Chapter 37: The Beginning
Blood… blood everywhere. Yrith felt it pour over her, drip into her eyes. It was nigh impossible to see through the curtain of red. She wanted to move, but something held her pinned to the ground. She had to move! Her friends were in danger. They would die any moment. They would burst, just like the guards had, their souls would be violated, made into weapons to kill her. She breathed deeply and the blood entered her lungs. She coughed and choked on it, still unable to lift even a finger.
Help… someone…
But there was no one. No one would come and pull her up, no one would put a stop to it. This was her task and she had just failed. This was her responsibility and she had let everyone die. This was her fault, her sin and her regret.
She could not breathe. She turned her head and looked to her side. There were bodies all around, broken, torn… enemies and friends alike, all lay motionless, and those who still had faces stared emptily into the open space.
Then at least finish it, she begged. Finish it… let me die with them…
"Oh yes, Yrith Ravencroft… you will die. You'll be the last, and your death will be most painful."
Someone laughed, and the sound was cold as a jagged blade of ice. Yrith wanted to clench her fists, but her hands were numb, as if they did not even belong to her. Why did her body not listen?
Please… anyone!
Across the ocean of vermillion, another bloodied head turned to her.
Singird…
"Singird…"
The word was muffled by the blood in her mouth. It tasted salty and bitter. She wanted to take a breath, but instead, she rattled.
"Singird!"
"Yrith…"
"Singird!"
"I'm here. Yrith!"
Someone was shaking her gently. Amid the infinite coughing, she opened her gummed up eyes. Her vision was blurred, but slowly, she could make out the silhouette leaning above her against the surrounding murk. He smelled… so fresh.
Shakily, she moved her fingers, then lifted her hand, then her whole arm, touching his chest. He was warm too.
"Singird…"
"It's all right, Yrith. It was just a dream."
A dream… the same one again, just like the previous three nights. She touched her cheek and lips. Her whole face was wet with sweat and tears. She forced herself up, pressing her body against Singird's, laying her head on his shoulder. Her hands wrapped around him tightly in fear he would go away.
"When will it end?" she whispered into his neck. He stroked her back softly, pressing her even tighter against himself.
"Perhaps when he's gone…"
Yrith closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of Singird's shirt. Underneath the soapwort, she could smell a bit of sweat. Perhaps a bit more than usual. She rubbed his spine, mixing the smells together.
Perhaps when he's gone…
It was always the same answer. She had spent every free moment in the library, studying. It kept her from nasty thoughts and brought her closer to finishing the great task. Or at least she hoped for it.
"I'm… working on it," she breathed.
"Don't rush it, Yrith. It's only been a few days. You can take a rest."
A few days that had felt like weeks. Or months. Or a year…
"I can't rest…"
He buried his hand in her hair, his fingers drawing circles on her head. Somehow, it made her feel lightheaded. She placed a kiss on Singird's neck. Then his cheek. Then lips. He returned it greedily, sending a wave of hot through her whole body. But then, he pulled away, cupping her cheeks.
"Don't tempt me, Yrith. You're not being fair," he scolded her quietly.
"Your whole existence is not fair," she returned, finally smiling. He gave a soft chuckle.
"One day, someone is bound to look for you in your room."
She shrugged. "I'll tell them I couldn't sleep so I went out. Won't be far from the truth anyway. Soon, I won't even be a student here anymore…"
"You sound like you regret it."
"I…"
She gazed over his shoulder, into the dark space of Singird's room. Her eyes rested upon his desk with the stack of maps and charts they had been working on and his favorite moon-shaped paperweight glowing on its top. She now worked as Singird's equal, not a student anymore. It would be no difference if she ceased to be one officially. Did she regret it then?
She tried to understand that lonely feeling that crept into her heart every time the topic was brought up, but she could not place it. When her parents had died, the College became her home and she hated it. Now, everything would change once again and she hated it just as much. She could be a master, yet she did not feel like one. She could not stay a student, yet she still felt like a child, not ready to face the world. Yes, she could be open about her love to Singird. But…
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what to feel."
Her mind strayed back to her parents, as it often did these days. Not only had the Demon's name perished with them. Yrith's life had as well. Her childhood… She wondered if she could have it back. She would have her parents back after all. When this was all over, perhaps she would not feel as lost anymore.
She felt Singird's hand on her arm as he pulled back a little. He squeezed her lightly, touching her forehead with his.
"You can take your time," he said. "They will wait. I will wait."
Yrith knew how much it took him to say that. He would wait and still wish in secret he could finally stop keeping secrets. He would want more.
She grabbed his hand, putting it against her cheek and feeling its warmth.
"Thank you, Singird. It means a lot."
The Arcanaeum was rather deserted this time of the day. Yrith was grateful for that. She did not want to have to answer to Cain and Leyna for the umpteenth time why she kept her head buried deep in books. She did not want to speak to the masters about her journey and the extraordinary shield they could see glistening from the College towers just before her arrival, and she definitely did not want to listen to Ha'risha's scathing remarks. In fact, she would have preferred if no one bothered her at all. Books were good enough companions. They had plenty of words she could fill her head with instead of the ever-forceful memories of blood and pain. Especially when she had to concentrate on the numerous charts and formulas that would ultimately lead her back to her parents and the name of the Demon who so craved her soul.
She sat at her usual place where she could see both the entrance and Urag's desk. It was a strategic point. She would know when anyone tried to walk up to her. Although it made her raise her head frequently and lose her focus ever so often.
She bit her lip, half as punishment, half to force herself to concentrate on the book again, when she registered a figure she had not seen ever since they had arrived. She lay the book on her knees, straightening up. This time, it was someone she was happy to see.
