Swamp Things
It was the smell of spoiled eggs which first told her they were nearing the terminus of their ride. As unwelcome as the stench was, Ariadne still greeted with great relief the prospect of finally getting out of this wobbling cart of misery. Dignity alone kept her from attending to her aching buttocks, and surreptitious shifting around on the damned hard bench only went so far. What she really would have liked was to foist her hands between the wood and her flesh; but with these men watching, such a feat was obviously unthinkable. She especially didn't want to give Thurd there any additional reason to think about her butt.
The carriage finally came to a creaking stop, and not a moment too soon. She was about to pounce right out, when Thurd impertinently motioned her back on her seat. "We'll go first and see that everything's clear." Without waiting for objections, he stepped outside.
Ariadne could hardly believe it, too slighted to come up with a sufficient retort. How dare this . . . peasant push her around! If anyone it should have been her to ensure everyone's safety! After all, you fellows killed, what, one and a half bandits between the two of you while I took care of the rest, and suddenly I'm the one who needs nannying?
Brend, obviously well reading her body language, slid to sit in the place in front of her, offering her something like a placating smile. "It's just our job, you see. We're required to go first. Please don't take it personally."
Just seeing his lovely face right close to her melted the indignation from her mind. The afterglow of the fight had yet to fully recede, and she would've definitely been in the mood for some rough-and-tumble right then. Oh, it only it were just the two of us—I'd give you something to take personally!
But she let none of her feeling show and instead kept a cool poise. She donned her best coquettish expression, and breathed, "Oh, I understand perfectly" in her best femme-fatale, reaching out a hand to rest on his leg, perhaps a little further above the knee than was strictly appropriate. "After all, what lady in her right mind could snub a strong man looking after her?" To complete the admittedly silly display, she gave the leg a quick little squeeze before retreating her hand.
The guard's self-confident grin had faltered, and he stared at her in the most satisfyingly speechless manner. His face even colored!
Brend swallowed and simply nodded. Something in the way that he then clambered outside bespoke utmost urgency. Staring at the closed door after him Ariadne smirked, thoroughly pleased with herself.
When she turned to glance at Ariela, she found the scholar frowning at her peculiarly.
"What?"
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Well . . . you know. That."
"Course is clear!"
Whatever it was that the scholar was on about, had to wait. As little as she cared for the little man, Thurd's call was all Ariadne needed right then. She glanced quickly at the still bemused scholar, then pushed open the door. She scrunched her nose as the swampland air wafted at her. Unsurprisingly, the reek was even worse outside: as if the marshes courteously greeter her by farting right into her face.
And if the place was an all-out assault on the nose, it was no delight to the eye, either. Craggy terrain of scant vegetation hugged by ubiquitous mists, surrounding a profoundly unfriendly-looking body of water. Thin spruces seemed to be the only trees hardy enough to survive the infertile landscape, as every other form of tree growing sparsely on the rocky terrain stood dead, their gray branches sticking every which way like the hairs on the heads of standing corpses. The only other vegetation as far as the eye could see were tall tufts of pale grasses, swaying with barely held hostility in the faint breeze. The fetid water in the swamp was murky in color, dully reflecting the overcast skies and the gauze of white haze slowly creeping about its surface. The water was punctuated here and there by islands bearing identical dispiriting properties to the mainland.
Ariadne placed her palms on her hips and stretched her back, then flexed her stiff legs. This is ridiculous, she though. I'm getting as rickety as a damned old lady. It's all that cursed sitting around I'm doing these days. There would have to be change in that, and soon.
She ambled over to Arcana, to run a hand over the horse's velvety black hair. The animal acknowledged her presence but minimally, yet gracefully accepted the attention. Poor thing seemed to be struggling to maintain its self-esteem being conveyed around in such an undignified fashion. She could not blame her.
Ariela also stopped by her horse, Lucky, to stroke its mane and to mumble some words at it. But the woman seemed somehow half-hearted about it, as though too distracted to focus. "Alright," she then said, addressing her words to Ariadne. "Get on with it, shall we?" The scholar then addressed the guards. "You two can just wait here. I don't think there are many dangers lurking about. I can't predict how long it'll take, but we shouldn't be all day. Ariadne? You can also stay behind if you'd prefer. I think I've got this."
Ariadne glanced at Brend, then at Thurd. "Yeah, I think I'll just come along. After all, I've got nothing better to do." Well, I might, were there just one guard . . .
A shack that had seen its heyday sometime in the last century huddled at the edge of the water. Smoke snaked steadily out of the surprisingly intact looking chimney, and the smell of it helped a little with the swamp gases, though not by much. The two women walked over to the front door, which looked sturdier than the actual building. A burglar would likely have the least trouble by just breaking through the wall.
"Who lives here?" Ariadne asked.
Ariela banged on the door. "A shaman."
"A what?"
"It's open!"
They traded looks, and then Ariela pulled on the outwards opening door, the heavy hinges groaning.
A whole different pattern of scents greeted them inside the shack. Ariadne thought she could recognize at least half a dozen different herbs all at once, and these combined with half a dozen others that she did not know; and to add its own little touch was the unmistakable tang of decaying wood. As if to counterpoint the heady wealth of fragrance, the furnishing of the place followed an artless, austere scheme: a single dinner table and chairs; another, long and narrow table by the wall to their left, cluttered with vials, jars, and herbs. Towards the back on the right, a simple fireplace with a humble armchair upholstered in worn pear green cloth in front of it.
