14
.~~~.
The door groaned open as Tobias, Anvil's blacksmith, strolled out of the Chapel of Dibella and into the stone-paved street. He stopped, scratched at his shoulder where Ysadette had healed the burn mark from his latest accident, before raising a hand to wave goodbye to her. He didn't give his thanks in a verbal manner, but judging by the direction he walked, Ysa guessed he was on his way back to his forge. From what she gathered in the one-sided conversation they'd shared, he would mutter his words of gratitude when he noticed he could swing a hammer without wincing in pain at every flex of his muscles.
It was for that reason Ysadette was glad to see him go, actually. As blatant a violation to the Chapel's rules about expecting favors in return as it was, a sizable part of her wished he'd offer to lower Andard's debt as thanks. Her small talk about his pregnant wife and how happy she was for them both didn't seem to pierce that icy exterior of his, either. After enough failed attempts, she understood why Andard didn't bother to put up a fight. Much like Andard, Tobias seemed to have two minds; one for camaraderie and one for the impartiality that was business. Unlike Andard, however, the two halves didn't seem to overlap in any noticeable way.
When the doors shut again, the chapel fell quiet – save for the whispering priestesses exchanging the juiciest gossip. Ysadette rubbed her hands along her back, hoping it would alleviate the soreness that arisen from standing on the hard stone floor for the better part of the day. She slumped down in the pews when she was sure none of the priestesses were looking her way.
That morning, she'd told herself that she would stop at midday at the latest. But, there she was, still in the Chapel an hour before sunset and feeling as if she'd rather lie down in the pews for the night than drag herself back home. Healing the wounds of one or two of Anvil's people wasn't a difficult job. Such spells were easy enough to cast, but having to mend a seemingly endless line of injuries without a break left her mind an incoherent mess.
And, sensing a moment to rest, her wandering thoughts decided they wanted nothing more than to vex her by asking the same unanswered questions about Ulpo.
"A fool," Ulpo had said. The words left her chilled to the bone every time she thought of them, of the language his limp body communicated as he spoke.
Ysadette had tried to coax him into explaining himself. All he'd do is laugh, cross his eyes and call her a "silly girl." It seemed that only the forgetful old elf was there, never answering her questions because he claimed he had no idea what she was talking about. The remorseful figure that he'd been for a short time hadn't peeked out since.
At times, she wondered if she wanted him to anyway. It only made her wonder if she had made a mistake bringing him into her home.
"Something on your mind, dear?" Mother Lalia, the eldest priestess in the Chapel, said as she approached.
"What makes you think that?" Ysa asked as Lalia sat down next to her.
"Well, you've been acting a bit distant today," she said. She folded her hands in her lap and exhaled. "Are you and Andard having any, er, issues because of him losing his store? Anything you want to talk to me about?"
Ysadette shook her head. "He's been worried to death about how he's going to pay off his debts with an income of zero Septims, but otherwise he seems to be relatively unfazed by what's happened," she said, squeezing her thumbs together until they were red. "I suppose his happiness could also be insincere, though."
It is my fault, after all. He's probably furious with me, but he doesn't want to say it.
Lalia took Ysadette's hands in her own. "Don't you worry yourself about it," she said. "Andard is a good man. He has a good heart in his chest and a good head on his shoulders. The Divines would've considered that plenty for most people, but they've given him an extra advantage that nobody else in the world has."
Ysa titled her head at Lalia. "And that is?"
Lalia's lined face softened into a smile warm enough Ysadette could feel it radiating through their joined hands. "He has you by his side," she said. "As long as the both of you are together, I don't have a doubt in my mind that you'll be able to overcome anything that comes your way."
"That's what I'm worried about the most," Ysa said, exhaling the uncomfortable breath trapped in her chest. "What if I'm not able to help? What if in some way I'm the one that caused the problem? What then?"
"Listen to me, dear," Lalia said, tightening her grip on Ysa's hands. "You aren't going to be perfect and you don't have to be. Do you remember what I told you that day you came to me, bawling your eyes out because you thought you'd made him angry? When you were worried that he didn't want anything to do with you anymore?"
