Chapter 28: The Path of the Blind
Footsteps echoed in the quiet of the endless passages. Yrith did not know how long they had been walking. She would have never guessed how soon she would lose track of time without seeing the sky. It might have been hours. It might have been days. Her body, slowly gaining on exhaustion, was the only measure she had.
They walked slowly, unhurriedly. The stars of the cave had long flickered away, the only light to guide them being a small glowing stone the Dragonborn had taken from there to carry around. Yrith did not even know how deep they were. The path seemed to rise and fall in waves, occasionally serving them a thick root or large boulder to obstruct their passage. At times, she could swear she heard footsteps other than their own. They were strangely heavy, as if their owners walked blind and dizzy, always treading with the whole of their soles, letting the earth beneath their feet feel all of their weight. Yrith wondered if the darkness had dulled her senses. Perhaps she was hearing things. But one look at Cain and Leyna told her they too were wary, roving with their eyes from one wall of stone and dirt to another. The Dragonborn had told them to stay on their guard. Yrith wondered what lurked in these dark tunnels. He had never elaborated.
She wished to spread her magic, but he had forbidden her from doing so. Magic left traces. If there was a way to throw off any potential pursuers, he would use it. Yrith understood. But she felt bare. Vulnerable. Blind.
They walked on in silence. Yrith would have felt more secure if someone talked. Nobody dared. The Dragonborn led them through tunnel after tunnel, crossing forks and choosing their way seemingly by instinct. She tried to guess which way he would take to occupy her mind, but there were no signs that would tell her the direction. There were no landmarks, nothing that would catch her attention. Only the air changed, sometimes bringing the fresh smell from outside, sometimes weighing on them with a stale stench of mold and dirt. But when Yrith thought her legs would give way under her, the Dragonborn took a sharp turn to the right, into a tunnel that soon opened into a marble corridor with the familiar pumping and hissing coming from the distance.
"Careful now," Keneel-La's voice carried through the vast space, thundering after the long period of silence, "so you don't trigger a trap. See that groove in the middle?" He pointed a finger toward a long furrow splitting the corridor in two narrow parts. "There's a screw inside. Walk close enough and you'll be shredded. The Dwemer were obsessed with security, so do be careful. Chances are there are still some mechanisms I haven't quite discovered. Or understood. Perhaps now would be the time to make an exception and use your magic, Yrith. I take it you can see what lies hidden beneath the surface?"
Yrith gave a slow nod. "I can try," she said.
She unleashed the power shut deep inside her. It sprang forward, delving deep into the Dwemer structure. Yrith could touch the screw in the ground and the sharp blades attached to it. It led to a mechanism much broader than the corridor they stood in. Broader than anything she could ever imagine.
She could not help but explore further, cog after cog, pipe after pipe, an infinite web of tubes and wires, some parts hot, some ice-cold, crisscrossing a wide area underneath them. Yrith could not reach the end, but after a while, she noticed a rhythm. The whole place pulsed with life, like a heartbeat. Following it, she found a great joint, warm where a giant round stone formed its core. It was plunged deep down into a water canal where it turned, trapped in a wired cage. Cold water poured in, taking heat from the mechanism as it passed on to spread through the plumbing.
"Yrith?"
She raised her head. The Dragonborn watched her with raised brows. He must have called her a few times already, waiting for an answer. She flushed.
"I…"
"Have you found something?"
"I've… found the core. It's like a… giant soul gem. Only it's…"
"Way more powerful," the lizard affirmed. "I'd say that's a sigil stone. Don't even think of shutting this place down. I've no doubt you could with all that power you have, but the Dwemer structures are not designed to last without their source. Do it, and the whole complex might collapse. Let's simply avoid the traps, shall we?"
Yrith nodded, limiting the reach of her magic to their proximity. Past the groove with a screw, she found several tripwires. She snorted.
"How cheap," she said, sending a single spark of her magicka to cut the wires. A pair of giant pincers shot from the ceiling in the distance before they retreated back and hid behind the gilded plates covering the ceiling's surface.
"Cheap, but effective," Keneel-La shrugged. "Anything else in the way?"
Yrith shook her head. She found a lever to turn off the screw and pulled it. The Dragonborn nodded in appreciation.
"Let's go then."
They kept to the sides, avoiding the path of the screw just to be certain. Across the corridor, Cain frowned, shooting a glance at the lizard before him. He spoke quietly, but the walls carried his voice well. Yrith could still hear them clearly.
"Say, Keneel-La."
"Hmm?"
"You spoke about a sigil stone. Did you mean…"
"The thing that can serve as a link between Nirn and Oblivion? Yes, that's exactly what I meant. I'm afraid the Dwemer were rather indiscriminate in choosing their technology sources. Anything counts as long as it gives power. Then again, they are not around anymore. I can only assume that one day, this lust for progress simply didn't end that well for them."
