Calidaseer Manor
4E 210
"The next ten years passed by pretty much the same. I continued working with Jakino and lived in the church of Mara. Attending holiday festivals. Baking bread and pastries for nobles and commoners alike. I even got to visit other cities outside of Bravil. Either for the Breadsmith's or the Church's business."
Sal-Gheel paused for a brief sip of Alto Wine. "The day after the Moon Festival, the clergy approached me with the prospect of becoming an official member of their parish. Of course I accepted; so they baptized me the following Sundas. From that point on, my life was to be devoted to the worship of the Eight Divines. I started out as a Layman and began to rise through the ranks." He took a bite of his apple cake.
"At twelve, they ordained me a Novice; at fourteen, an Initiate; then at sixteen, an Acolyte." He passed a napkin to Stands-in-Shallows. "And at eighteen, an Adept. I also had the option to carry out a holy pilgrimage."
"What's a pilgrimage, Papa?" asked Veetmul. He sat sideways on his father's knee, legs and tail dangling off either side.
"A pilgrimage is a journey to a holy place for spiritual enlightenment." Sal-Gheel rubbed his son's back up and down, smiling fondly. "So say you and I were to journey to High Hrothgar and the Throat of the World. Or the Eldergleam Sanctuary to see the Gildergreen. Or the Shrine of Azura in the mountains south of Winterhold. A visit to any one of those places could be a pilgrimage."
"And you did all that with the clergy, Papa?" Ahahlei asked from her mother's chest. She extended a hand to him.
"I sure did, Lei." Sal-Gheel held and squeezed his daughter's hand.
"To see you in a priest's robe!" Shahvee chuckled and rested her elbow on the table. Her cheek rested in her palm, the other arm around her daughter. "I bet you looked so handsome." Her chuckle grew into a laugh when her husband's face turned crimson.
"You're not wrong, Shahvee," Lydia shot Sal-Gheel a flirtatious smirk. "Puberty hit him like a rampaging mammoth." Rayya snorted into her ale. Sal-Gheel rolled his eyes.
"They also trained me in Restoration, Conjuration, Mysticism, and Enchanting magic," he continued as he refilled his wine. "The Fighter's Guild also gave me basic combat training with blunt and bladed weaponry."
"All of which I recall you using to outstanding effect during our climactic battle in Apocrypha," recalled Miraak with a nod. Sal-Gheel did the same over his shoulder at him.
CRACK-KOOM!
The snap and crack of thunder made everyone jump and flinch in their seats. Veetmul whimpered and dug his face into his father's chest. Sal-Gheel shut his eyes, winced, and clapped one hand to his ears. The other wrapped around Veetmul's back. Ahahlei too hid in her mother's shoulder. Shahvee kissed her daughter on the forehead to comfort her.
"Everyone all right?" Her husband asked the others at the table. They all replied in the positive, mouths full of food or drink, or hidden behind a napkin.
"I daresay we're all aquiver with intrigue, Sal-Gheel," Scouts-Many-Marshes spoke in a low voice, pretending to be dramatic, to which the others all laughed. He leaned in to show his interest.
"Thank the Eight," Sal-Gheel exhaled in relief. He held his son close and kissed his cheek. "Well, let me tell you all about this grand pilgrimage…"
10 years later…
14th of Last Seed, 4E 198
Bravil, The Great Chapel of Mara
Knock, knock, knock.
"Sal-Gheel? Are you awake?"
Bovkianne waited a full minute. Then she pulled the door handle all the way down. Slowly, quietly, carefully, she opened the door.
She impulsively let out an amused snort. Sal-Gheel's purple scalp feathers poked out of the blanket. A quiet breathing issued from underneath the sheet: the young Saxhleel was undoubtedly still asleep. Bovkianne chuckled and stepped into the room. She kept the handle down to noiselessly shut the door behind her.
The wardrobe had its doors slightly ajar: the nightclothes removed, his daily street clothes strewn across the bottom. A Dark Green Shirt with matching Felt Linens. On the inside of the door, his favorite hooded robe hung on a hook over a body mirror. Navy-blue with emerald sashes.
His Braided Leather Sandals lay on the floor left of the wardrobe. Opposite, a pair of Stitched Leather Shoes. Magical scrolls and a club protruded from his footboard chest. A Silver Dagger leaned on one side at an angle, an early Hatching Day gift from the Fighter's Guild.
She stepped up to his writing desk. Cluttered as only a teenager's desk could be. A Huntsman Vest hung over the back of the chair. Piles of parchment and paper with handwritten notes from his studies. The hatchling's full moonstone pendant lay on top as a paperweight. A hawk's feather quill sat in an unsealed inkwell. This Bovkianne sealed and cleaned the quill on a blank piece of paper. Books both religious and secular stacked to half-conceal the drawers-the middle of which was ajar. One of its charcoal pens had been removed.
