A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was so worried about it, seeing as it was the first one to pretty majorly diverge from the original Tribunal storyline and into my own. But seeing the reactions it got made me so happy. You guys rock! Ozymandeos - thanks for mentioning the political intrigue, I feel that's one of my weak points and it's also part of what makes Tribunal so compelling so it was important for me to get it right. CampsMcCamper - that's so nice of you to say! And, innocent-minded that I am, I didn't even notice the humour potential in that line! Oh dear :p krikanalo - thanks for your review. Again, detail is one of my bug bears - I feel I either use far too much or too little. Good to know it worked. This chapter was another stressy one for me I'm afraid, and one I've spent much time rewriting. Still, hope you guys enjoy it!
Chapter 11: Desperation
This was war. Not the sword-wielding, magicka-blazing, all-armies-fighting kind, but the lines had been drawn all the same. And because it was so subtle, Llovesi and Julan knew that they couldn't just barge into the Temple and demand Almalexia tell them all she knew. They had to play along, coax it out of her. But they knew where they stood now.
The Winged Guar was strangely empty as they took their breakfast and, when they left the tavern, Llovesi and Julan soon realised why. A Dunmer man in a pure white robe, barefoot, was preaching loudly from the terrace. As everyone else was, Llovesi and Julan gave him a wide berth. Llovesi understood that after the attack the previous day people might turn to extremes to reassure themselves, but barefoot zealots seemed like a nosedive for the worse. She blocked out the man's carrying words as they headed towards the Temple gardens, not noticing that he was now attracting a small crowd.
Fedris Hler barely batted an eyelid as they strode through the reception area of the Temple.
"Back so soon? The Goddess may have more tasks for you. She has informed me that you are to report directly to her."
Llovesi merely nodded at him. There was a strange pressure building in her chest, and she didn't trust her mouth not to speak unbidden words.
She took Julan's hand firmly as the entered the High Chapel. She didn't know if she would be able to resist Almalexia's charms. It was easy to talk of such things in the safety of the place, or in their room at the Winged Guar. But she would try.
The Goddess seemed to have barely moved since their last encounter. She stood perfectly still on her plinth with her guards; her eyes fixed on Llovesi as she and Julan stopped at a safe distance, then raised her arms in a gesture of welcome.
"Llovesi. We have pressing matters to discuss. There is a disturbance in my city."
"Yes... the attack on Plaza Brindisi Dorom..." Llovesi started, feeling the twisting nausea in her stomach as she fought to resist Almalexia's latent powers.
But the Goddess shook her head, a gentle smile alighting upon her lips.
"The disturbance in the Plaza has abated for now, and those fabricants–"
"How did you know they were fabricants?" Llovesi asked abruptly and, with her question, knew she could resist. "You weren't there."
Almalexia took a step towards them, and they took a step back cautiously. But all she did was cast a look up and down Llovesi's body, sweeping from her face, down her abdomen to her feet and up again.
"Almalexia knows and sees," she said, then paused. "But I sense you are not satisfied. I am concerned about this attack. I sense it is a murmuring from my long silent God-brother, Sotha Sil."
It was as Helseth said. Llovesi didn't know what to believe. She, like Julan, had been so sure Almalexia had caused the attack, that the gradual loss of her powers had driven her insane. But here the Goddess stood before her, reinforcing Helseth's suspicions. And maybe a small part of Llovesi did want to believe Almalexia was not insane, that she wouldn't attack her own city. A small part that had nothing to do with any charms. "You think Sotha Sil attacked the city?"
Almalexia shook her head and continued in her melodious way: "I cannot be sure yet. I need time. Perhaps the Tinkerer grows unstable, but perhaps some machination of his has betrayed its master. There is a more pressing issue to be dealt with. I speak of another disturbance. People are still dying in my city, Llovesi. And I fear these deaths are very much to do with a cult that has recently gained in popularity. They call themselves the 'End of Times', and they are led by a young Dunmer called Eno Romari."
