by L. L. Bower
“That’s the way he wanted to appear. Ask Crisa. She knows. And he made me look like a German shepherd puppy, although my true canine form is that of a wolf.”
I shake my head. “Now you’re trying to tell me Crisa and Zamir know each other? Come on. And you’re wrong. Crisa changed my German shepherd Burt into a wolf named Brutus to help protect my identity. That proves you’re an imposter. Prepare to die.”
Dark or not, I still view this individual as an intruder, so I accent this last statement by stabbing at him. He dodges the blow, like a dog playing keep-away.
The naked man snaps, “Knock it off!” And then he looks at the ceiling of my bedroom. “Creator, a little help here would be most appreciated. I don’t want to get skewered.”
My sword is snatched from my grasp by an unseen force. It sails across the room to land on the floor.
“Thank you,” the man says, looking up.
I feel vulnerable and run over to pick up the sword again, but the intruder blocks my way.
“Wait, will you listen?”
Then my eyes meet his. They’re Brutus’s eyes.
“I’m sorry to rock your world,” he says, “but Crisa just removed Zamir’s spell. She didn’t change me into another type of canine. Ask her. She’s known what I am all along.”
I cross my arms. “I sure will. But how did you know I needed a puppy and that I was looking for a German shepherd? I didn’t tell a soul what kind of dog I wanted.”
“The Creator commissioned me to be your protector. He told me how to appear, where you’d be and when. Zamir agreed to act as my owner and cast the spell. Reluctantly, I agreed to do as the Creator asked, although I really didn’t want to get dragged into Fairyland’s age-old war.”
Okay, now he was making more sense. I was shocked, however, to think my faithful dog wasn’t a dog at all. Was it true? How did I not figure out that the canine I shared my life with was something else, had human intelligence? I had to admire how well he’d played his part.
And I could understand what he was saying about the war. I hadn’t wanted to get involved either. They could have titled me “the reluctant champion” because I liked my life the way it was before I stepped on the royal fairy. I was my own boss. I repaired clocks during the week, fished and camped on the weekends with my friend Gambole, hung out with his family, and maintained a private and quiet existence. I had a great life, without bad dreams, battle training, daily dangers from dark ones or an evil sorcerer out to destroy me.
But my old life is gone now, for good. I live in limbo between two worlds, like Simean, the previous champion, did when he was banished. I no longer belong in normal human existence because I have the royal fairy’s touch that allows me passage into another parallel, yet magical, domain. I’m forever changed into an extrasensory being that can only be killed by someone stabbing my heart with a silver weapon. As a human champion but not a numinal, I’m an oddity in Fairyland too.
The birthday-suited man, who claims to be a werewolf, mirrors my thoughts.
“I had a sweet life, hanging out and hunting with my pack, coming and going as I pleased. The Creator had to present a persuasive argument to convince me to take on this quest. He showed me how dark our human and numinal futures would be if you didn’t help Fairyland, and that was enough.”
His words ring true. “The Creator did the same with me. He showed me how Fairyland’s history has influenced human history throughout the ages. It was a frightening revelation.”
“So now you believe me?” the man asks.
I nod as the sounds of an invisible river flow around me and the smells of pine, spruce and fir trees engulf me. I sometimes forget how much magic has become a part of my everyday life. Now I find I’ve been living with a magical creature.
“Could you not brandish that thing at me again?” He points to Noblesse, who still rests on the floor.
I walk over to my sword, pick her up and sheath her. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were earlier?”
“I needed you to see how valuable I am before I revealed my true nature. And I tried to tell you about myself after you escaped from prison, but then your friends showed up.”
He adds, “I thought that saving your life on several occasions might make you more accepting of the real me.” He cocks his head. “Do you accept me and want me to still be your watchdog?”
“If the Creator supports you, then you must be the right man, I mean wolf, for the job.”
“Can you keep the secret of what and who I am?”
“Why? Aren’t you proud of your werewolf roots?”