Ysa's cheeks grew hot. "I, er, remember." More than three years behind her and that day still made her want to shrink until she was invisible. The number of people in Anvil that saw her sobbing her way across town was something she could go to the grave not knowing and still have peace.
"Tell me what I said, then," Lalia insisted.
Ysa rolled her shoulders forward. "That if he really loves you, he'll stand by you no matter what happens, even when he's angry," she said. "He knows that you aren't perfect all the time. And he knows that he can't be perfect all the time either and that you'd be there to make up his difference. The least he can do is be there to make up yours."
"And?"
"And to wipe the running eyeliner from my cheeks and keep my head up," Ysa said. "Hard feelings will come to both of us at some point, but it's up to us whether or not we let them go."
Lalia's grin was an unfettered display of self-assuredness. "So?"
Ysa shrugged. "It's a wonderful sentiment, I suppose. But I don't think sentiments can fix a collapsed building and dig us out of debt."
Lalia shook her head, sighing until she'd deflated her lungs completely. "You're still awfully young, dear," she said. "You've got plenty of time to – "
A scream broke the peace inside the chapel. Ysadette pulled away from Lalia and whirled around to see a priestess shoved to the ground. The priestess scrambled away as a pair of blue-robed figures entered. Their faces were mostly obscured by the hoods, making the already towering figures more imposing than they had any right to be.
"Thalmor Justiciars," Mother Lalia whispered almost immediately. "Why in Dibella's name are they here? We've done nothing wrong!"
Ysadette's stomach knotted. She had heard stories of the Justiciars, about how they were always lurking in the shadows. She'd never seen them up close. Not while she was back home in High Rock and not in all the years she'd lived in Cyrodiil. After finally having the displeasure of seeing them right in front of her, she knew that she never wanted to again.
One of the Thalmor Justiciars paused for a moment and scanned the chapel, disregarding the priestesses with a loathing glare.
Ysadette searched for any reason to leave, but she couldn't look away from them. If they were as ruthless as she'd heard, then giving them any reason to notice her would throw her life in question.
As if one of the Justiciars was fed up with his own air of mystery, he tugged at the back of his hood and revealed his face.
The long wisps of his white hair were like clouds stretched thin – almost to translucency – and placed on someone's head to fall freely to his chest. His skin was much the same; pale. Not a hint of an Altmer's typical gold tone was present, but it was almost as white as the snow-capped mountain peaks to the North. Still, there was something ghastly about him as well that made his ethereality turn sour.
Ysa didn't have to wait long to find out why.
Mother Lalia swooned and clasped her hands together. She bowed her head in prayer. "Not him," she choked, "Please, Lady Dibella. Preserve us. Please, please don't let him take anyone away."
"Who is he?" Ysa asked, trying to keep the tone of her voice from turning frantic.
Lalia didn't seem to hear her. She glanced up at the Thalmor agents and recoiled again. She shut her eyes tighter until they were lost in wrinkles. "Maybe he left it at home," she muttered. "Maybe we're safe."
"Left what at home?" Ysa scream-whispered. "Mother Lalia, please!"
The Justiciar continued to look over the room, posture stiff and proper, yet disinterested and self-assured.
Until his scrutinizing gaze stopped at Ysadette. He clasped his hands behind his back and whispered something in the ear of his comrade. "You there," he said, pointing directly at Ysadette. "Come here."
Ysadette shot a glance at Lalia, hoping for advice. Lalia was still deep in her blank-gazing panic attack and muttering words incoherently. Ysa gulped – the pounding in her chest stopping and starting like even it didn't know what to do – but she stood to her feet and walked around the pews towards the Justiciar anyway. She could already feel his impatience bearing down on her. And the eyes of the other priestesses watching in horror.
"What is your name, Breton?" he asked.
"Ysadette Ence," she answered.
