Two Sisters Lodge

"Saint Heinoke?"

Heinoke looked up from his lunch to heed Sal-Gheel. The Argonian stared at a shadowed corner of the inn next to the front door.

"You all right, kid?"

"I'm not sure I like the way those mercenaries are looking at me." The boy's reply sent a shiver down the Saint's spine.

He followed the Argonian's gaze. Two middle-aged men sat at an unlit row of chairs perpendicular to them. One a Breton, mustached and clad shoulders to toes in Iron Armor. The other, a clean-shaven Imperial armored in gleaming Silver.

"Maybe they're from the Fighter's Guild," Heinoke guessed, picking up his fork and knife. "They might be dining out, like us."

But Sal-Gheel shook his head. His gaze stayed transfixed on the two men. "I dunno. I can hear their whispers from here. They've been talking about me under their breaths. Even their smallest undertones haven't escaped me."

"I've never doubted your enhanced senses, Sal," the Nord pointed out.

"Doesn't mean we should let our guards down," Bovkianne advised from the chairs behind theirs. She raised a cheese and beef sandwich to her mouth. "For Sal's sake."

"Heads up, they're coming over." Aravayana put down her Surilie Brothers Wine. Indeed, the two armored men had left their seats and were coming towards them. Sal-Gheel clenched his fists in his lap.

"You there!" The Imperial raised a silver-clad finger at him. "Argonian! Are you the one called the 'Child of Akatosh'?"

Although at first taken aback by the question, Sal-Gheel made sure to word his response carefully.

"That's…" he began. "...what everyone in Cyrodiil appears to be calling me."

"No!" The Breton recoiled from him. Eyes wide, brows raised, and pointing a trembling finger at him. "You are the beast Countess Augussandra warned us about! The scourge of mortalkind!"

"Okay, first of all-ouch." Sal-Gheel raised a reprimanding finger at the two men. Heinoke and Aravayana stared at them. Bovkianne was fixed on Sal-Gheel.

"Second of all," the Argonian continued. "It's been ten years. You still believe this waxhuthil-crap-that Augussandra is feeding you?" He shrugged with his palms up and brow furrowed. "And I say 'crap' both literally and metaphorically, because that's exactly what she's shoving down your throats!"

"Silence!" The Imperial shouted. Aravayana and Bovkianne flinched. Heinoke's hands curled into fists. "Do not utter another word, demon! Your very existence is a blasphemy! Every breath you take is a sin! You are a living sacrilege!"

"The existence of the Church of Augussandra is a sacrilege!" Sal-Gheel stood to his feet before anyone could stop him. A fiery blaze grew in his pupils. "Like I said, it's been ten years! Her Ladyship couldn't catch me a decade ago, or since! Shouldn't she know when it's time to call it quits?"

"I said silence!" Shing!

The Imperial had drawn an Iron Dagger. Its blade pointed directly at Sal-Gheel's stomach. But the Argonian scarcely finched; instead now glowering darkly. Heinoke, Aravayana, and Bovkianne all got to their feet. From the bar on the ground floor, Chideek Caycalees looked up from cleaning a tankard.

"You are the adversary!" the Imperial roared, tightening his grip on his dagger. "The accuser! The Daedra! Your filthy, profane, sinful footsteps desecrate the hallowed ground upon which Augussandra walks!"

"Yes!" Shinnnk! The Breton too unsheathed an Iron Shortsword. "The only goddess who lives and exists and speaks is the Countess Augussandra Magium! You and your Eight Divines are frauds! Graven idols! They are not real!"

"Don't you dare hurt him!" Heinoke stepped in between Sal-Gheel and the men. He threw his arms out on either side of himself to form a barrier.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Bovkianne gripped but did not draw her club. Behind her, Aravayana's palms brimmed with sparkling sky-blue magic.

"Oh, the Eight Divines are real, all right." To Heinoke's surprise, Sal-Gheel stepped out from behind him and approached the two men. He pressed his stomach to the tip of the Imperial's Iron Dagger. "I'm a 'Child of Akatosh'! Father of Dragons, God of Time, and chief deity of the Aedra! I'm living proof that the Divines are real!"

He pointed a thumb at himself. The fire had spread into his irises now.

"Everything has sort of worked out okay, you know?" He put his hands on his hips and scoffed, shaking his head. "Because I'm on my own pilgrimage for the Eight Divines right now. And if you have a problem with that…"

He lowered his voice to a low growl. An Argonian's growl over an otherworldly, inner, threatening rumbling. That familiar amber-golden glow covered the entirety of his eyes.

"You can take that up with my Father."

"Heresy!" "Blasphemy!"

Without warning, the Breton removed a flask from his hip and uncorked it. He splashed water onto Sal-Gheel's face.

"May you be cast into the fires of Oblivion! In the name of Countess Augussandra Magium! The one true goddess of Nirn, Mundus, and Aetherius!" He splashed water after every statement.

"Which part of Oblivion?" Sal-Gheel raised a scaly wet eyebrow. Not even reacting to the water dripping down his face. "There's only so many planes of the Outer Realms, you know!"

"May your demon of psychosis, delusion, and apostasy depart from you! Begone, you foul demon! Torment us no more! Haunt no more this Saxhleel!"

The Imperial clamped Sal-Gheel's scalp one-handed. The Argonian yelped; the man's gauntlet flattened his scalp feathers. Heinoke and the others immediately sprang into action to help-

"Zek hond!"

The voice shouting from his mouth did not sound like his own.

Nor did it sound like either Jel or Cyrodilic.

He seized the microsecond of everyone's appalled confusion. One cast, then another. Then he tossed a hand at the Imperial's.

The Imperial cried out in vain. Suddenly covered in a bright orange arcane energy, his hand moved at the teen's will, freeing his head and feathers. Slap! He backhanded himself hard on the nose.

"Wow!" Heinoke's eyes widened round as his tankard of mead. "Telekinesis! Way to go, Sal-Gheel!"

"Augussandra taught us to beware of you!" The Imperial spat in Sal-Gheel's face. "You and your fiery tongue!" He shook his hand in a frantic bid to remove the energy, which dissipated in an instant.

