.
Every night he went back to the marshes, to meet the little girl; each time she was happy to see him and now, each night, the will-o'-the-wisps were dancing joyfully around them. They were not afraid anymore of him and they went to nestle in his hands, to dance around his head; one of them even got used to spend all the nights on his shoulder, lighting his neck, flickering gently. There was no need of words between them. They spoke only rarely and he knew the words she used. Strangely she seemed to understand what he felt when he was with her and the will-o'-the-wisps, when his feet were dancing on the damp soil of the moors.
He was still afraid to frighten her or to hurt her and was very careful in his moves; when he held her little hands in his, marvel always filled his eyes, revelling in this unusual human contact. For him her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even more beautiful than the dance of the will-o'-the-wisps.
He began to act in a strange way for the people in town: instead of passing through them with his sultry look, he listened attentively at their conversation, trying to understand the words they used, so that he could talk to his little friend. But then, his strange gaze fixed on them disturbed the people and they were even more afraid of him, avoiding him now openly.
Considering his new behaviour of his, the mothers of some of the most hell-bent children on making him suffer began to seriously worry. They were sure he was preparing something terrible to revenge - even if they didn't call that 'revenge', but rather 'curse' - and they called upon their husband. It didn't take them long to have the whole town aware that the boy was up to something. They didn't care what it could be about: for them, this boy was evil and they had to punish him, to prevent him from doing his evil act before he had the time to do it. So, discreetly, they called upon a well-known exorcist, specialist in dealing with the abnormal. It was hard to make him come: he was very full of himself and didn't consider it would add anything to his greatness, but then, their insistence finally won him over. He deigned to come, had one look at the nameless boy and snorted.
"A changeling," he said, shrugging. "Nothing unusual, happens all the time."
He held this attitude, the townsmen feeling mortified for having disturbed him for a mere changeling they should have been able to deal alone with, until the moment he saw the boy's eyes. Then his sly gaze lightened up and he muttered:
"Interesting... very interesting... So, my boy, you're not a mere changeling as you want us to believe... You're far more than that! Oh, oh! My boy, you're such a wonder!"
In his joy he rubbed his hands with a blissful look, while the townsmen looked at him, wondering about this sudden enthusiasm. He turned the head toward them and, seeing their faces, he became stern and haughty again.
"He may be interesting," he said grudgingly. "I'll take him to the school."
The school was a place where this exorcist - and some others of his colleagues - took the children they had qualified of changelings, teaching them how to behave in the human world, beating them more than often to drive away the evil stuck in them at birth. The children who managed to come out of this school were totally mind-broken, submissive beyond imagination, accepting the most vicious blows without a whimper - knowing only too well that a cry of pain would only bring more beatings - thin, but quite strong, despite the illnesses they were almost all sickening of. Nobody dared to look in the eyes of those adolescents - or men, depending of their resistance - for the deep sadness and the permanent horror spinning inside were more than any man could bear to see.
They felt a bit uncomfortable when hearing that; after all, the boy had done no harm, quite the contrary, in fact, thought guiltily some of the mothers. But none of them dared to stop the exorcist. When the boy felt hands falling heavily on his shoulders, he spun so quickly on his heels that the exorcist almost fell. One look from the fearless yellow eyes at this man and suddenly something looking very much like panic rose in the never-flickering gaze, surprising all the townsmen who had never seen their little 'monster' fear something, nor someone. But he knew that if he let that man take him away, he would lose much more than his freedom: he would lose his only friend, so he tried to break free, struggling desperately, but it was useless, for the man was twice stronger than he, and he knew it.
Then surprise struck everybody when the boy howled in anguish and called in a voice strangely clear for someone who had almost never spoken:
"Friend!"
Only the old crone having taught him the word 'please' knew the sound of his voice - and the little girl, of course. Along with the nights with her and the will-o'-the-wisps, his voice had lost most of its hoarseness and had become quite clear, sounding rather pleasant, giving only a hint of what it might become as he'd grow up.
The exorcist started when hearing that word in the mouth of a changeling. He sneered:
"Friend! Well, my little friend, I'll lead you to a place where you'll find lots of people like you. Maybe you'll make new friends there!"
But the boy wasn't listening to him; looking toward the moors, he called again, distraughtly:
"Friend!"
As the exorcist all but dragged him away, looking still behind him, at the moors so still and so deadly, he moaned softly:
"Beautiful..."
Huge tears invaded his eyes but, too proud to cry in front of those who had betrayed him, he held them back and none of them dared to roll down his cheeks.
She was in her dwelling, kneeling beside a bed where an old woman was lying, and she started when hearing the first call; she turned the head toward the door, staring longingly at the moors.
"What is it?" asked the old woman.
The girl only shook the head without answering.
"Who is calling you?" insisted the old woman.
The girl looked at her but when she heard the second call, she forgot everything, sprang on her feet and ran to the door.
"It's useless, child," said the woman. "You will only get caught if you run to him and they will lock you up again, but this time, you won't be able to escape."
The girl shivered and her eyes widened. She looked again at the moors, in the direction the call had come from, despair painted on her face. She shivered again and wrapped tightly her arms around herself, as if to shield herself from a danger she only knew.
"I'm sorry, child," whispered the woman, "but you won't be of any use to him if you get caught... We can't do anything against them, they are too powerful for us..."
The little girl bent down the head and came back near the bed, kneeling again; she took the wet cloth she had dropped and put it on the feverish brow of the woman who looked at her with an air of pity.