At the far end, a berobed, hooded figure hunched over an alchemy lab, busy working the mortar and pestle. "Just one moment, if you please." The figure's voice over the clink and crunch of his work was sibilant yet kindly. "Do step in from the cold, for Hist's sake, and I'll be with you shortly."
Ariela pulled the door shut behind them. A gust of draft juddered the various objects hanging from the rafters and on the walls before dying out. They stood there waiting for some dozen heartbeats, neither saying a word, while their eyes adjusted to the dim inside light.
Not soon after, the figure gave a satisfied grunt and set down his tools. Turning about, he peeled back his hood and took a moment to study his guests. The expression on the old Argonian's weathered reptilian features corresponded with his voice: warm and eager, yet with a sharp point to his gaze which could have been construed as more than simple curiosity.
"Yes, yes, welcome!" The slightly hunched figure padded over to them, bare feet slapping on the spare hardwood floor. "I've been expecting you!"
"I sent a letter—" Ariela said.
"Yes, yes! I read it, of course I did." He stopped to squint each of them in turn. "Why, lovely young ladies—what a truly unprecedented occasion! Not many visitors in general come by here, you know."
Why ever not?
"Hopefully we're not intruding . . ." Ariela said.
"By no means, by no means! You are most welcome here. So . . . well met!" The Argonian stuck out a hand, leathery webbing in between the fingers. "I am known by the name Deelith-Thix, but you can just call me Deelith. Or Deel if that's more comfortable. I am an alchemist and herbalist, mostly, and occasionally something of a . . . well, I suppose you might call me a healer. From Black Marsh originally, as you might guess from the inflection. Been living out here for a good couple decades now."
Tell us your entire life story, now won't you.
The scholar took the proffered hand. "Pleased to meet you, eh, Deelith. I am Ariela. A scholar of the Scholar's Guild of Tamriel. I have been staying in Skyrim, at the College of Winterhold, for a couple years now. This here is Ariadne. She is my . . . well, she currently serves as my temporary assistant, but she is a mage student at the College."
Letting go of Ariela's hand, Deelith then reached for Ariadne's. With an expression she found at once very familiar and yet somehow foreign, he said, "Lovely to make your acquaintance."
Grasping the surprisingly warm hand, Ariadne blinked stupidly. "Yes," she said.
On the whole, the Argonian's general disposition did fall onto the side of kindly. Well, as kindly as was possible for a six foot tall green-and-brown skinned reptile with a line of spikes jutting out the length of each jawline and spines growing out of the back of its head, sharp ridges over and under the admittedly unsettling lizard-eyes. But overlooking those qualities, he seemed quite innocuous.
"Well, then," he said. "Please, take a seat."
Ariela did as suggested, but Ariadne hesitated. Her behind was still recovering from the trip, and those hard chairs were not looking terribly inviting. In fact, they looked more or less like entry-level torture devices at the moment. "I'm actually fine standing," she said.
"You may, of course, do as you see fit. So," the Argonian grunted as he sat down opposite to Ariela, "Like I said, not many visitors wander out here. As I recall from our correspondence, you were even rather eager to come! Now, that cannot but arouse my natural curiosity."
"Yes, there are in fact matters that I would much like to discuss with you"
To which Deelith then replied something else.
Staring at him, at the absurdly large, wedge-shaped saurian head poking out of a more or less hominoid trunk, that wide mouth splitting the bottom of his sizable snout, a question suddenly popped to mind: how did two of these creatures kiss? Did they kiss? She knew that they mated at least, so that meant they bred pretty much the same as everybody; but would it have even been possible to fit two of those mouths, replete with sharp teeth, together without serious injury?
And speaking of breeding, how's that work? I mean, it's not as if it's difficult to imagine or anything, but I don't wanna make any assumptions . . . And what's an Argonian cock like, anyway?
A little too detailed, she realized.
Ariadne rubbed at her brow. Damn it but she was still tired and still had the unresolved post-magic tickle plaguing her loins and damn it but she was getting frustrated and—well, now she was starting to get images in her head that she did not particularly care to entertain.
So she decided to take the safe route and try to concentrate on something else.
She walked over to study the various alchemy stuffs on the narrow table. Nothing terribly fascinating at first glance. Vials and bottles holding fluids of various color and consistency, different raw ingredients in jars. Then her attention was drawn to a jar filled with colorless liquid with a pallid thing floating in it. At a closer look, the thing was revealed to be fetus of some animal, the umbilical cord and placenta still intact. She leaned in for a closer look. At such an early stage, it could have been of any species. Yet there was something very familiar about it. Surely it couldn't have been . . .?
"Are you into alchemy, young lady?"
Ariadne glanced over her shoulder, realizing it was her that he was addressing. "Who, me?" She gave her head a shake, straightening. "Nah, never felt the draw."
"Yes," mused the lizard. "You'll feel it, alright, when it decides to call on you."
Ariadne glance over again with one slightly tilted brow. "Decides?"
"Yessss!" the Argonian hissed—or that, at least, was how she liked to imagine his reply sounding. "It's a calling if ever there was one. To be invited to partake of the eternal mysteries of nature: why, there's hardly a greater or more singular honor!"
