Chapter 11: Song of the Stones
Julan recalled them to the mark left in Korst's yurt as soon as they woke. But the shaman was not home. Reluctantly, they left his small hut to search for him.
The morning sun was high above them, but its light was pale and thin, as if no time had passed since the dawn. Llovesi shivered as her boots crunched through the fresh snow lying beyond the threshold. She had thought she might be glad to be on the village plateau, free from the watchful, silent forest where her skin had crawled with the sensation of eyes. But here she could see where the stares were coming from, and it made her even more uncomfortable.
Gone were the curious, yet distant glances from their first visit. Now villagers stared in open hostility as they moved from the shaman's hut, and the Honour Guard rested their gauntleted hands on their spiked maces. Evidently what had passed between them and Tharsten Heart-Fang a couple of days ago in the Greathall was now common knowledge. Still, no one moved to stop them. Llovesi saw Brynja standing under the awning to a hut with a tall dark-haired teenager. He shared her long, crooked nose, but that seemed to be their only similarity. As his mother simply turned her back in disgust, the boy stared at them hardest of anyone, hatred turning his brown eyes hard and black as ebony.
Not seeing Korst nearby, Llovesi and Julan circled behind his home to walk the village's borders, glad to leave the stony glares behind. They found the shaman just north of the village, atop a small hill. He was gazing not out to sea, but towards the mountains in the west. As they watched, Korst licked a finger, and held it up in the air.
"You feel it too?" he asked, as they came to stand next to him.
"Feel what?" Julan asked.
"Ah, the wrong question perhaps." Korst turned to face them, rubbing his finger against his robe, and placing his hands into his sleeves. Llovesi would have thought it for warmth, had the shaman not still been barefoot. "I mean to say, you cannot feel it too?"
He looked at them both with a level expression, though Llovesi noticed a tightness in his expression: a slight tremor in his lips, and a widening of his eyes. Try though he might to hide it, the shaman was nervous. Perhaps he had thought they might not return, or perhaps something deeper was troubling him.
"The wind," he said finally. "It is gone."
"That happens," Julan said, attempting a jokey tone, though his heart didn't seem in it. "It's called weather."
Korst gave a brief, obliging smile, but Llovesi's mind had already been cast back to the day before, to the other seer...
"What has happened to the land?" she asked as her mind flitted through the strange memory.
Julan and Korst looked at her. Julan was frowning; Korst was back to his previous level expression.
"That's what I'm uncertain of," Korst said. "I believe the land is troubled, though exactly how far and why I am not yet sure. But, you must both be cold. Please, come with me to my home and we can talk further – there is much to discuss."
Korst ushered them back into his yurt, then shouldered the door closed, grunting slightly with the effort of forcing the snow-soaked wood over the sill. He went straight to the ashes in the small fireplace and set about manually starting a fire.
Llovesi watched as he arranged the kindling and struck the tinder, fanning the sparks until slim red flames were coaxed from the dry wood. Korst caught her looking.
"You're wondering why I don't set it with magicka?" he asked, placing a few larger logs into the flames, then straightening up, dusting his hands off on his patchwork robe as he stood. "Shamans of the Skaal channel the arcane arts in other ways, and have never followed the College's teachings. One way in which our beliefs differ. But we hold many things in common, as you know."
He gestured for them to sit before the fire.
"Our beliefs, our stories, our rituals. You know I spent time studying with your Urshilaku. I am aware of the customs and faiths they hold dear. Of course, as an Outlander, they never shared their most sacred stories and knowledge with me – and why should they have? We followed different paths. But the All-Maker breathes life into us all, though we accept and access the gifts in different ways."
He gestured to Llovesi hands, folded in her lap. "The ring you wear beneath that glove, I know what it means – what it represents. And though I can never know how you came by it, I can make my guesses. So I know you too hold stock in custom and ritual.
"But, excuse my preamble." Korst leaned forward, his expression intense and sombre, any previous uncertainty gone. "The fact of the matter is this: we have lost the protection of the All-Maker.
"There is a careful balance that lies in all things of this world. The animals, the trees, even the rocks and the winds. It is a harmony from the grace of the All-Maker, and it must be preserved. I fear – no, I know – that it has been disturbed."
Llovesi felt a chill slip down her neck, as if someone had scooped up a handful of the snow outside and dropped it down her tunic.
"I felt like something wasn't right here," she said. "Almost since stepping off the boat that brought us here." Should I mention Geilir? I don't want him to think I'm crazy...
Korst nodded solemnly. "I knew you had felt it. Even though we hold different beliefs, the land speaks to you. You sense the lack of Oneness."
