Song: The Sun is Also a Warrior, by Leslie Fish
Chapter 44: Clockwork Bird
Wind my key. Hear me sing
Call it "rote," but here's the thing
Every perfect note repeated
Replication, undefeated
In time it may grow old and stale
Heard so often, its glory pales
And time will slow the clockwork down
Metal fatigue and dust compound
To slow the beat. With rusted voice
I, the clockwork bird, coughs, "Rejoice!
The sun arises. Another day
Another hour, one more play."
And when the key no longer moves
And notes jam up on well-worn grooves
Classics in replication
Original, each variation
My song, my key, mine
Rote repeat on the staff of time
They spent three days raiding the storage rooms of Raldbthar and then moved over to the Tower of Mzark. It was a shame to break apart the machine that could read an Elder Scroll, but it had served its purpose. He needed the computer boards and focusing gems. Those were artificial gems created from resources and processes that were no longer available or replicable in this day and age.
Oh, sure, in the Game, the Synod had created a focusing crystal for the device in Mzulft. Severus and Taliesin had retrieved it for him after killing off the scum that had kidnapped and tortured Revyn. But the Synod crystal was stress-fractured and useless after just one use because it was a natural gemstone, not artificially grown with magic infused during the matrix building.
"Just judging by the furniture arrangement and the central machine piece, this seems to be a study and lecture room. But the central holding device is not for reading a data cube or sphere. But even for that, why the crystals?" asked Andstar.
"Separate light frequencies bring out certain characters. Certain energies cause other aspects to present themselves," grunted Curtis. Oh, what the hell, he thought. "You need to manipulate light and energy frequencies to read an Elder Scroll and record the data. A moth priest will spend decades preparing a proper mindset and strength of spirit to read a scroll maybe two or three times, then spend the rest of their life blind. That frame is for a controlled unrolling of a scroll."
The two Telvanni mages gaped at him in disbelief. A touch of greed there, too, which was to be expected.
"The Winterhold College currently has the scroll that was here, courtesy of the archimage. And, no, asking their permission to look at it won't be given and is a bad idea. According to the archimage, it has information about Alduin and the possible end of the world. If the Lady Dragonborn succeeds in stopping Alduin, the scroll will likely update to a new future.
"But, hey, I understand the feeling, guys. There're plenty of times I wish I knew how things would work out. But we'd probably have more luck untangling the skeins of the Webspinner before we'd understand the barking of an Elder Scroll."
The two Telvanni laughed at that. "Barking?" repeated Andstar.
"Woof, woof. Warp and woof of a web," explained Curtis. "Sorry. I was just trying to be clever."
"Like the barking of a madman," said Alveru.
They wrapped and loaded the crystals onto the floating transport cart.
"What are you going to use these for?" asked Alveru.
"Secret project. Sorry," said Curtis.
Mzinchaleft. It was a mustering point for overland security actions. The exterior would seem lame, being essentially buried in a big hole approachable by hostile forces on all sides. Right. Try it when, in its heyday, ballista drones and battlebots roamed the area. If you entered by any other route than the authorized route (the front gates and covered walkway, dummy), you became a target dummy. Falmer rebels came down heavy on this location, destroying most of the security and robot replication systems. Afterward, centuries of looters made off with unsecured weapons and armor. There should still be plenty left in secured rooms. By now, Curtis had learned what symbol ornaments to look for and how to use telekinesis to unlock the panels to find pristine armor pieces, accessories, and weapons. His people needed replacement parts, and, unlike the Game, one size does not fit all. He went finding and opening rooms while everyone else searched them for pieces and sizes on the laundry list. Same with weapons in types, weights, sizes, and styles. Close up all the secured rooms afterward, of course.
Scavenging all done and the loot hauled back to Winterhold for packing and loading onto the ship. Curtis also took the Adrevanni twins on an extra sightseeing trip underwater to the excavation of Old Winterhold and then a day in a decompression bubble. They talked about the technology and magic used in the project. Curtis assured them so long as Clan Adrevanni was friendly with House Mora, they could continue with technology exchanges. Oh, and by the way, House Mora would be looking at weather control projects in the future to mitigate the climate changes of Vvardenfell caused by Red Mountain. They would be delighted if Clan Adrevanni participated.
He escorted the Adrevanni to the boat that would take them back to Windhelm. Then he went to his office to finish writing his report to Revyn Sadri about his interaction with the Adrevanni. "Master Colette wants to see you if you're available," Ilya told him. Of course he was.
