Chapter 59: God of the Ancient Days

The area from the current shoreline to the former shoreline before the Great Collapse had been surveyed and scanned with magical devices that indicated land composition and stability. And now Jarl Korir wanted the surrounding countryside likewise inspected to find gold and other metals that could be mined for profit.

Well, that was expected. If it wasn't war, then it was commercial profit interests that often drove science forward. Hell, he wasn't blameless on this either. Hadn't he made the argument to the jarl that funding a trades/community college would mean a more intelligent workforce the jarl could exploit to enrich the pocket and reputation of Winterhold? Winterhold now had many young crafters and inventors, but how to cost-effectively keep them busy and in place if raw materials had to be imported?

Korir followed King Ulfric's example to designate areas that limited or forbade lumbering and hunting to prevent overharvesting and possible destruction of resources for short-term gain. He'd learned that Curtis had been the one to suggest it to Lord Sadri, who then convinced the King of its wisdom. So another thing he'd tasked Curtis with was to identify which tracts of forest should either be off-limits to harvesting or allow limited lumbering.

What the heck did he know about the forestry sciences? The nearest Curtis came to that in his past life was volunteering with his nephews to clean litter and branches off park hiking trails, and always under the supervision of park rangers.

But in his initial surveys, Curtis had spotted groves rich with potential, provided his hunch was right. So, aside from his budding geological survey students, he'd recruited foodie volunteers and armed them with sap spouts and lightweight bonemold buckets.

"Are you sure tree bark and tree sap can make good beer?" Dagur of the Frozen Hearth asked again.

"Yeah. I don't know how to make it myself, though. I've never tried brewing. But I had a friend who liked making his own birch beer stuff. Non-alcoholic and really tasty. Birch sap and bark is all I know. I'm hoping your brewing experience can work out how it's done. This other sap — maple — I've never heard of anyone making beer out of it. But when it's boiled to a syrup, it's tastier than honey, in my opinion. The syrup is great on pancakes, waffles, glazing meat, flavoring sausages and bacon — a lot of stuff. This stuff is liquid gold. I just hope this is the right way to tap the trees. I wouldn't want to accidentally kill them because I've never done this; I just know from hearsay."

"Are these trees that grow in Morrowind?" asked Isabella. She and Ranmir, her husband, had come along.

"Nope. And, like I've said, I'm not really sure what type of maple trees these are. I do know that not all varieties put out the sap we need. I'm no tree expert. I'm just a novice hunter in this." The hunters in the group chuckled and remarked that any prey requires learning its habit. "Yeah, you're right. And even if we find the right type of trees, there's learning when to tap, how often, and the right way to do it that won't kill the trees. I know the sap starts running when the trees wake up from winter sleep, which should be about now. This is like bleeding animals for their blood. Take only so much, you know. Don't carelessly kill the tree, or there's no next harvest."

"Don't know why I'd bleed an animal for its blood unless I was doing some dark ritual," said Dagur.

"Well, there are some medical uses. Anyway, let's try tapping the spouts in about one or two inches. I'm not sure yet what's the optimal depth, but not deep into the heartwood. The inner core is dead. The sap only runs through the outer layers where all the building takes place."

He left the amateur sap hunters to hike two hours to where the trainee land surveyors had their temporary camp. Learning how to use the magic wands was tricky. The wands didn't have digital displays but five columns of gems, ten in each column, flashing. The first column of colored gems reacted to the type of metals found. Other gems measured depth, concentration, and quality. The point was not to get fixated on numbers for the initial survey, just quick impressions. Like music — get the song first, analyze the beat, chords, and other details later. Thanks to Dumac's memories and experiences, Curtis could reel off numbers just from the flashing lights.

So far, the only thing being confirmed was that the area was past its volcanic stage and that the ground was solid (indicating to Curtis that this part of the country didn't have an extensive Dwemer city lurking below). One team found a long formation of loose stones that looked like mining tunnels following an iron ore vein. If it was a mine, the entrance was lost under decades or centuries of scree and ice. Another team found a quartz vein large enough to mark for future exploration.

Then, they found coal. A veritable mountain. Curtis thought of the coal mining of his past world — great fortunes for a few, massive poverty, and black lung sickness for the rest. Gutted, destroyed wilderness, river pollution, and air pollution from thousands of chimneys spewing thick, black smoke. Combine all that in the upper atmosphere with the crap coming out of Red Mountain…

The old Dwemer and Earthman knew what came with an industrial revolution. The Dwemer had worked hard to base their industry on geothermal energy, steam engines, and heartstones to bypass the headaches of coal power. The Dwemer knew about atomic power and treated it like poison. Only the Ayleids played around with that stuff. The human rebellion came in time to prevent the Heartland Elves from further exploring atomic power.