She had to admit that the image of a lizard armed from head to toe and wearing a sturdy set of armor was rather striking among all the books and upholstered chairs and footrests. Keneel-La stopped just a few steps from Urag's desk, nodding a greeting, then looking around. When he found Yrith, his jaws parted in a smile and he made his way to her across several isles.
"So, this is the true form of Yrith Ravencroft, eh?" he commented upon his arrival, his eyes resting on the numerous books stacked on the table by Yrith's side. "What a strange sight."
"You're one to talk," Yrith grinned. Then, she pointed to the chair opposite herself. "Sit down?"
"If I may," he nodded, taking the offered seat. There, he stretched all his limbs, letting out a long, deep sigh. "Well, this feels nice."
Yrith raised her brows. "Haven't had time to rest? I figured you would. Haven't seen much of you these past few days."
"Not much, unfortunately. Meena is not well. I've been trying to barter with Enthir and Master Marence for medicine but the herbs I need for her are rare and the College suffers an acute shortage. Enthir arranged for a message to Ri'saad, but it'll be days before it reaches him and much longer before he obtains what we need and delivers it."
"The Arch-Mage is unwell? What happened? I saw her the evening we arrived and…"
"Let's say she's rather sensitive to her surroundings. Things that happen near her, the people around her, everything affects her greatly. Ever since we arrived, she's been having visions and they get worse with each passing moment. Apparently, she already invested quite a lot in helping us get in, lending some of her power to Faralda, Drevis and Tolfdir. Now, our presence, yours and mine especially, I'm guessing, is draining her. She feels our connection to the Demon and the powers outside. And the Demon is raging. A lot of people are dying out there."
Yrith felt her chest tighten. She could not agree with Singird. There was no time to waste, no time to take a rest. She had to hurry. She was just a few answers away from finding what she needed. And then…
She let out a breath as she shut the book sitting in her lap.
"Can we go somewhere private?" she asked. "Sorry to take away that comfort, though."
"Never mind that. Yes, let's go. Suppose you have things to talk about too. I hear you've been looking for me?"
"I have," she nodded, draping the coat that had been resting on her chair's backrest over her shoulders and grabbing half of her book pile with a heave. Keneel-La took the other half, gaining himself a grateful look. "Have you even been out of the Arch-Mage's tower aside from those errands you ran?"
"Only to grab something to eat for myself and Meena," he said, following Yrith's example and depositing the books on Urag's desk.
"Well, you're worse than Urag here," Yrith chuckled. A green finger flicked her in the forehead.
"You have some nerve to slander me under my very nose, young lady," the orc grumbled.
Yrith flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't dare, sir. Thank you for the reading."
She dropped a curtsy to the sound of Keneel-La's laughter and excused herself. The two of them proceeded up, to the top of the College walls. As they stepped outside, the cold wind in her face made Yrith shiver. She wrapped her coat tightly around herself, walking to her favorite wall where she propped herself against it.
"I always enjoy the sight," Keneel-La breathed dreamily as he joined her.
She smiled. The sea was vast from up here, and the road from Winterhold to the southern regions winded its way merrily along the mountains. If the College gate was open, Yrith would have almost believed she was a part of that world.
"I do too," she said.
"So you wanted to talk?"
"I did. I wanted to ask you about the Elder Scrolls."
"Ah, I was wondering when you'd bring that one up. What do you need to know?"
Yrith stared at the mountain ridge hiding Windhelm from her sight, trying to think of the right question. She wasn't even sure what exactly it was she needed to know. She rapped her fingers on the wall, taking a moment before speaking.
"How do they work? They are linked to certain time, as I understand it?"
Keneel-La too gazed into the distance, his beady eyes filled with thought.
"Time, event, thing, person, feeling, concept… it can be anything. If you ask me how they work, I can't give you a clear answer. Mine gave me visions so strong that a new power manifested in me. They can give profound understanding of something, but they can also simply point the way. They can give power, but they can also take it. And they are fickle. Many people go blind when they read them. Suppose that's not really your problem though, given that scroll is inside you. How about you start by telling me what you want to do?"
"Hmm…"
Yrith hesitated. She had not even told Singird. She had told no one out of fear they would try to stop her. Perhaps the Arch-Mage knew though. She had been guiding her silently, setting the path for her. She might have very well told her brother herself. But if he was asking Yrith now, perhaps the Arch-Mage honored Yrith's secret. She inhaled deeply, feeling the air spread cold in her lungs.
"I think… it's… complicated. There's this book… about traveling in time. Written by Septimus Signus…"
Keneel-La's eyes sparked with sudden realization.
"The one you told me about back in that Dwemer tunnel?"
She nodded. "That's the one. According to him, Elder Scrolls are present at all times at all places, and if one can replicate that power, they can travel to any place and any point in time. Paarthurnax suggested something similar. When I asked him about the name lost in time, he said I could do the same thing you did when you searched for a way to defeat Alduin. That I need a kel and a rift in time that will take me to the place where I can find the name."
"Well, you certainly have a kel," the lizard mused, "but the rift might be a problem. The Tiid-Ahraan, as the dragons call it, the one at the Throat of the world, is something that was left after the Tongues of the old cast Alduin out of time. They made it very simple for me, that rift leads directly to that moment. But for you…"
"I can create a rift," Yrith said. "That part is described in the book, except one last detail, but the Dwemer answered that for me. There was a conjuration circle in their oculory. Seeing how it worked, I think I could follow the same mechanism. It just requires a lot of power to open it and then I have to enter it somehow. Use the scroll?"
"For me, it was as simple as reading it. The tricky part is to hold your mind together when it rips you away from your time. I don't think that should be a problem for you though, given you were able to travel through two realms of Oblivion consecutively."
