Chapter Forty One

Masser shone in the form of a red sliver above the mountains. The sky held on to a last tint of orange as twilight deepened to true night. Beast let out a grumbling neigh as she carried Inigo and his provisions. Gaeolin led the group, happy for the breeze that swept the foothills. His knapsack gave the soft klink of glass bottles. If he knew anything about his needs at all, he was certain they could make it to Morthal without any further stops. 

“My friend,” Inigo began, urging his steed to move closer, “I wanted to talk to you, if it is a good time.”

Gaeolin looked up at him. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

“Our conversation in Lunerio’s tomb. When our minds were linked.” 

“Oh…” Gaeolin thought back to it, wishing he hadn’t been as harsh. “I’m sorry I was so cruel to you, Inigo.”

“Not at all. It was a valid question, and a point that needed to be brought up.” His eyes drifted toward the horizon, the dusting of stars catching in their shining surfaces. “You asked if I traveled with you out of a sense of debt. In truth, I had to think about it for quite a while. At first, when you found me in my cell, I would have to say yes.

“I wanted you to kill me. It seemed the only right way to atone for my actions. When you asked me to join you, I was not sure how to refuse. However, over the past months, I have found that I could not have been more wrong.” He turned an ear to the side. “I travel with you now because you are the closest thing to a brother I have left in this world. I would not give this friendship up for anything.” It wasn’t something that needed a response. Gaeolin smiled, glad to receive one in return. 

The night was old by the time they reached Morthal. Auroth couldn’t decide what was worse about the locale; the cold, or the stench of the marsh. His expression was riddled with disgust. As they made their way down into the city, they caught sight of a crowd in front of what seemed to be the Jarl’s Longhouse. 

“What’s the Jarl going to do about it?” The speaker ground his teeth in a signal of minimal patience. His neighbor held a torch aloft, throwing his own thoughts in.

“How are we supposed to feel safe in our own homes?” On the steps of the house, a man held up his hands, trying to calm the riot in progress.

“Please, enough already! I have told Idgrod of your concerns. She’ll look after you all. Please, go about your business.” He looked tired, as though this was not the first time they had confronted him. 

“We have no need for wizards in our midst!”

“Morthal has enough problems as it is, Aslfur.”

Aslfur shook his head, going inside the Longhouse without replying. The first man scowled before turning to leave. “Bah, it’s no use. Let’s get back to it then.” The crowd began to disperse, a guard remaining by the house with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Auroth walked over to him.

“Excuse me, but who is this wizard they speak of?” The guard eyed him with suspicion. 

“I have nothing to do with the man. My duty is to protect the Jarl and her people.” He noticed Gaeolin and Inigo as they approached. “He arrived here a few years ago, and aside from visiting the Thaumaturgist’s Hut, hardly leaves his house. As long as he doesn’t bother the people, he’s alright by me.”

Inigo tried to repeat the phrase he’d heard. “Thau-ma-turgist? What in Oblivion is a thaumaturgist?”

Auroth shrugged. “Miracle worker, sorcerer, alchemist… Take your pick. It’s not a common word, but nothing too special.”

“Does he sell potions there?” Gaeolin asked, careful to keep his hood up.

“No, milord.” The guard pointed to the hut. “Lami is the owner. She may know more about him if you want information.”

“We might have to wait until morning to see her.” Auroth whispered. 

“She usually stays open late. Ever since that Khajiit alchemist came into town, the two have been staying there longer.” The guard shrugged. “But I think the Moorside has a special ale in from Solitude tonight. It might be worth stopping in until morning.” 

Inigo seemed inclined to follow the advice. He was about to ask if they could, but saw the look of exhaustion on his friend’s face. “I am okay to wait for the drink until after we have learned more. Let us visit the alchemist.” 

The shop was two stories. Rustic,

 on the edge of the water. As the three entered the hut, they spied two figures at the back of the store, a female Khajiit voice speaking clearly. “Lami, must you be so experimental? How many times must Bai’lira say, ‘mix what you know’?”

Lami, a pretty Nord woman, sighed. She set the mortar and pestle down to glare at her Khajiit companion, whose back was turned to the men. “And just how will my knowledge grow without trying new things?”

“Bai’lira reads many books. That is how.”

“And when was the last time Morthal got a new shipment of books?”

Bai’lira seemed to pause. “You may have a point. I suppose we shall have to -” The Khajiit again paused, her ears twitching. She raised her head and turned to look back at the entry. No words were said as her eyes fixed on Inigo, a look somewhere between terror and familiarity in her eyes. 

“Green…” Inigo whispered.

“Blue,” Bai’lira seemed to answer. 