"Try me, greel," the Argonian snarled back. He opened his hands: magicka brimmed in his palms. "I can do much worse than this!" Still his eyes glowed.

"You who lead innocent souls to stray from the rightful path!" The Imperial jabbed his finger of accusation at him. "You who dare to tempt others to waver from the straight and narrow! Your slander offends all who walk her upright roads of righteousness! You shall never set foot in Her Ladyship's holy chapel!"

"You mean her castle?" Sal-Gheel raised an eyebrow. "You want a real chapel, pay a visit to those of the Divines, kuuda!"

"Countess Augussandra!" The Breton clasped his hands together in fervent supplication. He turned his eyes heavenwards. "We pray unto you! Help us so that we not be seduced into sin, indulgence, and temptation! Save our souls from eternal damnation to the depths of Hell!"

"Oh, grow up!"

The two men had only a heartbeat before-

Chideek Caycalees charged towards them and leaped into the air. Whoomph! A full-force dropkick from the Argonian to the Imperial's armored chest sent the man flying.

The Breton stepped into a low lunge at Chideek's stomach. But the proprietor sidestepped to his left and-

Thump! A hard and deliberate sock to his stomach likewise forced him also reeling backwards.

Aravayana stretched out a hand: the inn door glowed and burst wide open. The two armored males stumbled and barreled out of it clumsier than drunkards.

"And stay out!" Chideek roared at the tops of his lungs after them. They barreled down the stone steps and landed in the street. "Send word to your Countess! Child of Akatosh or no, you shall not lay a hand on my egg-sibling!" He gestured at Sal-Gheel, who stood watching in silent amazement. "I don't want to see you fanatical, dogma-spitting, cultish bastards in my tavern ever again, do you hear me?! Now get the xuth out, waxhuthi!"

They wasted no time in scrambling away, disappearing down the street. Aravayana waved a hand in a closing motion: the tavern doors softly shut.

Sal-Gheel breathed a sigh of relief. "Tlezoh xho, thtithil-kujei."

"Xho keelu ruheeva, kujei." Chideek bowed his hooded head and held a hand to his heart. "Doubtless you would've done the same for me, were I in your situation. Don't worry, those kuudas were annoying the Hist Sap out of me, too. I'm just glad it didn't get even more violent than this."

He sighed and then shrugged. "But, hey, what are you gonna do, right? The best you can and nothing less. Now, then…"

He gestured towards his bar counter. "Would you care for some Argonian Bloodwine, beeko?"

"That would be great, thank you." Sal-Gheel nodded. "And refills for my friends, please." He gestured to the other three, who had already resumed their seats and meals.

"Coming right up!" Chideek nodded and hurried back to his bar.

"Can you believe what happened?" Sal-Gheel asked them on their way out. "Those things those men said? And actually trying to perform an exorcism on me? Who did they think they were?"

"Yes, the nerve of those people!" Aravayana sounded utterly disgusted. "Thank the Eight they're gone. I don't think they'll persecute you anymore, Sal."

"Something on your mind, Kianne?" Heinoke asked Bovkianne beside him. The Bretoness had her elbow perched in her other hand, rubbing her chin.

"I can't quite place it," Bovkianne voiced her thoughts. "But I sensed a strange magic about those two men. Like they weren't quite themselves. A dark energy hung about them; you could feel it in their auras. It looked to me like they weren't in their right minds. I noticed them trying to fight it; twitching, quivering, jerking."

"What do you mean, Kianne?" Sal-Gheel asked over his shoulder. They had returned to the southeast side of town. He led the way to the Great Chapel of Julianos' doors. Heavenly organ music issued from within.

"I mean that whatever compelled those men to speak to you wasn't of their own free will, Sal-Gheel. Something was puppeteering their minds."

Sal-Gheel did not answer, but fell into his own thoughts. Words from Chideek still rang fresh in his mind:

"Hej xajhuthi kroni, thtithil-kujei," he'd said while his younger counterpart sat at the bar. "The magic those men radiated…You could sense it, too, could you not? I believe there is a haj mota -a hidden hunter-after you, Sal-Gheel. Whatever you do, beeko, do not ignore the signs. Someone, something, seeks to undo your holy pilgrimage. Do not let them. For by the Eight and the Hist is your sacred journey granted to you."

"I won't, deelith," was all the young pilgrim replied to reassure him.

"I'll uncover what it is," he promised the adults. "Even if it means sacrificing my pilgrimage."

"Your determination is to be admired, Gheel." Heinoke patted him on the shoulder. "But let us worry about that. Focus on your pilgrimage, and we'll take care of the background logistical stuff."

Sal-Gheel still recognized the clergy from his previous visit to Skingrad. Altmer Priestess Farainalda Salinaean practiced at the pipe organ. Orcess Primate Shuramph Orkubog lit a pair of incense burners. At the visitors' entrance, she looked up to smile warmly at them. The woody, earthy, citrusy scent of frankincense drifted through the chapel. Priest J'vani Xaspaer prayed at the altar of "Khenarthi". Priestess Tashhaz Nicalees sat on the right frontmost side of the nave, contemplating a book of hours.

Carlolaine sat in the middle pew on the left side. Head bowed and eyes closed. She held an Amulet of Julianos to her heart while whispering her prayers. The quartet sat in the pew opposite her.

Carlolaine finished her last prayer and glanced up beside her. Bovkianne and Aravayana were both engaged in silent prayer. Heinoke fingered his Amulet of Julianos while staring contemplatively at his feet. Sal-Gheel was fixated on the organ, entranced by its music. The Argonian's eyes flicked towards her. They shared a silent smile.

"We came to say goodbye to you," he whispered when he'd left his pew to sit at hers. "We'll be heading to Weynon Priory and visiting more Wayshrines of the Divines."

"Gods-speed, Sal-Gheel." Carlolaine held his hands. "I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers. Divines and Hist go with you, and your friends."

Colovian Highlands, Weynon Priory

15th of Last Seed

Weynon Priory had likewise been forsaken and left to rot. Yet the life energy here, or stark lack thereof, had ebbed away over time. It had not been robbed away like the Priory of the Nine. But instead abandoned and diminished by the ages.

