Chapter Nine

The courtyard was still. Not a soul dared to move or breathe as everyone stared in horror at the body, Vilkas and Aela the closest. The crickets chirped and the owls hooted, but they were the only sounds that filled the night before a long, low, drawn-out howl shocked everyone back to their senses.

Islanzadí scrambled over to Kodlak, her mind rejecting the proof before her. The Companions dived out of the way as she barreled towards them, hurtling to a stop and letting out a heart breaking whine as she nudged the Harbinger with her snout. Vilkas fell to his knees beside his dead mentor, mouth agape and eyes strangely empty. The Bosmer threw back her head and tucked her tail, crying out in utter sorrow at the twin moons and any gods that would hear her. She howled again and again until her throat was raw and her scarlet eyes stinging with tears she could not shed.

Finally, Njada seemed to realize just what she was. With a gasp, the Nord leapt to her feet and with a savage cry, lunged at the massive white wolf beside her dead Harbinger. Laní yelped and stumbled as the woman's skyforge steel sword sank into her back left haunch, so deep that the hilt almost brushed against her fur. The Bosmer's vision turned white and a blinding pain shot through her entire middle as the weapon punctured her kidneys and sliced through her reproductive organs. Aela snapped her watery eyes away from Kodlak at the elf's cries of anguish as her dirty white fur became stained in the crimson of her own blood.

Njada's actions seemed to spark a raging movement. Laní had no way to defend herself as she sank to the ground, the other able-bodied Companions rushing over to her, weapons drawn and eyes wild for revenge. They didn't know that it wasn't the Bosmer the Silver Hand had come after. To them, she was to blame for their Harbinger's death. If she hadn't been here, the 'bandits'—as they thought the attackers were—would never have come. They had no idea it was an act of revenge, aimed at the leader of their guild.

Vilkas's silvery eyes widened in alarm as he jumped to his feet. "Stop!" he shouted, rushing forward and shoving his way to the front of the crowd. "Cease at once! She's not a threat, fools, stop!" He drew his greatsword and swung it in a mighty arc, forcing the other Companions to back away. Aela sprang up from her position beside her mentor's side and dashed to Vilkas, bow drawn and three arrows knocked at once.

"Move, Vilkas!" Ria spat, her honey brown eyes flaming. "The dog has to die! This is its fault; Kodlak wouldn't have died if not for that… that… monster." Her voice cracked on the last word. "She must pay the price." Njada yelled her agreement and Torvar managed a weak growl, clutching his right side. Athis moaned a few feet away on the stones, and Tilma hurried over to him, her wrinkled face pale with fright and grief.

"Enough," Aela hissed as Islanzadí's breathing became labored. "It's not what you think, shield-siblings." She glared down the shafts of her arrows at them all. "This is Islanzadí, the Bosmer that joined us all those weeks ago." An arrow flew into the post mere inches from Njada's head, effectively cutting off her scoff of disbelief. "She was bitten by a feral while on a job. We've been trying to cure her ever since."

The elf whined weakly from behind her fellow wolves, hoping they'd take the hint and cut the chatter. Her vision was beginning to tunnel and the sword was still lodged in her hip, the blood continuing to sheet from the lethal wound. Islanzadí's scarlet eyes came to rest on Kodlak as her hearing became almost non-existant and her thoughts began to jumble together. The dagger was still buried in his chest and his blue-grey eyes were still wide and empty. The Bosmer felt a little piece of her heart shrivel and die at the sight of it; the man that had been the closest thing she'd had to a father in many, many years, the person who had exhausted themselves worrying and researching a cure for her, was dead. Gone, in an instant.

She vaguely registered vibrations in the ground as weapons were dropped and heavy footsteps came towards her. She didn't feel pain as the sword in her body was yanked free, and she didn't care when she felt her heartbeat slow and her insides swirl together unnaturally. She kept her eyes on her mentor, her leader, her counselor as the life leeched out of her in a crimson flow.

As her eyes began to close and her breathing began to rattle in her chest, the elf had one final thought before she felt the blackness and emptiness wash over her.

I'm sorry.


Farkas's feet were dragging and his eyelids were heavy as he pushed open the great gates of Whiterun, but his lopsided grin was triumphant. The mission had been successful: in his pack sat four gory severed heads of Glenmoril witches. One for Kodlak, one for Vilkas, one for Aela and one for himself. They stank to high Sovngarde but if that's what it took to be rid of the beast, then by all means, he'd carry the things.

The Nord let out a massive yawn as he walked the silent streets. That's odd, he mused to himself. Normally there was a guard or two wandering around aimlessly and a beggar to pester him for gold, but the cobblestone roads were completely empty. He quickened his pace as he lumbered up the stairs to the wind district, not quite sure what to make of it. It was supposed to storm tonight, so maybe everybody was just holing up inside. That's what he would do.

The pounding of feet caught his attention and he snapped his gaze over to Jorrvaskr. To his surprise, Aela was pelting across the circle towards the Temple of Kynareth. "Hey!" he shouted cheerfully, waving at his shield-sister. She didn't stop her breakneck pace, only cast him a quick glance. Shrugging, he continued towards the headquarters but stopped dead in his tracks.

