Chapter 10 – The end of innocence
Aventus awoke to a troubling reality, a dull pain pounding at the back of his head. His blurry vision gradually focused on a dilapidated roof supported by a twisted frame, and he realized he was not in the bed he had occupied the previous night. He didn't recognize this place.
The air was damp and cold, permeated with the smell of mold and dust. He blinked several times to clear the fog from his eyes. When his vision finally sharpened, he saw that the place was dark, illuminated only by slits between the old planks of the walls of the shack he found himself in. The weak rays of light filtering through revealed a room devoid of any warmth and comfort. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, swaying with the drafts. Rickety furniture and the straw bed he was lying on took up most of the space. Aventus shuddered upon noticing a dark shape comfortably settled on an old sideboard.
The black leather with dark red reinforcements of her outfit starkly contrasted with the dilapidation of the place. It was a Nordic woman with blonde hair, but Aventus could barely discern her features in the gloom. Yet, he could feel her piercing gaze on him.
"Sleep well, boy?" she asked in a drawling, almost suave voice. Aventus sat up and took a few steps back, wary.
"Where are we? And who are you?" he demanded.
"Does it matter?" she replied, shrugging. "You're warm... dry... and still very alive... The same can't be said for old Grelod, can it?"
Aventus stiffened at the mention of the matron. "What... What do you know about Grelod?" he managed to articulate, his throat suddenly tight. The woman laughed, a low, melodious laugh tinged with malice.
"Oh, my boy. An 'unfortunate accident,' an old woman killed in her own orphanage, and an orphan who escapes on the same night—that's quite the story! Half of Skyrim knows about it..."
She jumped nimbly off the furniture, moving so lightly that Aventus felt like her feet barely touched the ground.
"Ah, but there is a slight... problem," she continued in a languid voice that snaked through the air like poison. "And that problem is, it was our job to kill Grelod."
Aventus shivered. He knew this 'our.' He had invoked this 'our.' But he had never received an answer.
"The Dark Brotherhood..." he murmured.
The woman nodded approvingly, a smile playing on her lips.
"So you know who we are! Good, good... Then you understand," she said, her tone growing more languorous, her voice rolling over the syllables like an unsettling caress. "That murder wasn't yours to take, Hunfen... You stole it from us, and it must be repaid."
Aventus blinked in shock. "I... I'm Aventus! Not Hunfen! And Hunfen... he didn't murder Grelod! It was an accident !"
The woman paused, the surprise momentarily wiping the malicious smile from her face. Then she chuckled again, replying with nonchalant amusement: "Ah, Festus, such a lack of professionalism. He delivered the wrong boy. He'll get a little reprimand!"
Aventus had forgotten his fear, replaced by sudden, violent anger. "You... you're all idiots!" he spat. "I performed the Black Sacrament night and day! I called you all this time! And you didn't answer! I thought you didn't even exist! And now you get the wrong target! You're incompetent!"
He stopped and stepped back as the woman approached, her smile turning predatory. She seemed to exude an oppressive aura that increased with each step. When she reached him, she suddenly slipped behind him and brushed his cheek with her fingertips, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Oh, poor little boy," she said in a mockingly comforting tone, "just because you cry in the dark doesn't mean we have to answer your calls..." Aventus tensed as her fingers slid down his neck, then onto his shoulder. Suddenly, as swiftly as a snake, she grabbed him painfully and, with her other hand, placed the blade of a dagger against his throat. He felt her breath on his ear as she continued in a calm voice, though laden with a chilling warning: "And you would do well to learn to respect those who are greater and stronger than you."
Aventus stiffened and swallowed hard, the cold metal against his throat threatening to cut his skin at any moment. Despite this, he tried to hide his fear, not wanting to give his tormentor the satisfaction. He turned his eyes and stared at her, anger and disgust burning in his gaze.
The woman gave a mocking grin. "So... Your name is Aventus-not-Hunfen, is it?" she asked sarcastically, her blade not moving an inch. "Well, Aventus, I'm Astrid, and I lead the Dark Brotherhood here in Skyrim." She finally stepped back, slipping the dagger back into its sheath with frightening fluidity. Her gaze hardened. "Well, since you're here, how about repaying this debt in place of your... benefactor?"
Astrid turned and gestured nonchalantly to a dark corner of the room that had escaped Aventus's attention. He blanched upon seeing three figures tied to posts, blindfolded with execution hoods. "Do you see those three people?" she asked, her voice tinged with sadistic satisfaction. "One of them is the target of a contract, just like the one you wanted on Grelod." Astrid paused, letting her words sink into the silence of the shack.
She turned to face Aventus. The light filtering through the cracks in the walls cast moving shadows on her face, highlighting the disturbingly pleased expression painted there. The boy stood straight, refusing to show the terror twisting inside him.
"So," she said softly, "which one do you think it is? Who among them would someone want dead?" She stepped closer to Aventus on silent feet. He felt her take his hand gently before closing his fingers around the hilt of a dagger, leaning close enough that her breath brushed his ear. "A murder for a murder, Aventus. Choose, and strike."
Aventus felt overwhelmed. The sensation in his hand was eerily familiar, and he briefly saw himself striking the effigy of the Black Sacrament. But this place, these victims, this dagger—it was different. It was real, tangible, terrifying. His thoughts whirled in a storm of fear and confusion. Strike Astrid? Impossible. His reason screamed that she would overpower him before he could make a move. Flee? The place seemed devoid of exits, and his chances of escaping the shack were slim. Besides, the Dark Brotherhood was everywhere. They would find him. Perhaps he could plead his case, explain, negotiate... But again, Astrid's unyielding gaze, the predatory look in her eyes, crushed the idea before it could form.
