Nine
Famain trudged through the knee-deep snow. The wind howled ferociously in his ears, whipping at his face and turning it red raw. He looked behind him and his face fell in dismay; after five hours of struggling up the mountain, Bruma was still in sight! He groaned as he craned his neck to look at the peak which seemed impossibly high above him. At this rate, he'd be about eighty by the time he found Frostcrag Spire. Famain scrabbled at the snow in front of him. In the mere seconds he had been stationary, he had begun to sink. After much effort, he managed to pull himself free, and collapsed on the snow. Despite the cold, he was boiling under his parka. He pressed some snow into his face and hurriedly got to his feet. The snow around him was beginning to melt slightly, probably to do with his roasting body. The barely visible path was beginning to ascend more steeply now, making Famain even hotter. He went to wipe the sweat from his face, but the moment he touched his skin, he winced. Famain growled in anger.
"Idiot!" he muttered, berating himself. The snow, rather than relieving the stinging of his face, had worsened it.
"Should have realized!" he almost yelled, kicking at the snow in his fury. He snarled in agony as his foot collided with something very hard. Curious to see what had caused his foot to hurt so much pain, he dug into the ground to search for it. After a minute or two, he came across and odd, frozen object. He held it up to the sun, squinting at it to see if he could make sense of it. As he peered at it, his eyes met another set. This pair of small, beetle black eyes was contorted in obvious shock. He quickly made out a small fury snout too. In fact, the frozen object was a little lemming, probably frozen over after falling foul of a wizard of some sort, mistaking it for a somewhat more dangerous beast. He chuckled with black humor at the poor creature's misfortune. He cut of abruptly when he realized its implications. He would have to be more wary. He remembered the tales he had been told of desperate and paranoid men who trekked the Jeralls. Many were just like him, on the run from the law, probably driven mad by the social depravity. There were also bandits, and even worse, evil warlocks and necromancers in hiding after committing dark deeds. Not to mention the cultists, worshiping various daedric lords. Famain shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and pressed on. If the day was as cold as this, the nights surely would be unbearable. He shivered now instead of sweating. He forced his legs to move forward for sometime. Gradually, with each glance behind him, Bruma became less distinct, fading into the white blanket of snow. The sun was soon sinking behind the trees, but still Famain carried on, although he had lost all feeling in his legs by now. Masser, the greater of the moons, bathed him in its red hue. The light was peaceful, calming, soothing even. His eyes itched with tiredness but he ignored it. Like a sleep-walker, he made his way to a small ledge on the mountains. Finally, his knees buckled. As soon as he hit the floor, he drifted into unconscious dreams.
Famain woke the next morning writhing in agony. Every inch of him felt like it had been submerged in lava. His arms screamed, his legs burned, his head throbbed, threatening to knock him out. Every movement cause unimaginable pain.
"This is what you get for not being prepared!" he muttered to himself. His eyes seemed to be glued shut. It hurt too much to open them fully. The snow kept reflecting the sun, worsening his headache. What a fool he had been to push himself too much and make himself pass out, leaving his body vulnerable to the elements. And they had taken their toll. Through the small slits that he could see through, he had winced when he'd first seen his flesh. The skin was red and peeling away, wounds weeping over every inch of him. When he'd removed his boots, he was horrified to see that his nails had blackened and died. His palms were nothing more than a mass of oozing sores and he doubted that his finger prints now existed. Had it really been worth walking those extra couple of hours, covering that extra mile, for this? The simple answer; no. Famain groaned as he got to his feet. His legs shook violently and threatened to give way. He snatched up his bag and continued to climb. Every second was a greater effort than it had been when he'd been exhausted. The wind picked up, stinging his face, making it almost impossible to see. The snow blinded Famain as he staggered up the meandering path. It was like a thick fog, obscuring everything that wasn't a centimeter away. The wind growled ferociously, warding him back down the mountain…Famain's heart stopped. The wind didn't growl! Suddenly, everything went silent. The white fog disappeared. Gradually, a gigantic shape came into focus. The spectral form of a bear loomed ominously over him. Ten feet tall, it dominated the grey sky. Its paws were the size of plates, each claw viciously sharp. The creature's snowy white fur had disguised it in the snow, but as the sun's rays hit its broad back, it became plainly visible. It swayed on its hind legs, casting for Famain's scent. It let out another tremendous growl that shook the whole mountain, before landing on its front feet. Even on all-fours it was still over a head higher than Famain. Its beady black eyes stared at Famain, showing great curiosity about this new play-thing that had just entered his territory. The Redguard gulped. He had fought bears before, but never one this big. The black bears of Bravil never got so huge. The bear now advanced, eerily silent for something so humongous. Looking down at his sword, Famain had a funny notion that it