Darkening Sky, Chapter 16
Urokko’s knock was light. Three little taps.
Harrow opened the door and tilted his head, pleasantly surprised.
The Po’ Tun had went for a white formal lounge coat, shirt and trousers outfit instead of the traditional kimono. His crème fur was fluffier than usual, especially around his tail. Harrow gave him a once-over. He was filling the suit out very nicely. ‘Goodness. You’re looking dapper tonight, Urokko-to.’
Urokko was looking right back at him, though with a little less restraint. ‘And you look… ah,’ he cleared his throat. ‘Lovely in red, Harrow-jo.’
Harrow slipped into his sandals and stepped out, taking Urokko’s proffered arm with two hands. ‘Well, then,’ he smiled. ‘Shall we go?’
They strolled down the block, hands linked, Urokko’s coattails and Harrow’s silk ribbon belt trailing behind them as a light breeze billowed through the buildings. ‘I didn’t see you around the food stands today,’ Harrow remarked with just the smallest hint of a pout. ‘Were you running a stall somewhere else?’
Urokko nodded. ‘Small arts and crafts corner. Mostly carvings and quick sketches.’
‘Sounds interesting! I’m sorry I couldn’t visit. I’ll come by tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ Urokko said, still mildly flustered. ‘So where to?’
Harrow leant in closer, deepening his smile by half an inch. ‘Wherever you want to take me, Urokko-to.’
‘Um, right.’ Urokko stammered. ‘Well, if you’re not too hungry, I thought we could go about trying some of the games over to the south first.’
The south of the village comprised most of Tsukikage’s training facilities, from dojo to artificial terrain for simulated field operations. Many had been converted to specialised areas to create fun but completely unrealistic scenarios.
There was a massive pool the size of a lake typically used for training in missions involving ships. A pair of Shadeclaw brothers had taken it upon themselves to churn the water into a furious, choppy whirlpool with a continuous stream of magicka. Harrow studied them, impressed. Their techniques drew obvious inspiration from Altmeri storm magic, and the two brothers were keeping it up almost indefinitely, switching out with each other every fifteen minutes.
‘The game is simple,’ one brother called out to the line of new contestants as Harrow and Urokko joined in. ‘Remain standing on top of the water for as long as possible! Both the kiai and the use of magic is acceptable. However – you must keep both feet touching the surface at all times! The instant you sink into the pool or you are forced to take one foot off the surface, you’re out! Ready? Step onto the pool, please…’
The second brother stilled his magic just long enough for them to concentrate and leap onto the water. Harrow sent a few tendrils of magicka out of his feet and performed a basic waterwalking spell, while Urokko adjusted his breathing and sent a kiai circulating around his heel and the tip of his toes. Both of them landed on the water’s surface and stayed there, standing still with their knees bent, keeping their centre of gravity low.
‘Good luck, Urokko-to!’ Harrow waved at him.
Before Urokko could respond, the whirlpool resumed and several younger kits lost their balance immediately, splashing into the water as it pulled them off their feet. They rose back up, laughing as they leapt back out onto solid ground.
‘By the way,’ the first brother’s eyes twinkled. ‘We’ve been doing this for almost sixteen years now, and the current record is two and a half hours.’
The water almost looked like it was boiling. A wave clapped Urokko in the face, soaking his fur. Harrow shifted his weight continuously as he was tossed up and down. The liquid surface broke completely beneath his feet at one point and without a point of contact for his magic, he began to sink – but he expelled a kiai himself in the split second before gravity could pull him under and he remained upright, swaying just a little. He lasted another three minutes. Then the surface broke again and he toppled forward. Before he could hit the water, he took a single step forward and leapt out of the pool, still dry down to his socks.
Urokko toughed it out, clinging to the surface for another two minutes before another wave rolled into him with all the force of a charging bull and dragged him into the water. He jumped out, sodden, his jacket waterlogged and his shirt stuck to his body.
‘Ach,’ he said ruefully. ‘So early in the night and my suit’s already…’
Harrow chuckled, motioning at Urokko’s well-defined legs. ‘A pity none of the girls in our Year are here to see you wet and dripping.’
‘What about you, now that you have me all to yourself?’ Urokko dipped his head coyly. He was a little less inhibited now.
‘My maiden’s heart is satisfied,’ Harrow replied, equally coyly. He reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hold still for a moment.’
A wave of magic ran down Urokko’s body and his clothes dried immediately. His suit would have to be pressed again, though.
‘Aren’t they doing that at the exit already?’
‘I have you all to myself, remember?’ Harrow repeated the spell on his fur. It puffed up as it dried. ‘There. Now you’re fluffy again and all is right with the world.’
