The air was still and heavy in the depths of the earth. Faint starlight shone through the faraway hole in the stone roof above them and the chill wind of Hjaalmarch Hold whistled as it passed through the gap. Here and there, in the mud and between the cracks of crumbling paving stones, green things grew, arching toward the light in strange and twisted ways.
The stench of dust and decay was not so profound in this part of the tomb. The ground was damp and rich and the stream that trickled through the rocks was fresh and pure.
Of course, the pile of half-burned draugr bodies at the far end of the chamber rather spoiled the mood. Rayya was trying not to dwell on it or think of the horrors lurking even deeper inside. Those were tomorrow's problems. Tonight, it was time to relax.
Carolinne leaned drowsily against the wall, her arms wrapped protectively around the staff she'd wrenched from a necromancer's hands. Her dress was singed and muddy and a cobweb wound through her hair. But she was whole and safe and her spirits were still high. Rayya made to brush the cobweb out of her hair but stopped abruptly when she opened her eyes.
"You…left off at the siege, didn't you?" she yawned, sitting up straighter and resting the staff on her lap. "What happened there?"
Something popped in the lantern and the flame flickered, casting eerie shadows on the wall.
Rayya sat up straighter and sucked in her gut. It hurt to remember. It hurt to bring it all back, to speak of things she had long left behind. But there was something freeing in saying it all aloud, of sharing the burden with a willing ear. She carried on, in the voice Iya had taught her to use.
"The siege visited upon Taneth by the Aldmeri Domain lasted for three months. I scarce knew it was going on, save for a few telling changes. Food was rationed and the grandeur of our table was somewhat diminished. A few of my favorite dishes became rare delicacies overnight. I complained, but it was not the worst thing in the world."
"The market was quiet when I went there with Mama. The vendors haggled harder and with less joy in their eyes."
"Fewer customers came to Baba's shop. I would organize the displays again and again, only for one or two people to ever see it."
"Neighbors whispered among themselves in the alleyways and would abruptly quiet themselves at my passing. The music of the street performers slowly lost its verve. The streets became crowded with tents and makeshift huts as those who lived outside the wall ventured inside for safety."
"But those were things that had little impact on my life. I went about those three months more or less as I always had, knowing little of the war or the invaders. They were nothing more than a passing squall, a story that frightened a child as she lay in bed alone at night but melted away in the golden rays of dawn."
"Taneth was a strong city with thick walls, well-trained soldiers and stores to last for years. We could not fall. It was the furthest thing from the mind of anyone I at the time. The vast majority of the city saw the siege as a nuisance, an annoying roadblock in the way of commerce that would soon pass."
"However.."
Her eyes narrowed as the memory of House Suda's grand entrance swam to the front of her mind. The art lining the walls, so much of it, so closely packed together that one piece could scarcely be told from the next. The ugly dun-colored urn set on a velvet pillow as though it were the most valuable thing in existence. The fine clothes of the lady of the house, the way her bracelets jangled as she motioned with her hands while bargaining like a viper. Had she known then?
"…many of the noble houses maintained their own hunting grounds just beyond the city. Several of them had secret passages that admitted them from their estates to the outside world. All perfectly legal, for those with the means to pay for it. It was…believed…though not proven…for quite a while…that one such house let them in. E-Excuse me…"
Her hands were clenched into shaking fists. The image of a scarred woman swam before her watering eyes, her features indistinct but for the white-hot lines on her face.
A cool hand closed around her own and slowly, some of her rage dissipated. Carolinne patted the back of her hand, a sad smile curling her pale lips.
"If you don't want to go on…" she said softly, looking at her with worry in her shadowy face. "Please, don't hurt yourself on my account."
She breathed out.
"It's all right." she sighed. "I'd…I'd like to tell it…if you still want to hear it."
Carolinne nodded and gently let go of her hand. Rayya sat up straighter and relaxed her hands, the anger flowing out of her like water.
"The assassins were sent in first. They spread through the city, targeting its leaders with razor precision. The general of the army, his highest-ranking officers, the civic leaders in charge of organization and the food supply…all of them fell to their blades before a single blow was even exchanged. And then, as the rest of their forces trickled in…they spread panic."
"But I knew none of this at the time. It was the dead of night and I was fast asleep, my dreams filled with light and sound and movement. There was to be a show in the market square the next morning and I could hardly think of anything but it."
"It was Iya's scream that woke me."
