2 Months Later…
4th of Sun's Dusk (Saxhleel), 4E 188
In the first two weeks following the riots, Sal-Gheel had outright begged not to be left to sleep alone. Many restless nights were eased only by Romarcella's magical potions for dreamless sleep.
But overtime her supplies dwindled. Ingredients and apparatuses became more expensive. Businesses spiked their prices to near-exorbitant levels. Vain attempts to compensate for financial and property losses caused by the riots.
Again and again, the hatchling found himself awakening in states of sheer anxiety and abject terror. Often, he awoke crying, screaming, or amidst genuine panic attacks. Nightmares of buildings on fire and smoke-filled Skooma dens. Often exacerbated by flashbacks of the screams of panic from the townspeople, and the unrestrained aggression of the rioters.
Each of the clergy took turns in rotation spending the night with Sal-Gheel. They cuddled and snuggled him close to them. They stroked his feathers and kissed his bone horns and forehead. Sometimes they would sing, recite holy scriptures, or simply talked to him until he drifted off to sleep.
Today, he leaned back in a pew. A copy of The Anuad Paraphrased stood open atop his knees. His bare feet brushed back and forth along the stone chapel floor.
On the world of Nirn, all was chaos. The only survivors of the twelve worlds of Creation were the Ehlnofey and the Hist. The Ehlnofey are the ancestors of Mer and Men. The Hist are the trees of Argonia. Nirn originally was all land, with interspersed seas, but no oceans.
"…Been thinking lately about what I ought to cook for the Moon Festival." Mathnude's voice drifted from the ambulatory. "Bovkianne is already planning to bake moon cakes. Should I do the same? Do you think the people of Bravil will eat my specialty chili and cornbread?"
A chuckle from Romarcella answered. "All due respect, Matt, you're overthinking this. You know it's best to follow your instincts."
"Aye, perhaps I am, Roma," Mathnude too chuckled.
"If you want to bake your chili and cornbread, then go for it," Romarcella encouraged the Breton. "Divines know we all love it. Even Sal-Gheel always eats it right up."
"That he does!" Mathnude heartily agreed, and they laughed out loud together.
…For whatever reason, war broke out, and raged across the whole of Nirn. Sal-Gheel read until the words and his eyes blurred from the dauntingly bulky paragraph. The Old Ehlnofey retained their ancient power and knowledge, but the Wanderers were more numerous, and toughed by their long struggle to survive on Nirn.
"Whatever you and Kianne choose to contribute, Matt," Romarcella reassured him. "I'm sure it'll be a most splendiferous festival for the ages! Secunda will be most pleased!"
"I'm sure she will!" A bump as Mathnude hit his fist to his chest. "I've no doubt! May my ancestors in Glenumbra Moors smile upon me through this endeavor!"
Sal-Gheel looked up from his book at the sound of footsteps.
"Sal-Gheel," Valutinian approached Sal-Gheel, hands clasped over his waist. "Would you like to accompany Heinoke and Aravayana on their ministering visits today?"
"I'd be honored, Your Grace," Sal-Gheel closed his book and stood up to bow.
"Splendid." Valutinian smiled and nodded. He passed the hatchling a small loaf of white bread. "They will come fetch you when they are ready."
It wasn't long before the Nord and Dark Elf did exactly that. Sal-Gheel fetched his slippers and followed them out the doors.
"Iss'kssew'ssi." He glanced up at the cloudless sky and the shining golden sun. "Clear day today. Hope it lasts."
"We're going to visit the Xerseshes first today, Sal-Gheel," Heinoke explained as they took off into the Town Square. "They're Argonians, like you."
"Argonians?" He perked up at the mention of others of his race. "Wow…I haven't seen many others of my Hist-brethren in Bravil in a long time…"
"I'm sure they'll be just as pleased to meet you as you will be them," Aravayana offered her hand to the hatchling, who gladly took it.
They crossed the bridge the southern side of the city. Heinoke knocked on a door behind the Breadsmith.
It opened a moment later. An adult male Argonian peeked out. His scales were a bright chartreuse, a stark contrast to Sal-Gheel's darker leaf shade. Two protracted horns extended backwards from the sides of his cranium. Smaller horns in between smattered his scalp and forehead. A charcoal-black shirt and tan linens formed his masculine body.
"Heinoke! Aravayana!" He threw the door open and extended his arms wide, smiling from ear to ear. "Greetings, honored friends!"
"Yinukeeus!" Heinoke laughed and smiled. "We're here, as we promised!"
"Come in, teeku'eth!" He stepped aside. "You're right on time!"
Heinoke and Aravayana entered the house. Sal-Gheel kept his hand inside the Dunmer's.
"Who is this?" Yinukeeus leaned down to Sal-Gheel's eye level. "Nee thtithil-sihuaak?"