"I suppose…"
He gave her a long, scrutinizing look, stopping at her still rapping fingers.
"Are you afraid?"
"I'm… not sure… Say, Keneel-La… do you think you could keep our conversation a secret?"
He frowned. "Even from Cain, Leyna and Master Larkwing?"
"Especially from Singird."
She could not tell them. She couldn't share that she was going to perform not one, but two rituals at once. Singird was expecting her to become a medium. But if she was to bring her parents back, she had to go back to their time, not rely on simple visions. Singird would have to interrogate his great-grandfather in flesh, figuratively speaking. While she would be gone… until she would come back to him, almost a year older, with the Demon's name. The circle would close…
"Yrith?"
She flinched, raising her head to look at Keneel-La. He must have been talking to her the whole time. She had no idea what about.
"Yes?"
He took a moment, gazing into her eyes as though making sure he had her attention. She shifted her weight, feeling the burden of his hard look.
"What are you up to?"
She waited, but he did not elaborate. No more questions to make it easier for her. Yrith looked away, far to the horizon lined by the Sea of Ghosts and an occasional reef.
"I need to find the Demon's name," she said simply. Keneel-La gave a deep sigh.
"That's not the answer to my question."
"Then what do you want to know?"
He shook his head.
"Sorry, Yrith. I don't mean to pry. But there are gaps in what you tell me and I'm not used to you leaving things out. And then you ask me to stay silent about it. It's making me worried."
She gripped the wall until her fingers went numb with cold and tension. Keneel-La was a dear friend, full of understanding. But not even he would approve this time, she was sure of it. He would not allow her to risk it. He would tell her to let her parents rest in peace… but she had come so far. She would not change her mind now.
"It's all going to be fine," she said, half trying to convince herself.
He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. It was big and warm.
"If you ever decide to open up, I'll be here. Master Ervine has access to the Arch-Mage's tower. Tell her any time you want to speak to me. For now, let me at least share how I managed to hold up when the scroll took me."
Yrith resisted the urge to hug him. Instead, she gave him the warmest look she could produce.
"Thank you," she wheezed. "You really are the best friend I could wish for."
His reptilian jaws widened.
"I try, Yrith. I try."
When Yrith entered Singird's room exactly a week later, it was unusually cluttered. She could see a number of papers lying around, pendants and paperweights of various shapes, a box divided in two sections with one full of charcoal and the other with chalk… but her eyes fell on the open sack sitting at the feet of Singird's bed. It was filled with elongated angular glittering stones of various sizes, emanating a soft glow. Yrith raised her brows.
"Soul gems?" she asked.
Singird nodded as he withdrew two pouches from one of his drawers and filled them with the chalk and charcoal. "We will need them for channeling. That should decrease the strain on you. I'm still not too comfortable with this, but it's the only way I can think of."
Yrith crossed the room, extending her hand to touch his cheek. It was he who usually reserved this gesture for himself, but now, she felt strangely on top.
"I will be fine. I've seen this work before. It was not a soul, but if one can summon an Elder Scroll, one can surely summon a soul."
Singird quickly washed off the black and white powder from his fingers with magic and took her hand, placing a kiss on its back.
"I suppose. By all accounts, summoning a soul should be easier. But I wonder."
"Say, Singird. Why your great-grandfather of all people? You've never met him, have you?"
He shook his head as he let go.
"Ulfar? No. He died just before the Great Collapse, or at least that's what my parents thought. The stories don't match here. Some think that he died in the Great Collapse, some even that he shielded the College from it. According to Drevis, he was the College Protector, so I suppose his death and the Great Collapse might have something in common. But if we are to go through this, I will have to rely on what my parents left behind. As I said before, they were immensely interested in him. All the events that led to their death just make me think that their obsession had something to do with it. Maybe it was the power that my great-grandfather had and someone else desired. I don't know."
"College Protector? What is that?"
"Apparently someone who is closely tied to the College and her magic. Someone who shares her power and protects her in times of need, and in return, they are protected by the College. My parents always believed that was a myth. Drevis says otherwise."
"And what do you think?"
Singird took a moment to ponder her question, closing the sack of soul gems and stuffing it into a backpack. After a short moment of contemplation, he added the two pouches he had filled earlier. Then, he started sorting out the papers, handing a small stack to Yrith.
"After what you told me about your journey through Oblivion, I start reconsidering many things that I used to think were myth," he said with a deep exhale. Yrith laughed.
"Fair answer. Is this what I think it is?" she asked as she lifted the papers.
"These are the charts we should use. It feels strange to ask this of my former student, but… could you check them after me? I've incorporated what was in that book you gave me and your notes from the library, but you can never check too many times. Oh, and here are some notes of mine. I wonder to this day how my parents even managed to pinpoint the exact time of Ulfar's death, but I am grateful. They left behind some charts too, but those seem to be faulty in the light of your recent discoveries."
Yrith nodded, taking the papers and spreading them over Singird's desk. If only he knew that not all her discoveries were so recent.
She looked over the papers. They were full of Singird's calculations and partial charts he had scribbled just under them. Instinctively, she pulled out the celestial calendar the two of them put together which he kept on his desk. Over the days that she had spent here, she had learned its position among other books so well she did not even need to look to see where she was putting her hand. The notebook landed safely before her. She opened it on the page marking the time of the supposed death of Ulfar Larkwing, comparing the charts.
As always, they were flawless. The path from the time of Ulfar Larkwing's death to the present was marked with utmost accuracy, every line running exactly where it should, every star marking the appropriate junction, every angle reflecting the precalculated positions. Yrith imagined Singird must have redrawn the charts a few times to achieve this level of precision. She would have expected no less from him.
