5 Months Later…
27th of Hearthfire (Nushmeeko)
Chapel Hall
"'…To convey to man's mind all the manifold subtleties of truth and virtue may not be done, were all the seas ink, and all the skies the parchment upon which Their wisdoms were writ.'"
Sal-Gheel paced back and forth in front of the chapel's central altar. He articulated each word and statement with gesticulations.
Beaming diagonal rainbow rays bathed him and the chapel. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the stained-glass windows of the Eight Divines.
He smoothed out the folds of his emerald robe and its thin navy-blue sashes. Its small child-sized hood lay unused on his shoulders and behind his head.
"'Yet Akatosh, in His wisdom, knowing how impatient is man, and how loath he is to travel upon the hard roads of truth, has allowed these ten simple commands to be made manifest with powerful clarity and concise definition.
"Beautiful, Sal-Gheel," Valutinian sat in one of the frontmost pews. A copy of Nine Commands of the Eight Divines lay open in his hand. He leaned forward, balancing the book in one hand, draping his other arm over his knee.
"Can you tell me the commandment of Stendarr?" he asked the 8-year-old hatchling.
"'Be kind and generous to the people of Tamriel,'" Sal-Gheel turned in the direction of the God of Righteous Might's window. "'Protect the weak, heal the sick, and give to the needy.'"
"Excellent," Mathnude seated beside the Primate read from the book. "How about…Kynareth?"
"'Use Nature's gifts wisely.'" Sal-Gheel spun and pointed at the Goddess of Nature. "'Respect her power, and fear her fury.'"
"Brilliant!" Heinoke, sitting in the pew behind Valutinian, hoisted his mug of ale in the air, praising the child. Sal-Gheel grinned back at him with relieved humility.
"Zenithar?" Aravayana on Valutinian's other side asked next.
"'Work hard, and you will be rewarded.'" Sal-Gheel looked in the direction of the God of Commerce. "'Spend wisely, and you will be comfortable. Never steal, or you will be punished.'"
"How about Akatosh?" Heinoke chuckled, adjusting his weight on his pew and sipping his ale. "Your personal favorite?"
Sal-Gheel stopped and put his feet together. He held a fist to his heart, standing tall and mighty. The two clergymen snorted in amusement.
"'Serve and obey your Emperor,'" Sal-Gheel declared in his strongest voice. "'Study the Covenants. Worship the Eight, do your duty,'"
He relaxed, clasped his hands together, and bowed low to the two adults. "'And heed the commands of the saints and priests.'"
"Wonderful!" Heinoke raised his mug high again. The others laughed out loud with hearty pride.
"How about our patron deity, Mara?" Bovkianne sitting with Heinoke requested.
"'Live soberly and peacefully. Honor your parents, and preserve the peace and security of home and…'"
His voice faded into silence. He stopped in his tracks, ears poised in the direction of the doors.
"'…family.'" he finished, suddenly distracted.
"Sal-Gheel?" Valutinian closed the book and stood up. Sal-Gheel held out a hand to politely stop him. He closed his eyes and focused his hearing.
The sounds of a screaming and panicking crowd, intermingled with aggressive shouting and yelling, filled his ears. The sudden tolling of the chapel bells drowned them out. But they were not the 4/4 summoning of the townspeople to the weekend service. They were sporadic, almost frantic.
Bells of alarm.
He dashed towards the chapel doors. The others pursued him (Valutinian left the book on his seat).
Sal-Gheel pressed his ear to the doors. The sounds of panic and aggression grew louder now. The ringing chapel bells faded into silence.
A sudden shock and fear shot through his heart. He began to tremble where he stood, every nerve shaking with anxiety.
"Sal-Gheel, get away from the doors, please!" Valutinian pleaded, and the hatchling imperiously obeyed.
"Saint Heinoke!" Sal-Gheel hugged the Living Saint around the waist, burying his face in the Nord's stomach. "What's happening? I'm scared!"
"Don't worry, Sal-Gheel!" Heinoke wrapped his arms protectively around the young Argonian boy. "I've got you, little one. You're safe in here. No one will hurt you on our watch!"
At that moment, the chapel doors opened. Sal-Gheel cried out in terror, shut his eyes tight, and clung to Heinoke.
"Sal-Gheel!" Sirimgeira dashed towards him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He breathed a sigh of relief at the Priestess' voice. "It's all right! It's just me and Romarcella."