Cain's frown deepened as he mouthed something Yrith could not make out. They spoke no more, but the Dunmer's face remained somber. Yrith could only guess his thoughts.
"He's not very fond of the Daedra, is he?" Leyna muttered by her side.
Yrith raised her brows. "Who would be?"
"That's a question, isn't it?" the elf shrugged, half smiling. "As a Dunmer, I'd expect Cain to be fonder of them than you and the Dragonborn."
Yrith froze in her tracks, staring into the innocent-looking face of Leyna. "You heard us talking?"
"Anyone could have heard you."
"But… did Cain…?"
Yrith's eyes wandered to the Dunmer, now watching his back as he followed the Dragonborn on to the top of the slanting corridor. Neither of them seemed to notice her or Leyna, keeping up their pace.
"No idea. But knowing him, he would have let you know right then and there. Let's go, shall we?"
Tugging at Yrith's sleeve, Leyna set to walking again. Yrith kept close, her mind running in wild circles.
"But you won't tell him, will you?"
Leyna let out a quiet snort. "It's not my place to interfere. But eventually, you will have to tell him yourself. He would give his life for you, you know. He'll lose his mind if he ever learns you've decided to set off for a daedric realm on your own."
There was longing in her voice, but also the tiniest sliver of warmth Yrith had never heard there before. She watched Leyna's rucksack bouncing before her, its movement just as graceful as its owner. Leyna led the way, not looking back, putting one foot before another in an almost scripted movement.
"Leyna, are you…" Yrith hesitated. Before her, Leyna tossed her head an inch.
"Yes?"
"Are you in love with Cain?"
Leyna's pace slackened for a split moment before she gained on speed again, her drawn breath audible over the constant pumping of the Dwemer mechanisms. It sounded almost as a laugh.
"Where did that come from?" she wondered.
"I was just… it's nothing…"
"That idea never crossed my mind. Not even when the two of us were pretending to be courting. No, it was always strictly political."
Yrith frowned. She did not like the sound of the word political. Not when it came to Cain and Leyna.
"But I envy him," Leyna added in a quiet voice. Yrith stared at her.
"How do you…"
"I envy how sincere his words are when he speaks to you. How he walks forward, never looking back, never feeling sorry for himself. How strong he looks when he acknowledges you. How he was able to turn from that snobbish boy who tried to freeze you with a frostbite spell into your closest friend. I suppose," she gave a soft laugh, "I considered it a personal achievement to win your partnership that day when he and Qassir Tahlrah fought over you. It may have meant more to me than it should have."
Yrith snorted. "Was I a prize to be won?"
Leyna turned around, pinning her golden eyes into Yrith's silver ones. She watched her for a brief moment with her head tilted to the side and smiled.
"You still are," she said with a light shrug, hurrying to join Cain and Keneel-La waiting for them by the broken tripwire. Yrith opened her mouth to speak, but there was no chance Leyna would hear her words while the others wouldn't. She closed it again, pondering the difference between a prize and a friend. Was she a prize for Cain too?
She watched the Dunmer as she approached them. He looked back, brows rising slightly with a hint of curiosity. There was no lust in his eyes, no competitiveness. They were ever so gentle. No, he was not like that. He had never won her. It was something else that had brought him close.
"Everything in order?" Keneel-La's voice cut through her thoughts.
She nodded absently, following Leyna to his side.
"Can you examine the path ahead? There should be a pool a short way from the gallery. The stream that flows into it is clean enough to drink from. I'd say we stay there for a while."
Yrith nodded again, letting her magic out. Before them was a path blocked by another of the Dwemer gilded lattice gates, but aside from the lock, there seemed to be no obstacles ahead. The corridor opened into a vast octagonal area encircled by a wall with a number of broken stone and metal benches on top. She imagined it might have once been an arena. In each corner of the gallery, there was a ballista, but none held any arrows and the launching mechanisms seemed to be glued with a strange, semi-liquid matter. The same matter covered most of the place, forming a trail that led to the remote corner of the gallery. Before the entrance to the next corridor, Yrith found another tripwire. But this time, it was not made of metal. It was a rope made of thread. Spider thread. Yrith frowned.
"What is it?" the Dragonborn asked, watching her intently.
"There's…" Yrith trailed off as she examined the place. The trap the rope connected to was made of the same matter as the glue in the ballistae, hardened into a series of claw-like hooks like steel-hard resin. And just past the entrance stood… something. Someone. She could not sense its… her thoughts or feelings. All the creature's emotions were driven away by caution, its muscles tensed, ready to send her leaping at whoever would dare invade her territory. She was nigh naked, holding what must have been a staff made from the same resin-like substance. There was magic in it, warped, twisted the same as its owner. Yrith paled. It was… an elf. But not at all.
