Dragon of the East - Arc 2, Chapter 7

  • Chases-The-Wind

    ~ ~ ~

    Northbound through the woodlands of the Rift we made our way to Stonefalls Hollow. The land sloped downward, uneven and rock-strewn. String-like clouds streaked across the azure above, coasting gently on the wind. Eagle caws echoed through the empty air.

    “Augh–!! Dammit!”

    Dar-Meena stumbled, kicking up the forest floor.

    “Watch your step,” I said. “Plenty of roots hidden under these leaves.”

    The young thief scowled. Her black scales were speckled with sunlight filtering down through a red-orange canopy.

    “I noticed,” she muttered.

    I grinned sympathetically. She obviously did not enjoy this trek. She would enjoy it even less with a broken ankle.

    Dar-Meena continued to stare at me with a look of expectation as we walked. I glanced off at the snowy mountains to our right. They loomed tremendously high, a barrier of icy stone to mark the border of Morrowind. A place I had not been to in years. I was reminded of my first journey to the province. The flora and fauna there seemed not of this plane, as did the bizarre creatures…

    Something hard struck my snout. I flinched at Dar-Meena. She’d thrown at rock at me.  

    “Don’t stop talking,” she said.

    “W- What…?” I rubbed at the sore on my face, confused.

    “That was the first thing you’ve said to me in hours.”

    My tail swished over the leaves.

    “You exaggerate,” I said. “We have not traveled together that long.”                                

    “It feels like that long,” Dar-Meena grumbled. “Just… do you have to be so quiet?”

    “Silence does not demand that it be filled all the time.”         

    “I don’t care, okay?” She walked sideways, gesturing as she spoke. “We’re a couple of complete strangers out in the woods. By ourselves. I’m supposed to help you find some mysterious person or whatever, but I still have no reason to think you aren’t going to backstab me. I can’t read your mind.”

    The thief glared angrily at me. “So stop with the silence. It’s making me paranoid.”

     Hmm… That does make a certain sense.

    “Fair enough,” I said, smiling. “I apologize. I am not accustomed to companionship on my travels.”

    “Oh wow, really?” she retorted, feigning surprise. “I never would have guessed.”            

    I sighed. This woman was very peculiar. One might imagine my surprise when I first saw her in Riften, climbing out of a window in the dead of night. I had snuck into the city to question locals about the location of Stonefalls at sunrise. Dar-Meena became an unexpected change in priority. She appeared to be much younger than I. The thief was rude in her behavior and short tempered, but these things did not bother me. Having the company of someone overtly condescending is better than the opposite.

    What struck me the most about Dar-Meena was not her outward demeanor. When she revealed her motives behind her theft in Riften, it spoke something of her values. Even after my show of force she did not back down. That did not justify her actions in my eyes, but her determination to aid this innkeeper she knew was uplifting. There was good in her.

    If there was a chance she could be dissuaded from her path in life, I wanted to take it.     

    Not all thieves are heartless. Not all killers are callous. Yet an absence of one evil does not negate the presence of another. Regardless of the intent, thievery can bring terrible pain. Scars are left in its wake – I still wear mine on my face. I could not stand by and watch a young woman live her life as a criminal, not when she cared about other lives around her. I would rather intervene.

    Helping people has always been my mission, but the greatest effect I can have on a person requires a closer approach. Do you think it strange that I would risk traveling with someone like this? As a wanted man? I will tell you it is not so strange. I have come alongside many in their times of distress or at pivotal moments. Volumes could be written on the people I have come to know.

    An impoverished Great War veteran, taken to gambling to feed his two daughters…

    A Redguard warrior, seeking vengeance against the Dominion for a father betrayed…

    A young Khajiit girl, fleeing from the Renrijra Krin to end a life of drug trafficking…      

    You cannot change someone’s path unless you walk with them. I always make time for walking. Wherever I go.

    Dar-Meena glowered at me disapprovingly. “You’re doing it again...”

    “Hm?” I stirred. “Oh… I’m thinking of what to say.”

    “Gods, you’re the worst. I’ll start.”                           

    “Now wait just a–”

    “You’re from Black Marsh, aren’t you Chase?” she asked. The question took me off guard.

