Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

  We continue talking about a myriad of topics as we hike, including playing chess and going fishing together again and our upcoming trip to visit the fairy king.

  Right before dark, Grog reaches the mountain cliff that contains Crisa’s home and waits for us to catch up. I can’t believe all that’s transpired in a single day.

  Inside the compound, we learn from Claymont that Baru, the merman who led the leviathan and behemoth away from us, has returned.

  “He’s sleeping now,” Claymont says, “but he wants to tell us all about his adventures tomorrow at dinner.”

  “Ah, that should make for interesting meal conversation,” I say. I beg off from more talk, claiming exhaustion, and head to bed without dinner.

  I pull back the curtain to my stone-walled bedroom to find another naked man sitting on my bed.

  Talk about déjà vu.

  I’m startled at first, because, from this man’s eye color and nose shape, it seems that Brutus has somehow returned from the dead, but of course, that can’t be.

  Looking closer, I realize there are subtle differences. This particular man’s face is line-free, making him younger than Brutus, and he has tufts of gray hair on his chest and streaks of gray among his brown hair on his head.

  I draw Noblesse and hold her out in front of me. “Who are you?”

  “Shh, I’m your new bodyguard, Calen,” the young man replies. “The name’s Rampart, son of Parapet.” He stands and thrusts out his hand for a shake, leaving his other hand covering his groin.

  I sheath Noblesse because I remember Crisa telling me I’d have a new wolf bodyguard when I returned.

  I really don’t want another wolf companion, but Rampart isn’t responsible for those feelings. So I shake his hand. I keep my voice low to prevent anyone who might be passing by from overhearing us. “Glad to meet you, Rampart, son of Parapet.” Rampart’s handshake is powerful. “I appreciate your willingness to take on the impossible job of helping me fight darkness.... You heard what happened to my previous wolf bodyguard?”

  He lowers his eyes. “Yes, I did, but I believe in your mission.”

  “I appreciate that, Rampart, but, the truth is, I don’t need another guardian. I already have Grog, a bugbear. I don’t want to put anyone else in the life-threatening danger my other wolf...”

  He puts up a hand to stop me. “I know the dangers involved, and I’ve heard all about Grog. But I wanted to fill your former wolf’s shoes because Bastion was my uncle.”

  “Bastion?” I scratch my head.

  “You called him Brutus. But his real name was Bastion, which means stronghold. He was the son of Fortress and my favorite uncle.” Rampart hangs his head.

  All that time with Brutus, and I never knew his real name. Some werewolf owner I am.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rampart. I loved Brutus, I mean Bastion, too. We went through a lot together. Since I’m partly responsible for your uncle’s death, I can’t believe you’d want to be anywhere near me. If I’d recognized something was wrong, I could have gotten help sooner. He might have lived.”

  Rampart lifts his head. “I don’t blame you. How could you know he was bleeding internally?” A fierce expression crosses his face, and I see the wolf in him. “I blame that dirt bag, Galdo.”

  I smile. “You’ll be happy to learn that Galdo’s magic is gone for good, taking his influence over the dark side with it. Galdo kills, or rather killed, without a second thought and has no respect for life, any life. And Bastion’s life was one of the greatest. He was the best protector and friend.” I pause as my throat tightens. I swallow, but it doesn’t relieve the tension.

  It’s a minute before I can go on, and Rampart allows me the uncomfortable silence my grief needs. After a moment, I add, “I’m sure, if you’re related to him, you have the same character.”

  “My father died when I was a pup, so Uncle Bastion was like a dad who taught me all of his lupine fighting techniques.” Rampart sits up straighter, shoulders back. “I try to emulate him in every way. He used to call me his star pupil because, by the end of his training, I often out-tracked, out-sensed and out-maneuvered him.”

  “Good to know he was your trainer. I’m pleased to have you by my side.”

  Rampart cocks his head and leans forward. “I wanted you to view me in human form in private. My uncle warned me about revealing my human side to just anyone. Most of the time, you’ll see me as a wolf.” He grins. “I’m larger in lupine form than my uncle was.”