“Many numinals find werewolves to be questionable creatures because we travel back and forth between the human world and the numinal one. They’d hunt us to extinction if they could, and I’m not sure but what humans would do the same because they think we’re evil too. Look what they’ve done to natural wolves, bringing them almost to the point of extinction. Talk about being misunderstood.”
He’s an oddity too. “I’ll keep your secret.”
He scratches his hairy head. “And being lupine, I can be of great service to you. I have super hearing, and I can also sneak into places that numinals and humans aren’t allowed, like animal dens. My fellow predators sometimes have more intel on what’s going on with the dark ones than the fairies do. And I can fight bogles.”
“Then I’m glad you’re on my team.” I rub my newly shaved chin.
I was tired when I came into this room, and now I’m beyond weary. I sink down onto the bed.
But we have to settle something before I can go to sleep. “Could you transform back into a wolf for the night? In your current nude state, I’d feel awkward sleeping in the same bedroom.”
“Of course.” He crouches on all fours, drops the pillow and starts to change shape. Fur sprouts out all over his skin, his nose lengthens, his ears develop points that stand up, and his fingers and toes become paws with spikes on the ends. I pinch myself to confirm that what I’m seeing is real.
When he’s finished the transformation, he sits on his haunches. Then he jumps up on the bed and barks.
“Okay, you’ve convinced me.” I open a dresser drawer to find the pajamas Crisa left there and go into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. When I come out, Brutus, my werewolf, is curled up at the foot of my bed, snoring. I stare at him and replay our conversation before I pull back the covers and crawl in.
As I drift off to sleep in my forest-themed bedroom, magic unseen birds twitter overhead and my fireplace crackles like a soothing campfire. I ask myself, what else in my world is not what it appears to be?
€ € €
The behemoth is chasing me with the leviathan close behind. I hurl buckets of stinging rain and bundles of violent wind at the giant creatures, but they’re unfazed. Then Jade swoops down and picks me up in her claws. We climb into the sky with the leviathan snapping at our heels. She shoots green spit at it. The acid starts to dissolve its face. Next, come shouts and the drum of running feet. I look all around, but I can’t tell from where the sounds are coming. Suddenly, Brutus gently nips my hand and then licks me.
As I emerge from sleep, I realize this last image isn’t part of my dream. Brutus stands over me, tongue out, and my face is wet from his saliva. He barks, latches onto my arm with his teeth and tries to pull me off the bed.
“Okay, sport, I’m up.” I pat him on the head. “Good dog.” That’s when I remember—my dog isn’t a dog at all, and I need to stop speaking down to him.
“Sorry, I forgot for a minute who you are. Thanks, Brutus.”
He wags his tail and yips, as if to say, “You’re welcome.” When he’s in wolf form, he must get frustrated at not being able to speak English.
I yawn and stretch, then rise from my bed and become aware of loud voices outside my bedroom. The shouts are real.
“Careful, that’s a sharp rock there! I cut my hand on it.” The loud voice belongs to Mordea. Someone else, Tumea I think, shouts, “Watch ou
t, I’m losing my grip!”
Claymont yells from another part of the cave. “I found a note. It explains everything.”
I pull back the curtain over my doorway and see that dawn has crept through the hole in the cavern across from my room. I told everyone we’d attack the prison before first light, so I’m annoyed I wasn’t awakened earlier.
In Fairyland, where time is measured by the sun’s and moon’s movements, it’s ironic that my previous life as a clock repairman, who ran his days by ticking clocks, is irrelevant. I now rely on creation or others to get me up.
First Mordea and then Tumea emerge from the rocky back exit, carefully carrying a large blanket-wrapped bundle between them. The oreads are nowhere to be seen.
I rub my eyes and, still perturbed that no one roused me sooner, wonder what on earth is going on. I walk into the corridor, and Brutus follows. He growls low in his throat, which makes me alert now. In the background, water drips.
Crisa paces the floor. Even in her agitated state, seeing her golden hair piled high and her flushed cheeks dispels my momentary anger.
