Author's note: Second to last chapter. One more after this.
Marcurio never did get around to teaching them any magic that day; instead he went to the library tower to comb the shelves for troublesome volumes. Sofie retreated to her room, hiding under her blankets and pondering what she had been told.
Necromancy. So that was what she had been doing. Sofie turned the thought over, staring at the ceiling. So that is what Jehan is. A necromancer. Is he? If he was … She thought about bringing her parents back to life. Marcurio had said they wouldn't really be her parents, but what if he was wrong? After all, he said himself that necromancy was banned in Cyrodiil. If he hadn't seen it, then how could he know whether they would be her parents or not? And if Jehan could do that for me ….
What it all came down to, Sofie decided, was that Jehan was her friend. He was closer to her than Marcurio and Ingrid were. He was the one she was counting on to take care of her if - or when, as was becoming increasingly evident - Marcurio and Ingrid split up. You just have to decide, she thought, who your friends are and who they aren't.
I'll ask him. The next time I see him. I'll ask him about what Marcurio said and whether — whether —
In her mind's eye, she saw her parents, standing with their arms around each other and smiling at her. She saw herself run to them, and felt the warmth of their embrace. We're here for you, Sofie, her mother said. You brought us back. We're so proud of you, daughter — you brought us back to life, and we will never leave you again. We're going to be happy. You'll have a home again. A home ….
She remained up there, lost in happy daydreams, as the sun sank lower outside the windows and the lights and shadows in the high roof beams flickered. She didn't notice that she missed dinner, or that Ingrid never returned that night; and when Lucia finally came up to the room she pretended to be asleep.
Cotton snuggled under her arms, and Sofie held her warm, soft rabbit close to her. "Would you like to have a home, Cotton?" she whispered. "It's going to happen. I promise. A home for you and me."
She fell asleep with Cotton in her arms. A storm was blowing in outside, with wind whistling around the eaves of the house and rain lashing on the tiles, but Ingrid had built well and sturdily; no drop of moisture penetrated the rafters, and the thick, sturdy walls muted the whining wind to an annoying drone. Sofie slept, buried under her warm, thick covers, and dreamed of her parents.
Sofie woke the next morning to a gray, chill room and the muttered curses of Uthgerd the Unbroken down in the Great Hall. Metallic banging and clashing, along with voices, rose up to her ears from below.
"What's going on?" she murmured, sticking her head out of the covers.
"Fire's gone out," Lucia yawned, sliding out of bed and putting her feet into her boots. "Uthgerd's borrowed some coals from Rayya in the entryway to light it again. Storm was pretty bad last night. Gunjar says we're getting into the stormy season around here."
The stormy season. It occurred to Sofie that if it rained more often, she wouldn't be able to go see Jehan as much.
Maybe I'll just have to run away sooner to find him, she thought, and smiled to herself, a secret smile.
Ingrid was in the main hall when she went down for breakfast, with that sardonic Teldryn Sero, so of course Marcurio wasn't there. Ingrid seemed in a relatively good humor as she gulped a bowl of ash yam stew — something she'd started making with these strange ash yams that she'd brought back from Solstheim — and downed a bottle of mead. "So how's my little Sofie doing?" she asked cheerfully.
"Just fine, Mother," Sofie said, knowing what Ingrid wanted to hear; at first she had felt a chill, wondering if Ingrid had noticed her Daedric sword and dagger missing, but Ingrid seemed no different than usual. Honestly, Sofie thought, she has so many weapons, there's no way she could notice one or two missing.
Sofie knew better than to ask where Marcurio was; she confined herself to eating her breakfast - a sweet roll — in silence as Ingrid discussed her plans for the day with Teldryn. She said nothing about where she'd been last night, and Sofie didn't ask. She was worried Marcurio might have told Ingrid about her experiments with necromancy the day before; but; Ingrid didn't say a word about it, so Sofie guessed with relief that she didn't know.
Or if she does know … maybe she doesn't even care.
"So, what are you up to today?" Ingrid asked her.
The question sent a chill down her spine. For a mad moment, she was tempted to tell Ingrid everything: about Jehan, about Necromancy, about the Daedric weapons. Instead, she said, trying to sound casual, "I think I'd like to go play in the woods today, with Cotton. I was thinking I'd leave before noon. I might not be back till evening, if that's all right."
Llewellyn the Nightingale started to speak up, but Ingrid cut him off with a boisterous laugh. "Just be sure to take that dagger I gave you in case you run into any bears. Or bandits." She grinned. "And if you do run into any bandits, remember what Rayya showed you — stab low."
Llewellyn frowned but said nothing; though he had wanted to resume their lessons, Sofie knew he could not speak against Ingrid. He confined himself to a simple, "Be careful, Sofie — it looks rainy today. Try not to be caught out in a thunderstorm."