The exorcist took other children on his way back to the school. Some were as silent as the boy, others were desperately trying to befriend someone, no matter who, but none of them remained totally silent as the boy. His eyes were always turned toward the direction of the moors, no matter which path the exorcist took. When the exorcist spoke to him, he turned toward him his yellow gaze and then, sadly, resigned, he looked again in the direction of the moors.
The school was a grey building looking more like a prison than a school. Behind grilled windows there were the slim white faces of children and adolescents watching the newcomers as the cart was approaching the heavy gates. No pity in their gaze, not even sadness, they were so broken they couldn't even not feel something for the poor creatures condemned to the same doom as them. They were all in the same room for sleeping, sometimes on the ground when there was not enough space. The boy looked around him, his face showing nothing of what he felt, and then thought fugitively at his dwelling near the moors, quite modest in truth, but so much better than this!
The newcomers were all more or less complaining, some of them trying to escape, only to be quickly caught and even more quickly severely punished. The boy was the only one to not complain, as if his will was already broken, but something in the depths of the yellow gaze spoke more than words, saying the contrary. The exorcist was able to read that gaze and it became quickly obvious that he wanted to break the boy. Nothing was spared to him, from the whip to the stay in a cell from having reacted a bit too late.
Most of the changelings didn't have a name and the first care of 'teachers' in school was to give them a name: 'changeling' couldn't be used for all of them, they had to be differentiated. The boy received the name of Hellfire, for his yellow eyes were burning like the fires of Hell and the exorcist, whose name was Heron, kept telling that the boy was doomed to Hell, no matter what the school would try.
"With eyes like these, he is sure to go to Hell. No living being would dare to have eyes like those and would dare to defy the world with their gaze. Those who would be unlucky to have such eyes would rather keep them lowered to the ground, so that nobody could see their shame. But he doesn't, because he's evil and so, doomed."
But the boy - Hellfire - didn't care: he didn't know the meaning of the new name people was using to call him, but he quite liked the sonority of it. Then, when he learnt what fire was, he was even more pleased, because it reminded him of his little friend and the will-o'-the-wisps.
At the very beginning he was lonely, like almost everyone else; it was of no use to have friends in the school, it was only a way for the teachers to hurt them more. Then slowly, as time was passing by, the newcomers began to know better the older changelings and little groups got created. Some remained alone, as if they were too defiant to trust anybody else, even the other changelings. Hellfire was among them; he had only trusted one person and that was the little girl in the moors. She was the only one not to have laughed at him, not to have despised him and feared him.
Most of the changelings themselves were afraid of him and his strange yellow eyes; those who were already broken-minded - they would soon be sent again in the world, to live on their own - believed Heron and what he had said about the boy being doomed. But some of them noticed the gleam of mockery in Hellfire's eyes when he heard such things. By now he was able to understand everything other people were saying and, most probably, he was able to speak too, but nobody ever heard his voice. He refused purely and simply to speak, no matter what, and even under the whip, if his eyes were glowing with rage, no words ever passed his lips.
Then once, one of the teachers had knocked a changeling, a timid girl far too thin and pale, and she was lying on the ground, blood flowing from her brow, not daring to move, afraid that another blow might come. Hellfire came to her and, gently, put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, fear invading her pale huge eyes. No smile came upon Hellfire's lips to reassure her: he still didn't know how to smile and, what's more, he had no desire to smile in this dreadful place. Instead, his hand slid from her shoulder to her elbow and gently enticed her to stand up, his other hand stretched out. Her eyes still locked to his, she obeyed and she stood up before him, his hands still on her elbows. He nodded lightly and then, seemed to realise where his hands were. He dropped them quickly, stepped back and turned the heels. A fragile hand caught his arm and he turned the head to meet the pale gaze of the girl.
"Thank you, Hellfire," she said softly as a pale smile was playing on her lips.
He turned completely to face her and held out his hand toward her; she didn't move, didn't recoil, but her eyes showed her surprise. His fingers wiped away the blood tainting her brow. Once again she smiled to him and suddenly she found that the strange yellow eyes were the most beautiful in the world.
The alert signal telling one of the exorcists was approaching startled them both. Hellfire dropped his hand and stepped back; the girl looked at him again and the yellow eyes were back again those they always were, just a sad gaze with a frightening glow in it.
"My name's Hazel," she said. "My real name, not the one they gave me here. Here, they call me Evil-doe."
"Doe-eyed would have been better," replied Hellfire with a low voice.
She was surprised to hear him speak and her smile widened.
"Come," she said suddenly, taking his hand and running away from the coming exorcist.
A bit surprised, Hellfire let her do and followed her. She stopped in a corner she used quite often when she wanted to escape the teachers; she looked up at Hellfire and said, half in wonder:
"You're not evil at all as they're saying."
He shrugged, but didn't answer, as if he regretted to have spoken to her earlier. He was not surprised at all that she knew his name, even if he hadn't known hers: every changeling knew him, because he was Heron's pet hate.
"They say you won't be broken, no matter what they do to you."
"Who're they?"
"The others like us say you won't be broken, no matter what the exorcists do to you."
He shrugged again; he wasn't as sure of that as she seemed to be. He was trying his best to resist, but he was young and the exorcists could keep him for a long time before deciding to free him. He was even not thinking to escape; he had observed all the others who had tried and all of them were already broken-minded. He thought to his little friend in the moors and wondered if he would ever see her again.
"Just do what they ask you to do and they will let you alone," he said.
