CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Twenty Four Years Later

I was awoken by an eagle's cry.

My eyes snapped open instantly, and my ears angled instinctively towards the sound as it ripped through the cold air. The wild, fierce call sent a shiver through me. In my mind's eye, I could see the bird spreading its wings and lifting away from the crag where it perched, soaring up, free and happy, into a clear, bright sky. In that moment, as its screech faded away, I wanted to nothing more than spread wings of my own and take off into the heavens, to leave behind the world of mortals and all the pain and anger and hatred and suffering that dwelt in it.

But I had no wings. No freedom.

I lay in my shelter for a few seconds, listening to the chirrups of birds and the sound of trees swaying in the wind, trying to work out the time. From the sound of birdsong, and the bright light falling through the walls of my tent, it must be early morning. I let out a short gasp. I'd slept too long.

I leaped to my feet and ran outside. I was right- the great golden circle of the sun had just lifted itself above the horizon. The sky was swamped with thick, woolly clouds, clearly laden with snow. The dew on the trees had frozen, and some bore icicles on their branches. The air was thick with mist and cold, cold that instantly chilled me right down to the bone. I shivered, wishing I had something warmer to wear than my Guild armour. Years of wear and tear had done little to make it cold resistant.

A songbird chirruped in a tree above me, and burst into song. I knew that song well. Twenty five years in the wild had made me alert to the ways of nature. It was the song of a male proclaiming the coming of the morning. And it was the dead of winter. The birds woke with the sun, and the sun woke later and later in the day. It must be at least seven o'clock. I'd definitely slept too long. Sleeping too long was dangerous- it put you at risk. Wolves. Bandits. Bears. Sabre cats. The occasional Frostbite spider, in this, the northern part of Skyrim. I'd been lucky. Nothing had found me. But I shouldn't have put myself at risk. I should have slept lightly and for a few hours at most. That was what was safest. But I'd been asleep the whole night. Deeply, too. How could I have been so foolish?

I would have to get moving. Quickly. I'd learned from bitter experience never to stay in the same place for too long. I started to run through the list of tasks I'd have to do before I could leave. One- dismantle my shelter. Make it look like no one had ever been there. If I were to leave traces, it could be my death. This first task was simple- my tent was nothing more than a bear's pelt strapped to a few poles. I ducked inside and pulled out my sleeping bag- if a few sewn-together horse hides make a sleeping bag- rolled it up, and set it aside. Then I set about pulling my shelter apart. In less than a minute- years of practice had made me swift at this task- my camp was no more than another clearing in the forest, with no sign of ever having been approached by a mortal, except for the charred black patch where I'd lit a fire last night. Tired as I had been, I must have forgotten to cover it. I quickly kicked some snow over the ashes until it was invisible. Now not a trace of me remained but for the footprints in the snow.

Well, that couldn't be helped. And it looked like there was more snow on the way. I paused for a moment, eyeing the large, thick cloud that was slowly making its way over the mountains. The wind was blowing in my direction. That meant the snow cloud would pass over here soon. With luck, that would cover any traces I had left. Next task. Gather equipment. That also wasn't hard, as there was hardly any of it. Bow. Quiver. Dagger. The satchel that contained my herbs and potions. A needle and thread. The piece of steel and shard of flint I used for lighting fires. I tucked my bed roll into my pack, which apart from the remnants of my tent, was empty. And that was it. Those were all the things I possessed.

Still. They weren't much, admittedly, but then again, they were all I needed. And I had survived so far, hadn't I? I had survived, and I would go on surviving. Because that was what my life was about now. Surviving.

From the moment I woke up every morning, I had no other goal but to still be alive at the end of the day. At first, it had been difficult. The first few months had been the hardest. Never before had I been so utterly lost, so completely alone. I had been homeless, helpless, friendless. Constantly hungry, constantly exhausted, constantly afraid. So many times I had come within an inch of death- be it by starvation, dehydration, exposure, or in battle with bandits or predators. But I had learned something about myself during the beginning of my life as an exile. I was an indomitable survivor.

The will to live was strong enough within me to see me through, every time. Over those first months, it had urged me to see the glint of sunlight on water up ahead just as I had been ready to die of thirst. I had given me the strength to keep fighting the bear that wanted nothing more than to feast on my flesh, even though my bowstring had been broken and my knife blunt as a piece of wood. It had seen me through blizzards and storms, floods and wildfire. It had kept me going, despite everything. Despite all the hardship. Despite all the suffering. Despite all the pain I had been carrying in my heart…

No. Don't think about that. Don't think about him.

I swung my pack over my shoulder and turned to face the rising sun. I walked a little way towards its shining face, before turning back and taking in the clearing, examining every inch of it meticulously. I didn't think I'd left any traces, but you could never be too careful. Luckily, though, I had done a good job, and even now the snow was beginning to fall, filling in my footsteps.