  He crouches and transforms into his wolfish self. Gray hair, longer and thicker than Brutus’s, pops out all over his body, while his ruff is extra wide and dense. After he transforms, he stands over four-feet tall at the shoulder, the largest wolf I’ve ever seen, thickly muscled and long in both tooth and claw. Even with both my swords, I wonder if I could take him on and win. I thank the Creator for sending me another wonderful protector.

  “You are an impressive wolf, Rampart. But I’ve had a rough day, and I’d like to go to bed now.”

  Rampart gives a little yip that means “okay” and curls up on the floor near my bed.

  I take off my armor, leave it lying on the floor and slip between the sheets. I don’t even bother to change to pajamas. The last thing I remember is the coolness of the sheets against my achy body.

  € € €

  Grog hollers out, “Calen awake?”

  “Come on in.” I murmur sleepily.

  “He pulls back my curtain and says, “Breakfast, ten minutes. Hello, Rampart.”

  Rampart barks a greeting. I’m surprised Grog knows about my wolf, but then I remember Grog carried Brambel back here early, so the gnome could rest. They must have met then.

  Foolishly, I ask, “What time is it?”

  “Time?” Grog tilts his head. “Sun up.”

  That’s right. Fairyland doesn’t keep time with clocks. “I’ll be there soon.”

  If the sun has risen, that’s means I’ve slept at least ten hours. The last time I slept that long was my senior year of college after staying up all night studying. Oh, wait. There was one other time. The night I got dusted with pixie dust, so the gnomes could construct my sword.

  After dressing and heading for the dining room, I’m presented with another sumptuous breakfast. Crisa tells me that Tumea, Geryen, Brambel and Simean all ate a cold breakfast early in their rooms. She says she’ll send Esme with a packing list in a while.

  After breakfast, I decide to visit our convalescents and see how they’re doing.

  Rampart pads in a perfect “heel” beside me as we travel down the hall to Tumea’s room. After knocking and asking for entrance, I find him sitting in a chair, his single eye reading what appears to be, judging from the muscled model on the front, a fitness magazine that Crisa must have conjured. I sit down opposite him, and Rampart rests on his haunches next to me.

  I introduce Rampart to Tumea. The wolf goes over and lifts a paw. To shake it, Tumea only has to lean over slightly. “A fine specimen of a wolf,” he comments. “I sure wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark forest.”

  Rampart barks once and wags his tail.

  “What happened to Brutus?”

  “Galdo killed him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Tell me more.”

  “I will, tonight at dinner, so I’ll only have to tell the story once.” I’m curious to hear about his recovery. “What did you think when you woke up to find a pack of wolves around you?” I smile.

  He laughs. “I was startled, even a little scared, and thought I was dreaming. But a Fairyland healer showed up, who said he was summoned by a wolf, and I realized the wolves were there to protect me. Thanks to the healer, I’ve recovered from the wound. Fairyland’s healers can repair almost any injury in a tenth of the normal time.”

  “Really?”

  He points to a long, bumpy red line on his arm. “That scythe cut through my armor clear to the bone. The healer was surprised I didn’t bleed to death. He used his most potent med
icines to overcome the damage. Sometimes, if a wound is deep enough and doesn’t receive proper treatment, it prevents a tomte from shapeshifting.” He grins. “The healer says I should be able to take any shape I want again without a problem.”

  “I’m glad you’re healing. But you know who you have to thank for saving your arm and your life, right?”

  Tumea strokes his bearded cheek nervously. “Crisa told me Grog applied the tourniquet, which kept me from bleeding to death, and then he carried me away from danger. I feel sheepish for having misjudged him, and I’ve asked for his forgiveness.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Something about ‘Grog forgive. Tumea good.’ I can’t decipher him. He’s like no bugbear I’ve ever met. We won’t be good friends, but at least I won’t be attacking him anymore.”

  “Well, that’s progress.” I give him a wry grin and lean forward. “Did you hear about Grog’s cousin?”

