Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

  And then I remind myself how far I’ve come with the help of good food and exercise since my escape. I probably couldn’t have made this journey a few days ago, even with my fairy-enhanced healing ability.

  We break out of the trees and trek across a ridge of scrub and compacted dirt. Soon, we dip into a large sedimentary basin, probably a flood wash. Here, loose shale slows our progress. I slip and slide but push ahead on the unstable rock, as does Rampart. More than once, I twist an ankle but don’t sustain a permanent injury.

  Crisa sets a grueling pace, so we do very little talking. When the ground levels out, I’m still panting, so I ask if I can take a break. “This is the most exercise I’ve had in weeks.” She begrudges me a five-minute break, which isn’t enough, but I don’t want to appear whinier than I already am.

  After about an hour of continued hiking, we see the eastern sky lighten. Dramatic shafts of pinkish sunlight peek out over the horizon, enabling me to see more clearly where to step as we climb out of the shale-laden basin. I try not to groan as my muscles protest the climb. Crisa turns off her wand.

  Her head darts from side to side, and I wonder if she’s getting her bearings. Her wand seems poised for use, but I don’t hear Rampart growling. I bend over to steady myself with my hands as I climb the steep slope, sliding through loose stones with each footfall.

  It’s slow-going, and I’m surprised to find the sun fully and well above the horizon when we reach the top of the basin. We scan a landscape that showcases rolling hills, a small stream that cascades down a cliff and a grazing herd of mountain goats.

  With the new dawn, birds chatter in the treetops around us. A hawk circles lazily above us, hunting for breakfast. The rest of the forest comes to life too, as squirrels, rock chucks and rabbits scurry through the underbrush. Several scamper across our path as we hike, and one of them, a squirrel, stops and looks at Crisa. They stare at each other for a few moments, communicating. Then Rampart crouches low and chases the squirrel.

  “He won’t hurt the squirrel, will he?” I ask.

  “No, he’s just playing.” Crisa replies.

  I’m reminded how much I love the forest, every tree, bush and animal. Nowhere do I feel more at home than in this environment.

  While I love the scenery and the animal sounds, I find myself gulping more air as we climb higher and the oxygen thins. We break out above the tree line, still heading east. A bear emerges from over a rise, and Crisa greets him with a grunt. He stands up on two feet and then slowly moves off.

  “What did you say?”

  “Wished him a good morning, and he returned the sentiment.”

  The tradeoff for the thin air is that now the view is even more spectacular. More shadowy mountains lie ahead to the east, and a river in the west angles through a steep canyon. I ask Crisa if she knows the name of the river, and she says it’s the Mogeley. Gladden’s Creek, one of the places where I used to fish and hike, runs into it.

  I ask her how much higher we’ll be climbing, and she tells me we’re about to descend. She says we’ll eat our lunch in a meadow below us. I catch a glimpse of the mountain meadow she’s pointing to, but I also see we’re heading toward a cliff. As we near the edge, I peer over, becoming instantly dizzy, and step back. The rock face is sheer, and the meadow is at least a hundred feet below that.

  I look anxiously at Crisa. “We’re not going over that cliff, are we?”

  “We’ll rappel.” She smiles. “It’s the quickest way, rather than snaking around and down the mountain. If we take the long route, we won’t arrive by nightfall.”

  I swallow hard. “You know I’ve never climbed down a rock face before, right?”

  “I do, but I have, and you’ll be fine. Remember my magic can repair any broken bones.” She grins. “And of course, being the champion, you can’t die from a fall.”

  “That’s not funny and definitely not reassuring. While I may not die, I can break every bone in my body, like a normal human. And thanks to the fairy’s touch, I feel pain more intensely than the average Joe.”

  Crisa pats me on the shoulder. “I won’t let you fall. As your mentor, I’ve got too much time and effort invested in you.” She winks.

  “Thanks.” I wink back and relax a little. “What are we going to do about Rampart?”

  “After he changes to human form, he’ll climb down on his own.”

  Rampart gives a weak bark that means “Oh, no.” It sounds like he’s not thrilled about going over the edge on two legs either. I remove Rampart’s backpack from his back and extract his climbing equipment.

