13

Papa of Mine

Rumple ran without really seeing where he was going. His mind was filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions, like a skein of tangled yarn. Over and over he kept recalling what Bey had said—that he was the Dark One—and the Dark One was a killer, who murdered children in their beds, according to the tales he had heard whispered by the old folks in the village as they sat outside the tavern or on their front porches in the evening.

But it's Master Bey, a part of him whispered in return. He doesn't hurt kids. He protected you from those bullies, remember?

But he recalled how others had spoken about the Dark One, they called him a demon made flesh, and said he skinned his victims and hung them on the wall as trophies. They were tales murmured in the shadows, ghost stories to frighten people and send shivers down their spines. Right then Rumple recalled all of them and trembled as he ran.

Torn between the devil he had heard spoken of, and the man he knew, the gentle teacher who had bought him a special pair of boots and had taught him how to defend himself from George and Felix, Rumple ran into the forest, his small chest heaving, tears mingling with sweat on his cheeks as his leg cramped up and finally he stumbled to a halt, gasping and leaning against a large beech. He was a ways from his cottage, near the lake where sometimes Maurice had taken him and Belle fishing.

Once again he saw Bey kissing his mama in the kitchen, once again he heard the man he admired and respected telling Aimee he was the assassin known as the Dark One, the most feared warrior in all the realms.

He shut his eyes, trying to shut out the images crowding his brain, of a shadowy figure wielding a deadly blade and the slender teacher who had taught him rune magic and martial arts. They wavered and shimmered in his mind's eye, like phantasms fleeing the light. His breath coming in harsh pants, one thought kept circling around and around, like a wolf circling its prey.

Bey lied! He lied to me!

Those words pierced him like a sword to the heart, and he sobbed softly in grief.

Just then a soft high pitched snarl echoed through the air, making the troubled youngster freeze in terror.

Slowly he opened his eyes—and saw the crouching form of a cougar three yards away. The tawny cat's tail twitched in warning and it singsonged its eerie wail, small ears flat against its head. Its claws flexed, each one as large as a small dagger, and sharp enough to tear him into bits and pieces without much effort.

His breath hitched in his throat and his knees turned to water, his small hand clutched the beech tree for dear life, as he tried to remain motionless. He knew if he ran, if he made the smallest sound, it could cause the cat to spring and then he was dead.

Please, please, help me, Bright Lord and Lady, he prayed, his skin gone ashen. I don't wanna be this cougar's meal!

He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck and slide down his nose, making him want to sneeze. He suppressed the impulse, and bit back a whimper. Now he wished he had stayed to talk to Bey and not run off like some silly girl, the way Cora did when she was in a snit.

The cougar snarled again, its eyes glittering a smoky greenish amber.

Rumple swallowed and tried not to think about how frightened he was. But the fear consumed him, even worse than it had been when he had been attacked by George, Felix, Bo, and Cora. He prayed fervently for someone to rescue him.

The prayer had barely been uttered when the cougar began to stalk forward, its huge paws noiseless over the forest floor.

The child nearly wet himself, certain he was going to be torn apart.

A streak of midnight flew at the cougar's flank, growling ferociously, and attacked, snapping at the tawny cat.

"Nyx!" Rumple almost shouted, but his voice was muffled by his hand.

Nyx slashed at the cougar, opening a deep wound in its side.

The cougar screeched and whirled, striking at the black wolf-dog with a saucer-shaped paw.

The cougar's strike caught the gallant protector a glancing blow, and knocked Nyx across the clearing. Dazed, the wolf-dog shook her head, whining, but before the cougar could attack, she struggled to her feet and lunged at her enemy again.

Rumple hugged the tree, his eyes almost bulging from his head, whispering hoarsely, "Run, Nyx! Run!"

But the midnight wolf-dog refused to back down, charging the cat once more, snapping at the feline's haunches, avoiding the claw swipe by mere inches.

The boy wanted to close his eyes, certain the valiant dog was going to be shredded by the much larger and stronger cougar, but he forced himself to watch, figuring the least he could do was bear witness to Nyx's fight. But he did wonder why no one had come after him.

Perhaps because no one cares, whispered an insidious little voice.

