Going to be out of town tomorrow, so posting this one a bit early. Please review if you continue to enjoy! And thanks to HermitWitch for being such a marvelous reviewer!
'You can hear the words, so run away
Come Hortator, unfold into a clear unknown,
Stay quiet until you've slept in the yesterday,
And say no elegies for the melting stone.' - 36 Lessons of Vivec, Sermon 5
Moonlight spilled across the field and on to the bonemold armored guards and other citizenry that'd come to watch the annual trials. Masser and Secunda were so bright in the sky that the logistics officer determined no lanterns would be necessary. Any trainee worth his heart stones can see in the dark anyway, Habi thought. Evidently, that didn't include their drunken instructors. After seeing Erandur to one of the viewing stands and bidding him farewell, she'd dodged no less than three of her stumbling teachers trying to wish her good luck, the scent of strong greef and mazte filling the air like a miasma.
She spotted a huge vessel of spirit around which many figures were gathered, occasionally sliding the top away from the vessel and refilling their cups. Habi was surprised to see a few prominent locals standing around, like the outlander Khajiit Akh'idzo and his new Dunmer bride, as well as a host of commoners. The stands were full to bursting of elves drinking and laughing. Habi knew how popular the trials usually were, of course, having attended in years past, but the crowd seemed so much larger now that she would be one of the performers. Erandur was a immobile orange blur among the rowdy masses, sitting quietly and looking towards her. His undivided attention helped stave her rising panic. Somewhat.
"Habi!" A Dunmer waved at her from beside a few pack guars, and came towards her. Ugh. Gothmis Orenos. "Hey, sweet thing. Where ya going?"
"The same place you ought to be headin', scrib brain." Habi ignored his pawing at her shoulder, and tried to withstand his boozy breath. "An applicant shouldn't be drinking on the night of his trial. You're gonna fall down on the field and embarrass yourself."
"Whatever. Maybe I'll get a few laughs." She felt Gothmis watching as she walked away. "Azura knows this night needs some humor, with a tight-ass like you competing."
Habi didn't respond. S'wit. At least with Gothmis on the field, she couldn't be the worse showing.
A few guards forbidden from drink and none too happy about it were guarding the boundaries of the inner field, where the training equipment had been set up. She found the captain's tent nearby, joined by a few other temporary structures that smelled of alcohol and delicious food. Habi's stomach growled, but she quite sternly told it to just knock it off for a few hours. After I pass the trials, we can devour that entire meal tent, okay?
"Applicant Habisunilu," Captain Bedas greeted her, when she pushed open the tent flap and stepped inside. He sat at a large bogwood desk, a cup and a burning candle in front of him. Judging by the clearness of his eyes, he'd not overly indulged. "Welcome to your trials. I always suspected you would end up with us, even when you were a little netch calf trying to beat up older boys."
"Um. Thanks?" Habi had no idea Bedas had noticed her back then, when he'd only been a sergeant himself. She was fairly certain one of the lads she'd gone after was his son. Habi steeled herself. "I've been lookin' forward to this day for years. I...thank you, captain, for letting me try." Normally, the minimum age for a guardsman was twenty, but she'd convinced the captain to let her try out a year early based on her class scores and physical prowess. There were women in the guard, of course, but they were few and far between. So I have all the more to prove.
"Of course. You've earned your place here, today. No charity has taken place; this isn't the temple. If you succeed, it will be because you deserved to. But there will be no shame in failure, either." Bedas leaned forward, his gaze piercing through the wisps of candlesmoke. "These trials are designed to punish the body and destroy the mind. We can accept only Dunmer of great endurance and cunning into the Redoran Guard. That goes doubly on this island. Anything less would compromise the safety of every man, woman, and child in Balmora. We're their only line of defense against the dangers of Vvardenfell. If you show weakness tonight, the trial conductors will not hesitate to tear you apart and lay your failures bare for all to see. Are you still sure you wish to proceed?"
"I'm absolutely certain." She met his eyes without blinking. The tests had already begun, and this was one of the first. "I will join your ranks, Captain Bedas."
Bedas laughed. "And when you do, I'll be glad to share a drink with our youngest recruit in decades."