One book sat open in the middle of the desk. Wide open with its pages bare. Bovkianne lifted the front cover: The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec: Sermon Two. A torn piece of paper lay between the pages as a bookmark. Two bracket-shaped marks drawn in charcoal indicated a particular passage. No doubt one of striking interest to the Saxhleel:
"'...The third spirit, At-Hatoor, came down to the netchiman's wife while she relaxed for a while under an Emperor Parasol. His garments were made from implications of meaning, and the egg looked at them three times. The first time Vivec said:
'Ha, it means nothing!'
After looking a second time he said: 'Hmm, there might be something there after all.'
Finally, giving At-Hatoor's garments a sidelong glance, he said: 'Amazing, the ability to infer significance in something devoid of detail!'
'There is a proverb,' At-Hatoor said, and then he left.'"
Curious, she unrolled a large scroll lying horizontally atop the drawers: a comprehensive map of Cyrodiil. He had outlined travel routes in colored ink. Green = on foot; brown = on carriage; and purple = on horseback, stated the hatchling's legend in the margins.
"Txakal?" came a groggy voice from beneath the blanket. "Who kee zaktcel?" he asked in a code-mix of Jel and Cyrodilic.
Bovkianne laughed, rolled up the map, and returned to its place atop the desk. "Hey, Sal-Gheel. It's Kianne here."
She turned his chair around and sat down in it at the edge of his bed. Groaning, the hatchling emerged from his blanket. Eyes still shut.
"I've come to wake you up." Bovkianne tenderly stroked his purple scalp feathers. "Everyone is already at breakfast. We're just waiting on you, honey."
The hatchling groaned again, as if thinking. Then, "Thirty more minutes." He turned straight over in bed to face the wall. Bovkianne's hand stayed suspended in the air where his head had been.
Bovkianne let out a snort and resumed her scalp stroking unperturbed. "Come on, Sal. It's your big day. You know, the one you've been looking forward to all summer."
With a drawn-out and tired groan, Sal-Gheel rolled onto his back and slowly sat up straight. The blanket slipped off of his nightshirt and fell into his lap.
"What time is it?" He rubbed his eyes while turning to face Bovkianne.
"Nearly 8:30 in the morning, hon." Bovkianne took his face in her hands.
He yawned and blinked away the sleep. "Good morning, Kianne." He stretched, groaned, and ran a hand through his forehead horns and feathers.
"Aww, there's the Argonian I know." Bovkianne chuckled and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. She leaned in to kiss the base of his horns. "Good morning, handsome."
He climbed out of bed (which magically fixed itself) and proceeded to his wardrobe.
He looked himself over in the body mirror. Five feet eight inches of scales and tail. Two new, fully-grown feathers spread over either side of his cranium. His forehead bone horns, however, had never grown a single centimeter longer. Buttoned-up white nightclothes hugged a layer of lean muscle and toned frame. He slipped his feet into his Braided Leather Sandals. Arm-in-arm, he and Bovkianne made their way to Chapel Hall together.
"Good morning!" he greeted the clergy.
"There you are, Sal-Gheel!" Sirimgeira approached him, offering her hands, which the hatchling took.
"About time you got up, you sleepyhead!" Mathnude chuckled and ruffled his scalp feathers.
"Breakfast, Gheel?" Romarcella placed a plate of muffins on the main dining table.
"May I have a minute, please? I'm still waking up." Sal-Gheel muttered and held up a finger. The clerics all laughed and resumed their duties. Bovkianne kissed him on the cheek, which he returned in kind. Then she broke away to join the table.
Aimless, Sal-Gheel wandered over to the hearth: Valutinian was transferring fried eggs from a frying pan onto a plate.
"Black tea…" He sniffed the tea kettle and smiled. One bare palm held the underside. The other around the handle. Effortlessly, he lifted it from its hook and carried it to the dining table, with Valutinian at his tail.
They said grace, then he poured himself a cup of the tea. One steaming-hot sip, a sigh of contentment, then-
"Hello, Bravil!" Eyes snapped wide open. Life energy flooded into his scales. He practically glowed from head to toes and tail. The hatchling found himself seated between Aravayana and Mathnude.
"Today's the day, isn't it?" Mathnude on his left spread butter over his bread.
"The day of your great pilgrimage," noted the Dunmeress on his right, helping herself to the fried eggs.
"Xhu!" Sal-Gheel nodded and popped a blueberry into his mouth. "I've been looking forward to it all summer! And we've got every place I'm going to visit all mapped out, right?"
"Right you are, Sal-Gheel," Valutinian spoke through a mouthful of egg. "Weynon Priory. Sancre Tor. Wayshrines of the Divines. Priory of the Nine. Of course, you don't have to go through them all in that specific order."
He nodded at the teenager sipping his black tea. "Anything can turn your plans upside down in an instant. Weather conditions, road traffic or construction, dangers from highwaymen and bandits and wild animals, closures for maintenance and cleaning-you get the idea."