He left her on those words and went back to the cold common room.
There, Hellfire was hiding the second friend he ever had had: his will-o'-the-wisp, the very one who loved to flicker gently in his neck. Hellfire had no idea how the dancing light had found him, but each time he saw it, he thought of his little friend over there, in the moors. The will-o'-the-wisp was exhausted when finding Hellfire, near death - oblivion - and, when taking it in his hands, the boy had felt what had sustained the will-o'-the-wisp to him: the little girl's love. So he had given it all his love, all his care and now the shining light was dancing joyfully around him. Each time Hellfire felt his heart burst out with a love he never suspected he had.
Years passed by. Hellfire grew up, still as a lone wolf. He had sort of befriended two other changelings: Hazel, the slim pale girl, who since the day he had been nice to her, was admiring him openly, and Finger, a boy who was two years - more or less - younger than Hellfire. Like Hellfire, he never had a name before coming to the school and was given that name because one of his fingers was missing. For all Hellfire understood, Finger was there since he was a baby - he never had known another life and sometimes, Hellfire was almost envious: Finger couldn't sigh after what was beyond the walls and grids. But then, when seeing his will-o'-the-wisp, Hellfire knew he couldn't regret to have known his long-lost freedom.
Since the day Hellfire had befriended Hazel, the other changelings' behaviour had changed too. This very day they had noticed that he wasn't evil - that he could even be kind. Some had almost spied on him - making difficult his task to hide the presence of his little shining light dancer - making sure he wasn't betraying them to the exorcists and then, tried to befriend him. But Hellfire wasn't encouraging them and only Finger, with his huge pale eyes full of an innocence that no mistreatment had been able to break, managed it. Nevertheless half of the changelings began to admire Hellfire, because of his gaze silently defying the exorcists, because of his will still not broken.
Heron was almost mad. Hellfire's shoulders and back were covered with scars and whip's marks, but the yellow gaze was still not lowered to the ground, but Hellfire still refused to speak to the exorcists. He sometimes spoke to Hazel and Finger, but not often, and, to his will-o'-the-wisp, he said only one thing:
"Friend, I'll be back. Please wait for me."
And as the light was flickering gently in the palm of his hands, he knew that, so very far from here, a little girl had heard his prayer.
This was the only thing that helped him to remain strong, that gave him new will to resist every day: this tiny thought that maybe, certainly, she was waiting for him. She had to be waiting for him; how could it be otherwise? She had sent of her precious will-o'-the-wisps to him! And each night, while looking at the ceiling above his head, he was dreaming of them meeting again. She would recognise him at once, of course, run to him with tears in her eyes, like that night so long ago, she would throw her arms around his neck, calling him 'Friend'. And he, no more clumsy and afraid, he would hold her in his arms, feeling strong and sure, whispering to her that she shouldn't cry, that he was back to her at last, he would surprise her by his way of speaking... He usually fell asleep dreaming of them dancing in the moors surrounded by the joyful will-o'-the-wisps and when waking up in the grey common room with bars to the windows and no smile around him, his dreams were brutally shattered... until the soft flickering light of his will-o'-the-wisp reminded him that hope was still alive, that someday, his dreams would become true.
Hellfire was often wandering around the exorcists' quarters, but was rarely seen there by the exorcists themselves. Those who saw him didn't mind, because they thought he couldn't speak and a changeling that couldn't speak was of no danger, especially knowing they weren't taught to write. By being there, Hellfire heard a lot of things and some of them were very interesting. Once the conversation was between Heron and the head exorcist of the school about the changelings about to be released. Heron was protesting:
"You cannot release Hellfire! He's still not broken!"
"Heron, you see no one but that changeling," said patiently the head exorcist. "You're imaging things that don't exist. I have seen that boy myself and he is as submissive as we can wish."
"But his gaze..."
"Enough, Heron! Hellfire will be sent away with the others this very year. How long had he been with us?"
"Eleven years."
"Listen to me, Heron: the head exorcist of all of us is coming to our school next month. There will be a ceremony during this time and I plan to set the ceremony of releasing our changelings when he will be there. We cannot afford to keep Hellfire apart. It would be avowing that in eleven years, we have been unable to break a mere changeling. By the way, Hellfire looks submissive enough like that."
"But you know the head exorcist always looks in the eyes of the changelings!"
"Ah yes... Well, we will have to keep Hellfire away from him. But not from the ceremony, Heron."
Where hearing that, Hellfire closed his eyes to hide the bursting joy in them: free! He would be free at last!
His second discovery, he shared it with Finger and Hazel, late in the night, in the silence of the common room.
"Finger, I know who are your parents. You're born here, in that school. Your mother was a changeling and your father... is an exorcist."
Finger remained silent, stunned by the news. Hellfire continued:
"Your mother was released two years ago, without ever knowing you were still alive."
"Who is my father?" asked Finger with a toneless voice.
Hellfire hesitated and Finger repeated his question with an aggressive tone.
"Heron," said Hellfire finally.
"Impossible! Heron hates us so much, he would never..."
"It's true," intervened Hazel. "Your mother was my friend and she avowed to me that she and Heron... I didn't believe her. It was so incredible! But now, I see I'm wrong..."
Hellfire looked at her with a strange air, but didn't say anything. Finger didn't know what to believe anymore; everybody had always taken for granted that Heron hated the changelings, but if he had had a son from one of them... He resolutely raised the head and announced:
"We have to denounce him. We have to show his colleagues what he is really. That he's not the strong and pure exorcist he's making them believe he is."