Mordea and Tumea lay their covered lump on the floor of the cavern. Brutus hangs over it, growling and barking. Crisa and I approach to see what’s wrapped in the blanket.
As I lean over, Crisa kneels down and pulls back the blanket. Bile churns up into my throat.
Chapter 9 – A Casualty of War
A bloated corpse, like you’d see when someone’s been submerged for hours, lies under the blanket. Its single eye is swollen shut, and other red, puffy areas are spread across the exposed skin. Some of the swollen patches have blistered, and some have blackened. I make out a moon birthmark on one arm, now distended.
Oh, dear Creator, it’s Olea! Without that birthmark, I wouldn’t have believed it was him.
“You can see why I covered him with a blanket.” Mordea drops the blanket back over his fellow tomte.
Brutus sniffs at the corpse and then growls again. He doesn’t like what he smells.
“Careful, Brutus, he might be contagious.” I turn to Crisa. “What in the world happened to him?”
Before anyone can answer, Claymont enters the scene, waving a piece of paper. “This note is from Olea. I found it in his bedroom.” He bows as he hands Crisa the note.
As Brutus strolls alongside, I slip up behind Crisa and look over her shoulder as she reads.
“I apologize to my fellow prisoners, for what I’m about to do, but I have no choice. While I was in prison, Galdo told me he’d kidnapped my wife and children and threatened to kill them unless I became his spy. He thought we were about to be rescued by Crisa, and he wanted to discover the location of and weaknesses in her fortress and learn of his enemies’ future plans of attack. He used the bats as a scare tactic, to make us believe the escape was real. He figured Crisa would make quick work of them.
“Soon, I’ll report to his guards how and when you’ll attack the prison, so Galdo will know you’re coming. I hope this note will keep you from being killed or captured again. I’m sorry for what I must do. I’m sure you’d do the same in my situation.
Sincerely, Olea, son of Ortha”
While we process this new information, we all stand in stunned silence, except for Tumea who’s pacing.
“So Olea wrote that note last night and then slipped out through the back exit. But what happened to him after that?” I ask.
Crisa sighs, and her eyes are sad. “I warned you all about my magical booby traps, and I thought I made it clear that no one should go outside after dark.” She shakes her head. “When it started to get light, Esme, who had just come back from a hunt, found Olea slumped against some rocks near the exit, already dead.”
“Who or what did this to him?”
Crisa whispers the next word. “Snakes.” She wrings her hands. “I conjured a dozen snakes that are a hundred times more poisonous than the Inland Taipei snake, the most venomous in the world. I placed them in that rock slit and programmed them to attack at night. With even a few strikes, Olea would have been dead in a minute.”
I look over at Tumea who slams a fist into his palm. His eyes are wild, and his hair is disheveled. He paces some more, chanting, “Darkness, darkness, everywhere darkness. Will it never end?”
Grog comes into the hall. When Tumea sees him, the tomte shapeshifts into a full-grown bugbear.
“What’s up with him?” I ask Mordea.
He shrugs.
Tumea yells at Grog, “You! You son of a slimy worm! Your kind is responsible. Dark atrocities like you should not be allowed to live!”
“Huh?” Grog cocks his head.
Tumea hurls himself at Grog, knocks him down and thrashes him with his fists. Grog groans as each powerful punch smashes into him. I don’t know why he’s not defending himself.
“Stop!” I rush toward the two and grab at Tumea, but, in my weakened state, he’s too big and strong for me. He throws me aside, and I feel helpless when I have to stand by and watch my friend get pummeled. I could run to my room and get Noblesse, but Grog might be dead by then, as hard and fast as Tumea is wielding his blows.
I look to Mordea for help, but he smirks and does nothing. Brutus, however, emits a warning bark and then, all teeth and claws, attacks Tumea.
Crisa pulls out her wand from under her blue robe. “Get out of the way, Brutus. Let me handle this.”
The wolf ignores her to where Crisa can’t get a clear shot at Tumea. I know she doesn’t want to risk hurting Brutus as he bites Tumea’s back and arms.