"Unlike the Knights of the Nine," Bovkianne explained to him while sitting on the well. "after the White-Gold Concordat banned Talos worship, the Blades disbanded and cast aside their abbey to the Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings."

"So while the Knights fought to the last member…" Sal-Gheel realized.

"...the Blades surrendered to forced eviction." finished Bovkianne.

Though at first enthralled by the crumbling Priory, Sal-Gheel managed to pull himself away from it. He stole a glance at his water bottle. Only half a mouthful remained in its glass frame.

"Do you know if that well has water?" he asked the Bretoness.

"I think so." Bovkianne stood up and turned around to look down inside it. "You can see further down than I can. There oughta be a bucket in there you can pull up."

He stepped up to the well and laid a hand on the stone frame-

The world around him froze and blurred. The next instant, figures in Bound Armor and crimson robes sprinted into the Priory. They wielded Bound Maces in their hands. A Dunmer in Blacksmith's clothes and Rough Leather Shoes dashed away from them.

"Help! You must help! They're killing everyone at Weynon Priory!"

Sal-Gheel flinched away from the well. The Dunmer stopped at the fork in the road.

"Hold on. Tell me what happened."

A male ponytailed Khajiit in Leather Armor held the breathless Dunmer by the shoulders. Behind him, an Imperial in a priest's robe stood watching in silent horror.

"I don't know!" The Dunmer leaned on his knees to catch his breath. "I think they're right behind me! Prior Maborel is dead!"

"Who's attacking Weynon Priory?" asked the Khajiit.

"I was in the sheepfold when they attacked." The Dunmer met the Khajiit's eyes. "I heard the Prior talking to someone. Looked around the corner to see who it was. They looked like travellers, ordinary. Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and they cut the Prior down before he could move! They saw me watching and I ran!"

"Where's Jauffre?" the Khajiit asked again, now more urgently. "Is he safe?"

"I don't know! In the Chapel praying! You must help us!"

Sal-Gheel lurched backwards as though something had pulled at his navel. The vision had gone. Time resumed as it had been before. He withdrew from the well and suddenly held a hand to his head.

"Sal-Gheel!' Bovkianne hurried over to him. "Phynaster's blood, are you all right?!" She held him by the back and torso in concern. "One second you went into a trance. Then the next you came back like that. By Y'ffre's bones, what happened?"

"I...I don't know." Sal-Gheel huffed and puffed. "I touched the well," he pointed at it with his water bottle. "Then like time itself frozen around me. I-I saw a vision…"

He gestured with his other hand at the Priory. "The day the Mythic Dawn attacked the Priory. The Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim were talking to the shepherd. He was telling them about the Mythic Dawn killing Prior Maborel. Tarkravbus asked where Jauffre was, and…"

Both of his hands dropped by his sides. "That was it."

"Do you need to sit down?" asked Bovkianne. "Should we go back to the carriage?"

"No, I'm good." Sal-Gheel shook his head. "I'm okay."

They met the other two inside the Priory House. Bovkianne remained below while Sal-Gheel explored upstairs. Malkhest had earlier gone shopping in the city.

"Hey," she asked Heinoke and Aravayana. "Something's up with our dear Argonian."

"Did something happen, Kianne?" Aravayana stood from where she'd been sitting at the dining table. Heinoke too spun round away from the fireplace.

"Gheel had a…vision…outside." Bovkianne jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the front door. "He saw the day the Mythic Dawn attacked Weynon Priory. When the Hero of Kvatch returned here with Martin Septim."

"A vision of retrocognition?" Aravayana exchanged a quick glance of confusion with Heinoke.

"He's never done that before," Heinoke remarked, rubbing his chin. "I wonder why he's experiencing it now? Especially as we've never seen this happen with him over the last ten years."

"First reading those carved inscriptions on the Wayshrine of Akatosh," Bovkianne tapped her chin. "Then seeing backwards through time. What could possibly be next?" She shrugged. "I can't imagine."

"Sal-Gheel?" Aravayana asked upstairs. "Are you up here, dear?" She led the way upwards to the second floor. They found him in the secret room hidden inside the wardrobe.

"Sal-Gheel?" Heinoke placed gentle hands on the hatchling's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, okay." Sal-Gheel nodded. "I'm just…" he rubbed his temples. "...trying to make sense of these visions I'm having."

"Well," Heinoke put his hands in his pockets. "Shall we visit the Chapel of Stendarr while we're already here? Then we can hit up the Wayshrines afterwards."

Sal-Gheel walked with the others in the direction of the city. He chanced a thoughtful look back at Weynon Priory.

That vision…what did it mean?

Chorrol, The Chapel of Stendarr

"Benedictus qui veniunt in nomina Divinorum!"

A female Khajiit met her guests at the ambulatory. She smiled brightly from ear to ear.

"'Blessed are they who come in the names of the Divines!'" Sal-Gheel replied in modern Cyrodilic. He led his group into the chapel, adjusting his grip on his walking stick.

"Excellently spoken, Argonian." The Primate nodded, beaming.

Heinoke chuckled and gestured to the Argonian. "Young Sal-Gheel Calidaseer here has a passion for languages. He's quite the linguaphile."

"Ah, so you are Sal-Gheel Calidaseer!" The Primate curtsied with her Blue Velvet Outfit. "You must be the one Primate Valutinian Mosellia wrote to Khajiit about. Allow this one to introduce herself. Moajma Sohltannil, Primate of Stendarr."

"Yes, that's me, Your Grace." Sal-Gheel tucked his walking stick under his arm. He knelt to kiss Moajma's ring, and the others followed suit. "I've been on my pilgrimage for the Eight Divines, ma'am. My company and I have just come from Weynon Priory."

"Well, all are welcome here!" Moajma spread her arms at the chapel around them. "Moajma prays you will find help for your pilgrimage here, and for whatever other needs. Come, come!" She turned and beckoned for them to enter the nave. "Make yourselves at home. Feel free to receive your blessings from the shrines and the altar."