Ingrid waved one hand dismissively. "She'll be fine. I was her age when I first started roaming the woods around Eastmarch. Just bring back something to show for it, kid. A fox pelt - or maybe bear claws," she said, and flashed a grin.
"I'll try, Mother," Sofie said dutifully.
Sofie was on pins and needles throughout the rest of breakfast. It was important that she get the Daedric artifacts before she went to visit Jehan, and she wanted Ingrid to be gone before she did; but she was also afraid if she waited too long, Lucia might catch her. It was a relief when Ingrid pushed back from the long table and summoned Teldryn with a gesture.
"I'm going out hunting," she said — speaking to Llewellyn, not Sofie. "I don't know when I'll be back. Tell Marcurio if you see him." There was a notable coolness in her tone when she spoke of her husband.
Llewellyn nodded acquiescence and Ingrid strode from the hall, Teldryn following her lazily.
Sofie waited a decent interval, finishing her breakfast slowly while trying not to let on that she was deliberately stalling. When she heard Lucia's feet coming down the stairs on the left side of the great hall, she quickly got up. "Well, time for me to go do my chores," she told Llewellyn, who was strumming listlessly at his lute. Llewellyn gave her a distracted nod, and didn't notice that Sofie slipped up the stairs opposite from the ones Lucia was coming down.
Those stairs were on the same side as Ingrid's and Marcurio's bedroom; Sofie paused at the top of the stairs, waiting to see if Marcurio was in the room. The room seemed empty; she suspected he was in the library tower again, or maybe out on the roof. Wouldn't be surprised if he'd spent the night there, she thought. Moving on tiptoe, she slipped along the walkway across the breadth of the hall to the other side, and proceeded to her and Lucia's room. She paused, hearing Llewellyn say something and Lucia's higher voice raised in response. She's down there, Sofie assured herself. She got down on her knees and pulled the Daedric Sword and Daedric Dagger out from under the bed.
They lay there on the floor, their lines of red tracery glowing faintly. Again, Sofie felt a sinister sensation from them; this time, thinking about what Marcurio had said, she couldn't suppress a shudder.
What does Jehan want these for, anyway? Can anything good really come from the use of weapons like these?
Their red, glowing highlights pulsed slightly, almost as if in answer.
No, she told herself abruptly. They can't possibly know my thoughts. I'm not even touching them. That's ridiculous. Yet somehow, gazing down at them, her unease grew.
Ingrid uses Daedric weapons. She even Enchants them, just like Jehan wants to do, and nothing's wrong with her, now, is there? She's …
But the thought trailed off. She also recalled — distantly — that Marcurio had had some difficulties with Ingrid using Daedric weapons and armor, and in fact she thought she had heard that he had refused a set of Daedric armor made for him. Why would he do that if there was nothing wrong with them?
A sound from below made her flinch. All right, that's enough, she told herself. You can't stay here staring at these weapons all day. Quickly, before someone catches you — Move!
That, however, was easier said than done. While she could smuggle the dagger out of the house in a fold of her skirt, she wasn't sure what to do with the sword. At last, she simply wrapped the thing in a burlap sack, hoping nobody would notice her on the way out; if they did, she would say it was the wooden training sword Ingrid had given her once. I guess all I can do, she thought, is hope no one sees me.
Biting her lip, she lifted the wrapped sword to her shoulder. It was heavy, and she staggered under the weight. Through the burlap, there came a strange, pulsing heat that made her want to recoil
Going down the front stairs was impossible; Llewellyn would see her and ask uncomfortable questions. Instead she went to the door that opened to the rooftop patio at the back of the house. Sofie carefully opened the door a crack, peeked out, and saw no one. She stepped out —
"Sofie?"
Oh no … With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she turned to see the housecarl Rayya, out on the patio with her bow drawn, practicing archery against the straw targets at the far end of the roof. Rayya looked over at Sofie. "What are you up to?"
"I — I — " Sofie stammered for a moment, her mind blank. Finally, mercifully, an idea came to her. "I'm carrying some stuff down to the cart for Gunjar the cart-man. I thought I heard him say he was going to Falkreath today and I wanted to put some things in the cart for him to trade — "
She'll never believe this, she thought helplessly. There was no way that Rayya wouldn't see through the lie immediately — but as Sofie looked more closely, she realized Rayya wasn't even listening to her. She could have said anything, even the exact truth.
"All right, well, be careful," Rayya said, turning back to the targets. "If you go with him, be sure he gets you back in time for dinner tonight — I think your mother will be there with you."
"She won't be," Sofie said, surprised at the bitterness in her voice; she knew she shouldn't linger, but couldn't stop herself. "Ingrid's gone for the day and she might not even get back by tomorrow."
The Redguard woman's brows drew together. "Well … be sure to be home for dinner tonight anyway," she said. "If Ingrid is here, she might want to see you."
Not likely, Sofie thought, but said nothing. Instead she simply nodded and went on down the stairs.
