A.D.W.D. Chapter 9: A Silent Night

• Posted by Exuro October 25, 2015 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - 1,719 views

  

   

  Amari breathed in deep and took in the intoxicating smell of the stew before her. “Lamb, garlic, Frost Mirriam, and Alto wine in the broth?”

   

  “That’s quite the nose on you. This recipe has been in the family for more generations than I can count,” Ainethach proudly proclaimed, “well don’t wait, dig in!”

   

  Amari did just that and with gusto. Freshly washed, a new set of clothes, no one trying to kill her, and great food; she was starting to feel almost human again, still bone-weary, but human.

   

  “Yes, your hospitality is truly a godsend; I don’t know how long we would have lasted on our own,” Trebonde said from the opposite end of the table. She was still mad at him and refused to sit near him; he'd played her emotions like a lute and had brought her tears in front of the whole village. She wasn’t about to forgive him for that. She was mortified to be eating with the same people, but she was also too hungry to pass up a meal.

   

  Trebonde was trying to give Ainethach and Tellevi their last valuable, the silver tongs he’d pulled the arrowhead out of Amari’s leg with, for their kindness. They refused of course and actually ended up stacking more supplies before him. 

   

  Amari returned to her stew and tuned the rest out. The lamb was so tender it melted in her mouth; chewing was optional. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a meal bursting with such delicious flavors and spices. The bandits couldn’t tell Elves’ Ear from Chokeweed, not the she would have tried to cook a proper meal even if they did. She thought back with a chuckle to how she would often purposely burn the food or add the wrong portions just to make their experience worse.

   

  She started in on her second bowl, but the stew turned to a bland, fibrous ash in her mouth. Confused, she took another bite to the same effect. A troubled ping brought her attention to Scuttles. She searched for him with her sight and found him perched inside one of the walls chewing on the frame. Amari sighed, she had ordered him to keep lookout and he was taking the job a little too seriously. He was reporting everything he sensed back to her and her focus was slipping trying to track the two perspectives.

   

  She knew exactly how many mice lived in the house and that the crowd outside had dispersed; she could feel the strength of the wood as his claws dug into it; she knew which trees outside would likely bear nuts and which nested hawks, among other darker things. Things that were always there, but only noticed among the living as the rising of neck hairs or a shiver down the spine, but Scuttles was no longer mortal and lived in between the realms of life and death; he saw everything.  

   

  Right now he was telling her that the wood here didn’t taste right, that it didn’t have the rich pine flavor he remembered. That’s because you don’t have a tongue anymore, nut brain. The squirrel checked as if remembering his body was dead for the first time, then went into an after-life crisis and bolted to the roof. Amari groaned; she was too tired for this! He’d been in this state for over two years; did he really not know he was dead that whole time?!

   

  She felt Scuttles draw power from their bond in his panic, but between the running, healing, and destruction casting of their escape, she had nothing left to give and started feeling light headed. The others’ dinner conversation was then interrupted as her head slammed into the now empty stew bowl, sending the spoon clattering onto the floor.

   

  “Poor thing, she has had a rough day, hasn’t she.” Tellevi sympathized.

   

  Trebonde got up. “I’ll take her downstairs. I’m sorry, but I think we’ll have to table our conversation for now; I fear I’m only a few moments behind her.”

   

  "What a polite gentleman," Tellivi told her son as the travelers retired. "You could learn a thing or two from him."

   

  "Mother..."

   

  ***

   

  Amari awoke alone in the darkness. She climbed out from under the pile of hay and furs that had been prepared for them in the basement and then used the beams of moonlight penetrating through the seams of the wood siding to find the stairs. Above was empty as well, the dishes still lay strew across the table and the cooking fire lay cold, not even smoke rose from the coals. Where was everyone? How long had she been out?

   

  The front door slammed against its frame, nearly making Amari nearly jump out of her skin. She warily approached the still swinging door, and then stilled its banging with a hand. Outside was silent as well. The moons cast an ashen grey light over the dark houses, just soulless husks when no fires warmed the insides. She stepped out into the middle of the path and slowly started turning in a circle, a sense of dread slowly filling her.

