Chapter 16
Breathing Ash
There were rumors circling Riften, rumors about a witch settling east of the city, in the ruined tower close to the road leading to Velothi Pass. People were whispering about her, telling each other exaggerated stories of how the desperate came looking for her help, looking for remedies for their ailments, looking for curses they could put on those they hated.
The truth was everyone was too wary to come visit her. They were leaving her alone and that was the way she prefered it. There were the foolish ones of course, like the bandits who’d considered her easy prey, but those who survived made sure to let others know she was not one to be trifled with.
The tower that had become her sanctuary had been slowly changed into one big tent. Furs and leathers were drawn all over the interior of the tower, with supports of bones and wood. And the so-called witch was now sitting on the floor in her tent, stoking the fire in the middle, watching the smoke rise through the tent’s ceiling.
It was getting hot in there, drops of sweat were rolling down her forehead and her cheeks, but she kept stoking the fire because this wasn’t nearly enough. The rocks around the campfire were emitting heat and she poured a bit of water on them, watching the steam rise up. She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath, and plopped a mortar and pestle into her lap, humming to herself.
First came Blisterwort, dried and cut into small pieces, and she began grinding it in the mortar.
All the while she kept humming, stirring her thoughts, trying to get Malacath’s attention with deep primal sounds coming from her throat in between the humming, but it was more of a ritual for her than for Malacath. She knew he wouldn’t answer. Why would he care about Atub, an exiled wise-woman?
Once the biggest pieces of Blisterwort were crushed she added a handful of nightshade berries and a pinch of void salts and continued grinding.
Malacath seemed to completely ignore her for all the past months she had been looking for direction from him, wanting to make amends for her mistakes. But he never replied, it was almost as if he had completely forgotten about her.
The mushrooms and nightshade berries turned into a dark purple paste and that was when Atub added troll fat into the mix and began stirring it.
Atub came to the conclusion she couldn’t stay in her sanctuary anymore. She could feel a storm brewing in the distance, something she was a part of, but she couldn’t find the meaning in it. It was just a feeling, an itch she couldn’t scratch, a feeling that she still had a role to play. But what role? She needed answers, but if Malacath wasn’t willing to give them...
She needed to find them on her own. It was a risk, the ritual was dangerous, but she didn’t have much choice.
The substance in the mortar slowly became thick and viscous and she set it aside, pouring more water on the heated stones. Another deep breath and more primal sounds escaped her throat as she began rocking from side to side. She reached for the mortar again, dipping her fingers into it and with a silent prayer she rubbed the ointment under her eyes.
She felt a tingling in the tips of her fingers as the ointment began numbing them and she set aside the mortar, reaching for a small drum. Her hands began beating it in a slow rhythm as she closed her eyes, her facial muscles softening as the ointment began to take effect. She kept rocking her head to the rhythm, humming and growling, giving in to the trance.
Her body began feeling light as feather, unburdened by the struggles of the mortal world. The hot air and the steam of her tent suddenly became a distant sensation. Atub wrinkled her nose as the scent of ash and dust shot up her nostrils and then she opened her eyes.
Her sight was somewhat distorted, everything around her was seemingly trembling, which was why it took her a moment to recognize she was still inside her tent. But something was different. Outside, there was a storm, and by the sound of it it wasn’t a regular storm.
She got on her feet and stumbled towards the exit, pulling the tent’s flap open. Ash whirled around and flew into the tent and she instinctively closed her eyes, but the ash swept past her, through her. She couldn’t feel the slightest breeze on her face, nor any ash in her eyes. It was as if she wasn’t even there.
The Rift’s landscape seemed completely barren, the birch trees nothing but dry stumps, the grass gone and the sky grey and filled with ash. The mountains around her remained the same, only instead of snow they were covered with ash, looking like nothing but huge piles of dust.
She heard a thunderclap and her gaze shifted towards the west, towards the Throat of the World, and then she saw what had caused it even through the storm that raged all around her. Right next to the Throat walked a giant form, nearly as tall as the mountain itself, and she immediately recognized Malacath himself. He walked slowly around the Throat, his eyes set on the ground as if he was looking for something - or maybe looking over something or someone - and then he disappeared from sight, behind the mountain.
