Okan-Zeeus
~ ~ ~
Ten years ago…
I awoke with a start. Sitting upright, my senses alert, I scanned the room around me. It was small and dark with rounded walls made of dried mud, straw and log frame. Small jars rested upon a hanging set of shelves suspended by ropes. Wicker baskets were piled in a corner. A soft leaf pallet lay beneath me.
This was my home in the outskirts of Archon – I had merely woken up. As I steadied my breathing, I felt a shuffling beside me. Milah was awake as well. I must have disturbed her sleep, though she seemed content to ignore my sudden fit of rousing. Slowly, silently, I stood and walked through a doorway draped with fern leaves into an adjoining living space. An empty fire pit for cooking sat in the room’s center, encircled by assorted amenities, including a wood table with log stump seats.
Hist spit on these nightmares, I thought to myself. Will they ever stop?
The cool damp air of the night sent shivers down my tail. Moonlight glazed across the dirt floor from a smoke vent in the domed ceiling, my knothole to the rainforest sky. I lingered, staring up at the glow of a crescent Secunda. Crickets and tree frogs chirped outside in cadenced disharmony. I wanted to believe all here was peaceful. How badly I wanted to.
I drew a sharp breath through my nostrils, trying to take in the smell of the room. The scent of blood proved too overwhelming. It was nearly all I smelled anymore.
Stooping over a small baked clay basin, I caught my ghastly reflection. Faint traces of black pigment clung to the skull-like façade staring back at me. I splashed water on my face, rubbing it clean. Everything felt dull and languid. Nights like this always came on the eve of black letter dead drops. Clasping the edges of the bowl, I leaned my weight against it, watching the water ripple. My breathing was slow and heavy. Droplets fell from stubble horns on my chin.
This was torture. Such insufferable waiting! The An-Xileel would not gather at Helstrom’s Great Xanmeer until the coming new moons, an entire week! Each sordid day felt longer than the last.
Times of strife were looming over Black Marsh. The murders of Jeeral-Bex and Kianatepa at the festival of Xohn-Thiliul had brought tensions to the brink. They were two of the south’s most influential organs, in Soulrest and Blackrose respectively, with strong ties to the An-Xileel. They were also not the first of our people’s leaders to die in recent months. Each killing was the same – a random time, a random place, quick and silent without ceremony.
I had been involved in the efforts to track down those responsible, though the assassinations were not all that plagued us. Thefts of written records and ambushed couriers marred our investigations at every turn. The Dark Elves were not to blame. They could never operate in our borders so easily. Long before the events of the festival, I suspected the roots of this infection grew from within. Mahei-Ru and others among Archon’s organism shared this feeling.
There were traitors in our midst, sowing seeds of panic and discord. To what end I did not know.
Neither did I care. This would be their problem to resolve. I was done with the An-Xileel. Milah and I were going to leave Black Marsh for good without delay or regret. No one would be able to stop us. The only two Argonians in the entire east who could track me were Zollassa and Ixtha-Kai. They would both be at Helstrom serving as bodyguards. I knew how best to travel unseen, to stay hidden against all peering eyes. By the time a single soul were to learn of our departure, the gap would be too great to close. One more week. I was growing eager and impatient.
But I dared not act in reckless abandon. There remained a complication, one entrusted to my care.
I looked to the other side of the room. Against the wall was a nest woven out of hay and threaded string, set inside a wooden basket. It was crude and makeshift, but comfortable for its sole occupant: an Argonian egg, five months incubated. Its rough speckled surface shone in the moonlight.
Truly a marvel… To think that within the small shell slept a creature coursing with Saxhleel blood. My blood. And Milah’s.
A chilling breeze blew down into the room. I became concerned. It was an unusually cold night. The egg needed warming. Normally midwives tend to eggs in clutches at the hatching pools. Milah knew enough that she could care for ours herself, while instructing me how to do it as well. It was at times a much more demanding ordeal than I expected.
I shuffled over and knelt down by the nest. Gathering a well of magicka in my hand, a soft orange glow shone forth, radiating warmth. I caressed the egg gently, trying to raise its temperature. Not all eggs are cared for with magic, but this one was privileged to have a healer for a mother. And a far less talented apprentice as a father.
So focused on maintaining my concentration, I only noticed Milah’s presence as she walked up beside me.
“Be careful. You’re not attuning the strength of the spell. You’ll overheat the egg,” she said. “Here, I’ll do it.”
“So you are awake,” I said, backing off to give my mate the room she needed.