  “No.”

  “He helped us break into the lab, get Crisa’s books and save a gnome.”

  “Really? So Grog isn’t the only ‘good’ bugbear? I may have to reassess my opinion of them after all. I think it’s a mistake to lump all bugbears into a single ‘dark’ category.”

  “I’ve come to that same conclusion. Everyone should be assessed on the basis of merit, not their race or tribe. For me, the sides of this war have become muddied.” I scratch my head. “I’ve been thinking a lot about prejudice. Sometimes from childhood, we’re taught an opinion we can’t let go of. Like a tree trunk in a windstorm, we latch onto it, afraid it will rock our world to abandon that opinion. But, if the tree is uprooted, we have to find another way of thinking. We’d be foolish not to.”

  I lean toward Tumea. “You’re a courageous tomte, the first one to take on an enemy. You’re learning to abandon preconceived notions, let your sensitive nature take a back seat, and temper your courage with caution. Those traits make you an even more valuable warrior. I’d be honored to fight alongside you in any battle.”

  “Thank you, Calen, I appreciate that.” He lowers his head a moment.

  Then he lifts it and looks me in the eye. “The healer said I need to rest for another day or so, and that was yesterday. So I’m ready to spar with you again.”

  I forget how quickly numinals, with their supernatural abilities, can heal. “Good. I’ll look forward to it. You can help me hone my battle skills before I leave in the morning.”

  “You’re going somewhere?”

  “Yes, and that story will have to wait until dinner too, when everyone can hear it.”

  Tumea smiles. “Don’t forget, when we spar, I can change into any dark creature you desire, if you want a real challenge.”

  “Uh, sure...” I give him a half smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I stand and so does Rampart. “It’s good to see you doing so well. Now I’ve got other visits to make. I’ll see you later.”

  Tumea gives me a brief wave.

  € € €

  When Rampart and I reach Geryen’s room, we knock and ask him if he’s up to having visitors. We receive a resounding “You bet!” and pull back the curtain.

  Geryen is sitting up in bed. With a healthy blue glow and bright eyes, he looks more like the giant I trained all those months ago. He’s fully clothed and peruses another conjured magazine, this one about travel, its cover spread featuring a tropical island, which I find amusing.

  A tropical island? Really? How would a giant not stick out like Galdo’s nose?

  Geryen reassures me with a smile and then hacks violently a few times. With the coughing fit over, he says, “I’ll be moving trees and boulders again in no time. The bat bite is healing, and the plant rash is receding. Now I just have to get rid of this cough.”

  He’s another example of supernaturally quick healing in the numinal community.

  “Good to see you almost back to your old self.” I climb up to sit on the edge of his bed. “Oh, by the way, this is my new bodyguard, Rampart, son of Parapet.”

  Rampart wags his tail and gives Geryen a little yip.

  “Glad to meet you, too, Rampart,” Geryen says, bowing his head slightly, “I’m Geryen, son of Hamill.” He reaches down to ruffle the wolf’s ears. “My stars, you’re big enough to be a giant’s pet. I thought your other wolf was imposing, Calen, but this one... Well, all I can say is no one’s going to bother you with this fine beast around.”

  He asks, “Did Brutus go home?”

  I sigh. “In a way, yes. He died from injuries Galdo inflicted on him.”

  Geryen pounds his fist on the bed. “That son of a snake! I hope you put that scoundrel in his place.”

  I’ll tell you and everyone else about it at dinner. You’re coming to the dining room tonight, right?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” I stand and walk toward his curtained door. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I wave, and Geryen nods his head. I push open the curtain, walk through, and let it drop behind me.

  € € €

  Rampart and I continue down the hallway to Brambel’s room. We knock, are invited in and, with Rampart at my heels, I find Brambel sitting in a gnome-size chair, staring at a wall. He’s still pale with dark circles under his eyes, but his skin isn’t the awful shade of gray it was yesterday in the lab.

  “Glorious morning to you, Sir Calen, son of Mortimer.” He grins with the same enthusiasm I remember from the first time we met. He scratches his head. “It is morning, isn’t it? I can’t tell without windows.”