He rushed over to her room and knocked twice on her door. "Colette? Sweetie?"
"Come in," she answered. She was seated at her desk, her back against the wall. There was a second chair positioned to face her. On the long desk, papers were neatly stacked in a corner. There was also a tray of small sandwiches, two cups, and a tall ewer. She glanced at the chair. He sat.
"Missed you, baby. So, what are your thoughts?"
"It's pure arrogance, but it's not like we can — or need to — ask their permission. As they are, they're monsters." She looked from him to the dreamcatcher pinned to the wall over her desk. Curtis hadn't seen it before. It was rather plain, just bare leather thongs webbed around a wooden hoop. The feathers were grey and white. The downy, fluffy type. He was getting a weird vibe from it. Maybe it was because the center wasn't a circle. It was an oval. A polished yellow and red agate disk hung in the center like the pupil of an eye. Three other agates of different colors were placed on the hoop perimeter, and two teardrop shapes dangled below.
"Um, cute piece," he tentatively offered.
"Elyzabyth brought it back to me from her visit to Markarth. She had it designed after the college — the eye of the college; the three points of the feathers being the three primary buildings, and the gemstone placements are the six wells."
"Huh. Yeah, I can see that."
"While you were gone, Horace Felix came to Winterhold to see his wife. He also visited me and brought a note he said was dictated by the sleeping prophet. He told me it was dictated two years ago but was dated to be delivered later."
"Okay," said Curtis cautiously. This sounded like ghosts and prophecy, more of the weird shit the husband of the Dragonborn got involved in. He glanced at the dreamcatcher again. "Uh, this 'sleeping prophet,' uh, that Revyn?"
"Of course. We've documented his ability to channel with spirits yet have no memory afterward. Master Horace told me that Revyn had such a spell two years ago at a family reunion and dictated non-stop for two days. There were many notes to be delivered to many people at certain times.
"Like the one given to me." She gave him the note. Curtis read it. It seemed to be an extract of a diary. A young boy fretting about battles and the hope the Dwemer offered.
"I've shown this to Urag to see if there's anything we have that can verify some of the elements. He immediately showed me books translated by Master Calcelmo, who found diaries and other journal scraps in Bthar-zel. There's more to the book than what's here. The disillusionment, the betrayal, the hopeless fighting against addiction. Then you see these lines at the bottom? That's not part of the translation.'The Sun is also a warrior. Knowledge will also destroy. Nor can the kindest will preserve you from the kill. Not all of wisdom brings joy.'
"That got me thinking about the ancient mer symbol for Akatosh being the sun of aetherius."
"The First Star," murmured Curtis. "Where I come from, I mean, my last existence, his name was Lucifer, the First Star of heaven. You could also say he was the first error because he dared have a different opinion. He protested the creation of mortals, mortality. He led the first rebellion and was defeated by the faithful, and was cast down to become the king of hell. Betrayer, deceiver, prince of lies. In this existence, the old man of the void Sithis is the almighty tyrant, and Auri-El is the leader of the rebels, the forces of life."
Colette rapped sharply on the desk to refocus his attention. "Thank you, Curtis. Comparative theology isn't the subject today. But I'm thinking of this diary piece. It's a tragic tale of a boy's disillusionment and descent into hell. And then I think of your decision to bring in a vampire lord. I'm not happy, but you are right; she has skills no one here in this college does, not in healing, not in necromancy.
"I'm sorry, Curtis. I know the choice you've made wasn't an easy one. It's an ugly path to try to bring back the damned. But I don't see the gods coming down to offer salvation in one sweep. Jhunal, through you, sent us a starter batch, and we'll have to bake bread from that."
Curtis grinned. "Did you just compare my Snowmer to bread yeast?"
She glared at him. "No, I said they are a vital core culture, smart mouth. The Falmer are a dead race. The Snowmer deserve the chance to make a new one. I will help them." She leaned forward and took his hand. "I'm not apologizing for how I initially reacted. I had my reasons. But I am sorry if I'd given you the impression that my support had lessened. I just hate that we must depend on a vampire."
"Sweetie, Lady Valerica has no problem resurrecting dead bodies, but I wouldn't bet on her ability to help the living like you can. Resurrecting ain't healing. She don't care for their physical or mental health like you do. We both know long-term aftercare can be the hardest, least-rewarded, and lowest-paid. It doesn't get the respect or help unless it's some job recruiter or politician looking to score points by praising the front-line. Like war veterans, who have always been forgotten and gotten shit on, called crazies and bums. Wounds on their bodies, in their minds, in their souls. Valerica can't help with that. It's not her specialty; it's yours."