"Sep nei Sal-Gheel Calidaseer," Sal-Gheel answered in perfect Jel, smiling brightly. Yinukeeus' eyebrows raised. "Ruheeva, Yinukeeus."
"Ruheeva, brother in the Hist," Yinukeeus matched the hatchling's grin, and stood up straight. "It is a blessing indeed from Sithis to meet more of our kind. Do make yourself at home in our uxith."
Sal-Gheel nodded and followed Heinoke and Aravayana into a foursquare sitting room.
"Ochemee!" Yinukeeus called into another room. "Uxith-beeko! The ministers are here!"
Ochemee Xersesh was a young adult Saxhleel with muted red-orange scales and an assortment of sea-blue feathers upon her scalp. A plain white apron hugged her thin figure dressed in a slimming black tunic.
"Welcome, Saint Heinoke, Miss Aravayana," Ochemee shook the ministers' hands. Then— "As mud is my mother!"
"By my egg!" Sal-Gheel exclaimed back. "Sep'm Sal-Gheel Calidaseer, ma'am!"
"Yinukeeus!" Ochemee put a hand of surprise on her husband's shoulder. "You didn't tell me there were other Saxhleel living in Bravil!"
"Well, I didn't know at the time!" Yinukeeus shrugged, sincerely clueless.
"Nobody's fault, of course, love," Ochemee kissed Yinukeeus to comfort him. Yinukeeus blushed a deep red.
"Please, do feel free to sit down." Ochemee gestured her visitors to a couch behind them. Sal-Gheel sat sandwiched between the two adults.
"First of all, how have you two been doing?" Heinoke asked the young Saxhleel couple. They sat down in a pair of identical wooden chairs. "Since you first moved in here…last week, correct?"
"Xhu," Yinukeeus nodded. "We did. We're still getting to know the neighborhood."
"It isn't perfect," Ochemee put her arm around her egg-mate's. "But it's the best we could afford on short notice. Maybe we'll find the charm underneath all the blemishes, if we look hard enough."
"Is there anything we can do to help support you?" Aravayana leaned forward to listen. Sal-Gheel likewise adjusted his weight on the couch, curious.
"There's a bit of furniture left to move in," Yinukeeus explained, putting his other hand on his wife's arm. "If you could spare any time tomorrow to help us, we'd be most appreciative."
"We'd be glad to help you," Heinoke nodded with a smile.
"May I help, too?" Sal-Gheel asked the couple.
"Absolutely, sinha!" Yinukeeus grinned at the hatchling. "A chance to show your qocqoc'ess—your strength!" He flexed his bicep, and everyone else laughed. "Or we'll give you suuk azeez—all the light stuff to carry."
"Anything's fine with me." Sal-Gheel sat back against the couch.
"Would either of you be comfortable starting with a prayer?" Aravayana asked the two Argonians.
The couple glanced at each other for a moment. Then Ochemee shrugged. "I can do it."
Everyone bowed their heads and folded their arms.
"Dearest Eight Divines, powers of Heaven Aetherius. We come before you today to beseech Thee to impart Your holy spirits upon us. May they be present during this ministering. Bless us with open minds, humble hearts, and free spirits. That we may be edified by what the brethren of Mother Mara have to teach us today. We pray that Your spirits will testify to us of the truths of your doctrines, and how we can apply them to our lives. Bless Saint Heinoke Tarbensson, Aravayana Drorano, and our egg-brother, Sal-Gheel Calidaseer, for their generous visit. Glory be Thine Forever."
"Glory be Thine Forever," repeated the others.
"If I may ask, Yinukeeus and Ochemee," Heinoke posed once everyone had lifted their heads back up. "How long have you two been married?"
"The 18th will be our fourth month," Ochemee explained, rejoining her arm with her husband's. The happy couple exchanged a loving smile. Their eyes twinkled in the afternoon sunlight.
"By the grace of Mother Mara herself," Yunikeeus nodded to confirm his wife's words. "And the will of the Hist, we are indeed bonded in holy matrimony."
"Four months!" Aravayana marveled, her eyes wide. "That's wonderful, you two!" Sal-Gheel, clueless, managed an awkward smile.
"On the subject of love, I have a little something I think you two may be interested in," Heinoke opened up his backpack and removed a book from it. Small and bound in purple felt and brown leather. He flipped it open to remove a folded piece of paper from within the pages. "A famous love story of my people in the form of a poem."
They unfolded the parchment together and took turns reading stanzas. Yunikeeus began thusly:
"'Frelyette and Pular: A Love Song
A Nordic love story
'Sweet Frelyette the Fair
Hair the color of hay,
Like spun gold and honey
Bright sun at midday.
She loved a boy named Pular
And he loved her, too.
As fiercely as ice entombs lakes,
As surely as spring melts through.
Her mouth as red as snowberries,
His hands calloused and true.
He left to hunt an ice wraith, saying
"I'll become worthy of you."