"What is that thing?" she whispered, forgetting the presence of her three companions.
"What did you find?" the Dragonborn insisted.
"A… person… I don't know… it's… it's blind. Senseless…"
The lizard let out a breath, straightening his back, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.
"That doesn't bode well. This spot should have been detached from the Falmer territories. But if they found it, we better make our leave before we're noticed."
"The Falmer?!"
Both Cain and Leyna were staring at him with their eyes wide, incredulous. Yrith froze. No, she couldn't be…
She touched the creature again, gently, exploring her mind. There was nothing. No words. No images. No thoughts. Only darkness and fear. It had never known care and affection, it had never tasted a proper meal, never felt warmth. It only knew to survive.
"B-but… they're… the Snow Elves…"
"Yrith." The Dragonborn seized her chin, turning her to face him. "Forget your compassion. The Snow Elves are gone. This is what they have become."
"But…"
"The Dragonborn is right," Leyna said quietly. Yrith could see a slight shudder in her posture. "The Falmer are beyond saving, the Dwemer drove them to madness. Let's just…"
"What was that?"
Now, Cain stood on his guard, watching the way they had come. Yrith could hear it too, the thudding of heels and tapping of toes on the stone. The strange, heavy gait they had heard back in the tunnels. Now she knew who it belonged to.
"Too late, it seems," Keneel-La hissed. "Whatever happens, stay by my side. Don't get separated, or else we're never going to find each other. Use your magic or whatever means necessary to fight back. The Falmer are different from the people up on the surface. They don't think. They don't fear pain. They won't show mercy, they won't hold back. And they will attack in numbers. Go for kills, don't risk anything."
Yrith shuddered as she let the magic engulf her hands. No matter what the Dragonborn said, the Falmer were still people. Was she supposed to kill people now? People who, above all else, were lost in eternal darkness with nothing but their lives?
A figure waddled into the corridor. Its skin was ashen grey and mostly bare, its ribs drawing a set of lines over its chest, its belly falling inward. All the mass of the creature was concentrated in the thin muscles along its arms and legs. As it raised its skull-like face, Yrith could see reddish circles where its eyes were supposed to be. Inadvertently, she took a step back, fighting against the urge to cover her mouth.
"Oh gods…"
At her side, Leyna mirrored her own expression. She was staring at the creature with horror in her eyes, unmoving. Yrith forced herself to look back at the miserable thing before them. It broke into a run. Behind it, two other emerged, clad in some sort of giant bug shell armor.
Yrith did not waste any time. Her fingertips flared, her mind calling to Oblivion. The summoned atronachs, two of fire, two of crackling lightning and swirling rocks, created a wall separating Yrith's group from the Falmer. She watched them clash with a sick fascination, unable to tear her eyes from the sight. Face to face with the Falmer, the mindless atronachs seemed almost intelligent, calculating their moves against the raw, thoughtless fierceness. Yrith held her breath and…
"Yrith!"
A cry resounded through the corridor before she was yanked to the floor. An arrow brushed her hair. She gaped at Cain who was holding her against his chest, then at Leyna looming above them as she managed to produce a ward just in time to stop another arrow.
"Blast! They're closing in from both sides!" Keneel-La managed before charging forward. His blade plunged deep into the chest of the first Falmer with no hesitation. The creature let out a helpless rattling sound as it sunk to its knees. Its body jerked from side to side in its last struggle. The Dragonborn pulled the blade out, proceeding to another opponent. Yrith gritted her teeth. Despite their ghastly appearance, their blood was still the same red as hers.
She pulled herself to her feet, calling her magic again, casting spell after spell, shielding her friends and herself with a crust of stone, creating swirling barriers of fire and frost and coating them with translucent wards. As two jagged chitin blades struck against the Dragonborn's ward, Yrith sent in more magicka, replenishing it instantly. Still, the enemies multiplied, as if they were breeding on the spot. Sooner or later, they were bound to break through.
Cain joined the Dragonborn's side, drawing his dagger with one hand, the other one flaring with fire. Leyna too joined the fray, supporting the wards and casting glowing explosive runes among the Falmer. Yrith called more atronachs to their aid. Two of the older ones fell under the incessant volleys of arrows and spells.
She frowned. Eventually, this place would be crowded. Then, it would matter little how powerful they were. They were already heavily outnumbered. The walk had left them weary, in dire need of rest. Surely the Dragonborn must have expected as much. But despite that, he considered this path to be safer than the surface one.
