Chapter 45: The Proof is Out There

Much to Idgrod's and Curtis's surprise, there was a respectable gathering of priests and scholars attending Joric's presentation of the Atmoran god Jhunal at the Temple of the Divines. Even the Thalmor represented with a grim justiciar and her guards.

Joric greeted the attendees and introduced himself and his owl. "First, grant the understanding that Jhunal of Atmora has little to do with Divine Julianos," was Joric's opening statement. Curtis and Idgrod sat at the back of the room. Joric was dressed as a young noble of Hjaalmarch instead of a Winterhold College novice. His little owl familiar stayed on its perch stand but would often hop-flap over to Joric's shoulder.

The kid presented his thesis and answered the challenges. The Thalmor was the only one to tear up the thin booklet that outlined the precepts of Jhunal's teachings. She haughtily stated Jhunal was a primitive superstition unworthy of being considered a Divine being, and Joric was an ignorant child that only fools would listen to. "Is that your entire statement, justiciar?" he asked politely when the justiciar had stopped speaking. "Please, do provide support for your statements."

"What proof do you have this god even exists?" shot back the justiciar.

"What proof would you accept?" Joric smiled at her. "Honestly, justiciar, if an avatar of Jhunal came, would you believe?" The justiciar didn't immediately dismiss the challenge.

"If one came and indeed it proved a true avatar, I will accept it," she conceded. "But by no means would I believe this god of any significance or equal of the Divines."

Joric laughed. "Fair enough," said Joric, smiling. The thesis defense continued. Afterward, attendees were invited to the refreshments set out in the temple's courtyard.

Curtis was not surprised to see a Dunmer in Telvanni mage-lord dress fussing with the flower centerpiece. A sharp and good-looking fellow with an impish grin and his red-clay-colored crest and chin beard shining with health. He nodded with a smirk at Curtis, then took up a gold cup of wine and a plate of cookies to offer the justiciar. She sneered down at him. An easy position since the top of his head barely topped her shoulders. Curtis heard his tongue-twisting speech and knew he was talking in Altmeris. A damn shameless flirt, too. He kept eye contact with her, and his tone was also familiar. Probably took some lessons from a certain Windhelm shopkeeper. At the end of the reception, the justiciar and the Dunmer walked away towards the in-town Dominion Embassy section of Castle Dour. Most of the remaining attendees vowed to return to the third lecture Joric would have on advanced concepts. The second session was another introductory lecture for new attendees.

"Who was that fellow?" Idgrod asked Curtis.

"Oh, that was Savos Aren."

Idgrod's eyebrows arched. "I suppose being dead, he can now appear as young as he pleases. I'm surprised, although I shouldn't be. Morrowind's gods are known for direct, in-person interference, and Jhunal has that same habit. Isn't that how Divine Meridia became known as a Daedra, because she didn't hold to the 'hands-off' practice of the other Divines?"

"Yeah. I guess. Revyn once warned me that Jhunal wouldn't have been able to take Apocrypha if he wasn't already a lord of the dark web. And since he's moving over to Morrowind, why not multi-class as a Daedra?" said Curtis, unconcerned. "I mean, he and Meridia — they don't give a damn what others think of them. They like living on the borderlands. They do what they do and whatever way they want to do it. And I'm pretty sure Savos was sent here to derail the justiciar. You didn't hear it, but I did. She was trying to invite Joric into the Thalmor sub-embassy for a more indepth discussion of religion; she was trying to get Joric to step onto Thalmor territory."

"I wouldn't have allowed it," said Idgrod, instantly in battle mode.

"Eh. She was probably betting that since he was an eager kid full of a young man's take-on-the-world hormones, she could lure him by a two-punch hit of insulting and then pandering to his ego. So I bet Savos was sent to pull out some of her tailfeathers."

Idgrod pondered that. "I see. She is quite pretty despite the severity of her uniform," she said thoughtfully. "And I think you may be right. Her tone was awful, but her body posture and gestures challenged him to come closer. Now that mother's part of the Elder Council, the Thalmor would be searching for any leverage against her."