Blood was splattered heavily across the stone steps and the doors were wide open, hanging off their hinges. He could hear the cries of mourners and his brother's shouts.

He nearly dropped the head sack as he sprinted up the stairs and burst into the dining hall. Bodies of Silver Hand lay strewn about, some roasting in the massive central fire. The tables were overturned, the walls were smeared with dark red and he could hear moans of pain coming from the living quarters. Njada and Ria sat on a bench together, staring at nothing and the latter with tearstains on her cheeks. But that's not what caught his attention; the doors to the training yard were open as well.

Farkas saw the bloodied body of Kodlak, horribly still and silent, and a heap of white fur not far from his side.

This time, the sack thunked to the ground. Farkas blindly stumbled over his own feet in his haste, chanting, "No, no no no no," over and over at the mortifying sight. He finally made it outside and fell onto all fours, his blue eyes wide as he crawled over to his dead Harbinger. Farkas's breaths came out in shuddering gasps at the emptiness of Kodlak's eyes and the way his mouth stayed open, almost looking like he was scared. But that wasn't true; he knew nothing scared Kodlak.

"FARKAS!" Vilkas bellowed, making the younger twin jump. "He's dead, there's nothing you can do for him." Farkas snapped his gaze up to his brother, about to yell at him for saying such a thing, before he noticed that Vilkas's gauntlets were gone and his arms were dark red all the way up to his elbows. His twin's silvery eyes were narrowed in heated concentration and he knelt, and Farkas felt his heart stutter painfully to a stop at the sight of a frighteningly still, horribly silent white she-wolf.

Everything seemed to crash down on the hulking Nord; it seemed his world had flipped upside down and all he ever knew was rolling around in disarray. "Oh Talos," he breathed as he scrambled away from Kodlak's side, eyes wide and stinging. He forced the tears back; he never cried. Ever. It was childish. But the effort became harder as he scooped up Islanzadí's head and felt the deadweight. He listened as hard as he could for breathing, took huge gulps of air for any kind of scent of life. Vilkas grunted in frustration as he plunged his hands yet again into the wolf's side, and Farkas's breath stuttered as he noticed the impossibly deep wound, stretching nearly a foot wide and still gushing.

"Stabbed," Vilkas hissed through his teeth as he blindly felt around inside Laní. "Almost went entirely through her. I'm trying—gods, Njada—to align her innards correctly before the healer gets here. Not that it'll do any good," he finished darkly. "Her heart's hardly pumping and she stopped breathing over a minute ago."

"This isn't happening," Farkas growled in grief and heartache. "Talos, this can't be happening. They can't both die, not like this." He closed his eyes to ignore the brief look of pity his brother cast him. He let his face fall against the smelly, course fur of Islanzadí's neck. He felt the still-wet blood from her kills smear across his face, but he didn't care. His chest felt horribly constricted. He couldn't lose his father, by all rights and every meaning, and the woman he loved in the same night.

Farkas froze at the thought. He couldn't love Laní. He didn't. It was an accident; he hadn't meant to think that he did. It was impossible: she was an elf, probably far older than him, and he was a Nord. It wasn't possible.

Lies! his heart protested, and Farkas couldn't find it in himself to argue. He was just as good with feelings—he mentally shuddered at the word—as he was with words. He didn't know what it was that was making seeing her on the doorstep of Hircine's hunting grounds so completely and mind bogglingly wretched, but he didn't really want to sort it out right then. There were definitely more important things to do.

"I got her," Aela panted from behind him, making him flinch in surprise. He lifted his aching head out of the reddish fur and stared blankly up at his shield-sister, who was watching him carefully. "The healer," she explained, gesturing to a woman clad in orange and yellow robes. "I brought her back. Is the elf…?"

"Not yet," Vilkas grunted as he pulled his hands out of Islanzadí's body. "But I don't think there's really a point anymore. You can try, Danica, but it's not going to work." He turned to his brother, Farkas's face uncharacteristically empty. "I'm sorry, brother."

The healer, Danica Pure-Spring, stepped forward to inspect the gash. Her eyes were filled with worry, and Farkas guessed Aela had told her everything. Shaking her head, the priestess said, "It is too late. I can do nothing for her, Companions." With a sad, empty voice, she asked, "Would you like me to prepare the Harbinger's body for burial at the temple?" Vilkas and Aela hesistated before nodding, their eyes dark with crushing sorrow as the healer turned to take her leave.

"She's gone," Farkas whispered, staring down at the elf. He felt an impossible ache begin to throb in his chest, so painful and wretched it was all he could do not to howl in utter despair. "Kodlak's gone. Laní's gone." He looked up at his older brother and the huntress, his eyes shiny and pleading. "It's a nightmare, right? The beast is making me have nightmares again."