    “Er, yes… Yes I am... I take it my accent has betrayed me again.” I paused. “You’re calling me ‘Chase’ now?”

    “Better than Chases-The-Wind. Anybody tell you your name’s too long?”

    “There is a first time for everything…”

    Chases-The-Wind. Another alias. I have had many, and I never give out the same one twice. Keeping a constant cycle of new identities could not truly prevent the An-Xileel from finding me, but if it made their search more difficult I would be a fool not to do it. I was never at a loss for names, at any rate. Coming up with new ones had become something of a passtime. As someone who lives so often in isolation, I have a depressing amount of time to spare for such things.

    “Are you familiar with our native language?” I inquired, continuing the conversation.

    “No. Just the accent,” Dar-Meena said. “It’s hard to filter sometimes. Your Cyrodiilic’s pretty good, though.”

    “Likewise. I seem to meet fewer and fewer Argonians outside of Black Marsh these days. You are what we would call Lukiul.”

    “What?”

    “Assimilated. Imperialized. Born apart from the Hist.”

    “I don’t know what half of that means. What’s a Hist?”

    A scent of amusement rose about me.

    “Interesting… A land strider with gills…”

    Dar-Meena frowned. She relied heavily on facial expressions to convey emotion. It was telling of her upbringing among humans.

    “That’d better not be an insult,” she said. The bite of her threat was toothless.

    “Not at all,” I assured her. “It is an observation.”       

    Dar-Meena let out a huff. “You don’t know where I’m from.”

    I can reasonably guess.        

    We stepped down over a slight drop off. The roads would have offered a much more level pathway. I, however, did not wish to take them. They were too exposed. Dar-Meena protested at first but eventually resigned. She had her own apprehensions with walking in the open it seemed.

    “A question for you,” I began. “What is the object called that people use to carry water or draw from a well?”

    Dar-Meena looked at me suspiciously, as though my words contained a trap. She slowly gave an unsure answer, syllables drawn out.

    “…A bucket?”

    I returned a broad grin she would notice.

    “You are from northern Cyrodiil,” I said. “Cheydinhal, perhaps? Chorrol?”

    The shocked look on her face was priceless. It immediately darkened.       

    “How,” she demanded.

    “Two reasons. I presumed Cyrodiil by your manner. You are obviously educated and accustomed to urban life. As for the question I asked, your answer was telling. People in northern parts of Cyrodiil use the word ‘bucket’ to speak of what I described.”

    “Because that’s what it’s called,” Dar-Meena asserted.                             

    “Not everywhere. People in southern parts of the province do not call them buckets. They call them pails.

    “Pails? Buckets and pails? Those don’t sound anything like each other…”

    “They do not have to. Any word can be used to describe anything, so long as there is a shared understanding. It is the reason languages differ so much.”

    “When did you figure this out?”                                           

    “I heard the difference. Such things are more discernible to one who travels as much as I do.” And who possesses a trained ear for language, among other things.

    Dar-Meena regarded me thoughtfully. A sly smile rose on her face.

    “Not bad,” she said. “I can’t take you lightly at all, can I?”

    No.

    “Good that you notice this.” I smiled in turn.

    “So what are you, Chase?”

    “Hm?”

    Dar-Meena’s expression became stern. “What are you really? You seem to know an awful lot, even for a wanderer. There’s something you’re not telling me. Does it have to do with this person we’re finding?”

    My smile faded. Don’t indulge her. Our conversation had strayed to a place I did not approve. Conveniently I saw something in the right corner of my eye.

    “Hold that thought,” I interrupted, coming to a halt. A pile of rocks led up to an overpass, scattered roots hanging from its soily underside. Some of the trees on top looked climbable. This was good. I needed an excuse to scout ahead. Heading over to the rocks, I scaled my way up.

    “…What are you doing?” Dar-Meena asked, hands on her hips.

    “Surveying the landscape,” I said. “This will only take a moment.”

    The thief began to pout. She was smart enough to know I was dodging her question. High up in the branches of a pine tree I pulled a compact telescope from my bag and stretched it out, bringing the cold metal rim of the lens up to my eye. A familiar motion.

