Chapter 08: Power Struggles
Yrith yawned as she blew out the candles, rubbing her weary eyes. The darkness outside gave way to an auroral dawn, all too soon for her liking. Her body was stiff from lying down on her belly all night with her head buried in a book. She felt slightly annoyed. Contrary to her expectations, she had a lot less time to read when she was down with an injury. People just wouldn't leave her alone. Whether it was Lady Faralda, Colette Marence, Cain, Qassir or, for some unfathomable reason, Singird Larkwing, she almost always had company. After a few days, she decided to keep her reading to the night time. At least it would keep her from the nightmares.
This morning, she would finally start attending classes again. To her discontent, her first class would be Destruction which she was sure she would fail. Lady Faralda had no tolerance for disobedience, so skipping it was out of question. Conjuration, on the other hand, she was confident at. Sadly, she hadn't had the time to demonstrate it to Master Larkwing, and the blasted teacher took every opportunity to remind her not to forget their "agreement". Though she had to admit she appreciated his care and the fact that he brought her books every time he came to visit.
Lately, he had supplied her with books on soul studies. She had curiously read them all and rejoiced. Singird Larkwing wouldn't have known, and she secretly wondered why he had decided to switch to them instead of Conjuration books, but these were a valuable addition to the Currents of Time she had stolen from Urag. They were less magic and more science, focused on inner energies of a person and how they could influence the outer world. Most of them only contained theories and passive knowledge of certain phenomena, but combined with the work of Septimus Signus, Yrith could see a clear pattern. The outer world was a reflection of the inner one, and with enough power and determination, it could be reshaped. The question was, how to put it to practice. So far, even the Currents of Time eluded the answer and she had a feeling there was some hidden reason behind it.
With utmost care, she closed the book and hid it under several layers of papers under her bed. She wondered to herself how she had managed to hide this mess from Singird Larkwing all this time, and it brought a smile to her lips. Perhaps he would have let her off the hook even if he'd know what she had stolen. But now she had to face an angry Urag and she was not ready to give the book away yet.
Inhaling deeply, she readied herself. Lady Faralda, strangely generous for the past few days, had given her a new set of robes and a pair of soft buckskin boots which she took a great deal of time to admire. They fit perfectly, and she danced around in them happily, reminiscing about her mother and her dancing lessons. Yrith had never been a good dancer, but the lessons had been one of the scarce occasions on which she was allowed to have her mother's attention all to herself. Prior to each lesson, her mother had always given a lecture on Breton culture and how that particular dance had come to existence. There were traditional dances celebrating the growth of crops and those that were refined for balls and social events. Performers also had their own dances, but her mother had strictly refused to teach them to Yrith, claiming them to be "too savage for her good upbringing".
Yrith smiled at the memory as she readied herself, preparing a satchel with papers and a quill. She knew she would not need them. Sadly, Lady Faralda never made them write anything and the whole lesson would be Yrith's failed attempts at producing a decent flame. But organizing her study aids helped her mentally prepare for the first day she would spend outside her room. At last, she gave her hair a quick combing and took a deep breath, stepping out into the corridor.
Early as it was, the common areas of the College were deserted. She stopped by the washroom and the dining room to pick up her breakfast before anyone else could hinder her. Her diet returned to the usual fish meals and dried fruits from southern holds of Skyrim. No bread and cheese or meat broth anymore. At these times, Yrith thought of High Rock and its markets full of people shouting over one another, offering fruits and spices both local and exotic. Things could not have been more different in Winterhold.
The corridors and courtyard were deserted, the only person lurking around being the annoying gossip-loving Altmer called Nirya who was usually assigned the kitchen duty. Now she was temporarily replaced by Cain upon Master Larkwing's instruction. Yrith looked away when she passed her. The haughty elf despised her, just as she despised Lady Faralda, and Yrith soon discovered the feeling to be mutual. Nirya tended to use the word Arch-Mage in her every sentence, emphasizing how important she was to the College's highest authority. The Breton girl doubted the Arch-Mage even knew of Nirya's existence, considering she rarely even left her quarters. Most of the College considered their head a mystery, and for some reason, all the members of the Collegium shuddered the moment they had to go talk to the woman. Yrith herself had only seen a glimpse of her and never heard her utter a word. At times she pondered whether the Arch-Mage even paid attention to the College and its occupants.
Deep in thought, she entered the Hall of the Elements, only to find she was not the first. Leaning against one of the pilasters in the octagonal fountain room was Qassir, eyes scanning a paper which he promptly folded and hid in his sleeve upon her entrance. For a split moment, she could have sworn she saw a deep, pensive frown on his face, but he quickly replaced it with his usual mirth.
"As good as new, eh, urchin?" he said with that unsettling grin of his as he came to her. Yrith suppressed the urge to turn around and walk away and shot him a look.
"Would you stop calling me that?" she asked, aware that her tone might not have been the most forthcoming. His smile did not change.
"What do you want me to call you then?"
She shrugged. "Just Yrith."
"Well then, just Yrith," he quipped, tempting her to glare at him, "How are you on this fine day?"
She circled him, seating herself on the edge of the light fountain. The magic behind her tickled her neck and made her hair flutter about her person like a swarm of butterflies. It was a pleasant feeling, as though she could hear the College whisper to her.
