Chapter 6: The Halls of the Dead
Llovesi stepped forward slowly, raising her torch high to examine the runes carved into a nearby pillar. She traced her fingers over the indents in the aged stone, a million questions fighting for precedence over her tongue.
Julan walked down the cracked steps, shining his torch here and there into alcoves, the kind of respectful reverence normally reserved for Dunmer ancestral tombs on his face. Llovesi smiled wryly. Not so different.
"How old?" she asked.
"We've no idea," Falco replied, walking through the collapsed wall to join them. "In fact, I was hoping you might be able to tell us more…"
"About the ruin?" Llovesi asked, turning back to him and shrugging apologetically with her hand still on the pillar. "I don't think we could, I'm afraid. We explore ruins; we don't really study them. If it were Dwemer… or Daedric…"
"It's definitely a tomb, though," Julan said. "Dwemer and Daedric ruins, they're old cities. This place was never meant to be lived in." He shivered, despite the flame of the torch. "We should watch out for guardians. The draugr."
"Draugr?" Falco looked bewildered, and sounded vaguely disappointed. "But we already explored, carefully of course. Nothing alive is here. Gidar was quite keen to find out. That's why all the braziers are lit."
He gestured, and Llovesi noticed the soft, patches of glowing amber flickering further into the barrow. As her eye accustomed to the dim light, she began to notice how the shadows picked out more details, carving shapes out of the stone before her. The short flight of steps before them widened out into the hall, which seemed circular in shape, then rose on the other side to become a dais. The stone that made the barrow were rough, uneven, mottled brown, but the carving work that had gone into the pillars was painstaking and intricate. Llovesi could dimly make out the yawning blackness of two exits: low arches in the stone walls.
"How deep does it go?" she asked.
"Not very," Falco replied. "Though we can't be certain there aren't other levels. There's something else you need to see. Come with me." He walked past them both, taking the ancient stairs carefully.
They followed him through the hall, past alcoves both filled and empty, to the dark archway on the left. The narrow corridor led into another hall, lower, smaller and gloomier than the first. Here, only one brazier was lit, the coals burning low in the middle of the room. But there was a glow coming from elsewhere: colder, whiter. Llovesi squinted. There were three shapes at the far end of the hall, upright, blocky… crystalline?
Falco, Julan and Llovesi approached them as one. Llovesi felt her breath hitch in her throat. After all she'd seen, the deepest, most secret ruins she had explored, she had thought there was very little left that could surprise her. She had been wrong.
They were large coffins, hewn from black stone, seemingly unmovable. In their centres, in place of bones, were large blocks, white, blue, shifting hues, exhaling clouds of frost and cold… Llovesi reached out her hand, her gloved fingertips hovering inches from the surface.
"Ice," she said, in wonder.
"Is it?" Falco asked. "The men thought the same." He took a small, sheathed dagger from his belt, and reversing it, brought the hilt down heavily on the central block. Nothing happened.
"Well, it's very thick," Julan said.
"The men had their pick axes with them. They couldn't even make a dent, and you can imagine how keen they were to try. How cold would you say it was down here?"
"What?" Llovesi asked, surprised at the sudden question. Nevertheless, she exhaled, but the familiar visible puff of breath did not appear. "Not as cold as on the surface."
"Exactly," Falco said grimly, and slow realization dawned.
Llovesi rubbed the ice. "It's not melting," she said. "It's not even weeping, and I can feel the warmth of the brazier from here." Her fingers brushed aside the thick layer of frost, and she peered closer. What she saw frozen inside the block made her jump back.
A skeleton was grinning back, its bony hands clasped around the hilt of a silver longsword.
"I'm convinced it's magical," Falco said quietly, as the frost reformed, concealing the corpse once more. "And I'm convinced that these were no ordinary people to have been buried in such a way, and so this is no ordinary barrow. This place, this discovery, it means the time has come to recognise properly our relationship with this island. We can no longer ignore the native Nords, not now we have stumbled across this. I understand their anger at our presence here. We must address the lack of diplomacy between us.
"I want to investigate, and properly. Respectfully. If we can learn more about this barrow, about this ice, then we can learn to proceed appropriately in our operations here."
"And you'd like us to investigate?" Julan asked.
Falco looked surprised. "Oh, that won't be necessary. I want you to be involved certainly, and perhaps your diplomatic skills might be of use. But I've already sent riders out."
"Riders?" Llovesi asked.