"If you say so," she muttered.
"I imagine," chimed in the scholar, in such tones as though to swiftly extenuate Ariadne's somewhat less than gracious ones, "the task of decrypting ever novel effects of different ingredients to be a fascinating one!" The small woman then seemed to wither somewhat under the Deelith's suddenly avid gaze. "Er, or at least that's what I've been told."
Deelith stared at her for a moment longer. "Aye, you have been told correctly. And do you yourself, perchance, dabble?"
"Only very little. But I do hope to—"
"It is indeed only a small portion of alchemy," he cut in, as though not even having listened to her reply, "which focuses on the creation of potions and elixirs. Alas, it is the portion which gets the most attention." He considered. "On second thought, perhaps that is for the better."
"Do you mean—?"
"Precisely! I speak, of course, of what you might call the Great Work. And, I hasten to add, in this it is no different in its most essential purpose than is the great art of magic."
Deelith sought out Ariadne's gaze as he said this, as if there's was some particular lesson in his words that she was supposed to take. She didn't much care for it, so she tried to quickly backtrack the conversation. "How is it that they figure this stuff out to begin with?" she asked. "The effects of this plant or that?" Do they, perhaps, simply taste them? And if so, I wonder at the steepness of the casualties?
"How?" Deelith said. "Why, they ask them of course!"
She stared. Right . . .
Ariela, acting as though nothing in the slightest off-kilter had just been suggested, said, "And it isn't as if plants are the only, or indeed the most potent, type of ingredient."
"No," agreed Deelith slowly, slanting a shrewd look at the scholar. "They most certainly are not. And now, I feel, we are approaching the main subject matter of today, yes?"
Ariela suddenly looked discomfited as Deelith-Thix nailed her with his stare. And Ariadne could scarcely blame the woman: the Argonian's vertical-pupiled eyes, though twinkling with the quaint jauntiness of an affable elder, yet held something extraordinarily cold and hard in them.
"Oh, but where are my manners!" Deelith abruptly exclaimed, and stood. "Would you lasses care for something to eat?"
He puttered off without waiting for a reply, and the women shared a look. Ariadne realized then that she'd not eaten since the morning, and only now did her stomach seem to be alerted to this. Yes, something to bite would not be too bad at all.
"Let's see here. Aha!"
As the Argonian returned holding a long trencher, Ariadne's stomach made a somersault.
"Here we go." Deelith set the trencher down on the table for his guest to mutely stare at. It was laden with whole, by the looks of them still ungutted, fishes. "Eat at your leisure," he said as he reseated himself, "there's plenty more in the pond!"
What, you mean the swamp?
Ariadne had to look at him really carefully to ascertain that the lizard wasn't simply messing with them. Nope, seemed entirely genuine. The feeling in her belly had turned to something else by this point.
The women shared another look.
"Um," Ariela said, audibly straining to keep her voice neutral, "I am actually fine, thank you."
"Really? Well, if you're quite sure. And you?"
"Yeah," Ariadne replied in a drawl, "I'm good as well. We, uh, just ate before we came."
"Ah. Well, then, suit yourselves." And Deelith grabbed one pinkish fish by the tail—frankly, Ariadne would have not been the least surprised if it had still been wriggling—and dropped it entire into his gaping maw. Skin and little bones crunched as he chewed, a most gratified expression on his face.
Ariadne could not keep the distaste from her face as she watched. Luckily the Argonian paid her no mind at the moment.
After finishing his third fish, Deelith swept the trencher aside, placing his hands on the table in front of him with the fingers pressed together. "So," he said. "Souls?
"Uh, yes," said Ariela. "That is, broadly speaking, the subject matter which brought me here."
"Truly a broad one at that."
She sighed with a weary smile. "Tell me about it."
Ariadne decided to make a concerted effort to focus on the conversation this time around. She did her best to adjust her disposition as if she truly cared.
"Alright, then," said Deelith. "Where shall we begin?"
"How about in here." Ariela reached down to fish a book out of her knapsack, slid it over the table. "This volume has been more or less driving me quite mad this past year or so."
Deelith read the title. "The Infinite Void of the Soul. Hmm, now isn't that interesting. What is it?" He flipped the book open and started to casually turn the pages.
"One of Urag gro-Shub's—the College's librarian, as you may know—later translations. And as it happens, the original untranslated work was something that Herennius once sent me to retrieve. Now, that is quite a story in itself. Suffice it to say that I never in a million years could have pulled it off without help from some very formidable companions."
Deelith was nodding. "And what does it contain?" He closed the book and slid it back over.
"There's really no simple answer to that." Ariela in turn started flipping the pages as she spoke. "Esoteric, largely nigh incomprehensible ruminations on the nature of the soul. They seem more or less disconnected from each other. Then there are parts best described as poetry. And then a short section of what appear to be ritualistic spells of some kind. Herennius speculated that they have something to do with capturing souls, and there's a good chance that this is the purpose that the book was mainly being used for." The scholar's hand remained poised over the book for a few seconds as she stopped on a page taken almost entirely by a stylized sketch of an eye. She frowned at the drawing momentarily, then continued to turn the pages.
"Hum," the Argonian said. "Interesting. In what language was the original, by the way—and who wrote it?"