No! Belle cares, he argued back. Then he realized Belle could also get hurt or lost and hoped the girl hadn't followed him.

The snarling writhing mass of fur separated again, and more blood was on the ground. Nyx was bleeding from a slash to her shoulder, and the cougar bore more marks on its hide from Nyx's fangs. But neither animal seemed willing to back down, and just as the cougar crouched to spring on the smaller opponent, a silveron blade whistled through the air and embedded itself in the big cat's eye.

Nyx gave a triumphant snarl as the cougar staggered and rushed in to slash its vulnerable throat as it fell to the earth, the light slowly draining from its eyes.

A second dagger followed the first, this one striking the throat, and that put the death stroke to the big cat.

"Nyx, leave it!" Bey ordered softly, and his dog obeyed reluctantly, drawing away from the carcass.

He stroked his familiar, who growled in warning when he tried to examine her, then drew away and trotted off into the trees to lick her wounds in private. Bey sighed and let her go.

The master assassin went to retrieve his knives, first making certain the cougar was dead. He cleaned them on the grass and tucked them in his belt, then he turned and saw Rumple still clutching the tree, petrified. "Rumple, are you all right? It didn't . . . hurt you, did it?"

The boy shook his head. "No. Nyx saved me."

Bey expelled a sigh of immense relief. "Thank the gods!" He came towards the child, intending to hug him, then recalled that he was the reason Rumple had ended up here and halted, instead kneeling in front of the little boy. "Rumple, what are you doing out here?" he queried softly. "You know the woods are dangerous for a child alone."

"I just . . . needed to get away," he replied slightly sullenly.

"Get away? Why, son?" Bey asked, though he had a pretty good idea why, he wanted to see what Rumple said.

Rumple gazed up at the man he had come to admire and almost worship as he would have his own papa, had Malcolm ever been the kind of man to stay around and teach him anything, and a lump rose in his throat. Bey looked the same as he always did, slender, with fine boned features and hands, even if one didn't work right any longer, his dark hair curled neatly about his head, his brilliant eyes warm and friendly. He saved you from the cougar. He's not bad like they say, his conscience hissed. But then another part of his mind insinuated, How do you know? It could be a trick. You know all the stories—the Dark One fools you into thinking he's harmless . . . until he has his knife across your throat.

He dropped his eyes to his shoes—shoes which Bey had made for him in far off Avaria by the royal shoemaker elf, Silk. The lump grew even bigger. Bey would never hurt you, the rational part of his mind argued.

But the other part cackled, He's the Dark One. He said so himself. How do you know?

"Rumple, please speak to me," his mentor urged.

Finally the little boy found his voice. "I . . . I kind of listened at the door . . . to see what you would say to Mama . . . and I heard you . . .I heard you say it—that the tattoo on your arm . . . was because you were a Dagger . . . you were the Dark One . . . and that's why I ran off . . ."

Bey coughed, his throat tight. "Are you . . . afraid of me, Rumple?" he made himself ask, dread congealing in his stomach like the bitter dregs in the bottom of a tankard of ale.

" Umm . . ." the boy considered. Was he afraid of Bey? He dug his toe into the dirt. " No . . . well, maybe a wee bit . . ."

His words seemed to make Bey upset. The master assassin sat down on the ground then, his bad arm cradled in his lap, and he shoved his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo he had kept hidden all these months. "I'm sorry. Sorry for scaring you and sorry for not telling you what I was when I first met you. But you see this mark here? It's not there just to tell people what I am—it's a magical rune picture of protection. It's a sign of the covenant between me and the royal House of High Star. Or at least that's what it was long ago."

He rubbed the tattoo absently.

"Before you hurt your arm?" Rumple guessed, leaning against the tree.

"Yes. Everything I told you about how I hurt my arm is true . . . and the fact that I served my king, who was also my father, until the day he died. And if you heard what I said to your mama, then you know how I came to be the Dark One. I made a deal I didn't understand . . . I was a child who thought I was being trained to serve my king with honor—I didn't know I was just a weapon for him to use as he saw fit. That doesn't excuse what I was—I know that—but I want you to understand, Rumple . . . I'm not the Dark One any longer. I haven't been since I took a ship and crossed the Narrow Sea and came here to the Enchanted Forest. I gave up everything I was, my position and my pension, to walk away and find somewhere no one knew me, knew my reputation, so I could start my life over. And it wasn't just because of this," he indicated his injured arm. "It was because I didn't want to be associated any longer with death and darkness. As the Dark One they called me Death's Right Hand, the Pale Executioner, among other things. I'm sure you've heard some stories."

