Chapter 95

It was quite late when Gaeolin saw the first signs of the Skaal Village appearing through the trees. They had taken longer than he wanted to cross the island, having left the water stone over a day and a half ago. Though the wind and the weather was calm, he knew that he and his companions were all chilled to the bone. It was lucky that they had not been troubled on their way. The lack of struggle did not save him from worry, however.

Storm’s explanation for Hermaeus Mora’s desire for the Skaal secrets seemed to him to be far too innocent. Surely, the Prince of Fates had a more sinister agenda than simply wanting what had been kept from him. What use did a Daedric prince have with the oral traditions of an isolated Nord village? He could not help but feel like this was more than what it seemed. The sound of Inigo humming to himself drifted up to him after they left the waterfall behind them. Behind him followed Auroth and Teldiga. The two casters had been getting along slightly better since they had faced the dragon. The Breton held a book out between them, seeming to be questioning Auroth about whatever it contained. He wore his normal look of irritation, though seemed to be enjoying the more intellectual talk. Following at the rear was Faendal. He still held his bow free. He glanced down toward the Wind Stone, as if searching for trouble.

The village was still as they passed the first of the houses. If the Skaal were not asleep, they were settling into their homes to do so. All, it seemed besides Storm. The shaman sat outside his house looking up to the sky. He did not look down to the group as they came closer. “You have returned then. I can feel the change in the land. I sense that the tree stone is still corrupted. But perhaps, with the other five restored…” He looked tired. More tired than Gaeolin had ever seen from him. “I do not know if I have the strength to face him.”

Gaeolin knelt beside him. “If you do not want to do this, you do not have to. I can find another way.” But the old man shook his head.

“No. There is no other way. If there were, I am sure Miraak would never have made a bargain with Mora himself. What you have done for the land may be enough. It will have to be.”

Inigo looked fearful. “You mean you are going to give that horrible Deedra what he wants?”

“Yes. The Skaal have also told of the day when we must give up our secrets at last. The day that Herma-More finally wins. As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to know when it is necessary to give them up. I believe that time is now. If I am wrong,” he looked up at the sky, “may my ancestors forgive me. “He rose, taking Gaeolin’s hand to get to his feet. He was determined, face lined with the marks of years and wisdom. “Give me the book. I will read it, and speak to old Herma-Mora himself. I will make sure he lives up to his end of the bargain.”

Gaeolin met the shaman’s gaze, feeling more respect than he knew how to convey. “I hope you know what you are doing, Storn.”

The man chuckled. “That is my hope as well. I am trusting you to make this sacrifice worth- while.” Gaeolin handed him the book. It had been wrapped in thick leather, held closed by a heavy belt. Though they had only recently covered the tome with the material, it seemed to be rotting away at an alarming rate. The leather was cracked, and discolored. Storn to it, his arms sagging at its weight. As he made for the center of the village, Frea ran alongside him. She was afraid. Her voice shook as she began to plead with her father.

“Father, you must not do this. That book is…wrong. Evil. Against everything that you have taught me my whole life.”

He turned to her with a stern expression. “I must, Frea. It is the only way to free our people, and Solstheim forever from Miraak’s shadow.” His voice softened, his hand going to her cheek. “There comes a time, my daughter, when everything must change. Nothing that lives remains the same forever. Do not fear for me. This is the destiny that the All-Maker has laid! out for me.”

Frea gripped his hand, staring into his eyes before smiling. “I stand beside you, father, as always.”

He stopped, unbuckling the belt. “I am ready for whatever the foul master of this book has in store for me.” He cast off the leather to reveal the cover. The case material of the book seemed to devour the very light that touched it. It was a deeper black than that of the most starless night Gaeolin had seen. The Bosmer remembered his last experience with the Black Books. It was only out of respect for Storm, and their dire need for Mora’s knowledge that he was even allowing the old man to go through with this. Everyone held their breath as the shaman opened the book.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Auroth never broke his gaze upon the book. Inigo gripped the hilt of Dawnbreaker until his knuckles gave an audible crack. Gaeolin also had a hand on his weapon in case there was a need or opportunity for him to intervene. But, as he had feared from the moment they were told to bring the book to the Skaal, there would be no chance for him to prevent what happened.

The book flared with the sickening green light he had come to associate with Mora’s realm. It levitated from Storn’s hands. Tentacles surged from the pages, wrapping tightly around the shaman. The air rumbled as a deep, powerful voice filled the sky. “At last… The Skaal yield up their secrets to me!”

The air above Storn filled with the mass of eyes and tentacles that was Hermaeus-Mora’s form. The largest of the eyes glared at his captive. Storn began to shake, his eyes starting to roll back. “No… You… lair!” He groaned, the pain bending to screams of defiance. “I won’t! Not… for you!”