His eyes narrowed at her. "I am Lord Ravano," he said and pushed his hand against his chest. "Grand Headsman of the Third Aldmeri Dominion and ranking officer of the Thalmor Embassy here in Cyrodiil." He quickly traced her with his eyes. "You don't appear to be one of the priestesses."
"I'm not," Ysa said, "But I come by to help them heal the wounded whenever I can."
A sly smirk grew on Ravano's face. "Then, you're a mage?" he said. "At the very least, you're someone with magical prowess ample enough for the Chapel to place its trust in you?"
Ysa nodded. "I am, but what does that…"
Lord Ravano waved his hand to silence her. "The Aldmeri Dominion was alerted to a magical anomaly in this city a few days ago," he said. "My associate and I were dispatched by direct order from Queen Andralia of Alinor to investigate the cause of this disturbance. We are to interrogate every unaffiliated mage in this city until we find the culprit. Now, if you'll cooperate, this will only take a moment of your time." Lord Ravano motioned to the Justiciar at his side. "Go ahead, Morar."
Morar, the other Justiciar, grabbed Ysa by the back of the neck jabbed two fingers to her forehead.
She tried to push him away but unwelcome energy surged through her mind and bounced around in her skull like a bolt of lightning.
"Residual energy mixed with her innate magicka stores," Morar said, his voice flat as a plateau. "Same as everyone else in town, it seems."
"She's the last one that's listed in the census," Lord Ravano said, "Are you sure there isn't anything else?"
"Yes, I…" Morar paused and frowned, adjusting his fingertips.
Ysa's heart dropped into her stomach and tried to keep going when it hit the bottom.
"No, actually," he said. "I felt something just a moment ago. Something different." He removed his hand from her neck and patted her on the shoulder as if to comfort her before putting both thumbs on her forehead and poking around in her further.
"Any idea of what it may have been?" Ravano asked.
Morar pursed his lips and moved his fingers around on the side of Ysadette's head. "I've never felt anything like it. I'm sorry."
"Then describe it," Ravano said, sounding irritable, "As best as you are able."
"Heat?" Morar said, sounding unsure. "Some peculiar thumping as well. Intensifying the heat with its rhythm. As if someone were pounding a drum from far away. I'm not sure how else to put, to be honest with you." Morar's eyes widened and a soft chuckle crawled out of his lips. "My, my. And something else I believe I am familiar with."
Kynareth, Dibella, Y'frre, Magnus. Please. Please let him be wrong. Please, just let him be an idiot.
Morar blinked hard and he removed his hands from Ysa's head, dropping them to his side. "Daedra. No doubts there," he said, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the Chapel. "I'm not sure when, but she's had dealings with one before. Judging by what I'm feeling, I believe it was no less than a Prince. Always have been fond of leaving their marks on those that dare to associate with them."
Ysadette could see the priestesses, including Mother Lalia, cower at that revelation. They couldn't know. Would they think of her differently? Would they turn on her?
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. A little treasure trove, aren't you?" Ravano said, smirking that self-aggrandizing smirk he seemed to wear as often as he could. "However, we aren't Vigilants of Stendarr. I have very little interest in her supposed involvement with the Daedra."
"Then there is no more," Morar said. "What do you make of this, Milord?"
Lord Ravano crossed his arms and looked at Ysadette through eyes squinted so heavily they were barely lines. He stroked his chin, nodding and moving his lips as if speaking to himself.
Ysadette fought her urge to sprint. She didn't know where to. Anywhere but there. Before he found out more.
Ravano paced around her once more, his gaze scorching her as he looked for things she was afraid to think about. He stopped when he was in front of her again.
"I suppose that will be all then," Ravano said and motioned for Morar to follow. He stopped short of leaving the chapel and bowed his head, glancing at everyone in the Chapel except for Ysa. "I apologize, priestesses, for interrupting your worship. Please, I beg you to forgive me for my intrusion."
Ravano raised his head up and locked his eyes on Ysadette. As a final act, he turned to shut the door behind him and flashed a smirk at her as if he knew how close she was to breaking.
