The Black SwanThe Black Swan
      swan maiden n. a being of mythe, havinge the irregular abilitie to take on 
      the forme of a swanne or thatte of a beautiful maiden, at will.

 (excerpt from "The Gramarye of Mythical Beasts and Beings", by Lord Brock of 
Heatherwood)
 



 
"Stupid birds," said Young Nathan Brock. 

He picked up a pebble at his feet, and threw it at them, just to illustrate his 
point. The various waterfowl in the lake skimmed away from the pebble, and 
almost immediately skimmed back to investigate the ripples that it had caused.

"Stupid," Nathan repeated morosely. He turned to his companion, a 
nervous-looking boy of about twelve dressed in moss green livery. 

"Where is my father?" he demanded. "He said that he would take me riding today." 
He sat down at the lake shore and glared at the lake and its denizens in hatred. 

His companion gulped nervously. When Young Lord Nathan went into one of his 
"moods", there was not a person in Heatherwood who knew what to expect: 
depression, self-pity, or the Young Lord's personal favourite, mindless and 
bloody violence. The boy in livery took a deep breath.

"His Lordship," he said, choosing his words carefully, "has been in his study. I 
believe that he is compiling information for his Gramarye."

Nathan snorted. "That old thing? I thought he finished it ages ago. Tell him 
that I am waiting. Go and tell him now, James."

James coughed nervously. "Begging your pardon, sir, but His Lordship is 
currently occupied with the completion of his Gramarye of Enchanted Castles and 
Churches, and he has given orders that he not be disturbed, under any - " He 
choked as Nathan whirled around and grasped him by the neck.

"What are you saying?" he snarled. "That I am less important than a musty old 
manuscript? That I am worth less than some paper and ink? When I give an order, 
I expect it to be followed . . . IMMEDIATELY!" Nathan abruptly released his hold 
on James' throat.

"Yes sir," gasped James, as he stumbled away. "Right away, sir." 

Nathan returned his gaze to the lake. The sunlight innocently shone and 
shimmered on the water's surface, bathing the swans and ducks in a gentle white 
glow.

SPLASH! 

Nathan hefted another stone and savagely hurled it into the lake. "Stupid 
birds."



 
He did not notice the bird until a sennight later. Nathan was waiting near the 
lake for Lord Brock and Master Archer Williams to take him to the nearby forest 
for his archery lessons, when he saw it. It was a large, graceful, serene bird, 
almost twice again the size of a goose. It swept along the calm surface of the 
lake, barely even causing ripples in its wake. Nathan instantly hated it.

There was something insolent about the light in its glowing red eyes, something 
arrogant in the curve of its neck and in the sheen of its dark feathers. Nathan 
was suddenly possessed with a painful, raw need to destroy this creature that 
looked on him with such distaste. He decided to use the creature as a target for 
his archery practice. Picking up his bow and his quiver of arrows, Nathan 
carefully chose the straightest one of the lot, and nocked it in his bow. He 
drew back the bowstring, took aim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and nearly 
leapt out of his skin when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. The arrow shot 
into the trees surrounding the lake, and the bow clattered to the ground as 
Nathan whirled around. 

"Shouldn't trot about shooting the wildlife," observed Master Archer Williams.
Nathan glared at him in naked fury. "You're late."

The Master Archer shrugged. "His Lordship asked me if I could clear the Forest 
of poachers. Wouldn't want you getting shot. So I did. Round up the ruffians, I 
mean. As for his Lordship, I believe he's been called away. Seems he's received 
a missive from Lord Hewlett of Purves about an upcoming tourney. Good thing too; 
His Lordship would've thrown a fit if he'd caught you placing arrows in his 
prize swan."

This new information did nothing to improve Nathan's mood. "What do you take me 
for?" he demanded brusquely. "Any fool knows what a swan looks like. A swan is 
white like snow, with beaded eyes like night. That," he emphasized, gesturing at 
the floating bird, "is not a swan." The dark creature chose this particular 
moment to flick some water towards him with its beak. 

The Master Archer chuckled. "Playful beast."

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Nathan. "I will not have you stand there and mock me! Who are 
you, to laugh at me and tell me what to do? I am Nathan, the son of Lord Brock 
of Heatherwood, and I do what I wish!" He punctuated his sentence with a large 
rock, which he hurled at the black swan. The bird skimmed away from the rock 
easily, as it landed in the lake with a ripple and a splash. Nathan trembled 
with anger.

"There, there," Master Archer Williams said soothingly. "I meant no disrespect. 
Of course you can do what you wish." He thought quickly. "You see, young lord, I 
meant not to say that it was forbidden that you kill yonder swan, er, bird. . . 
. I meant to say that it was impossible."

