Chapter Seventy Nine

“Talvas! Where is my alembic?” Neloth cried out from his room in the tower. Auroth felt a new sympathy for the young dark elf. After dealing with the master wizard on his own, he found a hard time wishing the man on anyone else. He paced the tower’s upper floor, wondering what could possibly be keeping his friends from joining him here like they had planned. He wasn’t actually sure what it was they were doing without him. Had they managed to free Faendal yet? There were more questions than answers. He always hated when things worked out like this. Neloth had insisted that he (and the book) stay at Tel Mithryn until they had heard from the others. It was all very annoying. And also predictable.

Auroth would have thought Neloth a fool if he had not tried to keep the tome close at hand. The Telvanni wizard would never pass up the chance to gain more knowledge. Lesser magicians than he would have jumped at the opportunity to taste even the barest hint of the information the realm of Apocrypha could afford. On the other hand, scholars who may even be the equal of Neloth had lost themselves to the pursuit of that knowledge. It seemed like a bad deal to the Altmer. The lure of power was undeniably strong. Neloth’s warning about Gaeolin weighed heavy on his thoughts.

He wanted to dismiss the words as ignorance, or prejudice. However, he had seen the Wood Elf give in to similar temptations before. What would Gaeolin do if the Prince of Fates made him an offer? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening far below. The now familiar sound of the magical lift announced the arrival of his friends. Inigo rose up first, giggling like a fool at the sensation of being lifted at such a rate. “It feels like my stomach is doing a jig! Mr. Dragonfly, be sure you do not vomit in your jar again. I am still trying to recover from the last time you were sick.” He landed, a grimace on his face. “Who knew someone so small could hold so… much.” He caught sight of Auroth, rushing over to hug the grumpy elf. “Auroth! It is good to see that you are well!”

The High Elf patted the Khajiit awkwardly. Why must it always be a hug with him? “It is good to see you again as well, Inigo.” Next came Faendal, who gave a cordial nod to him. Lastly, Gaeolin came to rest on the landing with the look of one who wanted little more than a warm bed. “Gaeolin. Did you learn anything from the ruins?”

Gaeolin wore a somber expression. “That we are up against a powerful foe.” He found a seat, setting his bow down. “I saw him.”

As if the words had been addressed to him alone, Neloth appeared with the usual curiosity befitting a man of study. “Saw him? In the form of a spirit, or a thrall? Or do you mean to say that he is alive after all of these years?”

“He is very much alive. Miraak is living in the realm of Hermaeus Mora. He cast me out of the plane when I tried to stop him through the book in his temple.”

Neloth looked annoyed. “You found another of the books? Did you bring it with you? I would very much like to take a look at it. Auroth and I have only just returned from finding one ourselves. I am pleased to see his praise for your resourceful nature was not simply an exaggeration. So, Miraak escaped death by fleeing into Apocrypha…” he scuttled around in an attempt to locate a specific book of his notes. “And you were there as well? Tell me, what form did the Library of Fate take for you? Most accounts say that it is an endless library. A vast network of shelves and books. Rarer tellings offer that it seems to vary in format and appearance according to whom it is trying to ensnare.” 

Gaeolin shuddered as he remembered the place. “It was like a large, putrid ocean. With metal walkways, and stone landings under a wicked sky. Every structure was lined with stacks of books. Very few of them had titles written on them. There were terrible creatures as well. Miraak has found a way to control them. They are how he managed to banish me back here.”

The dunmer went from excited to concerned. “This is… not a good sign. From the sounds of it, Miraak has decided to try and take over Mora’s realm. To chance enraging the very Prince who had saved him from death is extremely foolish. He must know that there is no way Hermaeus Mora would allow this sort of treachery to go unpunished.”

Auroth lit his pipe, savoring the taste of the tobacco. “I honestly don’t think someone who would dare to take on the entire Dragon Cult at the height of its power thinks his decisions through.”

“When I was trapped in that rather badly kept library, I had wished I could have been anywhere else. I have to admit, what I learned there was worth the trouble though.” Inigo leaned against the railing, his tail twitching in thought. “Auroth, you said that you two have found another of these cursed books?”

The Altmer pulled the tome in question out of his bag. He had wrapped it in leather, a series of runes carved into the hide pulsing with sealing magic. Gaeolin took it, his stomach turning at the idea of going back to that foul place. “I know I need the knowledge that is hidden here, but… I’ve seen what these books can do to someone.”The Bosmer took a deep breath, jumping when Auroth put a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to go alone, you know.” His gruff voice suggested that he too had misgivings about this plan. “We will read the book together, and face whatever it shows us with more clarity for it.” Gaeolin smiled and agreed. “Shall we then?”

‘Bring you forth the lovestruck mute who preys with vigor on his love, and set the sky alight with all who dare to struggle ‘gainst our move. For we are they who own thé night, and all who dwell without us fall; we drink the mind-grapes formed of thought,and wail a tumult on the wall. To sweep-‘

This time, there was no subtlety to the book’s reaction. Both Gaeolin and Auroth were held by sickly, dark tentacles. They wound around their necks, wriggling into their ears to whisper as the world and tower around them began to fade to black.