Llovesi was suddenly reminded of the man in the white robe that they had passed earlier. She had presumed he was preaching in Almaleixa's name, but they hadn't stopped to listen. So people were frightened by what was happening in their city, and they were turning to religion–a religion that wasn't the Tribunal. But if people were dying…
"Tell me more about these deaths," Llovesi said.
"We believe they occurred just last night. So far, at least seven bodies have been found. All dead, all in their homes. It appears they ingested a strong poison, and not even my powers could revive those who were found and brought here. We must find out what drives this group, and rid my city of their presence. Speak with Meralyn Othan, a resident of the Great Bazaar apartments. Her brother Sevil was one of those found and she has indicated to our Temple that she is willing to help investigate. Learn what you can about the cult, Llovesi, and of this Eno Romari. Take care with him, though. The words of a martyr cry louder than those of a zealot. I do not want him killed."
"A good thing too," Julan said, as they walked over to the Great Bazaar. "As if she honestly believes we're going to go killing people on her orders?"
"Maybe she does. We know she's taking a harder line on Temple matters these days. But we wouldn't kill if Helseth asked us to, so we won't kill for her either. I just hope she finds out more information about Sotha Sil soon."
Llovesi wasn't happy running errands for Almalexia after what had happened with the Mazed Band, whether Almalexia was behind the attack or not. The reactions of Plitinius and Barenziah kept springing to mind. But Barenziah had been the one to suggest she went to Almalexia in the first place, and now Helseth was repeating his mother's request... Llovesi felt she was becoming caught in some bizarre struggle between Palace and Temple, but if it meant the safety of the people of Mournhold, she would continue.
Mournhold's Great Bazaar was of course known for its myriad of shops, covered market stalls, and entertainment venues. It was said you could find anything there: from the newest play, to the rarest potion ingredient, from the finest silken shirt to the freshest baked sweetrolls. You could even find housing, if you needed it. For those who could not afford the well-kept townhouses or sprawling manors of Godsreach, but still wanted to live in the inner city, there were apartments to rent above the many shops in the Bazaar. Mostly, they were rented to tradesfolk, along with the store space beneath them. But some of them were rented to average folk too, those with the coin for location but not space. It was in one of these small studios above the bustling summer street that Llovesi and Julan found Meralyn Othan.
She sat, her hands folded in the lap of her simple yellow dress, brown plaits swinging forlornly by her head. Next to her, on the bed, a white sheet covered the distinctive shape of a body.
"... he was so trusting," she was saying, her shoulders shaking slightly. "He was no fool, he just wanted someone or something to believe in. He thought he had found that in the 'End of Times'."
"What can you tell us about this cult?" Julan asked, while Llovesi boiled a mug of herbal tea for the grieving woman.
"Thank you," Meralyn said, taking the steaming mug. "And thank the Temple for their charity in sending you here."
She took a deep breath, and her next words were as bitter as the tea between her hands.
"They are a suicide cult, plain and simple. Their beliefs are destructive, heretical, and frightening to me. I don't know how my brother ever got involved with them! I'm beginning to see them all over the city, and I believe their leader has most recently started preaching outside of the Winged Guar, spouting his nonsense to passers-by and the drunks that stumble in and out of that place."
Her voice broke slightly and the mug trembled between her hands. "They must have given him some poison... I came home to see him with the bottle. He swallowed it before I could stop him and... and..."
She gulped a mouthful of tea. "I fetched Ungeleb, the alchemist downstairs, as soon as I realised that I... that I could do nothing. But none of his antidotes worked!"
"But why would the members of the 'End of Times' commit suicide?" Llovesi asked gently.
"This cult... they preach that the Tribunal have lost their powers, and that this is a signal that the apocalypse is near. Eno Romari teaches his followers that our time in Tamriel is at an end, and the gates of Oblivion will soon open and the Daedra will walk the land. Only the ancestors who have already left this world will remain once the Daedric scourge covers the earth. And so he promotes what he calls 'the Cleansing.' This is the... suicides. They are killing themselves so that they do not have to face what they believe is to come."
