THE SHUNNED RACE
Morrigan made her way to the counter, confident. She stood up straight and convinced, and took the straight line shorter, walking at a steady pace, evidently hoping that there were no tables on her trajectory. There were, but Cicero, following her, shifted her slightly and prevented her from bumping into them. He did it in a way that was hidden enough not to make her look ridiculous, it was right that she maintained that security she had accumulated.
When she got to the counter, she stopped too abruptly, but no one noticed. She then put her hand on the rough wood and cleared her throat with a haughty look and a slightly raised chin. Like a Princess, yes. Cicero was amused and amazed by that behavior.
The innkeeper had to get the call and, finally, he brought himself before her, with a smile.
"What can I do for you?"
Cicero saw Morrigan swallowing, but otherwise she was good at maintaining her severity.
"I'd like some milk for those Khajiit cubs."
Cicero was even more surprised: he hadn't expected her to say the reason, he had thought that she would've just asked for some milk, then run away as quickly as possible. And instead, there was the little crow, now an adult crow. One of those which descend from Sovngarde to reap the victims, severe but without rancor. She was slowly earning her name: Death from Above.
"Listen, my Lady, I've nothing against you, you're a Nord, but... don't you think it's foolish to meddle?"
But Morrigan had the sternest expression on her face. She remained silent, stiff, pointing her face at the innkeeper so penetratingly that he too must've seen him, Sithis, through her pale eyes.
"I wouldn't be so arrogant if I were you" she warned, in a voice that no longer seemed to be hers, "if I had ended up working in a dump like this, rather than thinking about the Khajiit, I'd be desperately looking for a way of earning Sovngarde before dying of old age."
The scene froze. The innkeeper stared at Morrigan in amazement, not yet offended just because he was too stupid to understand such a long sentence. Morrigan didn't even blink to get her opponent uneasy, and it seemed like it was working. Cicero and the innkeeper's daughter, instead, were observing the scene, making the sight flicker from one contender to another.
In the end, the innkeeper unlocked first. Without removing eye contact, he lowered, picked up two bottles of milk, and placed them heavily on the counter.
"It's twenty septims." he hissed, his tone deep and threatening.
Only then Morrigan realize she didn't have any money. Cicero saw her clearly open her eyes wider and fall into terror. The others hadn't yet noticed.
Cicero would've paid all the savings of his life to see her win. Trying not to be seen, he took a few coins from the bag and, hidden from the counter, passed them to her.
She calmed down, showing a bold smile. She brought her hand over the counter and laid the money down with studied slowness, making it clink.
"Thank you." she hissed in turn, even more threatening.
"And now, get out."
"Or else what? You call the guards to deal with a blind girl? Or, even better, would you dare to throw me out by yourself?"
Cicero put a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh of joy. If a few weeks before, while he was watching her give up the apples at the market, they told him she would've ended up fighting and protecting herself with her handicap, he would've never believed it.
Morrigan decided not to insist, though. She was good, she had known when to stop. She took the milk, smiled, greeted softly, and started heading out, without the slightest sign of agitation.
.
.
Perhaps she wasn't agitated in the room, but certainly she recovered her anxiety as soon as she stepped a foot over the threshold. Tension seemed to fall on her shoulders all at once and Cicero saw her lower slightly, her legs sagging, clutching the milk bottles as if they were the most precious loot in the whole world.
"Wo, wo! Stand up, little crow!"
Cicero grabbed her shoulders, amused, and prevented her from melting like a candle in a bonfire. She, in response, began to laugh hysterically.
"I did it! Did you see? Did you see? I'm a hero!"
Cicero approached her ear, speaking soothingly.
"Yes, of course Cicero saw, little crow. Perhaps you're not yet Death from Above, but Justice from Above, for sure."
She smiled, pleased, flushed. She tightened the bottles more and took a few steps, still uncertain. She began to tilt her head, as if trying to hear where the Khajiit were. She spotted them immediately, hearing them speak: they were standing, with their two huge wagons, under a pine tree, a few steps from them.