“Yes. Would you happen to know who I could thank for that…?”
I averted my eyes to the egg, embarrassed.
“Sorry…”
Milah shook her head. “You should have tried harder to wake me. You’re still not practiced enough to use your spell.”
“I wanted to let you sleep. I managed this alone last time, didn’t I?”
“While I was watching carefully over your shoulder? Is that alone to you?”
I accepted defeat without another word. She was right. In my haste I could have made any number of errors. I was still far behind her level of skill. Milah had proven herself a good teacher, but I was a slow student. Casting restoration magic was nothing like using a weapon or surviving in the wilderness. Even in something as simple as egg tending, I faltered from novice mistakes. She glanced over at the glum look on my face.
“You know I appreciate the thought,” Milah said in a calming voice, “but I’d rather be awake and angry than asleep while you cause an accident.”
I gave a slight crestfallen chuckle. “I am not sure which of those is the lesser evil.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Neither is being on my end of the matter.”
“What have I ever done to you for waking me up?”
I folded my arms, giving off a scent of enthusiasm.
“Hmm… Now isn’t that the question. What indeed…”
Milah threw me a dubious pair of eyes. “Are you trying to guilt me?”
“No, but I’ll be happy to if you want.”
“Okan-Zeeus, don’t you dare.”
“Should I start with least or worst offense?”
“You have a list?”
“Remind me, didn’t you once threaten to feed me to the swamp eels for stirring you out of bed…?”
Milah rolled her eyes and gave a playful shove, continuing to work on the egg.
“I did. And I’ll still do it. Will you let me finish?”
My smile showed teeth.
“You had but to ask.”
I sat quietly, watching the glow of my wife’s magic play off the surface of her emerald green scales. Her orange eyes were gleaming. Moonlight filtered through the translucent fins on her head and rendered a glossy shine along the contours of her body. She noticed I was staring.
I remained as bad then at hiding my affections as when we first met. For good reason – I never tried to. I adored her. She had become so many things to me; a confidant, a lover, a trusted friend. Our times spent together were fleeting glimpses of the peace I hoped to one day know. Milah withdrew her spell and sat back, tail drawn around her legs.
“That should be enough for now,” she said. “The sun will rise soon.”
“Good,” was all I thought necessary to say.
We both silently admired the egg, each dreaming our own dreams of its hatching. The life within that shell bristled with energy, eager to swim in new waters.
“It’s gotten big. It won’t be long before the egg tooth grows in,” I said.
“If he hasn’t grown it already,” Milah asserted.
I sighed. She insisted she knew what life phase the hatchling would take. I wasn’t sure what brought on this assumption, nor did I encourage it. At times I thought Milah did it to tease me. She knew I wanted the opposite. My only hope was that she wouldn’t be disappointed if her prediction proved wrong. The ordeal of our escape was already putting pressures on her. Among Milah’s tribe, many raised bitter objections at our decision to keep a hatchling separated from the Hist at birth. It is a grievous taboo among the Saxhleel, more so in the east than in other regions of Black Marsh.
The Hist are… difficult to describe to outsiders. Many disregard them as little more than trees. Simply know that the Hist gave my people their souls. In the swamps they shaped us, formed us, gave us purpose. We depend on them, while they depend on us. It is symbiosis in the truest sense.
Though perhaps I should mention something else…
The Hist possess powers of prescience. They have protected my people from great harm throughout the past. Before the Oblivion Crisis, they forewarned the Saxhleel of Dagon’s coming. Our people fearlessly drove back the daedra with this foresight. While other provinces suffered terrible loss, Black Marsh stood strong.
Yet the Hist remained silent about the traitors in Black Marsh, or at least they were silent to most. Our Treeminders still heard their voices, but they refused to share anything. Only in dire times have the Hist secluded their connection to a chosen few. It is almost unheard of. All commune with the Hist. They speak to my people in visions brought by dreams, by consuming their sap, or by even physically touching a tree. I have heard vivid descriptions of the link shared between Hist and Argonian.
I cannot testify to their truth. The trees have never spoken to me in all my life. Everything I know of them is second-hand. But this is another discussion for another time.
As we lingered in silence, my wife peered at me concernedly, sensing something was amiss.
“You didn’t wake up because of the egg, did you? What’s wrong?” she asked.
I tensed at the question. “I am fine, Milah.”
“You look tired. Are you still not sleeping?”
“There is much stressing me.”
“I’m stressed too, but I’m getting good rest. You haven’t slept soundly in days.”