She blinked back tears. "Nonsense! Lies! And now my brother is dead, all because of this lunatic, Eno Romari!"
Llovesi wished her well, and they stood to go. Meralyn's words worried her for more than one reason. Because the Tribunal had lost their powers. And she knew that Almalexia knew this. She was beginning to suspect this was no act of charity they'd been sent out on, Almalexia wanted this cult gone–for what? Pride? Or was she truly concerned about the damage it might cause? And speaking of damage, was the Tribunal's loss of power really that significant?
So lost in her thoughts she was, she didn't realise the connection between Eno Romari and the strange man they had witnessed earlier until Julan pointed it out to her.
"So he preaches outside the Winged Guar, does he? What do you reckon it's that robed nutter we ran into this morning?"
"I suppose he must be," she said, coming out of her thoughts. "We should go and talk to him as well, to see what he has to say for himself."
The Dunmer man in the white robe was stilling on the terrace calling to a passing family, who hurried out of the way, pulling their children with them. But he now had a small crowd hanging onto his words: a few Dunmer, a young Imperial couple and an older Redguard man.
Llovesi and Julan made their way to the front of the crowd towards the preacher. He caught sight of them waiting, and called out across the small group:
"I must stop our message here for now, good people of Mournhold. But return tomorrow, and I shall continue to ease your minds!"
The small crowd mumbled in apparent discontent, but they all moved on. The preacher slipped his hands inside his sleeves and turned to Llovesi and Julan.
"I saw you leaving this place of refuge this morning," he said. "I am Eno Romari. My greetings and blessings upon you. How may I ease your journey through this life?"
"You can start by telling us more about this cult of yours," Llovesi said.
Romari looked mildly surprised. "Cult? We are a peaceful group, dedicated to relieving the suffering all are feeling in these troubled times. I teach my followers the way to enlightenment, through understanding of what is happening in our world and what is to come in the next. All of my people know the importance of preparedness for the coming troubles, and many are willing to make great sacrifice for our cause."
"Get to the point," Julan said roughly, displaying his usual finesse with religious types. "We know about the suicides."
"It is a glorious ritual," Romari said, apparently insistent upon his terminology. "Our followers cleanse themselves of all of their troubles, all of their burdens here on this earth. They send themselves ahead to the ancestors, spreading our word, making ready for when we shall all join them in our fight against the Daedric hordes."
"What do you mean 'Daedric hordes'?" Llovesi asked.
"Ah." Romari smiled serenely. "But this is at the core of our beliefs. Let me explain! The blessed Tribunal, though once filled with glory, are no longer the Gods they once were. As with the tides and Tamriel's moons, all cosmic powers will wax and wane. But, when Gods die, it creates ripples throughout the lands. The passing of the Three will be a prelude to the end of this era, and the beginning of the next.
"We realise that the end of the era will bring many changes. We believe that the gates of Oblivion will open, and the multitude of Daedra will roam this world freely. Some might tell you that this is a good thing, that we are descended from the Daedra and it will be a return to the natural order of things. I know differently, though. The coming age will be a time of great horror.
"The Daedra Princes are not our ancestors. Nor are they our allies. They will wash over the land, destroying all that man and mer have built over these thousands of years. The only protection from this scourge will be our true ancestors that have gone before us and watch over us even now. Many of our followers choose to participate in the Cleansing, to prepare the way for the rest of us. It is a sacrifice to be sure, but it is for the greater good. Are you interested in joining us?"
"Not on your life," Julan said hotly. "I don't believe a word of what the Tribunal says, I don't believe this either. Azura watches over us, whether you like it or not."
Romari dropped his expression of peaceful serenity and looked highly affronted. Llovesi pulled Julan away before he could say anything else.
"Well, what do you make of that nonsense he was spewing? The ancestors don't work like that!" Julan said hotly. "This is the last thing people need! First they have Helseth poisoning everyone left right and centre, then the Lady of Egoism treating them all like stupid children, now a mad preacher literally telling them to kill themselves!"
