The Swan Skin

Ned sat by the fire and admired the swan skin he’d found by the frozen pond that afternoon. It was unusual to find a swan skin. It was the stuff of myths and legends, after all. Perhaps there was a swan maiden to go with it, a delicate, beautiful woman, wandering around, helpless. Naked. He grinned at that thought as he puffed away on his pipe.

The howling wind of the snowstorm outside his window and down the chimney made him glance away momentarily. Well, hopefully she was still wandering. He wasn’t sure how hardy swan maidens were supposed to be. He frowned. Swans weren’t usually around these parts this time of year. They typically migrated. He’d heard a few people commenting about a mated pair who’d hung around longer, though. The male seeming to have some kind of injury to one of his wings. How they’d figured out it was the male, he didn’t know.

Lord, he hoped it was the female’s swan skin he’d found. He wasn’t particularly interested in a swan fellow. Though Jenkins up the road might be. If a shivering fine boned young man showed up at his house, he’d wrap him in a blanket, and send him down to Jenkins’ door, he decided.

He’d been out hunting that afternoon, not expecting to find much, and had followed some deer tracks towards the frozen pond. Some larger animal had broken through the slush at the edge to get to the water, and there were lots of tracks around it, but nothing was there anymore. He’d leaned against the old oak, where there was a hollow to hide things. Everyone had hidden things there for years. He’d poked around inside, out of curiosity, mind, and had found what he thought was just a pile of feathers.

As he’d pulled it out, he’d thought it was a shirt with feathers sewn on, and then he’d truly realized what it was. A swan skin.

It had been ages since anything magical had happened around there. The old magic had long since gone. Only the old people remembered the tales of their grandparents and great-grandparents, when magic walked among them. The pixies and fairies and elves were all either dead or deep underground, long hidden. The witches were much more careful about selling their wares, now, ever since the acts of parliament dictating what they could and couldn’t legally sell. Capitalism ruined everything.

But swan maidens? He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually heard of one of those before. Not a real one. They’d been talked about, sure. But not with any real knowledge. No one he knew even knew anyone or of anyone who’d ever seen or met one. And now, he had a real-life swan skin hanging on his wall. He should probably hide it away. That was part of the whole legend, wasn’t it? You had to hide the skin, so she would stay forever?

He set his pipe down on the table and stood, stretching his back and crossed to the nail where he’d hung the skin by the neck. It was a little stretched out from the way he’d hung it, but that was all right. He shook it out a little and a few feathers drifted gently to the floor like white snowflakes. He folded it clumsily and looked around the small room. There weren’t too many places in here to hide it. He glanced up into the rafters of the cottage. She would probably look there the first chance she got, but he’d have to make do until he had a chance to hide it better. He’d have to think of a place to hide it no one would look. Maybe down a well.

He stuffed the swan skin into a bag, dislodging a few more feathers in the process, then dragged his chair over to a lower part of the eaves. He carefully climbed up on the seat, not trusting the wobbly chair with his weight. He wasn’t exactly a small man, and this wasn’t exactly a sturdy chair. He made a small hollow in the thatch and stuffed the bag in, then rearranged the thatch over it, patting it into place, content that it looked undisturbed.

As he was finishing, there was a loud pounding on the door. He was startled and fell off the chair with a great crash. He groaned and rubbed his head. Who in their right mind would be out in this storm?

He pushed himself up first onto his hands and knees and then to his feet, using the table for leverage. The pounding continued.

“I’m coming,” he shouted, irritably. He rubbed the back of his head, fully expecting to find blood, and mildly irritated not to. He crossed the room to the door and swung it open, fully expecting to find Jenkins or someone else from the town in a full panic. Instead, he found a very tall, very broad, very muscular, very naked, extremely angry woman. Her eyes were filled with fury and her pale blonde hair whipped around her face in the wind from the storm.

“Do you have my skin?” she demanded without preamble.

Ned stared up at her, because her height exceeded even his. His mouth opened and closed a few times without making a sound.

“My skin?” she repeated. “I believe it is here. Do you have it?”

“S-skin?” he finally managed, his voice hoarse. “What skin?”

“It is the skin of a swan. It is mine. I want it back.” She came into the house, ducking to come through the doorway. She was, in a word, imposing. The firelight glinted off the snow melting on her skin as she looked around the room, looking for it. She immediately spotted the feathers on the floor. She swung back around and looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “My skin is here. Where?” She advanced on him. Ned backed up until he hit the table.

“Where?” he repeated.