"Have you even slept these past few days?" she asked as she grabbed the rule at the edge of the desk and put it along a line to measure the distance between two of the stars.
"A little," he replied and through the rustle of the backpack he kept filling with more tools, she could hear the smile in his voice.
"I'll take it as a no," she chuckled.
"One can't ever lie to you, eh?"
"One can, perhaps. Not you." She measured another line. "This scale is problematic. Suppose it will be greater when we draw it on the ground, but there might still be places that are not quite accurate."
"I was thinking about that. Look at the papers marked as DV. What do you think?"
Yrith leafed through the papers until she found a small stack with a red mark in the upper right corner. She scanned them superficially, then grabbed one and studied it carefully. She could see the same patterns as she had seen in the Dwemer conjuration circle in Mzark. Detailed constellations embedded in systems, systems embedded in the related segment of Mundus, scales marked with tiny signs telling how much energy needed to be sent through each connecting line. Singird was good. She had hardly described to him how the Dwemer mechanism worked, but he had managed to reconstruct it perfectly, and at such speed too. No wonder other masters called him a prodigy.
She turned to him, almost feeling the spark in her own eyes.
"This will work," she nodded. "The destination looks crystal clear. Though controlling all this with magic will be quite something."
Singird frowned, freezing in the middle of placing the box with chalk and charcoal back on its shelf.
"Will you be all right? If you have any doubts, we should…"
She raised her hands, shaking her head.
"I'll be fine. Don't worry, Singird. If I can't control everything, we won't even be able to perform the spell."
Singird sighed, finally putting the box in its rightful place.
"I hope you're right," he said. She sensed something in his voice. A doubt, a fear of sorts. But he did not say any more.
She rose, extending her hands to him as she walked to his side. He took them with a warm look in his eyes, pulling her close.
"We've gone over the mechanism a thousand times. We even tested it on that familiar you conjured. It will work, Singird," she told him softly.
It would. Yrith had tested her own part too. She had even tried to call upon the Elder Scroll, feeling its power inside her. Now, it was only a matter of execution. And from Singird's perspective, she would only be gone for seconds. He would hardly notice a difference.
"I know… but it will be different when it's not five minutes but eighty-two years, a completely different time and season too. When you have to use that Elder Scroll…"
"Just more complex," Yrith smiled. "Isn't all we do risky? Wasn't my whole journey risky?"
"It was. To the point I did not like it one bit."
He kissed her lightly in her hair. Yrith closed her eyes, squeezing his hands and letting the feeling of comfort spread.
"There will be just a few more risks before we both know our answers. Let's keep going."
She felt his head rub against her. A nod.
"I know. We have to… Just please, Yrith… promise me to survive."
Yrith opened her eyes again, finding his face inches from her. She held her breath.
"I'd like to, Singird," she whispered. "But not even I can see the future."
He pressed her against himself, until she felt the heat of his embrace. For just a moment, Yrith opened her mouth. For just a moment, she felt like spilling everything out. It would be fair to him. But he wouldn't approve. He would never let her do it.
She wrapped her hands around him, keeping the secret safe. Now, the only thing left was to add one more path and one more destination to the conjuration circle once they put it down. A path that would lead her to her parents.
The falling night was still and silent. Singird looked out from his window. The aurora was bright, reflecting in the almost unnaturally peaceful Sea of Ghosts, veiling the stars in a multitude of colors as if it was ready to amplify the spell they were about to perform. Singird sighed. Yrith had been so confident these past two weeks. Sure, she had spent most of her time almost literally buried in books, researching, going over all possible options, considering all potential obstacles and risks, discussing everything with him, sketching, calculating… and sure, she had proven on many occasions she was an exceptionally gifted mage. Still…
Every time he thought about what they were going to do, shivers ran down his spine. They had tried moving a whole familiar in time. It had worked. So why? Why was he getting this strange feeling? Because it was Yrith who would become the medium through which Ulfar Larkwing would speak? No. There was something else… something he was missing. Even though they had gone through everything so many times. Their plan was perfect. Their calculations accurate. No roundings, no approximations. Any number too long or complex to put down was presented in the form of a formula, broken down into fractions, depicted in the charts with absolute precision. Their schematics could almost be called a code. There was meaning hidden inside. A path that would guide Yrith's magic eighty-two years back, through the history written in her Elder Scroll. An Elder Scroll that she harbored inside her after a rather unbelievable journey through Oblivion.
Perhaps this was all a dream and he would soon wake up to find out none of it was true.
But then again, he did want to know what his parents had been after. After all, if his fathers' legacy had helped him save Yrith, then it might have been connected. Somehow…
He nodded to himself. He could not keep making excuses. Yrith was right. They had to act.
He checked the contents of his backpack once more. Everything was there. The chalk and charcoal, a few pegs, a thread, the commented charts and calculations, spare soul gems, a rule, a protractor, a compass, some potions just in case. In an ideal situation, they would not need any of this anymore. The whole conjuration circle was already drawn and fixated with magic down at the Atronach Forge. Everything was ready.
With a heave, he slung the backpack over his shoulder, walking to the door. Then he turned to look back, scanning the room. Its state was pristine, as it used to be a long time ago. Somehow, all that order and cleanliness failed to bring the same effect on him as all those months before. Where was his comfort now? It seemed to him it would only come once all of this was over.
Well. Time to make that reality.
With one last glance, he stepped out, shutting the door behind himself and locking it with magic. A quick detection spell revealed that miraculously, the few people who remained in the Hall of Countenance were inside their own rooms. Good. Then it was time to go.