Colette frowned. "Curtis, I'm not that selfless a healer. I told you before selfishness is sometimes necessary, especially when it comes to ones own sanity. I have no need for unnecessary martyrs. Curtis, dear, what are you getting out of this? Dumac was a long time ago. You say he got thrown into your world. You're proof he's lived the life of a human. He's gone through many incarnations. You aren't him. Why do you do this, and what do you get out of this? Tell me. Why do you feel responsible?"
Curtis nodded, not answering immediately. "Yeah, I do take time to stop and wonder what the hell I'm doing, and why the hell am I doing it. I just know I have to. I can try to say, 'someone else can do this; you ain't that special.' But, Colette, I know deep in my soul that's a lie. No, there isn't anyone who remembers what I remember, who feels the ache and hunger. So, if I don't do it, I know I will never be happy. Not with you, not with myself.
"It's too late to pull out now. It's that over-inflated ego you keep accusing me of. When I played the Morrowind game, yeah, the story of Nerevar was neat. But when I sometimes dreamed of the game, especially after hours of gaming and nearly falling asleep at the computer, I wasn't Nerevar or the Nerevarine. I was always someone else — someone working on a Dwemer machine, someone wandering the halls and tunnels of a Dwemer city and who knew the names and stories of the Dwemer ghosts.
"So when I got here, 'cuz it was the Skyrim game, I was certain I had a role here. Not the Dragonborn, thank god, but maybe a sidekick role. 'Course, even then, I figured I was probably on some ego trip thinking the universe had finally found a purpose for me. You get me, Colette? Tell me you get it."
She got out of her seat to sit on his lap and give him a light kiss on the lips.
"I got it, Curtis. I'm happy to be part of your ego trip. Never doubt that. Go for your dream."
He hugged her tight. That's all he wanted right now, all he needed. "Colette?"
"Hm?"
"What's your dream? It's great you want to help me with mine, but what's your dream? Give me the same chance to help you with yours."
"It's not too selfishly different than yours. I want my work to have meaning, to do something that only I can do because I'm here now. Of course, I'm not the reborn king of a dead race with something to prove to the gods."
He laughed. "That how you see it, baby?"
She loosened the tie of his hair and ran her fingers through it. "Yes, my brass-brained love, that's how I see it."
"'Brass-brained, huh?'" he challenged, laughing again.
"I didn't want to flatter you too much. You get soft in the head sometimes, and I thought it needed some reinforcement."
X—X—X—twittering—X—X—X—X
"What is that?"
"A Dwemer jukebox."
"What?"
"A machine that currently carries between 100 and 150 recorded musical pieces. A popular entertainment system in its day to play music if there weren't any live musical groups around to make music."
"A clockwork musician?"
"No gears, so not clockwork. Though, if you're interested, I did find and grab a bunch of tiny music boxes of wind-up clockwork birds and dancers."
"What's it doing suspended over the majicka well?"
"Recharging. The, uh, core it uses isn't quite the self-regenerating energy powerhouse used in the centurions and the like, so it drains faster. I couldn't find a replacement battery. But it is possible to recharge the core by sticking it in something with greater power output. It's tough enough not to melt down, and it will slowly absorb what it needs. It's about halfway done. Another six hours should be good."
"And then?"
"What else? Ready to hear what Dwemer music sounds like?"
— six hours later —
"Now what are you doing? Doesn't it work even after recharging?"
"Oh, it does. I'm just working on disabling the coin trigger. You see, this is a commercial device. You pay money to hear a tune, and the money gets split between the company that licensed the music and the place owner. No need for that here. And, besides, we don't use Dwemer money. There, that should do it."
"All right. So, how does this work?"
"Umm, lessee. Push this here to turn it on. Um, yeah, that blinking square is when you can punch in the number of your selection with these buttons. Uh, but the selection plates are missing. Okay, let's start with number one."
"Ooh, birds and flutes. Pretty! What's next?"
"Here, you try punching in something. Up to three buttons then hit the bottom bar to start."
"What in Oblivion is that? Too loud! Too loud!".
"Whoa. Thrash metal. Guess that's a bit extreme for you guys."
"It's like when you played percussion during that magic testing experiment and ticked of Sheogorath. The drumming part at least."
"Can we go back to the bird music?"
"Sure."
Related story(s): #26 Blackreach; #73 Briarpatch
Ted Hsu: Actually, the only deadline he has at the moment is shipping.