"Same as the last night," she muttered. Qassir had been her second most frequent visitor, after Singird Larkwing. Why he cared so much, she could not understand. He could have all the fame in the world. People loved him, but for some reason, he always found the time to talk to her, even if she gave him more than clear signs of her disinterest. He would always smile at her, always give hints she could not understand. She felt uneasy in his presence.
"And last night, you said the same about the one before. You're not very prone to changes, are you?" The blue light flickered merrily in his eyes, giving him a somewhat ghostly appearance. He sat beside her, not waiting for her invitation. She did not respond. He pinched her cheek and she winced, this time letting her annoyance show. "Reporting a grumpy urchin with a clear lack of sleep!" he announced loudly, and she rolled her eyes.
"Qassir," she groaned quietly, rubbing her temples, "just what do you want?"
He paused, and she listened to the silence, only defined by the humming behind her. There was an almost inaudible sigh before he spoke. "You're not very fond of me, are you?"
She scowled. "I'm not very fond of people who don't answer my questions."
"Well then," he said with a light, good-natured smirk on his face, "let's say I just want a good friend? One that will stay true?"
"If that's what you want, then why," she raised her head and their eyes met, "do you talk to them?"
She did not need to specify. He frowned at her, this time not attempting to conceal it. "I will tell you a secret." He leaned to her and she could feel his breath on her ear. "There are times when you simply need to get on everyone's good side."
"Right," she hissed. "And that includes mine, doesn't it?"
"Now now…"
They were interrupted by the sudden jumble of noises as the gate to the Hall of the Elements flew open with a long-drawn creak. The two of them shifted their gaze toward the entrance and saw most of their class approaching, chattering and laughing. Ha'risha, their new self-appointed leader, walked proudly at the front, whiskers twitching at something Aernil was telling her. When the group reached the fountain, they stopped, all gathering just one step behind Ha'risha. The bronze Khajiit put up a self-important sneer, scoffing in Yrith's general direction.
"Well well, trying to snatch up some undeserved attention, Ravencroft?" she drawled and waited for her comrades to laugh. "If only Qassir had more than pity for you."
Yrith rose to her feet, gritting her teeth. Qassir jumped to her side, but she pulled away, moving toward the crowd and straightening her back. Despite herself, she flashed Ha'risha her brightest smile.
"Please, don't feel envious of me. All you need to do is skip some classes and be as bad as you can at everything you do. Success granted."
The Khajiit bared her canines, preparing to retort.
"But then again," Yrith continued just as she was about to speak, "there's also the part where you have to play the poor victim of her bully classmates. Best of luck with that."
The Redguard behind her let out an unconcealed chuckle and so did a few people on the other side. Ha'risha threw them a withering look over her shoulder, eyes flaring with rage. Without turning to them, she placed a quiet threat that carried through the hall like a paper glider.
"Whoever is on her side," she pointed a hooked talon at Yrith, "step out and be warned." She did not elaborate, but a few people behind her visibly shuddered. There was a moment of silence. Then, two pairs of footsteps separated from the group, one belonging to a fiery-haired Dunmer, the other to a stunningly beautiful high elf. Yrith stared as Leyna Travi joined her side with the grace of her own, her eyes like two beads of purest gold glistening in the fountain light. Ha'risha's bronze fur bristled in outrage.
"I'm surprised the Dunmer even dared show his face amongst my friends," she said. "But you, Leyna? What kind of machination is this? Tell me you jest."
Leyna's beautiful face hardened, an impenetrable mask with eyes of piercing frost. "You who damn your own people," she said in that spine-chilling sharp whisper that carried through the whole room, "you who turned your back to the Moons and ridiculed the mother that gave you life just to live with a wealthy father who was granted a pretense of power by our people, you do not speak to me of jests. Go ahead. Throw away your name and shave your fur. You are a disgrace to your own kind."
"How dare you…!"
"Ha'risha," Aernil whispered, moving his hand to stop the Khajiit from launching. "Leave her. She is hardly worth your concern."
The look Leyna gave to Aernil sent shivers down Yrith's spine. There was more than distaste in the way the two of them regarded each other. They did not exchange one word, but a message was clearly delivered. Now, more than ever, Yrith was glad she was not part of struggles for wealth and power.
"Suit yourself," Ha'risha spat at Leyna, passing the elf with her head high up, followed by the rest of her group.
Yrith's gaze shifted between Cain and Leyna who were now standing at her side, brows arched up in question. The Dunmer let out an amused snort.
"I must say, Leyna," he said as he sized the Altmeri girl up, "that was quite a performance." He lowered his head, hinting a curtsy.
"Oh I know," Leyna shrugged nonchalantly, tossing her head as only she could.
Cain rolled his eyes and muttered something inarticulate, but beneath the disdain, there was a genuine smile. He gave a quiet snort, then turned to Yrith and his face shifted into a frown. "So… uh. I can't believe I'm saying this, but… looks like we're in the same boat now, so let's pair up for the class. Outcasts like us should stick together."
Yrith stared at him. That certainly did not sound like a compliment, but before she could give him a well-deserved caustic retort, Qassir stepped in, sliding himself between her and Cain.
"So sorry but the spot is already taken." Yrith did not have to look at his face to know exactly what kind of smile he was wearing as he said this. Cain huffed in protest, fists clenched as though he was preparing for a brawl.
"Step aside, wise guy. You can pick whoever you want and they will follow you to the Deadlands. So leave the odd ones to themselves."