The sky was gray and overcast, and the air smelled like rain. Everything was wet and muddy. Sofie took a quick glance around to see that nobody was watching, and then crossed the yard, heading for the path that would take her to Jehan.
The steep track was slippery; Sofie picked her way carefully, catching herself a couple of times with the long Daedric blade. Though she hurried on, a strange ambivalence filled her. Necromancy. Is it true? Could Jehan really — ?
Rain dripped down the back of Sofie's neck, soaking her clothes. The awkward Daedric sword pulsed on her shoulder and seemed to grow heavier as she carried it. She was panting and streaked with mud by the time she reached the end of the trail and staggered, gasping, onto the stone platform that housed Jehan's altar.
"Jehan?" she called, panting. "Jehan? Je — "
"What are you doing here?"
The question caught her up short. Her eyes found Jehan's familiar black-robed figure standing by the altar, and she flinched; there was a strange, wild ferocity of a kind she had never seen before in his face. He was holding an iron dagger in his hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to come at her with it.
"Jehan!" Sofie cried, feeling a flush of almost overwhelming emotion — not just fright, but also hurt, hurt that a man she thought she had trusted could turn on her this way. "Jehan, it's me! Don't you recognize me? It's me, Sofie … "
"Sofie … " Slowly that wild ferocity faded from his eyes, and the man she had known seemed to creep back. "Sofie … yes, Sofie … " he repeated to himself. "But what are you doing here?"
"I — " She stammered helplessly. "I came — I'm sorry I couldn't come before, I couldn't get away. I brought you the Daedric sword and dagger, like I said I would — see?" She let the bundle fall to the ground; the sack unrolled, revealing the red-chased blade; then took the dagger out of the folds of her skirt. "The sword and dagger, just like I said … Jehan?" It was as if he weren't there at all, somehow — as if his eyes opened onto a lightless black hole. It frightened her and she took a step back.
But as he saw the blades she had brought, slowly that emptiness filled. "Yes. The Daedric blades … I remember now. You said you'd bring them and … and you did." The words were softly wondering, as if he could barely believe she had actually done it. "You did," he repeated, more strongly, and that shy smile touched his lips again. "Thank you, Sofie. This will be a great help to me. But … " His gaze grew distant again. "You shouldn't have come."
"Oh." Sofie bit her lip. A shadow seemed to fall across the sun. "Are you busy?"
"Well … no, not exactly," he said slowly. He glanced at the sky again and counted on his fingers. "I suppose today is all right. But it's not going to be a very good time for you to be here in a few days."
"Oh." That chill deepened "Why?"
"Well, I — " He hesitated, considering his words. "Let's just say I'm going to be very busy."
"Oh." Sofie swallowed. "I can — if you want I can leave now so that you can work on your own … "
"No! No — " Jehan hastened to reassure her. "No, not now. You can stay here today. Today is all right," he repeated, as if for emphasis. "Yes. Today is all right."
He knelt to take the sword and the dagger, wincing slightly at their touch; he tilted them this way and that, examining the red lines of light that flickered over the blades. "Yes, these are Daedric for certain. "Thank you very much, Sofie. These will help speed up my work greatly."
"You're welcome." She felt a flush of pleasure despite her earlier uneasiness. As Jehan carried the blades into the cave, Sofie followed at his heels. She frowned, thinking. The mention of his "work" rang in her mind.
His work. Marcurio said it was … necromancy. Could that be? She studied his pale features in the shadows of the cave as he laid the blades out on the work table. Could it really be true?
"Jehan?" she asked him carefully.
"Yes?" He did not look up, his concentration rapt as he traced the lines of red embedded in the Daedric blades with his thin fingers. They flared in response to his touch, brightening, then darkening again.
As if they were calling to him, she thought, and shivered.
"I tried summoning lightning the way you taught me."
"Oh, did you?" He didn't spare her a glance, all his attention rapt in the blades.
"Yes. At home, up at Lakeview Manor." She pointed to the house on the hill, though Jehan wasn't looking at her. "It worked just like it had before. I was able to cast it even better than Lucia could have."
"Well, that's good," Jehan murmured absently.
"Yes. Except — Except Marcurio caught me at it."
"Oh, did he?" was all Jehan said, still absorbed in his work.
"Yes. He was very angry at me," she managed, swallowing hard at the memory. "He said that I should never do it again. He said it was something called — " She drew another breath, trying to find the courage. "Something called 'necromancy.'"
If she had expected a dramatic reaction, she didn't get it; Jehan simply nodded. "I see," he said. Sofie was seized with the incredibly frustrating idea that he wasn't listening to her at all — that she could have said anything, and he would have answered her in that same, slightly distracted tone.
He's ignoring me too — just like Ingrid — just like Marcurio -
A rush of anger surged in Sofie's gut. She didn't notice it, but the red lines on the Daedric blade flashed in unison with her surge of anger. She marched over to where Jehan stood at the table and grabbed his arm, pulling on him, forcing him to look at her.