Brutus locks his jaw onto Tumea’s right forearm, which stops half his punches. Tumea swings his arm backward while he continues to slug Grog with his other hand, but Brutus doesn’t let go.
My wolf looks like a rag doll flopping in the wind as Tumea tries again and again to shake him off. Then he twists around and smacks the wolf as hard as he can in the snout with his free hand. Brutus yelps and falls free. He lies on the ground and whimpers.
I ignore Brutus’s injuries for now because all I can think of is that Tumea will kill Grog if I let him.
Wait! I can conjure non-lethal weather that will stop him.
I look at Crisa. “No need for the wand. I’ve got this.” She nods but keeps her wand at the ready.
I concentrate and aim a small bolt of lightning at Tumea’s back, while I ask the Creator to help me downgrade the strike so it won’t kill Tumea, just incapacitate him.
The torchlight reveals how the moisture from water dripping in the cave now forms a cloud over Tumea’s and Grog’s heads. The cloud darkens, and the air electrifies, causing the hair on my arms to stand up. The thunderhead glows with current, as a bolt streaks from the cloud and strikes Tumea between his shoulders. The tomte stiffens, slumps on top of Grog and shrinks back to his normal size, a black burn mark now on his back.
I run over and squeeze his wrist to feel for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there. “He’ll come to in a little while, but he’s going to hurt.”
Grog grunts and pushes Tumea off his chest. The limp tomte rolls onto his back where he doesn’t stir.
Then Grog sits up and rubs his face, moaning. Red marks materialize around his eyes and cheeks, and his jaw looks swollen beneath his hairy face.
“Anything broken?” I ask.
Grog rubs his finger along his nose and winces. “Broke.”
Crisa waves her wand, “I’ll take care of that.” She mutters magic words, and his nose returns to its original shape. The bruises fade.
Grog smiles. “Better.”
She looks at me and says, “Some things I can heal with magic, and some sicknesses need more conventional magic. Broken bones are a snap to fix.” She chuckles. “Sorry about the pun.”
I check on Brutus and find him rubbing his nose with a paw. “Are you okay?”
He gives me an optimistic woof.
After a while, Grog stands, points at Tumea and shakes his head. “What I do?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” From my training
with tomtes, I remember how sensitive they can be, sometimes beyond reason, although I don’t share this information with Grog, not wanting to offend Mordea who stands by.
Mordea speaks up. “Tumea’s brother was killed by a pack of bugbears, Grog. So couple that with his shock over the loss of his friend, and you’ll see why he took his anger out on you, a dark creature he doesn’t trust.”
“Grog not dark,” he states.
Crisa puts a hand on the bugbear’s arm. “We know that, but Tumea doesn’t. That’s why it’s so important not to judge by appearance.”
“Who loss?” Grog asks, as he spies the blanket on the floor.
“Look.” Crisa goes over to the blanket-covered lump and pulls back the blanket.
Grog looks over, grunts and then hangs his head. “Grog see why.” Crisa quickly covers Olea again.
“Couldn’t Olea have used his powers of invisibility to fool the snakes?” I ask.
Crisa replies, “No, snakes sense intruders through body heat. Maybe I should have closed that hole in the rock, but I thought it would be nice to have a path to the outside world.”
I rub my chin. “Has anyone gone down the mountain to see if Galdo’s guards might be milling around? From Olea’s note, I got the impression he was meeting those guards at a predetermined location.”
Mordea raises the brow over his single large eye. “I’ve been too upset to think about that. Do you think someone is still out there waiting for him?”
“Possibly. I think it’s important we check it out,” I say.
“We’ll need to be well-armed though.” Mordea turns to Crisa. “Do you have any battle weapons in this place?”
“No, but I can conjure some. What would you like?”
Mordea swings at an invisible enemy. “A battle axe and a club.”
“You’ve got them.” She waves her wand, and the requested weapons appear in Mordea’s hands. “Would you like some armor too?”
Mordea rubs his bearded chin. “Well, I don’t know how big the dark creatures might be. Can I shapeshift in a suit of armor?”