"Joric's also the most promising mage of his class," said Curtis. "He may have initially tested out as a moderate talent, but he's skyrocketing since then. There are enough spies in Winterhold to verify that he's going to be a hotshot mage. Getting hooks into him while he's still young is what you would expect. He's heavily scouted by people offering him immediate jobs and positions once he graduates."

"Huh. Of course. Once I inherited my position, I saw all the offers and marriage proposals mother got for Joric. I swear, almost as many from every part of the Empire as master's little Gaia. How many spies does Winterhold have?"

"I'd say half the new population." Curtis shrugged. "Not just Thalmor. Plenty of industrial spies and spies of other interests and nations. He tells everybody he's going to be either the court mage of Hjaalmarch or the next archimage."

"That explains why I'm getting so many — how did you put it? — 'hotshot' mages — that sounds lewd somehow — applying to be my swampy Morthal's court mage position. They're being bribed. They get the position, convince my brother to accept the job offer from their payor, get their reward, after which they'll abandon my court."

Idgrod stretched and yawned widely. "Well, enough of that. Lectures and long-standing political intrigue. I feel like killing some time. The Legion's practice yard is on the other side of this wall. Care to spar with me, Curtis?"

"Swords or hand-to-hand?"

"Let's try the hand-to-hand. I've learned some of the Redoran hand-to-hand skills while I was Master Revyn's apprentice, so I'm curious about how your technique compares."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"It's a clockwork bird and music box," said Curtis. Viarmo, the headmaster of the Bards College, let the velvet sack drop to the table, revealing the brass box of recognizable Dwemer artistry. Viarmo reverently pushed open the lid to reveal two birds facing each other on one half of the box. The other half was a clear window showing the large, six-song cylinder and 30-note comb. Titanium feathers had been carefully heat-treated to bring out luminous colors. The senior bard instructors leaned in closer. Students behind them strained to get a peek, the more determined ones quickly fetching stools and chairs to stand on. Curtis showed them how to pull up the crank levers on each side and explained the optimal number of turns to prevent breaking the internal spring.

"I'm told two birds sing the songs of the gray titwillow of the Pale and the blue lark of the Reach. The others, well, it's music, like it or not."

He had brought two mechanical music boxes out of the eighteen recovered from his recent trip through Blackreach. One went to the Bards College because he wanted to see what they would make of Dwemer music. The other he would gift to Jarl Elisif from House Mora in Eastmarch. Technically, Curtis was considered one of the House founders and his Dwemer and Snowmer followers as house members, so he could claim to be a house representative. The music box he sent was large, had a 144-tooth comb, and came with seven cylinders. He had Jordis at Proudspire handle the gift-giving because she knew court protocols. She wrote out a flowery letter that he signed and sealed that would be presented.

Why he bothered with a gift was because a prophecy note Revyn Sadri dictated two years ago told him, "make a gift of clockwork music to the High Queen." It was like the note Colette had received that helped her reconcile to the fact that she would need to work with Lady Valerica Volkihar. He'd received his note from Captain Cadence Meris-Felix when he and Joric had boarded her ship, the South Seas Pearl, to get here to Solitude. So during the trip, Joric and the Captain helped him pick out which music box had tunes that would likely appeal to high society.

He hoped it wouldn't lead to people sending nuisance expeditions into Dwemer ruins just to look for music boxes. Guess that will be a new product of Winterhold. He'll have one of his engineers draw up plans for 18-note cylinder boxes and hire some bards to create shortened versions of popular tunes. Or maybe even hand-cranked disk players. Maybe cut costs by swapping wood-carved or bonemold parts instead of metal…

"Hey! Watch where you're going! I'm your bodyguard, not your babysitter." Ralis Sedarys was his bodyguard on this trip because he was familiar with the Snowmer Vale, unlike Ilya, who had healer studies to complete to Colette's satisfaction, or Elden. Elden was also sick with a nasty infection from breathing in silt while poking through the ruins of Old Winterhold. Him and two others. Curtis had warned the college healers in the early days of the shoreline project about this stuff that could happen from long-term diving. From the description, it was something like black-lung disease, except that they'd got it underwater. The healers were experimenting with removing the silt from the lungs by submerging the trio in purified water mixed with healing potions and letting the silt expel the same way it got in.