"Jehan!"
Now she got the reaction she had been looking for. He yanked free and swung to face her, raising one hand; the purple-black sphere of Conjuration flared around his fingertips. His stance was so aggressive that Sofie shrank back; yet she saw the familiar, bemused, faintly baffled look in his eyes —- the one that said, Who are you and how did we get here again?
"Jehan!" she repeated. "It's me, Sofie. Remember? Sofie."
"Sofie. Yes. Sofie." He relaxed as recognition seeped back into his face, and the sphere of Conjuration died. "What is it?" he asked, in the same gentle, courteous tone he usually used with her.
"Didn't you hear what I said? What Marcurio said?"
"Marcurio." He frowned a moment. "Oh yes, the Imperial battle-mage. What did he say about what?"
She took a tight grip on her rising irritation. "Do you remember? I said I did the lightning you had taught me back at the house, and it worked — it worked even better than when Lucia did the lightning. But — Marcurio caught me at it, and he said that what I was doing was something called — called 'necromancy.'"
This time it sank in; Jehan considered for a moment, then nodded. "Is that so," he said politely, before turning back to the Daedric weapons.
"Jehan — is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Is what you taught me — necromancy? Is that what you taught me about how to make lightning?"
"Essentially, yes," Jehan said without looking around.
A chill ran down Sofie's spine. He says it as if it's so normal … Somehow that frightened her more than anything else he could have said. "Jehan …. " Her voice broke.
That seemed to get his attention; his kind, somewhat vague eyes lifted from the dagger. "Is something wrong?"
"Is it true? Are you a — a necromancer?" She could barely speak the word. "Because if you are I don't know if I can still come to visit you. I don't even know if I should. Marcurio says — "
"Marcurio." The level of contempt in his voice startled her; she fell silent. Jehan sighed. "Yes, Sofie, I am a necromancer — that is to say, I practice necromancy. Or rather, the art the Imperial mages of Cyrodiil have deemed 'necromancy,'" he said dryly. She could sense the irony in his voice. "Does that answer your question?"
Sofie could barely speak. The ground seemed to have dropped away from under her feet; she felt as she would have if she had learned that someone close to her — a relative, perhaps — were a murderer.
"Are you afraid, Sofie?" he asked.
There was an almost child-like naivete in the question that made Sofie feel a little better — but not much. "Marcurio said — Marcurio said necromancy was bad," she said, swallowing hard.
"Yes, the Imperial mages have never cared for this field of study very much. They don't understand it, Sofie, you see," he explained gently, "and so they fear and hate what they don't understand. Nor have they bothered to learn anything about it beyond their wrong ideas."
That strange darkness came into his face again, frightening her. She swallowed, thinking hard — thinking about Jehan, and about Marcurio and Ingrid and everyone else back at the stedding, weighing them against each other.
If he is a necromancer … is that really so bad?
"Are you all right, Sofie?" Jehan asked her, and the evident concern in his voice was enough to bring her to the edge of tears.
"Yes, but — I guess, I just don't understand, Jehan," she confessed, blinking furiously. "Marcurio says necromancy is bad, but you're saying he doesn't know what he's talking about. I guess I just don't know what to believe."
Jehan nodded, and thought for a moment, considering her question. "Well," he said at last, "why don't you ask me about necromancy and then you can decide for yourself which is better?"
"I guess that makes sense," Sofie agreed hesitantly, yet somewhat relieved.
"What would you like to ask first?"
"What is necromancy, exactly? Marcurio said it had something to do with — " She tightened her fingers in her skirt, trying to remain in control. "With raising the dead."
Jehan smiled obligingly and that smile warmed her. "Marcurio is essentially correct, but his understanding is incomplete — as is common for Imperial mages," he added with a trace of scorn. "While it is the most visible aspect, raising the dead is only one of the things that make necromancy unique. In reality, our field is a completely different way of approaching magic from most of the other schools in Tamriel. It shares some similarities with the other schools — Conjuration, for example, is very closely related to it, as is Alteration — but it differs from all of them."
"How is it different?" Sofie asked. As Jehan warmed to his subject, Sofie felt her own unease slipping away. She took a seat on a nearby rock; Jehan seemed to relax too. Sofie guessed intuitively that Jehan was enjoying a chance to tell her about his field. His expression was grave and intent; it reminded her of Llewellyn the Nightingale during their lessons.
"The other schools of magic," Jehan explained somewhat pedantically, "accept a common set of assumptions about the way the world works and where power comes from and what sorts of things can and can't be done with it. I remember being told the reason for this was because it was required for the power source they draw on, the magicka left behind by Magnus; I can't be sure that's true or not, but it has always seemed to make sense to me."
"Who told you that?" Sofie asked; then winced as that vague, confused, slightly sad expression came over his face.