It chilled her to the bone. Part of her wanted to scream. The other part wanted to be sick, but her throat closed on the rising burn and shut out the air trying to force its way in and out of her lungs.
He knew. He knew everything. They were going to come after her. For what she'd done. Or for Ulpo. That was the only explanation. It had to be.
Mother Lalia cleared her throat almost a full minute after they had left. She folded her hands and ascended the steps towards the entryway where Ysa was stuck in place. Her footsteps sounded so loud. "Dear," she said as she placed a hand on Ysa's shoulder gentle enough that she wouldn't move something as lightweight as a feather, "I-I believe you need to go now."
Ysadette pushed her hand away and turned to face her. "I haven't associated with any Daedra," she sputtered. "You have to believe me. I would never…"
"Shh," Lalia wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight. "I know. I know you wouldn't. It was just a tactic of theirs. An attempt to frighten you into talking. But you need to listen to me. And listen well."
"I'm listening," Ysa said.
"You must not stay here," Lalia said, her fingers clenching the back of Ysa's head. "You cannot stay here. Do you understand?"
Ysadette could feel the Lalia's entire body shaking against her. "Yes."
"You need to go home," Mother Lalia said. "Find Andard and go home. Close your windows. Lock the door and don't answer it no matter who knocks. Not even if it's one of us. Pack whatever it is you need and get out of Anvil." Lalia shuddered again, daring to breathe. "Tonight. Don't wait. Don't speak to anyone else on your way. Go straight there. Right now."
The moment Ysadette was free from Lalia's arms, she rammed the door open and ran into the brick streets. This couldn't be happening.
Please, she prayed as she ran, Anyone that is listening. Preserve us.
.~~~.
Ysadette should've known that the witch was going to choose somewhere swampy. In all the stories she'd heard, Ysa couldn't figure out if they choose those places because they liked them or not. To her, the feeling of Divines knew what squishing underneath her feet as she trudged through the swamp was something deserving of her most disgusted gagging. It was even worse because of the rain that had come through recently, too.
Sloppy goop that turned her stomach at the slightest whiff had traveled all the way up to her waist. Either it was because of Glodon's thrashing around at the smallest of stirring in the swamp or from the two times she'd fallen into a hole. She'd already been far beyond caring where it came from. The moment she was back in Chorrol, she'd take not one, not two, but three baths until she couldn't even remember the smell of the swamp. Maybe even four.
She didn't even want to think about how rancid it must've been without a stopped-up nose.
"You sure she'd come out here?" Glodon asked, walking with an exaggerated gait. "I mean, the old lady we tried robbing looked awfully frail. I can't imagine her making this kind of trip every day."
Ysa didn't bother to look over her shoulder at him. Let alone offer a verbal response. Glodon had complained the entire way, despite her assurance that Clairvoyance wasn't going to lead them wrong this time. She knew what she felt in the woods where the witch had supposedly been. That kind of magic she knew from firsthand experience.
"Look, I'm over here trying to make nice," Glodon said. "You could at least try and do the same since we might be the last person either sees while we're alive."
Ysa stopped. "Are you ready to give me my necklace back?"
Glodon shut his mouth.
"Until then, I don't have any intention of being nice," Ysa said. She sank knee-deep into the mud. She yelled a curse to the sky and worked her way back up again. "I wouldn't even be out here if it wasn't for you. You and the rest of your friends could be living long, healthy lives if you hadn't dedicated yourself to robbing travelers, you know."
Glodon shrugged. "I suppose we could. But I've never met a nice man that has coin too."
Ysa whipped her head around and glared at him. "And I've never met a bandit that isn't painfully moronic."
She didn't need to imagine how that probably got under his skin. "Keep that up and I'll never tell you where your necklace is," Glodon said.
A cough barreled out of her lungs as she opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him. There were more important things at stake than winning a verbal battle with him, so she let him have the last word. For now.