I nodded appreciatively and picked a random direction, walking off into the gently swaying pine trees. I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out the remainder of last night's meal- a few nuts. Not much, but enough to keep me going until I found something more substantial.

My senses, as always, were on full alert now, keeping watch for enemies and for prey at the same time. I was searching for food now, despite having only just woken. That was how my days went. They were regular as clockwork. That was best. It meant there was little to surprise me, and I didn't have to be constantly trying to work out what to do next. My routine was simple. Wake up. Clear camp. Get moving. Find food. Eat. Keep moving. Find food again. Find a safe place to stay the night. Make camp. Build a fire, if it was safe to do so. Eat. Put out the fire. Sleep. And that was the way things were.

It might seem strange that most of the day was consumed by the acquisition of food. But it was harder than it seemed, especially in the Pale, where I was now. Finding prey meant hours of tracking, stalking, and hunting. And then, of course, there was the matter of finding the right sort of prey. Rabbits, birds, fish and, if I was really desperate, squirrels were about perfect. Occasionally I'd risk stealing a chicken from some farm, though I avoided this as often as I could. I could never eat the whole bird, and it keeping the meat fresh was an uphill struggle. What was more, kill a chicken, and for some reason the people of whatever town you'd killed it in acted like you'd murdered a beloved child. What I avoided like Rockjoint was taking down big kills, like deer or elk. There was just no point. To be sure, it was tempting, but it was useless. There was no way of using up all that meat, and the scent of such a big carcass attracted predators.

I tramped on through the snow, casting my eyes around for any hint of prey. One of the things my mother had repeatedly drummed into me as a child was that the land told a story. It kept a diary of all the animals that passed through it, in the form of what trackers called 'sign' – any indication of an animal's presence. Scat. Prints. Hairs caught on thorns. Right now, all I could see was snow. Unsurprising, really. This was the worst sort of place for prey. Quite apart from the thick layer of snow, pine forests had little undergrowth and poor cover for animals. I stopped and thought. I wasn't too far away from the Pale's border with Whiterun. If I travelled south, I would come to the places where the snow vanished, and prey was far more plentiful. I turned to the nearest tree. Moss only grew on the north side of trees, so whichever side was opposite the mossy one would be facing south. Within seconds, I had changed direction, and was travelling with my back to the mountains of the north.

It wasn't long before I knew that I had made the right decision. As the whiteness began to thin around me, I found a trail leading through the snow, made by some animal pushing through it. The only question was what sort of animal it was. Various species used trails like this one. I dug my hands beneath the snow and grabbed a handful of the pine needles that lay beneath. I breathed in their scent, and picked up the musky smell of a fox. Cursing under my breath, I got to my feet and carried on. A fox run was no use to me.

A few minutes later, I crouched down again to examine a patch of vegetation that had been clipped by an animal's teeth. This time, I allowed myself a small smile. The stems had been clipped at an angle, a clear sign of some sort of rodent. It could be just a vole or wood mouse, but I hoped it was a rabbit or hare. That would make a good meal.

Further on, I caught sight of a hole in the trunk of a tree. I scraped aside the half-melted snow beneath it, revealing something dark and sticky, made of bones and hair. An owl pellet. Owls regurgitated what they couldn't digest of their meals. Examining their pellets was an easy way to find out what prey the land offered. To my delight, I was able to identify a rabbit bone among this one. I was getting close.

And finally, about an hour before midday, I discovered what every tracker seeks above all other form of sign. Tracks. A trail of pawprints in the snow.

Tracks tell you about an animal more than anything else. The size, the shape, the pattern of the steps. I bent down until I could see them properly. I knew what had made them instantly, from the small size, the style of the print, and the way it was moving. It had been running at a gallop, with the front paws falling first, then the hind feet coming through and landing a little way ahead. Most rodents ran in this way, but the giveaway was the fact that the front feet had landed at a diagonal, the mark of a ground-living creature. Tree dwellers such as squirrels landed with their front feet together. No, judging from the pattern, size and shape, there was only one animal that could have made these tracks. 'Rabbit,' I said in satisfaction, and got to my feet and followed them, making my steps as light and silent as I could.

I knew when I had found the right place. It was in a small, grassy clearing, mostly devoid of snow. The plants were cropped short, and the ground was littered with rabbit scat. Most animals only left scat in places they felt safe. The fact that it was here in plentiful supply meant that the creatures frequented this place. I tested the air, making sure I was downwind, so that it would be harder for them to smell me. I pulled my bow from my shoulder, notched an arrow to it, and sat down on a tree stump a little way away from the clearing to wait.

