Part Eleven: Pariah Abbey, 4E 222

The spring sun was already half-way down the western sky when Prisa turned her steps back toward home, with Nurnika, her youngest daughter, draped over her shoulder. That morning, Nurnika had insisted on walking in one direction, roughly eastward, as long as she could, and had kept up her tramp for a surprising length of time for someone all of three years old, before stopping in the middle of a green field like a hundred others, looking around with a satisfied smile, saying "Now, go home" to her mother, and reaching her arms up to be carried. Little imp, Prisa thought with an indulgent smile. She knew that if she said she'd dreamed of walking in that direction, I'd let her follow her dream as far as she could. And carry her back when she got tired.

Had she found what she had been looking for? She hadn't said.

It was incidents like that that sometimes set Prisa worrying that the heritage of magic ran a bit too strongly in her children for comfort. It wasn't just from her side; Borrig's family had a few secrets of its own, though neither she nor Borrig had yet managed to get to the bottom of them. There were too many odds and ends with magical connotations scattered around their homes for it to be entirely due to the workings of chance, and to Prisa's ears, their solid Nord disdain for the art seemed more a façade erected to blend in with the neighbors than a firmly held conviction. The twins, Nurnika's elder brother and sister, had begun informal classes in alchemy at seven years old, and the previous month their tutor had told Prisa and Borrig that at the rate they were learning, they were going to finish the primary curriculum two years before their classes were supposed to begin at the age of twelve. Borrig, ever the proud father, had laughed and bought them both treats, remarking that it was little wonder they were so engaged with the subject, "Kids love anything that stinks and sputters, and these are two bright kids, Mother." She had nodded and smiled, but she'd been a bright kid too in her time, and one of the things it had taught her was that knowledge without experience to balance it could easily lead to trouble.

Nearing home, Prisa paused a moment at the ruins of the old wayshrine, now nothing but a cracked stone base and a few fallen pillars and fragments of roof half-hidden by long grass. She wondered, as she always did when passing that spot, whether the network could ever be restored. It would be so convenient to have Wayrest and points beyond only a few steps away. Now it was just a memory, another one of the things that had been lost at the end of the Second Era. Some said that it had simply stopped working one day; others, that it had been deliberately broken, though again no one seemed to know for sure how, or why, or by whom: mortals, the Daedric Princes, or the high gods themselves. Lost to the ages, like the skyshards, she thought, and smiled at the memories that word evoked. It was ten years, to the day, since she and Borrig had first set eyes on Pariah Abbey.

As Prisa approached the abbey, the gate opened and Nurnika's nurse Angelle came out to take her from Prisa's shoulder and carry her inside to sleep. Angelle was the informal head of the Abbey staff, and Prisa's personal talebearer to the outside world, a task that she performed with an almost gleeful enthusiasm. It had been Borrig who had suggested Angelle be given this role: he had pointed out that people were going to gossip about them anyway, as the first wardens of Pariah Abbey for three hundred years, and they might as well try to keep what they said from straying too far from the truth. And the loose-lipped servant was such a stereotype that it did not occur to anyone that Angelle might be delivering exactly the messages that her mistress wanted circulated.

Shifting Nurnika to her own shoulder, Angelle looked at Prisa and began to laugh softly.

"The market's still buzzing at what you said yesterday, Abbess. Half of them think it was outrageous, and the other half think it's funny. But nearly everyone agrees that those old gossips got what they deserved. They've been especially nasty lately, and this might quiet them down a bit."

Prisa began laughing as well. "I'm glad it turned out that way. I'll have to think of a way to make it up to them later, especially Liselia. But I just couldn't resist it."

Liselia and Ursasa were two old ladies who had lived in the area all their lives. Both had buried their husbands years ago, and as they aged, their tongues had grown ever sharper and their gossip ever more malicious. They didn't approve of the reopening of the Abbey, and hadn't been shy about saying so, and in recent months they had begun circulating disreputable rumors about Prissa and Borrig themselves. Most people ignored them, writing it off to envy and spite, but it still made Prisa uneasy.

The previous day, Prisa had happened on them in the marketplace holding forth on the size of the family she and Borrig seemed to have planned: three children already, and pregnant with another two, or so she had told anyone who remarked on her condition, adding with a smile that there might be ten or more by the end.

Prisa had walked up behind the two as Ursasa was declaring loudly, "She's nothing but a brood mare. Imagine wanting ten children! She should consider her position more carefully."

After greeting them cheerfully, Prisa had gone about explaining her position, "if you really have to know, Ursasa."

"I don't think there is ever anything unusual about my position. He isn't picky, and neither am I. We began last time with my Borrig taking me from the back. I was draped over a fence in the back pasture, behind the barn where it's nice and private and sheltered from view. We ended in the barn with me on top riding him until we finished together. I hope you don't need more details, because neither of us was paying very much attention to the outside world at the time. But I do know that you needn't worry about any of my positions. After all, I don't ask you about yours, do I?"