The discovery and collection of coal… Was it inevitable? A popular tenet of most fantasy worlds is that the widespread use of magic often hindered or made the mechanical sciences unnecessary. Redundancy, and because it was a lot more work than spells.

And then, going by the example of his past world, such industrial development too often put power in the hands of a select and ruthless few, crushing and robbing the development and advancement of others not among the first to take advantage. When one's own industrial behemoth was chugging along, little rivals that spring up for the limited resource must be quickly run off the tracks to preserve the monopoly.

Oh, sure, there were fantasy worlds where the ability and practice of magicka were reserved for an elite few. But in this universe, magicka was as free-flowing as air, with no individual able to put a patent or claim exclusive access.

No. The Coal Genie was best left resting in its black seam, in his opinion. But he'd consult with the masters at the college about this. Tell them about coal, fossil fuels, and his world — a warning to this one. And if coal is recognized in the future as a resource, the college should have some solutions to future problems.

The two camps came together at the end of the week. Curtis made pancakes, and Dagur brought the tree sap he'd boiled down according to Curtis's instructions. After some trial and error — learning the best way to insert the taps or spiles, optimal depths, and cooking down the syrup without burning it — Dagur produced a half gallon of maple syrup. Days of work vanished in seconds.

"Worth the hike?" Curtis asked Dagur.

"Yes. And now I'm particularly eager to go home and try making that birch beer you've told me about."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

His survey trainees were getting better and eager to make discoveries. They'd found the iron the jarl wanted; also quartz, marble, other desirable stones for building, and gold. He still checked their work, but he no longer cross-referenced them with the laser imaging maps made by the OnStar satellite. He'd started hiring guards. Word had gotten out about his team's purpose. People wanted early info on the wealth the jarl was putting up for auction next year. Naturally, people wanted advanced information on which sites held what. The jarl, however, wanted no foreign investors. His court was already arguing over prospective landowners with kin in the Imperial Holds or in countries outside of Skyrim.

There had been some recent problems with surveyors getting cornered into suspiciously friendly drinking sessions and gambling games. Even a case of a kid brother going temporarily missing and a ransom threat. Curtis also allowed the jarl's agents to go undercover and attempt to bribe his trainees. Bribe only, no pressure threats. Really shitty business, but this was high stakes for Winterhold. The lands being auctioned were merely for homesteading. It was the leased lands that had something of value.

Whatever. That was all politics and not his problem. His only concern was getting the mapping done and protecting his workers. His reports and suggestions were submitted to the college, Master Tolfdir met with Steward Kraldar, and Kraldar presented and argued the college's suggestions to the jarl because the Korir was more apt to tolerate lectures from his cousin than from a dark elf or an orc.

He was reviewing the topo map that showed land boundaries when Alivia, one of the guards, jogged up to him. "Kena, there's an elf fighting off some bandits. Should we interfere?" she asked.

"Any reason not to?" he countered. She shrugged.

"It's a tall one. Likely an Altmer by the height, and using a bonemold spear."

"Does he need our help?"

"Not likely. He's obviously an expert. If the bandits are smart, they should switch to arrows.

"Lead me to him."

They jogged back. The bandits had resorted to arrows. Curtis was reminded of those martial arts cartoons and movies where the artist is so swift he either evades the arrows or knocks them aside. And now, as he watched, the battle was turning ridiculous when it turned into a missile barrage from multiple directions.

The spearman also must have some good armor beneath his robe and cloak. A couple idiotically brave arbalists stood a dozen meters or so outside lunge range to shoot bolts, counting on their weapon's power and speed to get through the magic shield and spear blocking. They worked and struck but failed to penetrate, although impacts did break the spearman's rhythm and stance.

Huh. Not just a one-trick pony with a spear. Two fireballs and two arbalists were down.

Soon enough the survivors sensibly ran away. Curtis stayed in place as the spearman stalked up to him. Yup, a tall one, and wearing the old Ordinator mask of Nerevar's face. The mask couldn't disguise the wearer's mismatched eyes — one golden, one crimson.

"A little help would have been appreciated," the spearman snarled.

"You looked like you were doing fine—" Curtis glanced around, but his escort guard had backed away, "—Vivec. Besides, you never wanted my help in the first place," he added with a petty smile.

"Dwemer do not worship gods, yet have ever dangerously danced with Hermaeus Mora. And I hear the king of atheists now bows to an Owl god of Atmora."