   

  “Silv – Trebonde? Tellevi? Ainethach?” she called out, but only silence answered her. She went to touch her neck, hoping to find some comfort in the familiar weight of the pouch only to find that was gone too.

   

  “Scuttles!?” A low bass thrum answered, then a second. With the second thrum, a wave swept across the land, washing the scene in the blues and violets of her sight and she was no longer alone. Surrounding her were faceless specters drifting aimlessly between the buildings. As one they slowly turned to face her as if seeing her for the first time too. Jagged holes opened impossibly wide where their mouths should have been and then as one, they released a hoarse moan.

   

  “Hunger… Hunger… Hunger…”  They repeated in harsh voice barely above a whisper, long wisps of arms reached for her as they closed the distance. Amari backpedaled trying to not let them complete the circle around her.  At a pace as slow and inevitable as a glacier, the specters herded Amari away from the paths leading out of town and towards the mouth of one of the mines.

   

  A wall of hungering mouths stacked on top of and inside of one another in their eagerness to reach her. The way before her was blocked and a tunnel swallowed in darkness beckoned behind her. A low heart beat emanated from deep within, urging her to follow.  Faced with the choice of death or the unknown, Amari chose the latter. She brushed her fingers along the cavern wall as she followed the beat deeper. The specters stopped at the tunnel’s mouth, but their hoarse whispers followed.

   

  “Hunger… Hunger…”

   

  Deeper she went until all light and the haunted murmurs faded. Then there was only her ragged breathing, the brush of stone against her hand, and the beat. Her own heart was beginning to match its rhythm when a trickle of water and the glow of a campfire were added to the chorus. Warily she approached, and as she drew near she recognized the cove in the red glow of the fire. She was back at Robber’s Gorge. She could see the stars from where the ceiling had collapsed into the water and a delicious scent came from the fire. A pot was hanging from a spit and standing over it was Hjorta.

   

  “About time, you’re late!” Gnarly Nan threw an apron at Amari with her usual brusqueness. “Stir the pot; I need to add some more meat to it.”

   

   By reflex Amari put on the apron and took over the pot, staring once more into a boiling pot gruel. Meat? She felt the spoon hit something and scooped it out. The gruel dripped from the chunk, revealing what it was and Amari dropped the spoon in revulsion; a human hand bobbed in the stew. She whipped around and saw Hjorta standing over Silver with a butcher’s cleaver. His one-handed body was slumped against the wall with gray, glazed over eyes.

   

  “Hmm, now which cut o' meat next…” Hjorta was muttering. She turned, still brandishing the cleaver, at Amari’s stifled gag. “What girl, the men must stay fed.”

   

  “Hunger… Hunger…”

   

  The specters were back, this time the faces took the form of those she’d killed. She didn’t even know most of their names, but the Captain, the Elf, the Crusher, and a dark void where the Toad should have been were all there. They came forward with bowls in outstretched hands and mouths contorted into serrated maws too large for their faces.

   

  “Hunger…”

   

  Amari’s heart was pounding in her chest and the cave wall shook as its beat matched her tempo. She stepped back and fell off the ledge into the waters below.

   

  Then she was running through a forest of trees, leaping between the branches at the speed of the wind. The specters tried to follow, but they were too slow and she was as the wind. A thrill of joy surged through her as she left the ghosts behind and leapt between two trees then onto a mountain ridge. Her claws barely touched the ground when she ran and the wind whistled through her. A cliff edge approached, but she just increased her speed and leapt off with a powerful thrust, the ground beneath her exploding in a flash of soul fire.

   

  She soared weightless through the air, watching the trees of Skyrim flicker past and listening to the two syncopated heartbeats thrum in her ears. They aimed for a tall tree to break their fall and collided with a loud crack that started a split down the center of the tree. Protective runes activated and dissipated the impact into a heat that would have caught the tree on fire had it not recently rained. They continued running and leaping between trees and branches, disrupting both the living wildlife and the spirits as they rushed past; a shadowed blur under the vibrant bands of Skyrim’s aurora, somehow visible despite the last rays of Magnus still being present. They came to a stop at the peak of another mountain ridge and looked down to see the same redoubt carved into the mountain side they had passed earlier in the morning.

