Chapter Seventy Eight

The sky was tinted a strange mixture of green and grey. What little light came through the clouds only lit the landscape with enough brightness to avoid falling over the nearest brambles and stones. Gaeolin slipped in the ash, his foot and knee engulfed in the fluffy volcanic refuse. Inigo pulled him up with a giggle.

“I thought elves were supposed to be light on their feet.”

Gaeolin grumbled. “We aren’t weightless…”

Faendal caught up to them, checking that they both were alright. “Maybe we should stop and rest for a while. We’ve been travelling all day. It won’t cause that much of a delay to stop and sit for a meal.”

Gaeolin was in no position to disagree. “Fine. Should we start a fire, or would you rather stick to the cheese and bread?”

The second Bosmer shrugged. “I’ll just stick with the scrib jerky I brought from Raven Rock.”

Inigo had already started working over a makeshift goat cheese sandwich. Gaeolin smirked, deciding to enjoy a half loaf he had stashed in his pack. The wind was calm. It was fortunate that they didn’t have to fight the ash for their food. The sound of the herd of Netch grazing nearby was almost a type of therapy after the combat ridden days they had dealt with recently. “Tá tuirse orm.” (I am tired.)

“Should we set up camp? We didn’t exactly rest at the fort like we had wanted.” replied Faendal.

“Not that kind of tired. I feel…” Gaeolin paused, “I need to be home. I never get to stay long, and I know that I will likely have to move on as soon as I arrive back after this. It just feels like I don’t get to savor the things that I fight for.”

“I know it’s not the ideal situation. I also know you never meant for things to be like this. There’s nothing to be gained from questioning your work, or how it has affected your home life. You have and continue to do what must be done for the good of all who share the world with you. It is more than many others would ever do.”

“Somehow, that is a small comfort.”

Inigo eyed him. “My friend, I can tell you with absolute certainty that the world has benefitted from your work. You would not be half the man that you are if you had decided to abandon your quest just because you wanted to spend your time at home. There will be plenty of time to grow old and fat after we have dealt with the wicked and injust.” He looked out on the ash and dead trees. “Miraak must be stopped. If for no other reason, because he plans to  come for the rest of the world after he has claimed Solstheim. What we do not  do now, we will end up having to complete later.”

Gaeolin nodded. “I know.” He leaned back against a nearby tree. “I’m just grateful to have you both to help me.”

The sound of a woman’s scream roused the group from their respite. The elves both brought their bows free, Inigo choosing to begin with his blade as they made for the source of the comotion. Through the petrified pines, the men could see the glowing of what could only be ash spawn. Gaeolin and Faendal alternated their shots, sending a nearly constant stream of arrows toward the creatures.

The monsters looked toward their assailants, the largest gripping a woman by her throat. Its dusty face contorted into a horrific sneer. Inigo rushed forward with Meridia’s sword shining bright.

“Unhand the lady, you vile dust bag!”

“N’wah…” The voice was gutural, dry, sand without empathy. It clenched its captive harder, the sound of crushing bones carrying to the adventurers as it laughed. Inigo went into a rage, leaping to his enemy with a wild slash.

Gaeolin kept moving forward with his arm constantly firing more arrows. Once he was close enough, he tossed the bow aside and drew his sword to take the second creature’s attention. Faendal stayed back and kept up the assault from a distance.

“Su grah dun!'” Wisps of elemental energy circled his wrist, climbing to surround the blade. He used all of his strength to spin himself and his weapon. He managed to strike both enemies, taking Inigo’s opponent by surprise. The steel blade cut deep, making it stagger toward the strike Inigo brought down upon him.

It cried out as the ash that made up its flesh began to get caught in the wind. The beast faded away as the weather began to change, promising an ash storm in the future. Gaeolin returned his attention to where his original foe had been, but found the area void of the construct. He was horrified to see it closing in on Faendal, striking at him with his spear. Gaeolin scooped up his bow, firing as fast  as he was able. Faendal parried the attacks with his own blade, taking steps back until there was no more room to retreat. Just as he pinned himself between a stand of three tree trunks, Caeolin hit the beast in the back of the head. Faendal rolled forward as it howled in frustration. The next lunge it made caught him in the side, making him gasp. Inigo ran past, burying his weapon into the magical being’s chest.

The ash fluttered to the ground as if it had never been anything more than passive, inanimate particles. Gaeolin rushed to Faendal, looking at the bleeding wound in his side. “How bad is it? I can’t see much with the dust covering it. Inigo! I need some water and a potion if you have one.”

Faendal winched, but managed a chuckle. “I’m not dying, you overprotective fool… Just clean and bandage it, and I will be fine. You may need that potion later for  something more serious.”

“At least take a sip of it. For my comfort if nothing else.”

His lover nodded. “An-mhaith.” (Very well.)

Inigo held out the potion, tending to Faendal as Gaeolin examined the corpse of the poor woman who had been killed. She was Dunmer, wearing clothes that seemed average at best. Her bag held what looked like the most simple of alchemy ingredients. She must have come from the town to gather for the apothecary. He closed her eyes, wondering what they should do for her. “I don’t know their customs. Do they bury their dead, or do they burn them?”

“I confess, I too lack any knowledge of our Dark Elven cousins.” Inigo scratched his chin. “We are a bit far from the city to carry her body back.”

Faendal struggled to his feet. “We could bury her with our customs.”