"Roma, what on Nirn is going on?" Valutinian asked the Healer, who put her hood down and smoothed out her hair.
"Chaos, that's what's going on, Val!" Romarcella brushed a hand over her hair, her eyes wide in shock and disbelief. "A riot's broken out in our city!"
"A riot?!" Heinoke repeated in abject horror. Sal-Gheel shuddered in his and Sirimgeira's arms.
"Aye!" Romarcella nodded. "It's the Skooma Kingpins! They've finally come to blows over their trafficking! All Oblivion's broken loose out there!"
"Has the Town Guard responded?" Mathnude watched Sirimgeira kneel down to soothe a whimpering Sal-Gheel.
"They've already petitioned for military aid from the Imperial City," Sirimgeira explained, rubbing Sal-Gheel's shoulders to comfort him. "With all luck, they should be here within the hour."
"We saw everything from the belltower," Romarcella explained to the others. "Frightened citizens running around everywhere. Rioters holding torches, throwing fireballs, and breaking into buildings all over place. A fourth of the port district was in flames by the time we got down."
"They won't attack Main Street, will they?" A white-faced Sal-Gheel emerged from within Heinoke and Sirimgeira's embraces. He stretched out a desperate hand to the Imperial. "That's where my parents' old house is! Where my home used to be!"
"I'm sure your home is fine, Sal-Gheel," Romarcella took the Argonian's outstretched hand in hers. "I doubt the rioters will even consider it interesting. Last we'd checked, they'd moved on towards the south bridge."
"They-they won't come in here?" Sal-Gheel asked in a small timid voice, quivering with fright. "They won't come after us? After me? I don't want them to come after me!"
"Divines forbid that happens!" Mathnude asserted, shaking his fist. "They wouldn't dare come in here while the Eight protect us!"
"Where are the Count and Countess?" Bovkianne asked, rubbing the back of Sal-Gheel's head.
"Holed up like cowardly mice in their precious Castle, I reckon," a bitter Mathnude answered through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want to ruin their expensive clothes or their precious good looks, would they?"
"But their inability to act would be bad for their public image," Bovkianne rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "So they'll have to do something sooner rather than later."
"Are you worried for your beggar friends, Sal-Gheel?" Sirimgeira pulled away to ask the Argonian.
Sal-Gheel heaved a hopeless sigh. "I don't know, Mother." He shrugged, clueless. "Sorkund died two months ago, and I haven't heard from Epollina or Juliona since I started living here. I have no idea if I should be worried about them."
He flinched again when one of the double doors of the chapel burst open. A disheveled Captain Gemanius rushed into the chapel. His helmet was askew, Sal-Gheel noticed, and cold desperate sweat coursed down his brow.
"Oh, thank the Eight you're all right!" He put a hand to his heart and exhaled in relief. "It seems the street gangs haven't gotten to you! Thank the gods!"
"What's the situation like, Captain?" Valutinian approached him. The others watched and listened with bated breath.
"I'm afraid it's escalating faster than we anticipated, Primate." Gemanius removed his helmet and held it to his chest in respect for the head of the clergy. "The rioters have split off into groups. One headed towards the south district, and the other to Main Street."
He pointed in opposite directions with both hands. "My guards and I are spread thin trying to contain them. We don't know when the Imperial Legions will arrive to back us up."
"Main Street?!" Sal-Gheel broke away from the clergy's embrace and dashed out the open door.
"Sal-Gheel, no!" All the clergy bolted after him. Valutinian nearly bowled over Gemanius on his way out. The Captain righted his helmet and tailed after the Primate and the rest of the clergy.
Sal-Gheel bumped and pushed his way through fleeing and rioting townspeople. He ducked and weaved in and out of people's legs and underneath their arms. All around him, buildings were engulfed in flames. The acrid stench of burning wood and smoky charcoal stung his nostrils.
Plumes of smoke rose high into the air, blocking out the sun and obscuring his view everywhere he turned. Deafening bells rang in the distance from the castle. The Town Guard and members of the Fighters' Guild dashed every which-way, escorting villagers to safety or putting down rioters with swords, shields, and spells.
"By Merrunz!" Shurassa Tavakani stood on the porch of her house adjacent to the Mages Guild. She clapped her paws to her terrified chalk-white face, down which tears of grief streamed. "Dov! This is a disaster!"
"At least it's not my fault this time around!" Sal-Gheel jabbed a finger at himself.