"This is, I think, is truly the most fascinating part," Ariela said. "The original was mostly in ancient Nordic. And Herennius held it that, although the book has no ascribed author, there are good reasons to assume it was written by Shalidor the Arch-Mage himself. He also thought it likely that parts of the book are ancient texts salvaged and compiled by Shalidor, and other parts the man's own notes and thoughts. The trouble lies in the fact that it's more or less impossible to tell those two apart in the text itself. And to make matters even more complicated, there's a good chance that parts of the book have been acquired through channeling of some description. So by no means an easy text to decipher."
"What is the significance of it, then?"
"Now, that there is the mystery!"
"In which you thought that I might be able to help."
"That was my hope," Ariela conceded.
"I see. Well. I fear that I may cause you a disappointment. But I can always try." He narrowed his eyes, as though visited by a sudden recollection. "The Void, you say? That, at least, does bring something to mind . . ."
The scholar smiled. "Sithis."
"Aye. Yet, not many utter the name with a smile on their lips. Not even those, perhaps especially those, who worship him."
"I certainly do not." Ariela hesitated, then added, "Do you?"
Deelith's wry, closed-mouthed grin might have indicated being impressed by her forthrightness. "Worship? No. Respect?" As he bared his sharp teeth, Ariadne wondered whether it was still a smile. "You bet your scaleless hide that I do!"
"The Hist . . ."
"Aye," Deelith said. "That is what it all comes down to . . . with my people. They have ever—"
Now that Ariadne thought of it, did lizards even have cocks? Surely Argonians at least had to. Could be it was one of those kinds that cats had—more or less retractable. Was it perhaps scaly like the rest of them? Gods forbid, maybe there was more than one!
She caught herself, gave her head an imperceptible shake. The Hist, the Hist!
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Ariela started.
"Count on it."
"I'll summarize the best I can. The Hist—the race of sentient trees now more or less confined to Black Marsh, and which are of utmost importance to the local society—as you just now indicated, are considered by the Argonians to be the source or all of life. As hatchlings, the Argonians drink the tree's sap—otherwise also known by its profound mystical properties—and continue to do so during their infancy. The sap, then, is thought to give the young one its soul, and when that selfsame individual dies, his or her soul travels back to the Hist. Now, do I have it right by this point?"
Deelith nodded. "All correct thus far, if not a tad simplistic. No, no, don't get me wrong. I should not expect an outsider to have any more complete a picture. In fact, this is the way it should be. But do go on."
"Er, well, I would stop here for a minute if that's alright."
"By all means. I can see if I can clarify things for you without betraying any of my people's ancestral mysteries."
Oh, like your cocks?
Without thinking, Ariadne slapped herself.
The two heads swung to her, perplexed expressions on their faces.
"Oh, sorry," she said, feeling her face redden at the same rapid rate that she felt herself shrink. "Mosquitoes." She waved her hand about herself for emphasis.
"Anyway", Ariela continued hesitatingly as, after regarding the other woman with something akin to concern, she turned back to face the Argonian, "this is where I must confess to some confoundedness on my part."
"I have some idea of what you refer to."
"Yes. Well, let's start with something that we all agree on. All beings as a rule have souls, correct?"
"Correct."
"And depending on that creature's level of sentience, the different souls are considered to be of varying magnitude and power. But regardless, the soul is what makes flesh alive, and in this sense no one creature is terribly different from another."
"This we agree on. I cannot see how it could be otherwise."
"Yes, but the Argonian sapling is already sentient when born, right?"
Deelith smiled. "Indeed."
Ariela spread out her hands. "But if that is so, then the newborn Argonian must perforce already have a soul! Whence does the soul given by the sap then come?"
"I have a feeling you have some thoughts about this?"
"Indeed I do. With your permission?"
"I promise I shall not take offence. Quite the contrary in fact!"
"Alright," said the scholar. "Well. Let us maintain that the sapling already possesses a soul, a life force, and that the Hist also gives them one. So, following this logic, any given Argonian should have two souls instead of just one. Unless, of course, the soul provided by the Hist somehow replaces the original lizard soul. In theory, that could be possible—a stronger soul pushing away the weaker one and taking its place. But let's entertain the idea that Argonians indeed do have two souls. In my mind, this revolutionary suggestion puts into serious question the whole idea of a soul in the first place, at least the way that it is taught."
"And why is that?"
"Two souls!" Ariela exclaimed with both her arms and eyes wide. "That pretty much breaks the whole system!"
The Argonian looked simultaneously thoughtful and shrewd. "Aye," he mused. "Perhaps you are right."
"Do you have any comment on this?"
"Well," he said slowly. "I do sympathize with your concern. Breaking the system? Aye, that would not bode well with most people. Well, I take that back. Most people would simply not care one way or another, nor change any of their habitual patterns of belief and thought—well . . . 'thought'. But in any case, those with a vested interest in attempting to dominate the universe by way of their concepts and systems and what have you . . . aye, they would be most unhappy. I must say I'm rather impressed. No one that I know of has ever brought up this point of view before. But whether I'm more impressed by your insightfulness or everyone else's foolishness—why, I could not possibly say."
Ariadne frowned. Right then the old Argonian did not sound very kindly at all.
Ariela met his tirade with a sardonic grin. "Wise, if severe, words. And particularly true of humans, I regret to say."
