Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

I lose awareness of my surroundings and collapse to the ground where Crisa bends over me. “Calen, it’s all right. I’m here now.”

  She kisses me on the lips and then nestles next to me, her hair in my face. I put my arm around her. “I could stay like this forever,” I tell her.

  “That’s all I want, too,” she whispers.

  I look up and see a blue sky and puffy clouds. I point. “Look. That cloud is shaped like a rabbit.”

  “Yes, I see it, and look over there, that’s a dog.” She points off to our left.

  I turn my head and follow her finger to the cloud that resembles a fluffy little puppy. And like a lovesick puppy, I couldn’t be happier.

  We lie like this for a long time, breathing in unison, enjoying each other’s company.

  All of a sudden, she shakes me violently and yells in my head, “Wake up, Calen!”

  I feel a stinging slap across my face. “Why did you do that? I thought you loved me.”

  “Shh. Talk to me in your head. And I do care about you, a lot. Now get up!”

  “I don’t want to.” I set my mouth petulantly. “I want to stay right here with you.”

  “I’m leaving, so if you want to be with me, you’d better come on.”

  I open my eyes. I’m lying on the forest floor, and Crisa is bending over me, her lighted wand in hand. She looks worried, and Rampart yips in Wolfian, “Attacked.” He licks my face until I can stand it no longer. I gently push him away.

  Now I feel embarrassed by my once-again lovesick behavior. How can Crisa even stand me?

  Fully awake, I relay telepathically, “Okay, okay, I’m getting up.” I wipe my hand across my now-wet face. “What happened? And why did you slap me?”

  “You were dreaming. A dark entity, known as the Sandman, got ahold of us. He can cause anyone to sleep, even me. Then he fills your head with pleasant dreams, one after another, until eventually you don’t wake up.”

  “Rampart and I both slept for a while, but I recognized the Sandman’s handiwork when my dream became impossible, even for a dream. Although the illusion was pleasant, I forced myself awake. The first thing I did was cast a spell that sent the Sandman out of these woods. Then I roused Rampart.”

  Her eyes dart from side to side. “But I’m afraid, while we were incapacitated, night fell.”

  I sit up and study my surroundings. No wayward shafts of sunlight stab this dark woodland anymore. In fact, it’s so black beyond the lit circle of Crisa’s wand that I can’t see anything, not a tree, not a rock, nothing. The forest that was so silent before is now a mass of rustling bushes. Clicking and scurrying sounds emanate from all around us.

  Panic builds as I realize this is the prime time for dark creatures like trolls to prowl these woods.

  Adrenaline surges through my body, and I pop up from the ground. “I’m ready to go.”

  Despite my brief rest, my knees are shaky. I have a feeling the Sandman has sapped some of my strength. Still, I’m anxious to get out of this place before something else awful happens.

  “We have but a little ways to travel to the end of these woods,” Crisa tells me without speaking out loud. “I’m going to leave us visible and turn off my wand light because most of my magical strength has been sapped fighting the siren and the Sandman, and I need time to recover.”

  Before she douses her wand, I notice she’s tied a rope around herself and Rampart. Now she winds the rope around my waist too and ties it in a knot. “This rope will keep us from becoming separated in this blackness. Rampart, with his superior night vision, will lead the way.”

  The edge of the forest, where moonlight now streams down, is a hundred yards ahead. I feel the rope pull me forward, as Rampart sets a fast pace. We’ll be out of this nightmarish place in no time.

  Even though the ground is level, I lift my feet high as I fast-walk, not wanting to fall and drag the others down with me.

  That’s when Rampart growls, and Noblesse starts to vibrate. The smell of rotten fish and unwashed bodies pierces the air around us.

  Chapter 28 – Trolling for Trolls

  I scan the dark forest and, at first, don’t see anything. Then, one by one, like stars in the night sky, glittery green dots appear. Because I’ve encountered trolls before, I recognize these dots as their Cyclopean eyes.

  I do a three-sixty and see hundreds of eyes. We could make a break for the edge of the woods, except we’re surrounded. I don’t know why they don’t charge us, but maybe they have better night vision than we do and can see Crisa. If they recognize her, they know the extent of her power and what she’s able to do to them.