"Shut up, sakhliit!" Khajiit and Argonian hissed and growled at each other for a brief moment.
"Shurassa, look out!" Ayiheh grabbed his wife by the arms and pulled her out of the path of an incoming fireball. He thrust out a paw. A thin jet of ice from his palm stopped the fireball in its path. It dropped to the ground encased in an icicle.
"Violent, destructive, no-good anarchists!" Jakino Statori appeared a yard away, furiously shaking a rubber spatula. "Gods take you all! You won't get a single slice of bread out of me!"
Two figures in the alleyway between the Fighter's Guild and The Fair Deal stood up to regard him.
"Damn you, Sal-Gheel!" A crude mud-covered Epollina bared her dirty fingernails, causing him to stop in his tracks. "You disappear for months without telling us where you went! And now you choose to come back into our lives?!"
"Is this seriously an important conversation right now?!" Sal-Gheel protested, already moving to run again.
"Would it kill you to be kind to the boy?!" Juliona rebuked Epollina, standing in front of her. "It was his choice to disappear! His fortuitous return to us is nothing short of a blessing from the gods!"
Sal-Gheel didn't even hear the rest of their debate. He broke into a breakneck sprint down the street.
The growing throng of the villagers drowned out the frantic sounds of the clergy pursuing him. He turned the corner and emerged onto Main Street.
"Hey!" He stopped in front of his house and jumped up and down, waving his arms. "Hey!"
"That's my house!" Before the clergy or Gemanius could stop him, he clambered up the stairs to the top. "That's my home!" he raged at a half-dozen group of rioters.
His heart sank at the sight. Raging, chaotic orange and yellow flames had practically engulfed his former home in a blazing inferno. Billowing plumes darkened to sooty black as paint and varnishes around the joints and edges were consumed.
Half of the rioters held torches and fireballs in their hands. These they continued to throw on the house or at the shacks below. Sal-Gheel backed away from the flames. Yet something compelled him to draw nearer to them, which he could not resist.
"Get away from my home!" he protested. He launched himself at one of the rioters, an adult male Orc. "It belongs to my parents! To me!"
"Not anymore it doesn't, you little scaly runt!" The gruff Orc pushed him back onto the walkway. "Get away before you get hurt!"
Sal-Gheel landed hard on his side, scraping the sleeves of his blue shirt a tad on the wood. He sprang back to his feet and ducked as broken glass from a shattered window flew over him.
"No! I won't let you destroy it! It's my home!"
"It's our Skooma Den!" another rioter called out, a female Altmer.
Time seemed to slow to a snail's crawl at that very moment. He froze mid-movement. His mouth fell open, the upper lip curling back. He stared at the Altmer stricken with disbelief.
This…They…Skooma…
No.
"You turned my former home…" His hands clenched into tight fists. He bared his fangs and narrowed his eyes. "Into a Skooma Den?!"
"See for yourself!" the Altmer pointed over her shoulder to the remaining rioters. They were all smashing empty Skooma bottles on the wood or throwing them to the ground below.
"No!" Sal-Gheel raged. His eyes suddenly glowed as fiery golden as the uncontrollable fire that now consumed his former home. "It's my home! Mine! My parents'! I won't let you take it away from me again!"
"Then go home, kid!"
He turned over his shoulder—too late! The Orc and the Altmer had lifted him up by his shirt and hoisted him into the air.
"No! No, no, no—!"
"Sal-Gheel!" Bovkianne called out to him from the opposite end of the walkway. Sirimgeira reached out her arms to try to grab him.
"Go home!" The rioters hurled a shrieking Sal-Gheel through the broken window frame and into the inferno. He crashed through the charred windowsill and disappeared into the blazes.
"No!" Sirimgeira moved to run after Sal-Gheel. But the others held her back by her elbows. "Sal-Gheel!"
"No, Sirim! It's not safe!" Heinoke coiled his arm around hers.
"Sal-Gheel!" Tears of desperation and horror coursed down the Priestess' face. "They threw Sal-Gheel in there! We have to get him out!"
"We can't lose you, too, Sirim!" Bovkianne summoned her telekinesis to keep Sirimgeira in hers and Heinoke's grips. "It's too dangerous!"
"Sal-Gheel!" Sirimgeira cried out at the tops of her lungs. "Oh, poor, dear, beloved Sal-Gheel!"