“Is that supposed to mean…wait, who said green?” Lami asked, turning to see who had spoken. “Oh, we have visitors. How can we help you?”

“We were told you might be able to help us find someone. We’re looking for a man who has studied vampires.” Auroth spoke for Gaeolin, the bosmer loitered near the door in silence.

Bai’lira, tearing her eyes away from Inigo for a moment, a smile on her face as she looked the Elves over. Her intense orange eyes stayed on Gaeolin long enough to make him uncomfortable. “Indeed,” she finally said. “You seek Falion, then.” 

“Considering he is the only wizard here in Morthal, I would guess, yes,” Lami muttered behind her companion.

“Hush,” Bai’lira hissed, though there was a considerable smile in her eyes. “A small, subtle company like yours have not come to study vampires. You seek…something else.”

“Here we go,” Lami sighed.

“Enough. Bai’lira will be happy to help you find the wizard. He is here, in Morthal. And Khajiit is sure that you will be needing certain…amenities.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Auroth muttered. 

Gaeolin sighed. Just two minutes into this apothecary’s store and things were already starting to get complicated. “Fine. We can talk about what we need while you help us find the wizard.” The Bosmer couldn’t help it. He glanced at Inigo. In all his years, he had never seen a green-furred Khajiit. Was it rare? Was it a sign of misfortune, like a blue Khajiit? Inigo seemed almost shocked when they’d walked in and seen this Bai’lira. His blue friend hadn’t been able to look away, an indiscernible look in his eyes.

“Of course, yes,” Bai’lira said, rubbing her hands together. She was looking more and more like an eager merchant by the second. She turned swiftly, her tail knocking over an empty potion bottle near the fire. “Lami, Bai’lira shall be going. She may be returning in a moment, perhaps not. But you shall have the store for now.” 

“I own the shop you silly cat, now get going,” Lami replied with a laugh. 

Bai’lira shrugged and turned to the men, arms raised in welcome. “Let us go find Falion, and…tell me more about this handsome blue beast.” Inigo stiffened as she took his arm and opened the door. Gaeolin pursed his lips at the sight, and exchanged a glance with Auroth. This was going to be an interesting day.

The swamps to the north west of the town murmured as the four waded across them. Bai’lira seemed content to stay in the middle with Inigo, the pair speaking of each other’s unique colorations. Auroth took up the rear, a ball of pale light hovering above his head. Gaeolin led them, his keen sight proving invaluable in the near blackness. 

“It saddens Bai’lira to hear of your struggles, Inigo. To have been faced with such danger so young. This one cannot imagine it.”

Inigo seemed fairly pleased with the attention, putting on an air of indifference. “Everyone has their hardships. Mine are no more tragic than the next.” He sent her a grin. “I am more interested in hearing about you. That shade of fur is one that I have never seen.”

She shrugged. “This one spends a great deal of time seeking ingredients in caves. Her color comes from the fungus that has chosen her fur as its home. It acts like a dye. This one admits, she finds the hue appealing, no?” The three men did well to hide their initial reaction to the source of her tint. Inigo feigned fascination, silently willing himself to forget the answer to his question. 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Gaeolin pushed a branch out of his way. “Why would he be so far out in the swamp?”

Bai’lira sent him a mischievous glance. “If you were dabbling in half as many, what is the phrase… ? Controversial subjects, this one believes you too would avoid studying near so many with small minds.” She came to stand by him, her eyes glinting with a green false light in the night. “There is an… altar of sorts in the marsh. He comes here sometimes, to feel at ease.”

Gaeolin was going to question how anyone could enjoy the swamp, but stopped as the ruins came into view. Crumbled stone arches surrounded a circle of pavement. The mist passed between the broken structures in a most unsettling way. He had his hand on his sword, almost drawing it when the man they sought stepped out from behind a pillar. He wore a red robe, hood up against the damp air. He paused when he saw them.

“If you stand before me to accuse me of sacrificing children, or eating the hearts of the dead, you may save your breath.” He adopted a sneer worthy of Auroth’s face. The Altmer didn’t seem to like the sour look when it was directed at him. “I have done no such thing, nor do I intend to. I simply wish to live my life in peace.”

Bai’lira chuckled. “So sour, Falion. Khajiit couldn’t ease an encounter with you with a cart full of Moon Sugar.” She made her way to him, dipping in a curtsey. 

Inigo sent him a look of distrust. “Why would anyone accuse you of that? Perhaps, hiding alone in a dark, depressing ruin in the middle of a swamp all night isn’t helping the matter.”

