"Slow down, Tormir. I can't keep up," I wheezed, hobbling along behind the woman. My heart thundered in my chest from the effort of maintaining her long stride. She turned with a huff and tapped her foot impatiently on the cobbles in the road. When I reached her, I had to look up to meet her eyes for she stood a half a head taller. "What are we doing out here anyway?" I asked, shivering in the chilly afternoon air.
"We're going to watch," she replied.
"Watch? For what? For whom? There are already guards about and I'm barely strong enough to walk the length of a room, much less wield my own bow," I asked, lopping the end of my sentence off with a disheartened snap.
"For Hrollod. Who else." I pursed my lips as we ascended the stairs to the northern gate and looked out towards Whiterun. The Legate's name flickered on the edge of recognition. Didn't I have a dream about him? I was certain I had, but I couldn't remember the details. What I could recall, with relative clarity, was Derkeethus' experiences, which lodged in my own mind as if they had been my own; dimmed as if decades uncounted stretched them thin as drum skin.
For a while we stood watching the tundra as the afternoon closed about us. In the east, dark clouds roiled in a turbid mass that pressed into the mountains. Watching the golden-brown grass swaying, I recalled the dreams that had plagued me until I cried out and tumbled from the mattress to the cold, stone floor.
Farmlands rolled by at a steady pace as we moved as quickly as Nael could stand. Farmers worked their fields, preparing for the harvest while chickens clucked and pecked at carelessly dropped vegetable matter. For a moment, the memory of Darkwater Crossing mingled with the scenery, and if I hadn't known better, I thought I watched Verner tending the cabbages and sighing distractedly as Annekke, once again, attempted to swap duties with the guards.
A pang of loneliness washed through Derkeethus as my thoughts of Darkwater reminded him of the home he left. If not for the girl, I would have abandoned this horrible quest for this ridiculous elixir. I heard him scold himself.
Why'd I even want that thrice-cursed bauble anyway? Glory? Gold? Stupid. Just stupid. And for a while, he berated himself for ever pushing me into taking him on this journey.
I should have just gone to Windhelm and spoken to Quintus like Sondas continually suggested. People have died, are dying, because of this blasted thing. It's all my fault. If I hadn't... Around and around his thoughts went. I attempted to stop his loathsome cycle of "what if's" and "If only's", but it was no use. I floated in his mind, listening to him drive himself into a deeper state of disconsolate self-flagellation. For a while, I simply listened, realizing he'd forgotten I was there as the world scrolled by in a flickering state of glances. His own guilt seeped into me and I felt my own spirit sinking deeper. In desperation to escape his self-inflicted sinkhole, I pushed through with my will and forced him to look at the flowers growing within the bleached bones of a mammoth.
The flower doesn't know how it got there or where it's going or whether it'll survive the winter or being crushed by a mammoth. All it knows is that the sun is warm and the earth is strong, and it should reach towards both these things. I thought loudly over my friend's constant internal shouting match. Even I had only a vague idea of the true meaning of my words, but they felt like the right ones.
Slowly, he began to return to his usual thoughts and his paranoid dwelling eased away. A wave of gratitude drifted towards me, and I wished I could offer my friend some kind of comfort other than words and emotions.
As we rounded the bend, we passed a tower that loomed over the road threateningly. Just outside, a hide-clad woman leaned casually against the doorway. A trembling glance hovered over her for a moment, and gazes met. She fingered the hilt of her blade instinctively before regaining her composed posture and nodding stiffly. Then we were gone and careening downhill. Nael chuffed and panted, foam coating her lips and she dodged loose bricks and sunken mudholes.
Golden tundra faded to green pines. A waterfall thundered off to the left, and it was some moments before I realized that was my waterfall. The one close to home. Then, the scent of jazbay wafted up on a pillar of moist air, mingling with pine needles and snowberries. The smell of home. Longing tore through me and I wished desperately that I was there, really there. I wanted to feel the cool stone of my barrow beneath my bare feet and the constant burbling of the stream as it raced to meet the Darkwater River.
Slaughterfish swam sluggishly in the stream's cool water, their energy from the summer well spent. A veil of mist obscured the base of the fall from view, but the roar of water was, as usual, dominating the sonic environment. Nael wheezed uncomfortably, her breath coming in thin strands of steam. As Derkeethus knelt by the stream, she slowly walked down the path to my home. For a moment I was saddened to consider that she might think Derk's journey over.
The chill of the water seeped into my consciousness and I remembered those last days of summer spent fishing on the banks without a care in the world. A time when my only mission was to preserve the safety of the Darkwater residents, a task relatively uncomplicated in comparison to the mess I was deep in. The larger task had been hunting and trading to fill out the edges of the village's supplies, and over time, the people had become as familiar to me as the residents of Chorrol.
And as Derkeethus rounded the corner of the barrow, I would have been happy to trade everything to return to that comfortable, simplified life. A thought flickered through both of our minds in the same instant: the image of being happy together in that kind of life. Not like before, where we would part for many months without seeing each other, but together in the way we were travelling now. Only without the pressure of outside forces keeping us working as partners.
But then we came to the front of my home, and I saw the grass extruding from the cracks in the stone and the jazbay vines overrunning the roof and trailing down the sides. The red snowberries I planted when I first found the place in memory of my father peaked out from the rank grass. Their branches were laden in the lateness of the year, and the birds had yet to devour the fruit and disperse the seeds. Sun blinded Derk's eyes for a moment, and I saw the world refracted in a thin film of yellow as something slid across his eyes. Then the glare cleared, and I saw the sun approaching the upper rim of the valley.
With a sigh, my friend stepped into the shade of the barrow. The enchanted oil lamps flicked into view, their flames sputtering fitfully. The spell was beginning to fray. His eyes lingered on the small library I possessed, and I eagerly pushed against the edges of the space I floated in until I felt resistance. I managed to move his hand to caress the books lining the walls before I relinquished control and he pressed on.
Rather abruptly, I realized I didn't hear the bleating of the wild goat that strayed in and out the barrow. The grass inside had grown thick and tussocky. No one has been eating the grass? Where has the goat gone? I thought absently. Derk's muscles went tense. Slowly, he crept around the interior walls, heading towards the opening leading to the courtyard. Inside, the fountain gargled as algae and waterplants wove their way into the stone passages.
Cool stone oozed against his back as he leaned against the far wall, observing the dilapidated state of my home. Everything was simply overgrown. Suddenly, the fountain squelched to a congested stop and we at last heard the faint drop of liquid patting the mossy ground.
That's not water, Derk thought, sniffing intently. The smell hit me in a complex wave of information. Blood. Cold. Goat. Female. Rot. By degrees the grilled oculus came into view and the world jerked sickeningly as my friend recoiled. The goat meant to tend the grass lay dead across the iron bars. Its head hung limply through the grid, the slashed throat grinning at us in a parody of a smile.
Why? Was the only thought that made it into my head before Nael neighed loudly and I heard her hooves skittering against the stone outside. Then, the thin, dry snap of a twig followed by booted feet thumping rapidly away.
Someone was here.
The one who killed the goat?
It's a message.
But before I could turn up an answer, Tormir's hands were picking me up from the floor and she was looking at me in concern. My skin prickled with fear and anxiety. Someone was following Derkeethus.
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What a horrible thing to have happen a... more