"Sure," said Hellfire sarcastically. "And nobody will think that's my revenge because I'm Heron's pet hate."
Finger looked at him, stunned. It was the first time he had ever heard Hellfire use sarcasm.
"But..." he protested. "The accusation will come from me, and me alone! I am his son after all!"
Hazel shrugged.
"Everybody knows you and Hellfire are friends. They will know he's at the source of it all."
"Everybody knows?" repeated Finger.
"Of course. The exorcists aren't blind, Finger. They know what happens around them and they know for Hellfire, you and me. One of them can even be just behind the door, right now, listening carefully to our whispers."
Finger looked nervously at the door and then, shook the head.
"You will make me paranoid, if you continue, Hazel."
Hellfire's upper lip moved slightly and Hazel hid her smile: this slight move replaced the smile for Hellfire and she was happy to have him smiling.
"She's right," he said. "I know I'm spied on all the time, by the exorcists and the changelings. That's no news for me."
Finger clenched his jaws tight.
"But I want Heron's head," he said stubbornly. "I want to see him fall from the pedestal where he put himself."
Hellfire's lips twisted a bit.
"Ah," he said softly. "I never said we wouldn't have his head..."
Finger looked at him with huge eyes and, slowly, a big smile crept on his face. Hazel shivered slightly when she saw Hellfire's gaze, for it was full of a hatred he had never let show before.
During the following month, Hellfire never stopped to silently defy Heron. In the yellow eyes, the exorcist could read mockery and a sort of deep joy. It was driving the exorcist mad and he even complained at the head exorcist:
"He knows! I tell you he knows he'll be sent back to the outside world and he's taunting me, exactly as if he was saying: 'I won, I'm still not broken...'!"
Hidden outside, Hellfire smiled of his particular smile: Heron was right. The changeling knew he was risking his freedom, but he didn't care anymore. For seeing Heron fall from his pedestal, Hellfire would have risked much more. Nothing could stop him now and he knew exactly what he was going to do to throw discredit not only on Heron, but on all the exorcists as well.
When he came back to the common room, Hazel went straight to him and put her little hand on his arm.
"Hellfire, don't do that," she said softly. "Hatred is not something we must live of. We suffered from it, we still do, we should not give it back."
He looked at her lengthily and slowly held out his hand to stroke her cheek in a caressing gesture.
"You're far too nice for this world, Hazel," he murmured. "If someone has to pay for this trick Finger and I are going to play to the exorcists, I hope if won't be you... because if it is, nothing will be able to stop me to crush them."
Hazel's pale eyes were pleading, but Hellfire remained insensible to her gaze. He wanted to feel the bitter taste of vengeance and nothing now could prevent him of doing so.
The great day finally arrived. Heron was all anxiety, spending his time trying to find Hellfire who, surprisingly, had disappeared. Finger and Hazel were side-by-side, as mute as a rock, even when Heron threatened them. A great sound startled him, announcing the head exorcist. Finger smiled devilishly when seeing Heron's face: next to the head exorcist, walking at the pace of the quite old man, was Hellfire, properly dressed, head put on the left side, as if listening carefully to what the head exorcist was whispering to him. Heron's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Hellfire, respectfully, led the head exorcist to the huge chair reserved to him and then, prepared to take his leave. The head exorcist caught hold of his arm and Hellfire, nodding, took place behind his chair. When the big bell called them to gather for the ceremony, Finger and Hazel left Heron with some regrets, for his face was a spectacle by itself. One by one, they filed past the head exorcist, who looked at them carefully, and sometimes, even asked some questions to Hellfire. Heron was mad when seeing the changeling's lips moving, when he had never succeeded in making him speak. Some changelings were looking at Hellfire with eyes full of hate, but he was standing with a deadpan face, as if not seeing them.
Once all of them had been told that they were set free that very day, Finger came back and knelt in front of the head exorcist. The man didn't seem surprised: it was quite common for a changeling to have a last request before leaving the school.
"I'm listening to you, child," he said quite gently, for Finger's huge innocent eyes had moved him.
"O great one, an infamy had been committed here, in this very school, and I'm ashamed to avow that I'm part of it," declaimed Finger with a muffled voice.
The head exorcist straightened up in his uncomfortable chair.
"An infamy?" he repeated loudly. "I cannot tolerate an infamy in one of my schools! Tell me, child, what is this infamy?"
Finger raised toward him a very well worked out terrified gaze and stammered:
"I... I... oh, forgive me, I cannot tell it! It's so horrible, nobody would ever believe me!"
Perplexed, the head exorcist stared at the trembling boy in front of him, who had hidden his head in his hands. Then happened what Hellfire had planned: the head exorcist turned to him and asked:
"Can this child be trusted?"
More than one exorcist choked, noticing for the first time who was standing next to the head exorcist. In a voice that rang loud and clear, Hellfire answered:
"He can be trusted. He never lies."
The head exorcist looked back at Finger, still trembling on his knees, and coaxed him gently:
"Go on, child, we are all listening to you. Your words will be trusted."
Finger tried to calm down and then spoke softly:
"I'm born in this school, o great one. My mother was a changeling like me, but my father, oh, my father..."
He bit his lower lip and took a deep breath.
"I'm ashamed to say that my father is an exorcist, o great one," he finished timidly.