Falion ignored the jibe. “The people of Morthal would much rather weave their own horrid tales about my life than simply ask me for the truth.” He spared a glance toward the town. “If they choose to fear me in their ignorance, that’s their choice. But, it will not change what is true. Why are you here?” He turned to Auroth. “Did you follow me?”

“We have heard that you are an expert in vampirism.” Auroth leaned against the column. Falion seemed to relax a bit.

“I know many things. I have studied things beyond the reach of most humans, traveled the Oblivion planes…” the wizard’s gaze drifted to a distant memory. He grimaced. “I’ve seen things one should not see. I have met Daedra, Dwemer, and everything in between. And I know enough,” he looked Gaeolin dead in the eye, “to see a vampire where others would see a man.” 

Gaeolin felt a lump rise in his throat. He couldn’t explain it, but the wizard made him feel more shameful than ever before. “I’m… hoping you might know something that could cure me.”

“Nothing an eccentric alchemist can sell you, that much I promise you.” Falion sent a look to Bai’lira. “What kind of mixture did she try to pawn onto you?”

She hissed at him. “You insult Bai’lira! She makes only legitimate potions. This one made no such offers, but referred to you instead.” She folded her arms in indignation. “Such is the gratitude of one who walks on cold sands.”

The wizard grinned. “Peace, foolish cat. I’m only joking.” He turned to Gaeolin with a more serious face. “As for your request, it is possible. I know of a ritual, but have never performed it.” He paced in thought. “It requires a filled black soul gem.”

Gaeolin stared, missing the implication. “Which means…?”

Auroth shifted, knowing what was going to come of the conversation. “Well, since you’re no magician I’ll explain. What you are familiar with are white gems.” He pulled one out of his bag, holding it out for the Bosmer. “They can only be filled with the souls of beasts like wolves, bears, and other lesser souls. But, for the likes of Necromancers and summoners, that isn’t enough to offer to the Ideal Masters.” His face grew dark. “So they found a way to corrupt the gems, making a bargain with the Masters to bend the gems to hold any soul. When they murder, the soul, if trapped, is bound into a blackened gem. The enchantments are more powerful,” he gritted his teeth, “if you can justify the means.”

Falion nodded. “If you want to return to life, you will need to steal the life of another.” He waited a moment. “You’ll need to kill someone.”

Gaeolin frowned. They would need to kill someone? Well, that wasn’t particularly difficult, but…well, he’d never needed to make a decision like this. He supposed they could go find a random bandit. No. This isn’t just killing some random person to help someone. This is for me. This is stealing their soul, and giving me back mine. 

“That is good enough.” Gaeolin was pulled from his thoughts as Bai’lira stepped forward. “Bai’lira has many enemies, debt collections, and eyesores. There is a decrepit old fort on the far side of the marsh,” she pointed, gesturing west. “Fort Snowhawk.”

The Bosmer grimaced. He didn’t like this situation at all. He couldn’t just choose someone to die for him so carelessly. “Enemy, debt collector, eye sore?”

“A thief, a bumbling necromancer. He was light in the pocket when purchasing ingredients from Lami and myself.”

Gaeolin, Auroth, Inigo, and even Falion stared at the Khajiit. “You chose this man to die because he stiffed you a few Septims?” Auroth demanded.

“A bit extreme of a punishment, even for a necromancer.” Inigo mused. “But, he would not be undeserving of it by any means.”

Gaeolin looked around the circle in alarm. “Are you all okay with this?!”

The group was silent. Falion sighed and looked down at the floor of the ruins. Auroth pretended to be fascinated by the fog through the trees. Only Bai’lira and Inigo would look Gaeolin in the eye. “My friend, this is not an easy choice. It cannot be made through a simple flip of the coin, but there is the fact that we have not met a single necromancer in Skyrim who was not dying to use us as their experiments.”

“They are all cut-throats,” Bai’lira stated, “this one does not understand why you hesitate. Why show compassion to a defiler of the dead?”

Gaeolin felt frustration welling inside him. “Because if I do this, am I really any better than they are?” He turned to Auroth. “Enough have died because of this condition, and to lower myself to the role of a necromancer is not the end I was hoping for.”

Having spent enough time lacking a conscience, Auroth turned to his friend. He held an angry, chiding look in his eyes. “You have been a necromancer for quite a while, Gaeolin. Your hunting, feeding on the living, leaving a trail of corpses in your wake. We can look for another way if you want, but it should be stated here and now that no one in history has found another way.”

Bai’lira held up a claw. “Actually, this one knows of several other ways, though it is important to know that not all vampires are the same.” 

“My point…” Auroth silenced her with a glance, “is that this may be the only way for you to be cured. Think fast.” He turned away. “Or is your daughter not worth it?”