Deelith sighed. "Alas, I regret that I am not yet wise enough to countenance the full immensity of human stupidity." He then smiled. "No offence."
The scholar's returning smile was understanding. "None taken."
Speak for yourself! He just singlehandedly insulted our whole genus. You're just gonna take it—from a damned gecko?
"I hasten to add," Deelith said, "that your species is by no means alone with this tendency. But perhaps, young and relatively short-lived that you are, you have somewhat unique challenges in this regard."
Ariela winced, nodding acquiescingly.
"And yet, I fear that this is simply the curse of mortality. After all, the history of mortals can easily be characterized as an unending battle against the fundamental truths of their circumstances—fueled by the ever-resilient effort to replace what is with what they think should be. With occasional success, I may add. Yet one does well to remember that even a man who has turned banging his head against concrete walls into his life's work may also occasionally come across a weak spot. This will of course only encourage him to continue on his doomed path—taking it, as he will, as a sort of proof that the path is indeed anything but!"
"Sad but true," Ariela acceded.
The Argonian aired a tired sigh. "But a war against nature can only be lost. Though, by the time that the lesson is finally learned, I fear that it comes hopelessly late."
"Nature, yes," Ariela said. "Aptly put. Including, perhaps, the nature of ourselves?"
"Aye. Absolutely. Including—in fact, especially—all the nasty stuff." He shook his head, smiling. "I have to say, I can hardly believe how long it has been since I've met someone who understood that—or indeed was willing to even give it any thought. Makes me glad, at least, that one such a person decided to visit me."
Ariela's face colored. And boy, but did that silly little woman look proud all of a sudden!
Since you're such soulmates now—pun intended—perhaps I should just leave you to it?
"I appreciate it," Ariela said coyly. "And I may add that it's a rare privilege to get the chance to sit down with one such as you, with such extensive understanding of the most profound—and the most fascinating—mysteries of Aurbis!"
Oh, that's it. These two are definitely gonna kiss—any moment now!
The Argonian gave a small, humble bow. "I am flattered."
Mind if I just vomit on the floor here?
After a short silence, during which the two no doubt were dreaming up yet more backslapping platitudes to pile on each other, Ariela cleared her throat. "Anyway, perhaps this would be a good time to address the other subject matter I was curious about. The one I already alluded to."
"Sithis."
"Sithis. Now, if I have it right—"
"Please," Deelith interrupted. "May I?"
"By all means."
"Let me tell you about Sithis, far as I see it. Yes, it is true that the Argonians consider the Hist to be the source of life. But it's also true that they consider Sithis to be the source of all existence—the true creator of Aurbis. And though this belief truly sticks in the craw of the elven dogma, it is nonetheless a view accepted by many others as well. After all, what is Anu next to Padomay? Static and dead. While Padomay brings about change, and without change there cannot be life. And as Padomay then gave birth to his soul, Sithis, this then was the birth of what we call 'mind'."
"Mind?"
"Mind. Now, I'm afraid that I must risk disappointing you. But from this point on I am no longer willing to discuss the aspects of the mysteries of the Argonian faith. I am sorry."
Ariela's expression fell. "Ah."
"However," Deelith said. "What I can do, is talk to you a little about what my teacher, Gin-Jah the Unhinged, a woman considered widely to number among the wisest in all of Argonia, taught me about Sithis. Yes, I can do this, for as well respected as she may have been, her teachings by no means describe the mainstream views of our people. She was a mystic unlike anyone I've ever met, with a vision so deep and personal as to unavoidably defy all prescribed dogma."
"Please do!"
"Now, please keep in mind that there is little methodization in what I speak of. Gin-Jah only ever taught things that her visions, her personal insights, granted her—bolstered, of course, by her own reason. But this is nothing you win debates at universities with."
"I understand."
"So. The sapling may get his soul from the Hist. But even more fundamentally, he, as well as every other living being, gets his soul, his Will, from Sithis, the true creator and source. He is both the giver and taker of life. The Lord of Life, the Lord of Death. From him everything flows, to him everything returns. He is, in short, synonymous with the Void, the mysterious and impenetrable emptiness at the root of all being."
"So," Ariela interjected. "If there are Daedric Princes, does this make Sithis the Daedric King?"
Deelith shook his head. "We say he, but that doesn't really do reality justice. In reality, if I have understood this correctly, Sithis is not supposed to be so much a singular entity, as he is sort of an abstraction of all entities, the superstructure of entity-ness itself."
"I guess that makes sense."
No, it bloody well doesn't!
"Sense, exactly. Sense. Reason. Sentiment. Gin-Jah most typically named the root of it shoyul, a Dunmeri word of Daedric origin meaning 'mind'. Or sometimes she would call it shoyul-daelkhun, meaning 'mind-heart', which really captures its true significance better. You could also simply say soul, but in a much broader sense. For the sake of clarity, I shall call it Mind.