"I — I don't know," he said after a moment. "I can't — "
"Well, it's not important," Sofie hastened to assure him, feeling almost as if she were the elder one reassuring her student. "Please, go on."
"Go on. Yes. What were we discussing? Oh, yes," he said, seeming to recall himself. "The foundation of necromancy. Yes, it's been — been said," he said, faltering slightly but then recovering " — that the reason the other schools of magic feel they have to abide by those rules is because of the power source they use, the energy of Magnus, left behind when he created the world. Because their magic is so tied to the creation of the world, they are perforce limited by the laws of the world and cannot work around them or ignore them."
"And — and necromancy can?"
"Yes," said Jehan. "Do you remember what I taught you when I showed you how to summon lightning — the power source I taught you to draw on?"
"Yes," Sofie said, nodding. "The life force of living things that had left their bodies when they died."
"Exactly," said Jehan, and he smiled again. Seeing that smile made Sofie feel as if she had slain a dragon; she couldn't help but smile back. "Because necromancy draws on a different power source, the laws it uses are different. Conjuration touches on this field a little, but it does not explore the breadth and depth of the implications as freely as necromancy does. You will find some necromantic spells sheltering under the auspices of Conjuration," he added thoughtfully, "most likely because they are of such long standing they couldn't be left out, but most reputable conjurers — " there was a strange lilt to the word reputable " — will not touch those spells.
"One of the main laws it ignores is the largest: the law that separates the boundary between life and death. Necromancers can bend and break that line itself, bringing the dead back to life. Think of it, Sofie!" His voice was soft with awe. "We who practice this school of magic can take those who are dead and make them stand, and walk, and live again, almost as if they had never died! That is why necromancers are hated and feared across all of Tamriel," he added, his voice lowering. He sounded — Sofie tried to analyze it — he sounded almost as if he had forgotten she were there, as if he were speaking to himself, perhaps reciting something he had come up with over long days and longer nights of brooding in his tiny cavern. "People are afraid of necromancers because they don't understand. They like things to be set into neat little boxes — this is alive, this is dead — and they don't know how to deal with ambiguity. They are jealous of our power, believing it to be wrong, and not understanding that really, it is no more wrong and evil than their own — less so, in fact, for if you look at it a certain way, we, necromancers, function just like those mages who practice Restoration; we too save lives, only in a different way. But it is the truth, Sofie," he said, turning back to her. "That is the secret of a skilled necromancer — he or she knows there really is no difference between life and death, except for some arbitrary distinctions— the presence of a pulse, the need to breathe, to eat, to drink. Ignore those tiny details, and really, who is to say what's alive and what's dead? We necromancers see this, and we therefore see more clearly than those of the Imperial or Cyrodiilian schools of magic. Do you understand?"
Sofie bit her lip, trying to take in everything he had said, working at it with her mind. "I — I think so," she said carefully. "Necromancy can do things other schools can't because it is not bound by the laws of this world? And that's why people don't like it?"
"Yes," he said, smiling again.
"I — I guess that makes sense," she said , thinking hard. "But — but Marcurio said that those who practiced necromancy became corrupted by it in the end."
She looked up at Jehan hopefully, wanting him to tell her it wasn't the case. But the way he explains it makes so much sense, she thought vaguely. And besides — Jehan is so nice to me — he can't be bad, can he?
Irritation crossed his delicate features. "Yes, I've heard that rumor before — that necromancy corrupts people. It's nonsense. Yet there is a seed of truth in it," he added thoughtfully. "It is true that those who practice necromancy, after a time, come to — to think in a different way than others. It does change you, though I would not call it corruption," he added, grimacing. "Yet I would not say it changes you more than learning any other art changes you. Acquiring any new skill changes you, magical or not," he said earnestly. "Gaining knowledge you did not have before makes you see the world in a different way. That's what life is, the accumulation of knowledge. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Ye-es," Sofie said dubiously; she felt that was not what Marcurio had meant, but did not know how to say it. Jehan seemed to see her hesitation.
"I practice necromancy," he said. "Aren't I all right, Sofie?"
"Yes," she agreed with more confidence.
Again, he smiled, that gentle, wistful smile. "I'm glad," he said. "I would be sad if you didn't think I was all right. I think of you as a — a friend." He said the word strangely, as if he were not used to it; perhaps as if it were one he had not said in a long time.
"I think of you as a friend too," she said impulsively, and was rewarded by a flash of something — she thought it was happiness — across his face. "So is that what you've been doing down here? Trying to raise the dead?"
"Yes," he said, sounding obscurely pleased; Sofie had the impression that he liked the chance to talk to another about what he was doing. "Come here, and I'll show you."
She followed him to the altar, which was covered by a cloth. Jehan whisked it back, and gestured. Sofie stepped forward, and took a closer look — then flinched back. A skeleton lay on the altar, surrounded by embalming tools; a silver goblet stood at its head, next to a dark purple stone. The bones were entwined with wreaths of flowers and herbs; magic scrolls, potions and a few books were piled in untidy heaps.