Mora gave a cruel cackle. “Storn, son of Hilkmir… You have no choice. The Skaal secrets are now mine for eternity.” The tentacles increased their ferocity. They stabbed into his flesh and pushed past his lips. The sounds the shaman made nearly caused Gaeolin to be sick. He turned his head away when the tendrils came from behind his eyes. As if sensing his weakness, the Prince addressed him. “Dragonborn, you have delivered me the gift I requested. In return, I keep my promise,” he paused as green flames erupted from Storn’s chest, “as befits a Prince of Oblivion. I give you the word of power that you need to challenge Miraak. You will either be a worthy opponent,” he assumed his Bosmer shape in front of Gaeolin with an eerie smile, “or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.”

“Nooo!” Storn gave a last agonizing cry. The villagers had all run out of their homes. they looked on in awe and fear as Mora returned to his realm. The body of Storn crumpled to the earth in a heap. His chest faced upwards, smoldering green dragon script burned into his flesh. Gaeolin read it, fighting the urge to vomit as the meaning of the word flooded his mind. Tears swam in his eyes as Frea pushed past him sobbing.

“Father! What have you done?!” She fell to her knees beside him. Gaeolin approached.

He reached out to try and comfort her. Frea drew away, staring at him with pain and fury. “Go. My father sacrificed himself so that you could destroy Miraak, and lift his master’s shadow from the land. Go then. Kill Miraak. Do not fail. I swear to the All-Maker, if you have wasted my father’s life, I will take yours in repayment.”

Gaeolin said nothing. He nodded to her, his soul broken. He had not noticed Teldiga approach. She looked down at the mutilated body of Storn. Her face was one of pure terror. Her voice was soft. “Why would the master need to be so violent with him?” She looked at the damage and paled.

“Cruelty comes naturally to the Princes.” Auroth examined the wounds from afar. “Did you really think that Mora was any different? The Daedra are beyond the morals and compassion that the mortal races teach or expect. No Prince is to be trusted, not even those who seem to be less malicious. No matter the deal, and no matter with whom,” he lowered his head, “they will get what they want, and leave you wanting. Or worse.”

Frea stood, making her way toward her father’s house. Gaeolin could only watch her go with his heart feeling hollow. The village leader, Fanari, put her hand on his shoulder. “Let her words not pain you, Skaal-friend. Storn knew full well what he was getting himself into when he agreed to do this. She is hurting. Let her mourn. She does not mean what she says.” She looked down to Storn’s body. “Goodbye, old friend. We will miss you. Do not worry. Frea will guide us well, thanks to you.”

The group of adventurers made way for the villagers to each pay their respects. Most had a few words to say, though young Aeta nearly made Gaeolin cry again with her pleas to the All-Maker to return the shaman to them. She had likely only ever known him as the shaman. This sort of abrupt change was something the girl had probably never had to face yet.

As the last of the villagers left to mourn in privacy, Gaeolin returned to where Storn lay. Fanari waited there, having prepared to start whatever rituals the Skaal performed for their dead. “What is it, Gaeolin?”

He looked down at the book. It had closed, laying cover up in the snow. “I need that book to travel to Miraak’s hideout in Apocrypha. I must go now, so that I can slay Miraak and honor Storn’s sacrifice.”

Faendal ran forward. “You have to do this right now?”

“To wait would run the risk of Miraak being able to prepare for our fight. As it is, I may already be at a disadvantage.”

Faendal knew he was right, but still seemed unhappy. “You are not going alone. You must take someone with you.”

“I could always summon Inigo.”

Inigo made his way to them. “I will go with you, but I fear that I must join you in the book first. If I am not already in the wretched library, my summoning spell will not work. Remember what happened last time you tried?”

Gaeolin did remember. He cursed himself for having forgotten. “Very well. It will be good to have you and your bow behind me.”

“Teldiga, you go with them too.” Faendal commanded. “I’m guessing you won’t have any trouble getting there?”

She gave a bow. “Of course. Once they are on the other side, I can teleport to them directly.”

Faendal nodded. “Okay them. Go. And I swear to Y’ffre…” he moved closer to whisper. “If you die in there, I will never forgive you.”

Gaeolin couldn’t help but smile. “Mar a ordaíonn tú, a ghrá.” (As you command, my love.) With those words, he took Inigo’s hand, opening the Black Book. He did not look away from Faendal until the world began to fade around them. The green skies faded in, the sounds of pages fluttering and putrid waves heralding their arrival in Mora’s deadly world of knowledge.