After wading through mud much longer than Ysa had hoped they would have to do, the swampiness began to lessen. The ground, while still sloppy, regained a bit of firmness and the smell grew considerably better. The relief it granted her already exhausted legs was even more welcome than the clearer air. Evening had become night by then, making the long shadows in the swamp grow taller – resembling monsters reaching out for them both.
She supposed there was a monster lurking nearby. One she hoped she'd be able to avoid meeting with again.
It was far into the night when the fog trail of Clairvoyance encircled a rickety house in the middle of a clearing. Ysadette swallowed hard.
Glodon crept up behind her and followed her line of sight. "That's it?" he whispered. "It just looks like a plain old house!"
"Wait until we get closer," Ysa said. "You won't be saying that for long."
The details of the hanging decorations became clear as they approached the torchlight clearing. Bones – some still bloodied – and poisonous substances that Ysa only knew from Suleh's alchemy manuals were hanging from the crooked tree limbs. Severed heads of various animals, forest trolls included, were hanged as well, much to her surprise.
Ysa held out her arm to stop Glodon before they passed beyond the wooden spikes marking the witch's territory. "Before we go any further, I want to make myself very clear," she said. "You aren't going to say anything unless I say so. Not a word. Understand?"
"Think I'll mess it up?"
"Yes," Ysadette said. "Witches in service to Daedric Princes are known for being extremely ill-tempered. Probably a side-effect of being reviled by everyone and everything, right as they may be. Peryite and his followers are among the most reviled because of what he represents, right beside Molag Bal and Namira. Couple that with the fact that you've already made yourself an enemy of her and I'd consider you extraordinarily lucky if she doesn't simply kill you on sight."
Glodon nodded. "Makes sense. But we're probably as good as dead anyway if you don't figure something out so I don't see how it matters."
Ysa huffed and started towards the house. "Just be quiet and let me try to resolve this without bloodshed."
"And if you can't?" Glodon asked.
"You already said it. We're probably as good as dead anyway."
Ysadette stood at the door and knocked, steadying her breath as she heard stirring from the other side. One part of negotiating was keeping a level head. If she couldn't do that, keeping the other party from noticing would do well enough.
The door opened and an old woman with her gray hair pulled into a tight bun stepped out. She looked at Ysadette and laughed. "Lost in the swamp, are we?" she asked. "Town is the other way. Hop to it before something bad happens to you."
Ysa shook her head and coughed. "Drop the act. You know why I'm here," she said and pointed to Glodon. "I assume you recognize this Bosmer."
The witch folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "I do," she said, her smile growing across her wrinkly face. "One of the same that tried to rob me. And one of the original few that received the blessing."
Glodon opened his mouth but shut it again when Ysadette glared at him.
"I guess you're here about the blessing, too, aren't you?" the witch said. "Spread from him to you. From you to others, didn't it? Lord Peryite's gifts are a beautiful thing, aren't they? So intelligent, so virulent that you'd think they have a mind of their own."
Ysa crossed her arms. "You can stop trying to cushion the truth," she said. "It's not a blessing. It's a curse and you know it."
The witch lowered her chin and laughed. "What you call a curse, I call a blessing," she said. "How could you come to know the Taskmaster without first being given his gifts? How could you prepare yourself to meet him face-to-face in The Pits without understanding that he was by your side at your most vulnerable? That he was teaching you through your pain?"
"Because I know him already," Ysa said. "And I've decided that I want nothing to do with him."
The witch raised an eyebrow. "A former worshipper?"
"A curious child that couldn't truly comprehend what she was dealing with," Ysa said. "And one that grew into a wiser woman who understands how vile most of the Princes truly are. And how their followers only submit to them because they're afraid."
The witch chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you were," she said. "You've got the look about you. The look of a woman who knows more than she lets on. Who knows things she's afraid of knowing, yet craves more. Until she's lost herself in knowledge forbidden to us whose lives are but a single note in the world's song." The witch stopped to lick her cracked lips. "Oh, but take care, fledgling Seeker, where it is that you search. You just may catch the eyes of the One you shouldn't."
