Chapter 93

The snow fell so softly on the mountain tops, that even Inigo and his keen ears could scarcely detect a sound as the party trudged through the ever deepening drifts. The Bosmer were up to their waists in the stuff, while Auroth managed to only be hindered up to mid-thigh height. The Altmer scowled at the expanse of snow, at least glad for the fact that the weather had not gotten any worse since they had entered the pass. He pushed forward to walk with Gaeolin and Faendal.

“We should be careful. With how deep the snow has become, it might be easy to take a poor step and find ourselves plunging to a cold death.”

Gaeolin nodded. “I’m amazed at how much has come down in the past two days. I had hoped that we would be on our way back to Skaal village by now. Fate has indeed been of her own design regarding us.”

“A few days should not hinder our mission all that much.” Faendal went quiet as he stepped into a particularly deep section of drift. His body slid down until he was up to his chest in snow. “We are lucky that the storms have gone quiet, giving us the chance to make progress at all. I worry that any more urgency will only delay us.”

Gaeolin knew he was right. Helping him back out of the hole, he and his comrades waited for Inigo to catch up before moving on. The Khajiit flicked his ears as the massive, slow flakes of snow tried to settle inside them. “My brother, Fergus, used to say that he thought snow was dandruff from the Gods scratching their heads. I do hope he was mistaken…”

Gaeolin unfolded his map, thanking Auroth as the magician summoned a light for him. From what he could tell, they should be getting fairly close by now. He tried to ignore the thought that they might have gotten turned around at some point. Getting lost in these mountains was not something he thought himself ready to deal with. “If we are going the right way, we should reach the stone by dawn. I know these aren’t the best conditions to travel, but the longer we wait, the stronger Miraak will be.”

Auroth gave a grunt of understanding. “He has access to Mora’s forces, and his library. Compared to that alone, we are set against the odds. The thought of allowing him to gain even more strength does not make me feel comforted in the least.”

Inigo strained his ears, seeking anything that might help them find their way. “I wish I could be of more help, my friend. The snow is muffling everything beyond our line of sight, and the smell of the sea is hard to avoid when on an island. I am afraid we are best suited to using luck.”

After a moment’s more discussion, the trio continued toward the northwest. The terrain began to slope upwards again, making the already back-straining climb even more unbearable. The higher they rose, however, the thinner the drifts of snow became. The distant crashing of waves gave away their approach to the sea, and allegedly, their destination. The wind picked up only the slightest, bringing the brine scent along with it as the sickly green spire that marked the Water Stone began to fade it into view.

Auroth reached out, signaling them to stop as they reached a flat place to rest. There was a cliff that jutted out above the slope that ran down to join the sand of the shoreline. He swung his hammer free from his back, using the handle to trace a circle in the snow. Gaeolin, Inigo, and Faendal watched as the pattern grew ever more elaborate. Lines connected various sides, smaller circles, and triangles until the lattice was quite a complex design. Once the last marks were set, the Altmer set down the hammer. He knelt down, whispering over the rune before placing a hand in the center of it. He stood slowly, the rune taking on a pale red glow. Enchanted flames rose up from his handprint growing hotter as he stood, soon becoming a fire hot enough to warm them, while remaining dim enough to go unnoticed by any would-be watchers in the night.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use runes like this before.” Faendal warmed his hands, grateful for the display of magic. Auroth took a seat next to Inigo, drawing his pipe from his bag.

“There are advantages to the more structured castings that runes can afford. For one, the fire is not drawing on my own magicka. This fire is using the natural magics of the area. It might not be as bright or warm as one that I were to fuel with my own power, but it will not leave me weakened before the fight we will face at the stone.”

Inigo scooted closer to the fire, his fur bristled against the chill of the night. “You never cease to impress with your magical skills, Auroth. If it were me, all that would be created would consist of the smell of burnt fur, and an admittedly humorous display while I extinguished my tail.”

Gaeolin watched the flames dance with their light shifting from reds to purple at the coaxing of the wind. There was something about this whole situation that he couldn’t riddle out. Why, given all of the ways he could be affecting the world, and the resources he had from Mora, was Miraak even worried about the All Maker Stones? From what they had seen, it was only good for gaining a limited amount of control over the locals of the island. Even that was dependent on those people being asleep when the control was manifested. What were his motives? Why did he want this island so badly that he had been willing to side with a Daedra to get it? At this point, it was mostly ash and ice.

“Careful,” Faendal wore a grin. “Your face might get stuck like that if you frown much longer.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense to me, why Miraak is doing all of this.” Auroth nibbled the end of his pipe. “I’ve rarely known evil to have a need to justify itself.”

“And I have never encountered anyone who thought that their deeds were evil at all.” Inigo added. “Honestly, I have come to think that some things just happen. There is not always a reason, or an explanation. I suppose all we can do is try to make the world a better place, in whatever way we can. Miraak is causing suffering, and plans to create even more suffering. Whatever his motives, it is good that we are going to stop him.

Auroth nodded. “Whatever Miraak’s reasons were, they are long out of time, and the people it would harm now deserve to be protected from his designs.” He glanced toward the distant stone. “We should get some rest before we head up. I somehow doubt that the last stone will be the easiest we have to deal with.”

Sleep did not come easily. As he lay in his bedroll, Gaeolin’s mind went through everything that had happened to him in the recent past. He thought of Ma’isha, and how frightened she must be with both he and Faendal so far from home. She may not even know that they were still alive, if his letter had been delayed. He had written to Lydia, asking her to pass the contents on to his daughter just before they had left the Inn. He had been so excited to see her again. The vampirism being cured, he had thought they might get to see each other more often. Instead, their home had been invaded, her only truly stable guardian had been abducted, and her father had gone off on a revenge seeking quest almost immediately afterwards. None of this was fair to her. It hadn’t been fair to any of them. Maybe this was just the way life was. Gaeolin grumbled to himself, thinking life to be more than unjust. A simple life should not need to be won with such harsh fighting.

Once asleep, Gaeolin found little comfort in his dreams. Though he seemed to wake several times, he always found himself wandering again in Mora’s library. With each false escape, he began to feel ever more hopeless. He was so skeptical when Faendal finally woke him, that it took almost 20 minutes for them to get him out of his bedding. Auroth reassured him that this was probably just a side effect of the repeated journeys into Apocrypha. The knowledge did more to increase his worries than cure them. How much hold did the prince have over him already? How much more would he end up giving up before this was all over? He shook the thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on the upward trek to the summit.