After four nights of waiting,
Frelyette rode into the snow.
The mountains howled with darkness.
The moon sank ever so low.
But soon her horse grew tired,
The cold did lull her to sleep.
She curled up beneath a tree,
Until the storm buried her deep.
Pular returned triumphantly,
He'd killed the wraith as he foretold.
He stopped at the base of a tree,
Where he saw a tuft of gold.
He brushed away the snow, found her
Pale as cream and cold as death,
But Divines smiled on their love,
And when he kissed her, she drew breath.
"I've slayed the beast," Pular proudly cried,
And Frelyette wept tears of joy.
Hand in hand, they ran home to marry,
Theirs was a love that winter could not destroy.'"
"Oh, that is so romantic!" Ochemee held her hands to her heart. Yunikeeus folded up the parchment and returned it to Heinoke. "I do love happy endings!"
"Don't we all?" Heinoke grinned. Aravayana and Sal-Gheel chuckled. "Anyway, the reason why I chose this particular poem is not because I'm a Nord and I prefer the culture of my people over everything else. But rather, I know that you two are newlyweds. I wanted something that would relate to your new marriage. Hence, this love story. Now, Yunikeeus,"
He looked at the male Argonian. "You don't actually need to travel all the way to Skyrim and slay an ice wraith to prove your worthiness to your lover. And Ochemee,"
He nodded at the female. "You've no need to go riding out into snow and darkness to seek your lover. The things you do for each other in the moment—small and simple things—those are enough to prove the measure of your love."
"And possibly to your future hatchlings as well." Aravayana rubbed the feathers on Sal-Gheel's head. The hatchling closed his eyes and giggled.
"Being there for each other, as Pular and Frelyette were," Heinoke continued, putting an arm around Sal-Gheel's shoulders. "That is a testament to Mother Mara that your love is true, pure, and devoted. No matter what storms or sunlight may come your way, as long as you continue to be faithful to each other, the Divines will bless you and your marriage. From mortal life and into your eternities with the Hist."
"Indeed, the Hist will reward us for our efforts," Yunikeeus concluded to his wife.
"I couldn't agree more, my uxith-beeko," Ochemee nodded back.
"Thank you for that wonderful story, Saint Heinoke," Yunikeeus clasped his hands together in a gesture of gratitude. "It was most uplifting. Exactly what Ochemee and I needed today."
"Mother Mara extends her love to you both, children of the Hist," Heinoke removed his arm from Sal-Gheel's shoulders to hold his hand to his heart. He lifted his other hand, thumb and two fingers extended upwards in blessing. "Be not strangers amongst her diverse and all-inclusive fold. Her bosom is borne for your succor. Her embrace remains warm for all who seek respite. Blessings of the Goddess of Love upon you both." The couple clasped their hands and bowed their heads in thanks.
"Anything you'd like to add, Aravayana?" Heinoke asked the Dark Elf. He returned his arm around Sal-Gheel.
"Yes, I do have something in mind, Heinoke," Aravayana nodded and sat up straight. "There's an interesting passage in Sermon Three of Saint Vivec's Thirty-Six Lessons."
Heinoke fetched the book, encased in amber-colored leather. The Dark Elf flipped it open to the needed pages.
"This is when Saint Vivec was still in the form of the egg," she explained to the others. "In the womb of the netchimen's wife. He is explaining his perspective on the emotion of love to the Dwemer, who are unfamiliar with the concept." She began reading aloud.
"'The egg said: "Love is used not only as a constituent in moods and affairs, but also as the raw material from which relationships produce hour-later exasperations, regrettably fashioned restrictions, riddles laced with affections known only to the loving couple, and looks that linger too long. Love is also an often-used ingredient in some transparent verbal and nonverbal transactions where, eventually, it can sometimes be converted to a variety of true devotions, some of which yield tough, insoluble, and infusible unions.'"
"I believe Saint Vivec spoke of love as an emotion, not as a necessity," Yunikeeus thought aloud as Aravayana closed the book. "In Black Marsh, tribe members marry mostly out of tribal obligations; without any true feelings or connections involved. It doesn't often feel like there's any real love there, so to speak."
"But Yunikeeus and I married out of real love," Ochemee laid her head on her husband's shoulder. He put his arm around hers. "We shared a mutual love, with reciprocated feelings and affections. Our two hearts were indeed as one."
"There you go," Aravayana agreed, gesturing to the happy couple. "There's those 'true devotions' for you. I pray to the Divines and to Saint Vivec that it does blossom into a 'tough, insoluble, and infusible union'."
"We cannot promise perfection," Yunikeeus nodded, agreeing. He allowed himself a sheepish grin. "But as the Sithis our witness, we will do our very best!"
"Sal-Gheel, anything you'd like to say?" Aravayana returned the Third Sermon of Vivec to Heinoke.
"Can you adopt me?"
