They’d driven through the night, the plush and posh interior of the carriage lovely enough but hardly suited for three adults to get much in the way of sleep. They dozed fitfully with Moira going out on top of the carriage every few minutes to watch the road for bandits. The world sped by, under her watchful gaze.
By the hour before dawn, they’d left the magical concourse behind and followed the main Alabaster Way into the Black Heights. Anthony opened one of the windows and leaned out. The approach was just as he remembered: slender, winding roads that spun off from the main highway, losing themselves in rural farmsteads and stands of trees. The sprawling city of Talismere, no building save its clock tower taller than two stories, emerged from the darkness. Its tall, basalt walls seemed smaller than Anthony remembered but had been augmented with several large catapults and other siege weapons. In the distance, on the cliffs overlooking Talismere, stood the Alabaster Palace.
Alive with light, its myriad windows shone into the darkness like a thousand candles hanging in the night sky. The contours of the ancient castle stood against the stars like a paper cut-out pierced with bright holes. The shadows of hippogriffs flew in the sky, above, on their eternal patrols while guardsmen walked the walls.
He pulled his head back in to see Karl’s smiling face. For a moment, he felt good. It was like coming home.
“You know you looked like a dog with his head out the car window, right?”
Anthony’s mood evaporated. “At least your camera’s not here,” he snarled.
“And whose fault is that?”
The Alabaster Way continued to drive forward and descended into a low region, flanked on both sides by the walls of Talismere. Above them, guards of both royal descent as well as local, talking animals, looked down upon them. Every now and then they passed one of the closed gates that led into the city or passed beneath a bridge that connected West to East Talismere. But soon enough the Way rose out of the bifurcated settlement and started following switchbacks into the hills and up the rise to the top of the cliffs.
Soon, they arrived.
Anthony could hear Moira taking the reigns and guiding the carriage away from the front gates back towards the stables. They had talked about the fears that might spread should anyone see the transformed wolf stepping from the carriage into the midst of the Alabaster Palace.
The white walls, even in the pre-dawn dark, glistened with reflected light from its windows and lanterns. He’d spent years coming here as a child and even when he didn’t nothing but explore, Anthony always felt as if there was something new around the next corner. He’d never visited all the rooms and buildings that made up the castle; he’d not even explored a majority of them.
Moira guided the carriage around to the rear where the cliffs resumed their march even higher into the hills. At their base, behind the Palace, were caves and buildings built into the rock-face that served as the stables for the royals. As they pulled up, Anthony could see several lanterns being born by running attendants coming out to greet the early-morning travelers.
He stayed in the carriage as Moira sent one of the attendants inside with word. Karl tried to hold Anthony’s hand but he pulled away. Karl took the hint and got out to stretch his legs.
Inside of twenty minutes, a small retinue of guardsmen came out flanking Queen Allasande and Wiste. Walking briskly in long strides was Minister Salbard. Inwardly, Anthony had been trying not to think about this meeting. He’d significantly hoped that his transformation would either wear off by the time he reached the castle or he’d have found a way to turn back to human. Neither condition had arisen. Moira went forth to greet them. Again, she spoke in low tones but Anthony’s lupine ears could hear every word. He blushed to think of how easy eavesdropping had become. Moira said nothing that she’d not already said to Karl or himself but it was the tone, the nervous voice that she’d not revealed in Anthony’s presence, that told him just how concerned she really was.
He saw Wiste nodding, his ram-like horns bobbing in assent. The Queen exchanged words with the captain of her guard who, having also heard the description of the situation, was trying to bar her from approaching the carriage.
“He is my oldest friend and Champion of Kellen; I shall show him all due respect and not treat him like some … some animal!”
He blushed again, hearing that.
He was slightly annoyed, although it may have been jealousy augmented by his heightened emotions, by the gracious greeting the Queen gave Karl. He was the one who had gone back and forth between Earth and NeverEarth during the whole debacle with the Red Hoods. The fact that Anthony hadn’t been able to be involved with the resolution of that adventure due to being hospitalized at the time, only seemed to underscore his feelings about his childhood home being “invaded”.
The queen approached the carriage. Anthony took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. She opened the door and entered. Her long, blond hair was drawn up in a coiffed sculpture atop her head with her blue eyes looking bright and awake despite the ungodly hour. She was dressed as regally as ever, in a native kaftan embroidered with stags and arcane runes in purples and reds. Behind her, Wiste followed.
“Oh, Tony; I had heard, but—”
“I thought you’d beaten that curse,” Wiste interrupted.
Anthony shook his head. “No such luck. Going back home just disrupted it. I came back and this is what happened to me.” He spread his furred arms for emphasis.
Allasande took his hand in hers. Anthony couldn’t help but imagine her guards’ faces if they’d been able to see.
“I brought along Salbard. Even if he cannot determine a cure, I am certain he can at least figure out what happened.”
The sun was rising over the hills, lancing down into the stableyard with warm light. Anthony couldn’t see the yellows and golds but his hope that a new sunrise might shake the wolven shape from his body proved unfounded. Wiste took his other hand.
“You’ll be fine, Tony,” the satyr said.
“I feel fine,” he growled. Wiste looked nervous and Anthony tightened his grip. “Please: forgive my voice. Everything I say through this muzzle sounds like a damn threat.” The fact that his emotions were so close to the surface, too, were something to take into account, but he didn’t think mentioning that would help.