She began to walk towards them and this time Cicero had to take courage. Yes, he admitted it, he feared Khajiit. The wounds inflicted on him by the Cat of Anvil were still quite vivid, on his side. He remembered them very well, because they had taken more than a month to heal, and they had given him a pain that was a little beyond what he could appreciate. They gave him a strong infection, since he had had to dive into a drainage channel to escape. Such a bad contract.
However he didn't complain and tried to make the best of a bad situation. He didn't want them to see him tense, and in this regard he promised himself not to stare at their claws too much.
When they arrived, the Khajitt, at least eight, stared at them insistently, halfway between menacing and fearful. The giant cat wasn't there. They didn't have their typical battle face, they hadn't folded their ears or even thinned their eyes, but Cicero could feel the tension that was reigning among them. Perhaps they were wondering if they were about to have other problems of a racial nature.
Cicero stopped Morrigan when they got close enough. She sighed, to give herself courage, then she opened a big smile.
"Hi!" she finally said, cheerful, "we've heard you need milk and we bought it for you!"
The Khajiit didn't answer immediately. They looked at each other a bit, saying nothing, as if they were able to talk to each other telepathically. Then they turned all eyes on the two of them, and Cicero felt small, observed by the thousand orbits of a thousand different colors, the vertical and menacing pupils.
"You're very kind, Lady" spoke, finally, one of the females, with a bundle tied around her neck, "the whole clan thanks you. The cubs were very hungry, these Khajiit are struggling to breastfeed, they're not in their habitat, too much cold."
She approached, with an expression that must have been a smile, but which Cicero found threatening, thanks to those sharp teeth. When she was there, she took the bottles and briefly bowed.
From that moment on things got quieter. The Khajiit relaxed, they all smiled and many of them went back to work, to leave with the caravan. The cat who had taken the milk, however, remained a moment with Cicero and Morrigan. Smiling, the wide orange eyes fixed on them, she showed the bundle around her neck.
It was a kitten. Black, asleep, with his nose jumping, perhaps in the grip of a dream, the whiskers forward.
"Morrigan, she's showing us the cub!" Cicero warned, unable to hold back a smile. It was cute. If they had all remained of that size it would've been better, though.
Morrigan's eyes widened in ecstasy. She didn't dare to move, though. The Khajiit herself, then, allowed her to touch, if she wanted, and Morrigan began to caress the kitten with the same delicacy she put in little things. She had to use the palm of her hand, not her fingers, but she was too happy to despair. Cicero thought she would've been a good mother, if only...
"His name is Ji'qah. He'll become as big as his sister."
"His sister?"
"Amun'e Phis. She was in the inn."
And, as if she had been evoked by a mystic spell, they heard her coming. They didn't see her, because she was on the other side of the inn. But they did notice her anyway, because they felt the ground tremble.
She came from behind them with a few quick steps, and Cicero felt his spine shivering. Morrigan, on the contrary, couldn't be happier.
"What do you want, eh?" asked Amun'e Phis, threatening.
Cicero turned and saw her a step away from him. Or rather, one step from him he saw her belt. To see the rest of the body he had to raise his head, and even lean backwards. He noticed with no little fear that the giant cat was looking at him, from top to bottom, and she was doing so with her ears back and her eyes thin.
"So? What do you want? If you're here to tease my mother, you can even dislodge! Or I swear I crush you down!"
"Amun'e Phis must learn the art of calm!" the mother scolded her, severe, always speaking in the third person, "these people bought the milk. Amun'e Phis shouldn't scare them."
"Oh!" exclaimed the cat, amazed, "sorry, lil ones, my bad! I wasn't expecting it, not from a Nord and an Imperial, for sure!"
She lowered herself, to see them more closely. Cicero could see the big, wet and pink nose, just an inch from their faces. She breathed on them and almost took off his hat, moving the air. Her whiskers were outstretched, to study them, and Morrigan laughed, because they were tickling her face. She looked like a child excited for a new game, Cicero would've given gold to get half of that enthusiasm.
"The Imperial smells strange." she noted.
Cicero looked at her in the eyes, trying to keep his usual confidence. He was afraid of becoming blind too, dazzled by those yellow irises.
"Cicero washes himself regularly, he doesn't know what you're talking about!" he tried to joke.