   

   On the path below were two robed people fending off the Forsworns’ arrows and fire with wards and lightning.  The two were sprinting and juking past the fort, desperately trying break past the fort when a great elk like bay pierced through the air, freezing everyone in their tracks. A demon with the head of a beast and body of a man emerged from one of the upper fort towers. Where there should have been a vibrant aura of life, there was only a twisted mass of dark energy. Even at this distance Amari could feel the chaotic touch of the Daedra on the demon. Its eyes burned with cold vengeance that showed no mercy on the two below. 

   

  It released an empowered lightning bolt that cracked like thunder as it streaked across the battlefield. The bolt shattered the already flickering ward of one of the robed people and sent the pour soul flying into the canyon wall in a burst of flame. The other wailed in anguish, but managed to haul himself and the burning corpse out of range. The demon stared after them for a moment, then let out another bay calling off the attack and returned to the tower. Amari and Scuttles retreated from the Forsworn and they slipped down the mountain side towards the survivor.

   

  Amari reached the bottom of the mountain then looked up to see her old home. Stone walls with two towers protruding from the second floor overlooking the Iliac Bay. Nostalgia and apprehension filled her; she hadn’t seen her home since that fateful night years ago. It was a starless night and the windows were dark, abandoned. The only light came from the flickering oil lamps lining the sidewalks. Unable to move, she stood staring at the front door; staring at the stained glass and ornate carvings; and remembering how the morning sun would bathe the entry in the glass’s spectrum of colors.

   

  A wind brushed past her, waking her from her reverie. Silent as a ghost, a large form wrapped in a simple brown cloak strode past her on bare feet and entered the house, her house! She stormed in after him not thinking her next step through. Inside the darkness was beyond black, a true void. As soon as she crossed the threshold the door slammed shut behind her. She spun around to try the door only to find that the door was no longer there, the house was no longer there.

   

  She lost all sense of direction; there was no light; no sound, no touch. She wasn’t even sure if she was standing on the ground, and the Dragonborn was lurking in here somewhere, the one who obliterated Robber’s Gorge, the one who maimed Silver. First she heard a cloak fall to the ground, then a discharge. The purple glow of alteration magic lit not ten paces before her. His back was facing her and as the energy spread across his body, the skin stretching and hardening into dragon scales as it passed.

   

  “Mul Qual Diiv!”

   

  Spikes and plates of armor of orange and azure energy burst into life about him and the altered skin rose to follow the contours. He had the soul of a dragon and he’d learned how to transform his skin into their living armor. The light of his aspect lit the area around them, revealing that they were no longer inside Amari’s old house, but amidst an endless dune of sands that held all colors, yet also none. The mountains of sand rolled like waves, sometimes colliding and collapsing in on themselves as great breakers. One such breaker was approaching fast as the crest they stood on began to roll in on its self. The Dragonborn began a low chant in the dragons’ language and broke in to a sprint following the stable crests of sand. Amari chased after him. It was either follow the beacon of his dragon aspect or risk being swallowed by the sands, alone in pure darkness.

   

  How she kept up she didn’t know; he ran like the wind, gliding from dune to dune, never stopping, never slowing, always finding the stable crests and leaving just before they collapsed. For what seemed like hours or days they ran; an island of light in an ocean of sand and darkness. One hesitation, one misstep and all would end.

   

  At long last he stopped, so suddenly Amari almost impaled herself on the spikes lining his back.  She looked around and the sands were gone, but the darkness remained. Then a giant tongue made of a mesh of some corroded metal uncurled from the shadows, coming to a stop between the two and formed a bridge into a new land of sickly green light and an acrid scent. Amari followed the bridge to the archway decorated with ornate spirals with her gaze, then turned to the Dragonborn.

   

  He hadn’t made any move to go on the bridge; he was just standing there with his arms crossed staring at her with piercing eyes of molten gold. With his dragon skin active, he resembled a human only in general shape. Even his face had distorted into that of a stub-nosed snarling dragon that  shared the same molten eyes of the dragons. He was in control of his aura right now, not like when he walked into the bandit camp as a literal storm, but she could still sense the souls of scores of dragons clamoring for release, held in check only by his steel clad will. Wonder if he could speak in the common tongue with that face?

