Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

  “That’s Rampart.” Crisa offers. He yips in response.

  “Where are you traveling from?” I ask, curious to know more about this man. I take my hand off Noblesse because, if he were gonna make an aggressive move, he would have done so already. Still, I watch him closely.

  Leo finishes his bite of bread before saying, “I’m from a faraway land you probably never heard of.”

  “Try me.”

  “It’s called Pergamos, and it’s over those mountains and across the sea.”

  His homeland sounds familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve heard of it. “You’re right. I’m not acquainted with that part of the world. But you’ve certainly traveled a great distance. What brings you to Bisha Province?”

  Crisa gives me a stern look like I’m prodding too much, but I find it strange and unsettling that this man suddenly appeared at our campfire in the middle of the wilderness, at night no less.

  Could he be one of Galdo’s spies?

  Leo throws off his hood, and the firelight reveals a very handsome young man with fine features, a warm smile and curly brown hair. “To answer your question, business dealings brought me here.” Under thick brows, his dark, hard eyes stare deeply into mine. There’s something disturbing about those eyes.

  He finishes another mouthful before continuing, “I’m the owner, the heart and soul, if you will,” he grins, “of an acquisition company. I needed to visit some suppliers in Lambert.”

  I tilt my head. “Did your business dealings turn out as you hoped?”

  “Better in some ways and worse in others.” He lifts a chunk of meat from his bowl with his spoon. “Things never go quite the way we plan, do they?”

  “That’s true enough.” I nod. “But you’re a long way from Lambert.”

  “I have relatives who live not far from here, so I thought I might visit them while I’m in the area.”

  Crisa raises her eyebrows. “Your relatives live out here in this wilderness? They must be of hearty stock.”

  He chuckles. “The toughest, and they like their privacy. But I think I’ve gotten lost. I don’t know my way around this area, and their directions are sketchy. So I haven’t found them yet.”

  He looks at Crisa and then at me. “What brings you two to this isolated place?” His intense, dark gaze penetrates my soul, and I feel like I’m being laid bare.

  Crisa gives me a cautious look across the fire pit. I wait for her to reply, as I figure she wants to keep our true mission a secret and has thought of a cover story.

  “We’re here at the request of one of the locals,” she says, “a friend, who needs our help.”

  “What sort of help?” Leo lowers his head and peers at her from beneath his thick eyebrows. He smiles, but the smile seems a little too big.

  “He’d be embarrassed that I told you.” She chuckles. “Our friend let his cattle out to graze, and all but five returned. Our wolf here will sniff those five out, and we’ll help him round them up.” I’m shocked. This is the first time I’ve heard Crisa lie.

  She reaches up to pet Rampart. “Of course, we’ll be sure to feed this big guy before we send him hunting.”

  “Probably wise.” Leo grins. “A noble mission for a friend—I’m glad to hear you’re so caring.” He scoops out the last of his stew. “I appreciate your generosity, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I really must be going. Could you direct me to a stream called the Mogeley?”

  Crisa raises her eyebrows. “Oh, my, you are lost. The Mogeley is about five miles from here. If you head due west, you should find the river. It’s rough terrain to get there, but the river is in a beautiful canyon. If you come across some thick, dark woods, I’d go around them, if I were you.”

  “Why’s that?” Leo asks.

  “Some nasty predators live in those woods.”

  Leo chuckles. Then he rises and hands his mug to Crisa. “Thanks for sharing your fire and your dinner with me, and thanks for the directions. If I can ever do anything for you, you let me know.”

  An empty offer. How would we even find you?

  “You’re gonna travel in the dark over unfamiliar terrain? Is that wise?” I ask. “You could share our fire for the night and start out early in the morning.”

  “Thanks, but I must keep moving. I have places to go and people to see. I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much time as it is getting lost.” He smiles big again, and this time I notice his canine teeth are slightly longer, giving him a wolfish appearance.

  “Be careful.”

  “Always am.” Leo throws his hood over his head again and turns.

  I soak up the last bit of stew with my final bite of bread. When I look up again, Leo is gone.

