Partheus. “No,” He said, “You’ve been a member of theirs for two years. Ever since you left Earth. You being a member is why you never sleep or eat or feel ill.” He saw none of this was sinking in as fast as he’d like and added, “Cecil, it’s why you’re a werewolf.”
Four
Now a few minutes went by. Partheus still held that quizzical expression, and Cecil was reflecting one of scrutiny as if waiting for the elf to recant. It was an awkward few minutes in which the sun fell below overhead, and its light managed to glare off of Cecil’s eyes from through the window. But the werewolf went on without blinking, seeming to think this was all a joke while Partheus did likewise, although the elf did blink.
Eventually Cecil burst out laughing, “And I really thought you were Partheus Sallow. You had me going there, but werewolf? I’m pretty sure I’d know if the moon or moons had the power to transform me into a bloodthirsty monster. Good one though. Listen, if you just wanted a place to stay, you could’ve said so. I’ve got nothing of value here for you take, and if you get too annoying I can always just drag you to the guards. Really, I know I’m immortal and can do that.” He thought that this was Partheus, but also thought his pitch for help was lame. Although Cecil did wonder why the elf’s scent gave his identity away, but decided it was just another one of his gifts that went unnoticed.
Partheus put a hand to his forehead and lowered his head, “For Luna’s sake!” He rubbed at his scalp and stood up, looking down at the unbelieving boy in front of him, “They said this might have happened to you. Said it might be why you never met back up with The Order. I had hoped it wouldn’t be.” He sighed and looked away from Cecil toward the busy world on the other side of the window and drew the blinds. He could never be too safe. He walked toward the room’s door and flicked the lights on.
Partheus walked into the bathroom, and Cecil heard him grunting. A few moments later he walked out with the mirror that had been mounted above the sink and set it down on the night stand.
“Hey, are you trying to get my deposit lost?” Cecil asked.
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Partheus kept his voice low, as he didn’t want Cecil getting too mad or have someone realize a second person was in the room, “Just look at the mirror.”
“It’s me.”
“Look and think.” The former mayor sighed, “I don’t know what you’re supposed to think. The first time is involuntary, and you’re supposed to know after that how to do it on purpose.”
“How to do what?” Cecil asked and was sincere.
“Turn or transform. Whatever you want to call it.” He paused then added, “You must remember somewhere in your mind. There are no legends of lycanthropy on Destursha, so how could you even know what they are?”
Cecil furrowed his brows, at first thinking that Partheus may be right, and then thought otherwise, “Well, I remember Earth. And we had all sorts of legends about them there, but I’m not one of them.”
“Then how do the other werewolves and I know that you’re from Earth?” He countered, “No one else on Destursha knows what that is, just like how no one back on Earth could tell you what Destursha is.”
Cecil thought the elf’s argument gained ground. He thought that The Order might hail from there as well. It could explain why they and he were such large novians. He’d enough to believe everything except for the lycanthropy. “Well, I don’t remember how to make myself turn if I really am one and if it really is voluntary.”
Partheus shrugged and took the mirror back to its mount and hung it. He rubbed his smooth face and noticed the horrible pain beginning to grow in his thighs. But he pushed the pain to the back of his mind, “Well, we can come to that hurdle when we have to. Will you help in the meantime?”
Five
Cecil agreed, and they left the hotel. It would be the last time he would see that ornate room, and for that he was thankful. Partheus dropped the keycard in a vent by the entrance and explained that Cecil would need a weapon to help him, though his fists were lethal enough. Cecil told the elf that he had some sword skill, and Partheus in turn told him where to go.
“Hurlinge, where I’m suspected to be,” The elf explained, “there’s a weapons shop in the north side. An old friend of mine runs the place. And he’s got better stuff hidden away than what you’ll see on display on the racks. His name is Felix. You can get your hands on one of his nicer items if you tell him ‘From the ashes of lies comes truth.’ It’s an old phrase we used to use when getting supplies from him. He may still ask for some troths, so be prepared for that.”