"Some horses arrived from Skyrim yesterday. Hardy beasts, and used to this terrain. I sent three men out, to ride north and enter parley with whomever they may find."
Falco stared deep into the block of ice before them as he spoke, his frown deepening. Finally, a little while after still silence fell between them, he shook himself.
"It's getting late," he said. "And, as always, there's lots to do tomorrow. We should go back up. There should be a couple of spare beds in the new bunkhouse, to save you pitching your tent."
They ascended, each of them seemingly absorbed in their own thoughts. For her part, Llovesi had the familiar subtle sense that they had just stumbled over something that would significantly change the path they now took. It had been the same when she'd chosen to defy Almalexia, or when she'd slipped her finger into Moon-and-Star. And she'd been so eager to get away from politics and conflict… but this time was different, surely. The scale was smaller, the politics less world-shattering. She glanced at Falco, his shoulders slumped as they climbed back through the mine. It's nice to not be the leader for a change. They weren't saving the world here: just the colony.
But, once the streams of chance have been crossed, there is no way of knowing which way they will twist and turn.
The robed figure shivered inside his hood and cloak, but kept his gaze on the colony steady. The last few candles were being snuffed out now, the soft glows in windows extinguished. The time was surely approaching, but this was not yet it.
He sat still as the darkening night as he considered his options. The riders had left a few hours ago. Who knew how long it would be before they found what they were searching for. Things were moving a lot faster now. As he had been assured they would. And he would have to be here when they returned.
Wincing as his legs creaked, he stood. He was of no age to be hiding in the forest, keeping watch on Imperials and Dunmer. But, this was his path now. He would have to be prepared.
He raised his face to the sky, feeling the frost pinch his cheeks. The stars gazed back, but it was the twin moons that interested him. He noted their size, position, and their colour. Then, he turned and began the slow walk back north. There was a lot to be done, and there was even less time to do it in. He disappeared into the treeline, the dark spines swallowing him up, mumbling as he went.
No horses returned with the morning light, but a woman arrived from the fort, an Imperial by the name of Coventina Celata. She was far too armoured to be a clerk, but that's what she insisted she was, asking to see the latest mine log books and to interview all the miners who had been on shift in the past couple of days. Falco let Apronia talk to her until the woman left, frustrated, and empty handed.
After she had gone, Falco sat with Llovesi and Julan by the construction work for the colony tavern, so that their voices remained obscured.
"This stinks of Carnius," he muttered, twisting his hands in his lap. "But how? How could he already know what we ourselves only discovered yesterday?"
They looked at each other, worried expressions mirrored. Then Julan gasped loudly, his eyes widening. He clasped a hand over his mouth, glancing at the builders guiltily.
"His mace," he said in a low voice, once assured no one was interested in their conversation. "He's got a mace made of the ice stuff, I'm sure of it. Llovesi, you noticed it above his desk, remember?"
Llovesi nodded. "I remember I'd never seen anything like it before… and he said it was an old heirloom. But then…" She jumped up suddenly, as excited as Julan.
"Of course!" she breathed. "He's not here for the ebony at all! Maybe he's not even here for the colony's insurance money! 'Wealth here the Empire has no idea about'… the ice! He wants the ice!"
Falco watched her grimly, then stood too. "Then we must do all we can to ensure he does not get his hands on it," he said.
The next week passed under a sense of constant anticipation, yet no riders returned, and nothing much happened. Well, nothing happened if one didn't count the constant minor annoyances and interruptions to progress. It was as if Carnius were deliberately trying to make their lives difficult, though, as usual, there was no proof whatsoever.
Supply ships arrived at the fort, even though the colony now had a port large enough to accommodate them, as if Carnius was deliberately trying to draw them out into the wilderness. When supply ships did arrive at the colony, they found the captains had been promised more pay than Falco knew about. One such man was quickly sent on his way after an enthusiastic visit from Apronia and her new sabre, but not all of them were so easily cowed.
Apronia's studies of the mining logs also revealed a great imbalance in the ebony numbers. Someone had been lightening the crates in the storeroom after hours. But when they investigated, the suspected thief, Uryn Maren, was found dead in his home, apparently choked to death on his morning bread.
Increased numbers of spriggans, tree spirits that defended their territory by attacking in a flurry of slashing leaves and branchlike limbs, were spotted on the borders of the colony every day. Llovesi and Julan often found themselves watching over the builders on the wall, swords in hand.