"Still nothing from the Archdiocese of the Imperial City, sir?" Sal-Gheel put down his teacup. He picked up his utensils for another bite of fried rice with potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and mutton.
"I'm afraid not, Sal." Valutinian placed a blueberry muffin on Sal-Gheel's plate. "So let's put that down as a firm 'maybe'. I know you'd very much like to see the Temple of the One. And, perhaps, Eight willing," he began slicing up his eggs. "You can visit other provinces of Tamriel. Hammerfall and High Rock would be the most viable options. Vaya, how are things in Morrowind at present?"
"As you all know, since the Red Year, there hasn't been much of Vvardenfell left to see," Aravayana explained through half a mouthful of rice and eggs. "Even Solstheim was devastated." She swallowed and took a drink of Surilie Brothers Wine before continuing. "As for what is there to see, you might be able to go to Balmora. Though I'd advise avoiding Telvanni territory; Sadrith Mora, Tel Branora, Tel Fyr; places like that. The slave trade is still going strong there, unfortunately. But there's plenty to see within the Deshaan and Stonefalls regions as well. So I'd say to stick there."
"Understandable." Valutinian nodded. "We'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Vaya."
"Maybe you could go to Skyrim, too, kid!" Heinoke reached across the table to ruffle Sal-Gheel's feathers. Romarcella exclaimed at the Nord's sudden lean forward nearly knocking over her tankard of Cyrodilic Brandy. But she saved it from spilling in the nick of time with her psychokinesis. Sal-Gheel snorted at it, and laughed at Heinoke ruffling his scalp.
"Skyrim would be a majestic place to visit." Sirimgeira chuckled, lifting a spoonful of fried rice to her mouth. Heinoke sat back down, apologizing to Romarcella. "If you don't mind all the snow, ice, and cold, that is. You'd only need to travel north through the Jerall Mountains and Pale Pass."
"Regardless of where you end up going, Sal-Gheel," Aravayana put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to smile at her. "Be sure to spread the gospel of the Eight Divines everywhere. Remember, you are part pilgrim, part missionary. Proselyte at every opportunity you have. But also be accepting of the faiths of the native people of the land."
"You know I will be, Vaya." Sal-Gheel nodded and kissed the back of her hand. Aravayana cooed and kissed his cheek before returning to her meal.
"Will I still be traveling alone?" He took his blueberry muffin in both hands. "Since it's my pilgrimage and all."
His heart plummeted into his stomach when they all shared thoughtful and affirmative glances between each other.
"Actually, Gheel," Romarcella spoke for the group. "After some deliberation, we've decided it's best that some of us accompany you on your pilgrimage."
As expected, Sal reacted at first with silence. He stopped short of raising his muffin to his slack-jawed mouth.
"But…why?" he asked at length, clearly taken aback. He lowered his muffin back onto his plate, unbitten. "It's my pilgrimage. I'm going on my own spiritual journey to discover my own self. Shouldn't I be required to be alone during it all?"
None of them replied but glanced back and forth at one another in silence.
"I'm nearly nineteen years old!" Sal-Gheel furrowed his brow at them. He shrugged with his palms upwards. "I'm pretty much dooka-a mature, fully-grown adult; I can handle myself!" He gestured to himself to emphasize his statements. None could doubt that he was wilfully restraining himself from sounding argumentative or defiant.
"You're not wrong on all of your statements, Sal," Heinoke agreed between sips of mead. "But we have no idea how safe Cyrodiil is right now. Anything could happen to you out there."
"You're still young, Sal." Bovkianne refilled her black tea. "As such, you're far more vulnerable and invaluable than we are. We need to keep you safe, in Cyrodiil or otherwise."
Sal opened his mouth to protest. But the truth of their words was beyond all denial. He deflated an instant later.
"All right. I guess that's fair." He picked up his muffin again. "So, who exactly can come with me? I'd hate to have to impose on any of you, or take you away from your responsibilities here."
"That's very thoughtful of you to be thinking of us, Sal-Gheel." Sirimgeira beamed at him.
"We'll go with you, Sal," Bovkianne told him from the head of the table. "Myself, Aravayana, and Saint Heinoke."
"Xhu, I'm okay with that!" Sal nodded, and proceeded to finish his food.
"Hard to believe he's nearly nineteen years old now." Valutinian later remarked. He and Aravayana watched him help Romarcella and Mathnude wash the dishes. "That fateful day when we adopted him, took him off the streets? Seems so long ago now."
"You can say that again, Val," Aravayana chuckled. She plucked a leftover blackberry from the dining table to pop into her mouth. "Where did the years go? He grew up so fast."
"Once a boy," Valutinian folded his arms and chuckled. "Now a young man. I couldn't be happier for our dear Argonian than I am at this moment."
Later, Sal-Gheel bathed and groomed himself ("Looks I'm finally too long for the bathtub!" he jokingly groused.). He donned his Green Felt outfit, and gathered flowers to place at graves in the chapel cemetery.