The fivesome went around to the shrines. From Chapel Hall, a group of sixteen parishioners of various races ascended the steps into the nave. They chatted and laughed excitedly amongst themselves. White surplices over blue-green cassocks and academic hoods adorned their bodies. Each held a sea-blue, velvet-bound book under their arms or close to their chests.

"Our local parish choir," explained Moajma when Sal-Gheel inquired. "We will be practicing today. You do not mind? It will take about an hour."

"No, not at all, Your Grace," the Argonian shook his head, and the Khajiit Primate beamed. "We'll try to be quieter than mice."

"You are an angel, Sal-Gheel," Moajma bowed to him, and he returned in kind. "If you or your friends need anything, let Moajma or any of the clergy know."

The choristers took their positions at the Altar of the Nine in two rows of eight. A female Redguard with tar shoulder-length hair sat down at a fortepiano. She introduced herself as Ysirsandra Klayfylten, Stendarr's Invoker. Finally, a ginger Bosmer hurried up the stairs and down the nave.

"Good morning, visitors!" He bowed to Sal-Gheel and his group. He too held a music book to his cassock. "Engndir Oakenshade's the name. I'm the Priest as well as the choir director. We've been expecting your visit, Brother Sal-Gheel, child of Akatosh."

"It's my pleasure, Father Oakenshade," Sal-Gheel bowed back with a hand to his heart. He knelt to kiss the Priest's hand. "I'm quite looking forward to hearing the choir sing."

"We can't guarantee a perfect performance," Engndir chuckled as he straightened up. "There will no doubt be some slip ups here and there. But, hey, that's what practice is for, right? Stendarr's blessings upon you all!" He greeted his choristers one by one, shaking hands, exchanging smiles, pats on the back, and hugs.

"Good morning, everybody!" He took his position in front of them. His music book levitated in the air in front of him. "First of all, how are you all feeling? No one fell into a food coma last night after the Feast of the Tiger?"

His choristers smiled, laughed, and shook their heads. Engndir snickered and clapped his hands.

"That's a relief. All right, as usual, let's get into some vocal warmups…"

They sang through a variety of warmups, involving silly sayings and nonsensical vocalizations in simple ostinatos, scales, and cadences. All of which were dictated by the fortepiano. Sal-Gheel, sitting at a pew, had to stuff his claws in his mouth to keep from laughing. Moajma in front turned to grin at him. This went on for two minutes. Meanwhile, more members of Stendarr's clergy filed into the chapel.

"Wonderful." Engndir smiled and put his hands together. He flicked his hand, and his music book spread wide open. He began to flip through its pages. "Everyone feeling good? Let's start with "Cantate Divinis". That's on pages ninety-six and ninety-seven, if you need a refresher…"

Ysirsandra plucked five diatonic notes on the fortepiano. Engndir raised his hands, and the choristers lifted their books. He counted to three, and on the fourth, the choir took a collective breath.

"Cantate Divines canticum novum;

Cantate, cantate, cantate et benedicite nomini eorum.

Cantate Divines canticum novum;

Cantate, cantate, cantate et benedicite nomini eorum,

Quia, quia, quia mirabilia fecerunt.

Cantate, cantate,

Cantate et exultate et psallite;

in cithara, in cithara, in cithara et voce psalmi:

Quia, quia, quia mirabilia fecerunt."

Sal-Gheel listened to the motet with rapt attention. The overtones washed over him like a wave of sound. And the words in Old Cyrodilic translated like those now familiar whispers:

"Sing to the Divines a new song;

Sing, sing, sing and bless their names.

Sing to the Divines a new song;

Sing, sing, sing and bless their names.

Because they did wonderful things.

Sing and rejoice and make music,

With the harp and the voice of the psalm;

Because they did wonderful things."

"Claudiolous Monteverdium," Moajma whispered to him, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to listen. "Late Third Era composer. The Champion of Cyrodiil would've likely heard his music. It's said by musicologists the world over that Monteverdium is the musical bridge between the Third and Fourth Eras."

Engndir helped answer questions after the sing-through. Ysirsandra played whatever notes or phrases the choristers needed, and they sang through the problem sections. Afterwards, they moved onto a second acapella piece.

"Adonai, calne darre.

Aedra, calne darre.

Adonai, calne darre.

"Adonai, calne darre!

Aedra, calne darre!

Adonai, calne darre!"

"Ayleidoon," Sal-Gheel realized out loud. "Lords, have mercy. Aedra, have mercy."

" Jat," Moajma confirmed with a nod. "Tomástor Luissen de Victorianen. Nord composer from all the way back in the early First Era, Classical Period. This setting of the Adonai text comes from his Officium Defunctorum. Can you hear the cantus firmus? The second sopranos carry it, though you can sense when it blends into the polyphony."

Their third, fourth, and fifth pieces were monophonic musical settings of the Proper-Life: Three Chants. "Ancient marching songs of the Alessian Order," explained Moajma. Unlike the previous two, Ysirsandra accompanied on her fortepiano. Of these three, "The-Song-Never-Sung-at-Twilight" resonated the deepest with Sal-Gheel:

"That is not cruel which cures,

O faith, charity, rigor.

By faith true heart endures,

O hope, clarity, vigor.

Seventy-Seven shall guide us,

O praise, honor, and duty.

Alessia lives inside us,

And truth is one with beauty."

They further sang through two through-composed hymns to Kyne and Zenithar, respectively. Then, a return to Old Cyrodilic for eight psalmic plainchants, each dedicated to a Divine, in alphabetical order. Through Alteration magic, Ysirsandra transformed her modest fortepiano into a small pipe organ.

Sal-Gheel hung riveted on every word of every song. The music filled his heart, enchanted his mind, and lifted his spirit. Truly, all of this could've only been composed by those touched by Dibella, the Goddess of Art and Music herself.

The backmost chapel doors opened. A trio of Mage Apprentices entered. A female Imperial, an Orc, and a Nord. Moajma left her pew to go greet them. Sal-Gheel concentrated his hearing, but the choir's singing drowned out their conversation. The apprentices leered at Sal-Gheel with wariness. Then they seated themselves at the right-hand back of the nave.

