The Foundling (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  Tullius opened the book and slowly turned its well worn, white pages. At first, each page appeared blank, but at the touch of Tullius’s fingers, black letters written in a fine hand appeared, covering each page from top to bottom. Tullius finally found the page he wanted and after studying it for a moment, began to read from it aloud, carefully shaping each word. As he spoke the last word of the spell, Tullius pointed his staff at Elerian who, having emptied one bucket, was now playing in another, and said, “Commuto,” in a commanding voice.

  The boy’s figure suddenly seemed to flow and reshape itself in a disquieting fashion before Balbus’s eyes. When its outlines firmed once more, Elerian’s face and figure had broadened and darkened. His black hair and gray eyes were now a deep brown, and to all appearances, he was indistinguishable from any other Hesperian child. Elerian seemed unaware of the change that had come over him, and continued to play with the water in the bucket before him. Its level, too, had begun to fall.

  Impressed and pleased with the transformation, Balbus turned to thank Tullius, but the words froze on his lips. The mage’s face had a strained look as if he had performed some great labor, and he was white under his tan.

  “All is well,” said Tullius weakly at the look of concern on Balbus’s face. “The spell appears to have worked without harming any of us in the process. My powers were heavily taxed, but I will recover. Be a good fellow and pour me some more wine.”

  Balbus hastened to comply, but when Tullius lifted his cup, his hand shook so badly that he was in danger of spilling its contents. The wine steadied the mage, and after a moment, he surveyed Elerian critically and appeared satisfied with what he saw.

  “I believe he will pass as a Hesperian now, even under the closest scrutiny,” he said wearily to Balbus. “He even looks a little like you, a nice touch if I say so myself,” said Tullius with a tired smile. “Even a lupin will not be able to discover the child’s true nature, for the boy’s scent will mark him as one of our own children. You must still exercise great caution, however, for I was only able to change the boy’s outer appearance. Beneath his guise as a Hesperian, he still retains all of the powers and abilities he possessed before. You must take care that he does not commit some act that will reveal his real nature. I think, as an added precaution, you should change his name too.”

  “I will school him to be cautious as soon as he learns to understand me,” said Balbus quietly, “but I will not take his name from him. He must retain some link to his past.” In truth, although Balbus had suggested the idea of a disguise, his initial joy in the change had faded quickly. He felt uncomfortable about it now and a little sad. Elerian looked entirely plain and ordinary now, and Balbus felt a sense of loss that he could not put into words. He watched as Elerian turned over his nearly empty bucket to see if there was a hole in the bottom through which the water might have escaped. No hole was evident, and Elerian wondered, again, where the water had gone. He began to splash in a third bucket and laughed as the water leaped into the air when he struck it with his right hand. The sound of his laughter worsened Balbus’s guilt, for Elerian’s voice had also changed. It sounded human now and entirely unremarkable.

  “Better for him,” thought Balbus, trying to banish the guilt from his mind. “Anyone hearing his real voice would have guessed at once that he was no human child.”

  “Can you restore the boy to his original form?” he asked Tullius anxiously, for it had not occurred to him to ask before.

  “I don’t know,” said Tullius honestly, for he did not wish to give Balbus any false hopes.

  It was not a very satisfactory answer, but Balbus was forced to accept it for now. “The boy may be able to change himself back,” thought Balbus to himself hopefully. “Who knows what powers he will possess as he grows older?”

  Balbus and Tullius talked for a little while longer over their wine as old friends will, and then Balbus rose to take Elerian home. Tullius silently stood in his doorway and watched them walk across his front yard and disappear through the gate. Despite his gruff manner, he was quite fond of Balbus, and he feared for his old friend's safety. “This affair is not over yet by any means, and I fear it will not come to a good end,” he thought to himself uneasily. “The safest course for everyone would have been to send the boy south.”