"Impossible?" Nathan repeated suspiciously.

"Impossible," confirmed Master Archer Williams. "You see, that black beauty was 
brought to his Lordship's lake as . . . as part of his researchings for his 
gramarye. Yes, it's one of those bird people." Master Archer Williams, who had 
been known in his childhood years as quite the fibber, was beginning to enjoy 
himself. "That creature's one of them bird folks, what turn into people at 
night. An' according to what his Lordship wrote in 'is book, them bird folks can 
only be killed by strangling 'em with a silken cord what's been soaked in holy 
water. At midnight," he added. "Under a full moon. Wearing a neckband of garlic 
cloves and tea leaves."

Nathan looked at the Master Archer, fragments of suspicion still in his eyes.

"How do you know all of this? You can't read."

The Master Archer put his arm around the young lord's shoulder and led him away 
from the lake. "Er. . . His Lordship read bits of his Gramarye to me. Can't hurt 
to eddicate a man, 'e said. His Lordship said, that is. Now let's forget all 
about this, and get on with that archery lesson . . . . . . ."



 
"Have you heard about the young lord?" asked a querulous voice.

The old cook squinted through the kitchen smoke at the voice's owner. "What, 
Lord Brock? What's the lad gone and done now?"

The owner, a thin and sallow serving girl, snorted. "I said the young lord, you 
old fool. His Lordship Brock is as hale of mind and body as ever, bless the man. 
A pity that his mind-health didn't pass on to his son." The serving girl sidled 
up to the cook, and continued in a whisper. "Rumour is, the young lord's gone 
slightly daft. Seems he's taken to talking to birds; I've seen him, too, with me 
own two eyes. Imagine what it must be like for his poor mother - "
The serving girl fell silent as the doors burst open and Young Lord Nathan 
stepped into the kitchen. His eyes were ablaze with an unhealthy light, and his 
face was set in a grim expression. "James! Come here! I need you to run an 
errand." He stamped out of the kitchen, still shouting. "James, I order you. 
Come here now!"

The cook and the serving girl stared at each other. The cook was the first one 
to break the silence, with a harsh laugh.

"I see what you mean. Slightly daft? More like mostly mad and slightly sane."



James cowered in the doorway of the courtyard. From where he stood, he could see 
Young Lord Nathan pacing back and forth impatiently. The young lord occasionally 
stopped to shake his fist at the lake, scream at the birds, and suddenly resume 
his silent pacing. James shivered, uttered a quick prayer under his breath, and 
slowly stepped through the doorway.

"Sir?" he whispered uncertainly. "I was told you were in need of me?"

Nathan stopped pacing. "Yes, well. I suppose you heard right. I need you to -" 
He paused, and looked around furtively. He grabbed James by the elbow. "Not 
here," he muttered. "The bird might hear."

James looked around in confusion. "Bird, sir?" He caught sight of a black swan, 
gliding about on the lake's surface. With a splash of water, it darted into the 
reeds on the far side of the lake. "Oh, you mean - "

"It tried to kill me, you know." Nathan stared moodily at the lake. "The other 
day, when I was in its nest. It tried to peck me to death."

"I've heard those creatures can be quite difficult," James ventured, "especially 
if their nests and eggs are disturbed . . . "

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" demanded Nathan. "Let its eggs and hatchlings 
live? I tell you James, the thing is like some sort of illness! A black cancer! 
And it'll keep spreading . . . spreading . . . trying to kill me!" Nathan 
grabbed James and shook him roughly.

James squirmed out of his grasp, by now thouroughly convinced that the young 
lord was quite mad. "Sir . . . " he began.

Nathan blinked. "Still here? Didn't you hear what I said, James? Two lengths of 
silken cord, a clove of garlic and thirteen tea leaves! There's more to be got, 
but . . . " He bit his lip. "I can't tell you. Not here. Not where it can listen 
in." He took James by the arm again; but this time, it was not a forceful grip 
of mastery. Rather, Nathan leaned towards James as if seeking support, or 
comfort.

"We'll need some clean water. And a Bible, to make it holy . . . if we can find 
one by the next full moon . . . " Nathan's voice echoed eerily as he and James 
went through the cold, grey arches of the doorway. From the equally cold and 
dismal clouds hovering overhead, a quiet rain began to fall.



