The Lupine Curse: A Tale of Netherway
Chapter 32: Unseen Dawns

Sounds of reconstruction stirred Fenris from a dreamless sleep. He looked around the room curiously, uncertain of who he was, where he was, or why he felt so incredibly sore. Then, remembering all that had happened, he urned around to stare through the diamond-shaped windowpanes, his hands clutching the perfectly smooth and tan bedsheets smelling of sage, thistle and lavender.

The familiarity of room’s stonework, the simple nightstand and the stool beside the bed. He was in Calan’s Chapel. He groaned every inch of the way to a sitting position, feeling flames all over his body when he moved. He didn’t mind the pain, though. It made everything in the room feel sharp, tangible. It made it easy for him to tell that he wasn’t dreaming.

Then he saw his hands. His eyes followed up and up until he needed a mirror for the rest. But what he saw made his lips tremble, his hands go limp. Every inch of his body was covered in some scar or another, pronounced and contorted by the quickened healing process of his shapeshifting.

The tan of his flesh had become an accent to the faded, ashen white hue of scar tissue.

The shapeshifting had stopped the bleeding. It was the only reason he was alive.

The flames from the battle wrapped around his face in permanent, pale coils. He lifted his hand to touch them, and began to cry, but not for his sake. He remembered Timothy and Arienna … how light they felt in his claws, yet hard and cold like stone.

The early light of dawn cast soft, grey rays into his room. Outside, birds were chirping out of cadence with the pounding of nails against wood, and the shouts of men instructing one another, intermittently interrupted by boisterous laughter or reprimands. It was a surprisingly warm, winter’s day, hinting to the coming of spring.

Deidre came through the doorway at the sounds of silent weeping, wearing mage’s robes of deep blue and grey. A short hood donned her face, and in her hand was a daisy she’d intended to place in the statue’s of Calan.

Fenris knuckled the tears away and stared at her. The longer she looked, the more she saw the beast with burning eyes gazing up at the heavens.

“The gods haven’t abandoned us after all,” she mumbled. “You’re awake.”

Fenris’ eyes fell from hers as the words sunk into him.

“Though I can understand … you must not feel awake, still,” she said, as if reading his mind.

Fenris shook his head.

“The entire city has been holding its breath for you, Fenris. Not a single soul here isn’t excited to hear word of your health. You’re a hero to those people. There’s talk of a statue.” Deidre wanted to coax a chuckle, or a grin at most, but was rewarded nothing.

She, herself, was holding back tears of relief and wonder. Never had she seen a living body so wounded. She’d seen him when the scars were freshest, illuminated by the meager light of dawn, which Markus used to replace him the very next morning.

“Statue …” Fenris trailed away, unable to meet her eyes.

“I suppose I should not spread the news that you are awake, then. It’s been almost two weeks.”

He shook his head. “How can I speak to other people when I can hardly think to myself? My head feels empty, as if I have to rebuild everything that I was before.”

“You are fortunate, then. Most people spend their whole lives trying to pretend to be someone they are not, fixing themselves, drinking away memories. You have an excuse for a clean start.”

Fenris fiddled with the sheets while he listened. There were, of course, parts of him that would never change, no matter how many times he tore his human flesh away. He figured it would be like that with anybody. There was something more recent, though, that had stayed with him through the transformation; it was not torn away. He suspected it never would be.

“Could you please bring in Ashara, if she is awake?”

Deidre grinned and chuckled to herself, but before she left, Fenris stopped her. “Wait. What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Where will your statue be? No doubt there is a reason my room is in the far back of the chapel, not the front.” Fenris peered through the open doorway, confirming his suspicion. “You’ve been taking care of the sick, the wounded. That’s more than the city could hope for, to have a healer as talented as you.”

She blushed so much, her cheeks might’ve melted winter away.

“It would be difficult for the city to lose someone like Arienna. But with you, perhaps it would be easy. I know it is a horrible thing to say. But you must know it’s true?”

Before she would allow Fenris the satisfaction of seeing her blush more, she left to retrieve one of the few remaining Scarlet Moon-elves.

Ashara appeared in the doorway alone with an absolutely beaming expression. It was strange, seeing her wearing normal attire. She descended upon Fenris with a storm of kisses and embraces, obliterating any insecurity he might’ve had for the scars that covered his body.

She pulled away from his face, as breathless as he was.

“Would you follow me outside? I want to see something.” He woke up thinking he wouldn’t leave the bed. But since she’d arrived, he felt as if the healing process had been mysteriously quickened.

“Of course,” she assured, her grey eyes gleaming.