Silently, he snuck down the stairs and out, watching over the darkened courtyard. It was nearly deserted too. Everyone seemed to be up in the Hall of Attainment, dining. That was, everyone save for Qassir Tahlrah who was making his way across in a speedy tempo. As the Redguard passed him, he gave Singird a curt nod, scurrying away. To the Hall of Attainment, Singird realized. He would likely meet Yrith there, who would be right on her way out. But then again, Qassir knew of their relationship. He would likely think that Singird was only meeting with Yrith for the pleasure of it. Soon, he perhaps would.
When the door to the Hall of Attainment snapped shut behind the Redguard, Singird hurried to the trapdoor to the Midden. One more detection spell later, he was climbing down, already feeling the chill of the place. For some reason, the Midden was always much colder than the rest of Winterhold. His cloak suddenly seemed to lack its usual protective qualities. Still, he pulled it closer, setting for the Atronach Forge.
He treaded carefully, stopping every now and then to check for potential threats. One could never be too careful with a place like the Midden. Fortunately, there was no one. No crackling of the ice wraiths, no staggering undead, no troll roars either. The Collegium members must have kept the complex clear of threats when they went to pick up the supplies from Ri'saad. Now, however, not even they should be present. Singird had double-checked Ri'saad's schedule. He and Yrith had even protected their conjuration circle with a concealing spell.
As the warmth of the Atronach Forge finally embraced Singird, he let out a breath of relief. The diagram on the surface of the forge was intact, still glittering faintly with the power of the powdered soul gems and Yrith's magic. He looked around, casting the detection spell once more, but Yrith was nowhere to be seen yet. Singird's eyes found the edge of the forge, but he felt too restless to sit down. Instead, he let his backpack slide on the floor, pulling out the charts and comparing them to the conjuration circle for the umpteenth time.
He found the focus soothing. He could not blame Yrith that she chose books in order to escape from the dread of her dreams. His eyes followed the lines, taking his mind away from all the fear and anxiety he felt. But then, something forced him to stop.
A discrepancy. How could this be possible? Several constellations placed at a different angle. No, this couldn't be… no one had touched the circle. He would have known. They must have made a mistake. But that was impossible. They had checked it so many times, against these very charts.
He measured again, and again, with the rule and protractor, then with magic, then just with his eyes. The destination was wrong. No, in fact…
There were two sets of constellations in this particular sector instead of one. Singird shook his head in disbelief. Perhaps Yrith had somehow slipped when drawing this part. Now matter how improbable this was… perhaps she had been distracted. If she used the circle in this state, it would lead her to two destinations at once. Two different times to connect to…
This had to be corrected.
He took a breath, grabbing a chalk and readying his magic.
At last, it was time. Singird must have infected Yrith with his uneasiness. She could not even concentrate on eating. Up until now, she had spent her time calling to the Elder Scroll, making sure it was still there as though it should disappear at any moment. It had a calming effect on her, to feel that power inside her. At times, a glimpse of the universe flashed before her eyes, swirling, letting her soar, as though she was connecting to the time itself. She found the feeling immensely liberating, wondering what it would feel like when she directed that power to a certain point in time. For sure it would be different. She was about to find out.
Now, she was peeking into the corridor through a tiny gap between her door and its frame that must have been invisible from the outside, watching as students were shuffling toward the stairs and up, their faces unnaturally pale in the blue light of the College focal point. Every now and then, she shifted her weight, not feeling quite comfortable on either of her feet. The itch in her toes was unbearable.
Finally, the last of her former classmates had disappeared to the upper levels of the Hall of Attainment. She was free to go. She checked her surroundings again with magic. Then, she slipped out, locking the door behind herself. But the moment she turned to the entrance door, it opened and in it appeared Qassir. He stopped when he spotted her with his usual smile playing on his lips.
"Well well," he purred. "Going out to meet our young master, urchin?"
She felt her lips twitch. So he had met Singird. Oh, if only he knew…
"You still call me that?" she sputtered.
"Well, true, you don't look much like an urchin anymore," he laughed. "But for me, you'll be one for the rest of your days, I'm afraid. Force of habit." He gave her a wink.
"Glad to know at least some things stay the same," she snorted. "If you'll excuse me."
"Oh, before you go… Master Marence wanted to see you. She wants to give you some potions."
Yrith felt her fingers fidget. Master Marence was currently the least of her concerns. She wondered if she would even remember in a year that her restoration master was waiting for her.
"It's been almost two weeks," she muttered. "I don't need potions."
"Well, I relayed the message," Qassir shrugged. "Maybe she just needs an excuse to talk to you. You seem strangely popular with the masters lately. I'm almost jealous."
"Well, you certainly should. Thank you for the message. I'll visit her when I find the time. Hopefully her potions will taste like snowberry juice again."
"Hopefully," Qassir chuckled. He stepped aside to let Yrith pass. But as she entered the door, his arm shot up, nearly causing her to fall. Yrith glared at him, almost ready to push him aside, but instead, she took a step back. His face was suddenly somber, as though the previous discussion had happened in some different reality.
"What?"
He gazed at her thoughtfully, his brows knitting slowly together.
"Did you say snowberry juice potion?"
Yrith shrugged.
"It tasted like that."
"When?"
"Well… it's been a long time. Before I left the College."
"When exactly?" Qassir pressed. His eyes were fierce, diamond-hard, almost as those times she had seen him fight his enemies. She looked away, finding the first crevice in her sight to fix upon.
"I think… after the avalanche. I hurt my leg and… the first day I went back to the classes…"
He gave a slow, heavy nod, pointing a finger at her.
"Yrith, don't drink any potions from Master Marence. Or better… don't drink any potions from anyone. No matter what."
With that, he stormed past her, to the stairs where the rest of the students had disappeared. Yrith stared at his bouncing back, taking a moment too long to snap out of her surprise.