   

  She cast a questioning glance at the archway. He made no response save for the slightest of nods. Amari didn’t like the bridge. Its presence felt familiar, like a nightmare faded from memory. She walked the perimeter of the Dragonborn’s aura searching for any other option. She leaned out of the light to peer deeper into the darkness and the void stared back, beckoning. What if she took a step out of the Aspect’s glow?  Just let the emptiness surround her, it would be so easy. She felt her foot begin to rise and then snapped back to her senses. She closed her eyes, steadying her nerves, what would have happened if she had stepped? Would she be lost for an eternity in the void, become nothing? Like the Toad.  

   

   The Dragonborn remained immobile, watching her with unreadable glowing eyes. Void, Dragonborn, or the nightmare bridge? What great choices… She stepped onto the bridge.

   

  Warily she walked across the bridge, her eyes scanning all directions in paranoia, but nothing attacked, nothing changed. It was just her steady steps and her heartbeat with a second one echoing faintly from a strange angle. As she drew closer, shapes began to form in the green light, a library, or a study, with towers of books ascending into the sky. More corroded metal and glowing fountains of strange fish creatures. Sitting at desk piled high with tomes and notes was a woman in dark robes furiously flipping through pages and jotting notes. Amari quickened her pace, her heart rising to her throat.

   

  As she passed through the archway she bumped into a creature and stared in horror as it turned to face her. Its head looked like an octopus had latched onto the body and it wore ancient tattered robes that hid a body of more tentacles that drifted off the ground. It clutched a small stack of books tightly to its chest and cursed at her in a guttural language of ebbs and flows she vaguely recalled, but otherwise left her alone and went to set the books before the woman at the desk. It gave Amari one last withering glare before drifting to another room.

   

  Amari shuddered, but continued onward. She could hear the woman’s ramblings now:

   

  “So close, I know the answers are here. There is a way. I can find her. One more book and I will need a break. So close. Yes, yes, this one has the right sources. The answers are near. So close…”  

   

  And on she repeated in a similar vein.

   

  “Mother?” Amari tentatively spoke, but got no response. She stepped closer and spoke more firmly, “Mother?”

   

  The woman stopped and raised a finger on one hand while still writing with the other, “Shh! I am occupied.”

   

  It was her mother!

   

  “Mother! It’s me, Amari!”

   

  “Amari?” A sense of disbelief in her voice.

   

  Amari ran to her mother and put a hand on her shoulder and the woman turned to face her, but it was the eye of Hermeaus Mora that stared back.

   

  "Welcome home child," it spoke in the Daedric Prince’s lulling voice.

   

  ***

   

  Amari shot out of her pile of hay and furs with a cry. Trebonde turned from a crack in the wall he’d been staring outside through.

   

  “Well, you lasted longer into the night than me.”

   

  “You’re alive?”

   

  “Why do you keep asking me that?”

   

  “Oh.” She was starting to feel stupid now, it was just a dream. “Hjrota was chopping you into pieces for the stew in part of the dream.”

   

  He laughed. “Lass, you have one sick imagination. Although, you can believe she definitely wanted to. Wonder who that gnarly root is tormenting now…”

   

  “So our plan did manage to get at least one person out?”

   

  “I assume so; I didn’t see her in the following… chaos.”

   

  She could see he still couldn’t fully face that night. Silver had always believed his spirit was free, but the Dragonborn had proved he could crush it with ease and remove its freewill.

   

  Amari was still trying to make sense of her dream. Did it even mean anything or was it just her mind coping? She turned her gaze to the dust dancing in the rays of light seeping through the house’s cracks, orange from the fire above and white from the moon, no ashen gray.

   

  “Well I for one don’t want to dwell on my dreams. Let’s go see what the villagers are up to; maybe we can score some free booze.” Trebonde decided as if reading her mind. He slapped his thighs as he rose and winced as his tender stump reminded him that his hand was gone.  

   

  “Yes, please,” Amari said, “I’m still mad at you though.”

   

  “There is no escape from a woman’s wrath!” he exclaimed, dramatically clenching his fist at the sky.