"Hang on," Julan said, holding up a hand. "Say this has happened, the land is unbalanced, the, uh, All-Maker has gone – why? And what do we do about it?"
"Why?" Korst frowned, and his nervous expression was back. "I cannot say for certain. Heart-Fang believes it is the Imperials – he does so love to blame them for everything. It may well be – they have little respect for balance, and do not return what they take. But I think it may be something beyond the Imperials – I believe the Adversary walks among us again."
"Which adversary?" Julan asked, drawn in.
"Not an adversary – the Adversary. He is the opposite of the All-Maker; everything the All-Maker is, the Adversary is not. He devours, he consumes, he ends. And the ends of days he will take an Aspect in Thartaag, whom our brothers in Skyrim name Alduin – perhaps you will have heard of him under this name. World-Eater. But before then, we know him in many, lesser ways – plague, pestilence, misfortune. One of these Is the Greedy Man. He only knows how to take."
Both Llovesi and Julan were silent now, enraptured by the story unfolding before them.
"There is an old story known to all the Skaal," Korst continued. "A true story, which is also a ritual, one which I have not seen performed in my lifetime. The story is of Aevar Stone-Singer, and the ritual is one of the Gifts. Now – we come to your 'what' Julan: we would like you to perform the Ritual of the Gifts."
"Me?" Julan asked.
"Both of you. Together." Korst dropped his solemn air slightly. "It is the agreed compromise with Heart-Fang. My vouching in your favour was not enough – if we are to help you find what happened at the Imperial fort, he says, then you must prove your loyalty by helping us. The Ritual of the Gifts needs to be performed, and it must be taken on willingly by a volunteer – a champion. Or two champions. In this way, you will help us, and prove your loyalty to the Skaal. And then, only then, we might uncover what attacked the fort."
He did not seem pleased by the prospect of making this discovery.
"So, what is the ritual then?" Llovesi asked. "What should we do?"
"I will explain further tonight. I said I had not seen the ritual performed in my lifetime – in fact it has not been performed in living memory. Heart-Fang wishes to involve the whole Skaal. I will tell the story, as my forebears did before me, and then you will know what to do. For now, let us rest."
He stood, and retrieved a pile of furs, dividing them up between them. He seemed to want to say something more, biting his lip for a while.
"I hope it is the Adversary we face," he said finally, wrapping his own fur about himself. "I dread the alternative."
They waited for evening in the gentle warmth of the fire and furs. Llovesi could hear Julan breathing softly beside her, and guessed he was either dozing, or trying to. She wished she could do the same. But her mind was still whirring through the new information Korst had given them.
I felt like something wasn't right here. That's what she had said. Did she mean it? Or had the hangover of her troubles from Vvardenfell simply dogged her steps ever since their boat had docked at Forst Frostmoth? Strange things were happening, that was undeniable. But strange things seemed to follow her and Julan about like swamp fever. It seemed they couldn't go one step without getting caught up in some ancient conflict or prophecy.
Llovesi shifted onto her side, wrapping the fur about herself more snugly, and winced as she felt her bruises complain. There was something in that too. Of course she wasn't as fit as she used to be. Of course she was making mistakes. Was that another part of why she felt so off-centre? But now she could count every past mistake on her body. The fight with the draugr by the shipwreck. Fading fingermarks about her neck. The fight with the bare-sarks, the rieklings. Large purple marks across her abdomen. The fight with Carnius. Scars of the graze across her cheek, and ribs that still ached.
We came here to explore this place because Nibani saw us all here. Llovesi reminded herself, shifting uncomfortably. But how that be? It's dangerous here. More dangerous than Vvardenfell? It's dangerous while I can't defend them. I can't even defend myself.
She shifted back to her other side crossly. Arguing with herself would do no good. But was it just her weakness annoying her? No. She was cross at being taken in by the other seer, by Geilir. It had felt real at the time, but that feeling was passing with every minute. She was glad she hadn't mentioned the man to Korst. Stupid. How many times had she had to listen to ramblings, vagueness and half-truths? Here at least, and in the Ashlander camps, they use prophecies to try and make sense of world, to make a change. They don't throw them up as a mysterious barrier to confuse and hide the truth...
But, and she shifted one last time, he did mention the land changing...
Night fell swiftly, and brought with it the gathering of the entire Skaal in their Greathall.
The benches were pulled close to the roaring firepit, and Llovesi and Julan could feel its searing heat from where they sat at Korst's side. The fire lit every face with warm dancing light, but the warmth didn't reach many of the eyes in the room, most of which were fixing Llovesi and Julan with apprehension. There was less outright hostility in many of the gazes, but a lot of confusion, fear and coldness.