"I think people will believe anything when they're desperate enough," Llovesi said slowly. "And we don't know if the Tribunal losing their powers will affect anything. But they're not dead, just becoming mortal, and all that stuff about the Daedra does sound ridiculous. And you're right, this cult is dangerous. So we should tell Almalexia, and get it stopped."
Almalexia stepped forward, her exquisite golden eyes widening, betraying an emotion different from her usual serene demeanour.
"A suicide cult? In my city? What have you learned about their beliefs?"
"They say that the Tribunal has lost its power," Llovesi said, after a pause. "That it is a sign the Third Era is coming to an end. They believe the Daedra will soon walk the land, and this is why they are choosing to kill themselves–to join the ancestors."
Almalexia did not move, but her golden eyes blazed. When she spoke her voice was a whisper, the lightest of breezes, but a breeze that hid a tempest.
"They would dare...? So, the Tribunal has lost its power, has it? These fools would dare question Almalexia's power, here in her city!" Her voice rose dangerously high.
And suddenly she was pacing furiously in front of them, her composure a thing of the past.
"I will give them a lesson in power, Llovesi, and you will be my agent! They must be reminded of the true power of a God! But how, when so much of my power is absorbed with the aftermath of this attack?"
She continued to stride in front of them, her crimson curls shaking, her eyes burning hot and her fists clenched.
"You will go to these Dwemer ruins below the city, the ruins of Bamz-Amschend and activate the Karstangz-Bcharn."
"The what?" Llovesi was totally nonplussed. She felt Julan squeeze her hand, felt a thought from him. Be careful...
"Loosely translated: the Weather Witch. At its height, the Dwemer civilization was masterful in the use of machinery. In a time of drought, Dwemer scholars were commissioned to create a machine that would bring rain to their lands. They created the Karstangz-Bcharn. Its existence was little more than a myth until recently, when the ruins opened beneath my city. I wish for you to activate the machine, make it to create ashstorms in Mournhold. Then, these heretics will know the power of Almalexia!"
"You... you want me to bring ashstorms here? Here, to Mournhold?"
Llovesi thought back to Vvardenfell, to the cities that had learnt to deal with the harshness of life in the ash. It was a life that could be lived, but it meant coming to terms with the wastelands that made up your surroundings. Here, in Mournhold? As much as the city represented bad memories for her, it was undeniably a beautiful place: a green, vibrant, alive place. Llovesi thought of the damage that could be caused. And the people–the people would be completely unprepared. They would be hurt. The time had come to decide–Helseth or Almalexia?
Power, that was all either of them cared about. But for all his faults, Helseth had probably never wanted to use an ancient and mystical Dwemer machine simply to display his own power. He had never threatened the safety of the city as a whole. Llovesi clenched her free hand. She was under no one's control. She had kept her own mind.
"I will not."
Almalexia had been talking, but she suddenly stopped, shock still.
"What did you say?" she whispered.
"You heard me!"
Almalexia shook her head, smiling. "You are confused, my good and faithful servant. You do not know the words you speak. You must come and bathe in my Light..." She started forward again, but Llovesi took a step back.
"No! I will not! I will not hurt your people this way! You claim to care, but all you care about is your own power! This is not about your people! This is vanity!"
Almalexia did not raise her voice. She did not narrow her eyes, or hiss in anger. She stood, frozen perfectly still in front of them, and in a way it was the most dangerous pose of all.
"You would defy me? I am a God! But you are not a God; you cannot understand what it is to be a God. And you would destroy what you do not understand – wouldn't you Nerevar?"
Silence dropped between them, as sweet as understanding. Almalexia was still smiling, but perhaps without hidden barbs. Her face was as angelic and hopeful as a lover's. All anger was gone, perhaps it had never existed at all.
"It is you, isn't it?" she asked softly, looking as if she wanted to reach out, but didn't dare for fear of breaking some illusion. "My Nerevar, returned to me at last! How I have waited! When I heard of what you had done at Red Mountain, I thought perhaps you were just some Imperial impostor–some Hero, perhaps–but now I see it in you. Nerevar."
