The Lupine Curse: A Tale of Netherway

Markus met the three of them with as much fear and animosity as the priestess did, raising his sword to strike Vidarr down before even speaking. But he was stopped by Arienna’s hand, not that Vidarr could not handle himself in a meeting of steel.

“Gods! Restrain yourself!” Fenris cried in lieu of Vidarr’s peaceful composure. “You were watching the scaffold, were you not? Haven’t you seen enough bloodshed for one night?”

They had made it back to the chapel, alive, and glad to see Arienna and Deidre safe behind the barred doors of it. It took some convincing through the heavy oaken slabs just to be allowed back in.

“Not on the right side,” Markus growled.

Vidarr was not impressed by the careless display of anger.

“They’re not the enemy, Markus,” Arienna sighed. “Can’t you see? The girl is there, unharmed.”

Their voices were once again echoing in the chapel. Deidre was sitting in front of a fire set at the foot of Calan’s statue, murmuring prayers to the embers.

“And what about you, lad?” Markus turned to Fenris. “You’ve got a pair of eyes and ears as normal as any. And now you’re defending these walking corpses like they’re your own family. You’re wearin’ their clothes for gods’ sakes!”

“He has the Lupine Curse, and a long story behind it,” Ashara explained, stepping between the guard and Fenris.

Markus became transfixed upon the boy, as if a demented deity had materialized before him. Rage turned to fear, as the color of his skin suddenly resembled milk. “How in the bloody hell does that make this situation better? Do you know what you are? You’re a demon amongst men. You could tear down this entire city and walk away hungry. What in the name of the heavens are you doing here? Leave, at once!” Markus simultaneously shoved Ashara aside and jabbed his sword into Fenris’ chest, deep enough to draw some blood.

Arienna tried to calm him, but he shook her off.

When Fenris took a step back, the guard only advanced and drove the point deeper. “Leave,” he repeated.

Vidarr brandished his dagger and disarmed the guard in a single stroke, with a flourish to finish it off. The blade went to the floor with a loud clatter, and before the guard could react, his neck was against the sharper edge of Vidarr’s blade. “Us corpses aren’t known for showing mercy often, watchman. But if we did it wouldn’t be for the likes of you—people who draw blades like they put on trousers in the morning. I went through Siflos’ fires and Ashara nearly lost her head to save this so called ‘cursed’ man’s life. If you can’t understand why, perhaps it should be you who is leaving this city. Life is more precious than judgements passed in the time it takes to shit. Fenris is more worthwhile than that, worth every drop of blood in his body, that man is. I don’t speak often because I’m wearied by the babble of ignorants such as yourself, but hear me when I say this: you spill any of his blood and I’ll spill twice as much of yours. Hell, I’ll even write a poem with it.”

Markus’ was trembling from fear, shaking with rage, all at once. It took him a few minutes to regain himself, and what dignity he had left, before he spoke again. And when he did, it was all stammers. “Apologies, elf. There’s not been many disturbances in this city. These days, it’s as if they’re all flooding in to make up for the last few years of peace.”

“Just keep your head on your shoulders, watchman,” Vidarr advised as he offered him back his sword. “Like the good priestess said, we’re not your enemies. We just spent a whole night explaining ourselves. Rest assured, if this priestess here trusts us, a dimwit such as yourself should, too. The Crimson Hand wants our heads as much as Deidre’s and—”

A tapping came at the chapel door. They all stared at it with their hearts in their throats, until it finally ceased, and Vidarr had courage enough to crack open the door and see what caused the disturbance. He tore off the parchment from the nail that had just been hammered in and handed it to Fenris, who looked down at it and smirked.

“Am I truly that ugly?” he asked them all, raising up the portrait beside his face. A hefty reward was awaiting anyone who severed his head. They seemed much more shocked than he was.

Vidarr was the only one who could share his dark humor, but the laughter died quickly in his throat. “We have to get you two out of here, and quickly, in the very least. The best would be that we all leave. We should pack provisions for a long journey, and set off straightaway.” He still had his dagger in his hand from when he stopped the guard’s outburst. As his mind turned over plans, he flipped the blade frantically, over and over, like an expert juggler.