  “Yes, the sun is not to the mid-point yet, Brambel, son of Marvel, and I’m glad to see you looking better.”

  “And who do we have here?” Brambel looks up at my wolf.

  “This is my new wolf companion and protector, Rampart, son of Parapet.”

  Brambel gives a yip to the dog. Rampart’s ears perk up, and he tilts his head. Rampart then yips back.

  “Did you just speak to him in the wolf language?” I ask.

  “I said ‘hi’ in Wolfian. I learned some phrases when I spent a summer with my uncle, who owned a wolf and knew how to communicate with it.”

  “I’d like to learn some of Rampart’s language. Would you be willing to teach me?” I’d ask Rampart to teach me, but he’d have to be in human form, so he could speak English. With only a curtain as my bedroom door, we’d risk his chances of being discovered as a werewolf.

  Brambel brightens. “We can begin today. I don’t know a lot of vocabulary, but I can teach you some rudiments of the language.”

  “I’ll come back later this morning, after I visit Simean. I’m leaving on a journey with Rampart tomorrow, and learning a few phrases in his language will come in handy.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Are you coming to dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, I plan on it.”

  “I’ll tell you then.”

  I squat to be at eye level with Brambel. “What I really came to ask is, how are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better, but I’m mending.” He sighs. “I tried to use my zapping ability on a black widow spider crawling along the wall a while ago, but my numinal power is gone, thanks to Galdo. Like a bird that can’t fly, I don’t feel like a garden gnome without it.”

  “I wish we’d gotten there sooner and stopped him from stealing your power.”

  “I do too.” His shoulders droop.

  “Did you hear that Galdo lost his powers too?” I say, hoping to encourage Brambel.

  “Yes, Crisa told me last night when she came in to check on me. Fairyland justice has been served.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “And I can relate to what you’re saying about not being able to go back to the way things were before. I’ve had to abandon my dreams of a normal human life to be Fairyland’s champion.”

  “How did you wrestle that to the ground?” He shakes his head.

  I remove my hand. “It’s hard and it’s frustrating, and I don’t think I’m done dealing with it
yet.” I shrug. “But I’ve learned to aim for a new, more honorable dream, one that makes Fairyland a safe place to live.”

  He wrinkles his forehead. “I can’t imagine what a more honorable dream for me might be.”

  “I remember a human quote that said something like ‘the only truly poor person in the world is the one without a dream.’ You have to set new dreams and goals.”

  Brambel tilts his head. “How do I do that?”

  “You still have a family to raise and provide for, right?”

  “Yes.” He puts a hand on his heart. “I’ve been away for weeks, and I’m anxious to see them again.”

  I walk over and sit on the edge of his bed. “If you want to add to the dream of having a healthy, happy family, the first step is to ask the Creator what he wants you to accomplish. With your winning personality, Brambel, I can see you doing just about anything.” I smile. “Although you’ll always be my ‘gnome-boy,’ with or without your numinous power.”

  “Gnome-boy” was a play on words Brambel used when he first met me. He understood the term “home-boy” because he listened to human radio signals. While they don’t have modern technology like computers and cell phones, Fairyland residents sometimes acquire battery-operated radios left behind by campers. They can listen to broadcasts until the batteries run down.

  My wordplay makes him giggle, and for a brief moment, he’s the Brambel of old. He adds, “I heard you saved a bunch of dragon babies. Well done.”

  “Thanks, but I have no idea what the Creator has in store for me next. My future is a mystery right now.”

  “Whatever it is, it’ll be the Creator’s will. Remember, nothing happens by chance in Fairyland. It’s all part of a greater design.”

  “Even the loss of your numinal ability?” I ask, grinning.

  From his chair, Brambel gives my leg a friendly punch and smirks. “Point taken.”

  “Good to see you doing so well. I’ve missed us having tea in my backyard.” I stand.

  “Me too. And those little cream-filled cakes, yum!” Brambel giggles.