  I move over to Crisa’s log, so I can whisper, in case Leo is still within earshot. “That was strange. No human I know would travel in the middle of the night over unfamiliar territory. And he didn’t seem the least bit afraid—of anything.”

  “He wasn’t what he appeared to be,” Crisa murmurs back. “I could sense that, but I couldn’t break through whatever magic he conjured over himself. I didn’t detect malice, but he could’ve cloaked that too.”

  “I think Rampart and Noblesse would have signaled us if he were truly dark.”

  “Possibly. But let’s keep an eye out for him. If he suspects I was lying to him, he may follow us to discover the fairies’ hideout. I don’t want to risk their safety in any way.”

  We clean up our dishes and cooking utensils with some of the water we’ve packed. Then we shake off the water and place them back in Crisa’s backpack. We stoke the fire for the night and lay out a canvas tarp to sleep on.

  I’ll use my pack as a pillow. Summer nights can get cool in the forest, especially at higher elevations, so I put on the sweater she’s included in our supplies and pull my coat over that. I’m grateful for the wool blanket she’s also provided and cover myself with it. At the time she was packing, I thought blankets would be unnecessary, since we’d arrive by nightfall. She must have suspected we might be delayed.

  Crisa and Rampart stare at each other, and, when they’re through communicating, she tells me, “Rampart has offered to stand guard. As a wolf, he’s doesn’t need much sleep; a nap is sufficient. I’m going to let him doze for a while, while I take up the watch, and then he’ll take over for the rest of the night.”

  Rampart walks away from the fire, which is probably too warm for him, stretches out under some bushes, rolls to his side and closes his eyes. A wolf howls in the distance, and he sits up, ears pointed. He listens for a moment. When no other wolf sounds ensue, he resumes his sideways position, eyes closed.

  Before I doze off, a hummingbird messenger whizzes toward our campfire. She tells us her name is Berri, daughter of BeeBee. “I’ve been sent to find you. The king expected you this evening, and when you didn’t arrive, he was ready to send out a battalion of soldiers, thinking you’d been assailed. Starla suggested he dispatch a bunch of hummingbirds first to scour the area and see if we could find you.”

  “Thank the king for his concern,” Crisa says. “We were attacked several times in the Caliginous Woods, which slowed our progress considerably. Let his majesty know we’ll be there tomorrow morning, barring anymore unforeseen hindrances. And, as I told another royal messenger, we’re bringing Calen’s bodyguard, Charles. He’s not here by the fire right now, or I’d introduce you.”

  I resist the urge to look over at Rampart, who’s effectively camouflaged under the bushes, still asleep.

  Crisa adds, “But give King Aubrey my personal assurance that Charles can be trusted and will not reveal Craghollow’s location. He’s under divine obligation as Calen’s bodyguard.”

  “I’ll inform him.” Berri flits away from the fire. “Good evening to you both,” she calls as she disappears into the night.

  “So Charles is Rampart’s human name?” I ask.

  Crisa nods.

  “I didn’t know he had another name.” I must not ask enough questions of my
bodyguards.

  “Yes, and he’ll have to be in human form within the city walls. Fairies don’t take kindly to werewolves.”

  I’m reminded of the prejudice in my human world toward other races or cultures. Human nature and fairy nature are sometimes surprisingly similar.

  I lie down and look over at a sleeping Rampart. “Well, they just haven’t met such a fine werewolf before.” I add, “But I do appreciate the king’s concern for our welfare.”

  “He’s aware of how many dark creatures are out to get us.”

  I look up at the cloudy sky and sigh, weary of constantly being chased. I hear the grunt of a bear, which could be a mile or more away, because my hearing is so acute. If I strain my ears, I even perceive the rush of water in a faraway stream, maybe the Mogeley, its soothing sound blending well with the nearby chirps of crickets.

  Crisa readies herself for guard duty by putting on her coat and wrapping a wool blanket around her shoulders. She then sits close to the fire on one of the logs.

  “Good night,” I say as I turn toward the fire.

  “Pleasant dreams.”