In front of such an accusation, the head exorcist almost expected the other exorcists to protest loudly, calling this confession a slander. But only a perfect silence echoed Finger's last words. The head exorcist looked around him: the 'teachers' were looking ill at ease and Heron was deadly pale. The truth was slowly making its way: the child was not lying.
"Tell me the name of your father, child, if you know it," commanded the head exorcist.
Finger nodded but before he could open the mouth, the head exorcist stopped him:
"It's of no use... I already know."
He looked at Heron's face, which was slowly becoming distorted.
"Heron?" he called softly.
The exorcist stood up, staggering only slightly.
"Yes, o great one?" he replied with a calm voice.
"You are the father of this child, aren't you?" he asked.
At first, Heron didn't answer; he never looked at Finger, his gaze was on Hellfire, standing still next to the head exorcist.
"Hellfire..." he said slowly. "You will burn in Hell for that..."
The head exorcist looked shocked.
"Why do you insult this child? He did nothing to you! Avow your crime, Heron! You broke the first rule of our school! You did even worse: you tried to hide this crime, instead of confessing it! We could have forgiven you if you had confessing it, but what you did forbids us to do so. You do not belong anymore to our school, Heron, and everybody meeting you from now on will know that you have been deprived of your functionalities."
"You cannot judge me on the word of a changeling!" shouted Heron. "I've served that school during countless years, faithfully, you cannot do that to me! This changeling is the friend of the worst changeling we ever had here, a sly monster who's only thinking to the next curse he can throw! And you chose this dissimulating changeling to be at your right hand!"
The head exorcist looked at Hellfire and the changeling retorted by a calm gaze. Hellfire shrugged slightly.
"I'm afraid the exorcist Heron holds a grudge against me," he explained. "I did nothing, except asserting that Finger doesn't lie. And I know that Finger told the truth. There's a way to prove it: Finger received his name because he lost one of his fingers. Now, look at this same finger on Heron's hand; see the noticeable mark on it? I'm sure Finger had it too on his now missing finger... Why cut his finger, if not for hiding a proof?"
"Curse you, Hellfire!" yelled Heron. "I never managed to break you, but I won't let you go back among your changeling friends! They will reject you!"
He waved his hands in a complex way and Hellfire received calmly the spell the exorcist had just cast on him; he just said:
"You just signed your own death warrant, Heron. Wherever you may be, someday, I'll find you back and you'll have to pay for all you did to me. Just right now, I have been set free... fare you well, Heron, and I hope you'll live in fear till my return, the same way you made thousand of changelings live in fear of you punishing them for something they hadn't done."
He went down the little stairs, took Hazel's and Finger's hand and led them out of the school whose grilled gates were opened for once. Once out, he clenched his fists tight, raising them to the sky, and shouted:
"I'm free! FREE, at last!"
Hazel and Finger joyfully echoed him and then looked at each other.
"Free," said Finger. "What shall we do now that we're free?"
"I'm going back to where I come from," replied Hellfire.
Hazel nodded, as if she was expecting him to say that.
"I'll go with Finger," she said softly. "I'll show him a world he never saw before..."
Hellfire nodded in turn.
"I hope we'll be seeing each other again, my friends."
"Yes, we will," said firmly Finger. "We have fought this Hell together, now we are bound together till the end of times!"
He took his leave from Hellfire and let him alone with Hazel, as if he knew she wanted to tell him something. She looked at him and said slowly:
"I hope you'll be happy with her."
"Her? How... how do you know about her?" asked Hellfire, confused.
Hazel had a slight sad smile.
"Girls feel those things. You see, I gave you all I could give, I couldn't have given more, but still it wasn't enough... I always knew, deep inside, that you weren't for me. There was something in your eyes that forbade me all hope, saying 'Friends, but no more', because your eyes were full of her. I know about her, the same way she will know about me when she will see you again."
"Hazel..."
"That's alright, Hellfire. I knew it already. Now you're on your way, I'm following mine, but our paths will never be the same anymore. See, that's not so terrible. Don't look at me like that, Hellfire, I'm not crying."
"Not yet," he said softly, stroking her cheek.
She half-closed her eyes and then, shook the head, stepping back.
"No, don't do that. I won't cry in front of you. Go back to her, Hellfire. She'll know I was nothing more than a friend for you. She'll be happy to see you back."
"And what if she had forgotten me?" said Hellfire, even if he wasn't really believing it.
"She hadn't. She cannot. She sent you one of her will-o'-the-wisps. And the poor light needed so much love to be able to reach you! She gave him everything she could, more than I could have given, and she nearly died of this. No, she hadn't forgotten you. She's still waiting for you."
"How do you know?"
"Girls know. There are things a girl always knows, no matter how bad she is in intuition, and you know you cannot find anybody worse than me in intuition, but I know. And I'm a changeling, am I not? I wasn't broken, thanks to you and Finger, and I had some powers; I still have them... You couldn't hope to hide that from me. Now, listen, Hellfire, don't feel sorry for me. I knew the deal was 'Friends, nothing more' and I broke it. Now, I have to take on that on my own. Things would have been different if we both had broken the deal, but I knew you wouldn't break it. So..."
She shrugged, not finishing her sentence, but Hellfire knew what she meant. He tried to take her hand, but she stepped back again.
"No, don't touch another changeling when going back to the mistress of the will-o'-the-wisps. Fare you well, my friend."
She had a sad smile and left almost running, fleeing Hellfire. Finger followed her after a last glance to his friend and Hellfire remained alone, not knowing any longer what to do. He had never suspected Hazel could have considered him more than a friend. He sighed and his will-o'-the-wisp went to twinkle in his neck. Hellfire half-smiled, the smile he had only for her little friend, and then, he hurried up on the way back to the moors.