Her eyes fell on the ground where the road to Morrowind was supposed to be and narrowed her eyes. There were no stones in the ground, no instead there were bones. Protruding from the earth like a raised road, curling into the distance and she noticed the gaps in the bone and recognized what they were. Vertebra.
Malacath’s spine, the literal backbone of Ash Pit, was right in front of her, replacing the road. She had always wanted to see it, always thinking to herself if she could ever be lucky enough to see it at least once in her life and take a piece of it to her tribe. But it never happened. Was it because she wasn’t worthy? Because she had doubted Malacath?
She walked towards it, the ash whirling around her feet every time she took a step, and stopped in awe when she realized all she was seeing was just a small fraction of the spine. Its diameter had to be massive, maybe even bigger than the giant form of Malacath next to Throat of the World.
Maybe if she tried…
She crouched and cautiously touched the spine. The moment she did she winced as sharp pain shot up her right arm and her muscles clenched in an agonizing spasm, as if rage itself had just possessed her arm. She released a growl of pain and she began clawing away from the spine, unworthy and pathetic, but the pain wasn’t stopping. The veins on her arm were turning black, as if there was some kind of poison coursing through her veins, and it burned. Oh how it burned.
The ash around her whirled and a small green hand reached down, barely touching her fingers but when it did so the pain disappeared. She blinked several times, her vision still distorted and blurry, and looked up.
She was lying in the ash, on her side, and above her was standing a very young Orc. An Orc she knew.
“Grulmar,” she rasped weakly, her surprise clear in her voice. “Wha-” she was about to ask when she looked into the runt’s eyes and saw nothing but blackness. His eyes were as black as the darkest night, with no visible pupils, but she knew those eyes were set on her.
The runt narrowed those eyes and then pointed with his hand to the west. Then he turned into ash.
What did it mean? What was the vision trying to tell her?
She stared at her hand, at the black veins still shining through her skin, noticing how the hand was trembling. Almost as if it was still gripped in the agony, but she didn’t feel anything. As if the hand wasn’t even hers anymore.
Atub clawed on her knees and looked west and noticed the runt standing in the distance, still close to the spine protruding from the earth. Waiting. She narrowed her eyes and got back on her feet, slowly starting her walk towards the runt.
When she drew near he merely raised his hand, pointing to the west and disappearing in a whirl of ash again.
And so she kept following the runt, letting the vision steer her in its current.
The landscape around her barely changed, but as she walked under the shadow of the Forelhost mountain she noticed that where there used to be the city of humans there was nothing but barren land, with no traces of a settlement whatsoever. And as she neared the lake she narrowed her eyes when the realization struck her.
There was no water there.
The lake had become nothing but a crater in the earth where the winds were carrying all the ash covering the ground, slowly filling the crater and-
There was the runt, there on the bank, sitting among the stones, playing with something. She walked closer and recognized it were small figurines carved out of bones Grulmar was playing with. Some were white, some were painted black and some were grey. What was the vision trying to tell her?
Grulmar then looked up, the black eyes honing on Atub and he smiled. “Want to play with me?”
She sat down on the rock next to him, sighing. “And what are you playing?”
“War. Of course.”
Of course. Said with such certainty, as if a child could understand the true meaning of the word. No, this war was nothing but a game, a pretension, where no one bled, where heroes rose to the occasion and villains met righteous justice. At least, Atub thought that was the case. “I might just watch then, little one.”
“Fine,” Grulmar shrugged and leaned forward towards a group of figurines. “Look here,” he pointed at them. There was a cluster of black figurines, almost as some kind of army, all of them carrying weapons in their hands. But there were two bigger figurines among them. One was black, clad in heavy armor with a crown on its head, and the other one was white, in heavy armor too with two axes crossed on its chest.
“The Horde is marching home with the loot, but they don’t know that the Archer and the Crusaders here are preparing an ambush for them. The Champion and the Prince are part of the Horde here, even though they actually stand against each other.” The runt then moved more figurines ahead of that so called Horde, these being grey, with shields held firmly and spears raised high. In front of them was a taller figurine, naked and with green swirls painted over its torso, a bow over its shoulder.
“And bam!” Grulmar clashed all the figurines together in a childish imitation of armies clashing. He then separated them, pushing the Horde away, along with the so called Prince and Champion. “Crusaders won the clash, the Champion was wounded but the Prince saved him, because he still needs him, you know? The Horde is diminished and on the run and the Archer pursues, but he takes his time. The Traitor has awoken and he betrays, because he doesn’t know better,” he explained as he pointed at another grey figurine among the Crusaders, chains hanging from its arms.”