Gaeolin thought about it for a moment. “Do you think that would be appropriate? What of her family, and their wishes?”

“We have no way to know who her family is. There is no easy means to identify her, and there is no way for us to protect her body from animals or necromancers until we find out. I think, if it were me, I would want someone to give me any final right rather than worry about which is appropriate.” Faendal removed his pack, producing several rolls of clean linen. Gaeolin set down his weapons to begin helping. He pulled forth a small bottle of a clear, amber colored liquid.  Pouring a small amount onto his fingers, he began to clean her face with it, whispering in Bosmeri as he worked.

“Y’ffre chruthaigh muid ón holc, agus chuige sin filleann muid ar fad.” (Y’ffre created us from the ooze, and to it we all return.) He took care around her eyes, trying not to press too hard, or to leave any stray ash behind to taint her face. “Táimid faol cheangal ag an bhforaois, mar na páistí agus na cosantóirí. (We are bound to the forest, as the children and the protectors.) Tugaimid ómós di a fhilleann ar an talamh. (We honor she who returns to the earth.)“

Faendal gently wrapped the woman in the linen, weaving the strips around not unlike the creeping of the vines of Valenwood. Inigo sat a short way off, taking great pains to avoid disrupting the ritual he was witnessing. Gaeolin brought his hand up to his bowed face. His fingers traced an intricate path over his skin, coming to rest just below his lips.

“Go maire sé síocháin duit. (May he lead you to peace.)” Faendal spoke, imitating his fellow Bosmer in the gesture. They prayed in silence for a few minutes, only the sound of the wind and the branches present on the slope.

After a time, the three men picked up the body, carrying her to the edge of the woods. Using their swords as makeshift shovels, they dug a small grave into the ash covered soil. They laid her down, Faendal finished her rights as Gaeolin and Inigo went in search of some stones to stack over her in a cairn. By the time the structure was finished, the smell of a rare rain was on the breeze. Inigo lit a torch to place at the head of the grave as the two elves knelt beside it. They chanted, a soft glow emanating from the mound. The longer they wrought the spell, the brighter it became. As they finished, a small sprig of Black Anther broke through the stones, leaves opened to the Morrowind sky. Gaeolin sighed, the ritual taking a lot out of him.

“I hope she finds peace. At least she won’t be suffering.”

It was approaching evening when they finally found themselves back on the road to Tel Mithryn. The clouds were growing darker as the rain finally began to come down. Gaeolin could hear Inigo humming to himself, clearly pleased with the sudden precipitation. Soon though, a new sound caught his attention. It was a man muttering off the road among some brambles. Gaeolin loosened his blade, approaching him with caution.

“Get them out… Get them out!” He clawed at his head, the tattered clothes on his back holding on by only the barest of threads. Gaeolin saw no weapon, letting his grip slack on his own.

“Are you okay?” He reached out, the man recoiling when he noticed him. “It’s okay. I’m a friend. What’s wrong? You said get them out? Get what out?”

The beggar cowered away. “Secrets… Terrible secrets. I have seen things. Things that no one should know.” He smiled with a toothless face. The laugh that sounded from him was unsettling. “I know about you… The one you seek. I know secrets about the past, and the future!”

Inigo watched with uncertainty. “Be careful, my friend. He seems as if he has spent too many days in the sun and ash.”

“Where did you learn these secrets, old man?” Gaeolin asked. His hand still sat on the hilt of his sword.”What did you see?”

The man shrank to the ground, clutching his head. “He Black book…” The others looked at one another, “It shoved them in there with slimy fingers. Black, slick fingers. They’re in there… In there deep! Can’t… get them out. They’re in my head”

He lunged forward, causing Gaeolin to jump back. Inigo pulled his sword partly out of its sheath. “Whoa there! Not so close.”

“Good idea. They might leak out.” The man seemed to be growing more and more deranged the longer they spoke to him. “Don’t want them crawling into your head too. Like me.”

Gaeolin was frightened, but also worried for the poor, suffering man. “Where did you find this book? Maybe if we get it, we can help you get the secrets out.”

“Oh no!” He staggered away a short distance. “I didn’t find it. It found me. Here, I’ll show you. See,” He waited as Gaeolin showed him his map. “Right there. But don’t go there. You don’t want these things in your head. You don’t!”

He grabbed Gaeolin by the shirt, shaking him with surprising force for no larger than he was. The Bosmer patted him on the shoulder to try and calm him. “Okay, um… Good luck with that. We’ll just be going…”

The man went wild, tightening his grip. “Luck won’t help. I need something to pry these things out of my head. Why won’t anyone listen to me? Listen to me! They’re in my head!” He took Gaeolin by the throat, squeezing with the strength of a man two times his size. Gaeolin struggled for air, trying his best to break free. Faendal ran forward, leaping over the two of them with his bow ready. As he flew over the beggar, he let loose an arrow. It rained down true, sticking with a thud into the madman’s skull. The hermit fell to the ground, his victim gasping the air greedily.

“Thank you…” He saw a note fall from within the clothes. It was barely legible. It went on about the secrets and the book, and how slimy fingers had invaded his mind. There was a name on it that Gaeolin could only presume alluded to the book’s location. He tucked the paper into his bag, shaking his head at the poor man they had been forced to kill. “Poor wretch. Let’s get moving. The sooner we can get some answers, the better.”