Yet he could not help but notice that they too twitched and trembled. A peculiar violet aura colored their pupils.

"It's all right," she informed the others. "They're visiting from the Arcane University." She rested one arm atop the head of her pew.

"That's what we initially thought about these two men who confronted me in Skingrad." Sal-Gheel gave the Primate a stony look. "It didn't get violent, but it escalated to the point where the barkeep had to intervene."

He and the others elaborated to her what had occurred at the Two Sisters Lodge. Moajma listened with rapt attention which shifted quickly to white-faced slack-jawed horror.

"How utterly horrid! How could they have the right to do that? What gave them that authority?"

"Beats me!" Sal-Gheel shrugged, clueless. "Ask Countess Augussandra!"

The Apprentices clearly had listened to the discourse. Their whispers pierced through the choir's melodious vocal symphony.

"He's the one," the Nord Apprentice whispered to his fellows. "The one Penniondius and Gaparicard told us about. We must banish him before he can tempt these heathens from the rightful path!"

"I can hear you, you know!" the Argonian snapped at them.

"Silence, serpent!" The Orc Apprentice snarled at him. "Child of the god whose unholy name must not be uttered! Calling yourself such is forbidden in the Church of Augussandra Magium!"

"There is no goddess but Augussandra!" The Nord raised his hands to the chapel ceiling. "All others are graven idols! Pagan demons! Delusions!"

"Okay, who's the dumbass spouting heresies over here?" A temperamental Ysirisandra stood up from her organ. The choir stopped in the middle of their plainchant to Mara; Engndir spun straight around.

"What's all the commotion about?" The Bosmer addressed the three Mage Apprentices. "Can't you see we're busy rehearsing? You're more than welcome to stay as long as you keep your mouths to yourselves."

"Do not sing in praise of that infernal diabolus!" The Imperial leaped up to point a finger of accusation. "That archfiend spawn of the great Dragon! She taught us to beware of this evil spirit! This devil born of hellfire, corrupted water, and miasmic air! We would know him by his fruits, she said! He comes to tempt the souls of the innocents from the right paths! To bid them worship those idols you call the Eight Divines!"

He pointed at each stained-glass window of the Divine in turn. "Then upon death, he will drag their souls down to Oblivion to suffer eternal damnation!" He mimed dragging an invisible soul down to the chapel souls. "For the Divines help not their own! We must save the souls of all who would be seduced by his insidious flattery!" He spread his arms wide with zealous fervor.

Throughout these tirades, Ysirsandra merely groaned and faceplamed. Engndir shook his head in resignation, and Moajma clenched her fists and hissed. The choir exchanged shrugs and looks and comments of confusion. Sal-Gheel and the adults had also stood up. The rest of the Chorrol clergy stood at the pew behind them.

"Talk to me about insidious flattery?!" Sal-Gheel growled between gritted teeth. "I'm certainly flattered to punch you in your neurotic faces right now!" That familiar fiery glow began to grow in his eyes.

He stepped out to the front of the pew. A Redguard Disciple, one Firaron Kohoshti, reached out to try to placate him. But he recoiled when the Argonian's bloodstream glowed.

"Please don't start with me, Brother Firaron." He moved into the center aisle. The three Mage Apprentices left their pew to meet him square-on.

"Your Countess knows who I am." Sal-Gheel turned his palms upwards. "She knows what I can do, what I'm capable of, and what I'm going to become. Knowing that, do you really want to try your luck with me? Hope you've all been saying your prayers to your false goddess!"

Small gouts of fire rose to life in his palms before everyone's eyes. The three Apprentices moved forward to charge him before-

"Stop!"

The foursome froze in place as though paralyzed. Moajma stood between Sal-Gheel and the choir with a paw extended at eye level. Every eye in the room turned upon the Khajiit.

"This is a house of the Eight Divines!" rebuked the Primate. "Servants of Augussandra Magium! You and your profanities have no place here! Sal-Gheel Calidaseer! Moajma strictly forbids you from using violence in these hallowed halls! By the power vested in me by S'rendarr himself, Moajma commands you all to stand down now!"

"Frozen…Thanks for the idea, Your Grace!"

"Wait, what-hey!"

The Apprentices shoved their way out of Moajma's hold. Sal-Gheel himself had scarcely the next instant to process what happened next.

Telekinetic magic enveloped him head to toes. Yelling in fear and protest, he flipped onto his side and flew backwards over the organ. The choir screamed and split in half. Ysirsandra fled her organ.

"Ooofff!" Sal-Gheel slammed into the Altar of the Nine and fell flat on the floor. Two choristers, an Argonian and Altmeress, rushed to help him.

"Skemukeeus! Endnoore!" Engndir pleaded. "Don't endanger yourselves!"

"Now!" The Orc ordered. "In the name of the Countess Augussandra Magium!"

Sal-Gheel looked up in time. All the color drained from his face.

"Get out of the way!" He pushed the choristers aside with Telekinesis and scrambled to his feet.

Thick Frost Magic spewed from the Apprentices' hands. He charged forward only to- thump! "Oww!"-collide with a solid ice wall stretching a head taller than him. "Hey!" he protested and scratched at the ice.

"Stand aside, idolaters!" A snap of the Orc's fingers pushed everyone away into the aisles or onto the pews. He and the other Apprentices circled Sal-Gheel. The Argonian resummoned his palm flames.

But they poured out their Frost Magic in unison. Sal-Gheel cried out in both anger and pleading. The walls formed and enlarged and closed in on all sides. A cocoon of crystalline ice encased him where he stood.

"We've done it!" The Imperial pumped his fists in the air.

"We've caged the demon!" The Nord knocked on the ice cocoon.

"Praise to Augussandra Magium!" The Orc put his hands together as if in prayer.

"Hey, let me out!" came Sal-Gheel's voice from within the structure. He could be heard pounding on the ice.

"Sal-Gheel, no!" Bovkianne rushed forward. Both the Imperial and Orc seized her by the arms and hurled her backwards. She landed flat on her rear end on the chapel floor.