  Later in the day, after Balbus returned home, he visited each of the five neighbors within easy walking distance of his farm. They were all short brown men like himself, hard working and cheerful for the most part and given to few words. When he introduced the boy as his grandson and told each of them that the boy’s parents had died in an accident in foreign parts, none of his neighbors thought to question his statement. Balbus was well liked, but no one knew very much about him. He kept to himself most of the time, and he had spent time traveling when he was a young man in the army. He might have had a family somewhere that no one knew about. Certainly, the boy’s name had a foreign sound, but there was no question that he resembled Balbus.

  They all offered words of sympathy, and it seemed entirely right and natural when Balbus told them that the boy would now be staying with him. As casually as possible, Balbus also asked each of his neighbors if they had heard of anything unusual happening nearby in the last few days, but no one had seen or heard of anything out of the ordinary. They looked properly concerned when Balbus told them about the return of the venetor, and all of them took extra care when they barred their doors and windows that night.

  WATCHERS IN THE DARK

  It was late evening by the time Balbus had talked with the last of his neighbors and set off for home. “I have done all that I can to ensure Elerian’s safety,” he thought to himself as he walked down the grassy lane that led back to his house. “Only time will tell if I have done enough.”

  The evening air was cooling after the heat of the day, and birds sang from the branches of the tall ash trees that grew along the edge of the road. On Balbus’s left, the sun was sinking below the high peaks of the Galerius in a blaze of red, sending shadows creeping across the open meadows of the heights. To his right, rich fields of wheat, oats, and grapes glowed in the fading light. At the lower margins of the fields, Balbus could make out the green line of the boundary hedge and the forest that lay beyond it. He wondered if the danger to Elerian was as great as Tullius seemed to think it was. It was hard to imagine that any danger could intrude on the peaceful scene around him.

  By the time he reached his home, Balbus was feeling exceedingly tired from the long day. After a late supper, he and Elerian went up to the loft to sleep. To Balbus’s relief, Elerian fell asleep immediately, and he was not long in following his example, for tonight his mind was more at ease because of all the precautions he had taken to ensure Elerian’s safety. Carbo, too, fell into a peaceful slumber on his rug by the hearth, but shortly after midnight, he suddenly started awake and lifted his head alertly with his ears pricked up, staring intently to the east, as if he could see through the wall of the loft. Some faint sound no human ear could have detected had disturbed his slumber.

  Outside the snug farmhouse, the sky was an inky black dome, cloudless and blazing with countless bright stars. A deep silence filled the night, disturbed only by the light breeze that softly rustled the leaves in the fields and forest. There was no moon, for it was in its dark phase. Beneath the trees that crowded up against the narrow strip of grass that separated the gate in the boundary hedge from the forest, the darkness was thick and impenetrable. It was from this point that the sound of unfamiliar voices had reached Carbo’s sensitive ears.

  Five tall, slender figures were standing motionless beneath the eaves of the forest, talking amongst themselves. All five had lean, handsome faces, and they wore their long, jet-black hair tied tightly behind their heads with leather bands. They seemed human enough at first glance, until one noticed the tips of the pale, pointed ears thrusting through their dark hair. All five of the creatures possessed cold, black eyes that had red sparks burning faintly in their de
pths. Strong black nails, curved like claws, tipped their long, slender fingers, and behind thin, cruel lips, they sported sharp white teeth like beasts of prey. They were all clad from head to foot in leather, dyed black. The leather packs they bore on their backs were also black, and even their weapons were dark and dull surfaced so that no gleam of reflected starlight came from any member of the group. These five strangers were the last survivors of a band of Goblins who had come down out of the north from Nefandus, the Goblin kingdom, on a secret errand for their king.

  “He is not there, Sarius,” said one of them, continuing the argument that had roused Carbo. He was a sly looking Goblin named Bruscius, and he made no effort to keep his voice down, despite the warning look he got from the leader of the group. There was both weariness and irritation in his voice, for they had traveled far and fast with little rest. “I saw the old man and the boy through the hedge earlier this evening,” he said in a voice that dripped with the contempt he felt for men in general. “There is no doubt they are both dull humans. The cub looks just like the old man: thick, slow moving, and stupid.”