They visited a few other games. Urokko’s favourite seemed to be a race across a course of one hundred and seventy bamboo poles stabbing vertically out of the ground. They repeated it three times, darting from one pole to the other underneath a starry sky. Then they went off to eat. It was Urokko’s treat.
‘My, what a gentleman,’ Harrow linked arms with him again, smiling as he looked up. ‘It’s really all right if I get anything?’
‘Anything,’ Urokko said, jutting out his chest. ‘I’ve saved up plenty for the festival!’
They ended up sharing a large platter of sushi and sashimi. The fish, bean curd, seaweed and rice were delicately arranged, clustered around each other like flower petals. Harrow poured out two thimbles of rice wine and Urokko raised one in toast.
‘To exquisite food and even more exquisite company.’
‘Flatterer.’ Harrow let his cheeks dimple, bringing a flush to Urokko’s ears. He picked up a piece of mackerel with his chopsticks and slipped it into his mouth. It was a perfect cut of fish. He chewed slowly, shooting a sideways glance at his partner. They made eye contact and Urokko busied himself with a roll of crab and seaweed.
They went for the smaller, more relaxed game stands after dinner. Harrow put on a dovelike face and accompanied Urokko wherever he led them, letting him take the lead. Urokko led him to the marketplace by their connected hands, a boyish enthusiasm lighting his face as they toured the stalls.
They went to a trivia contest and, working as a team, won a scarf. Harrow giggled lightly as he wrapped the scarf around Urokko’s neck, complementing his new look with a few choice words. Urokko grinned sheepishly as he clutched at the wool, tightening it.
They went to a stall where they made their own sweets. Harrow recalled everything he knew about Urokko’s eating habits and observed him some more, then made him some sugar drops with mandarine pulp. Urokko made him an egg tart. He ate it piping hot in dainty nibbles, blushing as Urokko wiped a few errant crumbs off his mouth. Urokko looked at him intently, then turned away, his expression inscrutable.
‘Urokko-to, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,I - how’s the tart?’
‘Mnn. It’s delicious, thank you!’
He was popping the last bite of egg tart into his mouth when Urokko stopped next to a small stand run by a kit a few years younger than them.
‘Hmm, an Atmoran game of marbles? Tell me how it’s played,’ Urokko said, leaning over the stand. Drawn on top of it was a wide circle of chalk. Six marbles sat inside the circle. The prizes were a selection of stuffed animal dolls.
‘I modified the rules a bit,’ the kit said, rubbing his hands. ‘The Atmorans played it in rounds, but we’ve got a bit more training with small projectiles, after all. You can pick any one marble from the circle and you get one shot. Use that one marble to knock as many of the five other marbles out of the circle!’
‘Hmm,’ Urokko mused, tapping his chin. ‘If it’s set up like this, you won’t just need good accuracy, but a perfect grasp of your projectile’s angle and momentum… I see.’
‘So, will you play, sir?’ The kit grinned a lopsided grin, motioning towards Harrow, who had walked up to look at a very large stuffed cotton rabbit with buttons for eyes and a small X for a mouth. ‘I feel I should add that your beautiful companion is eyeing the grand prize very intensely.’
‘It’s a cute bunny…’
‘Say no more, then,’ Urokko rolled up his sleeves and handed a septim to the kit. ‘I’m winning you that bunny.’
‘You have to knock all five marbles out to get it, sir!’
His first try knocked two marbles out of the circle. He tried again for another septim. Three marbles. Urokko sighed and paid another septim. Two marbles again. Harrow cheered him on quietly from the side. Urokko paid one last septim and with a deft flick of his thumb and forefinger sent the marble flying diagonally into the circle. It bounced – and kept bouncing. There were five clinks.
‘Congratulations! The bunny is yours.’
Harrow beamed as Urokko handed him the stuffed rabbit. He hugged it to his chest as they moved back out into the streets, snuggling his nose between the bunny’s long droopy ears.
‘Mhnn,’ Harrow said, still hugging the bunny tightly. Urokko was leading him wordlessly down a quiet road. ‘Hurray. Thank you, Urokko-to, I-’
Urokko’s smile was faint and sad. ‘No wonder you’re so exceptionally talented when it comes to beguiling your targets. I almost think you believe it yourself.’
Harrow looked up from the bunny. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world passed by. It was getting late.
‘I’m sorry, Urokko-to,’ Harrow said, bowing in apology. ‘Where did I go wrong? I couldn’t show you a good time after all.’
‘That’s not it,’ Urokko said, shaking his head firmly. ‘That’s not it at all. I had a wonderful time; it was a fun evening. You saw through me completely – being able to pamper someone like this was exactly what I wanted. But… that’s also exactly why…’
Urokko trailed off for a moment before gathering himself. ‘At the end of the day I wanted to go to the festival with you,’ Urokko said, reaching out to briefly touch Harrow’s cheek. ‘Not the you that you use to ensnare the men and women of Tamriel. The you at rest… at ease. Perhaps… even vulnerable. As someone I can care for.’