Ysa shook her head. "Play your mind-games all you like," she said, "I'm not going to entertain you. I came here to have this curse removed and I'm not leaving you in peace until it is."
The witch's smile deepened. She pushed off from the doorframe and strolled into the house, gesturing to follow with her finger.
"You can't be serious!" Glodon snapped.
"I said be quiet!" Ysa shouted. She couldn't afford to have his flapping gums mess things up after she'd already made it so far. "Come inside with me. I have this under control."
Glodon nodded slowly and grumbled curses under his breath as they both entered the house. The creaky door shut behind them and locked itself.
It smelled foul inside the house. Ysadette figured it would. Being in the Chapel exposed her to some grizzly wounds – some horrifyingly infected. The air inside the tiny shack didn't smell much different, but it was, like all things at the moment, another distraction to prevent her from striking a deal. None of them would be successful.
The witch sat down in a chair next to the fireplace and rocked it back and forth. A rather sizable rat, a gangrenous laceration deep enough to see it's spine jutting from its back, scampered across the floor. It settled behind the witch's chair and watched Ysa with unflinching attention despite the fact that she was sure it was utterly blind.
"You're my guests, aren't you?" the witch asked. "Sit down. Rest your feet. Perhaps I'll whip us up something to eat!" The witch rocked back in her chair and laughed.
Ysa narrowed her eyes at the witch until she stopped giggling. "I'll stand, thank you," she said.
The witch breathed another laugh through her nose. "My word! Aren't you an unpleasant one?"
Ysadette coughed into her hand, feeling the resurgence of her symptoms. "Being told I'm going to die in a few days doesn't do me any favors in controlling my temper, I'm afraid," she said. "Now, I'm not new to this so let's not waste any time. I know that your type commonly makes deals with those that dare to seek you out."
The witch nodded – silent except for the creaking of her chair.
"I can bring you whatever it is that you want so long as you remove the curse from everyone that's been affected by it," Ysadette said.
Rocking in her rocking chair, the witch only nodded as if she expected Ysa to continue.
"So?" Ysa asked, shifting her weight to one side so she wouldn't wobble visibly. "Are you going to speak up or not?"
The witch shook her head. "I'm afraid there isn't anything you can do," she said. "Anything that you'd be willing to do, that is."
"You say that as if it's surprising," Ysa said. "I've already said that I'm not new to this. Your type always wants awful things done to innocent people. That's why you're unwelcome anywhere you go."
The witch crossed her leg over the other and licked her lips again, evidently pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. "Oh, but that is the issue isn't it?" she asked. "Always demanding that innocent blood is spilled, aren't we?"
Ysa narrowed her eyes. The witch wasn't about to gain a conscience. Not now.
She licked her lips once more. "I like you, girl," she said. "You remind me a bit of myself when I was young. When luring men into my home was as simple as showing a bit of leg and a wink."
"That's not much of a compliment, coming from you," Ysadette said.
The witch grinned wide. "If you weren't so ugly, that is," she said. "Tell me, does anyone find that nose attractive? How about those small features of yours?"
"Resorting to childish insults?" Ysa said, tilting her head to one side and smiling as insincerely as the witch was. "Aren't you a bit too old for that?"
Glodon stood back, looking between them as if he also wanted to join into the insult exchange, but Ysadette glared at him once more to make sure he didn't.
The witch didn't laugh anymore, but her smile didn't waver either. She stood up from her rocking chair and shuffled across the room towards the fire.
Her pet rat bounded away into the dark, still watching Ysadette with its cloudy eyes.
"I suppose I am getting old, thank you very much," she said as she opened up a small box on the mantle. "And I don't imagine I've got many years left in this world so I won't waste any more of our time together in it." The witch removed a deep purple gem as thick as her spindly arm. She turned and tossed it to Ysadette. "Here, then. You know what must be done. Get to it, girl."
Ysa held the gem in both hands, closing her fingers around it as she fought off the urge to throw it back at the old woman. Damn her.