"I did it, Juliona." He placed a Sacred Lotus bouquet on Juliona's grave. "I grew up and made something of my life. And they said it couldn't be done." His eyes flicked to the adjacent graves which held the bones of Sorkund and Epollina.
"I've never regretted this." He put Wormwood on their graves. "I never came crawling back to you. And Juliona was right: I'm going to do wondrous things someday. This is just the beginning of it all." His eyes flashed fiery amber-golden.
"Look, thtithik, thtithix." Upon his parents' graves he placed Water Hyacinth bouquets. "I'm all grown up now. And I'll be leaving today to go on a holy pilgrimage. The same one I've been telling you about. My Chukka-Sei. Still doing my very best to make you proud, every single day." He ran his fingers down the engraved names on their headstones. "Kuhupwo suuk Xalzuahui txakal suleex sepu."
"Sal-Gheel!" came Sirimgeira's voice from inside as soon as he'd stood back up. "Jakino is here to see you!"
"Coming!" he responded promptly. He scooped up his full-to-bursting Adventurer's Backpack.
He found Jakino in the chapel nave with the entire clergy. The baker smiled and chatted with unfettered excitement. He held a cube-shaped picnic basket in his hands.
"Hey, Sal!" He beamed at the Argonian.
"Txakal, Jakino!" Sal-Gheel dashed straight up to Jakino. The baker put his basket aside on a pew and welcomed the boy into his arms.
"Today's the big day, ain't it?" Jakino smiled through the abundance of wrinkles that adorned his face. "Time really flies, doesn't it? All of your excitement and now it's finally here!"
"Xhu, it's today!" Sal-Gheel grinned from ear to ear. "Are you sure you'll be okay at the Breadsmith without me?"
Jakino put his hands on his hips with confident chuckling. "Been in this business for over twenty-five years now, Sal. Long before you were ever a mere suckling on your mother's breasts. Got this covered." He jerked a thumb at himself. "Besides…"
He patted the hatchling on the shoulder. "You're on a holy quest for the Eight Divines. Nothing can be more precious than that. Oughta be your highest priority."
"We'll let you two have your privacy," Valutinian told them. He and the clergy all dispersed downstairs or outside to their chores, leaving the Argonian and the Imperial alone.
Jakino put his hands in his pants pockets. Helooked the hatchling up and down with loving eyes.
"How you've grown, Sal-Gheel. Took you on as my apprentice ten years ago. Now look at you. All grown up, an Adept in the clergy, and even have your own job. Ain't gonna beat around the bush with you, Sal: very proud of you. Oughta be proud of yourself, too. For how far you've come since then. For how far you are now. And for how far you'll go in the future."
Jakino grinned from ear to ear. He took the hatchling's face in his hands. "A living blessing from the Eight Divines themselves. That's what you are, kid. Never forget the lives you've touched, Sal, over the last ten years. Both through the Breadsmith and through the Church. Future's shining bright for you. Don't ever lose sight of it."
"You're really insightful today, Jakino." Sal-Gheel couldn't help but smile.
"Well, gee, wonder where I got that from?" Jakino returned his hands to his pockets. The two shared a laugh.
"And, apropos of the Breadsmith," Jakino picked up his picnic basket. "Brought you some provisions for your journey." He opened up the lids. "Some of it's the stuff you made yourself this week. Coffee cake, too, if we didn't sell it by Middas. Think it's too much?"
Sal-Gheel peeked inside. A variety of breads, fruit tartlets, and the aforementioned coffee cake. "Yoq, it's perfect. Heinoke, Bovkianne, and Aravayana will be coming with me."
"Thank the Divines!" Jakino closed the lid and handed it off to him. "Reckon there'll be enough for everyone, then."
"Tlezoh xho, Jakino." The hatchling gladly took the basket and tucked it under one arm.
"Segueing into something else," Jakino stared out the ajar chapel doors. "That 'Church of Augussandra Magium' is still going strong after a decade, ain't it?"
"Yeah, I still can't believe it after all this time." Sal-Gheel scowled darkly and shook his head. "Also, have you ever noticed that she hasn't aged day in the last ten years? While the rest of us have? Weird. Not that we could argue against anything she's done, theologically or politically. One wrong slip of the tongue could land us in the dungeons."
"Or worse." Jakino shot the young Argonian an anxious glance. Sal-Gheel's eyes flicked towards him.
"All the times she tried to frame you as the adversary of her 'church'...All the times she's claimed you are her evil villain, her antagonist, her Daedra, to be combated and overthrown in some decisive battle for the fate of Bravil…Every single time she's tried to get you arrested on some trumped-up charges, religious or otherwise…Somehow, you've always slipped through her fingers. As if…" He looked him over head to toe.
"...this great force from Akatosh is protecting you."
"But that won't stop her," Sal-Gheel replied, insistent. "She's never going to stop. As long as I'm alive, she'll keep brainwashing the nobles of Cyrodiil with her contrived dogma about me."
