Another story from my youth — with a disappointing number of (corrected) misspellings 🙁
At decreasing intervals, the shrieks of a woman could be heard from the upstairs room. Though all in the downstairs hall hoped for the best, they knew that with no practiced midwife, the chances of both mother and child surviving the ordeal were scant. Even with a midwife, the chances were not much better. The shrieks came increasingly often, until finally they gave way to a continuous moan. Then there was silence.
After a time, the inn mistress came down the narrow stairs crying and smiling at the same time. Expectant faces turned toward her. “The mother is dead,” she announced, solemnly, confirming their fears, “but the child is a strong, healthy boy.” There were mixed emotions at the news. None thought to blame the inn mistress, who undoubtedly did her best to save the mother.
All knew the stories behind the fathering of the child. How a demon, maybe the devil himself, had raped a young farm maid. Much speculation had come up about whether the child would be human.
An old soothsayer from the same village, who had cared for the maid while she was carrying the child asked the unspoken question: “Is it — normal?”
Heads turned at the inn mistress’s delay in answering the old woman’s question. “Yes,” she said unconvincingly, “except that, it’s dark… black as the night,” she confessed in a rush.
The soothsayer excused herself to look at the baby and, as she mounted the stains, a loud crash was heard from above. Everyone rushed up the stairs to the room — only to find the window open and unbarred, and both mother and child missing. A howl could be heard in the distance.
Many years later, when the memory of that night was forgotten, and those witnesses scattered by time — a hooded figure slipped in through the back of a small, seldom-visited tavern, and took a seat in a dark booth.
The coins were already on the table when the tavern master approached, and what drink the dark figure did order was left untouched. Soon, another slid into the booth across from the hooded figure and, studying his dark shape, also ordered — but did not drink.
The newcomer, a cunning looking man in his early thirties, had an animated conversation with the other, and then left — leaving the figure alone with its thoughts. The figure sat for a time and, when the tavern master looked again after serving other customers, the booth was empty — with a few more coins on the table.
A war soon broke out and, though fought for only a handful years, it left the surrounding principalities devastated. A huge ebony-skinned warrior took part in the battle — though it was hard to tell which side he fought for — if for any.
Years past, civilizations rose and fell — and in their histories, many legends sprang forth about a black demigod who shaped the destinies of men.
Many more years passed until finally this demon-spawn grew tired of trifling with short-lived men. He sought cure for his restlessness and, through the aid of a powerful sorcerer, projected himself into the past in the search of his father. He had never really known who his father was, and had always wondered about his own longevity. Now he would know.
Upon arriving in the past, he searched the countryside around his birthplace for traces of his father. In his travels, he chanced upon a young maiden who he became enchanted with — and, one night, he came to her and lay with her. Afterwards, he recognized in her pale, frightened face — the face of his mother who, as one of the undead, had nurtured him through infancy. He laughed heartily at the irony, caring not as the maid slipped away into the night.
He had not only followed in his fathers footsteps, he had made them!