"Oh, gods!" Aravayana could only clap a hand to her mouth in shock. "Sal-Gheel!"

"How dare you!" Heinoke roared at the three Mage Apprentices. "Release him this very instant!"

"Such sacrilege!" Moajma hissed at the top of her lungs. "And in a chapel of the Divines, no less!"

Within the misshapen icicle construct, Sal-Gheel shivered and shuddered. Every breath came out in misty white wisps and miniscule droplets. Over and over and over again he punched and kicked and scratched at the ice. But nothing made even the most microscopic dent.

"Sal-Gheel!" A voice called his name: Aravayana. "Can you hear me?!"

"Vaya!" He called back to her. "I can hear you, but I can't see you! I'm trapped in here!"

"We're going to get you out, okay? Just hold on! We'll figure out a way!"

"Hurry up! I'm freezing in here! And it's hard to breathe!"

"Stay with us, Sal!" begged the voice of Heinoke. "And save your breath, okay?"

"Keep trying to bust out, Brother Sal-Gheel!" Ysirsandra encouraged him. "We'll do the same from the other side!"

Try as they might, however, they could neither crack nor shave nor break the ice. Nothing arcane or mundane could affect the incredible frost magic. The Apprentices only shrugged with smug smiles and proud posturing. Chests puffed out, hands on their hips, noses turned upwards. The choir retreated to the nave, trembling in fear or crying into each other's chests and shoulders. They whispered words of comfort and anxiety to each other. Some of them prayed at the shrines of the Divines.

"Anyone who prays to these graven images shall suffer Augussandra's wrath!" the Imperial Mage Apprentice threatened. An indigo-colored magic brimmed in her upraised hand.

"Silence, you delusional fools!" Moajma spat at them. "Augussandra has made a graven image of herself, not the Aedra!"

Sal-Gheel sank to his knees and hugged himself to keep out the biting, freezing, numbing cold. Water dripped on his robes and scales from above. Hot tears that turned chill in the frost stung his face. He rubbed himself up and down. Trembling, shivering, shuddering from head to toe and tail. But the glacial, frigid, wintry sensations did not abate. He screamed at the tops of his lungs. The glowing in his bloodstream faded to black. Still the tears freely fell. Eyes shut tight.

Then they snapped wide open.

He had not moved of his own accord. But the next thing he knew, he had stood up. Fire filled his eyes. Bare palms pressed to the thick glacier. They gleamed brighter and scorched hotter than Magnus the sun itself. Once more his blood ignited amber-golden. Adrenaline coursed throughout his entire body. A feverish heat spiked his body's temperature.

He roared earsplitting bloody murder with his whole throat and lungs. But the voice did not sound like his own.

"By HoonDing!" Ysirsandra pointed at the glacier. "Something's happening!" A blazing bright and heated glow appeared from within. Growing progressively brighter and hotter every second.

"Gods! Everyone get back!" Heinoke motioned for everyone to stop away from the ice.

All at once the ice melted and fractured apart. A pair of blazing eyes showed themselves.

SHOOM!

A thunderous boom shook the chapel. The entire glacier shattered and melted, raining freezing water and icy shards in all directions. Both clergies summoned magical wards to shield each other and the choir. Aravayana chanced a look away from hers.

Sal-Gheel collapsed on all fours on the floor, coughing, gasping, and spitting out water. Soaked to the skin and dripping from his robes and scales. Aravayana immediately dropped her ward and ran to his side. She likewise dropped to her knees.

"Sal-Gheel! Thank the Eight Divines! Thank the Reclamations! Are you hurt? Speak to me!"

His eyes blazed when he looked at her. But she did not flinch. Heinoke and Bovkianne likewise came running over. Bovkianne knelt in front of him, while Heinoke sat on his right.

His eyes faded to their familiar cyan. The radiance in his bloodstream snuffed out. His body temperature dropped at the clergy's familiar touch.

"I'm okay…" he managed to breathe out. "I'm all right…I'm fine…"

"It's a miracle!" Engndir raised his hands to the chapel ceiling. "He's alive! Divines be praised!"

"We must get him dry right away!" Moajma hurried to fetch the Argonian.

"I'll go get a warm towel and a blanket!" Ysirsandra sprinted down the nave and the steps to Chapel Hall. The Mage Apprentices lunged to stop her. But she slammed the door in their faces. Shimm! It shimmered and brimmed bright purple with a locking spell.

Meanwhile, the choir all breathed sighs and exchanged exclamations of relief. They hugged and kissed each other, and whispered thanks to the stained-glass windows.

"How did you do that, Sal?" Aravayana asked. She and Heinoke each held him by his shoulder and back.

"I…I don't know." Sal-Gheel shrugged. "One second I sat on the ground, ready to give up. Next thing I know, I'm on my feet, pressing my hands to the ice. Then it broke, and…" He looked up across the chapel. "Here I am. But it didn't feel like me doing all of that. It was like…."

He blinked several times, trying to organize his thoughts.

"Like the entity inside of me had taken control of my body."

Moajma approached the quartet, her jaw dropped open. Engndir came at her tail.

"So it's true…" whispered the Khajiit in awe. "You truly are…the child of Akatosh."

"Stop saying that irreverent name!" The Nord clapped his hands to his head, as though the very name of Akatosh pained him. "Such vulgarity! Your pagan devil god does not exist!"

"He does exist!" Sal-Gheel roared at them. Once more his eyes glowed. "I told Penniondius and Gaparicard the same thing! And I'm not in the mood to repeat myself!"

"We won't allow this to continue!" The Orc commanded. And they charged Sal-Gheel again.

"Neither will we!" Engndir threw himself in front of them. He threw a ball of pure Magicka out from between his open hands.

The Apprentices tripped and slipped forward. Their hands had been bound at the wrists by Magicka. They struggled against their bindings, to no avail.

"Ahziss trevana." Moajma helped Sal-Gheel to his feet, and the Bravil clergy followed suit. The Argonian pilgrim trembled from head to toe from both cold and terror. He labored for breath and his eyes were wider and rounder than the sun.