"Which means, sooner or later," Jakino folded his arms over his chest seriously. "The Divines have to do something about it."
"Oh, I'll bet they already have." The Argonian's eyes flashed for a second. "We just don't know it yet."
Bravil Main Gate
Jakino joined the clergy at seeing Sal-Gheel and the others off. The Fighter's Guild and even some of the Town Guard joined in attending the great departure.
"Remember, when in doubt," an armor-clad Fortillius Laenapter advised him. "Always fall back upon your training and education."
"Oftentimes your mind knows better than your body does," Korisephonia Khraemaerith tacked on. "Listen to your instincts, and trust them."
"I daresay we've taught you everything we possibly can, Sal-Gheel," a whitening Ildolles Flonidious agreed with a nod. "Now it's up to you to remember and apply your skills. Keep in mind," he tapped the side of his head knowingly. "It's all muscle memory."
"But do not neglect the spiritual promptings of the Aedra, either," added Valutinian with a nod. "Keep your heart open to them. Let their holy enticings guide your actions."
"Ten years and to think…" Captain Approllaise Carvance in the back of the assembly thought aloud. "...that this is the same hatchling who once swiped a loaf of bread from the Breadsmith. Now he's going on a pilgrimage of the Eight Divines…Who knows what might come of it? Probably some great spiritual discovery of his true self? Oh, this is exciting!"
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and smiled through tears of joy. "Gods bless you, Sal-Gheel!"
"Gods bless you, too, Captain!" Sal-Gheel held up a palm and inclined his head. "You and the entire Town Guard!"
Herisius Merello stepped up to hand a small cube-shaped box to Sal-Gheel. "Compliments of His Lordship himself, Count Cavocus Magium."
He opened the box to find-"Tea leaves!" Indeed, a boxful of loose-leaf chamomile and lavender tea leaves.
"Aye!" Herisius nodded with a small smile. "Those should keep you invigorated for a while."
"And this," Thramilia Dannentanus gave him a walking stick finely carved of brown beech wood. No less than thirty-seven inches in length. "Is from Captain Gemanius Avidipter. May both of these gifts serve you well on your travels, Sal-Gheel."
Curious, Sal-Gheel wrapped a hand around the staff. A rippling arcane current coursed through it like blood through veins and arteries.
"Gemanius says there's a special kind of enchantment upon it," explained Thramilia. "But it's up to you to discover for yourself what that is." She winked when the Argonian gave her a confused glance.
"Tlezoh xho, Thramilia, Herisius." Sal-Gheel nodded to them both. "I'll be sure to put both of these to their best use."
"Shall we pray?" Valutinian posed, and everyone else nodded and murmured in agreement. All bowed their heads and folded their arms, or clasped their hands together. The Guards even removed their helmets and held them to their hearts.
"Oh, dearest Eight Divines." Valutinian led the prayer. "We come before you in humblest supplication to pray for Thy favor on this fateful day. For it is the day of Sal-Gheel Calidaseer's pilgrimage, carried out in Thy sacred names. We ask Thee for Thy blessings of safety upon Sal-Gheel, Heinoke, Bovkianne, and Aravayana. Bless them with guidance and the presences of Thy holy spirits, that they may hear them and be prompted and obedient. Bless them with open minds, humble hearts, and light souls. Bless them with opportunities to share Thy miraculous gospel to all those who are willing to listen. For these blessings we pray in Thy holy names. Glory be Thine forever."
"Glory be Thine forever," repeated the others.
Jakino immediately pulled Sal-Gheel into a spine-crunching bear hug. He laughed and hugged the baker back around the shoulders. He exchanged handshakes and high-fives with the guards, including the two flanking the gate. Then the clergy accompanied him out of the city.
At the fork in the road stood a carriage. Malkhest sat in the driver's seat with his horse, a male bay named Jasper.
"There ya are, Sal!" The Breton grinned through his heavily weathered face. He tipped the wide-brimmed cap that adorned his scraggly white hair. "Ready to embark?"
"Sure am, Mal!" Sal-Gheel placed his backpack in the carriage bed. Mal also tipped his hat to the clerical trio.
Everyone kissed and hugged Sal-Gheel. Then he climbed into the long carriage, followed by the other three. The carriage rolled into motion and began to take off down the road. Both parties waved to each other. Before it shrank into the distance, Sal-Gheel stood up to call out at the tops of his lungs:
"For my Gods and Emperor!"
The West Weald
They arrived at the Wayshrine of Akatosh before midday. Sal-Gheel waited while the other three dismounted the carriage.
"We're southeast of Skingrad," Heinoke was explaining as the Argonian left the carriage. "To the east is the ancient Ayleid ruin of Silorn. There's a Wayshrine of Arkay southwest of that."
The Living Saint led the others into the circular pillared base of white marble. Sal-Gheel took his walking stick and hurried to keep pace.
But at the entrance…he stopped.
"Hey, Sal," Heinoke turned around to get his attention. "You good, kid?"