I had to wait some time. In cold weather like this, most rabbits would be in their burrows, sheltering. But they would have to come up for food sometime. All I had to do was wait until then.

The sun was very nearly at its zenith before I saw a flash of brown fur moving in the bushes. I pulled back my arrow slowly and carefully, making my movements steadily. There was a moment's pause, then the rabbit hopped forwards into the clearing, revealing its whole body. I didn't hesitate for a second before releasing my bowstring. The arrow snapped through the air and into the soft brown form. It collapsed instantly, dead before it had time to run or squeal. I saw white tails bobbing away in a mad, panicked dash as the creature's fellows took flight, and smiled to myself. Today was one day I would not go hungry.

Well, it was one day I would not get as hungry as usual. I hadn't eaten a proper meal since the day it happened.

I took the limp body and tied it to my belt. I would have to put some distance between this place and myself before I could stop and eat. I set off again, heading into the densest part of the wood, knowing that this would be the safest place to make a fire. It was a risky business, fire making in the wilderness. It was all too easy for the smoke to give you away. Still, I was in the middle of one of the most remote parts of the land, and the rabbit wasn't going to cook itself. Most days I would have taken the time to build a fire pit, which would hide the flames and release minimal smoke- but quite apart from the fact that there would probably be nobody around for miles, digging a hole in the frozen-solid ground would have been a near impossibility. I would just have to risk it. Anyway, I could defend myself against anything that might come.

Probably. Hopefully.

I knew I'd found the right place when I reached a slope, a depression in the ground. It was almost as if one of the Divines had scooped a lump out from the hillside. It was a near perfect place- the slopes surrounding it meant that the smoke would be less visible. What was more, it was in an area where the trees were thin, and the snow was thin enough to not pose a problem. I made my way down to the bottom and began gathering firewood- first small twigs and dead leaves, then slightly larger bits of wood, then finally large chunks. I pushed aside the small kindling and pulled out the flint pebble and the piece of steel that were all I would need to set it alight. It was almost failsafe- this was a method that would nearly always work even in the coldest and wettest of condition. I kept my ears pricked for danger as I knelt down, holding my fire starting equipment over the little heap of twigs. I brought the steel and flint smashing into each other, sending up a shower of sparks and a loud clink. Several times I repeated the action, until finally the sparks settled on the brushwood and built up into a glow. I tossed aside my tools and bent down, blowing on the glow until it leaped into a tiny golden flame. I quickly started laying the larger bits of wood over the top, followed by the logs. I let out a sigh of contentment as the warmth began to rise up from the blaze and into the freezing air.

Now the trickier and far less enjoyable task of skinning and preparing the rabbit carcass began, but years of practice, along with the mentoring I had been given from my mother, had made me swift at this task. It took only a few minutes, by which time the fire had built up well enough to be ready to cook with. It wasn't too big, either. Cooking over a ridiculously huge blaze was both idiotic and impossible.

I turned my back on the fire and jogged up the slope towards where the trees began again. I quickly found two sticks of similar size that ended in forks, and a slightly longer, thicker one. I brought them back down to the fire and crushed snow onto them. This would make it harder for the fire to catch them. I pushed the two forked sticks down into the ground on either side of the fire, with the v-shapes pointing up. I pulled my knife from my belt, sharpened the end of the third branch, and impaled the rabbit meat on it, before gently and carefully balancing on top of the other sticks, over the fire.

I gave a satisfied smile. Everything had gone as smoothly as cream. Now all I had to do was wait for it to cook. One of the most fundamental rules of lone survival was never, never to eat undercooked meat. It could, and often would, be deadly.

But for once in my life, the Gods were being kind.

Seeing as there was enough meat on the animal to last the day, I decided to make my camp here for the night. It was sheltered, and the thick curtain of trees hid it from prying eyes. The ground was mostly soft and free of stones and branches, making for a reasonably comfortable place to sleep. It was on a slight slope, too, meaning that if the snow melted, I wouldn't be sleeping in a pond. I stood up and stayed still for a moment, until I had established the wind direction. It was essential to pitch my tent with the entrance facing the wind. Since it was open at both the front and the back, the first strong gust was less likely to knock it over. Back when I had first been exiled, I had done the opposite, trying to avoid the cold wind. But after numerous collapsed tents, I'd finally learned my lesson. I hardly felt the cold any more, anyway.

By the time I had pitched my shelter, my meal was finally ready. I tested it carefully for any traces of raw meat before daring to eat. I relaxed a little as I felt myself gaining strength with every bite. No matter what hardships I face, I thought, no matter how bleak the horizon may be, no matter how much I feel like giving up, I will survive. I owe it to him to survive.