Llovesi scanned the faces before her. Young and old alike stared openly back. Even the youngest children playing in the front rows would pause their games to steal looks at the strangers. Tharsten Heart-Fang's throne was empty, and he sat among his people directly opposite her, the flames reflecting amber in his silver hair. His eyes were the hardest and darkest of all, his gaze unflinching. I have given you a chance, it said, and there were no words for the threat contained beneath that look.
Heart-Fang stood and the quiet hush in the hall became utter silence. Llovesi felt rather than saw every gaze turn from her and Julan to the chieftain.
"Skaal, welcome," he said, his voice quiet and commanding. "It is good that you can be here with us tonight, as we begin the rituals needed to restore the power of the Skaal."
There was a flurry of excitement, running like a tremor through the crowd.
"For too long the Imperials have disturbed our lands. Now the Oneness has left us, and it must be restored. These... strangers." He indicated Llovesi and Julan with a nod of his head. "These... guests shall be the ones to do so. It is their people who have brought this damage; it is right that they should undo it. They shall perform the Ritual of the Gifts."
The attention was once again fixed on Llovesi and Julan. There was still apprehension, but now a few excited and interested looks too. Llovesi saw comprehension in the eyes of some of the older Skaal.
Korst Wind-Eye stood next to her, and cleared his throat softly. The attention of the Greathall swung back to him, and it was even more rapt than that which had been granted to the chieftain.
He has more sway over them than Heart-Fang does, Llovesi found herself thinking,
"Skaal, I thank you," Korst said, and his gruff, quiet voice filled the Greathall. "I stand before you tonight not just as your shaman and guide, but as your keeper of lore and stories. It is an old story I am going to tell. Many of you will know it word for word. Others, this will be the first time you have heard its telling. But I am sure you will feel it – here." He curled his fist and brought it to his chest, beating once above his heart. "It is one of the oldest stories of our people; the story of Aevar Stone-Singer. Now sit quietly and listen. Let the story take root in your heart..."
Korst began to recite the story, entirely from memory. But it was more than a recital; it was a performance. His voice rose and fell, and though he didn't move, Llovesi half felt she could see the story unfolding around them.
"It came to be one day that the powers of the Skaal left them. The strength left the arms of the warriors, and the shaman could no longer summon the beasts to their side. The elders thought that surely the All-Maker was displeased, and some suggested that the All-Maker had left them forever. It was then that the Greedy Man appeared to them and spoke.
"You of the Skaal have grown fat and lazy. I have stolen the gifts of your All-Maker. I have stolen the Oceans, so you will forever know thirst. I have stolen the Lands and the Trees and the Sun, so your crops will wither and die. I have stolen the Beasts, so you will go hungry. And I have stolen the Winds, so you will live without the Spirit of the All-Maker.
"And until one of you can reclaim these gifts, the Skaal will live in misery and despair. For I am the Greedy Man, and that is my nature."
It unfolded like any of the traditional myths Llovesi had heard Ashlander families tell their children. Several members of the tribe refused the call, when a young man named Aevar stepped forward to be their champion.
Aevar volunteered to retrieve the All-Makers gifts on behalf of the Skaal. He travelled to six standing stones, each named for a gift of the All-Maker: Water, Earth, Beast, Tree, Sun and Wind.
At each stone, the All-Maker spoke to Aevar, and set him a task. Each task completed returned a gift to the Skaal.
The children had stopped their games completely, hanging agog off of every word. Smiles touched the eyes of the older Skaal as they felt the familiarity of one of their oldest tales slip back round them like a comfortable robe.
They gasped as Aevar swam the icy northern waters after the Black Horker, sighed as he filled the Cave of Hidden Music with Song, smiled as he healed the Good Beast, laughed as he tricked the Nature Spirits among the trees, shivered as he took an eye from an Unholy Beast to free the sun and cheered softly as he confronted the Greedy Man.
"Who are you," shouted the Greedy Man, "that you would come to my house?"
"I am Aevar of the Skaal," said Aevar. "I am not warrior, shaman, or elder. If I do not return, I will not be missed. But I have returned the Oceans and the Earth, the Trees, the Beasts, and the Sun, and I will return the Winds to my people, that we may feel the spirit of the All-Maker in our souls again."
And with that, he grabbed up the Greedy Man's bag and tore it open. The Winds rushed out with gale force, sweeping the Greedy Man up and carrying him off, far from the island. Aevar breathed in the Winds and was glad. He walked back to the Wind Stone, where the All-Maker spoke to him a final time.
"You have done well, Aevar. You, the least of the Skaal, have returned my gifts to them. The Greedy Man is gone for now, and should not trouble your people again in your lifetime. Your All-Maker is pleased. Go now, and live according to your Nature."