"Exactly," the Redguard countered with a soft, amused chuckle. "I can pick whoever I want." He spread his legs in a semi-fighting stance, shielding Yrith from Cain's view.
"Don't pretend to care, sandman. You just want to look better compared to her."
"And you certainly care when you just don't want to look as bad."
Yrith could not believe her ears. She glared at the two boys, hands on her hips and nostrils flared with rage. And once again, she was interrupted, this time by her newly found Altmeri ally who put a slender hand on her shoulder and gave her a placating smile. She then turned to the boys, smile transforming into a smirk.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," she sang and made them instantly look her way, "but as you are clearly busy with more important things, I shall be escorting the lady from now on. Have a lovely day." She lowered her head and lifted the lower part of her robe like a skirt, hinting a bow. Yrith arched her brows in question, but the elf simply grabbed her and dragged her away, leaving the confounded boys staring at them.
"You…" Yrith started, unsure how to react.
Far out of the boys' earshot, Leyna let Yrith go, smoothing up the Breton girl's sleeve. She let out a deep breath, leaning to the wall and gesturing for Yrith to follow her.
"I must have startled you," she said, smiling, but her eyes did not reflect it. Yrith expected to see contempt in them but was surprised to only find something she assumed to be sadness. "Don't worry. I am not playing with you. Though I will understand if you suspect me."
"Right…"
"But at least I did not insult you like those two," she tried.
Yrith knit her brows at that. Leyna Travi had insulted her many times before, and she pondered asking the elf whether she had suffered a memory loss.
"By the way," the elf flicked her another smile, "welcome back." She extended her hand. Yrith stared at it and hesitated. But then again, she thought to herself, she had nothing to lose. As long she avoided trusting her entirely. At last, she took the hand and clutched it.
"Thank you," she said with a hint of uncertainty. "So, about pairing up…"
"That is what I'm here for," Leyna nodded. "You wouldn't want to team up with one of those blockheads, would you?"
Yrith laughed at that, seating herself on one of the window sills. "May I ask you a question?"
"You don't have to ask to do that." The blonde's eyes were welcoming and Yrith flushed with embarrassment.
"Why the sudden change?"
Leyna bit her lip and sighed. "I guess I realized that night when Ha'risha and Aernil first cornered you that I do not find this whole atmosphere enjoyable. My father…" she paused and there was visible pain in her eyes. Yrith realized she had seen this look on her before. There was something gnawing at the Altmeri girl. Something grave enough to haunt her for weeks. "My father always said I mustn't stray from the path of justice. I think he'd be sad if he saw what I'd become. I did you wrong and I shouldn't have."
Spoken like a true Altmer, Yrith snorted inwardly. The Altmer may admit a mistake. But they never apologize.
They did not have to wait for too long until the arrival of Lady Faralda. The teacher rushed into the room, her robes flapping around her. She scanned the class and Yrith knew then she was counting. Lady Faralda never had a list of students with her, never took a paper and a quill. She simply did not need to put down any notes to absorb and remember every little detail. When she finished, she gave a curt nod.
"Good morning, class," she greeted. "And welcome back, Yrith." Her voice softened a touch before returning to its stone hardness. "Today, we are going to practice lightning. All of you should have mastered fire and ice by now, but lightning is an entirely different category. It is harder to master and more versatile. While fire and ice can only affect the outer shell of your target, lightning can drain its soul energy. Combine fire and ice and you get lightning.
"Today's pair work will be different from the usual. This time you will not fight each other. You will work as a team instead. One of you will do the frost part while the other will heat the water created in the process. The purpose of this exercise is to make you understand how this works. I believe you all know the theory by now, so let's move right on to the practical use. The coordination might be difficult at first, but teamwork is an essential part of magical practice, so learn to master it. Now, spread around the room, please. You will be firing at the walls, and none of you will direct a spell at a classmate or you're out before you can say troll. Start now."
Yrith paled and sighed. "All of us should have mastered fire and ice by now… yeah, right. I… I'm afraid I'll drag you down."
"Nonsense. Well, just between us, I'm not too good at Destruction either." Leyna gave her an impish look.
"I don't think you'd be a competition," Yrith smirked.
"Well then, let's put it to a test. I will cast an incomplete ice spell. Well, water, to be precise. You need to quickly heat it up so that I can cool it down again. When the freshly formed ice particle clash, that's when lightning will emerge. Think you can do that?"
"Well, but… quickly means I have to use a lot of power, no? I don't have this kind of power. I can barely light a candle."
"Hmm, let's just try, shall we?"
Leyna's fingertips sparkled blue before casting an orb of water. It spun around as the elf tried to hold it in place with her magicka. She nodded encouragingly at Yrith and waited. Yrith stretched out both hands, producing a flame. It flickered weakly before fading out and the Breton could feel heat spreading in her cheeks.
"I don't think I can…"
"Don't worry! Just…"
They both jumped in surprise when they heard Cain's voice. The Dunmer was spitting in rage, glaring at his Redguard partner who seemed to enjoy himself for some reason.
"We are supposed to be training! So would you just…"
"If you insist," Qassir purred, his tone annoyingly calm. He cast a ball of water, but before Cain could react and heat it, Qassir pulled away and struck the wall with a lightning of his own. Cain bared his teeth as his hands clenched into fists.