I tossed away a few bones and picked up my quiver, counting my arrows as I ate. I had plenty left, though I would need to make some more soon. I laid them aside and checked the rest of my gear. I had to make sure everything was in good condition, all the time. My bed roll had a hole in it. I'd need to patch that up. And my knife needed sharpening. Well, I'd do that this evening. I had plenty of time before it got dark.

The sun began to sink slowly on the horizon as I got to work. It was calming, sitting there beside the warmth of my fire, quietly mending my equipment. It allowed me to focus solely on the task at hand, and stop caring about the rest of the world. After all, the rest of the world was getting rather… excitable… recently, and I preferred to not be a part of it.

I didn't see other people much. I seldom strayed onto the roads, and I never entered towns or villages. Anyone, anyone at all, might have the nerve and the knowledge to betray me to the Guild. I didn't know for sure, but I was pretty certain they thought I was dead, either from my injury at Mercer's hands or as a result of my life as an outcast. I couldn't resist a derisive snort. If they truly thought that, they didn't know me. It would take more than a knife wound and a lack of shelter and friendship to kill me. Still, I was happy with them thinking it. I was safest if they thought it. So I rarely saw anyone, and even more rarely spoke to them.

But if I did meet someone - a travelling trader, perhaps, or a roving hunter – the talk was always of the recent events in Skyrim. There was no doubt that it had been an interesting few years. The questions, the conversations, they were always the same. Did you hear about what happened at Helgen? They say a dragon attacked Whiterun- a real, live dragon. Have you heard the news? The Dragonborn has come to Skyrim at last! Kynesgrove, do you know what happened at Kynesgrove? The Dragonborn's arranged a peace between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, until the dragon problem is over. How long do you reckon they'll last before they're at each other's throats again? And finally, always spoken with delight and excitement- The Dragonborn has triumphed! Alduin has fallen! Skyrim is free!

To be perfectly honest, I couldn't possibly have cared less. Dragons rarely bothered me and I never bothered them. Leave it to people with suicidal death wishes, and those with destinies given by Akatosh to fight them. I had no desire to.

But that wasn't all. The Emperor! Have you heard what happened to the Emperor? He's dead, murdered! The Dark Brotherhood is back, really back. At first it was thought the Stormcloaks were behind it, but the Brotherhood was alone, apparently. Can you believe it?

I could well believe it. I'd had to deal with the Dark Brotherhood a few times during my time with the Guild. So, the Emperor was dead. Like it was important. It didn't affect me. Nothing in the outside world affected me. I lived in my own protective shell, a little world of my own that was made for me only and shut out everything else. That was easiest. That was best. That way, nothing could hurt me.

I looked down at the dagger I was sharpening, and a vague memory flitted across my mind of the man who gave it to me.

Stop, Karliah. Don't think about him. Shut out the memories. They don't matter. All that matters is that you stay alive.

A moment later, the walls were back in place, shutting out all the pain and fear and hurt and anger and even the happiness of the world that I no longer belonged to.

Because I didn't need any of it, and I didn't want any of it. I never would want any of it. This was my life now.

I looked up. Night was drawing in. I shuddered despite myself. I was not, of course, afraid of the dark. No self-respecting thief could be afraid of the dark. I loved the dark. It hid me, it guided me, it sheltered me. The dark was my friend. It always had been. It always would be. I wasn't afraid of the night.

I was afraid of what came with the night.

And I didn't mean predators.

The fire burned low; the sun burned still lower. I ate the remainder of the rabbit and kicked snow over the fire, sending up clouds of white steam and black smoke. The embers glowed for a few more seconds and faded to black. The light shifted from blue to indigo, and I knew that I had to get some sleep.

Lightly, I reminded myself. You slept too deeply last night. You put yourself in danger.

I nodded, as if another person had been speaking to me and I was indicating that I had heard. I unfolded my newly-repaired sleeping bag and checked for danger a final time.

All clear. I could sleep. Little as I wanted to, I had to.

I didn't want to close my eyes. I didn't want to let sleep take me.

It wasn't just because I was afraid of sleeping too long. It wasn't just because I didn't want to put myself at risk from wolves and bears and bandits. It wasn't just because I wanted to keep moving, to make sure I was safe in my closed-off world.

It was because I knew what came with the night.

It was because when I slept, the walls came down.

It was because when darkness fell, my past returned to haunt me.

I closed my eyes. Fatigue pulled me down. I fought to stay awake. No use.

Darkness took me. And the nightmares began.

Did I overdo the survival tips? I don't know. Obviously I had to do some research to write this chapter, and it was so fascinating I almost forgot to write… anyway, I wanted to show, through the way Karliah's constantly listing the ways she survives, how far she's gone from who she used to be, and how she's currently only focused on staying alive. (note the 'currently,' because it's not staying that way…) Anyway, I hope she taught you guys something, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! There'll be a bit more action in the next ones.