The Longest Road – Ch. 3 – 4: A Splinter in My Hand

  • Eastmarch steamed under the sun, and the pines shimmered in the heat.  The ground was a thick slush of mud, brilliant colors of varying minerals marbling the earth.  While the effect was interesting, my boots sucked in and out of the stuff with every step.  Maurice clutched his moss-covered branch protectively as he wobbled off balance through the muck toward a patch of dry rock.

    "We must return to Whiterun at once.  This cutting won't survive in the air for long," the Breton worried, looking about,"Where is that deer you were riding?"  I glanced at the ground where it had been standing and saw hoofprints in the soil.

    "It's gone, I think.  We'll have to carry on on foot."

    The prospect of continuing without a steed sounded unappealing given the speed we needed to travel.  But, disregarding our sidetracking, the journey had taken less than a day.  If we left now, we could make it to Whiterun by morning.  Yet, something about the deer disappearing in that flash of light seemed serendipitous, and when I searched the ground again, I found a faint trace of magicka that tasted like hot metal when I hovered over the trail.  Somehow, following the deer took priority over bringing the cutting back to the Temple of Kynareth.

    Magic whorled in my palm and I cast the strange humming leaf swarm without entirely knowing why.  Then, as a breeze drifted sluggishly through the grove, bringing the smell of sulfur and ash, the leaves shivered and blew along the magical trace as if drawn to it.  Maurice, it seemed, would have to return alone.

    "Why don't you head back to Whiterun.  There's a trail here I need to follow," I suggested, watching the luminous leaves dance south toward the Wall of Eastmarch.

    "You can't leave me alone!  I'll get eaten!" he cried, eyes wide.

    "I thought you were a pilgrim of Kynareth.  Does your 'Lady' no longer protect you?"

    "Of-of course she does.  Yes."

    "Then you should be fine," I smiled, the expression not quite reaching my eyes.  "Before you head back, I need you to take a message to Valindor."  Maurice's lip curled in disgust, but he made no immediate refusal.  "Tell him to meet me in Riften as soon as he can.  I'll catch up in a day or so."

    "I except compensation if you want me to converse with that lout."

    "And you shall have it."

    I watched the Breton's retreating back, knowing it would be a long time before I saw Whiterun again.  No amount of time could possibly be long enough when it came to that man, however.  I could only hope Maurice would actually deliver the message.

    For a couple of hours, I followed the trail, casting the spell more and more frequently as the metallic tang of raw magicka dissipated.  Meeko followed, evidently impervious to the scent.  Out on the flats, the air was boiling even under the mist-veiled sun.  Tension and magic fused in the overheated air, thundering to the ground in bolts of electricity.  The dog cowered close to me, emitting high-pitched whines and staring with white eyes at the sky.  

    By the time I reached the first vibrantly blue and green pool, the sun squatted near the horizon.  A low set of ruins wavered like a mirage to my left, and for a brief moment I considered resting in its shade.  It looked so inviting and cool, its shadows winking and wobbling at me--a dancer with the most delicious flesh.  White mist formed near the main entry, and I imagined divesting myself of my armor and lying naked on the cold stone, free from the sweltering heat.

    So tempted by that ruin was I that my feet plunged into the pool surrounding the ruin like a mote.  The boiling water scalded my feet when it seeped through my boots, and I leapt out of the pool with a yelp.  As the resulting splash rippled towards the peninsular ruin, a body floated to the surface, parboiled and bleached, an eyeless, bloated white.  Thin tendrils of blanched hair waved in the current under the surface, and a merlike ear flapped slowly like a fish's fin.  The head lolled in my direction, fixing me with its pale sockets and slack expression of dismay.  With a cry, I backed away, shooting arrows into the corpse in reflex.  My blood ran hot and cold in quick succession as I waited for the thing to move or for others to appear.  

    When nothing happened, I turned and jogged south, focusing more intently on my trail than ever.  I dared not to recover my lost ammunition, for at every pale rock, my heart thumped in fear against my ribcage as I imagined those sightless eyes staring at me.

    I sighed as I loped up the road switchbacking across the Wall of Eastmarch where a short range of mountains connected to the Hrothgar Range.  I missed Valindor terribly, and could have used his affable countenance.  Though I had stopped hallucinating the eyes of the dead body in the water, the encounter left a stain on the rest of my day.  The light seemed weaker, shadows darker, and even the sunset appeared red like blood mixing in water.  