The quiet rain intensified into a raging, weeping storm as the days went by. 
Torrents of rain fell from the heavens, down on to the castle, the courtyard 
lake, and the reeds where the black swan and its hatchlings hid. Nathan passed 
the time by throwing rocks at the cygnets with deadly accuracy, driving them 
into the lake where they were beaten down by the rain or barely saved from 
drowning by their protective parent. Whenever he wasn't amusing himself in this 
manner, he drove himself into a fretful frenzy. He paced back and forth, 
lamenting out loud about the lack of time, moon light and holy water. Nothing 
said could comfort him; if spoken to, the lordling would go into a fit of rage. 
It was said that even his father was wary of him. 

The night of the full moon came. Thunder and rain continued, masking any moon 
that might be, and almost drowning out the bell as it struck midnight. Almost, 
but not quite.

Nobody knew how or why Lordling Nathan crept out of the castle that night. No 
one knew how he felt when he saw, through the flashes of lightning, the ghostly 
girl near the lake. And there was not a person in Heatherwood who knew what went 
through his mind as the thunder and rain fell about him, loud and terrible and 
in time with the mad thrashings of his heart. All that was known for certain was 
that when dawn broke over the castle of Heatherwood, there was one less person 
in it than there had been the day before.



Nathan was sitting near the lake shore when James found him. He was sitting 
down, hunched over with his back to the courtyard entrance. Once in a while, he 
would move his hands, producing a cracking noise. James rushed over to him to 
tell him the news.

"Have you heard, sir?" he gasped. "One of Lady Brock's handmaidens has 
disappeared!" James peered over Nathan's shoulder in an attempt to see what he 
was doing. Nathan roughly shouldered him away.

James continued. "They say she slipped out of the castle last night . . . said 
something about making sure the waterbirds were safe . . . but who knows what 
can happen in a storm like last night's! Bless her soul, she was a gentle, 
lovely maiden. She'll be missed - "

"He was wrong, you know," Nathan suddenly said. He made the cracking sound 
again, and continued. "I didn't need the neckband of garlic cloves and tea 
leaves." Crack. "I didn't need the holy water." Crack. "I didn't even need the 
silken cord." Crack.

"All I needed," he whispered, holding up his bloody hands, "were my own bare 
hands."

James shrank from him, as the significance of his words dawned on him. "Did you. 
. . you didn't . . . .?" he stammered, and gasped as he saw what had been making 
the cracking noises. 

Nathan picked up another of the black swan's cygnets, squeezed its beak shut 
with one hand, and broke its neck with a firm crack. "I have to finish what I 
started." 

James stared at him in mute horror for a few moments, before staggering away 
from the mad lordling into the safety of the castle.



Night did not fall. Instead, it slowly crept along, coating all it touched with 
a musty, dusky, mysterious darkness. Nathan dipped his hands into the lake and 
washed off some of the blood caked on his hands. At his feet lay the second to 
last of the cygnets. In the nest, half-hidden in the reeds, cowered the last. 
Nathan wearily got to his feet and waded in to the lake, carefully keeping to 
the shallow bits. 

As he trudged towards the nest, he did not notice the figure that followed him. 
It took a gentle splash to catch his attention. Before him, in the still water, 
he saw a reflection of himself . . . and the reflection of the red-eyed black 
swan. 

Nathan reached out and swished his hands through the water. As the reflections 
dissolved into ripples, he said in a dull, dead voice, "Go away." He stared into 
the water at nothing in particular. "You can't hurt me. I killed you - "

"You killed my wife." The voice that interrupted Nathan was deep, and harshly 
accented. The hand that fell upon his shoulder and twisted him around was heavy 
and strong.

Nathan looked into the fact of a man that he knew, and yet had never seen 
before. The man was dark, and powerful, and large. His eyes glowed red with 
hatred. 

"You killed my wife." The man repeated. He took a step forward, driving Nathan 
away from the reeds and towards the center of the lake. 

"My wife. My hatchlings." The man stared at him, with those red, glowering eyes, 
and Nathan found himself unable to resist. 

"You killed them." 

The stranger continued relentlessly, forcing Nathan backwards and deeper into 
the lake. "You killed them all." Forcing him deeper and deeper into the lake, 
and further and further from the safety of the shore . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the morning, when James led the captain of the guard to the lake, they found 
a black swan and its lone cygnet floating on the water's surface. The swan and 
its hatchling continued their peaceful swim throughout most of the day, 
undeterred by the people tramping in and out of the lake. The captain of the 
guard left to report that the drowned body of his Lordship's missing son had 
been recovered. James left to break the news to Lady Brock, and the people of 
her court.

And still the swan swam in its lake, serene, graceful, and as unruffled as the 
surface it swam on. Its black feathers gleamed and shone like darkest night, and 
its red eyes glowed like malevolent stars, all-knowing and all-seeing.