"You…"
"That is enough," Lady Faralda cut in, eyes narrowed into slits that Yrith was all too familiar with. "Shouting about like babes in their cradle years. I have given you a task, have I not?"
Cain lowered his head obediently while Qassir gave a reserved nod.
"And I don't see you fulfilling it. Be glad I am not Master Larkwing. Each of you would have a month's worth of extra duties by now. You will now split. Mister Tahlrah, you will join Yrith and help her master her spells. Since I have seen your lightning, I presume you do not need any help with that. Mister Aldaryn, you will team up with Miss Travi and train your lightning according to my instructions. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, Master Faralda," Cain nodded quickly, and with apparent relief, he scuttled to Leyna's side. The elf sighed, and so did Yrith as she shambled toward the smiling Qassir. Lady Faralda sized each of them up before leaving to survey other students.
"You just always have to have your way, don't you?" Yrith growled, not even trying to conceal the animosity in her voice.
"Indeed." His smile was angelic. And so, so unnerving.
"Didn't you say it's good to be on everyone's good side?"
"Whatever might you be implying?"
"Him," she said, pointing a finger in Cain's direction. The Dunmer seemed quite content with having Leyna as her partner, producing a flickering ball of fire to heat up the Altmer's water bubble. Then he suddenly looked at Yrith, eyes reflecting a silent invitation. She quickly turned away, back to the waiting Qassir.
"Well then," he gave a little too pompous shrug, "have you heard the saying 'exception proves the rule'?"
Yrith snorted. "How do I make you lose interest?"
"You don't. Now, I was supposed to teach you some Destruction, wasn't I?"
"How do you teach Destruction to someone who has no power? The only thing I'm good at is Conjuration. Obviously, it's that easy to summon a creature and maintain the connection."
Qassir raised his brows, regarding Yrith with queer curiosity. She shifted nervously on her feet. What was it with these long, hard looks people enjoyed giving her?
"No power, eh? Then would you explain to me how you survived an avalanche with a single ward?"
"Well, that…"
She felt the Redguard's hand pat her gently on the head and suppressed the urge to pull away. He was smiling like a father giving a lecture to his favorite son on how to use a chamber pot, making her feel very much out of place.
"I don't think lack of power is your problem," he said. "Look. You want to create strong fire? Then look at it like this. Fire is not destruction. Fire is life. It is warmth and light. So you can light a candle, yes? Then instead of creating that small flicker of light, think of lighting a ballroom. Or warming up the whole house so your family can escape the winter cold. What will you do?"
Yrith took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Drawing magicka from her soul was the first step to almost every spell ever invented. Just like with wards, she would delve deep into herself, pull the energy out and transform it into whatever she needed. In this case, it was fire. There was nothing tricky when it came to simple fire. Magicka would clash with the air, create a spark and ignite a flame. Its strength depended on the amount of magicka invested. But that in turn relied on the caster's ability to control their power. And every time Yrith looked into her soul, she could only feel turbulent chaos she was afraid to touch. Calm, she needed to be calm.
A fire that would warm up a house, she thought to herself. An image of homely coziness and winter night spent in the family circle or nestled down by the hearth with a book in her hands. That was something she could agree on. A fire to give life. A fire to preserve and provide comfort. A fire that felt right and welcoming.
As she opened her eyes, she saw a flame dancing merrily in the palm of her hand. It was bright and strong and brought a sheepish smile on her lips. Qassir nodded.
"See? That wasn't so hard."
Yrith moved her hand and the flame followed, controlled by a tiny stream of magicka. She could not take her eyes off of it.
"So now you want to direct the flame at the wall," Qassir continued. "Aiming can be difficult at first, but if you only want to create a simple flame spell, guiding it along your stream of magicka should be enough."
Reluctantly, Yrith stretched out her hands, but as soon as she aimed at the wall, the flame flickered and died out, leaving but a trace of warmth behind. She felt a tug at the back of her mind, a feeling that prevented her from releasing her spell. A fear. Not a fear of something harming her. A fear of herself. She raised her head and gave Qassir a hopeless look.
"Well, urchin. You need to light the fire somehow. The firewood in the hearth won't start burning by itself."
"It will, if you're crafty enough…"
"People have invented magic so they don't have to be crafty. Try again, urchin."
Yrith did. The fear grew stronger, reminding her of the night when her parents had died. Then the fires of Oblivion and her dreams. She looked around at her classmates. Many of them were now firing lightning at the surrounding walls, and the College took in their magic with soft hums. The College was always grateful and forthcoming, accepting magic as though it filled her with life. But people could not do this. As soon as she would fire at a living being, her magic would take their life and send their soul to Aetherius. She would truly cause destruction. She shuddered.
The class dragged on and Yrith grew tired. The final clap of Lady Faralda's hands announcing the end of the lesson was like the chime of salvation to her. She let out a deep breath, waving Qassir goodbye as she quickly scurried away. She was almost at the gate when Lady Faralda's voice stopped her.
"Wait just a moment, Yrith," she called to her as she hurried to her side, opening the gate and offering Yrith a passage. The girl stepped out with hesitation, waiting for her foster mother to join her. "How… how are you feeling today?"
Despite herself, Yrith found the sight amusing. So, Lady Faralda, the graceful Altmeri Destruction master, was now asking after her health, and she clearly had a hard time even articulating the question. In a way, she reminded Yrith of her father. He too did not handle emotions well, and he was a Breton.