Lively golden flames licked the walls and swept across the ceiling of the Skooma Den. Ropes of amber fire chewed at the gray-black wood, silver metal, and transparent glass that framed the house's main sitting room.
Deafening crackles of flame stuffed Sal-Gheel's ears. The creaking and groaning of timbers contracting and the shattering of glass punctuated the otherwise overwhelming sensory assault.
In a flash, he pushed himself to his feet. The floor groaned beneath him.
"Yikes!" The soles of his feet cut on broken glass and wood splinters littering the floor. He bit his lip and inhaled sharply to force back the pain. Blood dripped forth from the fresh cuts.
Hazes of light white smoke drifted upwards towards the ceiling. He coughed and pulled his robe collar over his mouth and nostrils. A sharp acrid smell of burning plastics seized at his nose and throat, but to no avail.
He stared round at the blinding flames. They seemed to lick at his body. But their collective intense heat swirled around his body in spirals, warming and licking but never quite striking him.
He reached out a hand into a flame consuming a tall dresser. The blistering pyro almost seemed to welcome him.
He lowered his palm into its many-pronged tongues. But not a single blister or burn appeared as they wrapped around his scales. Nor did his blood boil in his veins and arteries.
No pain shot through his body. No sweltering heat dried his flesh. No fire lashed out to cook or bubble his skin.
He stared deep into the flames. But his eyes remained completely moist without the most abstract hint of a hot sting or itchy dryness.
Whoof!
Suddenly the dresser exploded. The concussive force blew him straight back. His heart jumped in his chest from surprise.
Whump! His back hit the wall. He slid to the floor onto his rear. Shards of imploded glass bottles rained over him from above. Burning drops of liquid splashed onto his clothes.
"Yuck! Skooma!" He hurriedly shed his robe and shook off the scalding drug. Yet he noticed his scales had not changed a single shade. "Blech! Ptooey! Ugh, that's so gross! How do people even like this stuff?!"
He stared at the spot where the dresser stood. Its drawers had burst open, lopsided and wreathed in flames. Skooma bottles and pipes of many kinds sat inside them.
He clenched his fists and lifted his face to the ceiling.
"Rrrnnngggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"
He leaped to his feet and charged forward at the dresser.
He seized bottles to toss them against the walls. They shattered upon impact, spilling their contents all over the floor or spraying glass in every direction. He tore tubes from Skooma pipes and broke their containers over his knees. Bowls of Khajiiti Moon Sugar he tossed straight into the flames or crushed and beneath his bleeding feet. Roars of wrath punctuated his every action. Every movement. Every display of aggression and rage.
"This! Was! My! Home!" he bellowed with every stomp on the final bowl of Moon Sugar.
He lifted the empty bowl into the air and snapped it in two over his knee.
Fire leaped and twirled and cavorted around him on all sides. He leaped up and hurried towards the front door.
Crrraaaccckkk!
He looked straight up—just in time to catch a falling ceiling beam.
His legs buckled underneath its weight. He dropped to one knee, arms bending from the pressure. Flames licked at his fingers. Scorching heat plunged into his palms.
Eight Divines help me!
In that instant, his eyes glowed golden fire.
A low growl turned into an all-out full-lunged and full-throated scream. Sal-Gheel pushed back onto his feet, lifting the ceiling beam high above his head.
He tossed the ceiling beam aside with a furious cry. It collided with the remains of the dresser, cleaving it in two.
Whack!
The door burst wide open as his shoulders and elbows slammed into it. He emerged from the blazing house coughing and sputtering.
Two of the rioters—a male Khajiit and a female Dunmer—moved to lay their hands on him. They grabbed him by the shoulders with rough, calloused hands.
On instinct, his bloodstream burst aflame.
The Khajiit and Dunmer recoiled screaming in pain and surprise. Sal-Gheel seized the opportunity to dash down the walkway—straight into Sirimgeira's arms.
"Sal-Gheel!" the Priestess cried out his name in relief. At her graceful touch, the glow faded from the Argonian's body; his temperature dropped back to normal. "Oh, thank the Eight you're all right! Are you hurt?! Did you get burned?!"
"Pri—!" Sal-Gheel choked out. "Prieste—!" All of a sudden, he broke into a hacking cough.
"My lun—!" He coughed uncontrollably, dropping to his knees below her.
"His lungs!" Bovkianne picked him up under his shoulders and legs. "We've gotta take him back to the chapel! Romarcella can heal him!"
