dust if it was not maintained, but Cecil would live on. From here all the buildings seemed to be the same white or gray. He couldn’t see the residential area from his room, but knew it was the only part that was different. Individuals lived there and not just bandwagon businesses.
He got down on one knee like a man getting ready to propose and then did something he regretted to say that he did less often than he should. He prayed, “Father, you are the ultimate power. You are infinite, and I am finite. From your well flows everlasting life. Forgive me for my anger, for there are many I have shown wrath. Forgive me for letting you slip away, for I know You’ll never let go of me. Please, I beg, restore the memories I’ve lost. And if I am not strong enough to hold these memories, I ask that You would give me the strength. You have blessed me with this condition of physical immortality, and for it I am thankful. But I ask for direction so that I might be all that You want me to be. And for The Order. I know I am somehow tied to them. The world says that they are the enemy, the ambassadors of evil. But I know better. I feel that maybe they are just the opposite, and it is the world that is evil. Perhaps this feeling is from you.” A surge of reassurance came over Cecil and he smiled broadly, “Then I would ask also that You put Your hand over them and guide them as I would have You guide me. But whatever happens let it be Your will that is done. Thank You for always listening to the words of my tiny being. Amen.”
It had been a long time since Cecil had prayed with so much meaning as this. But he felt it was time to wake up from the false reality that he found himself in, and he couldn’t do that with his own power. He rose and looked over the city again smiling. This world may pass on, but he hoped that he could have it pass in a better state. Cecil hoped that what he forgot would be restored to him, though he knew that even if that was granted to him, the time may come much later.
Eight
Partheus was now positive that he’d not make it to the end. His legs went up and down as quickly as they had when he jumped across the tracks, but now his lungs felt heavy and sore. His sides ached with branches of quivering muscles that screamed for relief. The end of the tunnel was in sight now, but the end of his life was even closer. At any moment he would lose his balance and collapse, and the predators behind him would catch their quarry.
As if knowing how close he was to failing, a new beast let loose a terrible cry. It was long and steady. The rest continued their growling and wet breathing in response as if too focused on Partheus to do otherwise. Then a light came not from ahead where the sun shone but from behind, and the beast let loose another roar. At once the elf understood what was happening and moved to the other side of the tracks. His pursuers attempted likewise but were run down by the train that again warned everything to move. There were awful death rattles and cries that sounded almost human as six of the abominations were torn and crushed by the moving freight. The train shook and the mayor of Chrissenia heard screams from the inside, but it stayed on course.
His running moved down to a fast walk that was more of a limp even though he was unharmed. At this pace he thought he could get out. The exit was only a few hundred yards now, and the train’s cars still blocked him from the things that chased. But even at its slow pace, the passenger cabs flew by Partheus until they were all gone and no wall was up to protect him. There was no better time for the experiments to catch him.
But they stayed behind and let him go. He couldn’t tell if they were crying over the loss of friends or celebrating over the remains of friends now food. He knew the difference between these two would forever affect his opinion of the mutants, but in his fatigue left the thought to stew. Now was the time to be free of this place. He was saved.
Nine
The sunlight itself froze his skin with its unfamiliar warmth (if that makes any sense). Now he noticed all the sweat trickling down his face and the true laboring of his lungs. He slowed to a steady walk but continued to breathe heavily. The monsters’ howls were becoming less and less audible, and soon they’d be gone, but not from his memory. The air tasted better, and he thought it would do his aching lungs a true favor.
When he reached a point that he knew the mutants would no longer follow him, he collapsed under the shade of a maple tree near the track. He crawled to the other side where train passengers would have a harder time seeing him. Here Partheus stopped moving and wept. He wept for joy. He wept for pain. Mostly he wept because he could, and his body seemed to need it. He didn’t sob and bellow as one does when they are frantically upset, but the tears came freely and he welcomed every one of them. After all, only the living can cry.
Ten
The elf awoke several hours later while it was still day. Most of his sweat had dried off the collar of his shirt, and his lungs were sore but no longer throbbing. He had no intention of taking a nap, but it did him well. He pushed himself up against the maple and rubbed the aching muscles below his ribs. It was times like this that made him wish he had lycanthropy.
Partheus stood up, pleased that he could still do such a thing, and started to walk. He would just walk for now. He didn’t think he could run again if he needed to, not for some time anyway.
He could hear his steps again and saw his hands as they were. He wasn’t sure if the spell had worn off while he was running or while he slept. But he felt almost certain that it had happened as soon as he walked into the enormous mucous covered mutant. His hands were covered in dust, and the sound of his steps were slow. He knew he was making slower progress than he had been before the tunnel, but that was fine.
The red afternoon sun cast orange light over his path, though it was a faint tint. The trees along the track to either side were just starting to lose their leaves. A breeze came from the west and, while it comforted him, reminded him that he needed something to drink. Birds that would soon go south chirped happily around him. It was a wonderful and peaceful place that in no way reflected the evil not even a mile away. The grass he walked on crunched under his boots, while the first leaves of fall came off their maples in front of him still green but ready to go.
As he went, the walking became easier and steadier. Soon he’d be going strong again, though aches and pains would come tomorrow. A mile up from the maple he slept under, he found a spring only a few yards into the woods. The water seemed clean to him, and that meant that it was. He bent down and drank the flowing water with his lips to the surface. After having his fill for now, he took his canteen that had been tied to his belt and filled it. Having the old steel bottle burdened with water brought him reassurance. Once his canteen business was done, he bent down and drank again before leaving.
Eleven
Cecil wasn’t the kind of person that would go out and feed pigeons, but that’s what he found himself doing this fine afternoon on the eighth of Almis. Here he was sitting on a wooden bench, alone, and throwing cheap bread onto the red bricks in front of him. There were some oaks in the park which was the only place with any vegetation in Mirwa, he reckoned. Every minute or two he’d hear an acorn come down and smack off the hard stones or land softly in the grass. He knew he shouldn’t be able to hear what landed in the grass, with all the racket the squirrels were making, but he did.
He ran out of crumbs to throw and sought out something else to waste his time. Maybe he could go skip rocks on a pond or maybe kick a can. He could even go see a movie he didn’t care for. And then he began to throw his arms up and flail them about to show his mind that, no, he would not do such pointless things. A few passersby looked at him quizzically but kept on moving, because they were busy busy busy.
Cecil decided that perhaps the best thing to do was call it quits on his vacation and head back. Maybe he could even get some of his hotel money back, though he doubted it. He’d like to learn more about this Order. And even though looking into that could be dangerous, he thought it would also be well worth his time. Well, he thought, I’ll go back to my r
oom and clear my head. Maybe stare out that window. And I’ll come up with a decision in the morning. In truth, he would spend more time watching news reports than the cityscape, but his time would be taken up.
As he was about to walk through the revolving door of his hotel, he looked up to the western sky. The sun was setting there just as it did back on Earth, which was a place he knew he came from but never told anyone, because he couldn’t. Though the thought of his old home was foggy, it was clearer now than it had been once. As he looked up at that familiar star, he marveled at the brilliance it cast as its light passed through bent atmosphere. Those pink and gold clouds were things he’d remember even if all else was forgotten.
Twelve
From the higher elevation of his room, he watched the sun go down over the horizon. He thought it reached its peak of beauty as half of it body disappeared over the hills to the west. He was glad that there were no tall buildings in between himself and the sun. Sunsets had never been special to him, but this one was. It wasn’t the way the light was being bent or the idea of a day’s end that brought him joy. It was the memory. As the sun bid its final farewell