"Good, I suppose," she shrugged as the two of them adopted a slow pace toward the Hall of Countenance. The snowflakes were falling gently on their heads, creating veils of silver frost as they tangled into their hair.
"No nightmares haunting you this night?"
So she knew. Yrith was wondering if Singird Larkwing had not forgotten. He had not brought up the subject ever since she had first told him about them and no teacher had come to check up on her either, but it was not like that uptight Nord to ever forget anything.
She pondered the answer. How could she tell Lady Faralda that she avoided sleep?
"Not this time," she muttered, trying to not let her guilt show.
"Master Neloren is waiting for you in his room. Have yourself examined. Miss Marence claims she is unable to cure nightmares. I can't assure you that you will be cured at all, but at least Master Neloren will be able to tell if you are possessed and how grave it is."
Yrith shuddered at the thought. Lady Faralda certainly knew how to unsettle a person. She nodded in response, choosing not to voice her thoughts.
"And don't forget to visit Master Marence later. She has a potion for you. I will see you around."
There was a pause. They entered the Hall of Countenance, welcomed by a wild crackle from the fountain. Sparks of blue light glimmered around it, fluttering like a swarm of Luna moths. Yrith stared at the strange display, but Lady Faralda's voice made her turn away from it.
"And Yrith?"
Yrith quirked her brows, waiting for what would follow.
"I'm glad to see you make a progress," Lady Faralda said, then rushed to her room, leaving the girl there without waiting for an answer.
A smile formed on Yrith's face by itself as she stood there, staring at the door closing behind her foster mother. Had she just praised her?
Master Drevis Neloren was bent over something on his table when Yrith entered his room. Without so much as looking at her, he invited her to sit down. She took his chair and felt immediately grateful for it. As she scanned the room, the images on the walls made her head spin. They were full of strange diagrams, models that were static but seemed to be spinning, twisted figures and shadow plays. Just next to the paper he was so intently reading stood a ball that changed colors, seemingly turning itself inside out incessantly. Yrith was certain she saw something move just beside it, but that something was just a mass of quivering air whose shape she could not quite make out. Just as she watched it with eyes narrowed in concentration, taking guesses at what it could be, Master Neloren folded the paper and turned to her.
"Pardon the mess," he said and there was more pride than remorse in his voice. "This room is usually clean and cozy, but I was in the middle of something… just a moment please." He waved his hands and the images shifted and changed before Yrith's eyes, taking on different shapes and colors, some disappearing entirely. The most disturbing moving fractal diagram changed into a simple picture with a fireplace in it. Though Yrith could swear the fireplace still flickered and glowed, it was a welcome change. The ball on the table turned into one of those crystal balls with snow inside she had seen so many times in the Daggerfall markets. The room was nothing like moments before and she stared at the walls incredulously.
"No need to be astonished," Master Neloren chuckled as he pulled another chair toward her. "That's just a simple chameleon spell. Skyrim mages are not very fond of it, but I received some scrolls from Cyrodiil and decided to test it. It works wonders. Much better than invisibility, if you ask me. You don't need to maintain it. It's enough to slightly alter the surface of whatever you want to hide or change, and it stays that way. Simply brilliant."
He kept watching her as though expecting acknowledgement. Yrith gave a slow nod. "Quite so," she supposed.
"Sorry, I am rambling. You've come to have me take a look at you, have you not? Then take the bed, please."
She raised her brows, slowly shuffling toward the bed as he led her.
"I know it sounds strange, but it will be safer. I don't want you falling on the ground if something happens, not to mention I prefer having you relax. Illusion is quite a delicate craft, if you ask me. Never underestimate the effect of illusion spells. But before we start, can you tell me about those dreams you have? What do you see in them? How often do they come? And how long do they last?"
The whole speech was given in such a speed that Yrith stared at the Dunmer teacher for a long while before she was able to process everything he had said. She sat down on his bed, caressing the dark blue velvety spread that covered it. It was warm and pleasant on touch, and that itself made her feel quite at ease for some reason.
"Well," she said, inhaling deeply to gather her thoughts, "they didn't come too often at first, but now they come about every other day and it is getting worse. It's like… I feel more and more feelings cramped inside me, wanting to get out. Like I am going to explode any moment." She did her best to tell him everything, but talking to Master Neloren was not like talking to Singird Larkwing. As she forced the words out of her mouth, she realized how much she had come to trust the starchy Nord. No one had ever gotten so close to her, and it unsettled her as much as it made her feel safe.
When she finished talking, Master Neloren was muttering something inarticulate under his breath. She waited, watching an empty place on his wall where a picture used to be. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was still there, but the colors of its surface were adjusted so it seemed to have disappeared. Simply brilliant.
"Well then, Miss Ravencroft," Master Neloren spoke at last, "I need to make something clear. I will examine you, but you need to let me into your soul. This experience may be quite unpleasant and it also involves the possibility of having me read some of your thoughts. I can only promise you that everything I learn here will stay in this room, save for the state of your health which I need to report. Would that be acceptable?"
Yrith stared at him, trying to read his features. Contrasting the light coming from the window behind him, she could barely see his face at all, and his ashen skin and crimson eyes did not help either. She did not like his conditions. Exposing her secrets again terrified her. But if she refused here, she would certainly turn into a coward in Master Larkwing's eyes. And that might be even scarier. She bit her lip and took a deep breath.