“Now we have time before this resolves,” the runt then shifted his focus on the other side of the rock, pointing at tiny rocks making a circle in the ash, with a grey figurine in the middle, a sword on its back. “Look here, look here. See? This is the City. It’s where the Knight is, chasing the Assassin. And here, here is the Dealer and she is rich and so she raised an Army. And the Army marches on the Fort now,” he kept showing her the figurines. They were also grey, the Army being a mix of figurines with various weapons while the Dealer seemed to be a woman with her hair painted black.
Atub was trying to follow all this, but… What was the vision trying to tell her? Who were these figurines and why they were different colours? She had heard about a certain game of humans, called chess, which had three players, and each controlled an imagined army. One black, one white and one grey. The colours...were they meant to differentiate sides? “Fort? What Fort?” she raised her eyebrows, focusing on Grulmar again.
He smiled at her and shifted a bit further, pointing at a semi-circle of rocks around a bigger stone. “This one here. The Fort is the price. Everyone wants it. Oh, look at the Huntress,” he took one figurine, black, with a spear in its hand and fur around her shoulders. “She is preparing a trap for the Brothers you know?” The stronghold was filled with other figurines, both black and white. There was a small black one, smaller than the others, and then there were two big white figurines connected into one similar pair but much smaller. “She uses the Bait,” Grulmar moved the small black one towards the white figurines, “but the Ogres got in the way, so the Brothers are still alive,” he lifted the white ones and hid them in his pocket, “but thrown into darkness and disabled. Good thing they have the Ogres with them right? The darkness can be so scary, especially with all those whispers.”
She frowned. The Fort, the Huntress and the Brothers. It seemed very familiar to her, almost as if- “What happened to the Knight?” she raised her eyebrows when she involuntarily glanced towards the City. The Knight figurine was lying on its back, with a big grey cloaked figurine standing above it, with another one with pointed ears seemingly sneaking towards them.
“Oh? Ah, tusk!” Grulmar hit his thigh in frustration. “You turn away for one moment… The Assassin has turned the tables on Knight and wounded him. Badly. And look at the Rogue here! He took away what makes the Knight a Knight, damn him!” he took the Rogue figurine and pushed it a bit away from the Knight.
“Oh no!” Grulmar suddenly shouted out, startling her, and shifted on the other side of the rock she was sitting on. “The Traitor has lead the Archer and his Crusaders right to the King’s camp and they have them cornered. This doesn’t look good.”
She shook her head in confusion. Why were the figurines moving on themselves? Atub then narrowed her eyes, focusing on the figurines. She saw the Champion facing another black figurine, this one with a big hammer in its hands. “Why do the Champion and the King face each other when the Archer is the enemy?”
“Oh, that is because the Mother has revealed things to the Champion, things about the King and the Prince. The Mother is very important you know, she’s what the Archer is after even though he doesn’t know it yet. She has something very dear to him - or something that will be very dear to him.” Once more the runt quickly moved back to the other side of the rock, as if something urgent had happened. “But no time! Look!”
He crouched above the semi-circle of rocks with the grey army of figurines standing around it. “The Army marches on the Fort. The Shield-Maiden and the Huntress are at it again, because the Shield-Maiden is no longer sure of the side she’s standing on. But she has bigger problems, she has to defend the Fort, that is her main goal at this moment. See how defiant she is?” he pointed at the figurine which seemed to shift from black to white and back again, her shield defiantly above her head. “But she cannot hope to face the Army alone. Hmm. What should I do, what should I do?”
Something drew Atub’s gaze towards a lone figurine in the ash, a white one in robes and face hidden under cowl. “What about this figurine?”
“Yes! The Seer!” the runt slapped his forehead. “She could change everything. But what should she do? Half-blind she stumbles through the light, her ears are mute and her mouth is deaf to the truth. Tell me, what should I do with her?”
Atub stared, unable to find the right words. It was her. She was the Seer. How could she answer when she didn’t know the answer herself? “I think that’s why I am here,” she murmured. “To find out. What should the Seer do? What would you do with her?”