  Crisa grabs my arm and says with what I interpret as a tone of desperation, “Calen, there are too many of them. Holding them off would take all the magical strength I have left, and I couldn’t keep them back for long. I don’t even have enough power remaining to teleport us out of here.”

  I lay my hand gently over hers. “Let me handle this.”

  I know of a way to stop this trollish horde, but I hesitate because it will kill them all. So I gamble that at least one of them understands English and that they have a strong sense of self-preservation.

  No need to be quiet any longer, I shout, “Attention, trolls! You must know that I am Calen, the human champion. I have magical weather powers that can kill, but I don’t wish to harm any of you. Leave us alone. Otherwise, none of you will make it back to your families.”

  When I finish my speech, they chatter among themselves. Then the noise intensifies as they shout back at me. I’ve only made them mad, not scared.

  In unison, their glittery eyeballs surge forward. I only have a few seconds to draw upon what little strength the Sandman left me. I quickly ask the Creator to give me additional strength.

  I pull out both swords. I draw Noblesse first with her “Ready-to-fight” incentive, and then Nobliege, who’s never willing to be left behind. I’m not going down without a fight.

  “Get behind me,” I order Crisa and Rampart. I feel the pull of the rope change direction across my middle, and then I swipe my swords in both directions to keep the trolls at bay.

  “Creator,” I pray, “I need the sun to shine into this dark forest right now. By your power, please help me.”

  I close my eyes, still swiping the swords in front of me, and imagine drawing upon the sun’s light. In the caves I was able to summon sunlight, even without the sun’s presence. Sunshine is present right now, on the other side of the world. Yet I’ve never attempted to draw upon its light from this far away or in this state of weakness.

  In a matter of seconds, I feel warmth on my face and see light through my closed eyelids. I open my eyes to a scene that’s as bright as day. After the pitch blackness, the bright light blinds me temporarily.

  The trolls have stopped mid-stride, weapons raised. Some are only an arm’s length from us. They’re motionless, like a solitary movie frame.

  The closest trolls’ eyes bug out in terror as they solidify from their feet up, turning to brown stone before us. Their skin fissures like aged rock, and even their hair stiffens. I watch the closest troll blink, a tear starting down his stony check, before his eye glazes over.

  I look out over the sea of trolls, hundreds of them. Trapped in time, they’ve transformed into silent statues, never to breathe again. Their demise saddens me, although I’m sure they fully intended to end our lives.

  “Amazing.” Crisa shakes her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  I’m surprised by her comment, knowing that, as a sorceress with great power who’s lived for centuries, she’s seen almost everything.

  I sigh. “Amazing’s not the word I’d use.” I stow Noblesse and Nobliege. “More like ‘necessary.’ I hate the waste of any lives, even dark ones.”

  “I know how you feel, Calen. Your compassion is one of the things I admire most about you. But you didn’t have a choice.”

  “You’re right. It was them or us.”

  Crisa smirks. “Wh
at do you say we get out of this lovely vacation spot before their wives and children come running?”

  The magical daylight fades, and inky blackness quickly returns. As we no longer need worry about stealth, Crisa illuminates her wand again, but its light is weak. Her magic has waned.

  We’re still tied together, so Rampart resumes his guide duty as we leave that awful place. He has to pick his way around troll statues, but we reach the edge of the woods without any more trouble. I don’t look back, knowing that, if I could see anything at all, I’d be staring into death’s face.

  All three of us sigh with relief as we cross into the moonlit boundary that separates the lifeless, decaying forest we just left behind from the healthy, vibrant landscape ahead of us. While we could still be assaulted in this fringe of fresh flora, the chances are slight that the ones would willingly venture from their murky surroundings.

  I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m assuming, since the nearly full moon brushes the western horizon, it’ll be dawn in several hours. At least then we’ll be able to see what’s coming at us before it arrives.

  Since we’re out in the open, I ask telepathically, “Will we have to cross the Caliginous Woods on our return trip?”