"All right," she said, her voice hoarse with unease. "Let's do it."
"Good. Then lie down please."
She did and felt the velvet take her, inviting her to close her eyes. She resisted, watching as Master Neloren bent over her and placed his hands on her temples.
"Make yourself comfortable," he told her. "I will now enter your mind. It will tingle, and you might feel some of your old fears and ails, but the process itself is quite harmless. Do not try moving away from me. You will be fully conscious, so if you feel like you can't take it anymore, let me know and I will stop."
Yrith nodded, feeling a lump settle in her throat. Master Neloren had just placed at the top of her list of the most terrifying people in Winterhold. She closed her eyes, and immediately, she felt magic penetrating her skin.
It was a strange feeling, not unlike the fountain of blue light tickling the nape of her neck, but much stronger. Strands of magicka crept through her person, claiming her soul. As the first memory emerged, she gasped.
It was one back from Daggerfall. Her father scolded her for snatching a book. It spoke about Elder Scrolls and how they are made from the fabric of time. It was supposedly an important book, but the six years old Yrith could not have known.
The memory jumped to the night her parents had died, then to the first encounter with Singird Larkwing. It followed her day in quick pace and stopped at the ice wraith incident before jumping again. Some more sessions with Singird Larkwing, then the embarrassing classes where she could barely touch her magicka, not to mention produce a spell. People cackling and chortling, laughing at her expense, and the insuppressible urge to escape. The pain in her leg when the avalanche buried her, and at that moment, Yrith winced and stifled a moan. The feeling of utter loneliness at those rare moments she was left alone in her room while recovering. And her dreams. Pain that overtook her body and made her sweat in fear. Master Neloren stopped there, making her relive moment after moment. She cried with pain and clutched the velvet cover underneath her. No more…
"No more!" she screamed, and the pain immediately receded as he pulled away. She was crying, shame fighting fear, but amidst her own tears she could see that she was not the only one who was shaken. Even Master Neloren was panting, clenching his fingers into tight fists. He pulled a chair closer and let his body sink in it.
After a moment of silence, he let out a heavy breath. "Well, that was… quite surprising to say the least."
Yrith forced herself to sit up, breath steadying as she slowly regained her composure. She wiped the tears off of her face and the image of Master Neloren turned from a smudged haze to a crystal-clear view.
"Did you… did you find anything?"
The Dunmer teacher let out a bitter laugh. "If I found anything? There is so much I found I don't even know where to start. Well, let's see. The good thing is you are not possessed."
"And… the bad thing?"
"I can't help you with your issue." Yrith gave a sigh of disappointment, but Master Neloren shook his head and continued. "Don't take me wrong. There is a solution, but I can't provide it. Neither can anyone else. Except yourself, that is."
"What does that mean?"
"Let's see. How powerful do you think you are?"
Yrith raised her brows. The question itself sounded ridiculous, but given he'd just seen her memories, she could not understand its meaning at all.
"Not much," she muttered.
"Obviously," he snorted, and she stared at him, half offended and half shocked at his straightforwardness. He chuckled at that, only to irk her further. "A while ago, I would have certainly agreed with you. But this… this changes everything. Say, Miss Ravencroft, how do you summon a fire atronach?"
She stared at him in question, then shrugged. "Quite normally. I spread my consciousness and call it to my side."
"You see, what you just described contradicts the word normally. Normal people have to send just a tiny strand of magicka to Oblivion and seek their target. To spread their consciousness is unthinkable for them, simply because they don't have enough power to do so. Miss Ravencroft, you are lying to yourself. You are well aware what you can do. Even if you can't see it in the way you conjure, there are still your wards. And the flame you cast in today's Destruction. So why do you think you can't cast an aimed spell?"
She shook her head in silence.
"Think, Miss Ravencroft. You know the answer."
"I thought we were supposed to talk about my dreams," she mumbled, gaining herself a reproachful look.
"We are. It is related."
"But I don't…"
"Why could you create that flame today?"
Yrith frowned, trying to recall the class. A flame to warm a family. That was why. "Because… I was not thinking of harming anyone."
"Exactly. So why can't you cast proper spells?"
"I… I'm scared…"
"See? You do know what's stopping you. Now, any normal person would be thrilled to learn they have such power. But I suppose it won't please you. In any case, you can't just run away from it, Miss Ravencroft. Your magic is different. You need to tame it and keep it under control, or else it will consume you."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, let's say there are currents of magicka coursing through the whole world and even across dimensions. Most of them are weak, tiny sparks of magic that can be left behind by anything that breathes or is imbued with magic. They are nothing unusual. At some places, the magic is stronger, like here, in Winterhold. There are others – the Throat of the World, the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil, or our Red Mountain in Morrowind. The Crystal Tower also used to be such a place of power. These places leak their magicka into the world and thus are connected to it. The closer to them you are, the more you are influenced by their presence, but is also the other way around. As their magic flows along the currents of magicka, they are affected by the outer world. You are like a walking place of power. Your magic is leaking, but unlike these places, you can feel it. You can feel everything it touches, and it may not be a pleasant feeling at all. It reflects in your dreams. The things you see… they are quite possibly real."
Yrith's eyes bored into Master Neloren's. Was he being serious with her? She could not conceive what he was telling her. It was simply impossible. She took a while to process his words, then her stomach knotted when she fully realized what he meant by 'real'.