"Qassir!" she called after him. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Don't do anything!" he called to her. "I will tell you as soon as I confirm something. I promise!"
And he was gone.
Yrith gaped at the stairs with her mouth open. Avalanche. It had been so long ago. She had been so weak back then. So helpless, a subject to so many threats…
Of course. Why hadn't she realized before? Health potions were not sweet. They were never sweet. How could she have been so ignorant?
But Master Marence? Master Marence of all people? No. It was impossible…
She clenched her fists, almost ready to bolt out after Qassir. But Singird was waiting for her. She could not ignore him. Not this time. Not when everything was ready for that one final touch.
Her fingers dug into the skin on her hands. She darted out into the courtyard, unable to stay calm anymore. No sooner did she look around than she reached the trapdoor to the Midden. From her position, she could clearly see the doors to the Hall of the Elements open. J'zargo and Brelyna, the advanced class students, were just leaving after their evening training. As Yrith watched them, J'zargo noticed her, nodding to her, his whiskers twitching. Yrith cursed her luck.
She waved at the Khajiit politely, then bent down as if she was looking for something. For a while, she wandered around, staring at the ground blindly, watching the image of Qassir's dark face replay before her over and over again. Waiting for the couple to pass was excruciating. Yrith invested every effort not to grit her teeth painfully, not to run, not to kick something just to cast all the surplus energy away.
One eternity later, they were finally gone. Yrith felt numb in both mind and body, unable to think straight anymore. She took in the cold air, checking her surroundings once more before, at last, she dove underground.
Her detection spells were cast absentmindedly, she was barely looking at the path ahead. Master Marence. It couldn't be. She of all people would not try to kill her, would she? Someone could have planted the fake potion in her room. But who? How? Did it mean that all her potions were fake? Impossible. Someone would have noticed. Was it really Master Marence? What was it that Qassir needed to confirm?
No… she couldn't think about this now. Singird was waiting for her with an entirely different task. Just how had Qassir managed to steal her concentration like that? And she had thought it impossible.
She paced through the frozen corridors of the Midden, taking one deep breath after another. Calm, calm…
She knew she was nearing the Atronach Forge when the air became warmer. The ice slowly receded, leaving dirt and stone, rubbed smooth by the tooth of time. For a moment, Yrith could smell mildew and fungi. Then, the warmth gripped her fully, forcing her to take off her coat. Singird was sitting on the edge of the forge platform, just enough to avoid the circle they had so meticulously drawn. When she approached, he jumped to his feet, sizing her up.
"Yrith," he breathed. "What held you back?"
"Qassir. He…"
The words died on Yrith's lips. She could see a shadow spreading in Singird's face when she mentioned the Redguard. Perhaps she should hold her tongue for now. Perhaps she should only worry him when their task was complete. A year after… the list of the things to remember was starting to grow. She drew in the heavy air. Despite the warmth, she could feel her focus returning.
"He was relaying a message from Master Marence," she said with a shrug. "And then I had to wait until J'zargo and Brelyna cleared the courtyard."
"Ah. You had it tougher than me."
"I managed."
"I have no doubt about that. You were always good at sneaking around."
Yrith smiled. "Is that a compliment?"
He poked her in the chest. "That is a scolding, Miss Ravencroft."
"Ah. Pardon me, Master Larkwing. No sneaking from now on."
"Glad we straightened that out."
They looked at each other for a moment, then both laughed at once. Yrith could not believe that a moment earlier, she had been so preoccupied with Qassir and his sudden discovery. A single smile from Singird had managed to wipe all her doubts away. A smile just for her. She could not even recall Singird smiling like this ever before. The thought made her feel hot in the cheeks. And now, she would not see that smile for a year.
"So," she said, inhaling deeply, "shall we begin?"
"Yes. There's just…"
He hesitated, falling silent. Yrith waited for him to go on, but he said nothing.
"Yes?" she asked.
He shook his head. "It's nothing. Everything should be ready. Now it's up to us. Are you… are you sure about this?"
Yrith wondered if this was the thousandth time Singird had asked her this question. As though her answer was never enough. She sighed.
"I'm sure. Don't worry, Singird. We can do this."
"I know. I just…" he paused, then shook his head again. "Never mind."
Yrith looked at him in question, waiting for several moments, but he would not elaborate. She knew it was no use trying to extort it from him. If Singird Larkwing chose to keep his thoughts to himself, there was no way of making him talk. Instead, she walked closer to him, raising herself on her toes to kiss him. He returned it instantly.
"I'm going then," Yrith said as she pulled back. She climbed onto the platform, treading carefully despite knowing that she could not damage the circle by merely stepping on it. Still, she could not trample what felt sacred to her. She would only touch the two markings at its center denoting the exact place where she was supposed to stand to direct her magic correctly. She stepped on them carefully, measuring the distance between her feet. Adjusting them ever so slightly, she turned to Singird.
"I'm ready," she informed.
Singird gave her a long, pensive look. She could almost feel the tension in him rising, his silence only emphasizing the impression. Yrith resisted the urge to walk back to him.
"Singird?"
He blinked, shaking his head.
"Yrith… stay safe, please. If anything should go wrong, break off the spell."
She nodded.
"I'll try. Though there will come a moment when breaking it off will be impossible."
"I know… let's begin." He moved until he stood just before the tiny casket at the head of the forge, exactly in front of Yrith. Then, he extended his arms and gave a nod.
Yrith returned it, raising her hands and calling forth her magic. As she connected with Singird, she closed her eyes.