She clenched a fist, the other hand swinging fast to release a ball of fire. He had been right. The Falmer did not back away when the fire hit. Instead, they attacked with more ferocity, mindless of pain, mindless of the stench of burnt flesh that sent uncomfortable tickles down Yrith's stomach. Just how many were there? She did not dare to count.
She scanned the corridor. Its width now worked against them. More Falmer swarmed down by its entrance, held back only by her atronachs and the wall of wards and fire she kept just before them. Keneel-La and the rest faced the wrong side, still fighting against those coming from within the complex. They had to move out, not in.
Yrith spread her magic, examining the place. She had to do something. Anything to separate the Falmer on the inner side from her companions. If she only hadn't sprung the tripwires…
The tripwires.
Up in the ceiling, hidden behind infinite plates of Dwemer metal, were the giant pincers. If they were to sink down upon the blind elves…
She took a breath, trying not to imagine the carnage. These creatures had no clue… but she had to live. They had to live.
She knelt down, touching the floor, sending all her hopes for keeping Cain and Keneel-La safe to Leyna. Her hands glowed with magic, now not blazing orange or protective green, but the blue of raw magicka. It penetrated the marble block underneath her and ran along the wiring embedded inside, up the walls and into the ceiling, finding the cogs and a set of pulleys on a spring holding the pincers up. It would be enough to cut the spring. But the cut would need to be clean and quick. Or maybe there was another way to severe it.
Furrowing her brows in concentration, she began examining the metal structure. It was different from the swirling storm she had faced in High Hrothgar, providing little room to let her magic in. She would need a minuscule explosion to disintegrate the substance, or immense heat to melt it.
A bolt of ice made her jump into the air. She turned around just in time to see the Falmer at the entrance take down the last atronach. A flaming figure stepped over the dead body of its comrade, preparing to lunge. Gritting her teeth, Yrith quickly summoned more, raising a ward before more missiles could reach her. On the other side, Keneel-La, Cain and Leyna did not even turn to see her efforts, too occupied to keep the assaulting mass of bodies at bay. She sank back to the floor, finding the spring again.
There was a part where the wire was slightly thinner. Yrith focused on it, forcing her magic in. The Dwemer metal resisted, hard enough not to let anything in, but pliable enough not to be too brittle. She ground her teeth until it almost hurt, sending in but a few thin strings. As she finally found the tiniest fissure in the metal, she drove the magic in like a wedge, turning, imbibing the metal with it, sending in heat from the pits of Oblivion until it burst.
She winced as the pincers came down upon the Falmer like lightning, followed by a number of metal plates and a shower of gravel that had been the ceiling. One green lamp on the wall exploded into a myriad of glistening shards, littering the lost elves with innumerable crimson wounds. Two ended up pierced entirely by the pincers. One was buried deep under the debris. For the first time, the Falmer faltered, both those imprisoned behind the pincers and those fighting the Dragonborn's group. Keneel-La did not hesitate, using the chance to nearly behead one and plunge his sword into another's chest. Cain too raised his blade and slashed across the nearest enemy's throat, using a ward to prevent the blood from dying his face. Even Leyna sent a missile of lightning at the paralyzed Falmeri mage standing just behind the three. At last, there was no one to battle on this side, the rest of the Falmer behind the pincers either fatally wounded or on the run. Keneel-La turned to Yrith.
"Good thinking," he nodded in acknowledgement. "Let's get out of here then."
Without another word, he stormed past her, toward where two of Yrith's atronachs remained, still fighting the other group of Falmer. Yrith, Cain and Leyna followed, all holding their magic at the ready.
They clashed fiercely, with hardly any time to think. Yrith produced shield after shield, sending atronachs into the Falmers' rear. A blade nearly cut through her ward. She strengthened it, piercing the opponent with an ice bolt, mentally trying to remove the picture of the blood from his body. Two others she deflected with a fire bolt, letting her atronachs deliver the finishing blows. She felt her body shake with exhaustion, her wards flicker. And then, when the next Falmer before her buckled in her knees, Yrith felt a sharp sting in her calf, followed by cold, numbing pain spreading through her body. She attempted a cry as she dropped to the floor, but her voice failed her.
"Yrith!" Cain's cry seemed to be coming from a great distance, even if she knew he was kneeling right by her side.
Searching for the source of the pain, her eyes found a dark bolt sticking out of her leg, with black feathers and a tiny phial attached to its end. The translucent liquid that had used to fill it was almost gone. With all the strength she could muster, she looked up, to where the pincers still pinned the Falmer to the ground. A person was standing just by them… no… a machine. A humanoid machine with its legs attached to a set of circular plates serving it as wheels, made in that same Dwemer metal as everything else in these halls, holding what seemed to be an elaborate crossbow with cogs and a set of weights. As Yrith laid her eyes on it, the automaton raised its metallic hands, once again loading the weapon. This time, it aimed at Cain.