Fenris peeled the blankets away, tested his legs. The clothes they’d dressed in him fit well enough, and would be warm against the morning breeze.

It was not yet bright enough for the light to sting Fenris’ eyes. They walked slowly beyond the chapel, into the courtyard, which had been scrubbed of the bloodstains and swept. Gods’ Rest learned its lesson and had begun construction of a new door that would be functional.

“I thanked you countless times, when you were sleeping, but I never thanked you when you were awake,” Ashara told him as they walked the streets. It felt like waking up from a nightmare, to see things so calm again, so normal. Business was temporarily halted, but nobody seemed to mind.

Engineers and stonemasons were arguing in the courtyard with cups of steaming, spiced ale going cold on the ground as they waved around plans and theories to create a mechanism that would not rust so easily.

“You weren’t afraid?” he asked.

“Afraid?”

“That I would bite you, give you the Curse.”

“Fenris, I wasn’t afraid the first day, and I wasn’t when I reached out to you, dying.” It was only then he noticed that she winced every few paces, where the cut in her side responded sharply to the movements.

“Why not?”

“Maybe it’s because I wanted to believe it, but I simply always trusted that you would never harm me. Not even once.”

“Oh.” Fenris pretended that the tear in his eye was coming from the glare of the sunrise. “Well, this is where I wanted to go.”

“A guard tower?”

He pulled open the door above the small, three steps that led to the tower. Inside, one of the soldiers of the City Watch was reading a book beside a candle on the table. There was only a single cut in the wall, lending insufficient light. “Sorry lad and lass,” he said, giving only a cursory glance. “You’re not allowed in—” he glanced again, “—by the gods, it’s you, Fenris! I was there, fighting alongside you. That was something to see, wasn’t it?” he tittered excitedly. The young guard’s eyes shone with admiration. “At first I was frightened to my bones. Nearly pissed myself when you walked by. But, praise Morros, when I saw you go crashing towards those bastards, I wasn’t afraid ’nymore!” The guard scoffed at himself. “And to think I would be owing my life to one of the Curse. I suppose we’ll be needing to replace another name for you folk, aye? Not so cursed if you ask me!”

Fenris mumbled his thanks, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. He was several years older than Fenris. “I’m sure you proved yourself as well that night,” he responded.

The guard did a half-bow with his head. “Well, where’re you headed?”

“We just wanted to walk along the battlements.”

“Aye. It’s beautiful ’round this time. Make any morning brighter to see that view. Well, if someone stops you, you can tell ’em I was sleeping on my shift.”

“Truly?”

“It’d be an honor. Right after you, lass.”

Ashara went up the ladder first, and once she had hoisted herself above the trap-door, helped Fenris off the last rung and onto the platform of the tower.

When Fenris saw how high above the ground he was, his head swam. He felt dizzy, and his lack of balance nearly made him topple over the edge. Ashara steadied him with a hand and a tender laugh. “You’ll be needing some more rest, I reckon.”

“No matter how much rest I get,” he chuckled shakily, “I’ll always be a cat when it comes to heights.”

Together they walked all the way until the chapel was far behind them in the distance and they were at the very edge of the city, facing the sunrise. Its timid edge was coming up between ice-laden mountaintops, beneath thick storm clouds covering the snowy tips. Those great mountains sloped down to foothills, meeting with the stretching plains greener than Fenris’ eyes, shimmering in the gentle blows of winter wind. Tall trees sprouted all around, shaking and quivering with swaying limbs. Ravens played with one another around a nest, swooping, buffeting and cawing.

Somewhere on those plains was a small, humble dwelling. It was encompassed by a copse of trees, and blankets of leaves that fell with frosted stems. Some of the trees’ branches were already barren, black against the sunlight.

A tear fell down Fenris’ cheek, though it was pushed away by grin and a fit of laughter, which shook until it turned back into fitful sobs.

Ashara took her eyes away from the scene to look at him. Fenris wiped his eyes and looked into hers. “I can still feel your hands,” he said as he held hers in his. “Despite the scars, the bodies I have shed away, I can still feel the warmth in your wrists. I can still feel wind. But I’m so numb, and this all feels so raw, to me, yet I still want to feel it. Feel the cold air around us, the memories when they come rushing back again, as they always do. I want to hold onto this, Ashara. I want to hold onto this moment. If I can embrace this, just this for now, I think I can be happy.”

He hugged her so suddenly, she thought for a moment they might fall off the wall together. Despite the way he cried softly into her neck, she laughed, and stroked his hair.

Then he was laughing again, too.

If only for those moments, they’d forgotten everything that had happened, and simply held each other there.