  “We should kill them anyway,” said another of the Goblins abruptly. His name was Rufius, and he was tired of skulking in the shadows. “We have had no man meat for too long, and the boy will be tender pickings.”

  “There is to be no raiding yet,” said Sarius, the leader of the band, in a harsh voice. “We are Urucs, not simple Wood Goblins who forget their orders at the first sight of fresh meat.”

  “We have already carried out our orders,” responded Rufius in an ugly tone. He was not in a reasonable mood, and as he spoke, the red sparks in his eyes flared up and spread so that his eyes took on an ominous, crimson hue in the dark. “The Elves are all dead. I say we kill these two humans for their flesh and then return to Nefandus! No one will ever know about their deaths unless you blabber to Torquatus and betray us.” The rasp of a knife being drawn out of its sheath immediately followed his words.

  Rufius’s four companions eagerly stepped back and formed a circle around Rufius and Sarius, excitement coursing through them at the prospect of blood being spilled, for Sarius had drawn his own black bladed knife an instant after Rufius. He welcomed the fight, for he and Rufius hated each other, and each had long searched for an excuse to slay the other. With the swift, fluid grace of striking snakes, the two began to stab at one another with their keen knives. The grating, ringing sound of steel scraping over steel filled the air as their knives clashed together. Light and graceful seeming as the Goblins were in their movements, there was a terrible strength in their bodies. The blows they shrugged off would have broken bones on a man.

  With blinding speed, Sarius suddenly switched his knife to his left hand and struck at Rufius. As the other Goblin desperately blocked the stroke with the hilt of the knife in his right hand, Sarius raked the left side of Rufius’s face with the strong black claws on his right hand, seeking to destroy his eye. Black blood coursed down over Rufius’s brow and cheek, and he involuntarily took a step back. The curse on his lips died abruptly as Sarius freed his blade and buried it in Rufius’s exposed throat in a single, swift motion.

  Sarius withdrew his dark blade and sprang back as Rufius fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. As the fallen Goblin’s life’s blood seeped into the ground, Sarius delicately licked the warm blood off his blade with a long, pointed tongue, his handsome face horribly distorted with anger. He had become a fiend with burning red eyes who would have frozen the blood of the peaceful farmers sleeping in their hilltop homes if they could have seen him at that moment.

  “Does anyone else wish to challenge me tonight?” he hissed softly as he turned his fiery eyes on the other members of his small troop. The uneasy silence that followed was finally broken by a Goblin named Calerus.

  “No one else disputes your right to lead, Sarius,” he said soothingly. “Rufius was a fool to challenge you.”

  The calming words did not deceive Sarius for a moment. There was no loyalty among Goblins. They followed the strongest among them. He knew the others would have followed Rufius without a second thought if he had won the fight.

  “What are we to do now, Sarius?” asked Calerus, a faint whine in his voice. Like Rufius, he, too, wished to go home, but he was too clever to oppose Sarius openly. “We have not heard the lupins howling since before the storm yesterday. Drusus, too, has disappeared. We all know that he is mad. Supposing he only imagined a boy. There was no certainly no sign of any young Elf during the battle.”

  “Something has led the lupins on a merry chase all these miles,” said Sarius sourly. “Before he left us, Drusus insisted that they were following a whelp of the accursed Elves we were sent to destroy.”

  “Perhaps they are silent because they have already caught and slain the Elf,” suggested Bruscius.”

  “If they made a kill, they would have come back to report it,” said Sarius sharply. “Except for that one, brief moment yesterday, I have had no contact with them since before the storm.”

  A look of intense concentration suddenly swept over Sarius’s features as he sent out a silent call to the lupins. For long moments, the others waited while Sarius attempted to contact the missing shape changers. Finally, he gave up. “I will skin them both alive, if ever I get my hands on them again,” he said angrily, and his clawed fingers clenched together in anger.