Another bout of silence.
‘Urokko-to,’ Harrow murmured. ‘I don’t think I can tell which is which anymore.’
The silence was thick, suffocating.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ Urokko blurted out, as if he was waking from a daze. ‘I didn’t mean to bring up your missions during- I should have kept my mouth shut-’
‘I think it might be best,’ Harrow said softly. ‘To watch the fireworks on our own.’
Urokko looked at him for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he replied, sighing. ‘I think so too.’
They parted ways at the crossroads off the marketplace. Harrow turned-
‘Harrow-jo!’ Urokko called from behind.
He turned back, holding the bunny under one arm.
‘Thank you for the scarf,’ Urokko was bowing. ‘Please take care of yourself.’
Harrow bowed back. Then they both walked off in opposite directions. Harrow looked at the stuffed bunny. It flopped down in his arms, limp, oblivious, a dead thing.
It was almost time for the fireworks. Harrow walked past a small gaggle of elderly Shadeclaws chatting energetically about the previous Grandmaster and several stalls of shopkeepers trying to relieve their stock. He passed one and stopped. It was selling Imperial and Breton musical instruments at such a low price that the Shadeclaw manning the stand might as well have been giving them away.
Harrow went over to inspect the items on display and cocked an eyebrow. ‘This is an Alfathen,’ he stated, looking at the violin. ‘You’re selling it for a hundred and ten septims, sir?’
The Po’ Tun smiled sourly. ‘No one in Tamriel would believe that a random Khajiit just happens to own an Alfa, so it’s rarely of much use in the field. My own undercover operations almost never involve music, and even if that changes, the Tamriellian instrument I took when I was a kit was the flute. I’m just hoping to get this thing out of my room so at least someone else can make good use of it – come to think of it, kit, maybe since you’re born of an elf…’
Harrow counted out eleven ten-septim coins and bought the violin. He was a little shocked with himself. I never splurge like this, but… it’s an Alfathen.
Most of the villagers were gathering in the central square to watch the fireworks. Many had also chosen rooftops to sit and stand on. To avoid disturbing the others – and admittedly for a bit of quiet on his own part – Harrow went back to his own block of the living quarters and leapt to the roof. He was alone.
The violin had been well-preserved. Alfathen was better known across Tamriel for her brass, but her strings were also of the highest quality – exemplars of Second Era craftsmanship, manufactured using spells and enchantments for precision that simply wouldn’t be possible by hand. He took the bow and drew once across the A string, humming the note as he tuned. He tuned the D, G and E strings after that in short order.
Harrow paused for a moment as the full E faded into the distance, the bow still resting lightly on the string. He’d picked the violin as his Tamriellian instrument mainly because he’d anticipated his undercover deployments to High Rock and Cyrodiil by the time he was thirteen, but he didn’t actually know that many pieces. He hadn’t really needed it for his first undercover assignment, either, only playing it a few times for Sabina Flavana.
Sabina… Flavana.
The name should have meant little to him now. No, no. It means nothing- Yes, it meant nothing, Bengakhi had helped him achieve that with his prescribed mental exercises; ending her a hundred thousand times over in his head; killing her memory until she was as dead as he could make her.
‘I almost think you believe it yourself…’
Harrow shook his head, annoyed with Urokko. What did he know? Just another target-
‘Azalea…? You play the violin too, then?’
Her laugh had been warm and strong, as full-bodied as the rest of her.
‘Of course you do. There’s nothing you can’t do, is there?’
On an impulse, he began on upbow with a low, mournful collé draw, then moved immediately into a series of vibrato strokes.
It had been her favourite piece.
He brought out the score in front of his mind’s eye and interpreted it to the fullest extent of his abilities, which wasn’t saying too much. He wasn’t exceptionally skilled and hadn’t really practiced outside of his curriculum. Still, music at its basest form was simple enough. Match tone, match pitch, match rhythm, play the right notes. He had no pretensions of being an artist or even a proper musician, but just parroting the score – that much he could manage. That much was all he could manage. The result was music that was entirely correct, perhaps even pleasing at times, but indistinct, cold, detached. There was no articulation, no dynamics, no shifts in timbre. He was reproducing the piece as a technician, not playing music.
Harrow finished the piece and bit his lip, staring past the edge of the rooftop and looking down, more unsettled than ever.
‘It was horrible, I know it was!’
He had covered his face, acting up his embarrassment for maximum effect.
‘I think it was perfect. Oh, stop pouting. Come here, you…’
Her armour had been off. Her arms were thick, toned, crushing him against her chest. Her heart – yes, he was all too familiar with her heart – had been pounding as she took what she wanted.