The final word was a whisper, a plea. And it seemed she could no longer contain herself, for she stepped forward once more, soft skin glowing, from the plinth towards Llovesi. Her arms were outstretched, her lips open and searching...
"I am Llovesi. Nerevar died long ago, at Red Mountain." Llovesi's words were harsh, perhaps a little harsher than she intended but she did not regret them. This was just Almalexia, trying to charm her way into getting what she wanted.
A long tear slid down Almalexia's fine nose, and she dropped back as if Llovesi had slapped her, choking on a sob.
"But you know that," Llovesi continued, her words no more than a bitter whisper now. "You betrayed him. You killed him, you and the others, so that you could become Gods. I did what I had to on Red Mountain, and I have made my own life in this province. I am not your Nerevar."
Almalexia dropped her head, and when she looked up again there was something wild in her eyes, yearning to be set free.
"Yes, you have made her own life," she snapped. "Living with straw and mud and animals and this savage!"
Her words had turned to a weapon. Julan reeled, as much from the blow as the sudden acknowledgment of his presence. He clasped Llovesi's hand tightly as fear washed over both of them, uncharacteristically silent, but Almalexia hadn't finished. Something burned deep inside her eyes, an untamed fire had finally been let loose.
"I know what he is to you, and I know what hunger takes you in the deep of night. You talk of betrayal, and you stand with him in front of me–day after day. A bug-eating, primitive worm! Almalexia knows and sees."
Was it jealousy, to burn so deep and hard? And her eyes pressed onto Llovesi again, but still she did nothing. She smiled before them, a tight-lipped thing, then returned to her plinth. "Very well," she said sweetly. "You spite me, and you shall see that maybe Almalexia is capable of more than you think. This is not the last time we shall speak. Now leave me."
It was not spoken as a threat, but it was all the same. Though the six silent High Ordinators, the Hands of Almalexia, stood still, Llovesi and Julan felt the latent danger in the room. So they fled.
There is a very specific feeling, a feeling that quickens the pulse and causes one to truly take stock of one's surroundings, to look around at the beauty in the world and ask: "how am I still alive?" Llovesi and Julan felt it as they broke free from the stone walls of the Temple and clutched each other in the open gardens.
"She had a sort of look in her eyes," Julan said finally, and as they moved away from the Temple his voice grew stronger. "If her eyes were daggers I think she'd have killed me there and then. Let her try, the vile kagouti!"
"I was an idiot to speak to her like that," Llovesi said, her expression hollow. "We are in over our heads. But she let us go..." They were walking back to Godsreach, their heads lowered. She had done what maybe no one in centuries had done. She had said no to Almalexia. She felt a dull panic rising in her chest, a cold, clammy kind of panic.
"What do we do?" she whispered, at a loss for the first time in months. "What do we do? She is dangerous. We've seen her true colours now. Even if she didn't attack the city, her strange turns of mood will harm us all. And if Sotha Sil has gone the same way, everyone is in a lot of trouble, more trouble than they or we know. We need to do something. But what do we do?"
In The High Chapel, Almalexia had vanished. There had been nothing more to indicate her disappearance than the sudden rush of air, moving in to fill the space where her body had been.
The Hands kept their heads lowered. Such disappearances were not so unusual. Often the Goddess had things she wished to do. She always returned, in time.
But one of the Hands was deeply troubled. Like Galsa Andrano, like others in the Temple, Salas Valor was growing uneasy with his Goddess. Such thoughts were blasphemy, and went directly against his ordainment. Like all of the Hands, he was required to stay in his Goddess's presence, listening in her defence but not to her words. However, he had been unable to prevent himself from listening to her latest exchange, with the two Dunmer: the tall, scarred one and the man who always stood by her side. And now he realised something had to be done. Even if it did go against everything he'd ever believed.
He raised his head, turned, and left his position on the plinth. He knew where the Goddess kept her most secret things. He knew what he had to get, and he now knew whom he had to talk to.
The only thing he didn't know was whether it would work.