Chapter 4: Into the Flowerbed (Utilization Of)

With the breaking day there was a white banter of snow over the streets and roofs and everything between the two elevations. The sky was gray, as it had been for the past two days since Ilicore had arrived, and a light fog rolled in from the east, probably protruding from the mouth of the Crypt of Hearts itself. There was a certain tranquility about it all; the whiteness of the horizon, the gray of the sky, and the faded white of the fog. It seemed to all blend together with the light haze of the sun trying desperately to knock through the bustling clouds that got thicker and heavier by the moment. Ilicore was already up and dressed by the time Heram was just barely creaking out of bed. They took to a quick and silent breakfast of juice and toast while the sing whistled abidingly to them, as if it was holding the two by their shoulders and walking them towards the flowerbed. They had thought of taking Nathorn with them, but he was vagrantly ecstatic this morning, and they decided to leave him be with his knife and his wall of will. They left the house, Heram locking the door behind them. As they walked, they realized that they would be looking for somewhat an invisible clue. They walked eastward off from the house, passing by the houses of those still in slumber, their dim candles still flickering and tossing about in the cozy windows that seemed to pulse from the street. Bright yellow and orange windows, everywhere. It all seemed like a checkerboard on the walls to them. To break the silence, Ilicore finally gave out a slight cough which produced a thick stack of steam.

'I think we're best to look for something small, something on the flowers themselves.' He said as they rounded up a block.

The faint slosh and bubbling of the river came into their ears and grew into a dull roar as they neared it. Ilicore began to run for the river, his feet crunching on the dead grass and snow. He ran forward with Heram just behind him.

'Well, looks like there isn't much to look at.' Ilicore said as he huffed from running.

'Of course, I never said it was a live flowerbed. But see, there is something odd about it.' He suddenly realized.

'And that would be…' Ilicore questioned. 'Wait…' His eyes grew wide like a bears' as he looked around.

All of the other plants in the whole town here simply buried in snow. But in the flowerbed, it seemed as if no snow had fallen at all. The rotted brown stalks, the graveyard of the spring courtesans, weren't covered in a flurry of Shor's woe like everything else. Even the ground of the bed was still boring its brown dirt.

'Very odd…' Heram said as they neared it.

They both crouched down on their heels and inspected the flowerbed carefully, scanning it over. It began to snow again, and Ilicore gasped. It was falling everywhere BUT on the flowerbed. Even the light fog that was lofting just above the ground was repelled back at the line of the circle. He reached his hand out from the circle of the flowerbed and snow gently fell upon it. Heram just stood, mouth slightly agape in awe. Ilicore retreated his hand back into the circle.

'Wh…what in the name of Talos is going on here?' Heram said in utter confusion.

'Let's see.' Ilicore said as they both drew near into the bed.

Heram stepped onto a hunk of the flowers and they shattered beneath his feet, a raging crunch bellowing out into the vacant riverside. The flowerbed was quite large and dense, the dead flowers swaying stiffly in the wind looked like brow fingers grasping up at the sky morbidly. Ilicore advanced ahead of Heram, who was looking around before every step he took, into the middle of the flowerbed. He felt something; something that made the hairs on the back of his head stand stiff. He was still rattled by the fact that it wasn't snowing within the sanctum of the flowerbed, but something else seemed to drag him into the center. In the middle of it all was a spot where no flowers were growing. It was a small, perfect, square just big enough for him to step into. He beckoned Heram over, who was still inspecting the ground and plucking a few dead flowers out to look at the roots. They were long and gnarled; every strand almost seeming like it was trying to eat the others. He slowly walked over to Ilicore.

'Look at this…'

'Hmmm…this is odd. Why hasn't anyone else noticed this before?'

'Perhaps the gloomy season has everyone else's minds elsewhere.'

'But this is strange. What should we do?'

'I'm going to stand in it.' Ilicore said as he walked forward, closing his eyes tightly.

He entered the square and held his arms up. After a few moments of nothing happening he slowly opened his right eye. The only sounds that could be heard were the river and the brushes of wind that kicked up randomly.

'Anything happen? Like a divine light, or the ground tremble or anything?' He asked as he lowered his arms.

'Nope.' Heram said as he slightly laughed.

Ilicore sighed as he stepped out of the square. Before he could get out, however, his tripped on something. Not quite sure what it was, as the ground was equal and smooth inside the square, he looked around as he brushed himself off.

'Help me out here.' Ilicore said as an idea struck him.

He got down on his knees and began digging with his hands. Heram nodded and helped too. They both dug fairly deep when they hit something. It was smooth and hard. They scraped the dirt away around the sides to uncover it. It was a small wooden box. They hoisted it up onto the surface. It was indeed small, but heavy. It was engraved with odd runes, much like those carved onto the wall in Nathorn's bedroom back at the house, and had an odd figure on the top of the lid. It was a dog with a heart in its mouth.

'What…what the hell is this?!' Heram said.