"No way," she breathed.
"Quite shocking indeed, but there is but one explanation for the dreams you have, and it corresponds with everything you have lived through. You are afraid of your own power, and that alone stops you from excelling in your studies."
"But you said I need to… tame it?"
"You do. It will only get worse if you do not gain control over your magic. Stop skipping your classes, Miss Ravencroft. We will help you conquer it."
"But what if I…"
"There are no what if's. You have all the awareness you need. Now you only need one thing, and that is to put trust in us."
"I'm… scared," she repeated, now fully voicing her concerns. Strangely enough, she felt relief as the words left her mouth, as though she had been waiting for the chance her whole life.
"I know. And you are right to be scared. After all, only a fool wouldn't be. You were right about Destruction magic, but it is not called Destruction for nothing. Think of it this way. Before the avalanche took you, you gathered fish every day. What was it like to kill those creatures?"
"I… didn't really think about it… they were for food after all."
"Correct. You found purpose in killing them. But by doing so, you took their life. That was magicless destruction. Magic is no different from taking a blade and slashing it. How you use it is solely up to you. You need to realize that Destruction is meant to destroy before you use it, just as you need to know it when you're wielding a blade. Even the firewood you burn when creating the homely warmth used to be a beautiful tree. Never forget that."
Yrith dropped her eyes, pinning them to the floor. That was her own philosophy working against her. Master Neloren was right and it was vexing. She had nothing to counter that, and so she stayed quiet, waiting in an uncomfortable silence. It seemed to her that there was a colorful pattern on the floor, but she could not be sure with the chameleon spell on it. She fixed her eyes on it so she would not have to think about what to say.
"Well, I think we are done here," Master Neloren nodded as he rose from his seat. "Just a piece of advice for you, Miss Ravencroft. If possible, do not speak about your power to anyone. Many would be thrilled at the prospect of having a mere portion of it."
She nodded, gathering herself up. When she reached the door, she stopped, throwing the teacher a pensive look.
"Master Neloren?"
"Yes, Miss Ravencroft?"
"I heard a voice in my dreams. It seemed to speak to me."
"Ah, that," he said with a sigh as he cleaned his desk with a single wave of his hand. "That is the one part I don't understand. If my guess is correct, someone has a very strong magical connection to you and they use it to communicate with you. Be wary of it, these connections may prove fatal if the person on the other end of it means harm. As I said, Miss Ravencroft. Do study and learn to control your magic. Learn to protect yourself."
She nodded her thanks and left the room. The fountain on the other side of the door was now shooting blue sparks all around, hissing and crackling, the column of light dancing ferociously from one side to another like a tornado. Master Neloren rushed outside before she could close the door behind herself, pulling on a strange pair of gloves with a star-like ornament in a rope-patterned circle at the back of the hands.
"Polluted again? It's been days since I cleaned the focal points!" he grumbled to himself, raising his hands and plunging them deep into the pillar of light. "We've been having so many uninvited guests it's uncanny. I swear Enthir's gonna have it one of these days!"
Yrith's brows quirked up at that, but Master Neloren did not pay her any heed. With a shrug, she left the Hall of Countenance and let the cold air from the courtyard hit her in the face.
She froze as soon as the door snapped shut behind her. Just before her stood Urag gro-Shub, a number of books under his massive green arm, and his face hardened as he looked down at her. She took a step back and crashed into the door, its studding boring into her back.
"So," he said slowly, his voice sharp at the blade of a knife, "I don't suppose you'll share with me where certain book from my collection went?"
Yrith was silent. Urag's eyes were pinning her to the ground and she found herself unable to turn away from them. He was beyond furious. There was another feeling which she couldn't quite identify, but it certainly wasn't glee.
"No, I suppose not," he answered his own question. "Well then. Shall I bust into your room and take it myself? Of course, then you'll be risking that I'll take more than that."
Yrith took a deep breath, struggling to prevent her voice from trembling. "Urag… can't I have that book just a while longer? Please."
"You sure are cute and your eyes are pretty, but my books are worth more than that. So cut the charade."
Yrith stared at him and felt panic conquering her thoughts. So this was how Urag looked when he was angry. She bit her lip, clenched fists pressed close to her body.
"I… I know they are. But… this is really important to me!"
"It is, isn't it? But a no is a no. Now give it back."
"I can't."
"I am not giving you a choice, in case you haven't noticed. Stop trying my patience or…"
"Your patience?! Honestly Urag, there are things that are more important to me than your patience! I…" Yrith gasped, not believing her own words, and her hand shot up immediately to cover her mouth. She had nowhere to run, unless she wanted to go back to the Hall of Countenance and answer to the teachers who would surely side with Urag and perhaps discipline her. She did not want to fight him. But she had to have her parents back!
The orc took a few breaths, clenching his fists and releasing them again as though two sides were struggling against each other in his mind. "Look, Yrith. That book is dangerous. Return it to me before you hurt yourself."
"I will not!"
"For heaven's sake, Yrith! Time goes on and there's a godsdamn reason for it! Don't go defying the world's fundamental rule on a whim! You don't…"
"You think I'm doing this on a whim?! I too have a godsdamn reason to defy it!"