The mer jerked him roughly away from the vegetable stand baskets he'd nearly walked into. They'd been in the general food market because Curtis had felt like doing some cooking and wanted to shop for items. Curtis apologized to the stand owner for nearly knocking over some baskets. He picked out some stuff, paid, and then moved to a fruit stand. He was craving Korean BBQ and crab curry, and Solitude had a greater variety of spices from different parts of the empire unavailable in any other hold. It took a while. He didn't know this world's names for the stuff he needed, so he had to go by looks, smells, and taste. All in all, he was satisfied with what he'd found.

"It's been eons since I've had food this good," sighed Gelebor. He'd arrived in Tel Windstad just a couple hours ago. "Such an exotic and bold combination of flavors."

"Yeah, pretty good if I say so myself," said Curtis. "I'll have to switch out a couple of spices next time. Smelled right initially but didn't taste how I wanted after cooking.

"So, how's things in the vale while I was gone? I noticed you came with a few more people." He looked to the nine newcomers sitting a distance from anyone else; seven Altmer and two half-breed teens.

"Progressing as planned, my lord. Though, a dragon has been flying overhead. So far, it has only snatched a few trolls to eat and has made no aggressive moves. It appears to be studying us.

"That lot approached me at the inn at Dragonsbridge. Their leader is that peddler there, and the rest are laborers. The peddler says his father was told by the priests they'd been hiding for the past two decades that they'd found a safe place to live."

"Oh, right, right. So, this guy… What's his name?" he asked Gelebor.

"Balring."

"Balring. What do you think about him?"

"He seems honest, but I will defer to your judgment in this." Curtis nodded. Farmers, huh. He noted their bone structure and general complexion. They differed slightly from the Dominion Altmer he saw around Solitude. They had the tanned look of fieldworkers, but their base skin color was lighter in comparison. The ears, too, were distinctive.

All elves did not look the same any more than all blacks, asians, or whites. For some reason, he thought of a chart of racial stereotypes he once saw in an old magazine (National Geographic?) and on the internet of his past world. It was a compounded image of hundreds of samples from each country or region to create an identifying generic image. To his eyes, these farmers look to have Falmer ancestry. It was known that many Falmer fled south into Ayleid lands to get away from the Nords, maybe even farther. Only a DNA test could prove that. The Dwemer sciences had that, but none of his group were genetic specialists. Recovering medical knowledge was a planned future search in Fal'Zhardum Din.

"Uh-huh. Okay. Uh, hey, Forvyan…" he called to the Tel Windstad business manager and temporary steward, who was piling more potato salad onto his plate.

"Yes?"

"Can we find a place to put my guests over there?" asked Curtis, pointing to the refugees. Forvyan came over to Curtis's side and studied the refugees.

"Do they have to stay here? I have nothing against Altmeri, but this is tourist season. And aside from already being booked up, the number of spies makes this gesture unwise. I recommend sending them to Morthal, which has some empty houses."

"Putting a group of Altmer in a predominantly Nord village? That's pretty suspicious," said Curtis.

"There are also ruins and caves they can be hidden in."

The cave the refugees ended up in was the old mine known in the Game as "Morvarth's Lair." Old bones had been cleared out, and victims reburied in a mass grave with proper blessings by a priest of Arkay. Mage Falion had moved in and turned it into his research lab. He had three Winterhold graduates working under him for their advanced degrees. And because the School of Conjurations involved a degree of Necromancy, they were a tight-lipped group. They would not be discussing their Altmer guests with outsiders.