"In any case, Gin-Jah would say that since Sithis is the source of Mind, he himself is Mind. And so we can know him because, in essence, we in our individual minds are all fragments of him. But here is where her teaching took a rather radical turn, and to this day I don't quite know what to make of it. See, she believed that what she called the 'inert part' of us, the part which is Anuic in origin, which extends back to the stasis of Anu, is nothing but dead weight. The only reason, she believed, that we fear Oblivion, that we fear the Void, why we see them as a threat to us, is because this dead weight in us blinds our sights. The Aedric components of your being, the static and non-dynamic aspects, therefore should be scoured away and shed like an old skin, and then allow Oblivion swallow everything—for it is all that is active and therefore all that is truly alive. Once this happened, there would be no Oblivion either anymore, and indeed no boundaries—only eternal Sithis, the eternal void of permanent transformation, nevermore any one shape to anything. And yet, still one substance, the Mind. But undivided, unhindered. Free."
There was a good stretch of silence then, as Ariela seemed to be taking it all in. Then she whistled softly. "Well. That is quite the head-trip, I have to say."
Deelith grinned. "In a manner of speaking. And does it answer any of your questions?"
"Not sure. I think it answers some questions, or at least purports to, but I'm not sure it answers mine."
"What is it that you want to know?"
"It's simple. Or not really. What I want to know is: what really is a soul?"
Deelith sighed. "Then I'm afraid that I might be wasting your time. I do not know."
Ariela smiled. "I didn't come here for a definitive answer. I did not expect you to possess one. I'm a scholar, not a priest. We are not looking for the comforting truth, we're looking for the true truth. And so the only way to achieve that is to take all points of view into account. Now, I was told there was this fellow thought by many to be the foremost Argonian in Skyrim to know about these things, and who has studied them in practice for decades. And this is why I'm here now. And as of yet I have seen no reason to regret my coming."
The Argonian inclined his head. "I am glad."
"Nevertheless, I find myself perplexed."
"Over?"
"Over the relationship between the Hist and Sithis. No, no. I shan't ask you to disclose any more of your ancestral secrets. But let us for the sake of argument assume that your teacher had it right: about Sithis, about everything. Then if Sithis is this Mind, something you mention could also be characterized as the soul, then what is passed down to the hatchling from the Hist? And if that is Mind, what was it that was there to begin with? Have Argonians two souls or what?"
Deelith pondered on her words for some moments, then nodded his head contemplatively. "Excellent questions. Difficult ones, and to the heart. Aye."
"It's quite alright to simply admit to your ignorance you know."
His eyes flashed. "Goading me, girl? Hah! I like you better and better with every minute that wears on!"
Ariela smiled. "I am pleased to hear that."
"Yes," Deelith mused. "Well, I have some things I can say at least. Your surmise about the Argonians having two souls? Yes, that is indeed astute, I believe. But I'm thinking, perhaps other mortals are not so different in that regard?"
"Truly? Do tell me more."
"Well, perhaps 'souls'would be exaggerating the matter a bit. Perhaps we indeed need another word altogether for that which resides within the sapling, and just perhaps, other living beings in their earlier stages."
"What word would that be?"
"Now that there is a question I can provide you with something of an answer to, or at least a suggestion. But first consider this: are you familiar with concepts such as the Soul Shriven, and the Vestige?"
Ariela seemed to blanch slightly. "It's certainly been a while since I have read anything about the topic, but now we've moved to a subject matter even more disturbing than Sithis, if indeed that is conceivable. We're talking about Coldharbour. Of the Daedric Prince of Domination, Molag Bal."
"Aye. And I agree. He is a more disturbing topic by far; though there are certainly those who say he is but the most representative child of Sithis himself. I tend to disagree there. But I digress. We needn't linger upon the dread Lord of Rape unnecessarily long, but suffice it to point out that when deprived of their Anuic souls, the Soul Shriven abducted to Coldharbour receive a poor imitation called the Vestige, and this enables them to continue their existence. Now, that at least says to me that it is not only soul in the usual sense that enables a being to— What, I said something funny?"
Ariela looked to wipe the sudden smile from her lips. "Pardon, it was involuntary. Just, you said Anuic, more or less contradicting the assertion about our soul, or mind, being Sithis-given. That is all. Sorry about the derailing. Please, do go on."
"Hmm, no, no. You've got something there. Xhuth, but it's nice to talk to not an utter simpleton for a change. Eh, no offence to you."
Ariadne blinked. It had been her whom he'd addressed with the last. "Yeah. Sure. Uh, no problem." It's not as if we even talked. Now that I think of it, you were just eating me up with your eyes, just like you chomped down that disgusting half-dead fish, you . . . swamp-creep!
"So, eh where was I? Right, so the Mind-Shriven—"
"Soul-Shriven," Ariadne corrected, if only to have some kind of . . . well, whatever. She felt the need to have at least some word in this headless, pointless farce of a "conversation." Even if the topic was utter gobbledygook.
"Same thing," the Argonian said with a shrug. "Words are simply words. But yes, I think the existence of the Soul-Shriven would suggest that the soul might be one thing, regardless of its ultimate source, and the thing which precedes it, well—might we consider it sort of a seat of the soul? I personally choose to call it simply psyche. In theory, at least, these two could then be separated. And then what of the body, you might say!" He chuckled. "Oh, complications, delicious complications!"
The lizard chuckled some more, and Ariela grinned as if he'd just cracked one world-class royalty of a kneeslapper. Clearly the silly little chit and this amphibiotic weirdo were like two deranged peas in a pod of intellectual self-congratulation!
