The Changeling’s Price

Ennis, County Clare, Ireland

1854

Eilis knew something was wrong the moment she peered into the crib. Her baby brother, Padraig, always greeted her with a toothless grin and waving fists when she approached. This morning, her brother lay still, golden eyes tracking her movements with an unnerving steadiness.

“Ma,” she called, her voice scared, “something’s happened to Padraig.”

Her mother rushed in, wiping her hands on her thin apron, dark circles beneath her eyes speaking of nights spent rocking a colicky baby. “What do you mean? Is he ill?”

Eilis pointed at the crib. “That’s not Padraig.”

Her mother’s laughter was too high, too brittle. “Don’t be silly, Eilis. You’re just tired.” She patted her shoulder. “I don’t want you to wake and help me with him tonight. You need your sleep for school.”

Padraig or the changeling?

But Eilis saw the flash of fear in her mother’s eyes when the baby turned its golden gaze toward her. That evening, when this unusual creature refused to nurse and remained silent even as her mother sobbed over it, Eilis watched her father place protective herbs above the doorframes. The following day, her parents spoke in hushed whispers, voices breaking on words like “changeling” and “taken.”

That night, Eilis overheard her parents arguing.

“We mustn’t speak of it,” her father insisted. “If we pretend nothing’s wrong, perhaps they’ll return our boy.”

“It’s been three days,” her mother cried. “The thing doesn’t eat, doesn’t cry. It just watches. I don’t want it in the house.”

Eilis crept back to her room and pulled out her grandmother’s book of folk tales. She read until dawn about children stolen by the fair folk, replaced with changelings fashioned from wood and magic. By morning, she knew what she had to do.

At the edge of the village lived an old woman named Magda, who people said had once walked between worlds. Eilis snuck away after breakfast, navigating the forest path to Magda's cottage. Wildflowers and herbs grew in riotous colors outside the cottage. The door swung open before she could knock.

“I wondered when someone from your house would come,” Magda said, her eyes cloudy with cataracts. “Your brother has been taken.”

Eilis nodded, throat tight. “Can you help me get him back?”

Magda gestured her inside. A potion was bubbling on the stove, a purplish smoke filling the air. “I know the way to the fairy realm, child, but few who enter ever return. And those who do…” She trailed off, absently touching a scar that ran from her temple to her jaw.

“I have to try,” Eilis insisted. “Padraig is just a baby.”

“The fair folk take children for a reason,” Magda said. “Sometimes to raise as their own, sometimes to replenish their bloodlines. But always with purpose.”

“Please,” Eilis begged. “Tell me how to find him.”

Magda studied her face. “Very well. Three nights from now, when the moon is full, go to the stone circle in the northern woods. Walk three times counterclockwise around the outer ring, then three times clockwise around the central stone. If your heart is true, a door will open.”

“And then?”

“Then you must find their queen and challenge her claim on your brother. But I warn you, she will not relinquish him without extracting a price.”

“What price?” Eilis felt her heart speed up.

“That,” Magda said, “is different for each petitioner. It is always what you value most.”

For three days, Eilis watched the changeling lying in her brother’s crib, its golden eyes following her every move. The thing never cried, never slept. Sometimes, she caught it smiling at her, a terrible knowing smile that made her shiver. Her parents were avoiding it altogether, their faces taut with grief.

When the full moon rose, Eilis slipped out of the house. The stone circle loomed against the night sky, ancient and forbidding. Heart pounding, she walked three times counterclockwise around the outer ring, then approached the central stone. It rose twice her height, covered in spiraling carvings.

She walked the other way three times, and on the third circuit the stone began to glow. A doorway of green light appeared in its center. Eilis stepped through.

She emerged into a twilight world where the trees were silver and the grass beneath her feet sparkled like crushed diamonds. Music drifted through the air, ethereal and haunting. Following the sound, Eilis found herself in a clearing where beautiful fair folk danced, watching her curiously.

A fairy queen sat watching the revelry from a throne of twisted roots. Her hair was the color of moonlight, her eyes the same unnerving gold as the changeling’s.

The Fairy Queen

“You are brave to come here, mortal child,” she said, her voice like wind through leaves. “What do you seek?”

Eilis straightened her shoulders. “You have my brother. I want him back.”

The queen’s lips curved. “Ah, the infant. He has such potential in him. He will make a fine knight in my court when he is grown.”

“He belongs with his family,” Eilis insisted.

“Does he?” The queen leaned forward. “Your kind age and wither so quickly. Here, he will live centuries, know wonders beyond your imagining.”

“He deserves to choose his own path.”

“Choice.” The queen laughed softly. “An overvalued concept. But very well. I will consider your petition.” She gestured, and a fairy brought forward a bundle. Unwrapping it revealed Padraig, sleeping peacefully. “He can return but only if the price is paid.”

“What price?” Eilis asked, though she already suspected.

“You will stay in his place.”

Eilis felt her stomach drop. She thought of her home, her parents, the life ahead of her. “For how long?”

“Until I tire of you,” the queen said. “A decade, perhaps. A century. Time moves differently here.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you leave empty-handed, and my changeling continues to watch your family wither in grief.”

Eilis stepped forward. “If I stay, you’ll return Padraig immediately? And never trouble my family again?”

“You have my word,” the queen said, her golden eyes studying Eilis, waiting for her decision.

Eilis looked down at her sleeping brother, his small face peaceful. She thought of her mother’s tears, her father’s haunted eyes. She thought of Padraig growing up in this strange realm, forgetting his true family.

“I accept,” she said, clasping the queen’s cold hand.

The fairy queen smiled. “Well chosen.”

As fairy attendants took Padraig away to be returned to the mortal world, Eilis felt a strange calm settle over her. She had saved her brother. That knowledge would sustain her through whatever lay ahead.

“One thing you should know, mortal child,” the queen said, as a gossamer gown was brought for Eilis to wear. “Your grandmother once stood where you stand now. She chose differently.”

“Magda?” Eilis whispered.

“She chose to leave her sibling behind,” the queen confirmed. “She has spent her life in regret, trying to warn others of the choice she failed to make. You have shown more courage.”

As Eilis was led away to begin her service in the fairy court, she glimpsed through a magical pool her parents discovering Padraig returned to his crib, the changeling gone. She saw their tears of joy, heard their prayers of thanksgiving. She hoped she would be spared seeing the moment they realized she wasn’t coming back. Eilis knew the years ahead would be difficult as they realized they had lost her instead.

Some prices, no matter how high, are worth paying. And for Padraig, she did not regret her choice.

Teacake Tidbits

1. Changelings Were Left by the Fair Folk

In Irish and Scottish folklore, it was believed that fairies would steal healthy human infants and leave behind a “changeling”—a sickly fairy child, an elderly fairy, or even a fairy-crafted illusion made of wood and magic. These beings often appeared human but behaved oddly—crying incessantly, remaining eerily silent, or staring with unnatural intensity.

2. Iron and Fire Could Reveal or Drive Out a Changeling

Folklore often claimed that iron—especially cold iron—was anathema to fairies. To test if a child was a changeling, some tales describe placing iron tongs near the cradle or heating metal objects near the infant. Similarly, fire was thought to expose the fairy’s nature, and some disturbing tales even involve holding the suspected changeling near a hearth to provoke a reaction (though these were cautionary rather than prescriptive).

3. Unbaptized Children Were at Greater Risk

In Christianized folklore, particularly in parts of Ireland and Germany, it was believed that children who had not yet been baptized were especially vulnerable to being taken by the fair folk. As a result, baptisms were often performed swiftly, and charms or protective herbs like rowan or elder were placed near cribs to ward off supernatural interference.