The rustling of pages stirred Auroth awake. He sat up, the strange world sliding into focus after a few seconds. Gaeolin knelt nearby, his sword drawn. The Bosmer turned to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I think I prefer to have a hangover from a good wine over this any day.” The stones beneath them were wet, dark clouds rolled overhead as the sound of whispers continued to haunt them from beyond their field of view.

“Apocrypha…”

“I really would rather have not returned here.” Gaeolin stood, helping his friend to his feet. “Where do you think we should begin?”

“Well, all seekers of knowledge come to me, sooner or later.” The voice made them jump. They put their backs together, spinning to try and locate the source. Auroth looked up, going pale at what he saw.

“Gaeolin…” The wood elf looked to him, following the finger that pointed to a large mass of eyes and tentacles above them.”It’s him…”

As soon as they had seen them, the eyes and tendrils vanished. From behind a stack of books came the sounds of foot falls. The pair turned to face them. It appeared to be a Bosmer, though he was slightly taller than average. His hair was jet black, straight and covering half of his face. A hood concealed the rest, a cloak of dying, rotten vines trailed behind him as he approached.

“Does this form not please you better Dragonborn? Have the clansfolk of Valenwood forgotten the Woodland Man?” He gave a cold chuckle. “They do so enjoy trying to hide that they have served me before.”

“Hermaeus Mora…” Auroth gripped his hammer tight. The Daedric prince looked to him, a smirk showing beneath the cowl.

“An Altmer trator as well? The library has seldom had so many visitors. At least, not all at once. There have been countless who came before you.”

“What do you want of us?” Gaeolin asked, his sword out in front of him.

The Prince shrugged. “You have entered my realm. You have sought the forbidden knowledge that only one has obtained.” He stopped pacing, looking at Gaeolin. A glint of an eye could be seen from beneath the black hair. “Like Miraak before you. You seek knowledge and power.”

Gaeolin felt rage boil inside him. “I will NOT serve you…”

“You will serve me. Willingly or not, all who seek after the secrets of the world are my servants. Look around you.” He clicked his fingers, transforming the expanse of water into an endless stretch of shelves. Untold billions of books extended in all directions. They constantly shuffled themselves, flying fast enough to induce nausea. “You have done nothing here on your own. You could spend a hundred lifetimes searching my library, and you will never find what you seek.”

Auroth knew it was true. He could see what Mora was doing. The subtle maneuvering, backing them into a corner. “Why do we need whatever this is to defeat Miraak? Gaeolin is powerful in his own right. I am sure that somehow we can manage without your intervention.”

Mora laughed. “Even dragons submit to Miraak’s voice. Without that power, you cannot face him. So say I, Hermaeus Mora, master of the tides of Fate.” He looked to Gaeolin, waving his hand toward the stones at the Bosmer’s feet. “You wish to use your power as Dragonborn to bend the will of the world to yours. Here then, is the knowledge you need, though you did not know you needed it. The second word of power. Use it to bend the will of mortals to your purpose.” The stones moved as if made of water, flowing to carve the dragon script before them. Green flames rose from the runes, wrapping themselves around Gaeolin to grant him understanding.

‘Hah.’ The mind, and the freedom of will that he and all the mortal races of Tamriel held so dear. As the knowledge sank into him, he felt a sickening realization form. They were not so free as they might wish to believe. Any who knew what he had learned could easily strip the will of another. Were they all simply toys? Pawns in the game of the immortals? It made him want to rebel against the lesson. However, he knew that this knowledge was likely the means to freeing the Skaal, and all the others that would eventually find themselves at the mercy of the first Dragonborn.

“This will not be enough.” Mora muttered. “Miraak knows the final word of power. Without that you cannot hope to surpass him. He served me well, and he was rewarded for his service.” The Prince came closer to Gaeolin, his face no more visible for the proximity. “I can grant you the same power. For a price…”

Here it was. The timeless failing of the mortal realm. Auroth felt his chest go tense. The Princes were all crafty. Masters of bending all deals to their favor. In this he was certain the Gaeolin was far out of his element.

“So, what is your price for the final word of power?” Gaeolin held his sword even now. His trust would never extend so far.

The Woodland Man put his hands behind his back. “Knowledge for knowledge. The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years. The time has come for that knowledge to be added to my library.”

“That’s all?” Auroth sneered. He didn’t like this, not one bit. “All you want are the secrets of an isolated tribe of Nords?”

The prince wore a muted expression. “If you had waited as long as I have to learn tis, you might find that even something so simple can be desirable after being denied it for millenia. Yes, this is all that I wish. A small price compared to the reward, I think you’ll agree.”

Gaeolin felt his nerves threatening to fail him. “And what if the Skaal refuse to give up their secrets?”

Mora’s body began to fade, his voice still as present as it ever was. “My servant Miraak would have found a way to bring me what I want. So will you, if you wish to surpass him.” And with that, he was gone. The two elves stood

amid the waters of fate alone, They had found half of what they wanted…

But what would the cost be in truth for the rest? And how would they leave this cursed realm?