Chapter 88

The realm of Apocrypha slowly сame into focus around the pair of adventurers. Faendal brought an arrow to his string as soon he could see farther than the end of his arm. Inigo prepared himself by drawing his sword, the blade of midnight black ebony glinted as if it was longing for a fight. The sky Was the usual venomous green that Inigo remembered from his last trip here. The khajiit gripped his weapon with unease. “I do not think I will ever miss this place. I just hope we can find something here to help Gaeolin. Shall I take the lead on this one?” He gestured with his blade. “If you plan to keep working from range, it would be the sensible plan.”

The wood elf nodded. “By all means. You’ve done something like this before, so I am counting on you to help me find the way.”

Inigo looked across the vast area before them. On the far side of the terrace stood the podium that held the next book. As he recalled from his previous experience, they would have to use it to move on to the next part of the literary maze. He found it very odd that there were no creatures guarding the tome. “Keep on your toes, my friend. The book keepers who call this place home are not very fond of visitors. The last time I even thought about looking at one of their books, they nearly took my life as payment.”

“What good are books if no one is allowed to read?”

Inigo shrugged. “I do not pretend to understand their motives. Just promise me you won’t let any of them sneak up on us. This is not the place I would choose to die.”

“I am more inclined to think that I don’t want to die in general.” Faendal followed close, turning around at the sound of rustling pages behind them. “Do you think we will run into anything like what attacked Gaeolin here?”

“With this place, anything is possible. I would err on the side of yes, rather than no. Hopefully, we do not end up giving Auroth two more patients.”

“I’m afraid if we were to suffer the same injuries, we would likely die in the ruins before anyone would have thought to look for us.”

Inigo grimaced. “We really need to work on your positivity, Faendal.”

They approached the podium, Inigo’s tail swishing from one side to the other in a way that made even Faendal feel more nervous. Sheathing his sword, the cat opened the book to the second chapter. In a rush of wind and a swirl of colour, they turned around to find themselves in a new room. This one still lacked a ceiling. However, it was smaller than their previous location by a large margin. A circular pool occupied the center of the area. Inigo made his way toward it with an abundance of caution. He already knew what was going to happen as they neared it. The water began to bubble, a hulking mass of wrinkled flesh arose from the water. It stood tall over them with arms that ended in masses of wriggling tentacles. The lurker glared at them before letting out a howl of fury. Faendal rolled back, bringing his weapon up to aim between its eyes. Inigo rushed the monster with a series of wild swings and jabs.

Faendal’s aim proved precise. The steel sank into the head with enough force to bury half of the shaft in the monster’s skull. As it stood dazed, Inigo leapt up to stab it through the chest with all his might. With a pathetic groan, the lurker fell forward and splayed on the ground in front of them. Its blood began to trickle back into the water from which it had appeared. The adventurers made a special note to avoid any fleeting temptation to drink the water, as the colour did not seem to change at all when mixed with the beast’s fluids. Faendal had considered searching it, but the stench made him reconsider. Nothing good could be found on something that smelled so foul. He instead followed Inigo to the light further ahead.

The path split, two more pedestals holding the tomes which allowed passage to the rest of the labyrinth of knowledge. But which way should they go? The book to the right seemed further away. After looking at each other, the pair agreed that their laziness would determine their fate. Faendal reached out to open the book, seeing that instead of the logical progression he had thought to find, they were in fact skipping ahead to the fourth chapter of the book.

The next room faded into existence around them. A large, wrought iron cage dominated the center of the room. There were four other gates to match the enclosure all around the room, with a fifth laying behind the cage on the far wall. The gate at the center of the right wall stood open, a strange glowing flower revealing a pulsing stamen to them. Inigo inspected it as they got close. It was almost beautiful. He touched the plant dently. It shrank back inside its closing petals, heralding the opening of the gate on the left wall. Faendal went to investigate, finding an exact copy of the flower waiting for him there. He repeated the ritual, opening the cage in the center of the room. The two entered the cage together, both expecting something terrible to happen as they climbed the steps. No such fate came for them. With the 1ast flower, the final gate opened, revealing the largest of the podiums yet. The book that sat atop it was doubtless the object of their inquiry. It looked heavy, nearly three times as thick as the others they had dealt with. Faendal looked to Inigo.

“So… Do you want to do the honors?”

Inigo shook his head. “No. I was lucky enough to have gained something good from the last of these books I had the misfortune to come across. I do not wish to tempt fate with a second title. Besides, this does seem like a power that you wanted yourself. It only seems fitting that you be the one to attain it. Please, do what we came here for.”

Faendal nodded, trying to work up the nerve to touch the book. It felt so wrong being this close to it. He remembered Auroth talking about how the books had made him feel. It was a lot harder to think him paranoid now that it was his time to deal with the sensation. Swallowing his misgivings, the bosmer opened the book to its center.

Lines of strange characters swam across the pages, making his head spin if he dared to try and bring sense to them. The ink began to darken, the text swirling inward to form three large, black circles. A voice whispered from the pages. “You have done well to make it past my guardians, mortal. On behalf of my master, I congratulate you for your strength. As the first to read from me in over three centuries, you may choose one of my powers as your prize.” A bright green orb rose from the leftmost ink void. “With the secrets of the bards of old, you and your allies will feel rallied by the drums of armies lost to time. Your strength will bolster, and your battles will be far weighted in your favor.” A second orb floated up from the spine. “With the power of the black market, my master will allow you the opportunity to call one of the merchants of the Daearic lords. Though his time in your realm will be fleeting, you will find few sellers can match the artifacts Oblivion can provide.” A third and final orb shimmered into life above the last of the inked papers. “Or, if these seem to be far from your liking, my master will allow you to summon a servant from any of the planes to do your bidding. The manner of their service, and what you choose to do with their power are in your hands. Which of these boons would you desire?”