"Is everything all right, Sal-Gheel?" Aravayana wondered aloud.
"What's up, Sal?" added Bovkianne. "You see something?"
The Argonian did not hear them. He stood staring entranced at the roof of the Wayshrine.
Unnatural characters had been carved into the toroid marble top. But not by any mortal hands he knew. Three scratches and a dot formed symbols he'd never before seen.
He tilted his head at them. A sense of uncanny familiarity emanated from the alphabet. They brimmed with a bright blue-whitish light, illuminated from within.
The characters shifted. Morphed themselves into words of a language simultaneously known and alien. Each word unfolded in his thoughts as though whispered by an old friend. In the cadence of his native tongue did the deciphered statement take absolute shape:
"Het bex faal Jotte do Bormahu."
Again into Cyrodilic:
"Here open the Jaws of Akatosh."
"Sal-Gheel?" Aravayana's voice broke him out of his daze. "Are you all right, darling?"
"Those…" he pointed up at the carvings. "...weren't on the other Akatosh Wayshrines I've visited before. Did you see these on your way in?"
Bovkianne, nearest to him, followed his direction. "Huh. Didn't notice those before. Good catch, Sal."
"What on Nirn?" Aravayana likewise stared transfixed at them. "I've never seen anything like that before. What do you make of this, Heinoke?" She asked the Nord, who still stood inside the shrine.
Heinoke exited the shrine and then turned around. "Shor's bones! Is that what I think it is?"
"I dunno," Sal-Gheel shrugged. "I didn't write those there. They say, 'Here open the Jaws of Akatosh.'"
"What do you mean, Sal?" Bovkianne's eyes flicked to him. "I just see shapes of abrasions and pricks."
"No, that's literally what they say." Sal-Gheel insisted, waving a hand at them. "They're translating themselves inside my mind's eye." He pointed to the center of his forehead. His "third eye".
The two Laywomen exchanged confused glances and shrugs. But there seemed to be a curious cognizance behind Heinoke's eyes.
"This isn't vandalism, is it?" Aravayana indicated the carvings. "No mortal could have climbed up that high to carve those symbols. Unless they had Levitation magic or some such."
"And whoever said whatever carved them was mortal?" A perceptive twinkle flashed in the Nord's eyes.
The ladies turned over their shoulders. Sal-Gheel genuflected at the entrance to the Wayshrine before entering.
"Come to me, Akatosh." He stretched out his hand to the circular altar. "For without you, my resolution falters, and my pen is still and dry, though all the seas were full of ink, and the sky my parchment of dawn."
A ball of concentrated energy shot out to strike him in the chest. It swirled around him in a rising spiral before fading into nothingness.
He closed his eyes to soak in the energy. When they reopened, his eyes bore that familiar fiery amber-golden glow. Magicka sparked in his bloodstream for a brief second.
Aravayana met Bovkianne's eyes. But the clueless Breton could only shrug in silence. South of Silorn, Sal-Gheel did the same thing. Approach, genuflect, take blessings.
"Come to me, Arkay, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit."
He clenched his fists. Adrenaline flowed through him like the vitalizing black tea at breakfast. The others waited and looked on in silence. Then they too received their blessings.
"All right, according to the map," Aravayana mused and picked up the Cyrodiil map Heinoke had left behind. "The nearest next Wayshrine is Kynareth's. East of Skingrad." She seated herself on Sal-Gheel's right.
"Why don't we stop by the Priory of the Nine while we're already here?" Heinoke sat opposite the Argonian, with Bovkianne on the Nord's left.
"I agree, we might not get another chance at this." The Breton nodded her agreement.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Sal-Gheel had jumped off the side of the carriage before anyone could say a word.
"Don't worry about us, we're not going anywhere!" Malkhest called after the departing foursome. Jasper, his mouth full of grass, whinnied after them.
The Priory of the Nine
"What…happened here?"
He stood in the dead center of the Priory courtyard. What once stood as a hallowed settlement dedicated to worship of the Nine Divines…had been reduced to a bloodstained, decrepit, lifeless ruin. Indecipherable whispered echoes of the past drifted around and through him.
Crrreeeaaak-Crash! Wooden planks and stacked stone from the Priory building finally lost their war with gravity. They crumbled to the ground below, leaving an irregularly-shaped hole in the west-side ceiling. Dried bloodstains tainted the dirt beneath his sandals. Broken weapons, shields, and armor littered the grass and gravel everywhere he turned.
Perhaps what disturbed him the most was the silence. Deafening, indestructible, frozen in the strangleholds of time. Not silence of sound, but of life. Varnish and paint peeled from the doors of both buildings. As though they had not been reapplied in uncountable years. Heavy doors creaked open and shut in the gentle noontide breeze. Dust, cobwebs, and splinters coated the disrepaired roofs; they must have accumulated there over decades. Sunlight glinted through the irregular cracks in the windows. Their glass shards lay strewn like splattered transparent blood across the stone steps.
