Author's Note: Thanks for your patience and reviews, as always! C: College is a bit hectic, but Dust's story will continue, if a bit slowly. (Also, please excuse any odd formatting - I've looked through this, but FF is being finicky with me and there may be some issues.)
Small blessings.
A blessing the weather was good, that we could travel quickly. A blessing that in the cool nights, amidst the shade of the woods, we could afford to rest ourselves and our poor horses. A blessing we weren't found, even as the snow turned to rock, rock to grass, grass to bog as we neared Bravil at last.
Small blessings. I didn't know who to thank for them.
"Bravil." Lucien's voice broke our silence at last, jerking me out of a doze. "I'd recognize that stench anywhere."
"Yes, Speaker." Blanchard stared ahead, eyes narrowed. "They will be here, I think. With luck, they'll give us a chance to explain…"
"Luck." Mum snorted, her voice hoarse and weary. "I suppose we could call it that, that we live even still."
I only nodded as they spoke, following Blanchard down the rickety bridge to the city gates. The noise around us after silence was strange - crickets chirping, water rippling, trees whispering and wood creaking ominously beneath the hooves of our horses. From time to time I placed a hand on my pocket, feeling the stone of the soul gem inside it. It comforted me, somehow - I felt as though it belonged to me. I fingered it then as we left our horses by the door, mum staggering to her feet and groaning as Blanchard helped Lucien off Shadowmere. I stole a glance, gripping the stone tightly, a voice echoing in my head.
Come to me.
"Let's - " Mum began to speak, blinking and giving a grunt of pain as her legs buckled beneath her.
"Mum!" I whirled around, but Blanchard was already there, supporting her weight as she gave a weak laugh.
"Saddle-sore, that's all. I can hardly feel my legs…"
"I'll carry you, Speaker Abelle, if that is your wish." Blanchard raised a brow and gave a small smile as mum croaked a laugh, scooping her up as easily as though she were a child. He glanced at me, then, and at Lucien. "And you…?"
I nodded, taking Lucien's hand as his lips pressed tight into a thin white line. He grimaced, and I winced. I half expected him to shout, to tell me to stop trying to lead him around and care for him like a child. But a shiver moved down my back as he gently squeezed my hand. That, somehow, was far more horrifying than the thought of him shouting. Was it tenderness? Was it friendship? Some sign of thanks, before facing the Night Mother? Or was it just a simple measure of comfort?
What do I want it to be?
I followed Blanchard as he half-carried mum, aiding her when she moved back onto her feet. Whispers between them - I couldn't quite hear it, over the noise of the swamps, drunken shouts. The city was dark, a ramshackle of planks pinned together overhead lit only by the occasional torch. I swallowed a lump in my throat, looking around as we moved. "What if we're seen…?"
A harsh laugh from Lucien. "That hardly matters now, pet. And the few guards that would patrol this time of night do not - take offense to the presence of strangers. We are safe." The humour in his voice faded as we walked, keeping pace behind Blanchard and maman. "…For now."
Torchlight. A ring of torches. I frowned, squinting as we moved through the battered huts, towards the light. My blood ran cold as shadows became figures - cloaked, robed figures, garbed in blackest black. A woman bowed before the statue, seeming to mutter to herself feverishly, before being jerked out of her reverie by one of the others. She stood, and her piercing gaze moved to Blanchard. "You are late, Blanchard. You - " Her gaze moved past him, to us, and her hand flew to her dagger, eyes flashing. "Traitor! How dare you show your face here - "
"Calm yourself, Arquen." A familiar voice, warm and welcome. Mum's head perked, Lucien frowned as Vicente spoke, shifting the dark hood to reveal his face. "We do not yet know the truth of this."
"The truth, Valtieri? Of course you would defend your own whelps," The High Elf woman hissed, moving her gaze to the others. "We kill him, now." The others only held their torches, faces hidden underneath their cowls. "Obey, you fools, or the traitor will slip through our grasp!"
"With all due respect, Arquen", A harsh voice spoke, tinged with sarcasm. "We obey the Night Mother, not you. And she has not heard your prayers."
Prayers?
A sound of rage and disgust from the Altmer. "You ash-skin s'wit, I am fifty years your superior and - "
"And I am one hundred and seventeen yours, dear Arquen." Vicente spoke calmly, but I thought I caught a bare glimpse of a smirk.
"Enough of this petty bickering!" I jerked as mum spoke - her voice, before weak with exhaustion, was suddenly strong and commanding. "Blanchard has the proof of your traitor. It was Bellamont, and he lies dead."
"Bellamont?"
"Your Silencer, Arquen, yes." A grim smile from Lucien - he moved towards the circle, torches casting an eerie play of light and shadow on his features. One of the others hurriedly began flipping through the book Blanchard offered as mum moved her gaze to the statue they circled.
"Your eyes…"
"The traitor did it." I was surprised at the sound of my own voice, surprised I'd even dared to speak. "And - "
"Arquen." The Dunmer spoke, clutching the book tight. "They speak the truth. This explains it all, written in blood. His plots. And how he killed the Listener."
"It is a forgery!"
"A forgery he skewered out his own bloody eyes for!" I hissed, feeling a flare of satisfaction as Lucien smirked, only to freeze as the Altmer's gaze moved to me.
"Watch your tongue, little girl. Or expect to lose it to my blade."
"Enough." Mum spoke again, her voice so cold, so strange. I shuddered, moving closer to Lucien, watching as she moved towards the statue. I followed her gaze - a pretty carving, of a young woman gazing up at the sky, fat children dancing around her feet. This - this is the Night Mother? "She denied you all entrance? You have not been able to go inside?"
"Correct." Another familiar voice - a Khajiit, the Khajiit who'd called me a serving wench what felt like a lifetime ago. "We have been here for some time, yet we receive no response."