    “Well? What do you see?” Dar-Meena spoke impatiently.

    “There are some large spiders in the forest,” I said, pointing, “further north near a decline. We should go around, away from the base of the mountains.”

    “Spiders? You’re worried about spiders?” she mocked.

    “Spiders over half our size, yes. I would consider my worry a healthy one.”

    Dar-Meena’s eyes widened. She bit her tongue and walked away, throwing her arms up. “Of course! They’re giant spiders! Why wouldn’t Skyrim have those too?”

    The young thief rubbed her shoulder in irritation. She’s been doing that a lot, I noted.

    “It is no great concern. Their numbers are few. I’m sure we could handle them, if it came to that,” I said in a reassuring voice. I raised the telescope to my eye once more. After a final scan of the landscape – no signs of any other threats, on the ground or in the sky – I lowered the instrument and lingered.

    Now what are you looking at?” Dar-Meena griped.

    “The view. It is very pleasing to the eye,” I said, “The path forward is like a partition, cleaving the landscape in two. A bright, fiery forest on one side. Cold, snow coated stone on the other. It all flows down to a distant inlet of pine trees. I can barely see beyond them.” A raspy hum buzzed in my throat. “Such a sight this is!”

     Is there a soul alive who has seen every natural wonder in this world?

    Dar-Meena gave an enthusiastic clap of her hands.                                                             

    “Wow. That’s great. I’m so happy you’re enjoying yourself up there.” Her cheerful tone was sodden with sardonicism. “I mean, we’re out here to look at nature all day, aren’t we? Take your time. Let’s just soak it in.”

    I snapped the ends of my scope together.

    “This one will respond to a simple ‘can we leave,’” I muttered, climbing down from the tree.

    “Oh, but that’s so blunt. Where’s the fun?” Dar-Meena paused as I dropped to her level. “Is this a thing with you, by the way? Dramatic monologues?”

    My brow scrunched at that. Dramatic? Who’s dramatic?

    “Perhaps I am a bit sentimental,” I said. “What of it?”

    “Nothing. Nothing at all,” she replied with a smirk. “Just warn me next time you decide to gush about bright fiery forests.”                                                                                                        

    “You’re mocking me.”

    “I’m mocking your choice of words.”

    “I thought it sounded nice. Rather poetic.”

    “I hate poetry.”

    A sigh escaped my nostrils.

    “Of course you do…”

    ~ooooo~

    Evening fell. In need of food for two, I offered to see what I could gather in the forest. After about an hour of scavenging, my bounty consisted of a single rabbit, some snowberries, and a trove of white caps. It would have to do. Personally I am happy with any food that is not fish. I returned to the spot where Dar-Meena and I would camp for the night, set aside our feast on a flat rock, and started digging a hole in the ground.

    Dar-Meena sat away from me against the trunk of a tree, watching.

    “Tell me that’s for a fire,” she said.

    “It is for a fire,” I said.

    Dar-Meena shivered.

    “Are you just saying that?”

    I threw her a dull-eyed expression.

    “Don’t give me that look,” she groaned. “You always talk the same. I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

    After the first hole I began to dig a second smaller hole that tunneled into the other, for ventilation. A Bosmer woman taught me this method of fire building. By keeping the flames partially underground the light is better concealed. With a bedding of sticks, I set up a stable floor of fuel. Sparks flashed over the pit as I used my knife as a striker with a flint rock. Within moments, a fire was flickering inside the dirt crevice. I laid out a few of the white caps to roast and started skinning the rabbit.

    “You… actually live like this?” Dar-Meena asked, plucking a snowberry from the pile to eat. She made a face. I forgot to warn her that the berries weren’t particularly ripe.

    “I do,” I said with a grin. “You might think it unpleasant, but I cherish this life.”

    The wilderness was a place I where I could be at ease, with nothing to fear but the land I could live off. Even in Black Marsh these were the times I loved; camping in the marsh or trees, hunting for food and resources. These were usual necessities during reconnaissance or en route to assignments. It was during such times that I found escape. I could be someone I wasn’t. An observer of wildlife, a cartographer, a simple hunter…

    Not a killing tool of the An-Xileel. Not an assassin.