All knew he had asked it to the married Argonians. Aravayana and Heinoke looked utterly taken aback.
"I, I mean…" Sal-Gheel backtracked. "Just take me in as an occasional tenant. Not actually adopt me, because the chapel already adopted me first. Can you give me just another place to live, and other Saxhleel to be with?"
He stood up from the couch, holding The Anaud Paraphrased close to his chest. "I haven't seen other Saxhleel in Bravil in so long. Not since my egg-parents died when I was 6."
His heart sank when they exchanged anxious looks.
"Sep'm kalhuthi, Sal-Gheel," Yunikeeus admitted with the deepest regret. Sal-Gheel's heart sank even lower in his chest. "Ochemee and I are awfully short on money right now."
"It's hard enough to take care of ourselves, you understand," Ochemee added, and Sal-Gheel stared down at his feet. "You would be another mouth to feed. I'm sorry, Sal-Gheel."
Sal-Gheel closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay. Sep tei. Sep'm kalhuthi. My egg must've spent too much time in the shade for hatching."
"Yoq, no, don't say that about yourself, little one," Yunikeeus slipped off his chair and dropped to his knees at Sal-Gheel's eye level. "It's not your fault, sinha."
He tucked his hand underneath the hatchling's chin and pulled it up to meet his eyes."You didn't know. There are some things in life that will be out of your control. Unfortunately, this is one of those things."
"Besides, if the chapel already takes such good care of you," Ochemee tacked on, nodding. "What more do you need to ask for?"
Sal-Gheel nodded, his expression pained. "I know, I know." He inhaled deep and exhaled even deeper. "This dries my scales, but…I'll be fine. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Don't worry, Sal-Gheel," Heinoke too knelt down beside Sal-Gheel, putting a hand on the hatchling's shoulder. "We won't hold this against you. You're simply desperate to have others of your kind in your life. We understand completely, don't we, Ara?"
"Wholeheartedly, Heinoke," she nodded to concur. "I'd be overjoyed too if more Dunmer moved into Bravil."
"At any rate, we won't waste any more of your precious time," Heinoke got to his feet, and Aravayana to hers. "Thank you for allowing us to come over today. Shall we get together later to schedule a time to help you out with your furniture tomorrow?"
"Yes, good idea," Yunikeeus nodded, showing the trio to the door. "Thank you all for coming today. You three are the sun upon our scales."
Sal-Gheel did not meet the couple's eyes for a moment. But he turned over his shoulder with a longing, regretful gaze.
Yunikeeus bit his lip, then managed to croak out, "May the Hist embrace you, Sal-Gheel."
"You, too, Yunikeeus and Ochemee," he cracked back.
As soon as Yunikeeus closed the door, he descended the porch stairs, looking glum.
Aravayana bit her lip but didn't say a word. She put her arm around the dejected hatchling's shoulders. Sal-Gheel sniffed and gulped.
"Other Saxhleel, here in Bravil…" He almost sounded on the verge of tears. "It's been so long since I've seen anyone like them since…"
"I'm so sorry that things didn't turn out the way you wanted, Sal-Gheel," Aravayana dropped to her knees in front of the hatchling, placing an empathetic hand on his shoulder. "But just know that—,"
"I know, I know…" Sal-Gheel sighed in resignation. "It's not my fault."
"We're going to visit the Glodidicuses next," Heinoke hefted the bookbag over his shoulder.
Sal-Gheel looked up with a nervous wince. "Are you sure, sir? You know they hate my guts."
"We know you've had bad experiences with them in the past," Aravayana stroked the Argonian's cheek with her thumb. "Perhaps this time you can show them how much you've grown since then."
"But what if they try to say something bad about me?" the timid hatchling asked.
"Don't worry, kid," Heinoke winked, smirking. "We'll defend you. Let's go."
Aravayana once more offered her hand to the hatchling. Sal-Gheel let out another resigned sigh and took it.
They crossed Main Street to the house parallel to Silverhome on the Water. Sal-Gheel gulped as they climbed up to the porch.
Heinoke knocked on the door. Sal-Gheel focused his hearing. Faint but heavy coughing noises could be heard from within the house.
Same as before, the door opened promptly. A pair of myopic hazel eyes narrowed and glared out from behind.
"Well, it's about time!" Adriarma Glodidicus stepped out from behind. "Where have you been?! I thought I was told to expect you within the hour!"
"Our sincerest apologies, Adriarma," Heinoke kept his voice gentle, though only Sal-Gheel could sense the immense restraint the Nord held in it. "We were visiting the Xerseshes."
"I pray we're not too late for you and Aquibierius?" Aravayana stepped up beside Heinoke.
Adriarma shot a quick glance at Sal-Gheel. The hatchling seemed to shrink beneath her gaze. Finally, the Imperial exhaled sharply out of her nose.