"Farkas," Vilkas said gently, something odd for the dour man, reaching out for his brother. "I—"

He was cut off by a guttural growl. Farkas yelped in shock, dropping Islanzadí's head and scrambling backwards; the sound had come from her. He had felt her throat vibrate. Vilkas, too, fell over himself in his hurry to get away. "What the—"

He was cut off again, this time by a much louder noise; a howl. They watched in terror as Islanzadí's eyes snapped open, her chest still unmoving as she didn't breathe. They kept their wide eyes on her as she lifted herself onto her paws, moving almost as if in a trance, and began to limp away. Farkas's mind was completely blown; dead bodies don't get up and walk off. Especially when one of their back legs shouldn't have any way to move.

The wound had stopped bleeding when the she-wolf's heart had stilled, and the gash was not gushing still. She was dead as a doornail, but she was walking. With her eyes open.

"Follow her," Vilkas whispered urgently as the elf stumbled through the Underforge. "We have to see where she's going. Perhaps to Hircine. Then we might be able to get her back."

Farkas belatedly realized that his brother was talking to him. "Oh," he said, eyes trailing in complete disbelief after the elf. "Yeah. Yeah, we should." With that, he shakily got to his feet and trailed after his brother, not able to think. He had absolutely no idea if he would ever be able to think again after tonight. With all he had seen, he was contemplating if he might be mad.

Islanzadí trudged through the back entrance of the Underforge into the mountains, pushing aside the barriers the Companions had put there as if they were nothing. Vilkas and Farkas shared an awed look as they crept along behind the massive wolf as she made her way to a large, open space. There she sat, staring straight ahead, still dead as Kodlak. Farkas stared, wondering if she'd move again, but she stayed rooted to her spot.

Finally, he grew anxious. "Wait here," he hissed to Vilkas. "I want to see if I can talk to her. Maybe her spirit is looking for something and she needs to be spoken to." Ignoring his brother's urgent whispers of warning, he stalked forward until he was right in front of Islanzadí, her black nose over his head.

He gently stroked her shoulder, and her red eyes snapped down to look at him. They locked onto his, and for a moment, the world around Farkas seemed to spin. The Bosmer's eyes closed, and with a jolt, he felt something invade his mind and brush against his consciousness. A thousand voices seemed to whisper in a weird, unknown language, before a high, sharp, familiar tone stood out.

Farkas, it whispered, and he nearly jumped away from the elf. It was her voice. Her actually voice; the one he had heard her speak with. Farkas. It is I, Islanzadí. Speak with your thoughts, and I will hear.

Farkas stared at her closed eyes, wondering if it was his newly founded madness twisting things around. A ghostly chuckle brushed against his ears, and he yelped again at the feeling. Silly man, the voice said. You are far from mad. A bit unimaginative, perhaps, but not insane. There was a very familiar playful sound to her voice.

It really is you, he said in awe. What… what happened? How can you do it? You're dead!

No, Laní responded. I am not. The body of the beast is no more, but there are other souls who are not ready to depart yet. At this, she chuckled. My wolf spirit is alive, Nord, battling within.

Battling? he asked, confused. Battling what? Is that even possible?

Very, she quipped sharply. And she is in an eternal struggle with the spirit of a dovah. A dragon. The scarlet eyes opened at once at the mention, and Farkas felt yet another shock jolt through him. A dragon soul. Islanzadí had a dragon soul.

You're dragonborn, he thought-whispered. Dear Talos.

Yes, she said bitterly. I am the dovahkiin, the defeater of Alduin. And the beast blood that whore forced upon me has locked me in this state, never able to change or die until one has lost the fight. At this, her eyes closed again. Farkas's mind reeled with the knowledge that this woman, the one he had fought beside and desired, had saved his homeland. That she was dragonborn. But I know now how to escape.

Escape? Farkas panicked. Escape how? You're not going to die, right?

Islanzadí chuckled. Perhaps, she said dully. Farkas's chest panged uncomfortably again. But death is better than being the monster I am. I have killed many things, Farkas, many dragons and many people. Farkas bristled, about to protest, but she didn't stop. The dovah… they are so beautiful, Nord, so majestic and powerful. The souls of those I have claimed still stir within me, howling and clawing for taking them away from this world. She sounded broken, he realized. I did not want to kill them. I share their soul, but am in the body of an elf. You don't understand how difficult it is to take away the life of something so similar to you, so powerful.

Yes, I do, he shot back. I've killed, too, Laní. I've killed, Nords, Bretons, Imperials. Hell, I've even killed an Ork.

But you do not steal their souls and listen to them pine for their old lives, she snapped bitingly. I know how to release them. I know how to escape my beast form, and whether or not I forfeit my life is my choice. Farkas recoiled from the malice in her voice, and when she spoke next, it was softer, apologetic. I did not expect you to understand and accept this with such calmness.

Farkas grinned despite himself and gave a mental shrug. It's been a wild night. I'll believe just about anything, anymore.

I see, Islanzadí whispered. Her great head turned away from him, lifting to the sky. My strength is draining. This body is dead and I cannot animate it much longer from inside. You may watch if you wish, but be prepared.

Prepared for what?

Laní's tone was light when she spoke next. You'll see. Oh, and Farkas?

The Nord looked up at her, still staring vacantly at the stars. What?

I love you, too.


I had planned to end this chapter much differently, but I couldn't resist. :3 Oh, and Razzika: probably another two chapters, maybe three.