Cecil patted his back pocket where his wallet was. It still held a good sum of money despite the hotel bill. Hopefully it would do. His eyes had been fixed ahead as they walked, but now he turned toward Partheus, “And what’s the name of this armory?” He paused but not long enough for the elf to reply just yet, “And what of you? What are you going to do?”
Partheus stopped and said, “While I’ve still got some freedom, I’m going to go and meet up with The Order.” The elf yawned and popped his spine, “You’ll want to go to Fraushein after you get armed. If today is . . . the ninth? You’ve got two weeks exactly. The twenty fifth is Execution Day, and that’s both when we strike and when all my friends will die if we fail. They always hold these things at noon, but we’ll be raiding the place at midnight when they change the guard shift.” A fine dressed wolf dogman walked by the two, oblivious to what they were talking about. Partheus continued, “It’ll be the Lock prison in the Sentinel. We’re all going to attack directly. Arthur should be able to get those front doors down on his own. You will attack from the rear, so you’ll have to go through the Leviathans’ headquarters itself. I have a feeling that your surprise assault will spell victory for us in the end. So go to Fraushein after getting armed at Shining Steel, the store’s name you asked for, and get a lay of the land.”
Cecil continued walking in the direction of the station, but Partheus stayed back. When Cecil looked back at his forgotten friend, Partheus raised a hand and gave Cecil a two finger salute. Cecil nodded and turned back toward the station.
Preparation
One
Cecil took the train to Hurlinge with the same fare as his last trip but with no upgrades. His mind turned over his circumstances. A part of him knew that what he was doing was foolish and insane. Another part of him, a wilder and stronger part, filled him with excitement and anticipation. The surge of his nerves filled Cecil with euphoria. He had spent the last two years feeling dead and lost. Now his fate turned and enlivened him. Perhaps there would be trouble to get into, but if he was immortal then trouble would find him eventually anyway. A childish fantasy that, perhaps, is of noble men swept over him, that he could be a hero.
The trip to Hurlinge was three times the length of his first journey, but to Cecil it felt like only minutes. His blood was running hot, though his actual blood was stilled in his veins. He stepped off the loading dock with Hurlinge sprawling before him. A smile filled Cecil’s face. He almost forgot how urgent his mission was, but not quite.
Being in the north side made Cecil worry less about the criminal activity. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been to Hurlinge, but he knew that the south and east sides were very openly unpleasant. Not that anyone would get to him, but Partheus’s old weapons dealer was a different story. Though he found the native flair to be pompous and overdone. He in his T and jeans was rubbish here, and the citizens seemed to enjoy pointing it out.
Two
His target was in sight. On the corner of a street lined with novelty stores was Shining Steel. Its sign swayed back and forth on a rod, both of which made of polished chrome. As Cecil walked to the front door, he noticed that the windows had vertical and horizontal crisscrossing iron bars. North side or not, one could never be too safe, he supposed. The building itself was made of gray stones that screamed both cold and medieval to the werewolf. Needles
s to say, Cecil liked what he saw so far.
As he opened the front door, a great metal thing with visible rivets along the edges, a bell chimed. The lighting on the inside was bright and cold. The floor under him was concrete, and his boots made appropriate thuds as he walked. There were mannequins by the dozen along the walls bearing all sorts of armor. He saw leather vambraces and steel chest plates, iron greaves, and what appeared to be a few Plexiglas helmets. There were steel swords of all sizes on racks, from pocket knives to ones that appeared to be busters. Great hammers and battle axes were under glass cases, and an assortment of bows (simple, compound, and cross) were in their own displays behind the counter.
On the back wall and still behind the long L shaped counter, were glass cabinets with various guns inside. Cecil recognized some that were shotguns, rifles, and pistols. They were all very nice, but he’d seen these on Earth already. Just as his interest in gawking was beginning to wane, an aemon man appeared behind the counter.
“Good day, sir.” Said the aemon, “If it’s arms or armor, maybe even bullets and barrels that ye seek, then you’ve come to right place.” He took notice of Cecil’s face and size and said almost apologetically, “No hard feelings, as I’m sure