"You must make for the castle. Ask for Martumeliorus Vinestrake; he's the Captain of the Town Guard. He can help you out."

Ysirsandra returned with a towel and a blanket. These she wrapped around Sal-Gheel. She and Engndir showed the Bravilians to the doors.

"Is he all right?" "Are you okay?" "Should we do something to help?" The choristers asked in genuine empathetic concern.

"'M all right…" the feeble Argonian replied to them, nodding to try to reassure them. "'M okay…You don't need to do anything. I appreciate your offering, though."

"An affront to the Divines and to the Hist!" he heard Skemukeeus Agiussifon shriek. "Please recover well, egg-brother, and swiftly!"

"Auri-El preserve you, Sal-Gheel!" Endnoore Stormaire bowed her head and raised two fingers to him, the other hand on her heart. "And Magnus, Y'ffre, Trinimac, Xarxes, and Syrabane!"

"You, too, Endnoore." Sal-Gheel returned the gesture to the Altmer. "And you, Skemukeeus." He nodded to his fellow Saxhleel.

"Follow us." the fellow Argonian beckoned to them. "We know the way to the castle." He Endnoore took point.

"We'll hold onto your offenders until you come back with the Guards," the Bosmer explained. "This desecration of our sacred chapel. This sullying of your body, mind, and soul. Rest assured they shall not go unpunished!"

Sal-Gheel exhaled in relief the moment he felt the warm sunlight on his scales. The dry summer heat comforted him. He closed his eyes for a minute to soak it all in. Then he began to follow the choristers to the castle.

"Now, then," Moajma rounded on their three captives. "What shall we do about you blasphemers?" She circled round and knelt down in front of them. "You love to hear yourselves talk, don't you?"

"Your gods…" the Imperial glared at them through an arcane aura of deep indigo eyes. "...don't exist. They are self-deceptive fantasies!"

"Is that so?" Engndir raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, then, here's some more: Curses of Ius the Extremely Agitated upon you!"

"Boethra stab you in your sleep!" Moajma seethed.

"Satakal devour you!" Ysirsandra barked.

Castle Chorrol, Great Hall

"Attention, please!" A female guard positioned herself on the Count's side of the thrones. She raised a gloved hand for order. "The court of Chorrol is now officially in session! Bring your petitions before the thrones!"

"Excuse us," Heinoke asked the court. "We're looking for Captain Martumeliorus Vinestrake?"

"Yes, I am he." The helmetless, chainmail-armored Imperial came up to them from halfway down the Great Hall. Blond curly bangs curved over his ovoid face to brush against his flat square chin. "How can I help? Is there trouble?"

Skemukeeus indicated Sal-Gheel. "Our dear clergy Brother, Sal-Gheel, was attacked in the chapel." He and the others all elaborated on what had transpired at the Chapel of Stendarr.

"We are holding the responsible perpetrators there," Heinoke pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Primate Moajma and her clergy are keeping an eye on them."

Martumeliorus nodded without hesitation. "Thank you for reporting this, citizens. I'll gather a small detachment to arrest them right away." He approached Sal-Gheel, who stood between Aravayana and Bovkianne. "Are you all right, Argonian?"

"Physically, yes, Captain." Sal-Gheel nodded. "Mentally will be another matter."

"Well, you are more than welcome to stay here until you feel better." Martumeliorus gestured to the Great Hall's stone staircases. "My guards and I will head out immediately."

Shivering and grimacing, Sal-Gheel sat on the staircase in his damp robes and sandals. Martumeliorus gathered three guards and left the castle with haste.

"Extraordinary…" Endnoore regarded Sal-Gheel with awe. "Did you teach him that Destruction magic?"

"Ysmir's beard, no!" Heinoke shook his head at the Altmeress. "We never included that in his clerical education."

"I don't know how it happens." Sal-Gheel rubbed the back of his neck. "They're a natural part of me, the flames and the heat."

"They're still extraordinary…" Endnoore stared at him in reverent wonder.

"How could this happen?" Skemukeeus thought out loud. He sat above the Bravil clergy, who all flanked his younger egg-sibling. "This 'Church of Augussandra Magium' is out of control! What gives them the right to treat you like that, beeko?"

"Heck if I know, beeko." Sal-Gheel remarked, panting for breath. "It's been ten whole years. But Augussandra will never give up. I don't know whether to be admiring or annoyed by her persistence." He turned to his fellow Bravilians. "Did you see the colors of their eyes?"

"Violet, yes," Aravayana nodded. "Unnatural. Only a powerful magic user could have that depth of influence."

"I noticed the exact same thing in Pennondius and Gaparicard, too," Sal-Gheel recalled. "I don't think it's a coincidence."

"Is this the first time an attack on Brother Sal-Gheel like this has happened?" inquired Endnoore, who sat beside Skemukeeus.

"We were also confronted like this in Skingrad." Heinoke turned over his shoulder to answer the Altmer. "And there's been plenty of attempted assaults, harassments, and hate crimes of this nature against Sal-Gheel over the last decade as well. But none of them ever escalated to the level that it did here. Either those Apprentices are powerful beyond their ranks…or something else is working through them."

"How come it's taking us so long to figure this out?" Sal-Gheel looked around at all the adults. "What's causing this, and who's behind it all? It's been a decade and we still can't figure out the problem?"

"Whoever is responsible is a master at covering their tracks." Bovkianne cupped her elbow and rubbed her chin. "They've been inside our heads, too. That's why we've never been able to discover them all these years."

"We ought to have figured this out by now." Sal-Gheel shook his head and sighed. "Needless to say, I've been getting fed up with all the attacks, the discrimination, the typecasting."

"So, a spellcaster who can manipulate mental perceptions…" Endnoore put her hands together, thinking. "Who can control others to make them believe whatever they want them to, taking away their free will and stripping down their previous beliefs and conceptions. And on top of that, able to warp the minds of all others to direct culpability away from themselves…"

She shrugged and dropped her hands by her sides. "Who among us could possibly hold such power?"

"Whoever it is," Bovkianne nodded at the Altmer. "They're using a forbidden kind of magic, that's for sure."