Still under the impression he had given eleven years ago to the people, he hid most of the time on his way back. He hardly noticed that, the rare times he wasn't doing so, the look people had for him was very different from the one he was receiving before. But, thinking only to his little friend, he never noticed and continued his way, silent as usual.
He knew, because of lots of tiny details, that he was arriving near the moors. His will-o'-the-wisp was dancing more and more joyfully around his head, telling him how happy it was to come back home after such a long time. He could smell the odour of the moors and it was almost as if the wind was carrying the voice of his little friend to him. He tried to imagine how she would look like now, after eleven years, but never managed, his mind focused on the image of a little girl with huge eyes.
The town he had grown up in was quite agitated the day he arrived. Hellfire stood in the middle of the main street and looked around him, forgetting everything in the familiar sight. People began to look at him too and they saw a tall young man, with dazzling golden eyes shining in a handsome face with aristocratic features. Girls sighed on his passage, while their fathers were gritting their teeth. They heard his voice only once, when he spoke gently to a child who had run into his legs, and they heard one of the most agreeable voices, clear, quite soft-tuned, with a light accent that added an attractive dimension to his sentences.
He was heading for the moors when a little hand caught hold of his sleeve.
"No, my lord, don't get this way. The moors are evil," said a girl, blushing furiously for having the audacity to speak to the handsome stranger.
"Evil?" repeated Hellfire.
The girl blushed even more at the sound of this warm voice speaking to her. Hellfire remembered people fearing the moors, but not considering them as evil to the point of stopping the strangers to go there.
"Yes, evil, my lord. A creature is haunting them. There were two, but we managed to hunt down one of them. The remaining one is trying to revenge now."
"A creature?" mused Hellfire. "I see. Maybe I can do something then..."
"Oh... Are you an exorcist?" asked the girl.
"Me? No, not at all! But I happen to know something about the phenomena that can occur in moors. Maybe this one is not different of those I know."
In the girl's eyes, he could see a brand new respect and wondered vaguely what he had done for people to consider him that way. He disentangled him gently from the girl's grip, had a reassuring smile of his and left for the moors, his small package thrown negligently on his right shoulder. The girl sighed, admiring his assured way to walk straight to the moors, where evil was waiting for him.
He knew exactly where he wanted to go: he went to the marshes and knelt on the ground, almost caressing the damp soil. His will-o'-the-wisp swirled around him and Hellfire had never seen it so happy; he understood the little shining light had suffered as much as him of being deprived so long of freedom.
"Yes, we are home," he whispered. "Home. And we'll see her soon."
He waited patiently till nightfall, just sitting by the marshes, his palms on the soil and his will-o'-the-wisp dancing joyfully around him.
And the night brought him what he was waiting for. She came, surrounded by her will-o'-the-wisps, still wearing them in crown of light. She stopped dead when seeing him sitting by the marshes, a dancing light near him. He knew at once that she didn't recognise him and that she would never think he was back. She had lost the notion of hope.
"Who are you, stranger? Which folly drove you so far into the moors?" she asked with a voice that raised lots of memories in him.
She half extended the hand toward the will-o'-the-wisp, as if she simply thought it was one of her owns. He was glad to see she was gentle to the stranger and he thought back of what the girl in town had told him, about the two creatures haunting the moors.
Then, at the very moment the will-o'-the-wisp came to nestle in her hand, her eyes widened in wonder and he knew that she had recognised his dancing light.
"Where did you find this will-o'-the-wisp, stranger?" she asked again, her tone a bit less friendly, with a note of worry in it.
He was still silent, looking up at her, not having moved. Then slowly he stood up and took one step toward her. He didn't know what to do; she hadn't recognised him as he had dreamed so often... So finally, with a voice very much like the one he had as a boy, he said:
"Friend?"
She held her breath for a brief instant and, not believing her ears, she answered softly:
"Friend... You... you are back?"
He came closer to her, his golden eyes shining in the moon's light, and said very lowly:
"I'm back, back to you, back to the moors, where I belong! Hope never left me, because I had with me this will-o'-the-wisp, that you sent to me..."
"Your voice... it has a familiar echo to me. But it can't be, you can't be him... He hardly knew how to speak, he..."
"Friend, it's me. Please, can't you see? How would I have been with your will-o'-the-wisp, how would I have known to call you 'friend' if I wasn't him?"
Still looking at him in wonder, she held out her hand toward him, her fingers brushing lightly his cheek, and as soon as her fingers touched him, she jerked back, anger invading her eyes.
"How could you lie to me like that? You're not him, you're an exorcist! Did you torture him to death to make him avow his secret? Because that's the only way you can know it! He wouldn't have betrayed me! He wouldn't!"
"Friend..." he said helplessly, so taken aback he couldn't react.
"Don't call me like that! Don't ever! So after calling an exorcist to take my only friend from me eleven years ago, this town called again another exorcist to hunt me down!"
"No!" he protested. "I would never harm you, you know that!"
"Go away, stranger. Leave these moors. They are my domains, you have nothing to do on it. You exorcists don't belong to the world of the changelings," she said with spite.
He bent down the head and turned his back to her. Then, without looking at her, for her sight hurt too much, he extended his hand and asked:
"Are you coming with me or are you staying where you belong, since you are allowed to stay?"