Glodon peered over Ysa's shoulder. "What is it?" he asked.
The witch crossed her arms. "Oh, don't look so horrified," she said. "You were the one complaining about how my 'type' is always asking for innocent blood. Innocent souls, rather. I won't ask for one, then."
Ysadette held the gem to her chest. The witch had her right where she wanted her to be.
Glodon looked up at the witch, confusion present on his face. "What do you want, then?"
"A soul that isn'tinnocent. One that's tainted with greed," the witch emphasized, locking her gaze on Glodon. "Yours, for instance."
Glodon froze. "What?" he gasped. "W-why do you want me?"
"I've been in need of a soul for an enchantment I wish to perform. A black one, specifically," the witch said. "Only found in living, sentient beings of humanoid shape. I used to have plenty of them tucked away in my strongbox, but I've found the swamp too strenuous to traverse as of late and the travelers fewer than before. Without any means of replenishing them, my supply of soul gems finally ran dry over the past few months."
Glodon stepped back until he was pressed against the wall. "T-then why don't you just use something else?" he asked. "What about one from a bird? Wouldn't that work?"
The witch frowned. "Souls from animals don't hold the same power that ones found in both man and mer," she said. "As the strength of the enchantment increases, so does the power that's required to place it. In order to place the strongest enchantments, only a black soul will suffice."
Glodon turned around and grabbed the door handle. He pulled on it with all his might, yet despite it's worn appearance, it didn't budge.
Ysadette squeezed the soul gem in her hands. "Is there any other way?" she asked.
The witch shook her head. "No," she said. "If you want me to remove the curse from you and those who've been affected by it, then you'll fetch me his soul. It's only fair, isn't it? That he pay for his crimes? That you have your revenge on him?"
Ysa looked at the witch. Wrong move. Never show your surprise in a negotiation.
"He has something of yours, doesn't he?" the witch asked. "Something very dear to you. Something that means so much that you would risk your life to have it back, to feel the cool touch of it against your skin."
Ysa avoided the witch's eyes. She still had a chance to salvage this. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Oh please, child," the witch said with a chuckle, "I could hear it before you arrived. The pain it feels being cut off from you causes it to wail without end. As you would, should you not have it returned to you."
"It's just a trinket," Ysa said. The words tried to choke her on the way out.
"Do you want to know a secret?" the witch asked as she approached Ysadette and laid her hands on her shoulders. "I want you to have it back. Yes, I'm telling the truth. Some feelings can linger on an item. They can gain their own power. A power that you can claim as your own. That I want you to claim as your own." The witch leaned over until her lips were almost touching Ysadette's ear. "Fitting, no? Isn't that what knowledge is to you, child? Is it not power? Isn't that all you truly want from life?"
Ysa pushed her away and spun around to face Glodon. She focused all the anger she'd felt for him since he'd ripped her necklace away that day in the rain to bring embers to life in her palm.
"Please, you can't do this!" he shouted, yanking the door handle again before dropping to his knees. "I'll give you your necklace back! Just let me live!"
The witch threw her head back and laughed. "Where is the confidence you had when you held your dagger against my throat?" she said, cackling with glee. "Where are your threats? Have they failed you?"
Ysadette clenched her fist and the embers became a roaring fire.
Glodon put his face against the floor. "Don't do this!" he screamed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for stealing from you!"
Ysadette raised her hand and readied the fireball in it. Glodon continued to scream. Without looking, Ysa spun on her heel and launched the fireball at the witch.
A plume of fire erupted from the spot the witch was standing on, but her laughing continued. As it died down, Ysa could see that the old woman was still there, not even the grayest of her hairs singed.
Ysadette wasn't surprised.
"Did you believe that you'd gain the upper hand on me, child?" she cackled, dusting off an ember that settled on her shoulder. "Do you think that you're the first person to try that? I've dealt with innumerable visitors that thought they could simply toss a bit of flame at me and turn me to dust. I learned how to cast and how to repel all manners of fire spells when I was barely able to speak. You'll need to try much harder than - "
Ysa readied Telekinesis in her hand, the same she was holding the soul gem in. With a flick of her wrist, the soul gem became a projectile.