She elbowed him in the face, and he saw stars. Blood gushed out of his nose, which he was fairly certain was broken.

“I do not have time for games, human. I want my skin back. I do not care to be in this form. It is too…awkward.” She rolled her shoulders. “Do I need to ask again? Is your hearing damaged?” She cocked her head to the side.

Ned was holding his face with both hands. “You hit me,” he said incredulously.

“You stole my skin,” she shouted, suddenly angry. She hit him again, this time with the other elbow. “Where is my skin?”

She advanced on him again, hitting him with her fists and elbows, shrieking at the top of her lungs, and then, inexplicably, hissing. Ned was dumbfounded, putting his arms up around his face in defense. He couldn’t hit a woman. Could he? She wasn’t exactly a woman. She was a swan…warrior? Valkyrie? Viking? Maiden didn’t really seem like the right word here. He dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball. Why was she hissing? He thought only geese hissed when they were angry.

“Give me back my skin,” she shouted again, dropping to her knees and continuing to bash at him with her elbows.

Dear lord, the elbows again. They were brutal.

“The eaves,” he managed, his voice thick with the blood clogging his throat. Her blows stopped when she heard him speak. He spat out the blood in his mouth onto the floor and grimaced and tried again. “Up in the eaves, he repeated, motioning with one hand to where he’d stashed the bag. “There.”

She stood and walked over, kicking the overturned chair out of the way. It hit the wall and broke. He cringed. She punched a hole into the thatch and pulled out the bag, leaving a substantial hole in the roof. It let in the swirling snow and a blast of cold air. She opened the bag and removed the swan skin, looking it over closely. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him, noticing the damage he had done to it.

“I will let you live today, human. But you should learn to leave magical beings alone.” She dropped the bag on the floor and strode out through the open door, leaving Ned on the floor in the mess of his home.

He dropped his head back on the floor and relaxed, relieved to still be breathing, although painfully.

He finally, carefully, got up and gathered some of the snow that had come in through the door and the hole in the roof and wrapped it in a towel and held it gingerly on his face. He closed the door, then looked up at the roof. Maybe he’d fix it tomorrow. Today, he needed to go to Jenkins. And figure out what to tell him. Because he certainly wasn’t going to tell him the truth. Not that Jenkins would believe him anyway.

The next spring, there were once again two swans on the village pond, one with a few bald patches and a strange line around her neck. And every time she saw Ned, she’d chase him down the road, honking and hissing at him, biting at his legs and arms, bashing at him with her wings. No matter what road he took, she was always waiting. Every spring, they returned, and every spring, she hunted Ned, relentless with her vendetta. Even after she died, her cygnets took up the tradition. And then theirs. For the rest of his life, Ned was hunted by the village swans. It became a joke. And then people began to believe he’d been cursed. Ned believed he was, too.

Finally, one evening, thirty years after the night of the snowstorm, he was walking home, slower than he once had, and a swan appeared out of the darkness. Ned sighed and stopped, looking at the swan.

“Can we please stop? I’m old, and I’m tired. I’m sorry. Surely I’ve paid my penance?”

The swan studied him but made no sound.

“I was a lonely man,” Ned explained, starting to walk again. “I just didn’t want to live my life alone. It was foolish, I know that now. And I ended up living my life alone anyway. Well, except with murderous swans for company. I did get that.” He cast a sidelong glance at the swan as he passed it. The swan fell into step beside him, waddling companionably beside him. “Can you understand me?”

The swan looked up at him, much as a dog might, and blinked.

“I thought you might. You’re very intelligent creatures. I’ve noticed that over the last decades. Not just because you’re changelings.”

The swan honked softly.

“Well, yes, I know you’re not all changelings. I’ve often wondered what makes some of you changelings and some of you not.” He shrugged. “But none of you seemed terribly interested in conversation. Just in biting and hitting. Though I was completely in the wrong in the beginning. I’m not disputing that.”

The swan honked again.

They’d reached his cottage by now and Ned stopped at his door. He paused and looked at the swan. “I really am sorry for what I did. You can let everyone else know. If they want to continue to hunt me, then so be it. But I’d really rather it be over. I’d much rather be friends now. Have a conversation if you’d like.”

The swan honked, and it almost sounded…agreeable.

Ned touched the brim of his old hat as he walked inside and gently closed the door behind him. The swan waddled off down the road towards the pond where its family was waiting for it. It had much to report, and perhaps a bit of discussion was needed. None of them had been around when the initial incident had occurred. Perhaps a change was in order.