Rayya was bolt-upright in bed before she even knew what had happened. The wail reverberated through the walls of the house, keening and long and eerie, before breaking into screaming, fractured sobs.
"Iya?" she cried, tears of fear and unknown sorrow springing to her eyes as she wrestled herself free of the blanket and dashed down the hall.
Iya was sitting in bed, her hair a grey halo about her head, her nails raking her aged face as she cried. Baba held her, whispering words in Old Yoku that Rayya could not quite understand. A tear was rolling down his cheek and there was a tremble in his bottom lip.
"Rayya!" Mama gasped, turning around at the sound of her footsteps and racing to put her arms around her. She felt wetness on her own mother's face as she bent down to hug her.
"Iya had a nightmare, msichana. I-It's nothing to worry about. I'll tuck you back into bed if you"-
"Ueetonga!" the old woman cried out with sudden violence, tears flowing down her face as she rocked back and forth, her head in her hands. "Ueetonga…wamekufa…"
Rayya started wailing in her mother's arms.
"Shhhhhh-shhhhhh…" Mama murmured, squeezing her tighter. "I've got you. See? It's all right. It's going to be a good show tomorrow, don't you think? And when we get home, why don't we see if we can copy the dancer's steps in the garden? You'd like that, right?"
She was rubbing her back and whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she stealthily guided them out the door.
In the darkness of the hallway, away from Iya's fading cries, Rayya hiccuped and felt a little better. For one last moment, everything felt normal.
And then she coughed.
Mama sneezed.
A thin blue smoke hung in the air, tickling their noses, scratching their throats. Mama's hand tightened around Rayya's.
"Haroun…" she said slowly, trying her best to keep the fear out of her voice. "You did not light a fire in the pit before bed, did you?"
Baba stepped out, his cane in his hand, his nightclothes uncharacteristically wrinkled. His eyes were hard and cold and his cheeks, streaked with tears.
"I did not, my love. The Aldmeri are within the city. Pack what things you can carry."
Mama clenched her teeth, squeezing Rayya's hand until she thought she could see the bones of her knuckles.
"Very well." she breathed out, her eyes snapping open with abrupt determination. "Rayya, I need you to get dressed. Quickly. Can you do that for me?"
Her mother's voice was so faint compared to the sound of air rushing between her ears and the pulsing of blood of through her veins. She nodded dumbly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again and then sped back to her room.
Clothes were put on backward in the dim light and shoes stuck on the wrong feet. When that ordeal was done as well as it would be, she dumped every toy she owned into a sack and flung it over her shoulder.
When she returned to her parents' room, the place was in shambles. Drawers flung open, clothes on the floor, jewelry and books everywhere. She felt a lump in her throat and the need to sob rising in her chest.
"Good girl, Rayya!" Mama called, as she rolled a bundle of valuables into a skirt. "Do you want to help me pack? Here, put them in as I give them to you."
She shoved the canvas bag toward her and tossed the skirt into her arms before she had the chance to open her mouth. They worked efficiently, Mama rolling, Rayya fitting things in as tight as can be, a tense smile on Mama's face the entire time.
The smoke was getting thicker.
"That's good, Rayya!" she gasped, locking the clasp and throwing the bag over her shoulder. "Baba's in the kitchen. Let's see if he needs help."
They rushed through the house holding hands, coughing all the way. When they got to the kitchen, Mama seized a stack of rags on the counter and barreled out the door. A moment passed and she flew back in, the rags damp from the pump outside. Rayya complained when the wet fabric was forced against her face and tied around the back of her head, but Mama was insistent.
Baba packed the last of the kitchen utensils and threw the clattering bag over his shoulder. Iya appeared from the shadows, her hair still wild about her head, a jacket thrown over her sweat-soaked nightshirt.
"Rayya." Baba intoned sternly, standing up straight and looking straight down at her. "When we go out there, you will look at nothing but me. Do you understand? Nothing behind, to the side or ahead. Only me. Can you do that, msichana?"
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. She nodded furiously, tears springing to her eyes, her heart pounding in her ears.
He turned toward the front door, took the Book of Circles from its nook and fit it carefully in his bag.
And then he took her hand. Mama took the other. Iya held Mama's other hand.
Baba opened the door to a night filled with fire and noise.