  The crazy day’s events have exhausted me. With night birds to serenade me, like whippoorwills who say their name over and over, I fall asleep quickly. However, my dreams are anything but pleasant. Beautiful women with vacuum cleaners for mouths try to suck the life out of me, and then I fall into a dark pit full of spiders that crawl over me and bite my face. I hate spiders, even more than I dislike heights.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and awake with a start, brushing away imaginary spiders.

  “It’s been six hours, and the sun will be up shortly,” Crisa whispers. “After breakfast, will you feel rested enough to travel?”

  I rise, watching the flames of the campfire dance and smelling its pine aroma. “Yes, I feel good.” I put on a brave front and don’t tell Crisa how weary and sore I am from hiking. Despite the unwilling extra sleep the Sandman provided, I’m still tired. But my spirit is excited to continue our adventure, now that we’re out of dark-creature land.

  Crisa must have pulled Rampart’s breakfast out already because he hovers over a bowlful of chicken.

  I reach into my pack and scout out a large plastic bag labeled “BREAKFAST” in all caps. It contains three smaller bags. In one bag are two hard-boiled eggs with a little packet next to them that says “salt” in small letters, in another are some fresh pineapple chunks, and in a third, a blueberry muffin. I sit on one of the logs while I eat.

  Thoughts scurry through my head like the small forest animals that root around in the bushes nearby, probably scouting for breakfast too.

  What will it be like to meet the fairy king today and maybe his son Enlil again or his daughter Starla? Some of the same questions still rattle around in my head. What does King Aubrey have to tell me? Will I meet his expectations?

  I ask the Creator for courage.

  He responds with, “Of course. Remember, your destiny was determined before I created this world. And I’ve given you the skills you need to fulfill that destiny. I’m always here for you, and I’m always on your side.”

  “Thanks. I needed to hear that again.”

  The corridors of my thoughts twist in several directions at once as I try to envision what Craghollow might look like, how its citizens live and what fairies are like as a race. In all the time I’ve been in Fairyland, I’ve met only a few fairies, and then only for brief periods of time.

  First was Prince Enlil, the heir apparent, who had a regal manner about him. He’s the source of my special abilities and my fairy glow, which Crisa says has now faded in the months since his touch and is no longer discernible. I’m grateful I don’t signal “human champion” to the dark ones anymore, like a flashing neon sign.

  Then there’s Glenwith, the young fairy I rescued from a raging river when he was about to be swept away. From him I learned the location of the leprechaun’s gold, the source of my wealth. Glenwith informed me of my “special sight” and treated me like royalty.

  My last encounter was with General Warrin, a fairy officer, who, with his squadron of soldiers, came to my rescue when trolls attacked me outside Lambert. I was impressed that day by his army’s precision and courage. Are all fairies such noble creatures, or are the everyday citizens a different sort?

  I’m startled out of my thoughts by a familiar sound I didn’t expect to hear because I didn’t initiate it.

  Chapter 30 – A Storm and More Unexpected Visitors

  Rain patters on my waterproof jacket, as the clouds that threatened all night dump their moisture-laden loads. I pull up my coat’s hood while the fire sizzles and pops. Dark gray clouds, like iron curtains, mask the new dawn, and crickets serenade their approval of the storm.

  Soon we’re hit with an all-out downpour, although the trees hold back some of the water. The sounds of dripping water on my hood remind me of my leaky bathroom shower at home, before it, like everything else I owned, was demolished.

  I’ve finished breakfast, so I stand up, roll my blanket into a tight cylinder and slide it under my coat to keep it dry. The fire sends up smoke plumes and becomes clumps of soppy charcoal the same color as the storm clouds.

  Next to me, Rampart shakes his fur. The smell of wet wolf permeates the air.

  Crisa hops to her feet and picks up the canvas tarp we dossed on last night, leaving her blanket on a wet log. “No need to keep your blanket dry. We won’t take them with us from here on out. They’ll just make everything inside our packs wet.

  “Same with this wet tarp,” she adds as she wraps it into a bundle. “We’ll hide it and our blankets. Don’t want to leave any clues about our route to anyone who might follow us.” She buries the canvas under some bushes.