But Coventina did not come back from the fort, and neither did anyone else. Carnius and Falco kept the communication between them to an absolute minimum, and the mining continued in a different section of tunnels away from the barrow.
At the beginning of Llovesi and Julan's third week on Solstheim, a rider returned. Everyone's excitement quickly turned sour when he fell from his horse in a drunken haze. He had been drinking with the Nords up in a mead hall called Thirsk, and he informed them happily and with many hiccups that they were all warmly invited to do the same. This cheered some of the miners, but most of them felt the long trip north wasn't worth it, and besides the ice in the barrow still weighed more heavily on their minds than any temptations mead could bring.
The next day, a rider-less horse returned. The animal's eyes were mad with fear, and its muzzle was wet with foam. Deep gouges were seeping on its flank, long claw marks that still bled freely. A few hours after its return, the horse keeled over and died from exhaustion. A few of the miners who weren't on shift sat watching it, their faces troubled.
No rider returned the next day, or the next. Though there was plenty to do in the colony, with more settlers arriving everyday, it seemed no one could stop themselves from pausing every now and staring out past the wall to the forest beyond.
Sundas morning at the end of that week, a loud cry went up from the northern watchtower, waking Llovesi and Julan in the bed they shared above the common hall in the tavern.
"Riders approaching!"
"Riders?" Julan said. "More than one?" He tipped himself out of the furs on the bed, and began throwing his own on.
A crowd was forming near the watchtower, with a worried-looking Falco near the front. Llovesi and Julan joined him, watching as the two horses approached.
On one, a sturdy bay, Gidar Verothan rode with a satisfied self-assurance. On the other, grey, and somehow even sturdier, rode a Nord man. His long hair was the colour of mead, and braided into his equally long beard. The parts of his face that could be seen were covered in intricate woad. He looked about them all warily as the horses stopped.
Gidar swung down from his horse, and strolled over to Falco. "Alright, boss?" he said. "I've brought someone who might be able to tell us more about this ice. Meet Graring."
The Nord bowed his head, and slid down from his house as well.
"Alright," Falco said, turning to the small crowd behind them. "Please, everybody, back to work! I'll make sure you're all informed when we have more news!" To the Nord he said: "Greetings, Graring. I appreciate you travelling here from your people."
The Nord laughed as the colonists all drifted away, a deep, throaty sound. Then he spoke, in an accent that was just as husky. "My people," he said, and shook his mane of hair. "It is just I, Aenar and Hidar at my hearth. I hope you were not expecting an ambassador. We are outcast."
Falco had the grace to hide his disappointment, but Llovesi saw his familiar slump return slightly as he invited the Nord and Gidar to join them in the tavern for a drink and a talk.
"I didn't head north at first," Gidar said once they were all seated. He slouched back in his seat, tipping it back on its legs. "I thought: what's the fetching point, with both Oratius and Avalen headed that way? But I didn't find any settlements east or west, so after a few days Archer and I turned north as well. At the place where the two rivers meet, we found Graring and his friends. Under attack."
He paused for effect, looking at them all in turn.
"Some blighted Imperial bint," he said. "All dressed up in netch armour, for all the good it did her."
Falco, Llovesi and Julan all swapped looks of shock and realisation while Gidar continued.
"So I put a stop to that, if you catch my drift. And that's when I met Graring here. He had some fascinating things to tell me. Graring?"
The Nord leant forward in his seat. "This ice," he said thickly. "It is called stalhrim."
"Stalhrim?" Falco said. "I've heard Carnius mention that word before. I just never knew what he was talking about."
"It is a sacred material," Graring continued. "Used in the traditional burial rites of the Skaal people. Once, the Skaal lived all over this island. Now, they are few and only in the north. But the tombs remain." He coughed slightly, seemingly embarrassed by the attention focused on him. "Me and my friends, we are outcast because we disagree with the Skaal over the use of stalhrim. It is sacred yes, but also useful. If one has the tools and the knowledge, it can be crafted. Weapons, armour, tools, all these are possible. Strong as ebony, it never shatters or melts."
He shrugged. "It is useful, so we do not feel this is wrong. But the Skaal, they shun its use, and so us as well. You will make no friends among the Skaal by profaning the tomb, but others will not care. It will take time, but I can teach your smith how to craft it."
"I…" Falco looked at them all in turn, and Llovesi followed his eyes. Julan looked faintly disgusted, and she knew his disapproval of plundering tombs for material gain. Gidar looked eager. She wondered where she fell between the two of them.
