The Shifter

Prologue

Deep within the cold winter months, in a small village just outside the threshold of a great forest, a loud wail erupted from a birthing lodge. A tall, old man clenched his fists at the sound, grinding his yellow teeth. The man was nearly 50 years of age, considered ancient by the young people of the village. His gray hair was long and woven with holy sage. The man was, in fact, a priest, and the wailing came from his 16 year old daughter, who had just gone into labor.

“How can this be, Father?” said one of the men that sat at the table in the church that the priest had currently taken to for shelter during the storm. The torch-lit room seemed to stir as the beastly wind howled outside. “The child claims she is a virgin.”

“Bah!” the priest exclaimed. “Purity resides in this girl as much as fine silk resides in my bed chambers. This ‘child’ is nothing short of a witch. She allowed an evil incubus into her bed as she slept, and helped in sow the demon seen in her womb. She is pollution for our village.” He took a wooden spoon from a saucer of porridge and bent it past the point of breaking, sending tiny splinters flying everywhere as the crude utensil snapped in two.

“Father, the young girl is your daughter. She is your responsibility. What shall be her punishment for fraternizing with evil?” asked another man who sat adjacent to the Father. There was a low whispering amongst the rest of men in the church.

“Burn the whore!” someone cried; everyone nodded in agreement. The priest raised his hand to speak.

“If the infant is born a boy, burn it and hang the mother. If the child is a girl, however, burn it still, but exile the mother. The beasts of the forest can have her.”

At that moment, the large double doors of the church burst open, revealing a short, fat woman with disheveled hair and a stained dress. Her form was covered with snow and her body reeked with afterbirth. The priest beckoned her into the church.

“The girl has given birth,” she said. The men looked at the Father expectantly. They wanted his daughter dead as much as he did. “It is a healthy daughter.”

The priest rose at once with agility surprising for a man of his age. Rage set in his eyes, bloodlust had begun to take over his soul. The churchmen grabbed the torches from the wall. “Get the girl! Kill the infant!” he shouted, flipping over the huge table from his path to the door. The woman hurried outside, leading them from the church. Outside, the gusts of blowing snow nearly knocked the men from their feet. The Priest struggled across the dirt path that led to the birthing lodge just two houses away. Through the blinding snow, he saw the lodge’s doors swing open, a small lantern hung from the doorway to illuminate the darkness.

A girl, barely old enough to be considered a woman, stumbled from the building. Dressed in nothing but bloody sheets, she carried a bundle in her arms. Armed with a bloody knife used to cut umbilical cords, she staggered on wobbly legs, her belly still swollen from the birth.

“Aglaea!” cried the priest to his daughter. “Stop it, Aglaea!” The baby wailed in the linens it was covered in, for it was barely protected from the fierce winter storm. Aglaea frantically shook her head, stumbling down the short road.

“No father! You can kill me, but you shall not kill my child.” She screeched, making her way through the blizzard. Before her, the great forest lay. The villagers struggled to keep up as the snow began to blow even harder.

“Aglaea, you whore!” her father screamed through the wind. The girl hugged the shivering infant closer to her chest. When she scrambled up the little hill that led to the forest, the twang of an arrow resounded through the depths of her mind. Not an instant later, it collided with her back. The villagers heard her scream, and saw her fall into the snow.

An arrow was protruding from her back, and she had dropped the crying infant onto the cold ice. The priest went to grab her by her hair when an inhuman high pitched scream filled the air. Looking up into the forest, the sight before him nearly stopped his old heart.

Above them, standing at the top of the hill like a ghost, was the biggest stag the villagers had ever seen. The men stopped in their tracks, totally forgetting about the dying girl. In the darkness of the storm, they could see only its silhouette against the pale snow. The breath shown white as it exhaled, taking a step forward towards Aglaea, who’s own breathing was beginning to dim. It cried out again, out-screaming the baby. The stag dipped its antlered head to touch her face with its nose. For a moment in time, all was silent, until the sound of hoof beats against the snow unnerved the men.

There, fully decked with huge antlers, was a cervitaur, half-man half-deer who stepped in front of the stag. He had an arrow fletch strung across his human back, a bow in his hand. The men stopped breathing, looking to the priest for orders.

Another cervitaur stepped forward, this time a doe. She had high cheek bones and frighteningly big eyes. Around her neck was an infant sling, no doubt a sleeping fawn inside. The priest raised his own bow; with shaken hands he notched an arrow.

The cervitaur stag was too fast for the priest; for he had already swung an arrow of his own at him before he could even pull the bow string back. It hit the priest’s shoulder, paralyzing his arm. The female picked up the human baby from its now dead mother’s side, wrapping it up in fine furs from the sling. She set it in with the sleeping fawn, adjusting the leather sling’s strap. Now in warmth, the baby stopped wailing and drifted to sleep. The deer stag turned away from Aglaea’s body, leading the taurs into darkness of the forest.