    “Whatever floats your boat,” Dar-Meena remarked, taking a cleansing swig of water from her canteen. “I wouldn’t mind it so much if it weren’t cold as Nocturnal’s tits out here.”

    “That is one way of putting it,” I said. “I agree, though. This climate takes some getting used to.”

    After making the proper cuts and snapping its hind leg bones, I pulled off the rabbit’s skin like a stocking. Dar-Meena observed with morbid curiosity.

    “I wonder. If not the cold, what brought you here?” I asked, severing the rabbit’s head with a knife. “To Skyrim, I mean.”

    “Opportunity,” she said.

    “Of what sort?”

    “The sort that’s my business. Don’t act like you care.”

    The white caps were finished cooking. I removed them from the flames and laid the gutted rabbit in their place.

    “I care a lot more than you probably think,” I insisted.         

    “Then you go first,” she countered. “Why are you here?”

    I paused.

    “I am here because I have nowhere to go.”      

    “Riveting. Is that the best you can come up with?”  

    “It’s the most truth I can say.”

    Her eyes narrowed. “So there is more to you…”

    “I assumed that was obvious.”

    Dar-Meena shuffled in place, wincing slightly in pain. She pressed her hand against her shoulder. Again? What’s causing her this discomfort?

    “Are you alright?” I asked.

    “Fantastic,” she grumbled, “change the subject.”

    “To what?”

    “Something other than me!” Dar-Meena snapped. She was quite angry. I suspected the wick of her tempter was being cut short by the pain in her shoulder.

    Our food finished cooking. I offered Dar-Meena a larger portion than mine but she declined, stating she was not very hungry. We ate in silence. At first.

    “Needs salt,” the thief mumbled, taking another bite of rabbit.

    “Indeed. I would have bought more back in Riften, had I been thinking,” I replied, sitting cross-legged by the fire, half-eaten white cap in hand.

    “Whatever. It’s food. I can’t complain.”

    “Sorry. I am not much of a cook.”

    “You really aren’t,” she said flatly. “You should let me do it next time.”

    Finishing her meal, Dar-Meena tried lying back against the tree again. She gave a small yelp as her clothes tugged against her shoulder. I set down my food.

    “Dar-Meena, are you sure you’re alright?” I asked concernedly.

    “Will you give it a rest?” she hissed. “I’m fine!”

    “If your shoulder is in pain, I might be able to do something–”

    “No, just stop right there, okay?” she interrupted, jabbing an angry claw at me. “You’re not coming anywhere near me. I already had it looked at! Don’t pretend like you can do something.”

    I leaned forward, staring Dar-Meena square in the eye. She ignored me. I held out an open palm and concentrated. The young thief turned her head suddenly to see a shimmering glow.

    “Shall I demonstrate again that I do not pretend?” I said, healing spell at the ready.

    She looked at me as though I had fallen from the sky.

    “Magic…?” she whispered. “You’re a healer too?”

    “I know a few spells.”

    Dar-Meena scowled at me.                                   

    “Good for you,” she muttered, “but I don’t want your magic.”

    Her stubbornness was beginning to worry me. I did not enjoy seeing her in pain. Nonetheless...

    “I give you the option, Dar-Meena,” I said. “I want to help you, but I will not impose. The choice is yours.”

    The young thief settled down. Something about my words calmed her. She pondered for a moment, glaring at her shoulder.

    “What will you do?” she asked.

    “I can only cast a basic healing touch. It will either fix what ails you or relieve you of pain. It is worth a try, yes?”

    Dar-Meena groaned at the heavens. I think she really wanted to avoid accepting my help. I also think she wanted her pain gone.

    “Okay. If you think it will work,” she said. “Just mind yourself.”

    I got up from my seat and settled behind her, inspecting the region of interest.

    “It will help if I can see the problem,” I mentioned.

    “Right…”

    Slowly, with reluctance, she pulled down the clothing on her shoulder. I was shocked at the sight of what laid beneath.

    By the Hist…!

    Her shoulder was badly burned. The damage to the skin and scales was extensive. Small wonder other healers could not mend the wound. Burns can be trickier to heal with magic than, say, lacerations. Hers had begun to form eschars, leaving large amounts of dead tissue. Therein laid the problem – the arts of restoration can only repair what is still alive. That which is dead falls under the jurisdiction of necromancy. Dar-Meena would likely live with the scars of this wound for the rest of her life.

