Sprite

The changeling stumbled through darkening woods, glancing fearfully behind him. He was cold, dirty and exhausted. When the sprite had let him go, miles from Datro, and he slogged his way through the marshy river to dry land, he had thought there would be someone to meet him. Another sprite, perhaps. A land one. Or at least another changeling. But nothing. He’d spent the night crouched miserably on the edge of the river, and most of the next day slowly making his way inland. Now night was coming again, and still there was no sign of anyone.

A mournful cry set a flock of birds somewhere to his left on alert. They rose up only to settle back a little further away. John’s heart beat faster. He wasn’t that far away from the city. There could be hunters in these woods!

What if the sprite had intended to do him harm? No one ever heard of what had befallen the other changelings the sprite supposedly rescued. What if she left them here to die? Oh, Datro’s Sprite was a she, all right! John had felt her small breasts pressed against his back when she grabbed him in the dark river. It had only been for a moment, then she expertly flipped him over and floated beneath him, holding his arms loosely around her neck. But it was enough for him to tell that she was female. He was achingly aware of it by the time she dropped him unceremoniously off in the marshes and disappeared before he could get a good look at her.

When it was too dark to see, John set his back against a thick tree and closed his eyes, but he was too keyed up to sleep. Every little sound startled him. He wasn’t used to being out in the forest.

Neistah hadn’t paid attention to the human sprites since winter’s end. When he returned to mortal lands, he purposely avoided their settlements. The less contact he had with humans for a while, the better. Let them forget about him and Valin and Leane—especially Leane. Their differences were too startling.

He heard the changeling’s tangled thoughts long before he saw the boy, huddled against a tree, staring out into the impenetrable darkness. What was this about a sprite? A female sprite?

Immediately Neistah thought of Leane, but Leane had assured him she had no interest in returning to the human realm. More telling, Leane would never have carried a mortal lad on her back for any reason unless it involved a tryst. From what Neistah could see of this boy’s mind, any thoughts of trysting were entirely his own.

He stepped out of the shadows. The boy didn’t even see him. “You are looking for a sprite?” he asked, startling the boy very badly. Neistah fought back a grin. “Who sent you?”

“Datro’s Sprite,” the boy said in surprise. “Are you the one that’s to guide me to the mutant village?”

“Datro’s Sprite told you that?”

“Uh, no,” the boy replied. “I just thought . . .”

Neistah let the grin he had suppressed come to the surface. “I know what you thought, John,” he said conspiratorially. “What is she like, Datro’s Sprite?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he gulped to hear his own name. “You mean you don’t know?” He glanced at Neistah’s fins, and at the obvious webbing between his fingers. Surely those two creatures were alike.

“Tell me.” Neistah spoke softly, his eyes intent on the boy.

“She looks like you, a little. I didn’t see much. It was dark,” John added defensively. “She dropped me off and left. I suppose she went back to Datro.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, except she had on a regular bathing suit.” He eyed Neistah’s uncanny golden trunks. John’s memory showed the suit, dark, possibly blue or black against the sprite’s fair skin. His memory of the girl herself was more vague: a generally female body, slender, with flowing hair of an indeterminate color. Not Leane, then. The clothing ruled that out. Neistah was intrigued.

“Get up.” Neistah made up his mind. He would take this new changeling to the nearest of his human sprites, and find out if any of them had heard of this ‘Datro’s Sprite.’ Could it be one of them, possibly one of the girls Leane had encouraged? It warranted a visit to Datro, at any rate.

He pushed John through the woods at breakneck speed, heedless of the dark which had the boy stumbling every few steps. When they reached another river, a smaller one than Datro’s mighty river, the boy balked at being dragged in. “I can swim,” he protested, trying to dislodge Neistah’s iron grip.

“You can’t,” Neistah replied mockingly. “Don’t worry. I won’t drown you.” He pulled John into the icy water which, this deep in the woods, had no chance to heat up in the sunlight. Then, contrary to his words, he seemed intent on drowning the mutant boy, who gasped and sputtered in the few seconds Neistah surfaced to allow him to breathe. “Keep your mouth shut underwater,” Neistah advised, diving down again. This way was faster than going overland—and more fun. John didn’t think so, but Neistah did not particularly care what John thought.

He let John loose and shot out of the water on the banks of one of the hidden mutant villages which had sprung up only recently in response to the influx of refugees from the cities. It was near the river because a group of Neistah’s Sprites had commandeered it for their base, and they prided themselves on their swimming abilities—not like this poor soul. John shivered and tried to catch his breath as he hauled himself up the steep bank.

He stared around him in astonishment. Where moments before a deserted stretch of forest met the riverbank, now a dozen people, all wearing cut-off shorts and little else, stood regarding him warily. Neistah stood among them, and it was obvious that they emulated him in their stance and their attire, if theirs was definitely more mundane than Neistah’s brief golden splendor.