The priestess barred the doors again. “Fool. Night has fallen. Those assassins will be prowling every corner of this city. Even with those uniforms you’ll be caught.” Arienna sighed. “It’s simply foolish. At midday, you will have your strength renewed, another meal in you … you’ll be out of the city with the swiftness of Afimer.”

Vidarr looked expectedly at Fenris and the others around him, who were in no mood to face the crowds again. “It’s not my decision. I am only here to guard and protect them until they are safe. That was merely my advise.”

“I don’t know you folks, but if Arienna aims to keep you safe, I’ll do the same. I’ll personally keep watch over the chapel while you all rest. Not that I could sleep after a night like this, anyways.” Markus looked at them all apologetically.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Ashara added politely.

The words were echoing around Fenris, but all he could hear was the noise Ash’s head made as it hit the ground. Then, he looked up at Deidre, saw her staring into the fire with that patience she always had. He’d heard the stories since they arrived, how she was one of the Blessed, how the spring had proved it.

Two souls intertwined in childhood and now separated by this rift, a juxtaposition of blessings and curses. He wondered what it all meant. Was it merely chance? Did the gods’ wills have any purpose at all, or were they merely dancing beneath the stars?

“I’m with the priestess,” Fenris added suddenly, “We can’t leave now. The moon is far too bright. They’ll see the color in my eyes, in Ashara’s, Deidre’s. We’ll be dead before we can reach the city gates.”

“Aye,” Markus said. “The Lord himself has been seeing to it that those—with no offense to you two—pale-skinned slugs are getting to watch the city gates, see who enters and leaves. Occasionally my men cover the shifts, but it’s not in my power anymore.”

A heavy silence came after that.

Then they all heard a clatter of small wooden pieces against stone, as Deidre tossed the dead adventurer’s runes once more, and stared at them.

“A child of Morros with runes? A tool that we could use,” Vidarr noted aloud.

“She never studied runework,” Arienna explained with a sigh.

Vidarr swore.

“Regardless. Go ahead and rest, all of you. I’ll wake you by midday. By then, the cultists won’t be as active and you may be able to slip past the gates rather easily. My girls here will tend to your clothes and prepare baths for you in the morning.”

Moonlight fell through the splintered glass upon Fenris, laying awake in his cot, sleepless, watching Ash die a thousand times over until the numbness had melted to bleeding. Until, whenever he imagined the Sun-elf dying, he could only see his own head rolling down the cobblestones.

They’d long since snuffed out the candles and doused the torches, shared their parting wishes for good dreams. Still, even as his body ached for rest, he found himself staring at the waning moon, wondering whether he had gone insane, or simply witnessed enough tragedies to know that the barrier between sanity and insanity had never really existed.

“Fenris!”

He turned his head away, half expecting the voice to be a hallucination.

“Some say if you look long enough, it will make you go mad,” Ashara whispered as she shut the door to his room.

“I thought you were already sleeping.”

Her grey eyes and silver hair made her look like a specter watching over him in the darkness. “I could say the same for you. I’ve been standing in the doorway for quite a long time now. Do you always stare off so much before you rest?”

“You told me, before we came here, that you didn’t know when I would have time to think about the past. I found it. I found the time.”

Ashara came up beside his bed and crouched down. For awhile, they simply stared at each other in the glow of the moonlight, observing each other as if they were statues. Their heartbeats rose steadily in unison.

Fenris had come to realize that some of the best moments were the ones closest to the darkness, to the pitfall and the demons that lay waiting at the bottom of it. Occasionally there is a reminder of hope that erupts as bright and electrifying as lightning. It is powerful enough to electrocute even the worst of memories into oblivion, even if only for a few moments.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Fenris asked, fully believing it was.

A gentle grin touched Ashara’s lips, just before she leaned closer, and kissed Fenris with them. They were soft, pressuring gently, just enough to beckon him to do the same.

“Of course it is.”

Before Fenris could respond, she had lifted the covers and eased herself beside him, and rested her head beside his. Despite the drumming of his heart, his mind finally felt at ease. She faced him as she lay on her pillow, and kissed him again, this time on the cheek.

He wished to linger in the dream longer, but was pulled away by that irrevocable tug that pulls all dreamers from their reveries. The moments when a dream becomes so intoxicating, the participants awaken to reality. We all know that feeling.

That was when Fenris, at last, fell asleep.