She understood whom he was talking to when she saw his dancing light spinning nervously. The will-o'-the-wisp danced sadly around her head and then flied to his palm.
"Thank you, friend," he murmured softly, his voice almost broken.
And without turning back, he left the moors, following by the surprised and quite hateful gaze of the girl he had never stopped thinking of. He went straight to his old dwelling, still here, nobody having dared to tear it down. He sat there, his mournful eyes turned to the moors, his will-o'-the-wisp dancing sadly around him. At first, too hurt by her rejection, he hadn't understood what had happened, but now, his lucid brain was taking control again and he remembered the hateful last words of Heron, those words promising him that he would never be able to return among the changelings.
"He marked me," he whispered. "He marked me as an exorcist so that the changelings would never talk to me again. And because of that, I've lost her... I've lost her... Oh, cursed be this stupid pride I had to take him down! It cost me what I held dear!"
He buried his head between his hands but still, his eyes didn't know anymore how to cry, so here he was, feeling desperately empty, unable to cry out his pain, unable to express his lost. His will-o'-the-wisp came to nestle on his shoulder, telling him it understood his grief.
The following morning as he went out of his dwelling, going back to town, he met the girl once again. Relief spread on her face almost immediately.
"Oh, you're safe! We thought she had gotten you..."
"She?" Hellfire repeated, raising the eyebrows.
"Yes. The creature is at the image of a girl. I saw her myself, when we manage to capture the other one. The other one was old, it was quite easy; as we were dragging her outside the moors, the young one appeared, like a fury; it was visible she was belonging to the little people, a changeling! Except that somehow she became worse than that. Most changelings are totally inoffensive, but not her! Oh no, not her!"
"Yes, changelings are inoffensive... especially after they have been sent to an exorcist's school, don't you think?" said Hellfire rather ironically.
The girl remained open-mouthed.
"I don't understand, my lord," she said carefully.
He shrugged.
"Never mind. It's not important, anyway. So she appeared here, huh? In town?"
"Yes, she wanted to protect the other creature. She called her mother. Oh my lord, maybe that's how she called her, but I doubt there were any blood relationships between them! The young one was much too beautiful to be the other one's daughter!"
"Don't worry about this creature, stranger," intervened a new voice. "We will send for an exorcist to get rid of her."
The newcomer was most probably the father of the girl and he was less than happy to see her daughter so mesmerised by the handsome stranger. The golden eyes suddenly took an adamantine glow.
"An exorcist, huh? Believe me, sir, leave the exorcists where they are, they cause already enough harm like that!"
"The exorcists protect us from the changelings!"
"The exorcists destroy lives, that's all they do," retorted Hellfire. "Let me handle this creature. I'll get you rid of her without calling any exorcist!"
"You are not an exorcist, you cannot do that!"
"Tell me, sir," asked Hellfire, taking a step toward the man, who suddenly felt less confident, "what do you know about me? And what do you know about the exorcists? I will tell you what I know; I spent eleven years with the exorcists, sir, eleven years of my life, and still I know more than they will ever know! When they try to break somebody, they don't care for who he or she is. If they were caring, they would be a lot more harmful. I know how to break somebody knowing who he or she is. Do you want me to try on you? I could break you, sir, I could make you even more pitiful than a changeling coming out from an exorcist's school; an exorcist wouldn't even know how to do that."
How such anger had invaded him, Hellfire would never know, but suddenly, the boy who had always refused to speak was speaking fluently, threatening those who had ruined his life. The man stepped back as his daughter was looking at the handsome stranger with awe. Obviously nobody had ever threatened her father before.
Hellfire looked at them, shrugged and left the town, heading toward the moors. He knew he could have found the lair of she who had been his friend before, but her realm was the realm of darkness and he didn't want to surprise her. He had learnt to make the day his realm too, but she obviously hadn't. So, patiently, sitting by the marshes, he waited for nightfall.
He was wondering which behaviour she would choose: either come straight to the marshes, knowing he would be back here and showing him she wasn't afraid, or avoid the marshes, because he was waiting for her. He didn't wonder that long: the lights were coming toward him and his will-o'-the-wisp began a joyful dance in expectation. He half closed his eyes and softly hummed an old song she had taught him, so long ago, the song to call the will-o'-the-wisps.
She wasn't near him yet that half of her escort had left her to come dance around his head. She came to him with no anger in her eyes and gracefully sat in front of him.
"You are perseverant, stranger," she said as a greeting.
"Very much," answered Hellfire, his eyes fixed on his palms where will-o'-the-wisps were flickering gently. "That's what saved my life more than once."
"And you think it will save your life from me?"
"I don't think you have any intention to kill me," he said. "You are not a killer. You are the mistress of the will-o'-the-wisps."
"But everybody knows that those evil lights beckon the stranger to venture into the marshes, so that their evil mistress can take the soul of the poor fool who followed them."
Hellfire's upper lip moved slightly.
"You never did that. Your path across the moors has always been the same, night after night, and the marshes are only the place for you to dance."
"People died in those marshes."
"And are you guilty of those deaths?"
"No, of course not!" exclaimed the girl.
She looked at him in wonder.
"Why would you care? Nobody would believe me anyway. I'm living in the moors, I don't need anybody's help, so I can only be evil."
Hellfire's keen ear didn't miss the hint of bitterness in her voice.
"If you were truly evil," he said gently, "instead of being talking with me right now, you would have cast a spell on me, because you think I'm trying to fool you and hurt you. But no, you sat by me and talk to me gently, as to an old... friend."