Fortunately, it worked. Amun'e Phis spread a disquieting smile and straightened up, letting them breathe. Cicero knew what the Khajiit was referring to: he smelled like death. Khajiit were like that, they knew a lot about a person through the smell. He wouldn't have been surprised if Amun'e Phis had even understood that he was from the Brotherhood, but fortunately she didn't say anything. Perhaps she didn't care much: it was known that Khajiit had a particularly flexible sense of justice.
"Who are you, lil ones? Who should we thank?"
They introduced themselves and Amun'e Phis did the same. She insisted on shaking hands with them, even if her paw was too big. They shaked her index finger, more than the whole hand.
"Well, thank you so much for the milk! It never happens, as you can imagine. Ma'dran will surely want to know you and thank you in person, come with me!"
"Who's Ma'dran?" Morrigan asked, with no fear.
"The leader of our caravan! One of the first Khajiit merchant to come up with the idea of coming to Skyrim!"
They followed her while she was doing the gimcana among the tree trunks, which for her became nothing more than fences. They stayed behind her, while she walked, elegant and sensual, with her tail high for happiness. She swayed with a certain grace, but exaggerated, too exposed by his size.
"So, what are you doing here in Dawnstar?" shee asked as they walked.
She was a chatter, Cicero liked that aspect. But he found her way of speaking incredibly modern and out of context for those of her race, unnatural.
"We're going to Solitude!" Morrigan exclaimed, shocked by the situation, her happy eyes of the same color as the milk she had just bought.
"Oh!" exploded the cat, pointing up her ears in amazement, "we're going to Solitude, too! We uselly move, you know, we always take the route from Windhelm. This time it's taking a little longer: newborns and so many goods!"
They turned around the last pine tree, and finally found themselves in a tiny glade, where the Khajiit had set up a temporary camp. It was nothing more than a fire and a tent, which gave the idea of being put there to stay only a few minutes. Inside, sitting cross-legged and eyes closed, old Ma'dran.
"Ma'dran! Look, these two bought us milk!"
The old cat lifted his first layer of eyelids, and for a moment the inner one was visible, a little late in the opening. He gave the idea of being quite tired. His whiskers were pointing down and the fur, gray, must have been darker in the past.
"Oh, benefactors!" he greeted them, in a hoarse, deep voice, "Ma'dran gives you back the money immediately."
He started to look in a pocket, but Morrigan, with her eyebrows raised, almost scandalized, immediately stopped him.
"No, no, it was our gift!"
"Is always Cicero the one who pays anyway, isn't he?"
Even that was a joke but, this time, it didn't raise the desired effect. Cats weren't famous for their sense of humor. Ma'dran, however, didn't seem offended, because another peculiarity of Khajiit was to consider money and debts a serious matter. Too serious, even when it was a few septims. They would've preferred their tail cut rather than a debt of a coin... or rather than offering the same coin. They were intransigent on the economic side, for better or for worse.
"Ma'dran always repays debts, my young girl. Come closer."
Morrigan obeyed, groping. Ma'dran, however, was a gentleman: he took both her hands gently, to make her feel where he was and to guide her in his presence.
He looked at her closely, carefully, with a smile.
"Um, your eyes look like Elsweyr's sky. The sun beats so strong, in the desert, that blue is lost and everything becomes white."
He put the gold coins in her hand, with all the calm and dignity of an old cat.
"Er... thank you..." Morrigan muttered, embarrassed, uncertain whether to take that statement as an actual compliment.
"Hey, that's enough, Ma'dran!" intervened Amun'e Phis, too cheerful, "don't think of Elsweyr, you're homesick. We must stay happy with this cold! Get ready, we're about to leave! By the way, you, you two, yeah. Would you like to join us? The road is safer, in a big group."
Morrigan spread a toothy smile, while Cicero was watching his prospect of death widening. If nothing else, they weren't bards... although, thinking about it, he didn't know if it was any better.
"Cicero, can we?" she asked, in a tone so excited and happy that not even Sithis himself would've dared to say no.
"Little crow, you know you don't have to always ask Cicero's permission for..."
"So yes, let's come with you!"