"And yet we still haven't been able to find out what!" Sal-Gheel protested in exasperated irritation, likewise shrugging. "I'm tired of all of this hate towards me! Just because I'm this, what, 'Child of Akatosh'?"

"We understand where you're coming from, Sal-Gheel, and we're sorry," Heinoke comforted him. "But this 'Church of Augussandra Magium' is turning the land against you. It's hiding itself from us. No matter what we do, we can't fight or expose it."

"Believe us, Sal, we've tried." Bovkianne took his other hand. "We've tried everything in our power to find out the source of this. Religious, magical, or otherwise."

"The gods aren't ignorant of the state of things, Sal-Gheel." Aravayana got to her feet to take his face in her hands. "This church may have defied them for a decade. That doesn't mean they haven't been working to depose it. All the gods of the Aurbis are working in tandem to overthrow Augussandra Magium and her heretical and blasphemous religion."

"Well, they should've worked a heck of a lot faster." Sal-Gheel sighed and leaned into the Dark Elf's hands. "Seeing as how Augussandra has gotten away with this for ten whole years."

"Excuse me…" the voice of Count Tienhinder Cosmata made them all turn and look up. "Apologies, citizens, I don't mean to intrude. Did I hear you mention an attack at the Chapel of Stendarr?"

"Yes, Your Lordship." Sal-Gheel faced him and bowed his head, his hands clasped together at his heart level. "I was attacked by Mage Apprentices from the Arcane University at the chapel. Captain Martumeliorus already headed out to arrest the offenders."

"Why weren't we informed of this?" Countess Lauraillaise Cosmata raised an eyebrow at the young Argonian.

"All due respect, Your Ladyship, but you didn't hear us talking about it to your Captain?" Sal-Gheel furrowed his brow and gestured at the space where Martumelirous had once stood. "We were literally right there at the front door."

"Well, being a Count and Countess is busy work, young Argonian." Tienhinder nodded and leaned back on his throne. "Pressing matters of state and cityship. Not to mention growing conflicts across the province. It keeps us occupied, you know, mind and body."

"So, wait a minute," Sal-Gheel thought aloud. He raised an eyebrow at the two nobles. "You're only just learning about this now? When you could've been there to help?"

"Erm…" Tienhinder eyed his wife, then Sal-Gheel. "I suppose so, yes."

Sal-Gheel's confusion turned to instant incredulity. "You need to get out of the castle more."

Heinoke and Skemukeeus exploded instantly into full-blown laughter. Aravayana, Bovkianne, and Endnoore jumped to their feet, looking scandalized.

"Oh, Hist, that's priceless!" Skemukeeus wiped a tear from his eye, unable to contain his giggling. "You are a genius, thithil-sihuaak!"

"Sal-Gheel!" Aravayana scolded her Adept. "You don't say that to the Count and Countess!"

"I can't breathe!" Heinoke collapsed onto the floor on his back. "I can't-ahahahahahahahahaaa!" He roared with laughter, one hand on his diaphragm. Skemukeeus applauded his egg-sibling and fell onto the staircase on his side.

"What?!" Sal-Gheel glanced at the Dark Elf defensively. "I'm just telling it like it is!"

"We're very terribly sorry, Your Highnesses." Bovkianne helped Aravayana and Endnoore usher Sal-Gheel away. They walked him to the castle doors.

"Don't be!" Tienhinder guffawed while Laurillaise leaned back in her chair for want of breath. "We needed that laugh after all the stress we've endured this week. Even royals must lighten up every once in a while. And your young charge is right: we do need to get out of the castle more! Good day to you all!"

But as his guardians ushered him out the doors, Sal-Gheel thought he saw the nobles' eyes suddenly turn purple.

"There is no goddess but Augussandra Magium," intoned Countess Laurillaise. "There is no deity except Augussandra Magium."

"Augussandra is foretold of prophecy," chanted Tienhinder in a gravelly monotone. "The one, the almighty, the supreme of Mundus and Aurbis. Who can stand against her? None are holier than her. We praise her, we bless her, we adore her, we glorify her."

"At the end of Time," recited them both. "She shall cast down the Dragon's unholy bastard child. She will condemn the heavenly Father to eternal damnation."

These were the last words he heard before the castle doors closed behind him.

The Guards reached the Chapel of Stendarr in record time. The clergy had kept their word about keeping the evildoers bound. Already the choir had resumed their former places to continue their practice.

"Arrested?!" The female Imperial thrashed in vain against her chains. "We are so persecuted!"

"Her Ladyship will see you all damned for this hostility towards her worshippers!" the Orc all but foamed at the mouth.

"The world will kneel in awe at us in the end!" the Nord bellowed back. "Can't believe this religion is readily available, and that this illegitimate divine child exists! Just you wait! You shall be cast down at the end of days!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Martumeliorus rolled his eyes and tugged at the Imperial's chains. "Maybe ample time in the dungeons can help you morons come to your senses. You'll never be able to hurt this poor Argonian ever again. Now haul it!"

As the chapel doors swung shut, Sal-Gheel breathed a huge sigh of relief. He turned around to the stained-glass windows of the Divines.

"Gloria tibi sit in aeternum, Octo Divinis."

They stayed to listen to the rest of the choir practice. Then they took their blessings from the Altar of the Nine.

And as they left, Moajma called out, "Credo in Octo Divinis!"

"Aedra omnipotens!" Sal-Gheel called back. "Formators caeli et terrae; visibilium omnium et invisibilium!"

They found three shrines to the south and southwest of the city, to Dibella, Julianos, and Stendarr, respectively. Sal-Gheel prayed and took blessings from each.

"Come to me, Stendarr," he raised a hand of supplication to the ceiling. "For without you, I might be deaf to the manswarm murmurings of thy people, and forgetting their need for comfort and wisdom, I might indulge myself in vain scribblings."

"Since we're here in the Colovian Highlands," Heinoke mused aloud. "We have the perfect opportunity to visit a highly sacred site in the Jerall Mountains. If not the most sacred."

His smile grew into a grin at the hatchling's eyes of excitement. "That's right, my friends. We're headed to Sancre Tor!"