"Fine. I guess you are. Come on in, then." She opened the door and stepped aside. Heinoke and Aravayana both breathed sighs of relief and crossed the threshold.
"You!" Adriarma recoiled from Sal-Gheel. Her accusing finger pointed directly at him. "You're with them?! You're supposed to be dead!"
"Sorry to be a disappointment," Sal-Gheel growled back without thinking.
"Hold your tongue in my presence, lizard!" Adriarma lowered her gaze, glaring through half-bloodshot eyes. "Or I will cut it out!"
"That's enough!" Heinoke barked. Imperial and Argonian stepped away from each other. "There will be no violence here! We're here to spread the word of Mara, and we won't leave until we've done it!"
"I doubt your ridiculous scriptures will heal Aquibrierius!" Adriarma turned away from Sal-Gheel. She crossed the sitting room to a large couch that stood by the fireplace at the opposite end. "What he needs is a blessing, or whatever you call it!"
She leaned over to rest a hand on a prone figure who lay lengthwise on the couch, his back to the ministers. As Sal-Gheel watched, Aquibrierius broke into a whooping cough fit. He flinched at the sudden touch, but immediately relented as soon as he saw his wife's face.
The Argonian's heart wrenched as the Imperial's body lurched inwards with each hack, groan, and heavy croak. He held a hand to his chest as he came down from the fit. As though it ached with a severe stabbing and burning pain. Sal-Gheel picked up on his short wheezing breaths in between heaving grunts.
"We have to help him!" Sal-Gheel pleaded with the other two. "I don't care if they've said mean things about me before! I want to help Mr. Glodidicus get better!"
"You're right, Sal-Gheel, and we will," Aravayana patted him on the back and nodded. "We'll give him a blessing."
"How long has he been like this?" Heinoke inquired of Adriarma. The Nord crossed in front of the couch.
"About 3 weeks," Adriarma knelt on the floor beside her ailing husband, a hand on his arm. "I don't know what's afflicted him, but he hasn't gotten better."
"Why don't you come to the chapel and see Romarcella?" Aravayana brought herself and Sal-Gheel to Heinoke's side. "She's our Healer. If anyone can rid Aquibrierius of his affliction, it's her."
"No other woman shall lay her hands on my Aquibrierius!" Adriarma clung to her husband, as though afraid someone may snatch him away. Sal-Gheel groaned inwardly and rolled his eyes.
"Blessing it is, then," Heinoke shrugged, sensing defeat. He and Aravayana helped push Aquibrierius up into a sitting position. They stood on either side and placed their hands upon his head. Sal-Gheel bowed his head and closed his eyes, clasping his hands.
"Oh, dearest Eight Divines," Heinoke began. He too closed his eyes and lifted his gaze towards the heavens. "We come before Thee in humblest supplication, to ask for Thy blessings upon Aquibrierius Goldidicus. We ask that Thou wilt impart Thy blessings unto him as he suffers from chronic sickness. Look, O benevolent Eight, upon our friend who is afflicted, whom we now commend to Thy compassionate regard. Comfort him upon his sickbed and ease his suffering through his illness. We beg for Thine deliverance, and submit that no healing is impossible for Thine divine power if it is Thy will."
"Therefore, we pray, O Eight Divines," Aravayana continued in like manner. "That You bless our friends with Thy loving care, renew Aquibrierius' strength, and heal what ails him in Your loving name. Thank you, Eight Divines. Glory be Thine forever."
"Glory be Thine Forever," intoned Heinoke and Sal-Gheel.
But the moment the ministers removed their hands, Aquibrierius fell again into another hacking fit, even rougher than before. He fell straight forwards. The two clerics caught him before he hit the floor.
"Well, that was pointless!" Adriarma threw her hands up in the air. "Your blessing didn't do anything! He isn't healed!"
"I'm so sorry, Adriarma," Aravayana apologized, turning to the Imperial. "We did the best we could. We must now leave Aquibrierius' fate in the hands of the Divines."
"To Oblivion with your Divines!" Adriarma raged. She pushed Aravayana out of the way and sat down beside her coughing husband. Aravayana flailed on the spot, teetering backwards. Heinoke reached out to stop her from falling with telekinesis.
"I'm not going to wait around for my husband to get better!" Adriarma protested, practically seething now at the clerics. "And I won't let any other woman, holy or not, lay her hands upon him! He's mine and mine alone!"
She seized them by the shoulders and pushed them towards the door. "Out! Get out! Take your fraudulent religion with you!"
"Hey!" Sal-Gheel yelped when Adriarma hoisted him up by his robe collar into the air. "Get your grubby hands off me!" She carried him over to and dropped him on the doorstep.
She slammed the door without another word.
"Well, that could've gone better, I suppose," Aravayana tried her best to keep a calm composure.