"Let me try."
"What makes you think you will - "
"Enough, Arquen." Vicente spoke again, his crimson eyes flaring briefly in the darkness. "You had your chance."
In the torchlight, my mother moved, casting long shadows as she knelt before the statue, her small body crouched, clothes torn. And quietly, she began to pray.
"Dearest mother, we, your lost and misguided children, seek entrance into your most unholy tomb and womb. We beg, dear mother…"
A dull chorus. "Unholy Matron…"
Lucien murmured it as well - it occurred to me that I was the only one who hadn't. And I was afraid.
The chanting continued, strange words drifting into the sky like smoke. And slowly, something began to change. The statue twisted - becoming deformed, crippled, ugly and strange. From a maiden, to a crone, hunched and wrinkled. The grating of stone made me flinch - an opening appeared beneath the statue, leading into darkness. One by one the Speakers began to silently descend.
"…You are not one of us." Lucien's hoarse voice jerked me out of my thoughts. "The Night Mother may not welcome your presence. Stay outside and - "
"No." Mum spoke without turning, her voice growing distant as she descended into the darkness of the pit. "She will come with us."
That settled it, then. I had no choice, even if I had wanted to stay outside. I wouldn't let mum go in there without me - I had come this far, after all. Still, fear slowed my steps. I couldn't tell whether I was guiding Lucien, or whether he guided me, but I didn't let go of his hand even as we descended.
Dark. A whisper and there was light, cast by the wavering flames of a torch. The room - no, I realized, it really is a tomb - was small, adorned with sprigs of nightshade, somehow alive even underground, and the tiny, fragile bones of children. We were crowded together. I must have been trembling - mum placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight and murmuring a word of comfort before moving, head held high.
"Sweet Mother, we stand before you now. Please, grace us. Anoint a Listener that we may cleanse the sickness the traitor has wrought. "
At first, I thought nothing would happen. The moments of silence moved painfully slow, until I realized that my fingers were growing numb. Even underground in the stifling, wet warmth of Bravil, the tomb became cold as ice. I felt a hand pressing on my back as the others moved to kneel, and followed. I winced, shifting uncomfortably against the stone, shivering as the tingle of magicka made my skin crawl.
I knew then, irrefutably, that she was there. Magicka took form, swirling in place, until there stood before us the form of a woman. She looked like the ghost of any other woman - a mother and wife, small, plain. But the air of power around her made my ears ring. I took a slow breath as the voice, her voice, echoed in the tomb.
"My sweet, foolish children." Her voice was calm and cool, almost pitying. "You have called me, and I have come. You ask me to anoint a Listener? I shall do so gladly." A smile grew on the woman's lips - I dared to look up, catching her gaze for a moment, and felt a thrill race through my body. "Now that we have cut away the rotting flesh of the Black Hand, restoration may begin. I hope you have learned from this, children. In truth, your 'traitor' served my purposes well."
…What? I was not the only one to look up in confusion. She only smiled.
"I knew of Bellamont's intentions from the moment his mother died at our hand. I knew what purpose he would serve. He has sickened the weak among you, and the weak have rotted. Now we carve the flesh, and begin anew. Much is changing, my children - the Dread Father has seen in the reflections of the void what lies ahead."
She allowed this. I shuddered, hugging myself for little comfort. She let all of this happen.
"You have all suffered, and become stronger for it. Allow me to reward my most deserving children." The Night Mother seemed to smirk, her gaze casting over us. I froze as it seemed to focus on me, withholding a sigh of relief as she spoke. "Lucien. Come to me."
Blind, Lucien stood, moving to the Night Mother as though in trance. Maybe he was. I dared to watch.
"Lucien Lachance, son of Sithis, receive now your reward for your loyalty." Lucien bowed his head, and she brushed her fingers against his brow. "The traitor has taken your eyes, but I shall give you a much more precious form of sight."
"You honour me, dearest Mother." The pull of magicka grew stronger - restoration magic, eerily similar to what I'd known at my father's knee in the chapel, healing. He turned, and for a moment I thought she'd only restored his eyes - but they were different. Darker, irises black. They hardly seemed to catch the light. He stepped away, bowing, a slight smile on his cracked lips.
"And you, child. Granddaughter." My breath caught in my throat as I felt her eyes move to me, and remain. "It is time we met." I didn't think I'd moved but suddenly I was there, before her, as though I'd never been anywhere else. "I have so few grandchildren, and it pleases me to see them." She smiled, and with cold fingers touched my cheek. I shuddered as she brushed away a lock of hair, and tilted my chin to force me to meet her gaze. "But you have something that belongs to me."
Panic welled in my throat - I had no idea what she meant, and could only stutter. "I don't - !" I watched, eyes wide as the soul gem I'd kept nestled in my pocket appeared in her hands. "…Oh." The Night Mother murmured something I didn't catch, kissing the stone. It flashed violet, a plume rising and twisting away.
"It is empty, now. But…" The Night Mother gazed at me, slanted eyes glittering. "I would not send you away empty-handed, granddaughter. And I believe - yes." A quiet, almost dainty laugh. "Yes, that will do well." The stone seemed unchanged as she offered it, but as I took it, rolled it in my hands, I felt the weight and warmth of life within.
Who's soul…?
"And now, children. I name your Listener."
I stepped away, still shaking, gasping as my back hit Lucien's chest. They all stood, know, watching, waiting, with bated breath. She looked over us, before giving a sweet smile to -
No.
"Abelle." She spoke at last, opening her arms to my mother. "You shall rule the Black Hand. You shall serve as my Listener." A shiver of disquiet moved through us, and I trembled.
"Dear daughter, come to me."