"Better us than Carnius," Falco said finally, and Julan closed his eyes.
"Thieves! Stolen! The shambles!"
The loud cries came in quick succession from outside.
All five of them jumped to their feet in an instant, knocking aside their chairs. Llovesi and Julan were the first to the door, and the first to see what this new disturbance was.
A robed Nord man was flailing around outside, shouting to the heavens, then mumbling and muttering to his hands. He was tall, but thin, with shoulders stooped by age and long brown hair that was wispy and balding. Already a small circle of onlookers was gathering, whispering to each other.
Falco groaned when he saw the man. "Not another one!"
Gidar rolled up his sleeves and strode forwards, but Graring stopped him and held him back. "I would not, Elf friend. This one is a warlock. Can't you feel his power?"
Gidar shrugged the Nord off angrily, but Llovesi and Julan had reached the shouting man before he could take another step.
"They've taken my Oddfrid," he moaned. "My-my-my, my poor s-s-weet Oddfrid!" He fell to his knees heavily, and muttered a long stream of indecipherable sounds, rubbing his hands together.
Julan began to shoo the crowd away firmly. "Go on," he said. "Haven't you all got places to be? Stop gawking."
Llovesi knelt down next to the trembling Nord gently, and held out her hand. He glanced at it, his eyes darting in his face.
"Y-you would help me?" he asked.
"What's wrong?" Llovesi asked. "Who's Oddfrid?"
The man took her hand with his gnarled one, and together they stood, him grasping her arm. He felt surprisingly strong for someone so frail.
"Oddfrid White-Lip," he said carefully, as if afraid speaking any faster would cause the words to trip and stumble from his mouth, "is my only friend. And, those foul draugr have stolen her back."
"Stolen her back?" That was Julan, finished telling the crowd of onlookers where to go. Falco joined them too, but Gidar and Graring hung back, watching warily.
The man looked around at the new faces, and drew himself up slightly.
"My name is Geilir," he said. "I rescued my friend Oddfrid from a place called Kolbjorn Barrow, months ago when I first came to this place. I lost my entire family at sea, and I am all alone. Oddfrid is my only companion, she tells me things, and s-sh-she helps m-m-me…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I am a seer, but without someone to help me see… I mumble, I stutter, I am lost."
He looked utterly forlorn. A memory had been jogged in Llovesi's mind. "Geilir the Mumbling?" she asked.
The seer gave her a sharp look. "Some have called me that. You've spoken to the captain. Thormoor Gray-Wave." His voice had grown stronger, disdainful. He was standing taller than ever, almost as tall as Llovesi, and his grip on her arm had become crushing.
"How did you know?" Llovesi whispered.
The seer looked at her, then seemed to notice his grip. In a blink he became stooped again, and wakened his grip. He tapped his temples with his spare hand. "The Sight," he said. "Oddfrid was still with me when you spoke with the good captain. I understand he's been having some trouble sleeping."
Llovesi stared at him, incapable of speech. How could this be a coincidence? She glanced at Julan, who looked worried too.
"Why have you come here?" Falco asked finally.
"I need someone to retrieve Oddfrid for me," Geilir said. "I barely escaped from the draugr the first time I rescued Oddfrid from Kolbjorn Barrow. I'm not sure I want to risk my life again, but I cannot live without her. You see my problem. But, what is a request for help without some promise of reward?" He coughed feebly. "Very well. If you retrieve Oddfrid, I swear I shall help Thormoor Gray-Wave sleep once more, and you can bask in the warm glow of a good deed accomplished. And perhaps I will be able to do something for you too."
"For us?" Julan asked.
"Oh yes, for all of you. Oddfrid helps me see, more than ever before. She shows me the future." There was a strange glint in the old man's eye that Llovesi didn't like much. Still, she couldn't see the harm in helping him, and thus helping Thormoor in turn. Even if it meant facing draugr again.
She glanced at Julan, who shrugged, then nodded. "We'll go," she said.
"Excellent," Geilir said, dropping her arm finally. "I knew you were going to help me. I will accompany you as far as my dwelling, then direct you on to the barrow."
Kolbjorn Barrow was not buried underground. Instead, the dark rune-carved stones stood proud of the ground, tall and ancient. As they approached the thick slabs of stone and curved door that marked the entrance, the seer's final warning to them rang in Llovesi's ears:
"I found Oddfrid in the first chamber. If you have to venture in further, you must exercise extreme caution. There are things buried within Kolbjorn that no one should risk awakening."
