Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

  A short distance in front of me, Rampart continues to snatch up gremlins with his massive jaws and then close them like a vise. With startling snaps, their bones break.

  I keep slashing, as does Crisa the bear, until the gremlins are all either dead or running for their lives. I look across the flattened grass and am sickened by the carnage. Broken gremlin carcasses and pieces litter the brown-stained meadow. Horror sweeps through me that we’ve had to so thoroughly decimate these tiny creatures.

  I wonder what the world would be like without evil in it. Would it be an idyllic place of peace and harmony? Would everyone get along and be free from fear?

  Crisa returns to her normal self. “I hated using magic out here in the open, but we had no choice. We couldn’t outrun those little menaces, and they’d have stolen everything.” She picks her straw hat up off the ground and whacks it against her leg to get off the dirt.

  “Menaces or not, I wish they’d just left us alone.” I groan. “I don’t like killing.” I look down at the gremlin bites on my fingers to see that they’ve already healed.

  “As a grizzly bear accustomed to killing smaller and weaker animals, I didn’t have feelings of remorse.” She puts her hat on her head. “But, in human form, I’m with you. I hate killing the Creator’s work, dark or not.”

  I stow Nobliege but keep Noblesse ready, just in case. Food, climbing rope and strange pieces of hardware I don’t recognize are strewn across the crushed grass.

  “Is everything here?” I ask Crisa.

  “Let’s gather what we can find and do a count.”

  Like treasure hunters, Crisa, using her machete, and I, using Noblesse, push the grass aside to search for more stolen equipment and food among bloody and broken gremlin bodies. I resist the urge to upchuck.

  Rampart gently picks up the food bags he finds in the grass with his mouth and places them in the pile with the rest of the equipment. Some of the bags have been broken into or are covered with gremlin blood. As I place the different pieces of equipment I find, some of which I don’t recognize, on the ground, she tells me what they are.

  “That’s a crampon, and that’s a belay device that acts like a brake on the rope line. Those are anchor bolts, and those are quick draws with carabiners on the ends that we’ll use later.”

  After she counts what’s on the ground and in her pack, she announces, “A couple of quick draws, a crampon, several anchors, and some food are missing, but that seems to be all we’ve lost. I think we still have enough gear to descend to the fairies.”

  Interesting. We have to descend to reach the fairies. So maybe they don’t live on a mountaintop after all.

  “This food, on the other hand,” she looks down at the pile of plastic bags on the ground that Rampart has accumulated, “is unsalvageable.” She wrinkles her nose. “I won’t eat anything with gremlin blood or dirt on it.”

  I nod. “I’m with you.”

  “But we have some food that’s untouched, so I think we’ll be okay. I can restock at Craghollow for our return trip.”

  “Craghollow?” I ask.

  “The fairy town where the palace is located. It’s been in existence as long as I’ve been alive.”

  I stow Noblesse, kneel down and help her repack our supplies. We put all the soiled bags into one big bag we’ll dispose of later.

  “What can you tell me about the king?” I’m eager to learn more about this exceptional man I’m gonna meet shortly. Everyone in Fairyland seems to be in awe of him and his son, Enlil.

  She rewinds the rope into a cluster in her hands. “Well, as you’d expect, he was born into royalty, like many generations of his family. His father was king for over five-hundred years, and his mother, the queen, was his father’s second cousin. From birth, Aubrey was trained for leadership, in everything from fighting skills and battle strategies to acting as the realm’s judge and jury for criminal offenses.

  “His influence extends far beyond the fairy race. All the light creatures in Fairyland consider him their sovereign. He has a great heart for his people, and you won’t find a more compassionate king. He’s also in daily contact with the Creator. To me, that’s what makes him a great leader. He doesn’t have an ego a mile wide, and he bows to the authority of the one who made him.

  “You’ve met his eldest son, Enlil. His younger brother died in infancy. The king also has a daughter named Starla."

  “I heard about her from Simean.”

  “Enlil will be heir to the throne when King Aubrey passes on. The king still has a lot of good years left, however, because he’s only been in power for a couple of hundred years.”