Habi smiled weakly, some of the tension draining out of her. "Sounds like a plan. When is my test?"
"Let me check..." He pushed aside his cup and picked up a scroll, and held it up to the candlelight. "There are seven applicants, including yourself. All the others either failed to pass the written tests or withdrew their applications before tonight. You'll be the last to try out."
Aw, b'vek. She'd really hoped to be first. There was no advantage in going last, as each trial was personalized to the applicant, and Habi knew watching the others pass or fail before her would only stoke the growing flames of nervous panic. Not to mention that the night's celebrations would end with her success or failure, and that all who attended would leave with her performance on their minds. But there's nothing for it. Nadene always said that nothing worth doing is easy. And it's not like I have to fight Dagoth Ur or contract corpus. Habi nodded firmly and left the captain to his duties. Outside the tent, the night had become surprisingly chilly. She shivered and headed back towards the stands. At least she'd get to watch the other trials with Erandur.
As Habi passed by the drinks tent, a strange odor stopped her in her tracks. A distant memory came back to her, of walking through Nadene's garden in Solstheim. Strange. None of the herbs she grows would survive on Vvardenfell. Maybe someone's imported some special plants for the occasion. But the scent she thought she recognized had no place in a drinking tent. Habi hovered for a second, her mind racing. She poked at the intrusion in her mind, demanding answers, but nothing was coming to light. Just my nerves getting to me. A blaring sound rang across the field, heralding the first trial. Erandur would be getting worried.
"That's probably enough," a male voice said, and her blood ran cold. Erandur had said earlier he knew the voice of a Nord when he heard one. Habi couldn't claim the same, but she almost certainly knew the voice of a Dunmer, and whoever was in that tent was no elf. But is almost certain enough to jeopardize all you've been working towards? If she went and sent Captain Bedas charging in to arrest an innocent vendor, they'd never let her join the guard. I have to be sure. Just a peek, then I'll find the nearest officer.
Habi crouched low to the ground. There was no one else around; Bedas himself had left his tent and was jogging towards the field, not too far away. She watched him go, indecision gripping her heart. One shout is all it would take. But she let Bedas leave. Ancestors, watch over me. Habi crept forward, the grass soft under her feet, and pushed aside the tent flap.
The chitin-clad stranger from earlier was standing over a large drinking vessel, a potion bottle in his hand. His back was to her. The air smelled of spirits and the sharp cloying odor that Habi had recognized. A poison of some sort, no doubt. The stranger delicately poured the potion into the mazte. Then he picked up a spoon and began stirring.
Okay. It's him. What now?
The choice was taken from her, as the stranger glanced back and saw her crouching at the threshold.
"Oh!" He said, with a start. "You scared the shit out of me, girl. What in Oblivion are you doing here?"
"I'd ask you the same." Habi stood and crossed her arms, mostly to hide her shaking hands. "What's that stuff you just poured in there?"
"Um...special order from the captain," he replied. "A little extra kick, for all the good work you folks have been doing."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." He cocked his head. "Hey, I know you from somewhere, don't I?"
"Um." Habi moved backwards, ever so slightly. "I don't think so."
"Aw, that's right. You're that bitch that caught me and Lisbet moving one of the new ones out of town."
"Lisbet?" That was no Dunmer name she'd ever heard of. Habi felt the canvas yielding against her back. Time to get out of here.
But a strong hand pushed back, sending her sprawling forward to land at the stranger's feet. Habi rolled over, eyes wide, and watched the tent flap open by itself and stay that way for almost a minute. Invisible figures entered the tent. The indentation of their footsteps in the passed by her head on the rug. When Habi looked up at the stranger again, he'd taken his helmet off.
"You're..." She swallowed. "You're not Dunmer."
The greasy Breton grinned down at her. "Nah. Name's Banning. You're in for a world of hurt, honey. I hope I get a piece."
Habi suddenly remembered her spear, and scrambled to her feet. She pulled the weapon off her back and held the trembling tip at Banning's throat, mindful of the invisible bodies pressing in on them. There were distant cheers. The first applicant was probably on the field.
"Oh, oh oh." Banning raised his hands. "Little greyskin's got some fire in her."