"NO!" Yrith cried, sending her magic out in a flurry, not caring where it would hit. It rushed through the corridor like a shockwave, sending everything to the ground. Yrith did not wait for it to finish. She fired lightning at the thing, now gathering itself from the floor. She missed. She fired another, her vision more and more blurry with each moment. She missed again. She yelled inarticulately, firing a sphere of all elements at once, making it large enough to engulf the unliving enemy. This time, she hit the machine square. It folded and crackled, letting out a shower of sparks. Behind it, another emerged, followed by something reminiscent of a large mechanical spider.
Yrith groaned. Her vision darkened. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was. She felt so weak…
"Get up!" a voice came from the distance. Something was pulling her arms, yanking her from side to side.
"No, let her…"
"There's no time. She needs to get up. Yrith!"
She felt sharp pain in her calf, then another wave of cold. She forced her eyes open, catching her breath. Keneel-La was squatting beside her, gripping her in her armpits, his eyes steel-hard, but tinged with affection. Somewhere above him, a ward thrummed as it deflected more missiles. Leyna and Cain must have stood, protecting them with all their might.
"Get up, hatchling. I know you're hurt and tired. But we're going to die here if we don't move out this instant. Get up."
She saw his mouth moving and fought hard to process his words. Die… she did not want to die. She did not want them to die. She needed to stand up.
The ward flickered and vanished. Keneel-La jumped up, drawing his sword again, moving, moving fast from side to side to dodge the bolts until he was swinging the blade in the automaton's face. Yrith faintly registered hissing and stomping behind her, calling atronachs and dremora to their help. Cain fired in all directions, his own movements shaky and distracted. Now, it was Leyna, kneeling down beside Yrith, placing her fingers on Yrith's wound and sending threads of golden healing magic into her flesh. In her other hand, she was gripping the dark bolt, sniffing and furrowing her brows.
"Nirnroot and imp stool," she spat, tossing the bolt away. "Of course it has to be something that repels magic. Come… stand."
Yrith could feel the pain leaving her. She felt so drowsy now, so ready to give in to the darkness.
"Yrith!" Slender fingers slapped her lightly on the cheek. Yrith squinted into the kaleidoscope of flashing colors and lights. Just as a bolt of fire came her way, Leyna covered her, taking the blow instead. She screamed, her ward cast too late to shield all of the damage. Her coat was now torn and smoking, the smell of the charred fur joining the stench of death all around.
"Yrith," she breathed, collapsing beside Yrith, "remember how you asked me what it was that you could do, that night Cain got hurt? I didn't know… but I know now. You can save our lives... and I'll have your back. As promised… I'll have your back. So please… stand up."
Yrith felt Leyna's fingers close around hers. She felt… water… falling down on her hand. Leyna was crying… the proud, beautiful Leyna was crying.
With a grunt, Yrith forced herself to sit. Then, slowly, to stand. Barely keeping her balance, she still extended her hand, waiting for the elf to take it.
"You already had my back… a million times today," she whispered, staggering as Leyna took the hand and pulled herself up. Yrith felt terrible. Her head throbbed. She fought to feel her own body, as if there was nothing connecting the mind with the vessel. Even her magic was so far, so difficult to control. She searched hard for it, struggling to keep the connection. She had to ignore the exhaustion. They needed to survive.
"Leyna…"
"Yes?"
"Hold my hand… please."
Leyna did not question. Raising another ward to shield them, she touched Yrith's fingers again, gingerly closing her hand around them. Yrith gripped her tightly, the one stable point she could find. She concentrated all her power at Leyna's hand, touching the stream of magicka coursing through her friend's body, joining it with her own. Leyna stared at her with her eyes wide, jaw dropping low.
"Yrith, is this…?"
"Can you hold a ward with me?"
"I… think so…"
"Let's do it then."
Yrith touched the automatons, then the Falmer on the other side to measure the distance. With her next breath, shimmering walls formed on each side of the corridor, separating Cain and Keneel-La from the machines and Yrith's atronachs from the Falmer. The Dragonborn and the Dunmer next to him turned to her, weary to even raise their brows at the sight.
"Yrith? What are you planning?" Keneel-La exhaled, wiping the skin on his forehead. It glistened in the light of the Dwemer lamps, even if Yrith could hardly imagine any sweat coming through those scales.
"Storming through," Yrith managed, trying her hardest to keep up the ward and listen to the Dragonborn at the same time. Leyna was the only reason she could still hold. Her sight went blurry again. Just a bit longer. A bit… "Just… with protection… so that… we don't have to… fight them all…"
The corridor before her went dark for a moment. She gritted her teeth for the umpteenth time that night.