Maybe I really had played better then.
He’d moved one foot forward and was about to jump down from the ledge when three sharp détaché notes came at him from behind.
‘Master?’ Harrow turned. Torako was standing there with his own violin. ‘Apologies – did you want to use the roof yourself?’
‘Ah, no need to be so stiff with me,’ Torako said, sitting down at the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the side. ‘Come on, sit, sit.’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Your night with Urokko didn’t end well.’
‘No, Master.’
‘I already told you to stop being so stiff,’ Torako chided. ‘It’s the New Year’s, for crying out loud. It can’t be the first time you left a… never mind.’
‘Master, I-’
‘The piece you were playing,’ Torako said, waving dismissively. ‘It was Geonette, wasn’t it? The Dragons’ Requiem in E-flat Minor, first movement. They say Geonette began the piece originally as a symphony for Uriel the Seventh but changed it to a requiem mass for full orchestra upon both his and Martin Septim’s deaths.’
Harrow shifted. ‘Apologies for my poor playing, master.’
Torako shifted. ‘Ah. Well, I’m no music instructor, but I didn't think it was bad at all.’
‘I am aware of my shortcomings, Master. If it’s not written down in the score’s instructions, I don’t think I could make any interpretations on my own. Forgive me. I’ll stop now. Feel free to-’
‘Hmm.’ Torako raised his violin to his shoulder. ‘Play it again! I’ll accompany. And this time…’ His voice softened and he smiled encouragingly. ‘Make it your own piece.’
Harrow blinked. ‘Master, I’ve never played in any professional setting at all, and even if I have a basic grasp of musical theory-’
‘Excuses, kit?’
‘Apologies, Master.’ Harrow began immediately on the same note and the same sequence of collé into vibrato. He reproduced the piece again, bar by bar, Torako’s accompaniment guiding him along, nudging him subtly but insistently to-
‘Take a few risks,’ Torako murmured as he performed a series of light harmonics. ‘Come on now. No need to do just what Geonette tells you to. Add your own touch… what are you thinking?’
‘What are you thinking, Azalea?’ Her tone was playful. They were both in bed, their limbs tangled together.
Harrow hesitated for half a beat, then inserted glissando into his next bar, connecting the notes with nostalgic glides upwards and downwards.
‘There we are. Don’t stop now. You can keep going, can’t you?’
‘Don’t stop. Keep going.’ She was panting, in the grips of her crescendo, but even then her voice was commanding, forceful. ‘Azalea.’
On the eighth bar he brought the scale up by one octave and began changing some of the notes.
‘Azalea.’
Torako adjusted, following suit, highlighting his new melody with chords and dashes of portato. ‘That’s right. Just play what you want… I’m here. And I’ll support you all the way.’
‘I’m here, Azalea!’
Harrow played a series of arpeggios, and as the chords broke-
‘Azalea…’
-he was playing an entirely new score now-
Her heart convulsed one last time before stopping. He felt it, felt her last shudder run down the spine of his sword and into his hand and into his body and into his own heart and he trembled-
He turned every note into vibrato until the strings began to cut into his left fingers.
‘Harrow… my name is Harrow.’
He ripped on the bow until the sounds emanating from the violin melted together into a howl, a wail, a scream.
She looked up and whispered his name.
And there Harrow ended the piece abruptly with a downbow that snapped his G and D strings but even then Torako kept on, finishing his final melody with one last bar.
An eerie silence filled the air.
‘That,’ Harrow said, his voice hollow. ‘Was nothing special.’
‘No?’ Torako said kindly. ‘I found it to be a vast improvement...’
Harrow didn’t reply. He stared forward into space, biting his lower lip until the corner of his mouth began to bleed.
Torako gathered his violin and bow in his left hand and rose.
‘Kit, if you ever want to play again,’ he said gently, motioning out towards the village. ‘I’ll be here… we’ll all be here… to play your accompaniment.’
He reached out and, softly, ever so softly, brushed away the lone droplet rolling down Harrow’s cheek. Then he left, his form disappearing into the night.
The fireworks began, a brilliant burst of every colour across the rainbow flashing across the night sky as Grandmaster Takarro began to ring the fifty-six chimes of the New Year’s bell.
A gust of fanged wind twisted through the village. Harrow’s kimono fluttered behind him alongside his hair. A blue explosion turned the red robe purple.
He dropped the violin and clutched the stuffed bunny to his chest, squeezing it with both his arms. It remained limp, oblivious, a dead thing – but for the first time since forever, he could feel the cold, and the bunny was soft and could not be killed.
Harrow buried his face into the doll and stayed there, immobile, as the night flowed onwards and the fireworks went off one by one.
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