would do him no good in this fight. The bear was just a few inches away from him now. Famain could smell its rancid breath, heavy and hot against his freezing skin. The beast raised one of its giant paws and rose onto its hind legs once more. It towered over Famain and let out another ear splitting roar. Famain shut his eyes. There was no hope in fighting. He could only hope that death was quick, that it snapped his neck cleanly before devouring him. He didn't really fancy a long, drawn out demise full of pain and suffering. Famain heard a deafening whoosh as the bear's paw swung towards him. He braced himself, waiting for the sickening crack as it broke his bones, but it never came. Was it so quick that he never even felt it? Were he already dead, and the blackness he was now experiencing the darkness of death? He opened his eyes a fraction of a centimeter. He was still standing upright. The giant white form of the bear still loomed above him, but it was strangely still and silent. Famain gazed up at it in awe. It was frozen, its black eyes staring blankly into space. The beast's giant paw was stationary just inches from his neck. Curiously, Famain unsheathed his sword and prodded the bear's exposed stomach. The silver touched the creature's fur, but it was oddly solid, almost like marble. The blade had merely glanced of its hide, like there was some kind of invisible shield. It had left no small cut or anything similar.
"Careful now, the spell's going to wear off in a minute! Get over here boy, quick!"
Famain spun around, looking for the source of the voice. He peered round the stationary bear. A frail looking old man clad in a bizarre blue robe was beckoning frantically at him. He sprinted to the man's side, and faced the bear, his sword pointed towards it, still looking rather useless.
"Put that away, it'll do you no good. Let me handle this." Famain immediately obeyed. Suddenly, there was a loud crack. The bear began to keel over. A second before it hit the ground, Its front paws stretched out in front of it and it landed on all four feet. The bear shook itself and roared angrily. It turned round and charged at full speed towards them. Calmly, the old man muttered some words in a strange language. A huge ball of fire burst forward from his hands. The bear stopped abruptly, stunned by the giant flame soaring towards it. The fire hit it full in the face. The bear roared in pain as it fought to stop the flames which had engulfed its face. It staggered perilously close to the edge of the mountain. A loud rumble echoed all around, and this time it wasn't from the bear. A large chunk of ice and snow began to crumble away from the place where the beast was stood. It clawed desperately at the side of the mountain, but to no avail; its howls became gradually quieter as it plunged to its doom.
"T-th-thanks!" stammered Famain. He shivered slightly from the cold, and a little from shock.
"Don't mention it." said the old man gruffly. He lifted his embroided robe a bit as he trudged back up the mountain. Famain studied him for a moment. His robe was deep blue and embroided with gold moons and stars. The hem was a deep purple, and atop his head was a matching pointed hat. Alarm bells began to ring in Famain's head.
"Wait!" he called, racing after him. He caught up easily.
"Oh are you going to explain why you were up here alone with no supplies?" said the elderly man sarcastically. He tugged a little at his long white beard. "Well, I'm sorry, I haven't time." He carried on up the now exceedingly steep climb.
"Sorry," panted Famain, "But, please tell me, are you the wizard who lives at Frostcrag spire?" The man stopped. He turned around and looked at Famain with curiosity.
"Yes, I am. Why?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're not from the Mages Guild, are you? I've said it a hundred times that I'm not going to help Traven out of this Necromancer mess!" Famain shook his head frantically.
"I'm not a mage!" The wizard blew out a sigh of relief.
"Thank Julianos for that. I'm assuming you want my help? I'll do what I can so long as it's not some stupid petty thing like wanting a love potion."
"No, it's much more serious that that." The wizard smiled happily and clapped his hands together. "Good, I need a challenge. I haven't had anyone up here looking for help for a couple of years now." at that moment they reached the very top of the incline. Famain couldn't help but gasp. A spire larger than any building he'd ever seen stretched high into the sky. The sun shone on its pointed golden roof, blinding Famain for a moment. Small sections jutted out from the main spire. Just one look at it would tell you that this was a wizard's abode. Magic just seemed to hang in the air around it. Famain followed the wizard up the massive stone steps. At the top was a great gate. With a flick of his wrist, the elderly wizard opened the doors. Famain gasped in shock once more. The cavernous entrance hall seemed to reach the edge of the stratosphere. Famain had to squint to see the top. It was ornately decorated, the glass enchanted to make it look like ice. A beautiful circle of glass dominated the floor. It was surrounded by six smaller circles, each one just as perfectly carved as the next. The most astounding thing about the hall though, was the sculpture in the centre of the largest circle. The hand seemed to grow from the centre, reaching up as if to grab hold of the ceiling. It was perfectly carved so that a person could be seated on it, like the throne from a tale about an ice queen that Ursanne had told him many years ago. Famain marveled at the perfect angles of the sculpture. No normal mortal hands could have carved such a thing, or indeed created this tower.