I’ll sleep soundly when I’m dead…
“It is nothing more than a few bad dreams. You needn’t worry yourself with me,” I consoled as warmly as I could, giving a hopeful smile. “They will pass in time, I am sure of it.”
Milah tried to be cheerful in turn, but her scent still veiled deep worry. She had every reason to be concerned about my condition. The risks involved in our plan were great. If any opposition bore down on us, I would face the brunt of it. Worse yet, leaving in light of recent events would almost certainly paint suspicion on me – perhaps even a target.
It would be the same in any case, though. If I was to end my service to the An-Xileel, desertion or death were my only options. One cannot simply resign from an enlistment like mine. It is a life-long vocation.
“I know you’re trying hard to be brave. There must be something that can help you rest. You need your strength,” my wife insisted. “I will see an herbalist tomorrow. I’m sure Ah-Keeus or Onuja could make something for you.”
I became irritated.
“I have no need for medicine.”
“Something is causing these bad dreams.”
“This isn’t an ill of the body.”
“Then what is it?”
My glare in reply was firm.
“Milah, you know the work that I do! These dreams…”
I trailed off. Though I had the words to describe them, the nightmares were too horrid to speak of aloud. So often I would wonder if they were spirits sent to torment me, to see that I never forgot my deeds or the faces of the dead.
“What I need now is to flee from Black Marsh and the An-Xileel,” I said, “to leave this life behind! Only then can I truly be cured of this sickness.”
“And if that isn’t enough?”
“It will be.”
“Okan-Zeeus…”
“It will be! It has to!”
My voice had nearly risen to a yell. Milah withdrew her dispute, coiling in her tail protectively. I knew what that meant. I was frightening her. I settled down, hanging my head contritely.
“Milah, it has to… I have to stop… I can’t live this way anymore…!”
The years had bled me of my fortitude. I could no longer tell myself that the work I did was for the good of the Argonian people. The senseless pain, violence and carnage had to end. The An-Xileel may have made me an instrument of their will, but my soul could never truly thirst for blood no matter how much it tasted. My wife understood this better than anyone.
Our eyes met. I wanted to apologize for my outburst, but before I could speak she drew close and nuzzled her forehead against mine. Words were unnecessary. It was enough to simply be in the presence of someone who cared.
“The day will come soon, and we’ll be ready,” Milah eventually said. “We have to keep our eyes down the river.”
“I know. And I will,” I replied, uplifted somewhat. “It will be a joy to start anew.”
“Have you thought any more about where we will go?” she asked with sudden delight.
“I am sure you have enough ideas for the both of us,” I said.
“Does it not excite you? All of Tamriel is open to us! The forests of Valenwood, the coasts of Hammerfell, the mountains of Skyrim…”
“Us? Living in the mountains?” I frowned. “I can’t picture that.”
“But we could do it, couldn’t we? It doesn’t matter where we go.”
I cast a sideways glace. “As long as the people are friendly…”
“Healers are well met by most.”
“That makes you well met.”
“And you, dearest husband. You’re always so hard on yourself, but you’re learning so fast,” she assured me lovingly. “We could open a practice together, you and I. Find a quiet village that will take us. The three of us. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
This was her dream. The dream she wanted me to be a part of. It was more than I deserved. A chance to spend the rest of my days giving life instead of taking it…
“I would like that very much,” I answered softly.
We remained in each other’s presence for a while longer, lost in the moment. Then Milah stood up, giving me a hopeful smile.
“Come back to sleep. You have a long day tomorrow.”
“I will… Just wait for me. I need to be alone for now.”
My wife lingered, looking back at me as she returned to our bedroom. All became still. Moonlight no longer filled the room. I stared at the egg beside me, thinking troubled thoughts.
How could I let it come to this? Was I deluded to think I could live a normal life, that there would be no repercussions? There was so much at stake. I was putting my family in danger, all to relieve myself of my own burdens. If securing their future meant laying down my life…
I would not fail. I refused to. Our plan would succeed.
My family would safely escape Black Marsh, with or without me.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
There’s a lot here that’s lore established and a lot that’s not. Let me break it down.
The notions of Argonian eggs being tended by magic, as well as the taboo of eggs kept from the hist, were both of my own imagining. ‘Swamp eels’ were another thing I made up. The festival mentioned and the great Xanmeer of Helstrom are also my ideas.
Everything else, though, is all in TES lore. I hope I’ve done Argonian culture some justice in my portrayal.
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