  I’ve seen him as a human before, but I haven’t watched him change into human form. Crisa turns away during this process until after he’s dressed.

  His wolf fur disappears into his skin, to be replaced by human hair on his head, chest, underarms and groin. His nose shortens, and his ears lose their pointedness. His body shrinks in on itself, and he goes from a crouched, all-fours position to standing upright. Once again, he’s a naked human male.

  Crisa and I both know he’s a werewolf, so he’s not exposing his identity. But he is exposing a lot of body parts. I hand him a pair of jeans, a shirt, socks and climbing shoes from his backpack, to which his deep and strong voice responds, “Thank you.” He puts everything on.

  “How does it feel to be human again?” I ask, while I too change into climbing shoes.

  “Actually, quite good. I still have a wolf’s olfactory and auditory senses and dark creature detection, as well as the language ability of a human. The only thing I don’t like is how much colder I get without fur and how much slower I run on two legs.”

  Crisa change her shoes, and we all strap on our harnesses.

  Using a rope, Rampart and I help Crisa lower our three packs to the meadow floor.

  After anchoring more rope to the top of the cliff, Crisa shows me how to rappel by leaning back.

  Then she creeps over the edge of the cliff and walks down the rock face, looking like a professional, until I can no longer see her. I wonder how many years she’s been doing this.

  The rope that’s attached by the puny stakes she’s embedded in the rock, vibrate from her weight. Let’s hope they don’t do more than vibrate with either Rampart’s or my weight. My heart pounds, and my hands already sweat inside my gloves.

  She reaches the bottom and yells up, “Okay, Rampart’s turn.”

  I turn to him. “Are you up for this?”

  He gives me a thumbs-up, but his voice shakes as he says, “I guess.”

  I clip the rope onto his harness, grateful he’s now a normal-size human who can climb over the cliff’s edge by himself. I don’t know how I’d have eased the massive wolf down the cliff face without dropping him. I check again to make sure the anchors are still solid, and the rope isn’t fraying. Everything looks good.

  I look over the edge at Crisa to give her a thumbs-up. Bad move. My head spins, and I decide not to look over the edge again. I might lose my nerve. Besides, she looks incredibly small, like she’s in the next county.

  I watch Rampart tiptoe over the edge and disappear from view.

  Quicker than I expect, Crisa calls, “Okay, Calen, your turn.” My heart thumps.

  I close my eyes and feel as though time slows and then stops. I turn away from the cliff and open my eyes.

  As if in a dream, I watch myself attach the rope to my harness, check the anchors and inspect the rope again. I hold tight to my lifeline with both gloved hands and pull on the rope to check its steadfastness. Facing the cliff, I take a deep breath.

  My mouth goes dry, and I can’t swallow. I feel my heart beating in my ears. I bolster myself with silent self-talk, reminding myself I’m a human champion and all of Fairyland is counting on me. But I can’t stop sweat from running down my temples. I really don’t like any part of this.

  Eventually, I step over the edge and lean back as Crisa instructed. This position feels precarious and dangerous, when the nearest solid ground is more than a hundre
d feet below me. All the while I tell myself, Don’t look down, don’t look down. The craggy rock face is dry, which helps my climbing shoes grip like suction cups. I inch down the cliff, feeling the whole time like I’m going to fall.

  The wind, which seemed calm earlier, growls around my ears, and my hat flies off. Fortunately, its chin strap keeps it from sailing, and the strap goes tight against my neck. The wind’s fingers grab at me and threaten to pull me off the rock. My shirttail billows out like a parachute, urging me to take flight.

  Now my body shakes. I sway with the wind’s gusts and feel my climbing shoes slipping. I squeeze the rope so hard I feel its fibers through my gloves. Still, I keep moving, snail-like. I look up at the cliff’s apex and see I’ve descended all of ten feet. Another wave of dizziness sweeps over me. I’m not looking up again either.

  My quivering shadow on the cliff wall disappears, to be replaced by a larger one, as if a dark cloud has passed over the sun.

  Crisa yells, “Hang on,” and then comes the flapping noise of wings, big wings.