She felt his touch, strong and steady. He held her magic well, anchored to this place and time. Now, she needed to expand it through the circle to create a link to the other side. She took a deep breath. She had never performed a spell demanding this amount of control. She had to be aware of every inch of the diagram, send different amounts of energy into its various lines and junctions. She scanned both pathways she had drawn there. The one leading from the time of Ulfar Larkwing's death to the present. And the one she had added, leading back to the time her parents had been alive. She had chosen the date and time carefully, so that the position of the stars would only seem slightly different from the one marking Ulfar's death. So that Singird would not notice. Now, when she connected to them, the two destinations felt quite the same.
She suppressed the urge to walk restlessly away from her spot and opened her eyes. Singird stood firmly in his place, looking almost divine in all the bright golden glow coming from the circle. This would be the last time she would see him for a long time. At least for him it would be no more than a moment. At least he would not be the one to miss her.
She smiled at him. Then, she sent her magic in fully, activating both paths at once. Once again, she closed her eyes, reaching deeper inside, searching for the power of the Elder Scroll. It hummed quietly in her, as though breathing, sound asleep.
Guide me, she whispered to it as though she was praying. Guide me to his name.
The scroll awakened. Yrith could feel its power wrap around her, tearing her away from reality. The world spun with her, sent her tumbling through a tunnel of indistinguishable shapes and colors. Yrith felt all her insides turn. She wanted to scream and cough and vomit, but her voice was gone, her chest tight, her whole person squeezed in a tenth of the size it would need to stay alive. She was falling, falling deep into an endless pit. She had no control over her magic anymore. It was now controlling her, her hands numb and helpless.
What was it that Keneel-La had said?
"You have to let the flow take you. No matter how dreadful it feels, do not struggle… it will make it worse."
She would have liked to take a breath, but she couldn't. She had to relax, but she couldn't do that either. The magic was ripping her apart from the inside, yet somehow, she knew she was still whole. Did it keep disassembling her and putting her back together? As though there was no Yrith, but a myriad of particles that made her person. They, and all the energy that bound them together. She did not exist in reality. Nothing existed.
Oblivion… her journey between its planes had been similar. Only back then, there had been nothing. Now, it felt like Yrith was stuck in between everything. The whole existence, every part of Mundus, pressed on her, took her apart. It did not matter if she kept her eyes closed. Either way, the shapes and colors would not disappear, the pressure would not go away, her spirit would not rise.
Let go. Let go…
She couldn't. She did not know how. The current had taken away all the means. She could only let it dismantle her, only to recreate her again. She could only let the shapes and colors wash over her, crash into her, penetrate her.
As she flew, she heard a voice. A powerful, strong voice, like Keneel-La's…
She focused on it, letting it take her mind away from everything. It was not Keneel-La. It sounded more like…
"Singird?" she tried speak, but there was only an unintelligible gurgle.
A person materialized before her, made of pale blue light. It was really Singird… yet it wasn't. This man was unkempt and shabby, as though he had no home to come back to. His eyes were pale, and they were the only thing alive in his face. He pierced Yrith with them, and then he opened his mouth. A single word came out of it, a word in a language Yrith had never heard, yet she knew its meaning.
"Strife."
Then, just as he had appeared, he was gone. The torrent of colors took her away, washing off the scent of his presence.
And then, Yrith hit the ground.
She screamed the moment her lungs allowed her to. A trickle of blood came down her forehead, and a myriad of minuscule cuts were opening all over her body. Her magic glowed brightly on her skin, pouring through the wounds, only to enter back a moment later, as if it had a hard time deciding where it was supposed to be. Yrith breathed deeply. She was still alive.
"And who in Oblivion are you?" a voice growled just above her.
She flinched in surprise, looking up. She had not anticipated someone would be here to witness her arrival.
The man, standing with his legs in a wide stance just inches from her, was an unexpectedly sturdy Altmer with a master's robe. Yrith stared at him numbly, her gaze sliding from the muscular shins up to the wide shoulders and then his face. When it reached his eyes, she froze.
She knew this man. Or, she had thought she knew him. These eyes, as impossible as it seemed, belonged to Toddvar.
She gasped, backing away. Was it so easy for him to change appearance? How could he be here, in the Midden? How had he known this would be where she would appear? No, he hadn't. He clearly didn't recognize her. What was happening?
"Oh," he drawled, his lips stretching in a wicked smile. "So this is how it works, eh? One Protector dies, another one appears… Simply killing you won't do, obviously. Seems I will have to change my methods."
In the wink of an eye, he raised a hand and fired. Yrith rolled away before the green flash of light from his fingertips could hit her. Her head felt heavy, sending her to the ground. With a groan, she raised a ward just in time to block another spell. She had to do something. Get away, hide…
She crawled to the side, blocking one spell after another, feeling sluggish. Her head hurt. She could barely see what was around. It was only a matter of time before one of his spells would hit her. And she was on her own now. There was no Qassir or Dragonborn to save her, no Leyna to heal her, no Singird or Cain to help her back on her feet. They were not even aware of her existence at this moment.
But there were her parents.
She gritted her teeth, feeling new strength awakening in her. Yes, that's why she had come here. She had to see her task through. For her parents. For Singird.
She looked up at the man before her, her head sending waves of pain, her eyes watering. He was blocking the way out. She would need to get past him somehow.
She had gotten through worse. She could make it.
Biting her tongue, she forced herself to stand. The world turned upside down for a moment. She held up her shield, closing her eyes to feel everything around her. To her astonishment, she found a tunnel that had not been in the Midden that she remembered. Caved in, likely. But now, she could use it.
Her magic flared deep violet as she called to Oblivion and summoned two atronachs. A storm one to cast missiles, a frost one for close combat. Hopefully, they would keep the man busy. She tried to break into a run, but it was impossible. Even with her eyes closed, the ground quaked with her on every step. She resisted the urge to hold onto the wall, investing everything in her ward. The man laughed.