*.*.*
Rayya held on to the image of Baba's flapping hem. It was the only thing that existed, that mattered, save for the touch of her parents' hands. Voices cried out - in pain, in fear, in grief all around her, but she blocked them from her mind, forced them from her consciousness. Crowds surged around them, threatening to tear them apart, but she held firm, even when she was pushed, even when her bag was torn from her shoulder and stomped underfoot by frantic feet.
They pushed through the crowds, Baba squeezing her hand until it was numb, Mama's nails digging into her wrist until it felt as though she were going to draw blood. It went on forever - the tugging, the pushing, the beating, the burning. She forgot she was a person. She forgot that she existed outside this moment, that she had dreams and joys and sorrows outside this wave of human misery. That she was anyone or anything. That stories have endings, eventually…
She looked up.
Baba had stopped.
He was arguing with someone, their voices bleeding into on another, their words lost to the rumble of thunder echoing in the distance.
It was with a shock that she dared to look around and realized that they were at the docks, the clear water of the bay sloshing between the slats they stood upon. Over the water, a fleet of boats - small ones, big ones, fishing sloops and pleasure yachts - inched their way across the horizon, growing ever smaller as she watched.
Secunda shone through the veil of smoke overhead, shining as though nothing new had ever happened below it, its craters unmarked by the passage of time.
She realized she was crying. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and her headscarf was gone. How was she supposed to sleep now? The weariness hit her like a punch to the gut. She swayed on her feet, the thought of her faraway bed hurting to remember.
A sailboat bobbed in the water beside her, its old sail patched and repaired many times over. The man Baba was arguing with stood over it protectively, an oar held out like a weapon in his hand.
Baba jabbed his cane at him, his face contorting into a mask of rage as he did so. The motion jerked Rayya's arm, her body turning into that of a rag doll's for a moment.
With a wordless scream, Mama ripped her hand free from Rayya's, tore the sack from her shoulders and dumped its contents into the bottom of the boat. A tangle of glittering gold, jewels and fine silks scattered across the bottom, winking in the moonlight.
The man gathered up the treasure, stuffing it under his seat like a dragon's horde and with a grunt, urged them on. Baba helped her aboard and held her to his chest as they pushed off from the dock. The cries of the city and the rumble of thunder slowly faded as she hid her face in his arms, terrified of what she might see outside of them.
When there was nothing to be heard but the sound of lapping waves and the smack of a set of oars upon them, she looked up.
Mama was sobbing under a grey morning sky.
She was too, though she hadn't realized it. She felt her tears as though they belonged to someone else, the bruises on her body as though they had happened to another person.
With a sudden lancet of pain through her heart, she realized something that brought her back to who she was.
"Where's my brother?" she cried, pulling away from Baba with a jerk. "We left him! W-We have to go back! We can't leave him…Baba!"
Baba's mouth was a firm line and his eyes were red in the pale light of the rising sun.
"How could you leave him!" she wailed, tearing off the soggy mask that had fallen around her neck and pounding on his arm, her boiling tears spilling over, hot enough to burn.
"Msichana…" Iya whispered.
Her voice was weak and hoarse, drained of all the energy and life it had once contained. She pulled her fists away from Baba and enfolded them in her soft hands. The wrinkles in her nut-brown skin seemed deeper than they had been before.
"Sleep a while. You're so tired. Here. I'll lay my cloak in the bottom of the boat and you can rest."
Rayya curled up obediently, her knees forced up to her chest by the curve of the tiny boat.
"There. That's it. Shhhh." Iya purred. "Where do you hurt? Your back? Your soul? We'll fix both, we will."
She rubbed her back, humming a song under her breath, until the rocking of the boat lulled her to sleep. Her dreams were filled with unseen flashes of lightening and faraway rolls of thunder.
*.*.*
The days seared her skin and the nights were cold enough to chill to the bone. The Alik'r Desert showed kindness to no one, though in its cruelty, there was beauty.
They traveled mostly by night, pitching their tent in the day and catching restless hours of sleep beneath the scorching sun. Where they were going as unknown, the destination as changeable as the shifting sands.
Away. That was their only prerogative. Away from the army that was leaving the coastline a smoking heap. Away from the roadside skirmishes, the crackle of magic, the clash of arms. Away from the place that had been their home.
And so the desert had taken them in. Few others dared to risk it, fearing thirst and hunger and death under an unfeeling sun. But precious few people had someone like Iya on their side.