    What did this to you?                            

    “Dar-Meena… How long have you had this?” I inquired.

    “A few days,” she said quietly, uncomfortably. “Can you heal it or not?”

    “I will do what I can. Try to relax.”              

    A flash burst from my hands, enveloping the wound in ribbons of light. ‘Let the magic do the work,’ I recited in my mind, ‘You need only direct it.’ A healing spell entails a unique sort of intimacy. You course along the smallest breadths of a person’s being – plateaus of skin, hollows of bone, rivers of blood – searching to find anything broken.

    There was much broken in this shoulder.

    Less than a minute passed before I reached the limits of my ability. The bands of light departed. Dar-Meena’s shoulder bared little difference in appearance, though I knew that much beneath the surface had been healed. I backed away, taking a seat not far from her. She looked as though she had woken from a pleasant dream.

    “How do you feel?” I asked.                        

    She tested her shoulder. It was still tender but the pain had lessened.

    “…Better.”

    “I am sorry I cannot do more.”

    Dar-Meena eyed me intently.

    “Chase, it’s fine. Most wouldn’t even do this much.”

    Another lapse into silence ensued. I kept the fire going a while longer for warmth, preventing any smoke from rising. Embers crackled. Dar-Meena rested against her tree. Thin clouds in the dark blue sky trailed along as nocturnal creatures commenced their nightly symphony.

    “What brought that burn on your shoulder?” I finally enquired.

    Dar-Meena closed her eyes and gave an indignant exhale.

    “You would ask that, wouldn’t you? Fine,” she said, turning to me, “if you’re so damn curious. I was attacked by a dragon.”

    I shot upright in my seat. No…!

    “Xhuth!” I exclaimed softly, snarling at the ground. “Is there no end to them…!?”          

    “Well, well... look who’s taking me seriously. Don’t know why I’m surprised.”

    “How did this happen?”

    “Like it’s that complicated. I was traveling into Skyrim with a couple of friends.” Dar-Meena paused. “Well, not friends really… Acquaintances. The dragon flew in and killed them. I barely escaped with the clothes on my back. Now I’m stuck in Riften.”

    She gave a quiet laugh, smiling pensively.

    “You know what? I’m here for the same reason you are,” she said. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

    I sat quietly, deeply disturbed at the thought of a dragon attacking Dar-Meena. More of those monsters were still loose. People were getting hurt.

    And I was running away from it all.

    You’re a coward, Okan-Zeeus. You’re letting this happen.

    “I’m sorry… Truly I am…”

    “What are you sorry for?” The thief glowered at me. “It doesn’t matter now. Stop trying so hard to care.”

    “Dar-Meena, I’ve faced down a dragon – two dragons, since I arrived in Skyrim. I have seen their ferocity. An entire village was burned to the ground before my eyes. Take my sympathy however you will, but hearing this from you? It matters to me.”

    The thief’s eyes betrayed a depth I had not seen before. She stopped and stared at me. I was suddenly less of a stranger. I was someone who understood, who shared her experience; the terror of the dragons.

    Mutuality is truly the most magnetic of forces.

    “You’ve seen them…”

    “I have.”

    “You saw one burn down a village? Where?”

    “To the west of here. A place called Helgen.”

    “Shit…! You were at Helgen!?”

    “You know of it, then. Word travels fast in this province.”

    “How did you survive?”

    “With tenacity.”

    “And you weren’t wounded? How did the dragon not burn you?”

    A small, swirling blue light conjured in my hand.

    “Restoration magic can do more than heal wounds…”

    I leaned forward to stretch my arm into the pit of fire. Dar-Meena peered down in wonder as a ward shimmered from my open palm, pushing the flames back.

    “…It can also prevent them.”

    Dar-Meena fell against her tree again. I finished the demonstration, pulling out my uninjured arm. She was about to say something before she quickly changed her mind.

    “How’d you learn spellcasting?” she asked. “Did someone teach you? Or did you teach yourself?”