But her eyes kept returning again and again to the bones — and to the dark purple stone.
Human bones, she thought, and did not quite dare to wonder where he had gotten them. And that gem — that Soul Gem. It looks like a — Like a Black Soul Gem.
Sofie had seen filled Black Soul Gems before; Ingrid had many of them, stored in a strongbox in her Enchanter's tower. They had always given Sofie a chill, but Ingrid had told her those gems had all been filled during fights with bandits, mercenaries, or other brigands that had attacked her. Bad people. Where Jehan had gotten this one, she had no idea.
What if he filled it himself?
Well, and if he had, so what? Sofie knew from listening to Ingrid and Marcurio that when Soul Trap was cast, the captured soul would go into any empty gem large enough to hold it. Even if it was filled, it didn't necessarily mean that a human soul was in it. But still she found herself shivering at the sight of it.
"What — What is all this stuff?"
"The tools of my art," Jehan said. "A soul gem to hold the soul I will need for the ritual; tools and potions to prepare the body and give me strength; the books containing the instructions I need to do this — " He paused, his face shadowing. "I am only an Adept-level necromancer. This rite may be almost beyond my strength. Yet still everything is in readiness, and when the stars fully align and I am finally able to attempt it, I know that I will succeed. I must succeed."
He swept his gaze over the altar again, and now Sofie saw a strange pride in his demeanor. And behind that pride, that obscure darkness — but surely that was her imagination.
Her eyes were drawn back to the Black Soul Gem — and to the bones. The implications of the two pressed at her mind.
Jehan was still speaking. "The books, I've been compiling myself over my work as a necromancer; others were handed down to me from my — From my master, yes," he said finally. "The books are very important. My instruction was not — " He looked confused again. "My instruction was not complete," he said to himself. "No, it was not, was it? And so the books will have to substitute for what my master did not have time to teach me."
That confusion in his face was blended with sadness, and for a moment, Sofie felt deeply sorry for him; a terrible pity so deep it almost moved her to tears.
"The tools are necessary also," he said, "for preparing the body and readying it. The potions you have helped me with, Sofie," he said with a warm smile. He moved to pick up one of the bottles, studying it, holding it up to the light. "It was difficult," he murmured as if to himself, "and I did not know if I could do it, but I think — I think — I have done correctly. I have learned much — so much …. "
He trailed off for a moment, seeming lost in thought. Sofie swallowed, gathering her courage.
"Where did you get the — " She drew a breath. "The Black Soul Gem?"
"This?" Again, that flush of pride bloomed in his eyes, and for a moment, Sofie was afraid. "Obtaining this was perhaps the most difficult of all. I heard rumors … I searched for months, maybe even years," he said, uncertainly. "I searched in the deepest crypts, the most out-of-the-way places, ruined forts, high mountain peaks — yes," he said, frowning, confused. "I searched — it was surely I who searched, was it not? — and finally I found it, deep in the bowels of a Hag-Raven nest … There were three of them … defeating them took all my strength. I still have the scars …. But in the end, I found the Soul Gem, and even better, it was filled … just as the rumors had said. The right one — it has to be. It has to be. I had it then — just what I needed for my work … "
A wave of relief washed over Sofie. It was already filled, she thought. He didn't fill it himself, he found it that way.
But that wasn't all. After all, it wasn't just the Soul Gem Jehan had that worried her. Her eyes were drawn to the altar where the skeleton lay.
"And — " She shifted in unease. "And the — the bones?"
And again, Jehan's face clouded. "I … I'm afraid I don't really remember," he said uneasily. He raised one hand to his forehead. "I think … " That vagueness increased. "My master. She fell in battle. There were — What was it, again? I cannot — Werewolves, perhaps … vampires? I don't know … " He looked very tired all at once, and his eyes darkened. "Her bones. I gathered them … I thought that maybe — perhaps — "
A knot that Sofie hadn't been aware of untied within her. His master, she thought. She suddenly felt a great deal better about Jehan and his experiments. "So they're her bones?"
"I — I think so. But it's all a fog, I can't be — " He stopped. It seemed as if Sofie could hear an almost audible twang, as if the thread of memory he was drawing on had snapped like an overloaded lute string. A strange expression crossed his face, and he pressed a hand to his temples. "My head hurts," he said suddenly.
If that's what he thinks, then that's got to be right, she thought, and was filled with a burst of generosity for him. "Did you care for your master?"
"Very much," he answered. "She taught me everything I know."
"How did you meet her?"
"I don't remember." He frowned, looking tired and cross. "I said, my head hurts," he said somewhat querulously.
"I'm sorry." She looked at the pile of bones. "But you're going to try and bring her back?"
"Ye-es," Jehan replied, tentative.
"Why? Did she ask you to?"