  “No, we can go around those woods because we won’t be on such a tight time schedule. This was our shortcut. Some shortcut, huh?”

  “Yeah, not my idea of a good time.”

  Now that we have moonlight, Crisa douses her wand’s light and, using magic, unties us and coils up the rope. She hands it to me and turns around, so I can stow it in her pack. She tells me she’s also removing the telepathic spell, which is a relief because my head is pounding.

  I look up at the shiny moon and stars that sparkle like heaven’s dewdrops. I didn’t realize how much I missed seeing the sky while we were in the Caliginous Woods.

  As we hike on, my stomach growls, and I shiver. I’ve been so distracted by the continual threats we faced in those dark woods that I didn’t notice the cold or my hunger.

  “Crisa, can we rest a while?” I ask. “I’d like to get my coat from my pack—and eat.”

  “Sure, but let’s head for a thicker stand of trees. Then we can stop and build a fire.” She motions to the wolf. “Find us a place to eat dinner.”

  Rampart gives a little yip and charges ahead.

  We follow Rampart a short distance over a small hill until we’re well into the trees. While our surroundings darken somewhat, I trust Rampart’s leading. When he stops, I almost stumble over a couple of fallen logs that can serve as seats for Crisa and me around a small clearing where we’ll make a fire. The smell of pine soothes me.

  “Calen, why don’t you find us some firewood and tinder, while I design a fire pit?” Crisa asks.

  “I’ll try, but I don’t know how successful I’ll be in the dark.”

  “Rampart...” Crisa calls.

  The wolf barks an acknowledgement.

  “I need to get into your pack.”

  After a zipping sound, Crisa fetches the bedazzled blue box from his pack. In the dark it glows blue, and the gems on its surface glimmer. With a few magic words, she pops open the lid and removes what looks like a small, shiny rock, which she hands to me.

  “Rub this with your fingers,” she says, “and you’ll have light.”

  I stroke the rock, and a yellow beam, as bright as a flashlight, shines onto the ground.

  I wonder why she didn’t use this in the dark forest.

  Crisa answers, as if I’d spoken my question out loud. “These magic sunstones would have been like magnets to any dark beings in the Caliginous Forest. Even though they’re called sunstones, they emit magical artificial light, so they wouldn’t have stopped the trolls either.”

  Using the sunstone, I retrieve my coat from my pack, put it on and relish its warmth.

  From the box, Crisa pulls out a second rock and rubs it. It too emits instant light. She sets the box down on a flat stone.

  I take a couple of swigs from my water canteen, pull out my knife from a pocket in my pack and start my search for wood and tinder. From time to time, I look over to see Crisa gathering rocks to make a fire pit.

  Even Rampart gets into the act. He follows me, fills his jaws with small sticks and an occasional larger log, and drops them on the ground beside the fire pit while I bring back armloads of firewood.

  I cut dry moss, an excellent fire starter, from a tree branch and break off pieces of dry, rotten bark from a fallen tree.

  When all our fire materials are corralled, Crisa builds a pyramid-shaped stack of wood and puts bark and moss in the bottom center of the stack. She touches her wand to a mossy wisp, and the fire catches, billowing out tendrils of smoke and then small flames. Within a minute, the logs are burning, and I can feel their heat.

  Crisa takes back my sunstone and packs both stones into the jeweled box, which she stows back into Rampart’s pack, because we now have firelight to see by. I hold out my hands to the fire to warm them.

  She removes a cooking pot from her backpack and then a plastic baggie from the pot. “Thank goodness tonight’s dinner wasn’t ruined by the gremlins.”

  She dumps the contents of the bag into the pot and then places it next to the fire pit, on some flat rocks she’s arranged as a cooking surface.

  “Let’s take a moment to thank the Creator for bringing us safely out of those woods,” she says, “and for providing us with fire and food tonight.”

  Along with the others, I bow my head and say a silent prayer. When I lift up my head, I smell the wonderful aroma of onions and beef.

  “There’s nothing like campfire stew on a cold night,” Crisa says. “I also brought a loaf of bread I baked this morning.” She reaches into her pack.