"You have the mark of an exorcist," she replied brutally. "But the will-o'-the-wisps trust you, as if they were recognising you as one of their owns. How can it be?"
"It can be because I spent eleven years in an exorcist's school," explained Hellfire. "Taken from here eleven years ago, deprived of all hope, till this loving dancing light came to me, sent by a dear friend... From that moment on, by just looking at my will-o'-the-wisp, I was able to find a new reason to resist the exorcists' pressure."
The girl bent down her head. He held out his hand toward her and called softly:
"Friend?"
She lifted her head up and pushed back her long hair.
"My name is Witch."
"No!"
She blinked in surprise at his fervent denial. He gently took her hands in his and she let him do without a protest.
"No. Not Witch. Friend. You're my friend, not a witch."
"That's the name the exorcists gave me."
"They called me Hellfire."
She had a light smile.
"I think I know why... Those eyes of yours..." she whispered, brushing slightly her fingertips against his eyelids.
"Not Witch... You certainly have another name..."
She shook the head.
"The exorcists caught me long before you even met me. I could only escape thanks to the woman who was for me like my mother, the woman whom they took away from me and hunted down like a wild beast."
"A woman who would teach the word 'please' to a changeling everybody was despising..." added Hellfire in a sudden inspiration.
"Yes. She taught me the power of this word too..."
Silence fell between them and then he heard a soft whisper:
"Hellfire..."
He started. That was the first time that hearing his own name was causing shivers to run down his spine.
"Do you like your name, Hellfire?" she asked tentatively.
He thought a moment and then smiled his particular smile.
"I do. For the friend of the will-o'-the-wisps, being called Hellfire is somehow an honour."
"Hellfire... would you give me a name?"
Her question was actually a plea and he shivered again when hearing her soft voice beg him like that.
"When I look at you, so many names come to my mind... Beauty, moon, hope... but maybe the name I'd like you to have would be Starlight... for it was the light of your star that guided me out of the darkness where the exorcists wanted to bury me..."
"Starlight..." she repeated dreamily.
"Like the one you dance under, like the one in your eyes..." he replied, smiling a real smile like he hadn't smiled in eleven years.
She turned to him and held out his hand toward him, caressing gently his cheek. He could feel her tremble, fighting against her fear, because she was feeling the mark Heron had put upon him. He moved back his head and turned his gaze away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not anymore the one you were waiting for..."
She laughed lightly, a sound that belonged only to her and that he had longed to hear again for so long, and she forced him to look at her again.
"Don't be silly," she said gently, still laughing. "You're the one I was waiting for. I'll get used to this exorcist's touch I feel on you, or else, I'll find a way for you to get rid of it."
Her hand was against his cheek, feeling so warm, and he remembered that the only persons who had touched him in kindness were Hazel and his little friend, Starlight, since it was her name now. But he didn't want to think of Hazel right now, even if her words were still ringing in his ears:
"She'll know I was nothing more than a friend for you."
He looked at Starlight and her fabulous eyes were fixed on him.
"Her name is... Hazel, right?"
Silently he nodded.
"That's not the name the exorcists gave her."
"No. They called her Evil-doe, but Finger and I never called her anything but Hazel."
"Finger. The exorcist's son. I see them. They are travelling, far away. It seems Hazel cannot remain in the same place more than one night."
"She said... she said you would know about her as soon as you would see me again."
"She knew about me just by looking at you. I'm not as good as she is. I needed to touch you, without fear, to be able to read that. She has power, Hellfire, more power than I will ever have."
"She called you the mistress of the will-o'-the-wisps."
Starlight laughed again, the silvery sound ringing clear under the moonlight.
"I guess she is right. I'm able to read your life because you were with one of my will-o'-the-wisps. Without that I couldn't have. Believe me, Hellfire, she has much power."
He nodded without a word. Starlight put her hand on his arm.
"She was right, Hellfire. I know she was a friend for you. The best friend someone could ever have. I know she didn't try to take you from me."
"I miss them... We spend eleven years together, fighting together..."
"You will see them again. I promise you that. Even if I must summon all the will-o'-the-wisps of the world to lead them to us."
He chuckled.
"Hazel will know where they come from."
"And she will understand I wish to see her, so she will come."
Sitting by his friend in the moors, surrounded by the will-o'-the-wisps, Hellfire could have forgotten time passing by. But then Starlight put her head on his shoulder and asked:
"What will you do about the townsmen? They want me dead."
"I know. They wanted me dead too long ago. Now they are in awe..."
"You grew up nicely," she commented lightly. "Your yellow eyes became of the purest gold and now that you know how to talk, it's harder for them to see you're a changeling."
"And I lost that strange look of mine, huh? The one that was frightening everybody, except a fearless little girl in the moors!"
"Oh, I wasn't fearless. I was the biggest coward in the world, but the moors are my friends. And yes, you lost this strange look of yours, though there's still something in your way to move... You move too gracefully for a human."
"Enough talking about me!" exclaimed Hellfire. "We need to think about the townsmen. I could probably tell them I drove you away, but that's not a solution that I like."
"What do you propose then?" asked Starlight, her head still resting on his shoulder.
"To drive them away and create here a shelter for changelings. Let the exorcists have their schools; we will have the shelter, to teach the changelings how to fight the exorcists."
She lifted up her head and looked at him in wonder, then burst out laughing.
"And how do you intend to do that? Just by saying: 'Go away, I don't want you here?'"
To be continued...
|