"I still believe science above religion," said Curtis, shrugging. "And one of the tenets of science is, if current known facts are faulty or false, acknowledge it and reset parameters to include the new or revised truths. Me, I've adjusted my reality to acknowledge god-tiered powers. Still won't acknowledge the possibility of any all-mighty, all-knowing level of existence and never will. You hear me?"

"And people continue to complain that I am verbally evasive," grumbled Vivec.

"Like chess. The winner shifts the battleground to their advantage. Anyway, what are you doing in Winterhold? The skiing season is over."

"What is this 'skiing?' Nevermind, I sense it is something frivolous. Speak straight, Dwemer."

"I'm gonna take that as mutual agreement. All right. Let's talk while we walk. You heard my question. Do I need to repeat it?" He gestured for the guard to walk on ahead. She nodded and widened the distance until she was scouting ahead and out of hearing distance of them.

"I came looking for you. I am told you have ideas of how to save Morrowind."

"'Save' is an awfully big word. But, okay, serious now. We knew the supervolcano was entering a period of activity and were trying to prepare for that. We believed by building stations to monitor and manage pressure relief valves and vents, we might be able to avoid a catastrophic eruption. But then the Kagrenac Ramac went rogue and diverted funds, resources, and personnel to build the Numidium. The lab he built that machine in was supposed to be a primary pressure point. I had no idea one of the drilling projects had uncovered Lorkhan's heart, a myth found to be real. He went mad in his own way." Curtis heaved a big sigh, and they walked in silence for a couple hundred yards.

"Anyway, the idea I had was to find the project stations and see how many — if any — of them are salvageable. I have seven lesser kagrenacs that got through Lorkhan's banishing because they were in special capsules that suspended them in Oblivion. They went in suspension before the Nords invaded, before Nerevar and I called a truce. But none of them are of my clan, nor have they ever been to Vvardenfell, so they will need Ramac's data cubes of his project lectures, instruction, and notes. That's a lot of ash to sift through to find those records, you know."

"Have you any plan on how to find those records?"

"No. My memories of Dumac's life are incomplete. I'm only aware of Bamz-Amschend, the Dwemer city beneath Mournhold. Sotha Sil's Clockwork world feeds off the city's power generation machines. I'm pretty sure Ramac has copies of his records there because if he wasn't at Red Mountain, he was there. There should also be maps of all the stations. And from that, we can start investigating the locations for usability or salvage."

"When do you intend to start working on this?"

"No immediate plans. I have other immediate priorities I have to secure first before I can seriously start working on Morrowind."

"What takes precedence over Morrowind?"

…

They had gathered at the conference table in the archimage's quarters. Curtis was mediating. Vivec, warrior god of the ancient days, and Gelebor, holy guardian of a lost civilization. Both elves were born in the closing years of the Merethic Era. Tolfdir, Colette, and Urag were present as passive observers. Showing up without invitation was the Psijic consultant, Gelebros. Gelebor was the face of the Snowmer and Drilira, the Dwemer.

Vivec had been permitted to read Urag's documentation of Curtis's recollection of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game andgeneral descriptions of his past world. The other stuff — the awakening of the shade of Dumac, therapy sessions with Illusions master Drevis, who was helping Curtis with his multiple personality problem, and his many projects — Urag kept those locked away. Only Curtis could give permission to read those. But on the way back from the last survey expedition in the mountains, Curtis had talked casually with Vivec about The Vale, the gathering of surviving Snowmer, and the near-impossible project to rehab the degenerate Falmer. Curtis made it clear to Vivec that Morrowind was not his first priority. Top twenty, definitely, though.

"So that's the ex-god of Morrowind," said Colette. They were walking arm in arm back to Curtis's office. "Drevis is a mess, you know. Ex-temple acolyte dedicated to serving Vivec. He's not ready to meet his god so soon."

"Tell him to put his pro pants on and shut it down. Vivec's here as a client and there's client confidentiality to maintain," answered Curtis.

"Mm," she agreed, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. Curtis mentally sighed. Colette and Drevis could do great medical things when they worked together. But there was just something in their fundamental personalities that prevented them from developing a friendship. "Why bother introducing him to a Snowmer and Dwemer? Expecting sympathy from him for their plight?"

"One block lifts the other," said Curtis. "These are the people I rely on to help me with Morrowind. But they can't do it until their own home is secured. He's smart enough to realize that much. Whether he'll volunteer to help us is on him. I'm thinking that even though he's lost his godhood, there's gotta be knowledge he still retains, a perspective we need from a god's point of view about space, time, and movement."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?" she asked, shaking the arm she was holding.