"To get serious, however," Deelith said, "I find myself refreshingly challenged. So ingrained in my own way of looking at things, I've simply never been forced to reflect on my views overmuch. Or to indeed even ask myself: what are my views in the first place? Never fear, however, I'm still in no danger of becoming any kind of systemiser, or indeed a very organized philosopher at all, not to even speak of a cleric in the sense that they are found within the Aedric religions, for that is simply not who I am—but nevertheless, I enjoy being challenged, shaken out of my ossified ways. And while I may be flattering myself, I shall still add that this is a lamentably rare quality in anyone. People are simply too . . . what is the word?"
"Self-obsessed?"
"Precisely! Far too much in love with their own preciously held false ideas!"
Ariela sighed. "Once more, I cannot but agree with you."
"The average man, or indeed woman, takes his self to be the most paramount object in the world. And so it is—in the same sense that, in the world of an imprisoned man, the walls of his cell are the most important thing. What separates what is from what could be—now there the question lies! And the answer?" He giggled. "Now, who in the world might there be to even hear it!" He giggled again.
Ariadne stared at the tittering Deelith and gave her head a minor shake. Doubtless the long years of isolation and breathing in the foul air had done the poor lizard's brains in.
"You don't aim for control, that's the difference" Ariela suggested.
Deelith, composing himself, replied, "Precisely, my dear. Yet, I shall not accuse you of that, either."
"Appreciate it. I try not to."
"And I am sure that you shall continue to do so."
Ariela smiled bashfully. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."
Oh, for the love of—
"What do you dream of?"
Ariela blinked at the sudden question. "You mean—?"
"At night."
"Actually, nothing these days. All my life I've had very vivid dreams; but they ultimately got a bit too . . . uh, vivid. So the Arch-Mage prepared this elixir, which I started taking every night to suppress them altogether."
"Ah. Hawk feather, Histcarp, and the pod of a swamp fungus?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Mmm." The Argonian nodded contemplatively. "You should stop taking it.
Ariela raised her brows. "Pardon?"
Deelith's squamous shoulders rose and fell. "It's your choice, of course. But our dreams are always trying to tell us things. I would attend to them if I were you."
"I'll . . . think about it," the scholar finally said.
His smile was gentle. "You do that."
"Er," Ariela said, clearly uncomfortable and eager to move on. "Where were we?"
You two were just about to get down on the floor to start passionately kissing each other's sagacious behinds?
"I believe I was just telling you how much I'm enjoying our little exchange here."
"Yes, I believe that you were. And let me again point out that the feeling is wholly mutual."
Yeah, just like I thought.
"This pleases me as well. While you seem to represent one of those rare types that understand what I'm saying here, usually when I talk to outsiders about these sorts of things, and that is by no means frequently, they are filled with superstitious fear or, alternatively, religious indignation."
"As I said before," Ariela said, "I'm a scholar. I'm not interested in the version of truth that I think it ought to be, or the one to make me feel the best. But I'm well aware not everyone is that way. That was among the chief reasons why Herennius founded the Guild. He felt that the current scholarship of his time had gotten too sectarian."
"And so he started a sect of his own . . ."
"Granted. And that, as it turned out, was not without problems."
"Beyond any doubt. Yet in you I see that which is so often sadly missing from your kind: the true yearning for understanding, the spirit of inquiry, putting old dogmas and superstition into test. You would despair to fully appreciate how truly rare a quality that is for in any mortal—or even immortal—to have."
"Well, I try. To question, that is. It's really all I know how to do."
"Questioning." Deelith nodded appreciatively. "It's a good habit to possess, questioning things."
"Yes, well, I do then trust that I'm on the right path. I'm in the habit of questioning everything."
Ariadne snorted.
Once again two bemused heads turned to her.
"Something funny about that, young lady?" asked the Argonian.
Ariadne planted her hands on her hips, refusing to be cowed by their stares. "Question everything? Really? I mean, it sounds all good and proper when you, you know, just say it. But to take it literally? Isn't that going, like, a little too far? You end up, what, questioning reality itself?"
Ariela was nodding at her, on her face the most infuriating smile of indulgence. "I think that's a fair point," she said, then switched to regard Deelith. "Do you perhaps have something to say to that?"
The Argonian considered. "Hmm, yes. Reality?" He considered some more. "Yes . . . yes." Then he gave a conclusive nod. "Well, it's certainly possible that reality exists."
In silence, the scholar and the Argonian alchemist regarded each other across the table, as if having forgotten all about Ariadne. Finally, Deelith cracked a grin. Then chuckled. Ariela chuckled as well. Soon they were both laughing, as though the punchline of the great jest that was the universe finally opened up for them with bright shining colors.
It was utterly insufferable.
Rolling her eyes, Ariadne spun on her heel. "Clearly I'm not needed here."
"No, wait," Ariela called at her once she reached the door, struggling to contain her idiotic braying. "Don't go. We didn't meant to—"
"No, no," she said frostily. "It's obvious that I'm not clever enough for this company. I'll just wait outside with the other stooges."
"No, please, come back."
But she was going already, thumping the door closed behind her. I hope something fell on the floor! Something fragile.
Ariadne trod testily across the plot in front of the shack. Taking me for a fool, are they? I'd like to show them a thing or two about fools.
She noted Brend keeping watch, saw that the handsome man saw her as well, but she was not in the mood for him at the moment. So she elected to ignore him and instead strode straight over to the carriage.