    “I was taught by a healer in Black Marsh. She conferred to me the basics. I was… a slow study. Everything since then has been self-taught.” I watched my spell wisp and whorl. “I have had a lot of time to practice.”

    The young thief hugged her knees to her chest. She looked small, curled up in her tail, gazing into the fire with glistening yellow eyes.

    “Must be nice, having magic like that,” the thief said softy. “I’ll bet people like you for it.”

    “Healers are well met by most,” I replied, dropping my spell.

    “But you aren’t one, are you? Not really.”

    I stared off at the darkened forest. “I wanted to be. Once.”

    Dar-Meena leaned her head to the side, trying to glimpse my face. “What stopped you?”

    I almost told her. I wanted to. I never tell anyone.

    “That story is more involved. It’s getting late,” I said, smiling warmly. “I think we have talked enough for one day. Get some rest, Dar-Meena. I’ll keep watch tonight.”

    Her disappointment was visible, but Dar-Meena shrugged it off. “So how do we do this? Take turns staying up?”

    “I said I will keep watch. You may sleep.”

    Dar-Meena frowned. “Chase, you can’t stay awake the whole night.”

    That was not up to me. I could feel it. The nightmares would come again. Having lived with them for so many years, I learned to notice the signs. There would be no rest in sleep. Only torment. That was something I did not want Dar-Meena to see.

    “I’ve spent many sleepless nights in the wild. It is no strain. You needn’t worry yourself with me.”

    Dar-Meena let out a huff. “Don’t push yourself, Chase,” she warned, unrolling a sleeping pallet. “I can’t have you nodding off on the walk tomorrow.”

    “Xhu. Understood,” I said.      

    “And don’t you dare try anything tonight.”

    I sighed. “You still do not trust me, do you?”                       

    The young thief eased her gaze, looking at me once more with an air of expectation. Or perhaps it was something else. A deeper wanting.

    “Keep working on it,” she said.

    I poured water over the fire, dousing its remnants. Dar-Meena slipped inside her pallet, fidgeting to find a comfortable position. A few times I caught her watching me through nearly closed eye-lids. I refrained from doing anything but sitting. She eventually fell asleep, as told by her soft snoring. Solitude at last. I stayed awake, alone in my thoughts.

    Was I to thank the young woman for telling me of her dragon encounter? Though disturbing to my ears, it reaffirmed a truth I willfully denied. The dragons would not simply disappear. They needed to be stopped. And I… I was capable of stopping them. More than anyone perhaps, if I truly was…

    Dragonborn…                                            

    The night was not still. Wind howled through the trees. I summoned my ward spell in an upright palm, keeping its light dim. The soft blue glow illumed twisted figures in the forest. I could never shake the feeling of being watched. So many blades have tried to end my life during nights like this. Safety was a cruel illusion.

    Why was I running? What difference would it make where I was? What peace could Solstheim possibly offer?

    I stared at the magic in my hand, fighting the urge to keep it glowing for just a while longer. The day had left me feeling nostalgic. I wanted to lose myself in that world of old memories, remembering days of practicing magic, sunlight glistening off of still river water and emerald green scales.

    They’re waiting for you. The Greybeards.

    “I have to go back,” I whispered to myself. For Dar-Meena. For Ralof. For Balgruuf, Irileth and Farengar. For everyone. I was needed in Skyrim.

    The light faded. Darkness returned. My dear, traitorous friend…

    AUTHOR’S NOTE

    The “bucket/pail” thing was my creation. It is in no way canon to the lore. I just find it weird that Tamriel wouldn’t have its fair share of regional dialectic differences.

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Comments

2 Comments   |   Fallout Night likes this.
  • Okan-Zeeus
    Okan-Zeeus   ·  February 15, 2015
    @Gabe
    I actually had a different ending sentence planned for several weeks... But then it came time to write it and I didn't like the way it flowed with the previous paragraphs. Then I came up with that traitorous friend idea.
    It was much better.
  • Gabe
    Gabe   ·  February 15, 2015
    Another great chapter. Love their dialogue, and your take on different Tamrielic dialects. Your descriptive writing is superb as always. That last line in particular really stuck with me. Darkness, Chase's traitorous old friend... Amazing.