"Very well," Keneel-La nodded. "I will lead and try to clear the way. Cain, you will have our back."
"Understood," Cain said in a tired rasp.
They took their positions, Yrith and Leyna still holding up the ward, hands laced together to maintain the connection. Their free hands moved to adjust the protection, reducing its reach and forming a spike pointing toward the exit. Keneel-La took the tip. Cain remained in the rear. The atronachs guarding the edges of the barrier flickered and vanished. Yrith sighed. She could not find the strength to call more.
As the Dragonborn raised his hand, they moved as one. They did not break into a run. They chose a speedy gait, certain, steady, menacing. The Falmer in their way hesitated, taking a step back. But when no one attacked, they came down on the four of them with new ferocity, clashing into the ward with snarls and hisses. Yrith and Leyna kept it steady, faces twisted in blind focus.
Nobody fought. The Falmeri blades and arrows bounced off the ward, creating ripples that were quickly smoothed by Yrith's magicka. Yrith could hardly see their figures, relying mostly on her magic. Still, she imagined how all of this must have felt to the others. To watch the hordes of enemies through the screen of the ward, as though they were in some distant reality, disconnected from their own. She had seen it before in her dreams when the Demon filled her with images of other people's fates. She was living it now. It was all she could do. To pass them and watch.
They were almost outside, back in the tunnels. The ward was now their source of light. The Falmer blocked the way. Without stopping, Keneel-La Shouted.
"FUS RO DAH!"
The unrelenting force swept the blind elves from the path ahead. Keneel-La, with the rest of them close in tow, stumbled through the now clear tunnel, picking up his pace before their opponents could gather themselves. The darkness around them deepened, the glow of the ward too weak to penetrate it. With all the muscles and tendons in her body tense in the strain, Yrith forced an extra drop of magicka out of her fingertips, lighting the way. A sliver of warmth left her. The world before her turned and flickered. Piercing pain shot through her hand and into her chest, reaching her wounded leg. Her knees gave way. The ground underneath was uneven, full of rocks and roots, cutting into her skin and filling it with dirt.
"Yrith!"
She tried to stand, but her legs would not listen. Somewhere behind them, the earth shook with numerous steps. The Falmer still followed. She was too weak. She could not keep up.
"Leave me," she breathed, not having the strength to look up into their faces. "Just go, you'll die here…"
"Not in a thousand years," voices sounded in unison. Not one. Not two. Three.
A warm sensation spread from her feet up to her chest. Leyna was using the last bits of their combined magic for healing. Yrith covered her face, not minding the dirt on her hands. This could not work forever. Magic alone could not fix wounds. It could only drive away pain and enhance the healing process.
Yrith bit her lip, feeling blood on her tongue. She forced herself to stand again, shaking, feeling the heat of her body rising.
"I'll… I'll go…" she chattered, finding support in the sponge-covered wall. They had to run. How far, she did not know. The Dragonborn likely did not know himself. Still, they ran. She could not see anything anymore, simply following the sound of the footsteps. They ran.
Just a little further, she convinced herself on every step.
Still, they ran.
She had lost all feeling, all sense of direction. She did not know whether she was still conscious, with the world shrouded in darkness. Even the footsteps seemed to recede after some time, leaving her in strange, motionless silence. She could only hope they were finally reaching a safe place. She ran. Further and further, she ran, until there was nothing anymore, and the last thought flickered away, leaving her mind empty.
She did not know how long she had been unconscious. It could have been hours. It could have been days. When she finally opened her eyes, the marble floor underneath her was warm, and the bulky pipes on her sides filled the air with moisture. Her head throbbed, her whole body ached, sticky with sweat, dirt and blood. Every movement sent tendrils of sharp pain into her limbs. Still, she forced herself up, noticing the blot of dried blood where her head had lain just moments before. The image turned and twisted before her eyes. She hissed, gripping her head with both hands, blinking to chase the blur away.
She was in another Dwemer corridor, a dead end by the looks of it. Water gurgled in the canal crossing it a small distance away, covered by gilded grating. There was no one nearby, not even a shadow in the distance. No bedrolls spread within the perimeter, no rucksacks propped against the pillars. Her own rucksack was missing as well.
She took a breath, her hand slowly sinking to cover her mouth. She was alone.
Yrith only found the strength to take a few steps. She dropped to the floor again once she had crossed the canal, panting, shivering despite the warm air. Even the water was warm. She had no idea where it had come from, but she drank it nonetheless. Despite everything, it had a soothing effect on her scorching throat. She let it flow down before allowing her whole body to sink on the floor. It was hard. But it held her firmly, unlike her feet. She fell into slumber with the sound of pumping and buzzing in her ears.