"But it also could've gone worse," Heinoke growled between gritted teeth. He let out a despairing sigh. "Fate help that poor woman and her husband," he muttered, descending from the porch. "They're beyond even the Divines' help now."
"Are you hurt, Sal-Gheel?" Aravayana walked up to the Argonian, who shook his head and straightened his robe. The Dunmer breathed a sigh of relief.
"Do we need to visit anyone else?" Sal-Gheel asked, descending the porch stairs.
"No, that's everyone," Heinoke patted the hatchling on the back. He opened the bookbag to return The Annotated Anuad to him. "We're done for the day. Divines be praised it didn't end worse."
Sensing defeat, Sal-Gheel stared down at his feet the whole walk home. For the Glodidicuses he spoke a silent prayer in his heart.
The Great Chapel of Mara, Undercroft
Later, the hatchling walked leisurely through the Chapel Undercroft. He stopped partway to the end and turned to the tomb on his left. Legibly engraved below its carved stone figure was a name: "Gemanius Avidipter, Captain of the Bravil Guard".
Sal-Gheel removed the wilted purple Water Hyacinths from the vase. His fresh bouquet took their place. He stepped away, clasped his hands to his heart, bowed low, and genuflected eight times.
"He was always so kind and helpful to me," he spoke aloud to Priestess Sirimgeira beside him. "He let me go free after I stole that bread from the Breadsmith. Then he arrested those evil predators for trying to hurt me. I…" The words choked in his throat for a moment.
"I don't know where I'd be without him. I don't know if I'd even be alive."
"I know you miss him dearly," Sirimgeira stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. "He did indeed do so much good for you. I can't imagine what might've become of your life had he never interceded on your behalf. In the end, he died doing what he does best: defending our beloved city from evildoers." The crestfallen hatchling could only nod and sigh.
"Arkay preserve your spirit, Captain Gemanius Avidipter," Sirimgeira whispered to the silent stone tomb. "Divines grant you your peace in Aetherius."
At the end of the Undercroft sat the most elaborate tomb carved of pure white marble. It sat within a roomy rectangular nook. A marble sarcophagus lined in refined gold, silver, bronze, and other precious metals stood in the center.
"Cavocus Magium, Count Bravil", read the elaborate cursive engraving upon the lid.
Tributes and treasures of many kinds surrounded the sarcophagus. Vases and vessels with colorful flowers. Swords and shields and maces and bows and quivers. Precious gems and jewelries. Even coinpurses and scattered Septims lay sprinkled over and around the elaborate lid.
"Countess Augussandra hasn't come to visit even once," Sirimgeira remarked, watching Sal-Gheel replace a bouquet of Columbines in the central glass vase. "Who knows why? Who can speak for her?"
"At least he cared more than she did," Sal-Gheel stood to his feet, staring forlornly at the sarcophagus. "More than she ever will." Again, he clasped his hands to his heart, bowed, and genuflected. "If he had never approved of you adopting me…I…" He gulped, blinking back tears.
"I…I know I'd still be living on the streets if it wasn't for him."
"Arkay preserve your spirit, Count Cavocus," Sirimgeira intoned again.
"Divines grant you your peace in Aetherius," followed Sal-Gheel.
Outside, he placed Poppies in front of his parents' gravestones.
"It still…" he sniffed and shook with barely restrained sobs. "Ha-hasn't s-stopped hur-hurting." Tears streamed down his cheeks, which he quickly wiped away on his sleeves. "I-I wish they were here," he cried to Sirimgeira. "To see me now."
"I know you do, Sal-Gheel," Sirimgeira took the hatchling into her arms. He dug his face into her robes. "I wish they were here, too. I would've loved to have met them."
"I'm willing to bet that if they were truly here with us," she stroked the back of the Argonian's head.
"They would be immensely proud of you."
The Fair Deal
"How are your studies of the Daedra coming along, Sal-Gheel?"
Romarcella approached the counter with two bags of groceries. Mathnude hoisted his own bag of supplies onto the table.
"Pretty well," Sal-Gheel hurried over to the Healer's side. He carried a bag of flower over his shoulder. Mathnude took it and placed it upon the counter. "You can quiz me if you want."
"Should we?" Romarcella turned to Mathnude with an expectant grin.
"Since he's asking," Mathnude shrugged, nonchalant.
"You don't mind?" Romarcella asked the proprietor, a pale-faced female Bosmer.
"Why not?" Galbhwen Softbrook stuffed her hands in her pockets. "It just might be the most exciting part of my day. Do you need anything else or may I begin arranging your deposit?"
"Go ahead," Mathnude nodded. "We're paying all together for these." He drew a circle in the air around the shopping bags. Galbhwen nodded and began arranging the purchases.
"Let me think, Sal-Gheel," Romarcella tapped her chin and wracked her brains. "Who is the Daedric Prince…Hermaeus Mora?"