The two old gossips had fled without another word, their faces scarlet, through a rising tide of laughter and giggling. Neither had been seen in public since.

"Apart from that, it's been quiet," Angelle added. "There was a Dunmer here looking for you or the Abbot, but he said he'd be back tomorrow."

Prism nodded. Borrig would be back tomorrow as well; he'd gone to Wayrest to order some books and supplies. It wasn't unusual for Dunmer who happened to be in the area to visit, since Azura has a special place in their culture and there were few shrines to the Queen of Dusk and Dawn in this part of Tamriel.

"What about the twins?"

Angelle laughed. "Playing researcher," she replied, in an amused tone of voice. "Rille has been in and out of the library all morning, with Hernanual trailing her around, carrying books and gods know what. They're up to something, I'm sure. I've been keeping an eye on them, but all they have been doing is search through books and read, so far. I saw Rielle once bowing her head before the Lady, but she had finished her prayer before I got close enough to hear what she was saying."

"Not a good idea to eavesdrop on prayers anyway..." A slight frown appeared on Prisa's face. Her daughter was pious, but not given to spontaneous prayer... unless, of course, she wanted something out of the ordinary. They were up to something, Prisa was sure. But what?

"Where are they now?"

"Just before you returned, Abbess, they told me they were going to the barn. I was just off to check on them when you returned."

"You take Nurnika inside. I'd better see what they are doing."

But as Prisa turned, the main gate creaked open, and a quite extraordinary group came through, headed for the Abbey. Two of its figures were familiar, Rielle and Hernanual. They were both tall for their age, and both had inherited their father's golden hair and fair complexion. It was their companion, shuffling between them as if it needed their support to stay upright, that was out of the ordinary: a reanimated skeleton, yellowed and ancient, tottering along unsteadily between the two children, turning its head back and forth as if it could still see through its empty eye sockets.

The group halted when they spotted Prisa. Prisa blinked once or twice, until she was sure the scene was real and not a hallucination, and then marched over to them.

"I think you two owe me an explanation," she began, in a tone that she intended to be strict but which came out sounding more worried than anything else. "What is this, and where did you find it? And why have you brought it here?"

"Oh mom, stop worrying," Rielle said in a confident tone. "It wanted to come here."

"It used to be a Spirit Warden," Hernanual explained. "It got killed in some battle, and never got properly buried. The rain last month uncovered its skeleton."

"And we found it. We could feel its spirit was still there, and unhappy, both of us. I raised it again so that we didn't have to carry the bones down piece by piece. Can we bury it now? That's all it wants."

She isn't afraid of it at all, Prisa realized. Neither is her brother. Just doing a favor for a stranger, lost and needing their aid to reach home, nothing more. Born and bred necromancers. She felt cold inside, and depressed. She'd hoped that that would end with her, but it seemed that the Tharn blood ran too strong in them.

"Was that what you were doing in the library this morning?"

"Yes, we found some old notebooks and stuff," Hernanual replied. "There was a spell in one of them, but we didn't know if it would work. But Rielle got it to work first time, I didn't even have a chance to try." He sounded disappointed, and Rielle reassured her brother, "You can have the next one. I promise."

They're talking about raising the dead as if they were deciding who is going to get to eat the first ripe apple from an orchard, Prisa thought, and shook her head. Then she remembered a detail that made her uneasy.

"Don't you need a soul gem to raise a skeleton? Where did you get one of those?" she said in a sharp tone. "There are none in the Abbey. They go against our tradition."

"The spell we found doesn't need one," Rielle declared, a bit defensive. "But the effect doesn't last that long, so can we bury him, please? I don't know if it will work a second time."

Instead of answering her daughter, Prisa addressed the skeleton directly.

"Is all they say true? That in life you were a Spirit Warden in service to the Queen of Dusk and Dawn, that you died at the hands of Her enemies and by ill luck received no proper burial, and that you crave such burial now for the peace of your spirit?"

The skeleton nodded its head.

"Were you killed by the Supernal Dreamers during the time Abbot Durak was Warden of Pariah Abbey?"

Another nod.

"Very well. In my capacity as Abbess of Pariah Abbey, in the name and by the authority of Azura, Lady of Roses, Queen of Dusk and Dawn, I grant leave for your mortal remains to lie here in holy ground, and so enable your spirit to depart to its reward in Aetherius. Please wait here while I make the necessary arrangements."

Prisa stepped inside the Abbey, and was at once besieged by most of her staff and a few nervous parishioners into the bargain, bombarding her with questions about the walking dead outside and what her children had to do with it. She raised her hands for silence.

"There is nothing to fear. It is merely a lost spirit that seeks the Lady's grace to be at peace, one that my children encountered by chance and led here at its own request." She turned to her groundskeeper, who doubled as gravedigger and by good fortune was one of those present. "Fenon? Is there a grave open at this time?"