It slammed into the witch's forehead. She stumbled back, her arms flailing around. The gem didn't stop until it embedded itself in the wood panel of the wall.
Ysa yanked her arm back like she was holding a rope. The soul gem ripped out from the wall. She stuck her arm out straight and locked her elbow. With a flick of her fingers, the gem hurtled towards the witch again and struck her square in the back.
The witch's playfulness vanished. She snagged the gem and held it in front of herself. "So, you want to throw my things around, do you?" She let go of the gem.
Ysa pulled again, but it didn't move.
The hanging decorations on the walls shuddered. The fire roared until it outgrew the mantle. A knife on the table across the room shot towards Ysa. She threw her arm up.
Her vision went white. Pain traveled up her forearm like lava had replaced her blood. Ysa grabbed the knife and yanked it out of her arm.
"Then let's throw things!" the witch screamed. A free hanging bone decoration tore free from its string and slammed into Ysa's back. It whirled around and hit her in the stomach, forcing the breath out of her.
Ysa held up both hands and curled her fingers. Both the gem and the knife came to her side – the bone shivering the air as they both fought for dominance over it. Ysa turned the knife at the witch.
"I'm not going to ask again!" Ysa shouted, "Remove the curse!"
The witch mirrored her stance. The house shuddered. Cracks ran up the wall and the fire lifted from the fireplace, swirling into a dense ball of heat. "Then what are you waiting for? Give it your best shot, girl!"
"Stop this at once!" A booming voice commanded.
The witch's eyes went wide. She let go of everything she was holding and planted her face against the floor in an instant.
Ysa threw her hands forward. The gem and knife rocketed towards the old woman.
The rat hiding in the corner sprinted out from the dark and leaped into the air, catching the knife with its own body. Not a squeak came from its tiny mouth as it landed. Instead, it simply turned to face Ysadette and sat straight up.
A skittering sound filled the room. Through every orifice in the house, a legion of rats – all sick and decaying like the first and largest one – scrambled in.
Glodon screeched and clawed at the walls as they amassed around the first one, piling their bodies on top of each other until it was high enough to see Ysadette eye-to-eye.
The witch's pet rat did its best to smile given that it didn't have the facial structure needed for the action. "My, how you've grown," it said in the booming voice that had spoken before. The air seemed to rot at the sound. "I didn't recognize you at first, but now I can see that it is indeed you. It's been a while since we've spoken."
Ysadette healed the bleeding wound on her arm. "It hasn't been long enough," she muttered, trying not to vomit at the sight of the disgusting creature, "Peryite."
The rat's face twisted oddly as he snickered. "You do remember me, then?" Peryite asked. "Remind me, how many years has it been since I healed your mother of her disease?"
"Twenty," Ysa said, crossing her arms. "And you didn't heal her. She was still sickly when I left High Rock so don't go patting yourself on the back for it."
"Ah, but how beautiful she was in her time of affliction," the rat said. "How her skin erupted with boils that would bring her to tears at the slightest touch. How her muscles atrophied from so many months of disuse, leaving her stranded alone in her bed as she watched the days passing from her window. How her tongue remained dry even as you brought her buckets of water to drink."
"And I won't ever forgive you for putting her through any of that," Ysa said. She leaned forward until she was looming over the rat and glared into his cloudy eyes.
"But it brought you into my presence, did it not?" Peryite said. "Isn't that cause for celebration?"
"I was eight years old," Ysa hissed. "You dangled her life in front of me as if it were your toy to play with. In case I didn't make myself clear back then, allow me to do so now. I want nothing to do with you and I never will."
Peryite stuck his head out and grinned. "Then I suppose we shouldn't waste any time in catching up," he said. "You've come here about my blessing, so let us speak about it. Mortal to immortal. Human to Prince of Oblivion."