The chapel towered over him. A gargantuan behemoth, monstrously mammoth. Even if it did lack the pointed steeple of the city chapels. He'd always found the chapel of Mara comforting, homely, and assuredly secure; a sanctuary for his body, mind, and soul. Here his heart dropped like dead weight down to his feet. A tragic emptiness filled him. A forced disconnect from the Eight Divines. A pitch-black void of silence where his spirit had once been. A premature, untimely, violent death beyond words. The Eight had been here before. Not anymore. No longer. Never again.
"History tells us the Knights of the Nine went down fighting." Aravayana's voice brought him back to reality. "They made their desperate stand here against the Thalmor. They weren't going to blaspheme before their gods to satisfy the Thalmor's heathen wills. The Knights would rather give their lives in hallowed glory, than deny the faiths of their sacred order."
"Because of the banning of Talos worship, right?" Sal-Gheel stepped away from the decrepit chapel doors.
"Indeed." the Dunmeress nodded. "To say that the White-Gold Concordat ruined the Empire would be the understatement of the Era. The Priory of the Nine wasn't the first of its kind to fall in the hopeless defense of the reverence of the great Talos. But it sure as Oblivion wouldn't be the last either. And as for how the other provinces reacted, well…"
She shrugged, looking hopelessly grim. "They speak for themselves."
"Skyrim especially hasn't taken it lying down, either." Heinoke took a drink from his water bottle.
Sal-Gheel glanced every which-way, exploring the premises. Bovkianne was walking up to the Priory building entrance, looking over it in silence.
"This is where the Divine Crusader began his quest to stop Umaril the Unfeathered," he thought out loud. "Wasn't there an Oblivion Gate here, too, at some point?"
"Aye," Heinoke replied while packing away his water bottle. "But only one of a great number that Jodjashirr Tarkravbus closed during the Oblivion Crisis. Following that, he helped reform the Knights of the Nine to take down Umaril."
"By gathering the Crusader's Relics," Sal-Gheel's eyes shone with the unimaginable wonder of such a feat. "Taking on the mantle of Pelinal Whitestrake."
"Would you say you feel akin to him, Sal?" Bovkianne asked, folding her hands daintily over her waist, watching the Argonian with admiration. "A Divine Crusader yourself, with this pilgrimage?"
"In a sense, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think I could ever do anything as legendary as he's done. Not on his level."
"You sell yourself too short, Sal," Heinoke laughed. He put his hands on his hips with an encouraging smile. "You're going to do monumental things someday. Worthy of the Elder Scrolls themselves. The Divines know it, and you do, too."
"Hello?"
All eyes turned to the Priory archway. A female middle-aged Imperial stepped out of the passageway leading to the stables. Her Green Robe formed her slim and slender figure. Silky tar-shaded mulleted hair curved around her ears. Upon her brow rested a Copper and Sapphire Circlet. A thin layer of dirt coated her Doeskin Shoes.
"Dear gods above!" She let out a bashful chuckle and dropped into a low curtsey. "I thought I heard voices. I pray I'm not intruding."
"No, it's no trouble at all." Heinoke stepped up to the Imperial. "Who are you? What are you doing here at the Priory of the Nine?"
"Carlolaine Amphildor, from Cheydinhal." She stood up straight. "And you all are?"
"A pleasure to meet you, Carlolaine. Heinoke Tarbensson the Giant, Living Saint of Mara." Heinoke held a hand to his heart. "These are Mara's Laywomen, Aravayana Drorano and Bovkianne Bririene." He indicated the two ladies in turn, who each introduced themselves.
"Sal-Gheel Calidaseer, Miss Amphildor." Sal-Gheel bowed low to her. "Adept of the clergy of Mara. These three are accompanying me on my pilgrimage."
"Charmed to meet you, Sal-Gheel," Carlolaine curtsied again, smiling. "May the Eight bestow their grace upon you, child of the Hist. A pilgrimage, you say?" She studied him. "Why, it just so happens that I'm a pilgrim myself. I've been making it my mission to visit all the chapels in Cyrodiil; every single one. Currently, I'm on my way to Skingrad to visit the Great Chapel of Julianos there. I stopped by the Priory of the Nine to pay my respects to the Knights." She gestured to the Priory at large.
"We've just come from the Wayshrines of Akatosh and Arkay ourselves, out near Silorn," Bovkianne explained. "Now we're headed to Skingrad to see the Shrine of Kynareth there."
"It seems we have a common destination." Carlolaine nodded. "If it's not too much trouble, may I implore you to escort me to Skingrad? I can get myself to the chapel, no problem."
"This may be a valuable opportunity for you, Sal-Gheel." Heinoke approached the Argonian. "The Divines would smile upon your service to this pilgrim, and no doubt the Hist as well. I suggest you don't pass this up. What do you say?"
Much to everyone's delight, Sal-Gheel nodded. "Yes, let's do it. We can all go to Skingrad together!"