"What are you doing? That liquid you added to the mazte..." She pushed the spear forward a little, drawing his chin up. "Was that poison?" Her heart beat against her chest so fiercely she swore she could hear it.
"Poison?" A woman's voice, as smooth as a stone in a fierce river. "Oh, no. No more than usual, anyway. We wouldn't want to contaminate our food supply." A canvas bag on a nearby table fell, and many empty bottles rolled across the floor. "Our brother has been adding our special ingredient to your drinks for hours and hours. If it were poison, half the crowd out there would be lying dead."
"What, then? What've you done?" Habi's eyes searched the empty air, frantic. If I keep my spear at the Breton's neck, they won't dare to hurt me.
The woman giggled. "Just a little something to, mmm, excite the passions of all your friends out there. I've been working on this formula for years. It was originally meant for another city."
"A real shame, too," Banning grumbled. "I was really lookin' forward to watching all those Silver-Blood parasites kill each other. Would have been a lot more falling."
Eola continued, "When the body is at rest, the effects are indistinguishable from intoxication. The fun begins when you add adrenaline into the mix. Imagine the strongest fury potion you've ever beheld."
The distant cheers had turned into screams. Oh, no. Her mind flashed to Gothmis. If he was the first on the field...
Strong arms gripped Habi, and her spear clattered to the floor. She struggled and squirmed, to no avail. Figures faded into view around her as their invisibility faded. Mostly Dunmer. Some of the faces, she knew. A red-headed Breton woman stepped forward so her face was an inch away. Habi saw the empty pit where one of her eyes should've been, and gasped.
"Hush, hush." Eola brought her hand back and slapped Habi hard enough to render her body limp. "Brother Banuril, take her to see what's become of her little town."
"Banu?" She asked hazily.
"That's right, Habi." Her old classmate squeezed tight enough to push the air from her body, and carried her just outside the tent.
Screams and yells of pain and fury filled the air. Fire was rising from the trials field. Commoners ran at guards with daggers and pitchforks, and the guards cut them down without mercy. Elves she'd known for years were tearing each other apart, tooth and nail. One Dunmer begin to flee, until his steps faltered and he turned back around to join the bloodbath. Only a precious few, mostly Temple priests and mothers, seemed to be spared the poisoning, but they could not outrun the afflicted.
"Melsele, please!" Bedas, on his knees, pleaded with his wife. He'd put his greatsword on the ground. She rushed forward with a screech, the steel of her dagger flashing in the moonlight, and began stabbing him over and over. The Captain offered no resistance. Habi knew she'd see his blank stare again in her dreams.
Gothmis stumbled through the chaos, dying of a hundred wounds, wearing a face of blood. He collapsed near a small body and began keening shrilly. The noise attracted the furious, and several ran towards him.
Tears ran down Habi's cheeks as she watched Balmora die.
"Beautiful, isn't it? We'll have our pick of the survivors." The red-haired woman had joined them. "I'm Eola. I've been chosen by Namira to shepherd her most faithful into the light of day. It's a shame you won't be a part of what comes after."
Habi said nothing. Her mind had gone away to a place where it could continue to exist. They returned to the tent before any of the rampaging townsfolk could take notice of them. The last she saw, many of the guards were sprinting towards the town proper, swords and axes drawn.
"Let me have this one," Banuril murmured. He squeezed her again, and ran his tongue across her cheek. Habi flinched. "I've had my eye on her for years."
"Tough, kid." Banning glared at him. "You're awful fresh to be making demands. It's gonna be tough to find meat out there that ain't been all torn up. I did all the work, took all the risks. That little gray flower belongs to me."
"Silence," Eola's cold voice rang out. "Neither of you will eat of this girl's flesh. I received an interesting message from Solstheim a few days ago. We have a secondary target, now, in addition to the meal of prophecy. And Habisunilu here is going to help us gather both of them. Search her."
Banning's hands were rough. Habi stared blankly ahead as he pulled at her clothes, spilling her coin purse on to the floor. He yanked her letter to Nadene from a back pocket, and Eola snatched the parchment off the ground.
"This will do nicely," she muttered, reading quickly. "We'll just have to make a few adjustments before the courier arrives. Banning, you'll stay here with seven of our newest and take care of any survivors. Make certain that the mail ship suspects nothing. That should buy us a fortnight before House Redoran sends anyone to investigate. After that, load up some carts with the dead and rejoin us at the mountain."