Curtis planned to interview them later. As far as he knew, the world of Skyrim didn't have those fantasy magic balls or crystals that magically detect lies and evil. So the best he could do was ask Joric and Idgrod to help him question the refugees. But for now…

As to be expected, the palace of Solitude was much larger than in the Game. The throne room accommodated 200 soldiers and guests. Miss Skyrim, High Queen Elisif, was a wholesome, glorious spring beauty. Jarl Idgrod, standing to the right of the throne, was an excellent foil as a dark, severe-looking sorceress of the shadows and deep forest. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest…

Joric stood beside his sister. He was in a suit of black velvet and fine forest green linen wearing the gold triskelion of Hjaalmarch, like his sister did, on the right shoulder. His short cape, though, had the sigil of Winterhold College. On the High Queen's left was Elder Councilor Marcia Tullia, the daughter of General Marcus Tullius. Under the tutelage of the Elder Councilor, Jarl Elisif had been learning the skills needed to manage the authority of Skyrim's high throne. This ball opened the season for such events. It was also a thank-you party for the Elder Councilor, who was returning to the Imperial City to resume her work on the Council. Jarl Idgrod's proximity to the throne was to impress watchers that the High Queen was not being left on her own and without allies.

Curtis had his own fancy-dress Winterhold master's robes of heavy-weight silk. His master's robes were neutral silver grays of no particular school of magic. Instead, his interests were signaled by the golden Dwemer cog wheel cloak pin at the base of his throat and another wheel that was his belt buckle. His black flax cloak had the encircled tree of House Mora. For perverse amusement, Curtis had further adorned the symbol with nine globes hanging like ornaments from the tree, each representing one of the Nine Divines. And triangulating outside the circle were three other globes of a hand mirror, a spider web, and a sword.

The opening ceremony was about an hour. The High Queen welcomed attendees, made something of a "state of the hold" address, thanked Elder Councilor Marcia Tullia for services, and wished her success in her future. She made a few more announcements to recognize the accomplishments of various companies and people of the hold and awarded gifts. After all that, the ball began.

Elisif withdrew to a smaller area where she had servants bring out the music box and she called on him to explain the device.

Okay, unexpected promotional opportunity. He explained the boxes were discovered during a recent research expedition. He wasn't going to say the location of the ruins because the last thing he wanted was clumsy, reckless treasure seekers destroying the place. The boxes were being studied in Winterhold with the idea of recreating them. He also reminded them that the tunes they were about to hear were Dwemer composed but he had selected music close to today's taste standards.

He chose to play a ten-minute cylinder that had five songs on it and showed her how to put the cylinder in place. Their part of the room was relatively quiet as the Nords listened to the intricate music of a dead race.

After that, he was busy the rest of the evening answering questions about Winterhold crafters and the new crafting schools, exploring Dwemer ruins, and his studies of Dwemer ruins.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Arrogant, snappish, egotistical — one usually expected that of Altmer. This bunch lacked that. They were from humble backgrounds, serfs brought by a noble family fleeing Summerset after the Oblivion Crisis. They'd brought their serfs along because they'd intended to buy new land and needed bodies to do the work. Upon arriving at Sentinel, they promptly hired out their serfs to a local farm to earn money for them. And so, this lot survived the Dominion attack because they were laboring outside the refugee settlement.

"Refugees?" Curtis frowned, trying to remember Redguard history from the Skyrim game. "Oh, yeah, that 'Green Fire' night. Night of the 'Long Knives,'" he added, thinking of the day-and-a-half purge in Nazi Germany of their opponents to consolidate power.

"Yes, 4E 42," said Joric, "the 'Night of Green Fire' because of all the magic used that turned the night sky green with the reflected fires."

Curtis let Idgrod handle the questioning as a proven talent for ferreting out data. She dug into their family backgrounds. They'd been serfs for generations, isolated on their owners' land east of Sunhold. But there were stories from their great grandparents' times that a strange bunch of white-skinned mer slaves had been purchased from Cyrodiil as the last of the Ayleid lords had fallen. And so it was that in their area, mer of their peculiar pale to white coloring could be found, and the common names in their families were Falmer.