Silence fell in the Greathall as Korst finished the last sentence. He paused a moment with his eyes closed, and the only sounds that could be heard were the crackle of the logs in flame and the collective rise and fall of breath.
"We know how the story traditionally finishes," Korst said eventually. "The Child wants to know more of his Grandfather. 'Then what happened?' he asks. 'That is not how stories end!' he protests. And the Grandfather says?"
"Is it not?" a few of the adults burst out, Brynja among them. A quiet chuckle spread round the room, and for the first time Llovesi saw the warmth that hid beneath the Skaal's sombre exterior. Still, she and Julan turned to each other, mystified by the apparent joke.
"Is it not?" Korst repeated gravely, and a more serious atmosphere returned. "He was right of course. And tonight, we continue Aevar's story, as two others walk in his steps and complete the Ritual of the Gifts."
He looked at Llovesi and Juan, and Llovesi again felt the pressure of gazes and expectations. She realised it was time for them to go, though she had no idea what to do. They stood, somewhat awkwardly.
Korst reached beneath his bench and passed them a cloth-wrapped package.
"This will give you guidance," he said. "May the All-Maker be with you on your travels."
It had snowed heavily again while they had been inside, and piles of the stuff were weighing down the thatched roofs and forming into drifts around the village well.
It was a clear, crisp night, and Llovesi's fingers shook as she unlaced the twine of the package. It was a bundle of clothes and a few tightly rolled parchment scrolls. There was a note from Korst:
The map and the story will guide you. The clothes are enchanted against the cold; you may have to visit some frigid places, and you do not have a Nord's blood.
I see a light in you both. Go well.
Korst.
Julan took the papers while Llovesi shook the clothes loose.
"It's a copy of the story, and a map of the stones," Julan said. "They're all round the island – look."
He handed her the map in exchange for his set of enchanted clothing.
It was a simple outline of Solstheim, even simpler than the map Nibani had given them back in the Ahemmusa Camp. Long, flowing ink lines traced the coastline, cutting through the land to trace the shapes of the four rivers and the lake. Simple bumps in the northwest showed the impressive mountain range that lay there. Dotted around the map were six symbols, embossed onto the parchment: some waves, a hill, a tree, a sun, a beast's head, and a gust of wind.
"Should we follow the story?" Julan asked. "Water first?"
"Water first," Llovesi echoed in agreement, but she felt a small spark of panic. Would they have to complete the same ritual as Aevar? She wasn't a great swimmer; let alone in the Sea of Ghosts this far north.
Llovesi took their own, more detailed map, and traced the stones' locations on top. Then they set off, following the southern slopes of the Moesring mountains west, along the Isild river. The river was frozen into dense ice by the time they reached the coast, and jagged icebergs and rocks jutted from the dark grey water. It was hard to tell what was land and what was ice, and Llovesi really wasn't sure of the difference any more. An icy wind whipped her braids about her face viciously, and she was extremely grateful for Korst's gift of the protective clothes. They watched as a thin lone wolf prowled the slopes below them, ignoring their presence in its search for prey. It was a savage, desolate part of the island. And there, rising from the grey slopes of the hilly terrain: a slim pillar of stone pointing towards the sky.
They stumbled uphill. The Water Stone was a good twenty feet tall, but slim enough that Llovesi could have reached her arms nearly all the way round it. It was hard to tell whether it was a natural formation or an ancient man-made monument. The curved surface bore three carved lines, curving in imitation of waves. The same symbol as the map.
There was a moment's hesitation, then Julan reached out a gloved hand and brushed the waves with his fingertips.
Almost immediately, words began carving themselves into the rock, elegantly carved by an invisible chisel.
Travel west to a small island off the coast, and follow the Swimmer to seek the Water of Life.
Dawn was creeping above the silent grey horizon as they picked their way further west still, clambering over chunks of frozen rock. The small island they found just off the coast was more a floating chuck of ice than anything.
A creature was sitting no, waiting, at the tip of the ice chunk. It was almost exactly like the beast they had seen hunted by Rieklings – a large, blubbery creature, with three prominent tusks protruding from its mouth. However, its thick skin was ebony black instead of grey.
"So, you're a horker?" Llovesi asked softly.
As if in response, the creature waddled forward on its flippers, and slipped into the immense grey ocean. Waiting.
"We should follow it," Julan pointed out. They unlaced their armour and took off their furs until all they were wearing were the enchanted underclothes. Julan took Llovesi's hand and cast a spell. They stepped onto the surface of the water, behind the horker, feeling cold and foolish.