"Wonderful!" Carlolaine bowed to the Argonian. "I promise you won't regret this. I won't be a burden to your group, that's a promise."
As everyone filed out of the Priory, Sal-Gheel couldn't resist a look back.
Whatever happened here…could it happen anywhere else?
City of Skingrad
Heinoke informed Malkhest of the impromptu escort. The carriage driver was more than happy to accommodate her. As promised, she was neither a burden nor a regret.
They arrived at the gate of Skingrad within twenty minutes. Jasper had not wasted a single second. While Malkhest fed him carrots and apples, Sal-Gheel helped Carlolaine out of the carriage.
"Aren't you a gentleman?" Carlolaine chuckled as she took Sal-Gheel's offered hand and climbed down to the ground. The Argonian himself turned deep red.
"The Wayshrine of Kynareth is east of the city," Carlolaine explained to the clerics. "South of the former Derelict Mine. Your best bet is to exit through the East Gate. Then cross the street perpendicular to the Castle."
"Thank you for your advice, Carlolaine." Heinoke left the carriage last. "We'll be sure to use it exactly as you said."
The warmth of Skingrad washed over Sal-Gheel like a tidal wave. He let out a long exhale; its sheer domesticity eased the aches and pains from his journey…to be instantly replaced by awe at the monumental size.
"Haven't been here in over a year. I forgot how big this place is."
"I have a cousin here who lives in the southern district." Carlolaine led the way up the sloping street. "I'll be staying with her while I'm visiting. Then we'll head to Kvatch together next week." They crossed all the way to the end before stopping.
"There's something special on the north side I'd like to show you all." They entered the northern district and stopped before a massive two-story mansion.
"Rosethorn Hall. It's said that Jodjashirr Tarkravbus settled down right here after the Umaril crisis. He lived with his Nord caretaker, Eyja, and an Altmer, Enveandor Liryome. Presumably, Tarkravbus had taken on young Liryome as an apprentice in archery."
"Wait…Enveandor Liryome was an Altmer?" Sal-Gheel interjected. His eyebrows had drawn together and his brow furrowed, as if wary. "She wasn't a Thalmor, was she?"
"By the Eight, of course not!" Carlolaine shook her head. "She was a young adult High Elf, in fact, enamored by the ways of the bow and arrow. In no way was she ever affiliated with the Thalmor. Nor would I imagine she'd ever be. I'll bet if she's living now-which I've no doubt she is-she'd be fighting against them. Carrying on her mentor's legacy of protecting the Empire."
When Sal-Gheel did not reply, Carlolaine placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Just because the majority of the Altmer are allied with the Thalmor, doesn't mean they all are. You should never associate the one good apple with the entire spoiled bunch."
"You're right," Sal-Gheel nodded. "I just don't like what the Thalmor have done, that's all."
"Believe me, Sal-Gheel," Carlolaine dropped her hand by her side. "You're not the only one who believes banning Talos has set the Empire on fire."
"We have our fair share of opinions about it, too," Bovkianne said further. The others voiced their assent.
They left Rosethorn Hall and crossed over to the south side. The Great Chapel of Julianos awaited them.
"And here we are! We made it!" Saint Heinoke mounted the steps and spread her arms wide. "Welcome to the Great Chapel of Julianos!"
"Easy escort!" Sal-Gheel held up his hands for a high five. The Imperial was more than happy to oblige.
"You've all been such delightful company." Carlolaine nodded to all of them. "Divines bless you all for your help and service." She held her hands to her heart. "I cannot thank you enough for your help. Let's keep in touch!"
"Absolutely!" Heinoke held out his hand, and Carlolaine shook it. The others did the same. "If you're ever in Bravil, come see us at the Great Chapel of Mara!"
"I most certainly will!" Carlolaine shook everyone's hands. "I'd love to meet your entire clergy!"
She held Sal-Gheel's hands. "May the Divines walk with you on your pilgrimage, Sal-Gheel. Wherever it takes you. I will pray for you and your company." She nodded at the three adults. "For your safety and your success."
"Same for you, Carlolaine." Sal-Gheel smiled back, his eyes twinkling. "I hope to see you in Bravil someday."
They all watched while Carlolaine ascended the chapel steps. She opened one of the double doors, then turned back to give one last smile, before disappearing behind them.
They exited through the East Gate to find the Shrine of Kynareth parallel to Castle Skingrad. An Oblivion Gate had once stood directly atop it.
"Come to me, Kynareth," Sal-Gheel intoned. He genuflected and entered the wayshrine. "For without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures."
He lifted his gaze heavenward as the divine energy swirled around him. A sky-blue glow lingered inside of his throat. His larynx glowed pale white. He released a short inhale followed by a lengthy exhale, as though breathing Kynareth's wind into himself.
"And that concludes the first half of our exploration of the Eight Divines," Heinoke announced with all the manner of a passionate tour guide. "Next stop, Weynon Priory!"