Her head was still pounding when she opened her eyes again. She did not know whether she had slept at all. It felt as though she had dreamt while awake, her mind processing two realities at once. One full of broken blind elves, hisses and flashes of light, the other marked by continuous thrumming, like a heartbeat of a huge organism of stone and gold. She had woken into the latter, tired, with limbs heavy as if made of the ever-present Dwemer metal. And she was still alone.
She forced her weary eyes to ingest her surroundings. The corridor she was in ended just a short distance ahead, forking into a road with gilded rails. Lifting herself on her shaky arms, she crawled closer to it, trying to put as little strain on her injured leg as possible. Fighting the tears of pain welling in her eyes, she turned her head, but no cart seemed to be riding on the rails. Across the railroad, a gate was embedded in what seemed to be a tower, rising up into the tall ceiling, unseen behind a screen of steam. There was no other way out, as the rails entered a shaft on each side. Perhaps there was a staircase inside the tower, or one of the Dwemer lifts. She hoped for the latter.
Yrith sighed. To get to it, she would have to cross the rails. She touched the leg, examining its state, but winced as she pulled back. It was in no shape to be lifted, let alone used.
She tried sending in a thread of the golden healing magic, but it only caused the pain to spread. She curled up, holding her knee just to have something to grab. She had never appreciated Leyna's skill properly. Now she missed it, not knowing enough about her own body to fix it. And it would not heal without food to build on.
Her eyes pinned to the tower. She could die here or die trying. Yrith knew what choice she'd prefer. With all her remaining strength, she stood, using her magic to support herself. Just like back in Erinor's captivity. Just how many times had she faced death already? She could not count. Perhaps she would wager on life one more time.
She stepped over the first rail. Her leg buckled under her, sending her down. She saved herself from a sharp blow in the head by a mere inch, panting as she rolled over the second rail. The screws holding the sleeper in place bored painfully into her back until she managed to gather herself, slithering to the door. Exhausted, she used her magic to open it. The doorway revealed a circular room with a lever in its middle, connected to four cogs on the sides of the room by belts of metal. Yrith let out a breath. It was a lift.
She trundled inside, collapsing just by the lever. Her fingers found the handle, but she did not pull. Her eyes slid up the shaft. She did not know what she would encounter there. Perhaps the Falmer were still around, lurking in the dark in search of her and the Dragonborn's group. She tried to spread her magic to check, but she could not reach too far. Touching too many things at once hurt almost as much as moving her body and filled her mind with incomprehensible buzz. She pressed her fingers to her temples in attempt to ease the pain. It helped none.
Closing her eyes, she gripped the handle. Doubt would lead nowhere. She had to take the risk. So she pulled.
The hiss from below nearly deafened her. The lift quaked as the cogs slowly began to move, falling into the notches etched in the walls and pulling the whole platform up. Yrith slid to the floor, breathing heavily. She felt weak, her body unwilling to move another inch. She kept her eyes closed, pressing her head to the warm stone. The light thrumming from inside of it felt strangely soothing. She let it fill her ears, as though the lift was singing her a lullaby. And up she went as the world slowly filled with darkness and the air became warmer yet, leaving a thin screen of moisture on her skin and a heavy sweet taste on her tongue. She let her body rest. There was nowhere to rush.
When her eyes opened again, she was not in the lift. The place looked unfamiliar to her, built in dark, glossy stone, lit by blue and green light whose source Yrith could not tell. It smelled unfamiliar, like stale earth mixed with sweet berries and a pinch of the Nibenese sour pepper. The air stung in her nostrils and made her want to sneeze.
She rose to her feet, realizing the pain in her leg was gone. Rolling up her trousers, she inspected its state. A dark stain marred the calf where the bolt had pierced the skin, but it seemed to have been treated. The wound had closed, the tissue was regenerating. Even her hunger had receded, and her head felt strangely light. She looked around, searching for the one who had treated her, but the room… hall… place was empty.
It was formed by two octagonal platforms, one of which she was standing on, connected by a bridge of sorts. The entire area was enclosed with an ornamental fence, separating it from the dark walls. The platform opposite of Yrith held a desk in its middle. On its top lay a solitary book, wrapped in a dark cover that seemed strangely familiar.
Yrith looked around for a door but found none. Had she died? Was this afterlife?
She pinched herself, feeling a sting in her cheek.
No, surely a ghost's skin would not sting.
She looked again, now searching for the person who had healed her. Still, there was no one.
"Hello?" she tried. The sound of her voice was muffled, as though it could not reach further than the tip of her nose. There was no reply.
She raised her hands, letting out red light. The detection spell found nothing at all. A feeling of unease surged in her, one that had nothing to do with solitude or the inability to escape. Was this a dream? An illusion?