"Prince of Forbidden Knowledge," Sal-Gheel counted off on his fingers. "Memory, Destiny, and the scrying of the Tides of Fate. He knows all and sees all; past, present, and future."
He framed his eyes between his fingers and widened them dramatically. The two clerics and the shopkeeper all laughed.
"Great job, kid!" Mathnude flashed him a thumbs-up. "What about Clavicus Vile?"
"Prince of Bargains, Pacts, Trickery, and Wishes," the hatchling watched Romarcella count out coins from her purse. "Often makes deals with mortals which they later regret."
"By the Green, he's good!" Galbhwen exclaimed, her eyes wide in awe at the knowledgeable hatchling. "How old did you say he was?"
"Only 8 years!" Mathnude whispered, impressed and elated. He pointed a finger at the Argonian. "I don't know how he does it, but he's incredible!" He tapped his temple knowingly.
"I'll say!" Galbhwen placed six bottles of Surilie Brothers Wine into a box. "Hey, Sal-Gheel! How about the Daedric Prince Vaermina?"
"The Prince of Dreams and Nightmares," Sal-Gheel held his hands to his head, shuddering. "The Dreamweaver and the Dark Lady. Feeds on memories and replaces them with dark and scary nightmares."
"A Daedric Prince we've all come to know in one way or another," Galbhwen nodded, looking grim and solemn. "May we never have the misfortune to fall under the negative side of her coin. That'll come up to sixty-six Septims," she told the clerics. Romarcella began counting accordingly.
"Azura?" She passed the required amount of Septims across the counter, which Galbhwen took.
"Prince of Dawn and Dusk," Sal-Gheel struck a pose. He raised his hands to balance the sun and moon. He held his head high in deific grandiosity. "Moonshadow and Queen of the Night Sky. One of the three Reclamations of the Dunmer, the Mother of the Rose."
"I couldn't have said that better myself!" Galbhwen snapped her fingers and laughed. "Thank you for your custom." Mathnude and Sal-Gheel gathered up the shopping.
"You're more than welcome to stick around to continue quizzing the boy." Galbhwen turned sideways to leave. "If you need me, I'll be in the back taking inventory."
Romarcella lifted a hand. The shopping bags rose into the air and levitated beside her. Mathnude slung the flour over his shoulder.
"Okay, Sal-Gheel, you're doing really well," Romarcella grinned at the young Argonian. "But we're just getting started."
She leaned down to his eye level with a determined smile and twinkle in her eyes. "Who is Sheogorath?"
"The Prince of Madness!" Sal-Gheel pretended to laugh maniacally. "The Mad God and the Trickster!"
"Yes!" Mathnude snorted and led the way out of the store. "Can you tell us Sheogorath's other half? Who was he originally before he was turned into the Mad Lord?"
"Jyggalag, the Prince of Order," Sal-Gheel explained. The trio exited the shop. They emerged into the pearly-white moonlight. "He's supposed to represent logical order and…"
He grimaced, scratching for the word. "Deduction? Is that what it's called?"
But the two clergy hardly had a chance to answer. They were suddenly looking out towards the west. A great commotion had arisen from the town square.
"Not again!" Sal-Gheel whispered aloud. He trembled, his body shaking.
He closed his eyes to focus. An array of sounds stabbed into his ears.
Jute ropes spinning through the air and tightening around…something. The clanging of spears and swords clashing and slamming against wooden and metal shields. Arrows flying loose from twanging bowstrings. Torches bursting alight with magical flames.
Above them all…the sounds of battle cries and aggression.
He opened his eyes and bolted down the street. Mathnude and Romarcella dashed after him, calling his name. But he did not hear them.
He rounded the corner into the square—
"NO!"
He froze at the end of the alleyway. The Lucky Old Lady stood tangled head to toes in thick ropes. A gang of rioters pulled at the statue.
"No! Leave her alone!" Sal-Gheel made to rush towards the statue.
"Sal-Gheel, no!" Romarcella seized his arm at the last second and wrenched him back into the alley.
"But the Lucky Old Lady!" He reached out his other arm in desperate pleading, pulling against the Imperial's strong grip. Mathnude rushed to grab his other arm.
The trio looked on in horror as the ropes tightened around and began wrenching at the statue. The Lucky Old Lady came toppling sideways off its dais and down to the ground.
Crasssh! It crumbled into a multitude of pieces upon impact. The three shielded themselves from flying dirt and stone projectiles. Sal-Gheel let out a strangled cry mingled with a gasp of horror.
The rioters dropped their ropes and picked up extra torches. These they lit with fire magic.
They began to circle the dais where the statue had once stood. Some of them drew blades or picked up spears to join their shields. Through the darkness of the night alight with violent flames, Sal-Gheel centered his vision.
The shadows rippled far to his left. A strange figure took shape in a distant alleyway a yard away.
A dark-skinned, middle-aged, wrinkled, black-mustached and goateed male Bosmer. He dashed into the fray towards the Lucky Old Lady's former platform.