“I don’t know. Hmm,” Grulmar frowned, his childish face imitating deep thought. “She could change everything, she is more important than she knows. But it’s ultimately up to her. Can she make the right decision even despite the odds against her?
“She’s not welcome in the Fort anymore. But she still cares, doesn’t she? Yes, she does. She should go there,” Atub voiced her inner thoughts out loud.
“Hmm. You sure? It seems like the right choice. Alright, she’ll go to the Fort then,” he picked the figurine and moved it towards the semi-circle of the rocks. “And look, the Assassin is on his way there too, but he’s going to only observe, he doesn’t know that his rival isn’t there. He still does care, you know, in his own way. He only hates his rival.”
Yes, that he does. In his own way he still cares. But not for me, not for his brother. We’re beyond forgiveness.
“It’s getting more and more complicated every second,” the runt kept murmuring and then raised his eyebrows. “Oh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pairs of white figurines, planting them into the ash outside the semi-circle of stones. “The Ogres and the Brothers stumbled out of the darkness now and they see the trouble. The Ogres are too simple to do the numbers so they charge. The Assassin plays his own part too, spreading fear and rage in the ranks and look, even the Shield-Maiden and the Fort are now fighting back with renewed strength. But it’s still not enough. But that is why the Seer has come, right?” he smiled at her as he was pushing all the figurines together and then pointed at the Seer. “She dances like she never danced, beats a primal rhythm into the earth and the sky and…” His fist landed in the middle of the cluster of grey figurines, tossing them all around. “The Army is scattered now and the Dealer is running to lick her wounds.”
So there is still hope. Maybe- “Wait!” she narrowed her eyes when she looked at the other side of the rock she was sitting on, noticing all the figurines disappeared, with only the Champion being halfway around the stone. “What happened on the other side? There is...nothing. Why is the Champion heading back?”
“Because things got out of hand. Oh. Oh no,” Grulmar’s hands went into his black hair, pulling at it in desperation. “The battle is won, but the war has been lost already. The most important war.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Brothers,” he pointed at the pair of white figurines, both lying in the ash. “They are dead. She...she killed them. And only the Knight could have saved them,” he continued, desperation in his voice increasing with every word. “But he is dead too, he bled to death, alone, in the darkness among the rats. I made a mistake, big mistake. Seer... she… wrong choice. And the Champion is nearing the Fort, his thoughts are full of rage and wrath and he wants to…”
The runt then quickly got on his feet, holding his face in his palms. “I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t want to…” he said in between sobs, walking away from the stone.
Atub rose on her feet, going after. “Wait! I don’t understand. What is wrong? What happened?”
“Everything is wrong,” he cried and she reached for his shoulder.
He suddenly turned around and swept away the hand. “It’s your fault! It’s all your fault!” He then pushed into her with more strength then she expected and she fell on her back, fell right into the lake of ash-
Her body broke the water’s surface, the cold immediately assaulting her sense as she began flailing in the dark water, unable to see, her mind unable to comprehend. There was a faint light above her and she began kicking her legs, traveling towards it.
She emerged, sputtering, taking a deep breath and spitting water all around her.
What? Where...
Everything around her was so dark. Blurry. She could see lights in the distance, but they were blurred, distorted. She kept blinking, hoping her sight would clear but it didn’t. Something was wrong with her eyes.
“What the fuck is that? Shor’s beard! Someone’s in the water!” she heard shouting while trying to stay above the water’s surface and then someone grabbed her by her collar, dragging her up, out of the water.
She splattered on a wooden floor that kept rocking, her hands telling her it must have been a small boat she was in. There was a blurred figure leaning over her, but she couldn’t recognize any details. “What were you thinking, taking a swim in a night? Oh. Oh. You’re...you’re an Orc.”
She didn’t answer, barely understanding the Tamrielic the man - it had to be a man, by the sound of the voice - was speaking. Where was she? Her vision led her to a lake and…
“Hey? Can you hear me?” A warm red-orange light crept closer to her face, most likely a lantern, the light too bright for her to look at, completely blinding her. “Oh, gods. Your eyes… I am sorry. I didn’t know. Come on, we have to get you somewhere warm-”
My eyes. Oh, Malacath. The nightshade. My eyes… The price has been paid. And I know what I have to do… My eyes…
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And yeah, Atub. Sorta working up to how she is d... more
And yeah, Atub. Sorta working up to how she is during ... more