"But certainly! Just because you refuse to accept what happened and blame yourself for things you couldn't have done…"
"Yes, I refuse, all right! But how could you ever…" She froze, eyes widening in disbelief. "Wait… who told you I was blaming myself for anything?"
"Well, that…"
Yrith gave Urag a long, piercing look. Now she was the one with reproach in her eyes, and the Orc librarian looked so small and helpless, like a lost child.
"Look, Yrith…"
"No," she hissed, "I will not look, nor will I listen. You and your wisdom! To Oblivion with it! Just…" she took a few breaths, searching for words, but could not find the right ones to express how she felt. With a sigh of resignation, she shook her head. "Never mind," she said and circled the orc, refusing to look him in the face.
Rage swirled and gurgled in her, dying the surrounding snow red. Trusting Singird Larkwing was the biggest mistake she had ever made. Did he find it amusing to go around and tell her secret to others like it was the news of the day? Or did he simply think that telling Urag did not count?
"Yrith!" the orc called from behind, but she ignored him. Deep inside, guilt was gnawing at her. Urag had every right to be angry with her, but she couldn't bring herself to face him. Not now. She paced across the courtyard and into the Hall of Attainment, letting the door shut with a loud thud. And there he stood just before her, the person she wished to hit in the face.
Singird Larkwing's eyes mirrored surprise at her sudden appearance, but he chased it away with a slight shrug and nodded her a greeting. She snorted as she made toward her room.
"Enjoying yourself giving out my secret?" she spat.
"I… beg your pardon?" She had never seen such a shocked look on his face. Somewhere deep inside, she might have felt sorry for him, but that feeling was entirely stifled by rage.
"What a fool I've been! I thought you had your morals and all. But obviously, you'd do anything to humiliate me!"
"Miss Ravencroft, what are you talking about?"
She glared at him, knuckles on her hands turning white. "But if you thought Urag would scoff at me like you do, you were wrong," she hissed through gritted teeth. Then she turned on her heel, rushed into her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving the conjuration master staring at it in confusion.
Still clenching her teeth, she tossed her satchel on the ground and hit the wall with her fist. It took her several deep breaths to regain a hint of composure.
As she turned around, she gave a long, thoughtful look to the bed on the other side of the room. Somewhere underneath it was hidden the book that had started all this madness. Now she was scared to even approach Urag to return it. She really had a knack for pushing everyone dear to her away.
With a sigh, she sank on the floor, seating herself with her back against the door. If only her parents had never died. Then she wouldn't have had to deal with this.
Ever since that incident, she had never gone back to her house. She did not know if Lady Faralda had put her parents' ashes away, or if there had been any change to the house. She had seen it many times from the outside and it seemed to wither. Now, she felt a sudden urge to go see it. Master Larkwing had warned her not to venture outside of the College. But she could care less what that traitor said. The mere thought of him made her blood boil.
She tilted her head back, hoping the coldness of the door would chase the anger away. It felt somewhat soothing, and so she closed her eyes and let herself get absorbed in the feeling.
After a while of silent rumination, she gathered herself, muffled herself up in her coat and left for the city.
Another tl;dr A/N: So… I made it within the deadline, even with my new job! *pats herself on the shoulder* Good girl!
Anyway… I changed a lot of things in this chapter. Of course, it has a lot of content the original one didn't have. A lot of very important content. Also some hints. Maybe a bit more sneakily hidden than the ones in the previous chapters. And I am removing some things I made obvious in the original and changing them into more hints. Why? Because it'll be more fun for you guys! I apologize to those who read the first version and have certain things spoiled, but I can assure you there will be a lot of surprises for you too. Anyway, to all those who didn't get to read it… don't be sad! There is already a lot more content than there previously was, and certain parts were really spoiling too much of what would happen.
On another note, I finally made a clear chapter-to-chapter outline. So, to give you some basic info… this story is going to have about 35 chapters (I might split some into more than one, so let's say 35-40). Chapter 16 will be a breaking point. Look forward to it because the real action starts there.
About the next chapter… it's going to be entirely from Singird's POV and named Tongue of Might. And I won't tell you more! :D
Here's a thank you to all of you who favorited, followed or reviewed. You guys are the best!
Mary Muir: Omg, I know, right? I have so many mods… Immersive College of Winterhold among them. I should have included it in the story. Though I'm really making the College my own now, totally ignoring the fact that the original teacher rooms were empty and ugly and unwelcoming. Like you said… who cares. Speaking of Alduin becoming a man… are you by any chance reading Dragonrend from Myrielle? (I love that story!) Anyway, thanks so much for the beautiful, inspiring comment!
D-Koy24: Thank you! Just out of interest, what kind of stories do you usually read? And my long chapters… well, I always say – quantity doesn't equal quality. A chapter should be just as long as it needs to be. Some people do awesome job splitting their story into short chapters and it actually gains them a lot more readers that way. Good for them! And I… well, I have my own style. Sometimes I think I should learn to control my wordiness. But then again… I've found people who like it. So I guess not. (Though I do cut out a lot of unnecessary parts. Apparently, I always manage to replace them with even longer "necessary" parts. :D)
TooLazyToLogIn: I love your nickname! Well, as I said, I think it's better you didn't read it. You'll enjoy it more that way. Ahhh, I love when people start taking guesses. Thank you so much, your review made my day! (Unfortunately, I can't comment on your guess, but you'll find out soon enough. :))
So, that's it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and see you around!
Mirwen