  Something swoops past, buffeting me with the air it displaces. Is it a bird? Whatever it is, it snags the back of my shirt, and the material rips. On the creature’s second pass, I feel a sharp stab of pain as something tears into my now-exposed skin.

  Chapter 25 – Darkness Follows

  My determination to not fall overcomes my fear and pain. Without looking around to see what attacked me, I strengthen my grip on the rope with my left hand and draw Noblesse with my right. When I hear the rush of wings and feel a whoosh of air again, I slash out behind my back, even though I can’t see what’s there.

  The rope swings with the movement, and my heart leaps.

  I feel my sword slash against something solid, maybe a bone, and hear a loud squawk. Suddenly, the shadow is gone, and the sun beats on my back through the tear in my shirt. I wait several moments to see if I’ll be assaulted again, while the muscles in my left arm burn and shake. When I’m sure my enemy has left, I shakily sheath Noblesse and continue to rappel with both hands.

  I don’t look up or down, for fear of vertigo, but I do look from side to side as I descend more rapidly now. I don’t hear any more wings nor see any more shadows on the cliff face.

  I’m relieved that I’m still alive when I finally touch ground, my body weak from adrenaline. I unhook myself, and Crisa leaves the rope anchored to the cliff.

  “What was that thing up there that attacked me?” I ask. I root around in my backpack with shaky hands and exchange my climbing shoes for my hiking boots.

  “A gryphon, like the one that attacked the merman.” She sits on a log to change to her hiking boots.

  “Oh, boy.” I grab a quick intake of air, and my heart speeds up again. I rest on a rock, trying to calm my breathing, as I change to my boots and lace them up.

  With his now wolfish nose, Rampart nudges the clothing and climbing equipment he’s left on the ground, indicating it’s ready to pack. My hands continue to shake as I pick up his jeans, shirt, socks, shoes and climbing harness to store them in his pack.

  Crisa stands. “I aimed my wand at the gryphon, but it was too far away and too agile. I was afraid I’d zap you instead. It must have tracked us for quite a ways because I felt something watching us ever since we crossed that basin. I’m guessing Rampart didn’t warn us because it was too high for him to catch a whiff.”

  She helps me put Rampart’s backpack on him as he yips a “yes” in response.

  “Did I injure it?” I ask. Rampart sniffs the back of my shirt and growls. He must smell essence of gryphon.

  Crisa stoops to stow her climbing shoes and the other climbing equipment in her pack and says, “You did some damage because it was barely able to flap its way to the top of the cliff. It sat on the cliff’s edge, pulling at a wing with its beak and crawled out of sight after that.”

  She hoists her pack onto her shoulders. “It dove at you. Did it injure you?”

  I crouch to pack my bag. “It clawed me, but I can already feel it healing.” I decide not to change my torn shirt, since I have only one other clean shirt with me.

  After I pack my climbing gear, I slip my pack over my shoulders again.

  The meadow we dropped into is flat, slightly boggy and thick with tall grass and wildflowers that have butterflies darting among them. As we start across, an occasional rustle suggests the movement of small animals.

  Crisa moves through the grass, looking from side to side, and Rampart growls. What’s got them so nervous? Maybe those aren’t cute little forest animals I hear. The wet grass sucks at my boots with each step.

  The grassy rustlings surround us now, but their cause is invisible. Noblesse vibrates, and Rampart bares his teeth. I involuntarily shudder as apprehension sweeps through me. I draw Noblesse using, “Ready to fight.”

  The points of fuzzy ears pop up above the grass, and I realize we’re engulfed by dozens of little beasts. Something scurries up my jeans leg to my backpack, and I hear its zipper open. These creatures are fast.

  “Crisa!” I yell. “Something’s trying to get into my backpack.”

  She frowns and draws her machete. “Turn around, and I’ll get rid of it.”

  I wonder why she doesn’t use her wand, and then I remember how she said she’d avoid the use of magic whenever we were in “dark” country.