  “How long do fairies live?” I ask, wondering if they might be immortal.

  She finishes loading her pack, stuffs the gathered rope back on top and zips it up. “They’re not immortal” (she’s reading my mind again) “and can be killed, although most live several hundred years. Royals live longer because of their sheltered existence. They rarely leave the palace, and guards protect them 24/7, similar to the secret service in your world. Someone would have to be very determined or very foolish to try to assassinate any of them.

  “And that same royal fairy’s touch you received is the secret to their longevity. To be touched by a royal fairy is a rare blessing not only for humans, but also for numinals. Such a touch affects humans differently, not only extending and protecting their lives, but also activating their latent numinal powers, in your case weather control.”

  I want to ask how a royal touch affects numinals but don’t want to interrupt.

  “As you learned in my training, an everyday fairies’ touch is not as potent, will have only a temporary effect and won’t activate any latent powers or extend life. And the resultant insight into our world from an ordinary fairy’s touch fades over time, unlike the permanent vision you obtained from touching Enlil.”

  I remember the day I accidentally stepped on Prince Enlil’s wing while he was warming himself by our campfire. What an incredible experience that was, his touch affecting me even through my shoe, although at first I thought I was going crazy. I had no idea fairies existed anywhere except in fairytales.

  Something Crisa just said sinks into my awareness. “Do you mean I’ll live longer than most humans?” I wrack my brain, but don’t remember anyone telling me that Enlil’s touch would extend my life. I know I’m hard to kill (silver through the heart), but will I also not grow old?

  Crisa tilts her head. “No one told you?”

  “Nope. I knew about the ‘hard-to-kill’ part and the ‘latent-power’ part, but not about the ‘life-extending’ part. How long will I live?”

  “Oh, at least several hundred years. And you’ll age very slowly.”

  “Whoa, that’s heavy.” A warm glow invades my chest as I realize I could have a future with Crisa. I clear my throat and my thoughts. I don’t want her reading my romantic ideas, since they probably aren’t reciprocated.

  I shift my thinking by saying, “I’m gonna search the grass once more for supplies and food.” Crisa nods. I draw Noblesse again and push aside gremlin body parts with her blade. Revulsion billows through me like a fire.

  One gremlin is alive, but barely. He hisses at me and rakes his long, jagged fingernails across Noblesse’s shaft, creating a high-pitched squeal. When he crawls toward me, I slice off his head with one clean blow.

  After pausing a moment to gather my emotions into a manageable wad, I return to Crisa and tell her I didn’t find anything else “except this.” I hand a crampon to her. “I have one more question about King Aubrey? How do I address him, and do I bow when I meet him or shake hands?”

  She finishes filling her backpack and zips it closed. “You address him as ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Your Highness,’ and you bow your head, put one knee to the floor and raise Noblesse straight up in front of you in homage. Your other arm will be at your side, fingers pointed to the floor. Don’t try to shake hands with him. That would demean his position. You’ll then rise to your
feet only when he invites you to do so. It’s okay to look him in the eye after you stand.”

  “Oh, and one more thing.” She holds up a finger. “Never turn your back on the king. You must back out of the throne room facing him. Turning away from a sitting monarch is a sign of great disrespect.”

  “Thanks. I’d hate to offend him before we even start.” I close my pack.

  Rampart meanwhile has patrolled the edges of the meadow, looking for more gremlins and keeping watch for us. He isn’t growling, so I assume he hasn’t found any more dark creatures.

  “We should always expect the unexpected out here in ‘dark’ country.” She shoulders her pack. “Once we cross this flatland and enter the woods, we’ll encounter more nasty surprises.”

  I don’t ask what those nasty surprises might be. Instead, I grip Noblesse’s handle tighter in anticipation. “I’m ready, for whatever.”

  Chapter 26 – Dark Mysteries Await Us

  I sheath Noblesse and throw my backpack over one shoulder. Crisa slides the straps of her pack onto her shoulders. “We’ll be crossing troll land soon, also known as the Caliginous Woods.”

