Eye of the Wind – Ch. 7 – 3: By the Pricking of My Thumbs

• Posted by Kyrielle Atrinati October 10, 2012 - 390 views

  When I awoke some hours later, the briarheart was gone.  As was my pack.  I searched the room frantically, trying to find any sign of where it had disappeared to or who had taken it.  There was nothing.  Scrambling into the main hall, I cast about, looking for Derkeethus, but he was also no where to be seen.  Neither was anyone else. The fire cackled quietly to itself and outside, I heard someone shout as heavy bootsteps clanked by the front door.  "I should have been called Pinches-Your-Pockets," I heard Derk's voice resound in my head.

  "What have you done now," I groaned, stepping out of the dim, smoky atmosphere.

  

  Gray rain washed the back of my eyes and squinting, I beheld an Imperial Solider leaning against a rail post not but a few paces away, breathing heavily.  "Damn brat.  Next time I see him, I'll turn him into a belt," he panted before heaving himself off the post and loping down the street.  He vanished behind the corner of a building.  Worried, I followed him, stumbling slightly in the mud.  I caught up with him near the smithy, where he stood talking to the blacksmith up on a bluff in the rocks.

  "Bested by Clinton again, eh?  I told you to keep a sharp eye on your coinpurse around that boy!" laughed the smith as he leaned casually against the rail.  Even with his loud crow of a voice, it was hard to hear over the pattering rain.  

  "No one is as irritating as that wee bitch Legate Constantius has with him," the soldier growled unhappily.  I froze in my steps, my blood running cold and thundering in my ears.  Hrefna, I thought.  I strained to listen, hiding behind the rocks.

  

  "Oh, she's just a little girl.  She can't be that bad."

  "Well she hasn't bitten you!"  Fabric rustled and plates screeched as the solider shifted his armor.

  "By the Eight...  That looks right nasty," murmured the smith in awe.

  "Tell me about it.  You know just being out here in this sun exhausts me something fierce since that devil bit me.  Wouldn't be surprised if she's given me Ataxia, being from that backwater hole in Eastmarch."

  The smith grunted appreciatively.  "Come on up here.  I got some bloodwine that'll knock a giant on its ass, much less Ataxia."

  I looked down at the cobbles, forcing myself to walk forward away from the stones which I had, at some point, begun to climb.  Somehow, my sword had made it into my right hand.  I had no memory of drawing it, nor of creeping so close to the two talking men.  I inhaled slowly and released the breath even slower.  Smiling, feeling my teeth pricking my lips, I continued to the bridge where I found Derkeethus fiddling with something.

  He smiled in return, and when his eyes flicked to my drawn sword, I hastily ripped it from the dead hand's grip and sheathed it wrong-handed.  "I have some good news," I said brightly, but the smile tumbled off my face when I saw my pack on the ground before him.

  "What are you doing with my pack?" I asked, immediately feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rising in defense. Suddenly, I was paranoid he had done something with the briarheart, though I couldn't understand why this would matter to me.

  "I was only getting our supplies together, Henny," he replied carefully.  Still, I reached down and snatched up my pack, searching through it frantically until I found the ingredient nestled where it was before.  A hand on my shoulder jolted me back to reality.  "I think maybe you're getting a little too attached to that plant."

  "What?  What are you talking about?"  He only stared at me pointedly, and I stopped and pried the pack out of my right hand, which had been clutching the fur tightly.  He searched and pulled out the briarheart in its leather wrapping and transferred it into a satchel at his side, firmly tying it shut with a complex knot.  I watched the water pattering the ground, embarrassed.  "I'm sorry, Derk.  That poison must be working deeper than I thought."

  "Don't worry about it.  What was your 'good news'?"

  "Hrefna's alive and, what's more, fighting back," I grinned awkwardly, fighting the urge to rip that satchel open.  

  Derkeethus' eyes lit up brightly.  "That is good news!  We should probably get out of here, late as it is."  I nodded, thinking of the blank space in my memory further up the street.  There was no longer any feeling in my arm from the shoulder to the tips of my fingers.  As I slept, the poison had spread worryingly quickly.

  I approached Nael to mount her, but she backed away and reared.  Magicka pooled into my dead hand, a dark orb, tainting the air like a miasma and emitting a faint whispering.  "Nael, it's okay.  Please. Shh," I whispered, trying to coax her into letting me closer, but she wouldn't have it.  When she snapped and bared her teeth at me, I recoiled, stung as my eyes welled with sudden tears.  Even my horse was rejecting me.

  The Argonian didn't look at me as he grabbed the bridle on the terrified horse and calmed her down, leading her away from me to what she perceived was relative safety.  "You can ride Burrs," he muttered so low I almost couldn't hear him.  I stood still, staring at Nael in disbelief, my heart a sinking ship screaming in horror as its occupants drowned.  She only glared at me white-eyed and afraid, her typically astute judgement overridden with emotion.

  Eater-of-Burrs blew and stamped impatiently, and as I mounted him, I realized how accustomed I had grown to the peculiarities of my own horse.  Everything felt wrong.  Burrs was too big around the middle.  His body too tense.  He was too headstrong and wanted too much to run off into the wild blue yonder, or nip at a passing guard.  Sitting astride him, still uncomfortably, we set off.

  The eyes of the dragon heads on the bridge glared at us as we passed.  Rain tapped gently on the stone, accenting the clack of hoofbeats, which were muffled by the rushing water below.  Behind me, I heard Derkeethus tense and breathe shallowly as we reached the apex of the arch.  Nael nickered softly to him in comfort, and I felt a pang of jealousy stab through my heart.  My horse.  Not his horse.  My briarheart.  Not his.  He took my horse and my heart.  

  The thoughts chased each other around in my head, and I sighed in frustration.  For once, my right arm obeyed my will and clenched the reins tightly.  Burrs skittered about underneath me before continuing on our course.  I felt a calm breath oozing into my mind, but I shoved it away, angry at its source.

  So we continued for a time as the late afternoon wore on:  I spiraling ever downward in dark, angry thoughts, feeling more sure every moment that I was alone in this world and would walk this path alone; Derkeethus sitting quietly behind me, sighing every once in a while, and gazing at me with the expression of a wounded animal each time I half-turned to glare at him riding my horse.

  At length, we came to an abandoned caravan, arrows peppering the cart like quills.  Down near the wheels, a Redguard woman lay slumped, cold, and dead, covered in dried blood the same shade as ink.  The horse lay rotting further up the road, its harness garroted about its neck.  For a few moments I looked at the woman, feeling as if I were gazing upon another species.  A faint twinge of pity rose up in my heart, but it was rapidly crushed by a threatening sense of dissociation.

  When I stood straight once more, the Argonian was gazing at me in concern.  I could feel his emotions and memories pushing into my mind.  Images of moments when I honored those I met who were fallen flashed in front of my eyes in an uncomprehending display of pointless emotion.  Then, quite startled, I followed the trail of that last sentiment.  What's happening to me?  And in a last ditch effort to escape this disturbing spiral of darkness, I placed two septims on the woman's eyes, closing them, silently praying to Y'ffre and Mara.

  At the thought of Mara, I felt sorrow for this woman's wasted life wash over me and for a moment I basked in the return of the familiar sensation of grief.  In an instant, I felt the connection between Derkeethus and I open again and his relief nearly overwhelmed me.  But my heart smashed against my ribcage once.  Twice.  Sorrow was replaced by anger.  Then I felt I was shoved painfully back into a dark corner of my mind, where I watched myself, as if I were dreaming, mount Derk's horse and head onward.