Iya was in charge of foraging. There were so many plants that held water, that hid nourishment in their fleshy cores. Every day, she would show Rayya something new. Here, a fruit covered in spines. There was a trick to getting past them, but once you did, the flesh was brilliantly pink and sweet. There, a reserve of water in the plant that anyone might have mistaken for a dead stump. They hunted lizards with makeshift spears for meat and roasted the insects that plagued them for dinner.
The goal was not merely survival, but distraction.
Everyone was to be kept busy. They were to stay on the move and to move so fast that the memory of what had happened would be left behind. This was complicated somewhat by human needs.
A week since the fall of Taneth, Baba's leg hurt him too much to walk any further. Instead of traveling, they rested that night. The offending leg was propped up on a rolled up nightshirt for a pillow and Baba groaned in his sleep. The stillness of the night was almost too much to bear.
Her stomach tight with anxiety, Rayya crept out to see the stars.
They shone in a glittering band across the sky, bigger and brighter than her imagination had ever conceived of, nothing at all like the pinpricks of light she had grown up with. She stood there, her neck craned upwards until it grew stiff, her mouth hanging open wide enough to admit a locust.
When she at last turned away, she realized that she had been crying again. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and walked a little further. The sand was cool and soft on her bare feet. A slight breeze lifted the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.
Iya knelt on the ground, her dark cloak, a blot on the glowing horizon, a twig as gnarled as her fingers in her hand. Intricate designs decorated the sand all around her and complex calculations were scratched into the surface of the desert.
As though in a dream, Rayya drew closer to her, her feet scarcely feeling as though they left the ground. Iya smiled as she approached, the corners of her old eyes wrinkling as she sat down beside her. It was only when she got close enough that she realized that Iya had been crying too.
"Will you help me, msichana?" she said softly, her voice cracking as she spoke. "My son's soul is lost in the fog of war. He cannot see clearly enough to find his way home. The fire...it was too bright. Too bright to see the stars. We must show him, by way of the star-stones. Will you move them for me?"
With a groan, she struggled to her feet and gestured to a pattern that wound outwards like a spider's web with her stick.
"You must move them here, here and here on my command. I cannot do it on my own. My bones are weak and the stones are heavy. But you! You're strong enough to do it. Here."
She pointed her to a pile of smooth, round stones, each of them a little smaller than Rayya's head. Rayya walked over to the pile, braced her knees and lifted one. Her arms shook with the weight of it. She could barely lift it over her knees.
But it was cool to the touch and there was something electric in it. It tingled in her skin and shivered down to the tips of her toes.
It felt like something older than Mundus, older than time itself. She felt so small and insignificant all of sudden, as though she were just one tiny drop in a great, unfathomable ocean. For a moment, she thought that she should be afraid. But all she felt was grief.
It poured out of her as Iya sang - a low, keening song in words that she did not know, from a language scarce spoken by those who are living. Her tears soaked the sand and dripped onto the stone she was holding. Iya's arms rose up to the sky, her tear-streaked face lifted to the moons. She made a gesture to Rayya and she jumped to place the first stone where she was directed, moving like a dancer as she deftly avoided stepping on the pattern. The song intensified when she set it down and went higher in pitch, the words broken up into disparate syllables.
Rayya placed the second stone. The tears flowed down her face and a wild sob rose up in her throat. She could barely see where she was meant to go.
And then the song grew softer and more melodic. Without being told what to do, she set the final stone in its spot.
They waited in silence for a moment, Iya's forehead to the ground, her body prostrate against the sand.
Slowly, she rose up to her knees and let loose a deep sigh.
"My son is passed to the Far Shores. Thank you, msichana. It is good that you should rest now."
Rayya nodded silently, her eyelids heavier than they ever had been. She wandered back to the tent in a daze, the music of the stars still reverberating in her ears. Before going in, she looked up one last time.
A star shot across the sky and vanished on the horizon.
*.*.*
It was later than she'd planned on. A grey light has begun to seep into the chamber and the lantern burned low. She touched her face and found wetness there.
Carolinne was sitting before her in rapt attention, her eyes red-rimmed and watery. She pulled the handkerchief from her bosom offered it to Rayya.
Smiling, Rayya took it and dabbed at her eyes. Jurgen Windcaller could wait just a little bit longer.
Notes:
- "Ueetonga" is Yoku for "my son." "Wamekufa" is Swahili for "dead."
- Can you tell that I watched an entire let's play of Redguard: An Elder Scrolls Adventure to research for this?