Almost immediately the Black Horker began swimming, rapidly and gracefully. It led them north, and Llovesi and Julan jogged on the surface of the water to keep up. The land was becoming even crueler: vicious chunks of ice burst from the ocean in immense sheets. The ice was no longer grey, but an almost bright blue that stood out against the rest of the landscape. They were passing the glacier on Solstheim's northwestern-most tip. It rose above them, impossibly tall and unending. Between the glacier and the silent grey sea, Llovesi felt very small.
She almost didn't notice that the horker had stopped swimming. It was treading water casually, just a few feet from them.
Julan got to his hands and knees, ripples pooling as he knelt, and peered beneath the surface of the ocean. The icy water soaked dark patches into his clothes, and he shivered.
"There's a crack in the sea-bed down there," he said. "Like a sort of underwater cave."
"Right," Llovesi said, steeling herself as Julan dispelled his water walking spell.
But nothing could prepare her for the feeling as she plunged into the water.
It was like a sword has been driven through her lungs. Immediately all the air left her in a huge scream of air, and she was floundering. She couldn't breath. Her head felt numb and every part of her felt squeezed. She was breathing too quickly. Her lungs couldn't get any air. She was dying. If it wasn't for Korst's clothes she'd be dead already.
"L-Llovesi!" It was Julan, teeth chattering and eyes wide, treading water in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Llovesi, you'll b-be fine! Relax! Just look at me. Look at me. Breathe."
She tried, watching his eyes, his chest rise and fall just above the water, and she realized she was breathing too. She began to tread water. But still her head hurt, and now her limbs felt as though they were on fire, as if the water were digging vicious pinches into her flesh. Ever breath came ragged.
"Okay," she managed. "L-let's just d-do this."
They dove together. Followjng Julan down, Llovesi found herself in an eerier underwater world. It was silent, blue, and dark. The ice seemed to glow around them, and that was how she spotted the cave below them, a dark maw gaping in the pale ice. They pushed downwards, deeper and deeper. Llovesi throat and limbs were burning with effort even as the water pressed around her. They reached the crevice, and pulled themselves through, fingers scraping against the icy walls.
Inside was all angles, cramped and dark. Were it not for the soft blue glow of the glacier ice, Llovesi would have been utterly blind. She groped her way forward, kicking her legs, trying not to panic. But the walls pressed so close, and the cold was so heavy. The crack seemed to move in all directions, and she was swimming up and down, left and right and back on herself. She tried to focus on Julan's legs kicking in front, but all she could see were bubbles, darkness and ice. She needed to breathe. And suddenly she could hold her breath no longer, her mouth was open and she was choking on the water rushing in, her hands, groping wildly, found land... Land?
With her last bit of resolve, Llovesi kicked upwards, and pulled herself out of the water, heaving and spluttering. Julan was there already, helping her out, hitting her on the back to dislodge the water. Llovesi coughed and blinked back tears, shivering as she came back to herself. They were sitting in a small ice cave, lit only by the odd glow of the ice. There were bones scattered about.
"W-wha?" Llovesi tried to ask.
"A sk-skeleton," Julan said, slipping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing them. "It was g-guarding this." He held up a small silver bottle in his other hand. Llovesi could hear liquid moving inside.
"The W-water of Life?" she asked.
"Well, I d-didn't see any other mysterious b-bottles in here," Julan replied, cracking a half-hearted smile.
Not wanting to wait any longer, but dreading the return all the same, Llovesi stood, then waded back into the icy water.
They swam back to their furs and armour, calmer, but no less cold. They dressed quickly with trembling fingers forced onwards back to the Water Stone. Julan placed the small bottle at the base of the stone, and they stepped back. For a moment, it seemed nothing was going to happen, then the writing on the stone disappeared, as if an invisible hand had swiftly rubbed it away. There was a rumble, then the surface of the stone began to shine. Ripples were moving up its length, disappearing into sky. Llovesi, momentarily forgetting her cold in wonder, leant forward.
"It's water," she said. "I guess that means we did it." The droplets of water danced up the stone as they turned their backs and sunk to the ground, too exhausted to move another step. Llovesi summoned a small flame, and held it between them for as long as she could. They had no wood to burn, no tent to cover them.
"One down," Julan said, brushing his frozen hair back from his forehead.
They watched as waves stirred the ocean to life in the distance.
A/N: Last August, when I somewhat flippantly said 'see you in three months', I didn't secretly mean seven, I promise. I am very sorry for the large gaps in my updates. It's been hard for me to write for various reasons, and I can't be sure when the next update will come - all I can say is that I won't let this fic 'die'. Thanks for sticking with me, if you have.