Rumple nodded. "Uh huh."

Bey grimaced. "I can imagine. Many of those stories are not . . . something a child ought to hear. They were originally started to put fear into the heart of enemies to the High Star throne. And many of them are exaggerated on purpose. They're one of the reasons I didn't want you to know about my past. Because no one in their right mind would ever let their children study under a master assassin . . . and I truly wanted to help you and Belle. I've always hated bullies, and I didn't want you to be a victim the way I had."

Rumple frowned. "You lied to me," he accused.

"I know. Perhaps I shouldn't have," his mentor acknowledged. "But if you had known that day in the woods who I really was—would you have stayed?"

Rumple dropped his eyes again. "I dunno."

Bey sighed. "It's all right if you tell me no. I won't be angry. Not many people would want to call me their teacher . . .or trust me."

Rumple shook his head sharply. "No, you don't understand. I might've been all right, but Belle might have been afraid . . . or my mama and she might've made me stay away from you."

"True. She very well might have," the master assassin agreed. "Because she wouldn't have understood that I would never harm a child. Despite what people say . . . I'm not a monster, Rumple. Just a man who made some very bad choices. But being here, living a normal life, has shown me that this is where I belong, this is where my heart lies . . . here with you and your family, the Avignons, at peace. I'm done with killing, done with secret assignments, done with being the dagger in the dark. I told your mama as much, and now I'm telling you. I'm not the Dark One, Rumple. He died the day my father did. Here I'm just Bey Starfall, glyphmaster and former soldier of Avaria."

"Then . . . then you never liked being the Dark One?"

"Liked it? No. Never. But it was the only life I had ever known . . . and the way things are done with unwanted royal bastards in Avaria. We were given everything we needed to live, allowed any entertainments we desired, and in return we pledged our lives and souls to the king. We became his weapons, the daggers in the dark, trained to be efficient and deadly. By the time I was thirteen I could kill a man with just two fingers, and poison an entire table of people with a single cup of wine or ale. I was taught to be proud of that fact . . . and encouraged to be the best at what I did. So I did what I was asked . . . because the king's service was all I had left. I was an orphan with no prospects until the former Dark One took me up . . . and made me over into his image. I was powerful, I was feared—some even feared to whisper my name—but now I see that I was never happy. Not the way I am now."

He trailed off, fear and regret rendering him suddenly mute.

Rumple had his chin in his hand. "Was . . . was your papa proud of you?"

Bey gave a small sad smile. "I . . . suppose so . . . in his way. But he never said so. Just kept giving me more and more difficult assignments. Understand, son, my papa was . . . well, he wasn't like Maurice or any other child's father here in Hearthstone. He was king of Avaria. And his time wasn't spent with family, but in governing his country. He didn't . . . he never visited me or asked me how I was doing. I came when he summoned me, and went when he dismissed me." His mouth twisted. "Rather like a favorite war dog."

"Then your papa didn't . . . he didn't ever want you or love you?" queried his apprentice. "Like mine didn't."

"No," Bey answered roughly. "I never knew what love really was. Not until . . ."

Not until Aimee. Or you, Rumple.

But those words remained unspoken. Because he was afraid to speak them and then be rejected by the boy he had come to love like his own.

"But . . . you almost died for him."

"Yes. Because that was my duty, my sworn oath. I was sworn to protect my monarch, and I have always done my duty, and always kept my word. Always."

"Then why . . . why didn't he love you? If you were a good son . . ."

The innocent question made the former Dark One wince, it was like antiseptic in an open wound that had festered. How many times had he asked himself that, once he realized just whose son he was? Too many times to count. "Because it wasn't enough, dearie," Bey replied, his voice rasping in his throat. "Because I wasn't his son . . . just a weapon to be used. A beast to be unleashed whenever the need was there."