She hadn't even let him finish talking. After a first overwhelmed moment, however, Cicero thought that... she was finally free. Instead, he was no longer free. Now he was her slave. The exact feeling he had tried to avoid for a lifetime, but... but why had suddenly become so gratifying?
.
.
Time to take the horse and mount, Morrigan always ahead, and they had already left. They joined the caravan, therefore, remaining at the back. But Amun'e Phis didn't let them: she ran to them, scaring the horse, and forced them to the front. Cicero didn't like having the cats behind... because he didn't like having anyone behind, a good killer lives with his back to the wall. But Amun'e Phis was uncompromising.
"No, you must stay here, there's an order respect! First the weakest, because they are the ones to make the way, so we don't leave them behind. Then there are the strongest, we are the front guard. In between, pregnant women, children, and wagons. Then the rearguard and finally Ma'dran. He must be the last to watch over all of us. These are the rules of the desert caravans, we follow them here as well. We're very attached to traditions, and I'm sorry but you must adapt. If you break the formation, you break the balance. Got it?"
Morrigan was fascinated and, if he had to be completely honest, even Cicero was. He had always loved group dynamics, and perhaps it was because he had always lived in the Brotherhood. He felt better, surrounded by others, even though they were cats, even though they weren't really his family. But he couldn't decipher Morrigan to be honest. She had always been isolated, why did she want to stay in a group? It seemed too sudden for a change. But perhaps she had made an exception to the rule just because they were Khajiit, and thus discriminated as her and maybe more than her.
"Listen, Amun'e Phis... can I ask you… why are you so big? I hope it doesn't offend you."
And there it was, the moment when in Morrigan curiosity grew stronger than shyness. Cicero greatly appreciated her thirst for curiosity and knew that she must have always had it. It's a quality one has as a child, it cannot be learned. Cicero could've tried to inculcate in Cassio the interest in knowledge, he could've tried for decades, but he knew he would've never changed. He didn't dare to imagine how much Morrigan must have felt empty in those years, grown up alone with the Hammer, without being able to see anything, without being able to know anything that wasn't the steps of an inn. Suddenly, it was explained her mad desire to do something, her desire to learn about cultures and people. Escaping with the Khajiit wasn't anything different than running away with Cicero, after all. In her last weeks, she was pursuing everything that could make her feel alive, like a moth toward the flame.
Amun'e Phis, however, wasn't offended by the question. Cicero knew her, too, because he knew everyone, he had studied everyone. That cat was a happy person. Simple to describe, not as simple to understand, or to imitate. She was one of those people who live life one good news at a time, in a mysterious way that they only knew. The worst misfortunes could've happened to her, but she would've been positive anyway. She would've been a difficult victim, to be killed. And not so much for her size, but because of her attitude: those like her are always convinced they can do something, they think they're able to take their destiny into their own hands. Ten years of segregation wouldn't be enough to bring them down. They're the ones who would scream even if you point a blade to their throat. Those who, in short, will certainly give you many problems, if you don't kill in one go.
"Oh, no offense, honey!" answered Amun'e Phis, "We're both quite strange, eh? Anyway, I'm big because I'm a Cathay Raht! I was born here in Skyrim, with growing Masser and Secunda. A rare ja-Kha'jay."
Morrigan was stunned, Cicero felt her stiff on the saddle.
"What?" she asked in the end, unable to hold back and unleashing the hard laughter of the whole clan.
"Khajiit are born of different breeds depending on the phases of the moons, honey! The ja-Kha'jay! Mine is rare, with both moons crescent. Those who are born with this ja-Kha'jay become of breed Cathay Raht, the biggest among the Khajiit. No deformities or illnesses, I'm just rare!"
Amun'e Phis, who was walking beside them, taking a step every four of the horse, lowered a little, bringing her furry hand under Morrigan's chin. She cuddled her cheek with her huge thumb. Then she lowered her ears, with a dreamy look.
"Um, you humans say you don't believe in the phases of ja-Kha'jay, but they also influence you, I'm sure. I bet you must've been born under the sign of Senche. Your eyes really look like two beautiful full moons."
And from that moment on, the whole pack seemed to agree in calling her Morrigan Qo Kha'jay, or Morrigan Two Moons.