  From behind me come a squeal and then a thud. I turn and near my feet lies what looks like a miniature brown-skinned ogre with big eyes that are now closed, hooked teeth, long pointed ears and huge claws on its feet. It has spikes on its shoulders and long slender fingers, like a concert pianist’s, that end with pointed fingernails.

  Crisa says, “Nasty gremlin.”

  Except for its fingers, it’s butt ugly. I remember the movie Gremlins. Those creatures were cute and endearing, nothing like the real thing. In the human world, gremlins are jokingly held responsible when anything mechanical breaks. Here in Fairyland, Crisa tells me, they’re thieves.

  Because they’re incredibly fast, I hop forward shifting from one foot to the other to prevent more gremlins from crawling up my pant legs. One obstinate creature succeeds in climbing partway up my leg and latching its long claws into me, bobbing up and down with me. Then it bites me with its hooked teeth through my jeans.

  I cry out in pain and slash at the back of that determined gremlin with Noblesse. It drops dead in the grass. My leg starts to throb, but I keep doing the jogging hop.

  I watch several gremlins climb onto Rampart’s back and try to open his pack. He turns his neck to nip at them, and they yelp when his teeth connect. But that doesn’t stop them. He catches one in his massive jaws and, with a fling of his head, heaves it clear across the meadow.

  Then he leaps high into the air and twists his body before he lands. All the gremlins fly off, except one who manages to maintain its grip. Rampart arches his back and kicks out like a mule with his back legs, which dislodges the final beast and sends it sailing.

  As I hop, Crisa, machete in hand, tries to reach around and slash at the gremlins that swarm over her pack, but the angles prevent her from connecting. She pulls the pack off and shakes it, which causes most of the gremlins to fall to the ground. Then she sets it down and hacks away at the gremlins that still cling to the pack.

  Rampart bounds over to her and barks. She steps back as he growls and clamps his teeth down on one gremlin that has burrowed into her pack and is stealing her climbing supplies and food.

  He pulls the creature out of the pack. The gremlin’s hands remain wrapped around our stuff. Rampart shakes the gremlin, and the crunch of bone breaking follows. The wolf lets go, and that gremlin falls to the ground and doesn’t move. He snaps at other gremlins who try to crawl in and out of Crisa’s open pack, but a few speedy ones manage to scuttle across the meadow with our supplies. Rampart pursues them.

  His huge jaws plunge repeatedly into the thick grass, and he comes up with a gremlin in his mouth each time. He chomps down and shakes the limp c
reatures, who drop their loads of our supplies. He keeps searching for other gremlins in the tall growth, snarling, his jaws snapping.

  One gremlin pulls off Crisa’s straw hat, tosses it on the ground and perches on her head. She grabs at it, but it bites her fingers.

  She yells, “Ahhh!” and pulls back her hand.

  The gremlin digs its long, sharp-nailed fingers into her hair and scalp and pulls. She winces in pain.

  I rush over, still hopping, and pry its skinny fingers open, while the gremlin snaps at me with long jagged teeth. I ignore the pain of its bites.

  When my bloody fingers have loosened it, I hold the nasty thing out in front of me with my left hand and swipe across its body with Noblesse, cutting it in two. The severed bottom half falls to the ground, and I toss the dead top half with its look of surprise into a group of gremlins whose ear tips are just visible above the grass. They seem to be standing by, waiting their turn to attack.

  We’ve managed to tamp down much of the grass around us with our aggressive moves, so at least we can see the gremlins coming. As another batch of gremlin bodies surges toward me, I point Noblesse out in front and draw Nobliege, who’s easy to brandish once she’s out because he’s always eager to join her in battle.

  “I didn’t want to do this, but I’ve had quite enough.” Crisa declares. “Out of my way.” I move back, and she immediately shapeshifts into a huge grizzly bear. She swings her long sharp claws in large arcs across the grass at the next wave of gremlins, slicing off body parts and sending them flying. The grass turns brown in patches, which must be the color of gremlin blood.

  I move toward the untouched meadow grass and slash with both swords at the fuzzy ears sticking up. Part of me wishes we didn’t have to do this, as every creature deserves to live, ugly or not. But these dark ones are taking our food and the equipment we need to complete this journey, and they won’t be deterred.