"Because — " The confusion in his face increased, along with an overwhelming of sadness; for a moment, Jehan appeared to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know. I think I knew once, but I've forgotten."
He looked so sad that Sofie hastened to reassure him. "It's all right, you don't have to tell me. I just wanted to ask because — " And here it was her turn to falter. Do I dare? What if he got angry at her question? Or, even worse, what if he said no? What if he said it was impossible? Her heart quailed.
"Sofie?" Jehan asked. "Is something wrong?"
"I — " She summoned her resolve. "I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid you'll be angry at me."
Jehan smiled. "I can't imagine anything you could do that would make me angry."
The gentle warmth in his eyes reassured her, and filled her with resolve to go on. "I was wondering — If necromancy is bringing the dead back to life, do you — " She swallowed hard. "Do you think that maybe — ?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think it would be possible to bring my parents back to life?"
"Your parents?" Jehan looked startled, then cast his eyes down as if thinking.
He hasn't said no, she thought, her hopes hanging by a thread. He hasn't said — His next question reassured her even more.
"How long ago did they die?"
Her heart was in her throat; she was so filled with hope she could barely breathe. "A couple years — a little bit more than two years next Loredas."
"What did they die of?" was his next question.
"The wasting sickness. First one, then the other." They had died within hours of each other. Neither one of them had even known Sofie was there at the end. It had filled her with cold terror, seeing her father look right through her without any recognition; hearing her mother, who had been a member of the Windhelm City Guard, cry out to comrades-in-arms long dead. She had stood by their beds for hours as they grew cold, unable even to think of what to do next. Finally, she'd just turned and walked out of the house, into the cold, stony streets of Windhelm. It had been night and snowing. Sofie hadn't known where she was going, and hadn't cared. She'd just walked, and hadn't looked back.
Jehan considered, his eyes shadowing. Sofie waited on tenterhooks. Each breath seemed an effort.
"Do you know where their bodies are?"
"Is — is that important?" Sofie floundered.
"If we have the bodies it will be easier."
Easier. Again, Sofie felt hope dawning within her.
"They're probably in the Hall of the Dead at Windhelm," she said. "I think the priestess of Arkay would have put them there."
"The Hall of the Dead." A frown marred Jehan's brow; Sofie gulped down her fear. "I don't know ... Windhelm is very far away … and the weather isn't good this time of year, which will make traveling difficult … and I — " A faint red flush stained his pale cheeks. "It's - difficult - for me to be among people. It will be very hard to get them out of there — "
Sofie felt tears prickle at her eyes. "Can't we at least try?" she pleaded. "I'll help you, I'll do anything if you'll just tell me what to do — "
Jehan's frown deepened. "I don't know what there is to do. Windhelm's Hall of the Dead — well, even if we could reach the city, it would be so difficult — "
Then he stopped and looked at her closely. That strange expression came over his face again; this time it looked like concern. "Still, 'difficult' isn't impossible. And even without the body, there are ways … Perhaps this is something we could decide later, after I have raised my master," he said, as if having hit on an idea.
"Then you can bring them back after all?" It seemed as if the sun had dawned from behind a cloud; she felt as if she were floating. She moved to embrace him, but the young mage drew back. The look of concern had not left his face.
"Well — sort of."
"Sort of? What do you mean, 'sort of?'"
"Well, you have to understand, the resurrection process is … not an exact science," Jehan said cautiously. "Often, when bringing someone back from the dead — things are lost in the transition."
"What do you mean? What kind of things?" Sofie asked. She was thinking, I don't care what's lost, if there's even a chance of bringing my parents back, I have to take it.
"Well, it depends. The tales say the most skilled necromancers could bring someone back almost exactly as he or she had been in life, so that if you did not know they had died, you would never guess it. But, that kind of necromancy hasn't been possible for millenia. A Daedra might be able to do that, but I — " The shadow over his face grew darker, more sullen, though Sofie didn't notice. "I am not a Daedra. I am only a human and not equal to the Daedric princes in power. At least … not yet."
"So what can you do? Can you bring them back or not?" Sofie demanded, then regretted it when she saw Jehan draw back with that strange, hurt expression. "I'm sorry," she said, feeling somehow like she were the older and more mature of the two of them. "It's just that … " She couldn't go on, almost choked up by tears.
Again, Jehan seemed to see it. "It's all right, Sofie. I know that you weren't angry. I can raise your parents — at least, I think I can," he added somewhat dubiously, "but the physical effects of death will be hard to reverse completely. And the mental effects ... They won't be exactly like they were before."
"What do you mean?"
"Among other things, they may not remember much, if anything, about their lives before they died. They may not even remember you, Sofie. He frowned. "Are you sure you can live with that?"
Nonsense. Of course they'll remember me. Sofie couldn't even imagine what her parents would be like if they couldn't remember her. "I'm not worried."
Seeing her determination, Jehan sighed. "Well — if you're sure, then once I have raised my master, we'll give it a try."