  I reach inside my coat for my blanket, which I lay next to Crisa’s on the wet log. Then I pack my empty breakfast bags into my pack. We don’t have to clean dishes because we ate with our hands.

  Like many summer storms, the rain stops as suddenly as it started, and the eastern sky lightens. The sun will soon break over the horizon. By sparse light, the now-slick logs where we sat to eat dinner last night glimmer.

  Crisa pulls out three yellow sunstones from her blue box in Rampart’s back and hands me two. I rub a stone, and before I can blink, the ground in front of me is bathed in bright light. We then hide our damp blankets under some rocks.

  Crisa strokes Rampart’s head as she re-stows her jewelry box into his pack. “I think you should change to human form now. We’ll reach the summit soon, where you’ll be too visible to make the change.”

  Now I’m confused. Do the fairies live in the high country, or a valley? Didn’t she say we’d have to ‘descend’ to the village?

  “How about changing in those bushes?” Crisa points to some tall greenery. “In case anyone is watching.”

  Does she know something I don’t? Who’s watching? I thought we were in safe territory.

  Rampart and I walk over to the bushes. I take off his backpack, and he becomes human. I hand him the jeans and shirt he wore before, as well as his coat. He puts them all and his climbing shoes on. I hand him the unlit sunstone.

  I help Rampart/Charles secure his pack again, which is ill suited to his human back, so I adjust the straps. Then I raise my pack onto my back again. He rubs his sunstone to light it.

  Now, three two-legged creatures trek through the forest, with Crisa in the lead because she knows where we’re going. We follow a wide path that looks like a trail the forest animals use to reach water.

  The forest takes on a whole different set of smells when it’s wet. With my fairy-enhanced nose, I detect moss, a faint whiff of ammonia from animal droppings, the dank sweetness of rotting wood, and the rich earthy infusion of wet dirt, along with a clean, ozone aroma.

  The assault on my sense of smell is almost more than I can take. I draw my hood across my nose and breathe through the fabric, which smells musty. By the sunstone’s light, I notice how everything around me is shiny. Pi
ne boughs sag slightly from the weight of the newly fallen rain.

  We clear the trees as dawn breaks with a spectacle of purples and oranges. Soon we come upon a calm, deep-blue mountain lake, with loons resting in groups around its edge. As we get closer and my sunstone illuminates the water, water skippers speckle the lake’s surface. Fish jump near the shore, leaving splash rings.

  “Let’s rest here by Lake Myrtle for a few minutes,” Crisa says. “I don’t think we’ll need the sunstones anymore.” We hand them over to her, and she opens Charles’s pack to stow them again in the blue box. “How’s your leg, Calen?”

  “It feels great,” I reply. “So good that I’d forgotten about it.”

  We find a drenched fallen log to rest on and brush off the excess water with our hands. Since our coats are long and waterproof, we won’t get our jeans wet by sitting on the wood. We pull off our packs, and I extract my canteen to take a swig of water. What I missed at breakfast and what I long for right now is a cup of hot coffee.

  Reading my mind, Crisa adds, “I brought a thermos of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Yes. You think of everything.” I look over at Charles, who also says, “Yes, please.”

  He smiles, and I smile back. While he isn’t Brutus, who I sorely miss, he’s as faithful and intelligent as Brutus was. I often look at him in both his forms and see my old friend in his eyes. Somehow that’s reassuring.

  As I accept a mug of coffee from Crisa, the flutter of many wings makes me look up. I expect to see birds overhead, but I don’t see anything.

  “Do you have the feeling we’re being watched?” I ask Crisa and Charles. While I drink coffee with one hand, I place the other hand on Noblesse, but she’s not vibrating.

  Charles echoes Noblesse’s sensitivities when he says, “It’s okay. Whatever is watching us isn’t dark.”

  Crisa adds, “Craghollow is close, so I think you’re sensing a patrolling squadron of royal soldiers.”

  I look up, but, while I still hear wings fluttering, no fairy shows himself. But it’s comforting to know we have extra help if we need it.