She turned tail and hurried back down the stairs to the ground below. Sirimgeira and Heinoke followed, shaking with fear and concern.
Over the next couple hours, Sal-Gheel lay in his bed, stripped down to his loincloth. Romarcella sat in his desk chair. Her hands hovered over him from head to toes to tail, administering all magnitude of healing spells. She also cleaned and wrapped the open cuts on his feet.
Out in the hallway, Valutinian paced back and forth, restless. Sirimgeira sat in a chair with her hands in her lap and her eyes distant with abject shock. Heinoke fidgeted with an empty and dry tankard; not once had he poured a drink into it.
Aravayana busied herself with the chapel's copy of The Annotated Anuad, but she never passed beyond the first two pages. Bovkianne and Mathnude clung to each other for comfort. Tears streamed down their cheeks with whispered sobs.
As night fell upon Bravil, Romarcella exited Sal-Gheel's room. Valutinian stopped and turned to her. Sirimgeira and the others all stood up.
"How is he, Roma?" Valutinian asked, coming up abreast of Heinoke.
"You're never going to believe this, Val." Romarcella's eyes were wide in utter confusion. "He hasn't got a single burn on him! Not one of any degree! I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes!"
"So only his lungs are damaged, then?" Mathnude demanded, approaching the Healer.
"Aye, that's the case, Matt," Romarcella nodded, dropping her hood. "He inhaled quite a significant amount of smoke, but nothing my spells couldn't clear away. Indeed, the Divines have blessed him. Our dearly beloved Sal-Gheel Calidaseer will live to see another day."
All the clergy breathed collective sighs of relief. Sirimgeira hung her head and fell into Romarcella's wide open arms. Everyone wiped away each other's tears and shared hugs of comfort and reassurance.
"He's awake if y'all want to go see him," Romarcella informed them. Valutinian nodded his approval. Everyone crowded into Sal-Gheel's bedroom.
"Sal-Gheel! Thank the Eight!" Sirimgeira practically threw herself at the hatchling. He yelped from her weight and fell back into his bedsheets. His head flopped onto his pillow.
"You're all right, kid!" Heinoke sat down in the desk chair that Romarcella had vacated. "By the gods of Skyrim, bless your pretty scaly little heart! You had us all worried sick!"
"I'm okay!" Sal-Gheel reassured everyone after Sirimgeira had released him. He sat back up again. "I'm fine! I'm not burned! And I can breathe fine now!"
"It's a divine miracle!" Aravayana raised her hands to the ceiling and clasped them together, closing her eyes. "Oh, thank the Divines! Thank the Reclamations of Morrowind!"
"I won't tell you to ever scare us like that again, Sal-Gheel," Bovkianne sat down on the side of the hatchling's bed and took his face in her hands. "Because it wasn't your fault that you ended up in there. That being said, we're relieved you're all right. If something had happened to you in there…"
"I'll be okay, Miss Bririene." Sal-Gheel gave the Breton a reassuring smile, touching her hands. "I'll live. Don't worry about me."
He looked over her shoulder at Valutinian. "Your Grace, if it's all right with you, I'd like to go say thank you to the Eight Divines."
Again, Valutinian nodded to give his approval. "Of course, Sal-Gheel. We'll go with you, to keep you safe this time."
Sal-Gheel dressed in his blue shirt and black pants. Valutinian, Romarcella, and Mathnude accompanied him as he hurried back out into the ambulatory.
The clerics stopped and gasped or screamed in terror. Rioters paced up and down the nave and the aisles. Lit torches glowed in the moonlit space, sharp weapons glinting in the starlight. They turned to charge the clergy. Valutinian threw himself in front of the others.
But Sal-Gheel leaped forward in front of the Primate. He opened his mouth wide. Growling and hissing and spitting like a feral lizard at the anarchists. Eyes glowed brighter than their blazing torches. Veins, arteries, and capillaries all combusted in spontaneous light.
The rioters flinched and withdrew in terror and fright. Some of them even dropped their torches and turned tail to run away.
With the area clear, Sal-Gheel bolted towards the Altar of the Nine. He knelt at its base and put his hands together.
"Thank you, Eight Divines of Aetherius. For saving me."
The eyes of the stained-glass window of Akatosh burned golden flames.
The Great Chapel of Mara, Rectory
The mayhem continued on for roughly another fifty minutes. The timely arrival of the Sixth Legion dispatched from the Imperial City ultimately thwarted them. At long last the Legion put down the riotous gangs and Skooma traffickers.