They talked for a short while more until Salbard entered. He looked none the worse for wear from his time on Earth when he’d been beaten and taken hostage by a gang of thugs. He was ever the prime and proper elder scholar and ambassador. He put on a moon-shaped pair of spectacles and peered at Anthony through them. Amidst many a “Mmm-hmm” and “Ahh”, he examined the wolf’s body, carefully. Eventually, he pulled a thin, leather-bound notebook from under his blue robes and flipped through its pages, carefully. Anthony could only read a few snippets of words, here and there; the enchantments that apparently allowed everyone to sound like they were speaking English didn’t apply to the written word and he’d only ever learned a smattering of the Kellen written dialect.
“I am by no means an expert,” he finally said with a drawl, “but I believe the lycanthropic curse has been broken by your peregrination from the lands of Kellen for your own provincial lands.”
Karl had re-entered the carriage during this time and sat, annoyed, in a seat against a window. “Seriously? You can look at him and say the curse has been broken?”
Salbard was a royal, what all humans in NeverEarth were called, and also held a position of authority in the Alabaster Court. He looked over the rims of his glasses in annoyance and pursed his lips. “By ‘broken’ I mean what I said: fragmented, slivered, shattered, damaged. The enchantment carried by the pathogen of the werewolf bite has been interrupted from its normal course and, now, lies in tatters. It does not appear to be functioning as it should. I should like to have High Wizard Millavarne take a look—”
“Millavarne? She’s still alive?” Anthony asked. He felt a surge of hope. Millavarne had been the official High Wizard when he was a child
and her spells and magical objects had helped him immensely on many adventures.
Salbard looked annoyed at having been interrupted by someone outside the royal family once again.
“Yes, quite,” he said. “She is the foremost authority on magics within all the realms of the world. Mine is only a preliminary diagnosis. I should trust her investigation more fully.”
“She is abroad, however,” Allasande said. “She is in the Grey Demesne and is not expected to return for another three months. I shall send for her, immediately.”
Anthony nodded. This was getting complicated and he felt suddenly acutely aware of how his condition was impacting everyone’s lives. Midwinter was analogous to Christmas mixed with Thanksgiving. He’d been told by Wiste that it was often a week-long celebration of feasting and bonfires and music and dance. Everyone had their plans and Anthony was disrupting them all. He felt conspicuously responsible.
“I hope this won’t be too big a disruption,” he started. “I mean, I can always go back home and come back once she’s returned. It would only be a few weeks for me and the last time the curse simply faded when I walked through the doorway.”
“I would not recommend any further intermeddling with the course of this enchantment,” Salbard advised. He snapped his little book shut and replaced it within his robes. “For all we know further disruption of the arcane investiture within your blood and sinew would make your condition worse.” He glanced at Karl for a moment. “I strongly recommend you and your companion await the return of Millavarne and keep yourself safe.”
“There’s no safer place in all the world than here,” Wiste said.
“As long as no one spies him and suspects an infection of wolves upon the Alabaster Throne,” Salbard advised.
The queen nodded. “We shall keep him out of sight, then, until the High Wizard can return. The guards will be instructed to speak of this to no one and place a full guard upon his chambers.” She looked at Karl and smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid he should be in seclusion until this can be settled or at least addressed by those with greater knowledge than the good Minister. For your own safety of course.”
“Now wait a minute,” he said. “I’m not leaving—”
“That will be fine,” Anthony interrupted. Karl looked at him, hurt, but Anthony ignored it. “Look, it’s for safety’s sake. We already have one cursed wolf around. If there’s any chance this thing is still contagious, I think … I’d like to keep myself separate until I can be examined. Okay?” His boyfriend frowned.
“I didn’t abandon you when you first got cursed, and I’d—”
“No one’s accusing you of abandoning him, lad,” Wiste said. “And it should only take a day or two for Millavarne to return.” He had removed his hand from Anthony’s during the discussion and was absently wiping it on his red, cotton jerkin. “Until then we should take every precaution.”
The discussion did not last much longer. Allasande summoned the guards and had a large, heavy cloak brought to completely conceal Anthony from head to toe. It had a heavy enough hood that only the tip of his muzzle poked out. He tilted his head down and walked briskly with the guards to further hide his appearance. They led him to a room in a more isolated tower of the vast castle and showed him in.
Karl didn’t move to hug him and just stood outside the door as Wiste and Allasande helped get Anthony settled. Moira had accompanied them, too, but stood with Karl.
“We’ll see to your every need,” Allasande said. “The bell cord by the door will summon a guard to take your wishes.”
“Right now I’m just famished.”
Wiste smiled. “Feel like you could eat a whole deer, no doubt?”
Anthony smiled but instantly regretted it. Wiste’s momentary flash of fear as his wolven face attempted the expression told him that he’d looked more feral than he’d anticipated. “Just a hamburger, really,” he said.
Allasande, who’d knew enough about Anthony’s life on Earth to know what he meant, nodded. “I shall have the kitchens prepare you a meal.”
With that, the group filed out the door and left Anthony to his regally-appointed room. He sighed, sat down on the bed, and looked at his clawed hands. He was a monster and monsters needed to be quarantined. He hoped it wouldn’t last.