He looked up at Sal-Gheel. For a moment of silence, they locked eyes.
Time slowed to a crawl around him. But only the Bosmer moved normally. All other sounds drowned out into deafening silence.
"Nightwind!"
The Bosmer whipped around towards an unseen voice. The sounds resumed anew and flooded Sal-Gheel's ears.
"Get in there and stop Alisanne! Now!"
The Bosmer nodded and ascended the platform. He stepped down into the gaping hole left behind by the statue. Two more figures tailed him.
One, a middle-aged, bearded, brunette male Breton. The other, an Imperial, his heavily wrinkled face partially hidden behind a brown leather hood.
Sal-Gheel wriggled himself free from the clergy's grip and sprinted to the dais. They cried after him. But again, he did not heed their calls. He stopped and dropped to his knees at the edge of the hole.
"At last…the Night Mother's crypt!" came the voice of the old Breton from within. "Men, burn it to the ground! And you, my agent—kill the Listener!"
"What?" The voice of someone in utter heartbroken disbelief answered. "But I thought…"
"You thought you had a loyal assassin," taunted the first voice. "The most skilled you'd ever seen? No, my dear. Your trusted lieutenant has been my agent from the beginning! Now my friend, fulfill your contract – Kill the Listener!"
Sal-Gheel flinched, recoiled, and started at every clash of a sword, twang of a bowstring, and shimmering ring of an unleashed spell. Cries of combat, pain, and surprise only enhanced the chaotic clamor.
"Father!" the female voice cried, determined but vengeful. "For long years I have awaited this!"
"As have I!" answered the voice of the Breton, bloodthirsty and utterly enraged. "I knew while you lived, I would never be safe. Come, let us end this once and for all!"
"Garnag, you're hurt!" Yet another unfamiliar voice sounded out. "Get the Night Mother to safety! We will hold these mercenaries off!"
"It will be done!" replied what could only be a male Orc.
More sounds of battle. Sal-Gheel remained transfixed on the darkened hole, illuminated by both magic and torchlight.
"Fortillius!" The unmistakable commanding voice of Ildolles Flonidius of the Fighters' Guild slashed through the disorderly din. "Korisephonia! Defend Nightwind!"
"Aye, aye, Ildolles!" Fortillius Laenapter, clad head to toes in gleaming white steel armor, hurried towards the hole with a matching sword and shield. "Our blades are his to command!"
"Straight away, sir!" Korisephonia, a female Altmer, saluted with her Elven Sword. Her other hand rested at her side, wreathed in teal lightning magic. "He won't get a single scratch on himself while we're around!" She turned to follow Fortillius down below.
"Goodbye, daughter!"
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"
Krrraaa-koooooommmmm!
A brilliant plume of colorful magical fire suddenly burst out from within the hole. Beneath it came the bloodcurdling dying screams from the one named Alisanne.
The fire broke outwards into innumerable individual tongues spreading in all directions. A ghastly pillar of black smoke issued from within every single one.
The force of the blast knocked Fortillius and Korisephonia straight to the ground. Mathnude and Romarcella likewise fell to the ground.
But Sal-Gheel could only watch as he landed on his rear end behind the platform. All the rioters raised their torches, ropes, and weapons with triumphant cheers. The fire burned out almost as instantly as it appeared.
"And now, my traitorous agent, it is down to you and me! You will die for betraying me!"
He let out a bloodcurdling cry of death not half a moment later.
The smoke cleared and the sounds faded into silence. But only the male Bosmer emerged from the hole.
He doubled over, heaving for breath. Colorful magical energy faded from his hands.
"Uther and his torturer defeated…" He spoke in a thick regional accent. "Alisanne and Andronica dead…But there is one glimmer of hope."
He looked out towards the west. "Godspeed, Garnag." He held a hand to his diaphragm. A bright teal energy glowed beneath his palm.
Fortillius helped Korisephonia to her feet. They scampered off towards the Fighter's Guild. The rioters too scattered into the shadows.
Nightwind stood up straight. He snuck a momentary glance over his shoulder.
He stared blankly at the young Saxhleel. Sal-Gheel stared with silent trepidation back.
Then the Bosmer snapped his fingers. His very form rippled until it turned invisible.
He turned his back and stole away into the night.
Panting, Sal-Gheel turned around and scrambled back towards the chapel. The Lucky Old Lady's head had rolled to the bottom of the steps. He picked it up with shaking hands.
Its mindless, lifeless, soulless stone eyes stared back at him.
His heart broke in two within his chest.
His face scrunched up. He shut his eyes as hot tears filled and streamed down from them. The Lucky Old Lady's head fell from his trembling hands.
Mathnude and Romarcella climbed to their feet and rushed towards him. He met them halfway up the chapel steps.
There he buried his face in their stomachs, and wailed.