Llovesi placed her palms against the uneven stone of the door. "Ready?" she asked Julan.
He nodded. "I can't put my finger on it, but something about this feels off. The sooner we get to the bottom of it, the better."
"I know we have a bad experience of recovering things from crypts for people," Llovesi tried to joke. "But Geilir's harmless, unless you value your sleep. I hope." She shuddered. She was certain that the old man meant them no harm, though she wasn't sure why, but she also felt he was definitely hiding something from them.
Julan joined her at the door, and they both heaved. Slowly, the old stone gave way.
"How did that old man do this in the first place?" Julan grunted, wiping his palms against his furs and drawing his sword. A large, dark staircase spiralling down was revealed before them. Llovesi pulled a torch from her pack for Julan, then drew Trueflame. The sword was both blade and light in a place like this.
Their trip through Kolbjorn was both shorter and easier than expected, though. The bottom of the wide staircase led them through a short series of narrow stone corridors, which then opened into a large low chamber. Save for a few stone pillars, alcove with embalmed bodies resting, and a large altar in the middle, it was empty.
Llovesi frowned. "Odd…" she began.
"Frid," Julan finished, pointing. Resting on the altar was a skull.
"You don't think…?" Llovesi didn't finish, instead sheathing Trueflame and taking up the skull with both hands, turning it over. It seemed ordinary enough, a little heavy perhaps, but utterly silent, as skulls should be.
"Oddfrid White-Lip," she said. "Oh, for Azura's sake. If this is the seer's idea of a joke… well let's get this back then. This is all highly suspicious. I don't even see any draugr… ah."
A low groaning filled the room, as two draugr sat up in their alcoves, and reached for their rusted weapons.
"Dir volaan!" they hissed.
"We don't know what that means," Julan groaned back, swinging his sword at one of them.
Llovesi was ready this time, using the creature's seemingly innate fear of flames to push it back into a corner. She dodged its barbed sword, parried with Trueflame, and drove the flaming sword directly through its brittle chest. She looked round to see Julan similarly finishing the draugr that had attacked him.
"Come on," he said, sheathing his sword. "Let's go and see if a barmy Nord wants to be reunited with a skull."
"Ah! You've found her! You've found Oddfrid!"
Geilir was waiting just outside the cave dwelling he called his home, as if he had been expecting them to arrive at the time they did. Which, Llovesi reflected, was incredibly likely.
He took the skull from them lovingly, protectively, and then caught sight of their expressions. "Did I not mention she was a skull? Do not worry; she was a skull when I first found her as well. Perhaps you think I am crazy."
Julan coughed hurriedly.
Geilir smiled for the first time since they'd met him, and Llovesi noticed how much more self-assured he seemed, how much more in control of his own body.
"It matters not. After all, for all you know about me, I have learnt twice over about you both." He let the sinister proclamation sit in the air as he fixed them both with an unflinching stare, then smiled again to break the tension. "I shall do as promised and relieve the curse I placed on Thormoor Gray-Wave. He'll sleep, but even I can't stop a guilty man's nightmares. Now, didn't I promise you a Sight?"
Before Llovesi could protest, the man's hands tightened around the skull, and he began to speak. His voice seemed to multiply and echo around the small forest glade. Llovesi felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, and she stepped back to take Julan's hand.
"The time for the hunt is near. You are both hunter and hunted. Surrounded by ice, you must beware betrayal! A giant! The horned huntsman!"
As quickly as his voice had risen, it fell, like a sudden wind. He looked between them. "That is all," he said. "Oddfrid has no more to tell me at this time."
"At this time?" Julan echoed.
"We will all meet again, this I have seen too." Geilir smiled one last time, then turned on his heel and re-entered his dwelling.
"Oh!" His voice boomed from within the cave suddenly, amplified by its walls. Llovesi and Julan jumped as one. Geilir's balding head reappeared, his grin wider than ever.
"You should probably get back to the colony now, Nerevarine. It has begun. Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen."
A/N: Happy March everybody! (is that a thing, it's a thing now) I hope all you readers are well and enjoying the story. If you are, or if you aren't, I'd love to hear your views either way. And, if I'm permitted a moment to squee unreservedly, I'm really happy to say that Fire and Ash has reached nearly 15,000 views! Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading along, nearly three years on from the moment I first put fingers to keyboard and began an adaption that had been rattling round my head for years.