Images of the orphanage flashed through his mind. The children, their faces, Grelod. He had fallen upon worse than Grelod! How had it come to this? Why him? The ritual, the dagger, the effigy—it had been a game, a desperate prayer. But now, everything was real. The dagger, death. He was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't escape.
He felt like he was suffocating, as if the air was being sucked out of the room. His throat was dry, his hands clammy. Reality was closing in on him. He had nowhere to go. The figures tied up represented a terrifying reality, a mirror of what he could become. He was Astrid's tool, her toy. His breathing quickened, panic overwhelming him. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows danced, every whisper sounded like a scream. He wanted to cry, to refuse. But he was powerless. In this torrent of emotions, one thought emerged clearly: he had to survive. No matter the cost. No matter the decision. No matter the victim. He had no choice.
He approached the victims slowly, the dagger feeling heavy in his hand. His heartbeat echoed with his steps. He tried to ignore Astrid, tried to forget the reason for his presence here. He just wanted to find a door, a window, anything that could lead to freedom.
The figure in the middle, an Imperial woman simply dressed, must have heard his steps because she spoke then, a note of contempt in her voice. "Who are you? If you're going to kill me, do it! By Mara, if I didn't have this hood, I'd spit in your face!"
That tone, that arrogance—he knew it too well. Grelod! Was it an illusion? A trap by the Brotherhood? Rage mingled with terror in his already panicked mind. The punishments, the humiliations, everything he had endured at the orphanage surged back.
"It's... it's you!" he stammered, tears in his eyes, his voice breaking. The dagger in his hand now seemed to vibrate with a wild energy. "Grelod! You're not dead!"
The woman laughed sardonically, ignoring his terror completely. "Grelod?" she spat. "What are you talking about, you little fool? You've got the wrong person."
But to Aventus, she was no stranger. She was Grelod, the old witch who had inflicted so much suffering on him. Everything was blending together in his head. Suddenly, he was back at the orphanage, enduring the torments, the punishments. Then it changed again, the Black Sacrament; he was back in the Aretino residence, kneeling before the effigy, repeating the litany. But it was no longer just an effigy—it was her, it was Grelod, laughing and screaming obscenities.
Mechanically, he raised the dagger, murmuring: "For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized"
The blade came down with force. "IN BLOOD AND FEAR!" he cried as he struck. The cold metal met flesh, bone. A muffled cry emerged, but the pernicious laughter of Grelod resumed.
"IN BLOOD AND FEAR!" he shouted again, striking a second time. But Grelod still glared at him, laughing at his weakness.
"IN BLOOD AND FEAR! IN BLOOD AND FEAR!" Each blow unleashed years of frustration and pain. Each time the dagger plunged, Grelod's voice faded, drowned by the fury of his own shout. "IN BLOOD AND FEAR!" he roared again and again, each strike rhythmically accompanied by those words.
The vision of Grelod continued to taunt him, daring him to strike harder, faster. His cheeks were streaked with tears, but he didn't stop. He continued, tirelessly. Each blow was a release, each cry a purge.
Finally, as Aventus's arm gave out, silence fell. Grelod's voice, once so loud and dominating, had vanished. The pain and fear she had instilled in him had dissipated, leaving only a feeling of emptiness. As he slowly regained his senses, he suddenly realized he had never left the shack. Before him, the Imperial woman lay dead, blood pooling in a dark stream on the rotting wood floor. The figures beside his victim were still silent, likely terrified out of their minds. The vision of Grelod had been an illusion, a trick of his own mind.
The ease with which he had killed her, the force with which he had struck again and again... He suddenly felt sick, overwhelmed by the profound horror of what he had done. It had been so simple... Too simple. He recoiled, letting the bloodied dagger fall from his hand. His eyes locked on the corpse, and he felt nausea rise in his throat.
He turned his head and saw Astrid, who was watching with an appreciative smile on her face.
"Was... was she the one with the contract on her head?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
Astrid chuckled softly, amused. "Oh, no, no, no. Don't you see? Guilt, innocence, good, evil... These are insignificant notions. What matters is that I commanded you to kill, and you obeyed."
She walked over to the two remaining trembling figures and, without a word, without hesitation, she eliminated them with deadly precision. Their bodies fell heavily, their shoulders no longer shaking.
Aventus wanted to scream, to shout, to ask why. But no sound came from his mouth.
"You've repaid your debt, Aventus," she murmured, cleaning her blade on one of the victim's coats. "You are free to go... or to accompany me to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary."
Without waiting for his response, she exited the shack. Aventus followed, driven by an irresistible urge to flee this place. He rushed towards the exit, hoping to find freedom, but froze when he realized where they truly were. Before him lay a foul-smelling swamp. A few steps from the shack's door, mudcrabs basked while frostbite spiders, those hideous creatures as large as dogs, moved among the dead trees. He suddenly understood the illusion of the choice Astrid had given him. He couldn't really leave, not alone, not here.
To reinforce her point, a large black horse with red eyes stepped beside Astrid, a creature so majestic it seemed barely of this world. Astrid mounted the horse and extended her hand to Aventus.
After a moment of hesitation, he took it and climbed up behind her. The horse galloped off, carrying the two silhouettes into the night.