  “Caliginous?” I ask. “That’s a word I haven’t heard before.” I run my arm through the second strap of my backpack and hoist the whole thing high onto my back.

  “It means ‘dark.’ The region is named for more than the thick trees that cover it.” We cross the rest of the meadow side by side, with Rampart padding along in front of us.

  “Do other dark things besides trolls live there?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  Crisa nods. “Imagine your worst nightmares come to life, and you’ll have an idea of what’s in those woods. If we can get through them by nightfall, we shouldn’t encounter dark ones, since most sleep during the day. That’s why I’ve set such a grueling pace, even though I know you’re not up to full strength.”

  She indicates the forest ahead of us with a tilt of her head. “We must get through there and into fairy lands as fast as we can. The longer we linger, the more we risk unwanted company.”

  She scans the area before saying, “Let’s get out of the open. My shapeshifting has likely attracted attention.”

  As we leave the meadow, I peruse the landscape ahead and see trees lining the entire horizon. The midday sun is sweltering. Sweat trickles down inside my shirt, and the sweatband of my hat is soaked. Even though evil hides in that coppice of trees, I will welcome the forest’s relief from this heat.

  We head north after we cross the meadow. We descend briefly once more and encounter rough terrain covered by scrub and jagged stones that poke their heads up through the ground like a field of rock chucks. We dodge the spotty rocks and then climb again through more loose rock.

  The forest looms large in front of us. The trees are sparse at first, a fir here, a spruce there. Without a good rain in a long while, the ground is bone-dry from summer sun, so my shoes send up dust with each footfall.

  The scratch on my back from the gryphon doesn’t bother me, but the gremlin bite on my leg is painful, even though it’s probably scabbed over already. As we’ve hiked, the pain from it has steadily increased to where my leg throbs and feels on fire. I start to limp.

  When we’ve left the meadow a distance behind us and before the trees thicken further, Crisa says, “Here’s a good place to eat lunch. I didn’t think we’d want to eat anywhere near that meadow.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  With the scrub behind us, she’s chosen a spot in the shade of a small aspen grove with rocks sprinkled around. I sit on a stone beneath the trees and drop my pack, to the relief of my sweaty back. “This is great, Crisa. It’s at least ten degrees cooler here.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  I wash my bloody gremlin-bitten fingers, which are healed over, with a little water from my canteen and wipe them on my pants. I open Rampart’s pack and remove his food packet and two bowls.

  “Hey, buddy...” I pat his head. “I’ll bet you’d like to get that pack off your back for a few minutes.”

  He barks a “thank you,” as I remove it.

  I empty a clump of raw beef into his feeding dish and pour water from his canteen into the other bowl. He bolts down the meat in mere seconds and guzzles the water. Then he saunters off into the woods a ways.

  I find an apple, a ham sandwich, some carrot sticks and a cookie in my lunch bag, a bag untouched by gremlins. Crisa and I set our lunches on a flat rock between us and sit near each other on a couple of other rocks. I remove my hat and let it hang around my neck by its chin strap, so my wet hair can dry in the slight breeze that wafts through the aspens. Before we eat, we bow our heads and thank the Creator for our meal.

  “I notice you’re limping,” Crisa says. “Did you turn an ankle?”

  “One of the gremlins bit me.” I crunch into a juicy carrot stick. “But you know me. I’ll be good as new in a few hours.” I’m grateful I didn’t break a bone because, while the royal fairy’s touch enables my body to heal itself lightning fast, a broken bone must be quickly set straight, before the crooked break can mend itself.

  Even though Crisa knows about my healing ability, a worry line appears between her brows. “You shouldn’t still be affected by that wound. Let’s have a look after we eat. I’ll also examine that gryphon scratch.”

  Aspen leaves rattle in the breeze that cools my face. I listen to mountain birds and the gurgle of water over stones, which sounds close. I catch a whiff of honeysuckle that reminds me of my sister Cassie, when we took a woodland hike two years before she died. She pointed out a clump of honeysuckle then, and we smelled it. She told me that honeysuckle attracts hummingbirds, which makes me wonder if Fairyland’s messengers live nearby.