The little boy's eyes grew stormy. "No you weren't! You're not a beast! You're a person. Mama says just 'cause my other mama had me without bein' married doesn't mean I'm worthless, like my papa always said an' my grandpa who doesn't want to have anything to do with me. She says it's not my fault my papa was too lazy an' too scared to marry my mama like he oughta, and even though my grandpa's one of the richest men in the village, he's also sour as lemongrass an' lonely as the winter wind, and he's missing out on the best thing there is—his family."

"Your mama is a wise woman."

"I know. She's smart and your papa was dumb—even if he was a king."

Bey's eyebrow quirked up. "Really, dearie?"

Rumple nodded firmly.

Bey gulped. "Then . . . do you forgive me for not telling you about my past? You don't hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Bey!" Rumple cried, horrified. Then he threw himself into the older man's arms, and buried his face in Bey's shirt. "I love you . . . cause you want me . . . like my real papa never did." Tears dampened the fabric as Rumple began crying, reaction suddenly setting in from his near death experience.

Bey hugged the boy close, rubbing his back, and murmuring, "Oh, Rumple! I love you too. And I . . . I would be honored if you . . . thought of me as your father." Then he kissed the top of the boy's head, and thought, After all this time, I have found what I was searching for, I have found my heart— in this little boy here in my arms—and with his sweet and talented mother. He rocked the boy back and forth, his own tears of relief and hope mingling in Rumple's floofy hair.

Together they sat beneath the beech tree, a brilliant revelation sweeping through them. Love was not blood only, it was what the heart chose. Love was family. Bey rested his chin on the top of Rumple's head and reveled in the serene peaceful feeling that flooded his soul, and drove back the last of the darkness.

Love is hope, and the love of one intuitive and clever woman and a lonely little boy had brought the lost soul that was Bey Starfall home at last.

After a few more moments, Rumple stopped crying, the fear draining out of him. He was safe now. Safe with Master Bey. He lifted his face from his mentor's tunic, and Bey handed him a small cambric handkerchief. Rumple wiped his eyes, then asked curiously, "Bey? If you love my mama, like you said in the kitchen, does this mean you're gonna marry her?"

"Well," Bey smiled. "If your mama says yes, I will."

"Really, dearie?" Rumple's eyes widened like a newborn fawn's.

"Is that okay, Rumple? Would you like me to marry your mama?"

"Do you love her?"

"More than my life," Bey replied sincerely.

"Do you love me?"

"To the moon and back, son." His eyes sparkled.

"Okay. You can marry Mama," the child declared. "Because you're a lot better papa than my old one!"

"I am?" Bey pretended shock, but his heart was bursting with love for the boy cuddled on his lap.

"Uh huh. All my old papa cared about was money an' thieving an' gambling. But you want me, and that makes you the best of all."

"I do, Rumple, and I always will," he promised. Then he stood up, the boy held securely in his good arm. "Come, let's go and tell your mama and Belle the good news."

Rumple was beaming. He could hardly wait to tell Belle and Aimee that he had a papa again. Only this one, he sensed deep within him, would never hurt him and never leave.

As they walked through the woods, Nyx came and trotted alongside them.

"Nyx!" exclaimed the little imp. "You're okay!"

"She has a few cuts, but it looks like she's taken care of them," Bey assured him. "Right, my friend?"

Nyx whuffed and winked at her sorcerer, and she marched proudly beside them, the wind ruffling her ebony coat.

Bey recalled the dead catamount, as they called them in Avaria, and thought he would have to see to it later, and the pelt would make a nice rug for the hearth, the first of many gifts he would give Aimee for their new home.

As they emerged from the woods into the yard of the Spinners' cottage, Belle was waiting on the porch. The little girl jumped up and down when she saw the two men and called, "Miss Aimee, they're back!"

A rather flustered Aimee burst from the cottage and raced across the yard to enfold them in her embrace. "Rumple, you scared me to death, you little imp!" she half-scolded, but she was laughing and her brown eyes were twinkling as she hugged both her wayward menfolk, welcoming them back.

Belle clapped her hands and then ran to pet Nyx, who wagged her tail and licked the child delightedly, as happy as her master to have a family again.