Numerous arrests were made that fateful night regardless of the losses. Any rebels who resisted met immediate execution.
With the rebellion at last quelled, Bravil spent the rest of the night assessing the damages, taming the fires, and taking account of their dead. But all the chaos had been done. Points had been made. Agendas had been pushed. Lives had been lost. Many buildings fell to fire and vandalism.
A divine rainstorm hovered over the city. Heavenly rain and wind reduced the once raging wildfires into drowned smoldering embers.
Sal-Gheel tossed and turned in bed. He sprang straight up. He kicked off the warm blanket and the pillows at his feet. Panting and clutching at his heart and head. Beside him, Romarcella had been working with her alchemy apparatuses on his desk.
"I can't do it. I'm too scared." Sal-Gheel reached out to Mathnude. The Breton immediately took the Argonian into his arms. "I don't want to fall asleep. I don't wanna have nightmares." He clutched at his head, eyes wide. "I don't wanna close my eyes! Every time, all I see are the flames and the fires!"
"You're going to be all right, Sal-Gheel." Romarcella turned around and brought his evening cup of water to him. She uncorked a fresh potion bottle and sat down in his desk chair. "I'm all finished. Come look at this, dear."
Sal-Gheel peeked out from behind Mathnude's large arms. He lifted his head up; Romarcella leaned in slightly to show him. Into the cup of water she poured a peculiar and thick sapphire-colored liquid.
"What is that, Miss?" Sal-Gheel watched as the medicine dissolved upon instant contact with the water.
"A potion for dreamless sleep, my child," Romarcella swirled the two liquids in the cup. "It'll help you fall asleep quickly and ward off the nightmares tonight."
"Oh...okay." Sal-Gheel consented after some hesitation. Mathnude released him, and Romarcella helped him drink the potion.
"Tastes like..." The hatchling swayed on the spot. His eyes flickered and his head fell onto his chest. "...blueberries...with mint..." He yawned wide and loud, and slumped back onto his pillow once more. Mathnude tucked him in.
"Peace of the Eight upon you, Sal-Gheel." The Brother blessed him with hand gestures. "In the name of Mother Mara. In the names of Magnus, Y'ffre, and Phynaster."
Romarcella stayed with him while he drowsily drifted off, stroking his head. At last, when the hatchling had fallen into a deep and peaceful slumber, she replaced his chair, gathered her apparatuses, blew out his bedside candle, and left the room.
"He's asleep now, Primate," she informed Valutinian who stood out in the hallway. She closed the bedroom door behind herself. The Primate exhaled in relief.
Everyone filed off to their bedrooms. But Sirimgeira and Heinoke remained.
Sirimgeira left the rectory with Heinoke in tow. Together they emerged into the ambulatory.
"Poor, poor, dear Sal-Gheel," Sirimgeira whispered amidst quiet and sympathetic sobs. "Lost his family home and the last vestiges of his parents, all in one day." She hung her head, dabbing a handkerchief at her falling tears. Heinoke put an arm around his fellow Nord's shoulders to comfort her.
"About our discussion from earlier…"
"I don't think he's ready to know the truth," Sirimgeira asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. She clutched her tearstained handkerchief close to her chest. "Not all the evidence is there yet."
"Not all there yet?" Heinoke drew away, staring at his kinswoman in disbelief. "Sirim, you saw firsthand how he came out of that fire! Unscathed! At this point, how can we even deny it?"
Sirim glanced at him through her wet red eyes, but did not answer.
"I would never, ever deny this, Heinoke," she agreed at length. "To deny it would be to deny the Eight themselves. This is indeed a blessing from Them."
"I'm going to tell him." Heinoke turned to make his way back downstairs.
"No, Heinoke!" She grabbed his sleeve, stopping him short. He turned over his shoulder at her in disbelief. "We can't! He's not ready! He's not yet old enough!"
"If not now, then when, Sirim?!" Heinoke turned back around to her. "When he hits puberty? When he turns eighteen?"
Sirimgeira removed her hand from his sleeve. Heinoke smoothed it out.
"What do you propose we do, then?" he asked the priestess. "What if years from now, when Sal-Gheel starts asking questions about himself, he finds we've been keeping secrets from him? How do you think that will affect him? His relationship with us, which we've worked so hard all these months to build and keep?"