The box seemed to taunt them. The sky grew darker as another harsh storm began to come in. The winds took up frightfully and the squealing of an on-coming blizzard took way. They both picked up one side of the box and began to run. If they were caught out in the storm, it would be grim. They ran down the street, the sky growing darker with each passing breath, across another street, past a few bars, and down the side street to the house. A lot of other people were running into their homes, too. Some who were too far away to make it took refuge in their friends' homes or in the taverns. Just as Heram began to look for his keys, the light fog that was slowly trailing across the ground, almost transparent, began to rise. Like smoke from a bonfire, it rose up, thick and deadly.

'Hurry!' Ilicore said as he dropped his end of the chest.

'I…I can't find the key!'

'What!'

'I-I much have dropped it back in the flowerbed!'

'For the love of the NINE!' Ilicore emphasized on the last word. He took off down the street in a furry, Heram trying vainly to stop him.

The winds were against him as he ran down the streets as a blur. Fog was up to his knees now, and it hid the ground well. As he neared the river he took full sprint.

'Now where was he…' He asked himself as he entered the flowerbed again.

Just as before, the fog and snow dared not enter the circle. He looked around the ground, wildly uprooting flowers in the process. He ran to the hole they dug up and looked around. He had a feeling that a joke was being played on him as he quickly dropped onto his knees again, his expensive pants getting stained even more than they already were, and reached into the hole. For a moment he thought he felt a hand try to pull him into the hole. He braced himself on the edge of the pit, but put it off as his adrenaline getting the best of him. The wind was blowing as if the gods themselves were fanning their arms in harmony, trying to push Ilicore off of the face of Nirn. He felt something cold and sharp as he reached the bottom, his whole arm in up to his shoulder. He quickly pulled out, the small silver key to the house in his hand. A vile look of anger crossed his usually timid and deprived face as he rose up, his eyes fixed on the key. He stood for a moment before looking up. Shortly on the horizon he saw a wall moving towards him, over the river.

'What's this?' He perked.

He suddenly realized it was a wall of fog, taller than a house and thicker than a Nord's skull. His eyes dropped into his stomach as he ran, the fog seemingly chasing him. The streets were bare as his head began throbbing with every bounding step he took. His arms shuffled at his sides as he tried to outrun the wall. He began to fall short of breath as he slowed down. He tried to force his legs to move faster, but they simply wouldn't. As he rounded down the street corner onto Heram's street, he fell to his knees wheezing, almost crawling for the door. Just as the fog reached his foot, pulling him into its abysmal glory, its smoky haunting grounds, Heram ran and picked Ilicore up. They ran together as one to the door. Heram got the key from Ilicore's sweaty and clammy palm and shoved it into the lock. He quickly turned the key, the tumblers letting out a sigh of relief, of savories. They bounded into the house, dragging the chest with them, as the fog rolled right on by the door. Heram closed and locked it in one swift motion. It seemed to be night out, when it was only a little past ten. The force of nature was in a decaying mood this day. Nathorn was still soundly asleep. He giggled slightly in his sleep and Ilicore turned to the box which was on the kitchen table. The light from the fire seemed to bound right off of the box, the vexing swirl of runes wishing to stay as hidden as possible. They stared at it silently as the wind growled and the snow piled up still higher. The fog made it impossible to see out of the windows anything other than a blank canvas of white. It seemed as if the three were isolated off from the rest of the world, the darkness accompanying the loneliness and the fear.

'This is all very odd.' Heram said as he sipped on tea.

'Yes…' Ilicore muffled out as he was still slightly catching his breath.

'Do you think we should open it now?'

'Possibly. I mean it's not like we weren't meant to find it. My father knows something, and this something may be the way to cure him. We may be able to use whatever is in this box to bring him back to his old self.'

'Yes…and he was the one looking in that very flowerbed yesterday. I say we open it.'

They both stoop up from their chairs. The sleek wooden table was splintered at the edges and Ilicore got a few slivers of wood in his hand as he pressed against it.

'Who's going to open it?' Asked Heram.

'I'll do it.'

'Ok…yes I find it best that you do it.'

'Of course, just in case, you know, whatever is inside wants to kill whoever disturbs it.' He said as he reached for the lid. Heram hid a smile.

The chest was wooden and polished with a hinged top. At the sides of it were bright silver handles and the hinges were silver as well. It looked brand new, as if the dirt it was piled under had never even touched it. As his hand touched the lid, the fire in the kitchen and the fire in the den went out, a quick wind rushing through the house. They both knew all the windows and doors were closed. The only light came from a single burning candle, the red candle in Nathorn's room. The red glow from behind the door grew brighter; it almost certainly bled through the door and into the kitchen. He tensed his hand up and opened the top.

Through Heram's eyes, as soon as the lid opened, all went black.

Through Ilicore's eyes, however, as soon as the lid opened, the world stopped. The wind stood in the place, the snow hung in the air glistening, and the fog stopped rolling, moving within itself, and laid like a solid stone wall.