    Nothing felt right, and though Meeko followed obediently, there were times where even his friendly grin turned too sharp and wolfish.  With such visions floating in my mind, I didn't really want to stop for the night to rest.  What would happen when I went to sleep?  What horrors would plague me?  Furthermore, why was this happening to me?  For a moment, I wondered if letting Maurice return alone had been my mistake.  If he had been killed, then it was no wonder I was plagued by such vicious thoughts.  But, in thinking about it further, I was certain my punishment would have come from more natural, tangible means had the pilgrim of Kynareth truly fallen.  

    No, this was, perhaps, something else entirely.  Something worse.  Plus, the thought of Hrefna, vampire or no, being chopped into bits by angry vampire hunters was too much.  I could not let that happen.  So, adjusting my pack, Meeko and I continued up the trail to the top of the ridge where a cool night breeze ruffled the golden aspens growing just beyond a jut of rock.  The deer's trail suddenly went dead.

    There I found a mountain spring burbling gently among the rocks.  After the heat of the day, the icy water felt refreshing beyond measure.  A crack behind me drew my attention, and my head whipped around hard enough to pull the muscles of my neck in a twisting pinch.  I winced, but focused on the gathering dark and pale light of the rising moon, worried I would see something horrible lurking in the shadows.  My sword was in hand and at the ready when a lurching hunter strode in from the surrounding trees and rocks.

    "Good evening," I said clearly, suddenly wanting the company of another person quite desperately.  The man plodded on up the road, seemingly oblivious to my presence.  

    "Are you all right?" I called after him.  

    He turned and looked at me oddly, as if he was gazing upon another sentient being for the first time.  Shaking his head, the vacant, glossy look of his eyes cleared a little.  "Yes.  I was...  Where am I?"

    "On top of the Wall of Eastmarch.  I was about to build a fire and chase away some of this darkness, care to join me?"  The hunter, an Imperial from his accent, nodded, his expression still one of bewilderment.  Mutely, he gathered the wood and I set light to it with my sword and a nearby stone.  For a while, we sat in companionable silence, my dread of the darkness and visions of the dead abating with the warm glow of the fire.  

    We broke bread together and shared the tales of our current journeys.  I left out anything more interesting than the fact that I was heading to Riften to meet up with a friend.  The hunter, on the other hand, came from Ivarstead to gather some supplies for the Greybeards.  Then, pausing suddenly in the middle of his tale, he leaned forward conspiratorially, the firelight reflecting off his oily, cropped hair.  "There's something out there in these woods.  Something like a living shadow.  That's what I've really been hunting.  Folk in Ivarstead are having nightmares of all kinds.  Narfi's finally gone off the deep end because of it, I'm sure."

    "What do you think it is?" I asked as I huddled in my tent so the surrounding darkness was blocked from view.

    "I don't know.  It's something bad, though."

    We were quiet for a while, and eventually bade each other good night.  The hunter curled up on his own bedroll by the fire, his back to me.  After a while, as the fire was down to its last embers, I, too, retired and lay so that I could see outside the tent with relative ease.

    I was almost asleep when it happened.  

    A soft swishing sound came crawling across the leaves, and at first I dismissed it as the wind.  When I opened my eyes marginally, I found my hand gripping my sword so tightly my knuckles went white.  Not more than six paces from my drowsy form, there came a whispering sigh and an audible moan, like something you'd hear through the walls of an inn some nights.  I tensed, ready to spring at this strange presence, but it came not for me.  Instead, the sound melded into a faint suckling that left me feeling vaguely sick, and a command so low I thought I was imagining it trickled through the dark.  "I am your master now.  You will come with me," it said.

    Suddenly, I felt terribly sleepy and strangely calm, and assured myself I had heard nothing.  Meeko hadn't stirred, so it must have been nothing more than the hunter sleeping or a small creature going about its business.  Or a dream.  Yes, it was just a dream.  Go back to sleep, I told myself.  Just a dream...nothing more...

Comments

2 Comments
  • Kynareth
    Kynareth   ·  July 1, 2013
    This is certainly eerie, especially set by the bloated floating flesh.  I am getting the shivers thinking about it.  Curious to see where this goes, and trusting somehow this is where she is supposed to be...
  • Kyrielle Atrinati
    Kyrielle Atrinati   ·  March 8, 2013
    I think you could probably tell what kind of mood I was in depending on how I wrote each post.  I imagine if they were all put together, the result would be a slightly schizophrenic tonal experience. :D