  “Wow, what time did you get up?”

  “Thanks to being mostly immortal, I don’t need much sleep. If I sleep more than four hours, I feel groggy the rest of the day.”

  My shoulders cramp from the subconscious tension I’ve been carrying around, so I consciously relax them. It’s been hours since any of us has been able to unwind, and I settle into the fire’s warmth. With a full stomach, I won’t have any trouble sleeping.

  Crisa retrieves the bread and three bowls from her pack and ladles stew into one of them. She breaks off a hunk of bread and places it in the bowl. She hands the completed meal to me with a spoon. Then she fills another bowl and sets it on the ground for Rampart. Finally, she fixes herself some stew and bread. She takes another spoon, and we start to eat.

  Too late I realize the stew is burning hot. I suck air through my mouth to cool my seared tongue and bite off a piece of soft bread to reduce the heat. “Mmmm, this is really good, Crisa. You’ll make some man a wonderful wife.” The minute I make this stupid remark, I follow it with a nervous laugh. “Umm, I mean thank you.”

  She doesn’t seem fazed by my thoughtless comment. She lifts a steaming spoonful to her mouth but, unlike me, blows on the stew to cool it before tasting it. When she’s chewed and swallowed she says, “You’re welcome. As you know, I love to cook, and I was a wonderful wife.”

  She was a wife once? “You were married?”

  She nods. “But that’s a story for another time.” She changes the subject. “We should keep watch tonight. We don’t want any more nasty surprises.”

  I nod. “I can take the first watch.”

  “Why don’t you let me take the first watch? You two will probably be sleepy after dinner.”

  I guess being nearly immortal and not subject to human frailty has its advantages.

  An owl hoots in the distance. Crisa responds with owl sounds of her own, and then the owl answers back.

  “What’s he saying?” I ask.

  “He wants us to know the forest is quiet. As far as he can see, it looks clear.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  Just as we’re finishing our meal, bushes rustle nearby, and Rampart growls. A hooded figure slips out of the forest and into our circle of
firelight.

  Chapter 29 – A Mysterious Visitor

  I jump up and draw Noblesse, but she’s not vibrating. While this person may not be a dark creature, I don’t trust him. What’s he doing out here in the middle of the night, and why didn’t the owl see him?

  Crisa reaches for her backpack, and I wonder if she’s going for her wand.

  The stranger waves his hand in Rampart’s direction. My wolf stops growling, gets to his feet and saunters over to the newcomer, his tail wagging. When he reaches the stranger, he licks his hand.

  I’m shocked how Rampart has changed his mind so quickly about our mysterious visitor, but I trust his wolfish instincts and stow Noblesse. However, I maintain a grip on her handle.

  Rampart walks back over to Crisa and sits down. She puts her hand back in her lap.

  “I’m sorry to invade your camp,” the stranger says, his voice surprisingly deep. “But I saw your fire and smelled something heavenly. I haven’t eaten in a while.”

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Crisa says. ”We have plenty.” I guess she’s not sensing anything evil or wrong with this stranger, at least she’s not revealing her concerns.

  She pulls out a coffee mug and an extra spoon from her pack and ladles stew into the mug. She breaks off a piece of bread from the loaf in her lap, puts it and the spoon into the mug, and hands the whole thing to our visitor.

  “I’m most obliged to you,” the stranger says, sharing the other end of the log I’m sitting on. “I’ve been traveling for weeks and haven’t had a hot meal in all that time.”

  Who are you? I wonder to myself.

  As if he can hear my thoughts, the stranger says, “My name’s Leo.” He takes a bite of the stew.

  “I’m Calen, and this is Cr...”

  “Crecia,” Crisa interrupts. I’m not surprised she doesn’t provide her real name. But her reputation has fostered mixed reactions in the past—fear, reverence and sometimes even hatred.

  Finishing his mouthful of stew, he says, “Glad to make your acquaintance, Calen and...” he hesitates, “Crecia. This stew is very tasty.” He points his spoon at Rampart. “Does your wolf have a name?”