She was afraid to close her eyes and search her mind. It would make her vulnerable from the outside. And so, gingerly, she took a step forward, making for the other platform.
It was quiet. Even her footsteps were stifled, as though the air here was too thin to carry the sound. Instinctively, she touched her chest as she walked. Her heart was still beating, the rhythm somewhat soothing to her mind. She still breathed, even if she could not feel the air coming in and out. Curiously, she tried to send out her magic. It separated from her fingers before she could control it, dissolving into nothingness. She shuddered. There was nothing to protect her.
The other platform was further than it seemed. The space must have been warped here, making it impossible to estimate the distance. It must have taken her nearly an hour to reach the steps leading to the elevated dais, if she could trust her feeling. Even time could tick differently here than in the world she had known before. Perhaps one day she would return, finding that her friends had long passed and Skyrim had become a Thalmor province. The thought made her stomach turn. She shook her head to chase it away, choosing to focus on the book before her.
Surely, this must have been a dream. It was the very book she had stolen from Urag. The very book that had raised her hopes and set her mind on Apocrypha. She extended her hand to it, but pulled back before touching it. There was something sinister about it. As if it emanated black light that would absorb her soul if she ever touched it. She stood there, unmoving for a while, just watching the book. It lay on top of the desk, silent and dormant, tantalizing. Yrith frowned.
"Nice trick," she told the empty room with a sigh. "There's nothing else here."
She circled the desk to confirm her words. Save for the book, it was empty. There were no dark corners, no gaps in the fence, no hidden crevices in the walls. There were no cracks in the floor, nothing to attract a person's attention. The place was entirely empty, with just that one desk and a book on top of it. She knew what was expected of her. And she also knew it was the only thing she could do. On many occasions, she would welcome the lack of choice for the sole comfort of not having to think too much. Now, she felt an unpleasant tingle in her fingertips. Slowly, she picked up the book and opened it.
It had not changed. The text was still there, the same as before, instructing on how to think about time and space. She had nearly memorized it back in Winterhold, and all the words were now so familiar. The sight of them and the touch of dry paper on her skin had a calming effect on her. She sifted through the book, page after page, looking them up and down in unhurried tempo. They glided through her fingers with a soft rustle that only she could hear. And then, she reached the last page and her eyes widened.
The text that had been there, the final note from Septimus Signus, was replaced by a diagram. If she had not known better, she would call it a conjuration circle. It had everything it needed. A center, a timeline circling its edges, a set of constellations with clearly defined focal points. Only the constellations were not ones she had ever seen, and the whole thing was… moving. Glowing. Growing.
Or perhaps she was shrinking.
She stared at the central point, unable to move her eyes away. Some invisible force was holding her in place, making her a part of the picture, until the center became too large to observe as a whole, pulling her in. She wanted to scream, but there was no air in her lungs. Her sight became blurry, then dark. A hum filled her ears, making her lose any sense of position. She gave in, letting the current take her. There was no point in fighting back.
The darkness dissolved as quickly as it had come. Yrith cautiously moved her fingers. They obeyed. She let out a breath, standing up from where she had been kneeling. The ground underneath her rustled as she moved. She looked at it curiously and froze. Her hand instinctively pressed against her mouth.
She stood on pages. Hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, perhaps even more. Pages with pictures. Pages with lines of neat text. Pages written in Altmeris, as well as Nordic, Saxhleel, Daedric and a vast number of languages she had likely never heard of. Pages in various scripts, with sundry depictions, some familiar, some surreal. She raised her eyes to scan the area. Again, she stood on a platform surrounded by ornate fencing made in dark metal. One side opened into a bridge descending to a vaster area with a dark pond in its middle and connected to another bridge leading to more platforms. The whole complex, as far as she could see, was floating on the surface of a sea of the same black water that filled the pond. And all around it, pages lay scattered among pillars and pillars of books, holding up by some unknown magic. Books were everywhere. They lay on altars standing on the edges of the platforms. They filled the baskets occasionally standing by the bridge entrances. They floated on the water all around her.
She turned around, but the platform followed, leaving her facing the bridge. Again, she was presented with no choice. She took a step back, and the platform moved under her. She took a step forward. Now, the platform stayed, and pages rustled under her feet. The whole place rustled. Sheets of paper fluttered through the air. At times, it seemed as though the books changed places by themselves, or a new one appeared out of the thin air.
Yrith knew where she was now. This was a library. The library. The greatest library in Mundus. And she was alone.
A/N: If any of you have been rereading the story recently, you might have noticed that the first chapter is different. Yep, I completely rewrote it to improve the quality. I also removed the word "detention" to make it less Harry-Pottery. Others are going to follow eventually.
P.S. To RealityItch: This is what you get for your constant cliffhangers. Vengeance is sweet. *evil grin* 3