"Oh, you'll have to do better than that!"
With that, he sent his magic toward the atronachs, enveloping them, then crushing them as though a giant fist had closed around their frames. As they burst into a myriad of sparks and particles of ice, he grabbed every single one of them, directing them at Yrith. She opened her eyes, strengthening her ward and watching him in horror. Yes, it was the same person as Toddvar, with the same old tricks as before. No doubt.
"Well, you don't look so well," he jeered, opening his arms. She could see the magic flow through them, spreading, entering the ground, ceiling and walls. A moment later, it came at her from all sides. She gasped, not quick enough to block all of it. She felt her body harden before it fell, sending in more pain. But she couldn't cry out now. Her muscles, bones, everything was paralyzed, barely letting her breathe. She watched as he approached, kneeling beside her, still with that nasty smile on his lips.
"Now, what do we do with you?" he whispered. "I'd like to at least know your name before I devour you. You're not half bad for a toddler your size, I'll give you that."
He stretched out his hand. Yrith chased away the million of questions bursting out in her head. Now was not the time. She needed to do something. Quick…
Help…
She felt his finger on her chest. It jabbed into it painfully, sending just a thread of magic inside. She felt it slither in her, finding its way to her head. There, it spread like a cobweb, infesting her, entering her thoughts.
Help, please…
"No one will help you," he laughed. "It's just you and me, little child."
Images flashed before her eyes without control. Daggerfall. Her friends. Erethis of the AWA. Her parents.
"N-no…" she rattled. She had to move. Do something! But her fingers would only move a single inch…
"Oh, you still have the strength to fight back? Why, you're way more entertaining than old Larkwing!"
Old Larkwing? What was he talking about? No, not now… she needed to escape first.
"Yrith, is it? Yrith Ravencroft. The One Who Speaks True. Good. Very good."
HELP!
He raised his hand once more. Yrith clenched her fists, fighting the paralysis. This could not be the end. After everything she had gone through…
She grunted, calling the magic from the depths of herself. But it was not the only magic she now had at her command. Something else entered her, cleansing her, freeing her of her pain. As though the whole place was now alive and ready to assist her, its power enveloped her in a bright blue glow, repelling his magic, clearing her head. Suddenly, she felt so light, her mind back at its full power. She jumped to her feet, firing without hesitation. The man only had a split moment to raise a ward. Yrith's magic washed over him, hitting the walls around him. With a deafening rumble, the ceiling sank down upon him, hiding him from Yrith's sight. So that was how the tunnel had caved in, she thought sardonically.
Without waiting for a response, she bolted out, letting the magic lead her. The alien power still surrounded her, shielding her from all potential threats. Impossible. What was it that the man had said about the Protector? What was it that Singird had said? No… that was simply impossible. She couldn't be… could she?
It felt like moments until she reached the trapdoor and eternity until she climbed through it. She did not waste her time checking whether he followed. Eventually, he would. She needed to escape somehow.
With a grunt, she lifted the wooden panel covering the Midden entrance. Daylight hit her, blinding her momentarily. She crawled through the door, letting it close by itself and locking it with magic. At least she would not make it easy for him.
As she finally stood on the College ground, she stared at the courtyard. The focal point at its center swirled wildly, squirting and sputtering like an angry cat. But the thing that caught her attention was not the blue fountain, but rather the crowd of people gathered around it. Even with all her classmates and the Collegium gathered together, Yrith had never seen so many people at the College. And this was not the Collegium. Most of them wore novice or adept robes, a few of them had expert ones. There was a single master among them. The others must have been elsewhere. And no one seemed to be bothered with the lone girl wrapped in magic who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. This was definitely not the College she remembered. There was something off about it all.
She looked toward the entrance gate. It gaped open, as if inviting everyone in and out. Yrith hurried to it, making her way through the crowd. Several people turned after her as she passed them, but she paid them no heed. She had to find her parents. To make everything right.
Wading through the crowd almost felt like working her way through all the people in the Daggerfall market. Only now, there was no Khajiit with exotic wares waiting for her. Instead…
Finally, she was at the gate. Her protective magic was slowly waning away. Her head throbbed again, sending painful signals. She needed to rest and heal. But she couldn't. Not now. She had been here for just a few moments and already managed to make an enemy. The same one she had to face in the future. What irony.
Or was it?
No, it wasn't. Meeting him had been no coincidence. Yrith knew the moment the view of the city outside opened before her.
This was not the Winterhold she knew. Before her, wide and far, spread a mighty city like none she had ever seen. The port bells rang merrily to welcome new ships. Even from here, Yrith could hear the calls of the criers, shouting over the din of the market traders trying to sell their goods. The buildings were tall and their roofs colorful, the streets winding their way through them like a web of snakes. The Winterhold strait did not look so menacing now that there was a rather gentle slope descending toward it, littered with houses of all kinds. And the College bridge was pristine, lined with sturdy banisters made of stone on both sides.
Yrith stared at the image before her, forgetting her breath. She had not imagined this scenario in her wildest dreams. Her parents were not alive at this time. They were yet to be born into this world. For this was the time of Ulfar Larkwing's death. She had traveled to the time before the Great Collapse.
A/N: If you can imagine the conjuration circle and understand how the whole process of time travel and conjuring a soul from another time works, it is thanks to RealityItch (AKA RealityGlitch AKA RG) who, with her totally spot-on remarks, managed to turn a totally ambiguous chapter into something tangible and concrete. I am so lucky to have her as my beta! This story would be nowhere near this quality if not for her.
Thank you, RG! 3