Faendal could feel anger rising in him. Was this it? Was all of this just for these paltry options? He had come here to save Gaeolin. How would any of these things help him? “Listen to me, book. I don’t care what your master thinks of me, or any other mortals that he and his foul kin toy with. I came here with only one goal in my mind. My love is dying, brought to the edge of death by one of the fiends that guard this cursed library. I want the power to save him. If there is any way you can help me do this, then I ask that you grant me that power.”

The boon flared. “Then I gift you the power to summon a servant of the lord of fates himself. No other can help you with this task. Read closely the incantation I will scribe on my pages. Commit it to your mind, and when you need the serf, perform the ritual. Go now, and use the power I grant in service to the master’s design.”

The realm of Hermaus Mora began to dissolve around them, the ground disappearing to send them flying through the nothing that separated the world of the living and the realms of the lost and forbidden. Suddenly, they felt the cold of the ruins around them. Faendal shivered, grabbing up the book to hide in his bag. Inigo, having had enough of tombs, caves, and other worlds for the day, led the way to the door that led to the mountains of Solstheim with no shortage of haste.

It was dawn when they came within sight of the village. There were three hunters leaving when they arrived. Giving a respectful bow, Faendal bid them good hunting before making his way toward the Great Hall. Storn and Auroth both stood beside Gaeolin’s bed, magic winding from their hands to soak into his body. He was so pale that Inigo had half a mind to think he might have had a relapse into vampirism. His friend tossed and turned as the casters worked. His forehead was glazed in sweat, and his eyes were fluttering behind their closed lids.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t get back in time.” Auroth’s voice was utterly exhausted. He struggled to work, his hands shaking. “I hope your time away was worth it.”

Faendal nodded. “The black book granted me the power to summon a daedric servant. I’m hoping that whoever it brings will be able to help us save Gaeolin.”

Storn wore a troubled frown. “Are you sure your friend would want his salvation to come at such a high cost?”

Faendal did not answer. He just stared at Gaeolin with conviction on his face. The shaman sighed, lowering his hands. “I understand your stance, Storn.” Faendal looked to the man. “But I can’t risk what might happen if I do not do this.”

“Very well. My people and I will not be part of such a blasphemous act. May the All-Maker forgive you.” With that, Storn left, followed by the other Skaal who had been attending to the salves and water. Once they had gone, Faendal began. He brought his hands up into a crossed gesture, not unlike a pose his people might have used back in Valenwood for one of the rituals of the Falinesti Spell weavers. He closed his eyes, reaching back into his memory to try and find something to offer. “Lord or the tides of fate, I seek your servant. For the skill I need, and the actions I plead for, I offer this knowledge as compensation.”

He gasped as pain shot through his body. Thin lines of the same green glow of the apocrypha skies spread across his skin. His eyes faded into black, hands moving as if on their own. Auroth dared to steal a few glances where he could. Had he not been using all of his strength to keep Geolin alive, he might have forced Faendal to allow him to help. Summoning like this was hard enough for someone who had skill with magic. As far as he knew, Faendal was at best a novice. It was too late to worry about that now. Faendal was drawing a magic circle in the air at the foot of the bed. The lines of green were casting wicked shadows around the room. The faint sound of rustling pages and muted whispers could be heard growing louder as more of the writing and runes appeared. The circle flashed as it finished, Faendal throwing his hands toward it as magic tossed his hair. He shouted against the noise in a language none of them could understand. “Yegetawi kifiti beri!”

The circle morphed into a swirling mass of green and black vapor. It pulsed ever brighter until a torrent of paper poured from its center. The pages formed a column, flying in an ever tightening cylinder until a resounding crack echoed through the house. The portal vanished, the pages failing to the floor. Standing in the center of their pattern was a young Breton woman. Her hair was an auburn red, skin soft, though lacking the glow normally held by the faces of the young. She looked to Faendal, who nearly collapsed from the strain of the magic. “What can my master and I do for you, Faendal of Riverwood?”

He staggered, pulling himself up with the footboard of the bed. “Please, help save him.” He pointed to Gaeolin, his breaths shallow as he finally gave in to exhaustion.

The woman made her way to stand next to Auroth, eyeing him for an uncomfortable amount of time. She wore robes of yellow flax, looking very much like a mage of Winterhold. Turning to Gaeolin, she snapped her fingers. A scroll appeared in her hand. She unrolled it, laying the parchment on her patient’s chest. From her bag she pulled a small knife. She slit her right pointer and ring finger at the tips, pressing them to the scroll. She spread her fingers over the symbols on the scroll and spoke in a sweet tone. “T’enani memelesi.” The scroll burst into a golden light that blinded them all. Auroth was forced to stop casting and shield his eyes. Inigo shut his own, ears back as a loud report shook the village.

As the spell ended, Auroth and Inigo blinked to clear the blue and green imprints on their vision. When their sight returned, they were amazed to see that Gaeolin was sitting up, running a hand over his side where the wound had been. The wood elf looked up at the woman, knowing that she must have been instrumental in helping him. “Thank you… How did you…?” She silenced him before looking back to Auroth. The expression she gave him made him feel strange. Why was she staring at him like that? more to the point…

Why did he feel like he knew her?