  “They do not think like us Sarius,” said Calerus soothingly. “If they killed the boy and some other game happened their way while the blood lust was on them, they would pursue it, collars, or no collars. They could easily be many miles away by now. It would not be the first time such a thing has happened.”

  “Unless they have somehow removed their collars, I should be able to sense them no matter how far away they are,” said Sarius savagely.

  “They may be dead, then,” said Calerus indifferently. “There are many dangers in these woods, even for a lupin.”

  Sarius cursed softly, for things had not gone well since Drusus led them to the hidden home of the Elves they had come all the way from Nefandus to destroy. He had broken through the magical defenses which guarded the home, and they had slain the three inhabitants, but incredibly, it had cost the lives of three lupins and fifteen Goblins. Even now, he could scarcely believe it, for all the dead were seasoned fighters, immortal Urucs who were far stronger and quicker than the more numerous Wood Goblins.

  With the fighting barely ended, Drusus had summoned them outside with the news that a young Elf had escaped over the garden wall behind the home. The hunt had resumed at once, leaving them no time to despoil the bodies of the slain or their home. Swift as they were, he and the remnants of his company had fallen far behind the two surviving lupins. Drusus also outran them. Eventually, the lupins had gone silent, and to add to their bad luck, it had started to rain, washing away all signs of the lupins’ faint trail. In a foul mood because events seemed to be conspiring against him, Sarius had led his small band on in a straight line into the foothills, but they had found no sign of either the lupins or the creature the lupins had pursued for all these miles.

  This left Sarius in a difficult position. He dared not return home without discovering the fate of the lupins and their quarry, but despite their soft words, he knew that all the remaining members of his band were tired of the fruitless search. Like Rufius, they wished to return to Nefandus. They might not oppose him openly if he continued the search, but Sarius knew he must take care that one of them did not knife him in his sleep or poison his food.

  “We will return to where we last heard the lupins and see if we missed some sign of them,” he said at last. “Failing in that, we must continue to search. If we return home without certain news of the fate of the last Elf, Torquatus will flay the skin off all of us an inch at a time.” His words were met with a stony silence, but no one dared to object.

  “What about him?” asked Calerus, pointing to the body of Rufius.

  Sarius gave an evil laugh. “Bring him along. W
e will have fresh meat for one meal at least.”

  Calerus easily picked up the body of Rufius and slung it over his shoulder. The band of Urucs melted back into the forest, all of them in a slightly better frame of mind. Goblin was a poor substitute for human flesh, but it would do for now.

  Inside the loft, Carbo listened for a little longer after the distant voices of the Goblins faded away. Satisfied that there was no longer any danger to Balbus and Elerian, he laid his head down on his outstretched paws and went back to sleep, unaware that an even greater threat than the Goblins lurked nearby in the forest.

  DRUSUS

  The Goblins had no sooner disappeared into the trees, than a dark figure dropped silently onto the ground from the branches of the large oak tree under which they had been standing just moments before. On all fours, the strange creature froze, his sleek black furred head cocked to one side, and his pointed ears pricked up as he listened to the soft, receding footfalls of the party of Urucs. Drusus was the creature’s name, the same Drusus the Goblins had discussed a few moments before, but the Hesperians knew him as the venetor, and he had haunted their nightmares for a hundred years.

  Even as the Goblins had stood beneath the oak, wondering what had become of him, he had listened to all they said, hidden in the tree’s leafy crown far above their heads. Silent laughter shook his powerful frame at the ease with which he had deceived the Urucs, and he reveled in his own cunning. Soon, however, his mood changed, and his laughter turned into a barely audible growl of anger. “So, they think me mad, do they?” he muttered to himself in a harsh voice which twisted and coarsened his words so that they echoed the growls and snarls of a beast. “They would fare no better if my cruel fate were suddenly thrust upon them. I have spent almost five score years living as an animal, hiding from the light of the sun and gnawing cold bones in the dark until it is all I can do to remember my own name and the unjust command the Goblin king gave me so long ago.”