He said yes. We're going to do it. We're really going to — Sofie was so elated she threw herself at Jehan, clutching him around the waist. Jehan recoiled; for a moment, the shadow cleared from his eyes, and he tentatively embraced her back. "I knew you would help me! Oh, Jehan, you're the best friend I ever had!"
"I — I am your friend," he said tentatively. "I'm your friend, Sofie. And I -I haven't had a friend in a … a long time," he said slowly. "A very long time indeed."
That wild happiness still filled Sofie's veins; she wanted to fling herself at Jehan and embrace him again. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, to talk about, to discuss but a quick glance at the sky forestalled her.
"It's getting late. I have to get back. But I will be down again very soon, all right?" she promised. "And then we can talk about what we're going to do to raise my parents."
Now a faint frown clouded Jehan's face. "Well — not too soon. It might be better if you don't come down for a week or so."
We have to wait that long? "A week? But why?"
"It will just be better." He glanced at the sky himself. "There are things I have to do, and it would be … difficult … for me to do them with you here. But don't worry, Sofie," he said, seeing her disappointment. "When you come back in a week, I'll be much further along in my preparations and you may be able to help me then."
The thought of helping Jehan — and maybe learning the things she would need to use on her own parents — filled her with more happiness. "I can hardly wait," she promised.
That gentle, soft smile crossed Jehan's face. "Neither can I," he said. "It will be … nice … to help someone with my magic for a change. I don't think I've ever done that before. But we will do it, Sofie. We'll get your parents for you. I promise." He paused. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye," Sofie replied, so happy she was almost dancing. She favored Jehan with a bright smile before turning and darting up the path.
As she ran up the path toward Lakeview, Sofie's feet barely touched the ground. She felt happier than she had in a long time, since before her parents died.
I'm going to get them back, she thought to herself. Jehan is going to bring my parents back to me, and we'll be a family again. Me, Mother, Father, and Jehan. She believed, with a child's naive faith, that the universe was going to be restored. The horrible wrong that had been done could be erased. The months she had spent on the streets of Windhelm, here at Lakeview — they were just a minor interruption in the otherwise harmonious flow of things. Life would finally, finally get back to normal.
She envisioned the bright smile on her mother's face, the happiness in her father's eyes; the way they both stretched out their arms to take her into an embrace. "Sofie," her mother said, "we're so proud of you. We love you so much, and we'll never leave you again."
The thought warmed and comforted Sofie all the way up to the vast building on the hill. She was so caught up in her thoughts that when she came in through the front hall door she scarcely noticed Rayya stirring stew at the pot.
"You made it in just before I barred the door, child," Rayya said, startling her. "Did you know your mother is back?"
Not yet, Sofie thought. But she will be soon. Aloud she said, "Ingrid?"
Rayya nodded. "Yes. She's in there — " the housecarl glanced toward the main hall doors, which were closed. "And Marcurio is with her. If you want dinner, you'd better get in there." And she gave Sofie a significant look.
"All right. Rayya?" she asked.
"Yes, child?" the housecarl asked, turning back to the boiling pot over the fire.
"Thank you," Sofie said, and stretched up to kiss the Redguard woman on the cheek.
Rayya drew back, surprised. "What was that for?"
"Just because," said Sofie — she was so filled with happiness right now she wanted to share it.
Inside the great hall, the atmosphere was so icy the blazing fire in the central hearth couldn't keep the chill at bay. Ingrid was sitting at one end of the long table with Marcurio at the other. Neither one of them spoke. Llewellyn the Nightingale, Uthgerd the Unbroken, that Teldryn Sero person, and Gunjar the cart man were all in the room too, and all of them looked uneasy except for Teldryn Sero. Lucia threw Sofie a gratified look when she came in and squeezed her hand under the table. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered as Sofie took her seat. She looked significantly at the opposite ends of the table where Ingrid and Marcurio sat.
Sofie squeezed her hand back, but her heart was not in it. The tension didn't touch her; she felt as if she were detached from it all, an outside observer. She had other things to think about.
After dinner, Sofie went up the stairs, took her rabbit Cotton in her arms, and lay down under her covers. Lucia climbed into the other bed. Neither of them spoke to the other; Sofie was not in the mood to talk. Instead, she closed her eyes and hoped to dream of her parents. I will see you soon ….
On the opposite side of the children's wall, their parents' bedroom stayed empty. Marcurio was up on the roof of the library tower, measuring the stars and recording his observations; Ingrid was down in the basement with Teldryn Sero, working at the forge, melding iron and steel in the ruddy light of the glowing coals. Uthgerd and Llewellyn slept uneasily on the floor in the storage room at the back of the house, along with Gunjar, and Rayya slept in her bed in the entrance hall. Down in his cave in front of the lake, Jehan sat up, poring over his notes by the light of a single, glowing candle. Outside, the two moons shone down, washing the altar and its bones in their combined light.