Now that John was aware, he could see signs of habitation in the apparently deserted woods. So this was a hidden village! There were no fires, no cooking pots or central areas. The inhabitants had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, so their homes, if they had any, would be somewhere among the foliage. John peered into the woods, but he couldn’t see anything remotely resembling a house.

“Meet John, lately of Datro,” Neistah said. “I found him wandering alone in the woods, with a party of hunters not three miles from him. He says a sprite brought him.”

John started at the mention of hunters, then cringed at the hostile looks the other mutants were shooting him.

“Are you sure he’s one of us?” A young man, covered with blotchy white spots on all his visible skin, which included his bald head, jutted his chin out towards John.

For answer, John stripped off his thin, grimy shirt and pants, exposing welts and scars, some from his recent ordeal, but some much older. His mutation was not obvious at first. His hair, deliberately kept short by the factory supervisors, still managed to hide most of it. He had no ears. Or rather, there was no outward shell. Only a pinhole marked the spots on the sides of his skull where normal human ears would be. It didn’t hinder John much. He could still hear. He just didn’t look quite—normal—if one looked too closely. “If I had stayed, I would have been killed,” he murmured quietly. These were his people, his kind, even if no two of them present shared exactly the same mutation. “They expected me to flee—they wanted me to try. It would have been sport to them. But Patrick, my group’s leader, heard about Datro’s Sprite and we decided to risk it. None of the changelings taken downriver by Datro’s Sprite were ever caught. Aren’t they here?”

“Patrick? You’re from 3?” Another boy spoke up. “I was in 3 when I first got sent to the factories.” By the look of the boy, he was younger than John. “I remember Patrick. I don’t remember any Datro’s Sprite, though.”

“Have any of you heard of Datro’s Sprite?” Neistah asked. “What about these other changelings John said came before him?”

Around the riverbank, the boys shook their heads.

“Set a watch. John here can show you the place Datro’s Sprite dropped him off. He’s yours now. Do what you want with him. But I suggest you patrol the woods near where he came ashore for any others this ‘Datro’s Sprite’ might have let loose in our forest. Otherwise, they’ll end up drawing the hunters right to you.”

Neistah slipped back into the small river as his human sprites surrounded the new changeling, giving him hostile glares as if he had deliberately brought the threat of hunters down on them. He would be safe here. By the time Neistah came through this way again, John would most likely be another so-called sprite, like the rest of them.

He didn’t surface until he was out of sight of the hidden village. There was one changeling who might know something about Datro’s Sprite. It had been months, but Neistah remembered approximately where the changeling roamed. Will was his name. Will from Datro.

It took Neistah less than a day to find the place. Alone, he traveled much more swiftly than humans, being lighter on his feet. He was tempted by the few lakes he skirted on his way. The day was warm and the water drew him like a magnet. But only once did he dive in and swim to the other side when it became apparent that crossing the lake was the quickest way to get to his destination.

Fewer hunters than usual patrolled these woods. Neistah’s Sprites had caused an almost superstitious dread in them, much to Neistah’s amusement. The boys, and now girls too, apparently, were as human as the hunters.

Will had grown taller and leaner over the winter months. Outdoor living agreed with the young changeling. Like so many of the others, Will had followed in Pup’s footsteps to become another of Neistah’s Sprites. Barefoot, clad in brown shorts which blended in well with the fur on his arms, legs and torso, Will had let his hair grow out to shoulder length. If anything, he looked like a sleek fox rather than a water creature.

“You remember me,” Neistah said by way of greeting. He had come up behind the boy, moving silently, and was pleased to see the changeling react swiftly, ready to defend himself, until he realized who it was who approached him. These ‘sprites’ of his were fast learners.

“Neistah,” Will acknowledged with a slight incline of his head. “I haven’t seen you—in a while.” He was puzzled by Neistah’s sudden appearance. Since he’d come to the forest, Will had only seen Neistah himself a handful of times. Pup was the de facto leader of Neistah’s Sprites. He gathered the boys, trained them, and sent them to their posts all over the forest.

“I haven’t been here,” Neistah replied enigmatically. “Now I am. I want you to go with me to Datro.”

“Datro!”

“What do you know of Datro’s Sprite?”

“You mean you? Only what the rumors said, and what I see for myself,” Will replied.

“Not me,” Neistah said impatiently. “A female. A woman. She brings changelings down the river and leaves them to fend for themselves in the woods. Have you heard of her? Is she one of ours?”

Will shook his head. “Not that I know of. Have you asked Pup?”

“I’m asking you,” Neistah said with a frown. He brightened. “Come, then. Let’s go see for ourselves.”

“Wait—Datro? Is it safe?” Will had not ventured near that city since he had left it.