   

  She laughed and then checked for Scuttles as they left. She felt him observing Karthwasten from high in tree by the silver mine. All the villagers were gathered in a circle behind one of the houses and one was tending to a fire behind them. Trebonde and Amari approached the circle as the last verses of a rite were finishing:

   

  "…is my shield and the hammer of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge; I call upon Stendarr, who in his benevolence may show mercy in his heart for those whom I find none! To guide our paths true for when the time comes, we may join our fallen sister amongst the Mother’s Bones, forever vigilant against the forces of destruction. By the Divines, so be it.”

   

  “By the Divines,” the villagers chorused.  The circle dispersed, walking around a freshly dug grave and offering condolences to the speaker. Amari froze when she saw who the speaker was: an old Imperial, maybe mid-forties, wearing the robes of a Vigilant of Stendarr that were burnt about the sleeves and had multiple arrow holes torn in them. A soft golden glow shown through those holes and surrounded his badly burnt hands. Was this the same man? The one she'd seen in her dream, dragging his burning partner out of the line of fire. He looked exhausted, but more in spirit than body despite the trials and distance she knew he endured.

   

  Ainethach rested a hand on the Vigilant’s shoulder, careful to avoid the many wounds. “Tyranus, you are welcome to stay as long as you need. Our home is your home.”

   

  “Thank you for your kindness, the Divines will look kindly upon your charity. I do need some time to heal before I continue my journey to Markarth.” Amari’s heart clenched as a growing fear was confirmed. This was the Vigilant Molag Bal sent her after.

   

  “You won’t be returning to the Hall first?”

   

  “No, the trail would go cold in that long of a delay; I fear I press my luck even healing my wounds first.”

   

   “So you’re serious, you really think people are worshiping Daedra inside one of the Holds?”

   

  “Aye, I fear so, but let’s not talk on such dark matters any longer. Viana would not want her passing to be so bleak.”

   

  “Right, sorry.” Ainethach turned around and called out across the town, “Hey Endar! Roll out the mead! It’s time to celebrate!”

   

  Trebonde nudged Amari, completely missing that she’d gone as pale as a sheet, and whispered, “I like where this is going.”

   

  “Who’s paying!” a voice yelled back.

   

  “All on me!” Ainethach replied.

   

  A bulky Nord, already with a drink, snorted it through his nose. “You’re paying?! Have I died and gone to Sovngarde?”

   

  Ainethach laughed. “I’m in a giving mood, I just got the mine back, we have guests, and this poor Hammer of the Divines is in need of a much-earned drink. Speaking of which, our earlier guests appear to be awake now, Tyranus. This one here managed to talk a whole band of Redguard sellswords out of here while looking like he’d just escaped Oblivion.”

   

  “I commend you for doing so without violence; I dislike shedding the blood of any of Nirn’s children, mister…”

   

  “Trebonde at your service. Trust me, it would not have ended well for a one-handed merchant to try force.” Trebonde glanced at Amari and noticed this time how she’d paled in Tyranus’s presence. His smile never wavered, but his eyes shot her a concerned look and then scanned the Vigilant with new suspicion. “And the quiet one here is my niece, Amari. Don’t mind her shyness; she’s seen far too many horrors of this world already.”

   

  Tyranus’s eyes hardened while Trebonde spoke; merchant, un-skilled fighter, niece, he didn’t believe any of it.  Tyranus noticed the way the man’s eyes constantly scanned his surroundings, the way he carefully observed and profiled everyone there, how his steps were light and fluid, and the callouses on his hand from long hours of sword practice, a light sword or dagger by the shape. This was no simple merchant and that was definitely not his niece, but he could see that it was true she had seen far too much of this world, and others. The Daedra left a certain mark on the lives of those they toyed with and over the years he had learned to spot it. She was hiding something grave from these people, from even her ‘uncle’ he suspected. Something about him scared her, he could see that, but when he looked at her she met his gaze unflinchingly. It was good he needed to stay; there was a story here and he needed to reach the root of it.

   

  Ainethach looked between the guests and cleared his throat uncomfortably at the rising tension. “Well, we can’t let the mead flow until the guests of honor are ready.”

   

  “Yes, let’s not keep them waiting,” Trebonde and Tyranus both spoke at once. They all joined the crowd around the now blazing fire and Ernand tapped the first keg to the cheers of the villagers.

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

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