"Ah, you are wondering how such a place came to be." Famain nodded, staring intently at the wizened old face before him. "I too wondered the same thing when my father bestowed this place upon me. Legend has it Julianos was very impressed my great-great grandfather's commitment to his studies of magicka. The Mages Guild cast him out, mocking him for his supposedly hair-brained ideas. It became evident that he was right all along, so the Divines rewarded him with this wondrous tower, along with great arcane powers for him and his kin. There's more to it than that, but I would need an era to tell it." he smiled. "The spire, as you have probably already guessed, is named after my family. I am Julian Frostcrag, named by my father who saw fit to honor god who bestowed upon us this great gift. No complaints there, of course. Now, to business, what is it you require of me?" Famain jumped a little, still absorbed in thoughts.
"Well," he began. He pondered for a moment how to phrase the next bit. "I'm in dire need of help. You see, I've had a few problems in my life. I, well accidentally killed someone." To his surprise, Julian didn't shout. He merely listened intently. "I'm loathed by my family, my friends, the empire and probably the Divines themselves. Please, I repent what I did, but what am I to do? No one would forgive me. I require your knowledge of the arcane arts to erase me from the memories of the ones I've hurt. For them to forget of my existence. So I can start afresh." Julian nodded solemnly.
"What a price you are willing to pay to stop the suffering of your friends and family. To make them forget you? I can do it, certainly, but is it what you want?"
"Yes. It is better to be forgotten than to be remembered by painful, hate-filled memories. I wish to escape my old life, that is true, but I don't want anyone to have to suffer with what I've done to them." Julian laced his hands together. His brow furrowed as he began to pace the hall. As he did so, he stepped on one of the smaller circles. Famain nearly had a heart attack. The wall in front of him slid slowly to the side, revealing a huge library. Julian beckoned to him then walked relatively quickly up one of the two flights of stairs leading to a balcony. He stopped abruptly by an enchantment table. From deep within his pockets, Julian withdrew a small, gold ring and placed it on the stand. He muttered in the same strange language that he'd used when confronting the bear. Several flashes and bangs later, he held out the ring, smiling sadly. It now had a faint glow around it.
"I have given you a choice now. I could of place this same spell on you permanently; however, there would be no way to reverse it if you regret your decision. I make the assumption that you know about the Grey Cowl of Nocturnal and all the controversy it caused when the Grey Fox revealed its powers?" Famain smiled slightly. Aleron had gone on a huge rant when the news came out that the grey sack the leader of the Thieves Guild wore was an enchanted daedric artifact. It was the hot topic in the empire for a year. The wearer of the cowl could commit any crime in front of a guard with the cowl on and if they took it of immediately after said crime, no one would make the connection between that person and the Grey Fox.
"Well, this enchanted ring works the opposite way around. Whilst you wear the ring, no one will know it's you. You could walk up to your mother and she would just see you as some stranger. When you remove it, everyone will know who you are again. Do you understand?" Famain nodded.
"Thank you. Is there anyway to repay you?" Julian opened his mouth to say no, than stopped. He thought for a moment then carried on.
"It's not really repayment, but there is something I need you to do. A friend of mine, a Khajiit named Ja-Kha Rira, is desperate to see you. She is a psychic of sorts. She told me that she saw a young Redguard with an interesting future trying to find me and told me if I ever found him to send him to her. I'll be bold enough to say the Redguard she spoke of is you." Famain looked at Julian, shock etched on his face.
"What does she want from me though?" he asked, still confused as to why a psychic Khajiit wanted to see him. He had thought he'd had enough hardships and adventures to last him a life time.
"Only the gods know and as she is in touch with Akatosh, God of Time, I think it wise that you see her. She is in Bravil currently. The faster the better I think, so I will get you there promptly." He swished his robes once and beckoned to Famain again. He trotted back down the stairs and towards a portal. Famain blinked once and he disappeared.