As soon, however, as she'd gotten the carriage door open, she was met with yet further cause for chagrin. Stupid Thurd looked up from the disgusting slop he was shovelling into his mouth, blinking, dumbfounded. Perhaps over the vitriol with which she'd opened the door.
"What are you lurking in here for?" she snapped, irritated about the obviousness of the answer.
"I'm having a lunch brea—"
"Yes, yes, alright!"
She resolved not to let the man daunt her, and clambered into her place. If he decided to pester her, she swore she'd make him rue the day of his pointless birth.
"I've got some extra bread if you're hungry?"
"What? No, no. I'm fine." Starving was what she was, but she yet retained her pride.
Why in the world had she not thought to pack a lunch? Had she expected them to simply stop for food on the way?
Why, of course she had!
Well, maybe the scholar has something I can borrow. I won't ask, though. Agh, can't think about this now!
She heaved a sigh. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, slowly let it dissipate. Visualizing an indigo light filling her field of perception, flowing down into her body. She had taken a decisive initial exception to most of the mind-exercises they taught at them at the College, mostly needlessly dull as they'd seemed, but she'd eventually had to give her grudging acknowledgment that they were mighty useful in negotiating the many vicissitudes of the psyche.
She pressed her hands on her face, focusing on the sensation of them resting there, then slowly let them drop into her lap. Relaxing her neck, she let her chin hang down and opened her eyes, gazing down at the hands resting palms up on top of her thighs. Raised them for a closer study.
Her hands were the one aspect of herself, she was somewhat loathe to admit, that she'd never much cared for. They were too large by far to befit the rest of her gracious form. The long fingers and palms might have been fine in themselves, but did the damned things have to be so wide as well? Like man hands, she'd always thought.
Guess there are worse problems one could have.
Like the Arch-Mage of one's college, who harboured some crazy unexplained grudge against her?
Damn it, I haven't even thought of that this whole time!
"They're pretty."
She swung her face toward the man whose presence she'd all but blessedly forgotten already, her brow in a furrow. "What?"
He faltered, but a small awkward smile still lingered on his unremarkable features. "Your hands. They're pretty. You've, eh, got pretty hands."
She scowled. "What are you, some kind of a pervert?" And she tucked the hands in her armpits, safe from the predations of this creep's gawping eyes.
His smile guttered out. "No. What? No. I just, you know—"
"Never mind," Ariadne said, and stormed outside.
Gods—what's wrong with some people? Can't be in peace for one heartbeat without them starting to hand you unasked-for pieces of their obscene minds!
As though of their own accord, her feet were then taking her to Brend. Perhaps just to assuage the barrage of indignities that she was seeming to face today. As the man noticed her coming, a rascally light appeared on his face.
"Couldn't keep away for long, could you?" he said with a grin.
A little kittenish, are we? Well, two can play at that game. "I beg your pardon?" she breathed with mock outrage. "Such impertinence for a humble guard!"
"Oh, pardon me, your ladyship! I stand castigated."
Ariadne smiled. Only passingly wondering at what point, exactly, they were supposed to have become so well acquainted. At least she already felt less cross. "Just had to talk to someone. I suppose you will have to do."
"I'm honoured to be of use, no matter how humble. So, the conversation was not your cup of tea I take it."
"Yeah, you could say that. And then there's him." She nodded at the carriage.
"Thurd? He's alright."
"No," Ariadne said. "He's not. He's . . . creepy."
"Really? Don't get that from him at all. Just sort of . . . well, I dunno, dry I guess is the word. I always just figured he needs to get laid." He faltered. "Eh, sorry. Didn't mean it that way."
"Oh? I can't imagine many ways you could have meant it. Plus, chances are you're absolutely right. A whore is probably his best bet. A none-choosy one at that."
"Ow!" Brend laughed. "You're a mean one."
She gave him a fiendish smile, swaying her hips back and forth a little, ostensibly for warmth or something. "I can be." What am I doing now?
Damned if she knew. And damned if she much cared.
Brend returned the smile, and there in the midst of his natural goodwill and the more recent sparkle of flirt, something else flashed in his eyes. It was brief, but nonetheless real. It suddenly greatly perturbed her that she could not read it.
His grin waned. "What now?"
Ariadne shook her head. "Nothing. Just tired is all." It was true. She was too tired, and not in full control of herself. This won't do. Damn all their nonsense, listening to it got me all discombobulated!
She decided to drop the coquettishness for now. They then shared a few more words until Thurd came out to continue his guard. Brend remained outside as well and Ariadne could return to the carriage in peace.
She managed to get a bit of rest, but did not quite fall asleep; or at least did not notice having done so.
She wasn't sure how much longer the scholar spent in the shack, but by the time the woman finally came out, the faint silver disk behind the clouds that was the sun was sitting low in the sky.
They got ready to leave. Deelith was standing at his front door to send them off, as Ariela was about to climb aboard the carriage.
"And Ariela?" the Argonian called.
Stopping at the door crack, the scholar looked over her shoulder.
Deelith gave an enigmatic little grin. "Keep your eye open."
And he turned on his heel and went in.
After one puzzled instant, Ariela closed the carriage door behind her and took a seat. A moment later they took off again. Not a moment too soon.