  My sister was my closest friend growing up. She finished raising me after our parents died in the fire Galdo created. I imagine her asking, “Calen, whatever are you up to now?” in her motherly voice. In one respect, I’m glad that she and my parents are no longer residents of Planet Earth. If they were, they’d be frantically searching high and wide for me and would be horrified by the amount of danger I face daily.

  As I eat, I thank the Creator for my fairy-enhanced taste buds. I enjoy food more than I used to and savor each bite. Someone watching me would probably wonder why I eat so slowly, but eating assaults so many senses that if I try to gulp down my food, I’m soon overwhelmed and suffer a headache.

  Everything about ingestion is heightened—the textures and tastes on my tongue, the smell of the food, its visual appeal, and even the sounds I make when I masticate. Crisa has learned to be patient with me at meals, since she finishes in half the time.

  When she’s done with her lunch, she bends over her pack and pulls out a box with a red cross on it, much like a human first aid kit. Sometimes I think she’s as much human as immortal sorceress.

  “Let’s have a look.” She kneels next to me, and I smell her wildflower perfume. Her soft hair brushes against my arm as she digs around in the first aid kit. My heart rate increases.

  “Can you take off your shirt?”

  My sandwich in my teeth, I unbutton my shirt, pull it off and let it drop onto my forearms.

  She moves around behind me and declares, “The gryphon’s claw marks have healed nicely without any sign of infection. I’ll put a little antibiotic cream on them for good measure.”

  She rubs some chilly cream on the cuts, and I squirm. I pull my shirt back over my shoulders but wait to button it until I finish my sandwich.

  She rolls up my pant leg and inspects my gremlin injury. Her fingers are cooling to my skin, but even her gentle pressure on the wound is painful.

  “Oh, dear.” She clicks her tongue. “This is not good. The wound is hot.”

  I look down and see that my calf is swollen to twice its normal size, and red streaks have started up my leg. Suddenly my appetite is gone. “What in the world?”

  Crisa sits back. “Here’s where your quick healing is a disadvantage. The ski
n healed over the injury before we got a chance to clean it out. Gremlin teeth are a breeding ground for germs. The bites on your hands healed fine because they weren’t deep .This bite already exhibits lymphangitis.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A spreading infection signaled by those radiating red streaks moving up your leg. While I know you can’t die from this, it could make you quite sick if left unchecked. We have to open the wound.”

  “Oh, brother.” I tense my muscles. “And let me guess—it’s really gonna hurt.”

  “I’m afraid so. And I’d rather not use unnecessary magic this close to troll country. So I’ll lance it by hand and let it drain. Then I’ll squeeze the remaining pus out before it can heal over again.”

  Digging into the medical kit, Crisa sanitizes her fingers with some sort of disinfecting gel and cleans a scalpel with that same gel. She removes a piece of gauze from the red-crossed box, saturates it with gel and uses it to wipe the wound. When the scalpel pricks the infected wound and slices across it, I grit my teeth, not wanting to appear as anything less than the brave champion I’m supposed to be, especially in front of her.

  She works quickly, using more and more gauze to soak up the pus as the wound drains. I guzzle water from my canteen to get my focus off the leg.

  She mutters, “Great evil hordes! The scalpel cut healed over too quickly.”

  Her comment makes me smile, but only briefly when I realize she has to make another incision. She does so three more times to get the wound to drain fully, pressing firmly on the painful bite with gauze to make sure she’s eliminated all the pus.

  When she’s finally done, I’m ready to punch something. But I can see that the swelling and redness are nearly gone. She patches the wound with more gauze and then tape to protect it from further infection. She looks up from her work. “We’ll keep an eye on this. If it starts throbbing again, let me know, and we’ll repeat the process.”

  “Great, looking forward to it,” I say with a sneer, as I pull down my pant leg. “Thank you though.” There are times when being nearly unbreakable is a burden, not a gift.