Since the purge, they'd lived the life of migrant field hands, meekly taking what work they could find and moving on when hostilities became too much. They'd come across the renegade priests of Auri-El. The priests were obviously hiding and so became part of their group for a time. As thanks for hiding and deflecting attention from them, the priests repaid by tutoring them reading, writing, reasoning skills, and basic mathematics. And because of that, Balring learned enough to start trading. An Altmer peddler didn't make any great amount of money among the Redguards, but it was still a step up from the subsistence farm wages.

The priests eventually left saying their leader had found a place in Skyrim where they would be safe.

In Skyrim? The Nords hated Altmer almost as much as the Redguards. Yet the priests spoke with such hope. It made an odd impression.

And then they started dreaming of icy mountains, fields of green and brown, and forests never seen in Hammerfell nor Summerset. These visions came when they were awake, but the true madness was when they were asleep because then came the voices that urged them to follow. These voices spoke in a tongue never heard before, yet hooked and pulled forth comprehension that it was time to return home. They all had the same dreams and could repeat the foreign words to each other upon waking.

There was no doubt it split them. Twenty in all in a group of adults and children. Some were too old, some too young, to make an insane journey into hostile land, yet they'd all made it as far as Dragonstar. Balring and his group traveled ahead into High Rock, going to the northernmost city of Jehanna, and worked passage on a boat to Solitude. But Solitude was too expensive a city to stay in, and Balring hadn't any goods left to sell after giving all of it to the boat captain as partial payment. But they were farm laborers and were directed to go to Dragonbridge to earn some coin.

The children doing drudge work in the Four Shields Inn recognized Gelebor from their dreams.

And, here, Gelebor confirmed that the half-breed children had greeted him in Falmeris. That he had been shocked was downplaying the moments his heart had stopped. How did a pair of strange, dark-skinned elves with silver eyes know his language? The innkeeper had shouted at the children to get back to work. The looks they sent him as they obeyed had him staying longer than he'd intended. He waited far into the night until the children were dismissed from work, then followed them outside and spoke to them. One stayed with him, telling him a story of arduous travel, while the other ran off to fetch someone.

And now they were here. After a day of thorough grilling, as a group and individually, it was time to judge the meal.

"What inconsistencies I find," said Idgrod, "are normal for people who will see the same events from their personal perspectives. Things can be forgotten, things can be added to, and there may even be contradictions. What would be suspect is if their stories are seamlessly perfect. Brother?"

"I'm not sensing any intent to deceive," said Joric. "They're tired, and the intense fear I'm sensing is normal for people who fought to come all this way on a vague hope. They speak true as far as they understand it."

"Huh. Okay. Well, I could make 'em wait until I get back from the Vale with one of the brothers that can verify them, but that's a hassle. Let's take 'em along. After all, I don't think they'll be able to signal anyone once they're inside. They also can't use the exit portal without Gelebor's cooperation. Once the brothers vet them, and they go a couple of good dream sessions, we can send Balring back with an escort to bring the rest in."

He took a drink, sighed noisily, and let his head drop back to rest on his chair. "I know my Snowmer started the dream calling to separate the awakening Falmer from the ferals. But to think their dreams can reach that far. They're out there. Balring and his group are proof of that. And the combination with the Dwemer calling… I wonder how many will be wandering home?"

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"Where is he?"

Curtis worked hard not to smirk in the face of the young, pretty justiciar. "Um, Joric? He's currently staying at Tel Windstad."

"No, not him. That Telvanni mage. Where is he? Do not deny he exists. I saw you both exchange looks. Where is Savos?"

"Lady, the only Telvanni Savos I know is Savos Aren, the late archimage of Winterhold College. He's been dead for nearly four years."

"Lies!"

"Nope. Here, I got these extra copies on me. Read them if you wanna know more about Jhunal and the parliament. I can tell you from personal experience that Jhunal likes a good argument. And if you successfully argue your case, he might send Savos to chat you up again."

Related story(s): #5 Worthy of Study; #17 In Other Words

FYI: see YouTube engineerguy and his "How a Wind Up Music Box Works"