“Of course not! That’s what makes it fun!”

Neistah led Will back, another day’s journey, to the very river where Datro’s Sprite had dropped the hapless John. “We swim from here,” he announced, grinning as Will looked at him in consternation.

“But it’s miles to Datro yet! I can’t swim so far!”

“You’re a sprite, aren’t you?” Neistah’s eyes glinted dangerously, and the little half-smile he wore was a clear challenge. Will was not a sprite, despite the name he and his fellow changelings had adopted. “Get in. I will carry you.”

In water, Neistah was transformed, and Will felt his first bubble of real fear as he glimpsed what creature really had hold of him. Was Neistah truly so green, so—inhuman? Will had no time to think as Neistah grabbed him and towed him along with just his head breaking water. Neistah was completely submerged, and Will struggled not to panic as their speed increased and still Neistah had not needed to breathe.

Day became night as they hurtled through the cool water. Neistah went slow for the human’s sake, although it did not feel that way to Will. They reached Datro shortly before dawn, when Will found himself suddenly abandoned in the shallows. He flailed wildly until his feet felt sand beneath them.

“Shh!” Neistah cautioned him.

They had landed near the docks, ironically close to the place where Will had originally escaped. He tilted his head to the side, intending to ask Neistah how he had known to come here.

Neistah shook his head; his black hair, still streaming water from their midnight swim, now showed greenish highlights in the early morning sun. “We need to hide for the day,” he said, forestalling any questions Will was about to ask. “You know this place best.”

From all his years of wandering about the city at night, Will had a great store of knowledge about Datro—where the best places to forage were, where no one bothered to look, where he used to go to have fun . . . he couldn’t bring Neistah to the girls’ school. “Over here,” he said, making a decision.

Along the docks were wooden warehouses used to store goods before shipping them. Will pushed open a side door and motioned for Neistah to follow him inside. Vague shapes loomed in the darkness, leaving narrow passageways in between. Neistah stepped inside, then swayed unsteadily. He stared up at the rows of metal rods, piled high and ready for shipment. “Not here,” he said huskily, backing quickly out of the warehouse.

Will followed him, confused. Why not? This warehouse was a perfect place to rest. He remembered the schedule from when he worked at the factory. Since the warehouse was already full, nobody would bother with it until the next ship came to port. He glanced at Neistah, who appeared to be sweating and paler than usual. Perhaps he was claustrophobic?

Neistah’s eyes met his, and the sprite grinned suddenly, showing sharp teeth. “Let’s go to the school you used to visit.”

Will didn’t ask how Neistah knew, this time. He shivered, a combination of chill and reaction. He, too, was still damp from the river. “This way,” he said in resignation. He led Neistah past the docks, following the course of the river back the way they came until bustling civilization was replaced with rolling green lawns and clumps of foliage. “Keep low,” he advised. “There may be students about.”

Will made his way to the little clearing by the river where once, it seemed ages ago rather than not even a year, he, Roselle and Norah used to meet clandestinely at night.

“This will do,” Neistah remarked with satisfaction after surveying the area. He dropped down soundlessly into the river, creating hardly a ripple. “I’ll be back when it’s dark.”

Alone, Will wondered what he was supposed to do. He had never intended to return to Datro. There were too many memories here, good and bad. He no longer belonged here. Find out what you can about Datro’s Sprite. The thought came unbidden into his mind, and Will felt an overwhelming compulsion to follow it. He shrugged. Why not?

It was still early. His feet led him to Roselle’s window, Roselle’s and Norah’s. Their parting had not gone well. Roselle had been disgusted by him when he confessed that he was a mutant. Her reaction was so different from Norah’s. Perhaps that was because Norah had always known what he was. He missed them both. Over the last few years, the three of them had become fast friends. Will had been the one to end it, as much for their sakes as for his own. The girls could not be discovered to have associated with a mutant. It would ruin their lives. Of course, it would have ended his. That was the difference between them.

Even so, Will wanted to look at them one more time. As long as he was here. They didn’t have to know. He climbed up the trellis quietly, extremely aware of how visible he was in the daylight. As always, their window was slightly ajar, letting in the cool breezes off the river. Will pushed it open a little farther. Roselle slept in her bed, her golden hair spilled all over her pillow and her cheeks flushed in sleep. Will smiled. Roselle always was a late sleeper. The other bed, Norah’s, was empty and stripped of its coverings. Will took a closer look, moving his upper body part-way through the opening. None of Norah’s things remained. Her little old-fashioned jewelry box, which used to sit on top of her dresser, was gone. Her entire dresser was bare. Had something happened between the two girls? Will wondered if it was because of him.

He must have made a noise. Roselle stirred, and before Will could pull back, she opened her eyes and pinned him with a wide blue stare.

“Will!”