"With pleasure."
Erandur burst in to the tent, mace drawn. He smashed Banuril's head like a ripe kwama egg, and pivoted swiftly to crush the chest of a lunging cannibal. Habi fell to the ground. Run, fool, run, she thought, but her mouth would not form the words.
Eola laughed, her face splattered with blood, and sent a green spell flying. In such close quarters, Erandur couldn't dodge the orb of energy. He collapsed next to Habi, limbs stiff.
"Was wonderin' where that one got off to," Banning said, looking down none too sadly at Banuril's twitching corpse. "Shame about the boy, though."
Eola seized Erandur and pushed him up against the canvas wall with surprising strength. She drew a long, cruel-looking dagger from her hip. Habi watched, helpless, frozen in fear and denial.
"Dagon?" Erandur asked, once he could. His eyes were glossy and unfocused. "Or...Vaermina, perhaps?"
"Wrong," Eola sang out, and shoved the dagger into his shoulder. He cried out. The sound set Habi's soul alight. "Though we did borrow one of her artifacts, to wake up some of our sleeping brothers and sisters." She pulled the dripping dagger free.
"Aye." Erandur spat blood. His voice trembled. "Skull of Corruption. Thought I recognized its effects, when I heard about the missing elves."
"Yes. Recruiting cannibals is a lot less messier when you can see into their dreams. I found it in the clutches of a burgeoning Vaermina cult in Hag's End. I suspect they were planning on moving in on Markarth following our exodus." Eola clicked her tongue. "I can't suffer rivals."
"Damn it all. I should've known destroying that wretched staff wouldn't be the end of things."
"Congratulations." Eola pushed her blade in his chest, and this time Erandur didn't scream.
She left her dagger sticking out as he slid to the ground.
Banning knelt down and picked up Habi. She was limp in his arms, a broken doll. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
The screams and roars from outside were growing nearer.
"Time for us to go," Eola announced. "Our business in Balmora is concluded, my siblings. Banning, you know your assignment. I hope to see you again before the day of triumph."
He nodded. All around them, cultists were taking out thin potion bottles and drinking them down. One by one, they vanished. Banning forced Habi to down one of the vials, and she watched her own body disappear. She felt like an abandoned soul floating in the aether, formless, without voice, doomed to eternal torment. Eola was the last to drink. She looked down at Erandur, smiling.
"Goodbye, now. Your soul can go to Mara. What's left belongs to us."
Habi closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness.
Later, Erandur pulled himself out of the tent. He left smears of blood behind, but he paid them little attention. Whatever the Breton woman's blade had been coated in seemed to dull the senses. Unfortunately, the poison had also rendered his legs unusable. An ideal scenario, if one were trying to eat me. But Erandur couldn't worry about silly things like walking right now. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, and every time he felt the walls closing in he pressed his body against the ground to summon the hot waves of pain. Conscious thought quickly became a thing of the past. Come now, Erandur. Casamir. We have to hold on for a little while longer.
He crawled like a child past still and squirming bodies, listening to the groans of the dying and doing his best to ignore the silence of the dead. Erandur followed the only group of footsteps in the ash that didn't trail off in all directions. The afflicted and the fleeing had all stood alone, for the most part, and so their panicked treads were easy to distinguish.
Some time later, his left arm stopped responding as well, so Erandur was forced to drag himself inch by inch as he followed the trail. Fortunately, none of the townspeople had fled this far, so the only tracks were those of his adversaries. Somewhere along the way Erandur had picked up a quiver of arrows. He paused for the first time, his working hand trembling. Habi. Habi. Habi.
Erandur reached into the quiver on his back and seized an arrow, using a significant reserve of his remaining strength to plunge it into the ground. He laid panting for a little while, the pain of his injuries fading to a dull numb. That's no good. Soon, the wind would pick up, and the footsteps would be gone. Soon after that, he would be gone as well. Erandur lifted his head, watching the trail of steps run down the hill and towards the ash wastes. So far to go. Mara, give me strength. He clenched his teeth, grabbed another handful of ash, and pulled himself forward.