Fenon, a tall Breton who had been watching the scene with interest but no obvious fear, nodded his head.

"There is one, Abbess. One that I dug for last winter that was never used. I covered it over with boards in the spring to keep it from falling in, but I can open it up again right quickly."

"Please do so. And I trust you will not panic at the sight of the apparition outside. It only wishes to find a resting place in sanctified ground. The rest of you may go about your business with no fear." The crowd began to disperse, but Prisa noted with a brief flicker of amusement that none of them ventured to use the main door.

-o-o-o-

The burial took place half an hour later. By that time, nerves had calmed to such an extent that several of the temple staff and even one or two of the parishioners ventured to attend.

When the grave was prepared, Rielle spoke to her mother.

"I have to take the spell off now. It will be able to move for a minute or two afterward, no longer, the spellbook said."

Prisa questioned the skeleton one last time.

"You will lie in the grave after my daughter releases you from her spell, and be covered with earth. This is what you wish?"

The skeleton nodded vigorously.

"Has all been done that you need and require?"

Another nod.

Then Rielle spoke, "Here. Take it." And she gave the skeleton a ragged bouquet of wild flowers that she had picked from among the tombs. Hernanual was next. His gift was a small wooden object that Prisa recognized as a child's top, one of his favorite toys when he was very small. "You can have this," he muttered. "They say you get young again in Aetherus, I don't know how young, but if you become a boy again, you might have fun with it..."

As she watched her children, Prisa sensed the feelings of the other observers shift from apprehension to acceptance. The form before them had no name, and would never have one, but it had been one of theirs long ago, and today it would end its long misfortune and go the path it should have gone centuries before. It was a time for celebration, not for fear. The adults pressed forward to follow the example of the children and each give it some small token of regard, a prayer book, a piece of fruit, anything they had with them. One provided a basket, which was soon filled. The skeleton kept turning its head from side to side; in wonder and joy, Prisa thought, but bone is less expressive than flesh, and she would never be sure.

Finally, it was time to depart. Rielle and Hernanual helped it down into the grave. Rielle laid her hand on its skull.

"Ready to go now?"

A final nod.

Rielle whispered a few words and gestured, and it shuddered slightly. It looked toward her for a moment, and then toward her brother, and then it lay down on its side in the earth at the bottom of the grave, curled around the basket and all the things it had been given. A second shudder, and all that remained was to fill the grave in again

Prisa and her children remained by the grave until it was filled and the earth tamped down. As dusk fell, they had only Fenon for company, finished with the grave and waiting for any further instructions. Prisa told him to arrange for a memorial stone, and what should be carved on it. Then, Fenon went back into the Abbey and only the three of them were left.

Prisa had said nothing to Rielle and Hernanual all this time, and as she continued to look at the grave without moving or speaking, they became apprehensive. Finally, Rielle spoke up in a timid voice.

"What's upsetting you, mother? Did we do something wrong?"

"No. Nothing but trying out a bit of amateur necromancy without telling me, raising someone from the dead for the fun of it and terrifying the entire Abbey."

"We just wanted to... Hernanual began, but Prisa cut him off angrily.

"You just wanted to have some fun. Necromancy isn't fun. There's nothing more serious. You don't play with the roots of life and death. You led that skeleton in here as if it were a kitten that had followed you home. What if it had been possessed by a dremora? It would have torn your head off before you could even say 'sorry.' You don't understand. It's so easy to make mistakes you can never correct..."

When she reached this point, Prisa could say no more. She choked up, sat down on the ground beside the grave, and began to cry. The two children stood near her, one on each side, confused and unsure what to do. Finally, they knelt down, one on either side of her, and hugged her. A moment or two later, the sound of weeping trailed off, though Prisa's head was still bent down and her eyes closed.

Finally, Prisa looked up and rose to her feet, careful not to push her children away as she rose. When she spoke, her voice was almost normal again, apart from a tone of sadness that both Rielle and Hernanual noticed, but could not yet understand.

"It's time for evening services. Stay in the chapel afterwards, both of you. We have to talk, and I would like it to be before the altar of the Lady of Roses. I'm sorry for speaking so sharply a little while ago. It was fear, not anger, behind my words. What you did was good and kind; it was the danger that made me so sharp and harsh."

She paused and looked at both of them before going on.

"We would had to have had this talk in any case, sooner or later. Your father thought you were ready for it, but I wanted to give you the chance for a little bit more childhood first. I suppose I underestimated you."

"We're not in trouble then?" Rielle piped up hesitantly. Prisa smiled.

"No. Or at least no more than all the rest of us. Now, let's get inside before everyone thinks that we're off on another skeleton hunt."

Prisa opened a side door and shepherded the children though, and then, after one last look toward the new grave, shut the door against the gathering night.