"I don't know," Sirimgeira confessed, fidgeting with her handkerchief. "But I'll think of something! I always do, don't I?" She looked up at the other Nord, as if pleading for reassurance.
Heinoke did not answer, only folding his arms over his chest and looking away. Sirimgeira sighed and hung her head.
"Do the others know?" Heinoke asked at length. He still did not meet her eyes.
"No," Sirimgeira shook her head. "I'm anxious about how Valutinian will respond."
"So, you won't even tell everyone else," Heinoke sighed and shook his head in disapproval. "And you don't want to tell him, either. What are you trying to accomplish with this, Sirim?"
"I'm…" Sirimgeira struggled to reach for the words. "I'm only trying to protect him!"
"Protect him?" Heinoke dropped his arms and put his hands on his hips. "From what, Sirim? Whom? From himself? Others like himself?"
"That's depending if there even are others like himself, Heinoke!" Sirimgeira raised her head and her voice to protest. "He may be the first of his kind in centuries; perhaps even in millennia!"
"But there's more to this," Heinoke raised an eyebrow at her, not the least bit intimidated by the increase in her volume. "Isn't there?"
"Well, I…" Sirimgeira dropped her voice to a timid whisper. She averted her gaze, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "I don't…want to hurt his feelings, or…or affect his image of himself. For good or for ill."
"So, you're willing to let your personal feelings for the boy get in the way of helping him discover the truth of his identity," Heinoke stated, blunt and matter-of-factly. He folded his arms over his chest once again. "But isn't this what he's always wanted? To know why he was born? His true identity? What you noticed in him, and why we decided to take him in and adopt him?"
"Well," Sirimgeira stammered. "Y-yes, b-but…"
"But what?" Heinoke demanded. "Sal-Gheel's a smart hatchling; perhaps the smartest of his kind. Sooner or later, he'll figure it out. True or not, we can't keep this secret from him for long."
"But we have to, Heinoke." The priestess looked up and met his eyes again. Her own welled up with a fresh veil of tears. "He's only eight years old. Give him another ten years and maybe then we can tell him."
"Ten years?" Heinoke's brow furrowed in incredulity. "You want to keep Sal-Gheel sheltered from the truth for ten whole years? Can you imagine the damage you'll do to him in that time?"
"Better than him being tossed back out onto those streets!" Sirimgeira snapped, and the other Nord raised his eyebrows in sudden surprise. "Where he's had to beg and steal for every meal! Run away from crime and predators! Sleep at the feet of the Lucky Old Lady on a bedroll and wrapped in newspapers! Would you prefer that?!"
"N-no…no!" Now it was Heinoke's turn to stammer. "No, of course not! I'd never wish that upon him! Perish the thought!"
"Do you not love Sal-Gheel, Heinoke?" Sirimgeira stepped even closer to him now, authoritative and assertive. "Do you not find him endearing and someone worth caring for? Do you not see him as someone deserving of love, of parents, and of a home?"
"O-of course I do, Sirim!" Heinoke responded with a vigorous nod. "I love him just as much as you do; as much as everyone else!" He hit a fist to his chest. "I would protect him with my own life, Nord's honor!"
"Then let Sal-Gheel be whomever he wants to be, Heinoke!" Sirimgeira was near-shouting now. "Let him be a hatchling! Let him be an ten-year-old kid! Let him live the childhood that was robbed from him! Let him have fun! Let him be silly, weird, quirky, energetic, sensitive, hyper, and all the other things children are! Let him throw tantrums and have emotions and feelings and thoughts that are all his own! Let him be Sal-Gheel Calidaseer!"
Heinoke opened his mouth. But no words came to him. Sirimgeira's eyes flamed, her nostrils flaring. The frightened Heinoke stepped back.
"No…No, you're right, Sirimgeira. We…we should just let Sal-Gheel be who he is. You're exactly right."
Sirimgeira closed her eyes to inhale and exhale meditatively. When she opened her eyes again, Heinoke was hanging his head, his expression soft and submissive.
"Just know, Sirim…That when Sal-Gheel does find out the truth…We must accept full responsibility for keeping this a secret. We're treading on dangerously thin ice."
"I know, Heinoke, and I am accepting full responsibility." Sirimgeira took the other Nord's hands in her own. They laced their fingers together. "When the time is right, we'll navigate those troubled waters together. For now, Sal-Gheel will remain the innocent, pure, and childlike spirit he is."