They reached Curtis's office. While Curtis heated water to make tea, Colette rooted through his supply of cookies until she found the cinnamon ones she liked.

"I'm thinking of protecting The Vale the way the Psijics protect Arteum," said Curtis, finally answering her question. "The way a lot of these old Dragon or magical places do. The ones bigger on the inside than the outside, you know? World displacement. A quantum double-split of here and there. A deliberate discordance. Sotha Sil's department, really. But Vivec should still have useful insights even if he's lost his god-level processing power."

"As usual, I truly have no idea what you just said," said Colette with a long-suffering sigh. "Why don't you just ask Gelebros how the Psijics do it?"

"I did. Didn't understand all the technicalities, but I got the gist. My biggest problem is I don't have a whole isle of uniformly trained and regimented mages to pull off what they do. We'd need twice our number of masters to work the primary spell and the same number again to provide power support and handle collateral effects resulting from a great spell like that being cast."

"I see. I still don't understand the details. But you need Vivec to help you before you help Morrowind."

"We'd help Morrowind anyway, but it would just take us longer to get around to it; that's all. We'd probably find the knowledge we need if we went into Sotha Sil's Clockwork. Severus and Taliesin went in there chasing some mad sorcerer. According to them, that place has become too unstable and dangerous. Sotha's faithful who used to live in that place are all gone. Lady Kineher, the strongest seer we have, has been looking into it for the past four months and used satellite scans to cross-check her dream-sight impressions. She also says the place is too dangerous for anything but precision raids. But to even do that, we would have to have accurate data of locations, security configuration — things that need years of study and inside knowledge."

"In short, impossible because Sotha Sil's Clockwork City in another dimension is collapsing," said Colette.

"Yeah. Imminent implosion. Sotha had so many security and operational controls wired into his body. So when Almalexia murdered him, that was the start of Clockwork's collapse. The fail-safe systems prevented immediate destruction, but it'll all eventually fail. Severus said when he went there — oh, four or five years ago? — the machines were discharging energy like majicka storms. Taliesin's mind was nearly fried when he got caught in one, and he only survived because he was that strong of a mage. He had to spend a month in the sacred grove of the Eldergleam, sleeping among its roots, to recover. So no surprise he applied to be the chief park ranger when Jarl Ulfric declared the south central region of Eastmarch, where the grove is, a national park."

Knocking on the door. Curtis answered. It was Gelebor.

"Hey, come in. Want some tea?"

"No, thank you. I just need to ask: do you trust Vivec?"

"It depends. That's all I can say. Dumac never thought much of him because he always appeared obedient to Nerevar's will. But then he ended up murdering Nerevar. And then he wrote all those ridiculous sermons, though there's a rumor that he hid his murder confession in those sermons. If he really did code it in there, it makes a mockery of everything he'd written. Hell, when I read those things, I thought he was really pushing it to see just how many outrageous things he shoot out that people would swallow. Rewriting the past to promote his illusion, which is what I believe most religions do anyway. Rearrange facts to fit the conclusion."

Behind him, Colette said warningly, "Curtis…"

Shit. Right. Gelebor held onto his faith even after thousands of years in hopeless isolation.

"Sorry, Gelebor," he said contritely. "I—"

Gelebor waived his apology aside. "I understand, ser. I am not offended. I am very aware of how large the deviation scripture can move from the truth and how false prophets will distort the word of the gods to suit their own ambitions."

"Um, okay. Uh, about Vivec, I think he will cooperate with us. But I also think circumstances will make him unreliable, like, he might disappear unexpectedly or fail to complete tasks if he's fleeing unwanted attention and angry ex-worshipers."

"Understood. But do you trust him?"

"Yeah. But only as far as Morrowind is concerned. His stabbing Nerevar had nothing to do with freeing Resdayn from the Nords. His cooperation with me couldn't be faulted throughout the war. But once the Nords were driven out, in his mind, any promise for cooperation automatically nullified. I never realized that. Neither did Nerevar."

"Perhaps his cooperation may be better this time around? We've told him we Snowmer and Dwemer have no interest in settling in Morrowind," speculated Gelebor. "We help Morrowind's recovery if he helps us ensure our Vale's security. And there is all of Skyrim between our homes with no dead god to inspire strife." He smiled suddenly.

"Huh. Yeah," grunted Curtis. He eyed the other's smile, mystified. "Okay, what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I merely anticipate Vivec's meeting with Joric and our new god. It should be a 'hoot' as you are so fond of saying."

"Oh, yeah."