The Story of Trey- Chapter 9 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 9

My resistance to the Nerevarine prophecies may seem incomprehensible to some, but they should try to remember my background. First, I had never been terribly religious. The gods were these vague figures of power to whom priests and crazy people talked. The best hope for someone like me was to avoid their notice- the gods, but also the priests and crazy people. Then, too, it always seemed to me that whenever someone started talking about what the "great god or goddess" wanted, it was just coincidentally something the speaker wanted, as well. So obviously I had my doubts about religion and prophecy in general. And then there was me. The circumstances of my conception and birth, I have already described- there was nothing auspicious or special about it. Throughout the years of my childhood, until the night I left High Rock, my worth was defined only by how much work my "guardians" could get out of me. Every drink I took, every scrap of food I ate, the very space in which I slept- all was given grudgingly and, like as not, with a blow and a curse. Therefore, to be told that I was "important to the Empire" and possibly the reincarnation of some long-dead Dunmer hero, struck me as a particularly weak joke. Heroes were born in manor houses and castles, trained in philosophy and the arts, raised as an integral part of society. The only philosophy I had ever known was "don't get caught." And my “place in society” was in a stable at the end of a shovel. So ever since Caius had revealed the contents the package I had delivered, I had done my best to ridicule, deny, and ignore the implications. Added to my incredulity that anyone could mistake me for a dead dark elf was my innate resistance to anything that the Empire wanted. Finally, I despised feeling as though I was being manipulated- whether by guilds, governments, or gods. What I desired most strongly was to be my own man, neither owned by nor owing anyone. At the moment, that goal seemed as attainable as one of the moons.

As for the prophecies, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the events that seemed to swirl around me like the sparks from a fire. Too much had happened that could not be easily explained away. First, whatever I might wish, I could not really believe that the Emperor was simply delusional. His reasons might be incomprehensible to me, but he certainly believed in this strongly enough to devote considerable effort to it. Then there was the voice that had spoken to me in my fever-dream on the ship and again in Tel Fyr. And the dreams of the gold-masked figure who seemed to be trying to persuade me and yet filled me with dread. And what of Caius? Skooma addict he might be, but he wouldn't spend so much time on cobwebs and moonbeams, even if the Emperor told him to. Caius believed, and that was a very disturbing thought. He was perhaps the smartest man I had ever met. Not in the same way that Divayth Fyr or the other Telvanni wizards were smart, with their encyclopedic knowledge of magic and other arcana. Caius' intelligence was of a sort that I understood and respected even more- the intelligence of a man who had spent many years surviving on his wits, his courage, and his ability to separate fact from nonsense. When you live by your wits, almost every test is a final exam and the price of failure is death. That Caius was still alive was all the proof I needed of his intellect. But it still might be possible for me to reason with him, to find some way to convince him that everyone was mistaken. With that in mind, I read over the material I had gathered regarding the Nerevarine prophecies. As much as I was seeking greater understanding I was also seeking a flaw, a way out, an exception that would set me free.

What I found was that my notes on the prophecies were as murky as ever. It seemed to me that anyone could use the words to prove or disprove just about anything. And that was the problem with prophecy. My only option now was to go back to Caius and give him the happy news that I wasn't dead yet. No doubt he would have some new plan for me to go and stick my head in a dragon's mouth. Well, I had always wanted to see a dragon, anyway, so it wouldn't be a total loss. As I approached Caius' small house in Balmora, I believed that I was completely prepared for whatever insanely dangerous task he would set before me. I was sure that nothing he said could surprise me. Which goes to show just how little I knew. When I knocked and entered, I found the house in even greater disarray than usual. Chests and drawers had been flung open, and clothing was piled even more deeply on the floor and bed than before. In the midst of the chaos stood the spymaster, and, for the first time in my experience, he looked shaken. Attempting to lighten the mood, I asked him if a whirlwind had been through his place. With a shrug he explained that he had been packing and then looked closely at me. When he saw that there was no trace of disease to be found, he smiled a weary smile and said, "Trey, I'm very happy you've been cured. Unfortunately, I've had a bit of bad news. I've been recalled to the Imperial City. You'll be promoted to Operative and will head the Blades here in Vvardenfell until I return. I only waited to give you your final orders before I go."

My usual ready wit failed me- Caius gone? Recalled to the Imperial City? And what was this about me being the head of the Blades in Vvardenfell? So many questions clamored for answers at once that none of them could get out. I just stood silently and looked at the man who had seen me through so much. My mind could not encompass the idea that he wouldn't be there to give me directions, even if they usually were accompanied by a verbal kick in the rear. As I gaped like a fish out of water, he continued to sort through his possessions and to talk as if I was capable of understanding,

"...you'll have some expenses. Here's some gold. And you can use the house until I return. And I won't be needing these blacks or the ring in the Imperial City."

He punctuated this commentary by handing me 750 drakes, a set of enchanted clothing, and an enchanted ring. Somehow, his actions struck me as being those of a man making the final disposition of his estate. Whatever he might say, Caius did not believe that he was coming back.

Trying to get to the truth without just blurting it out, I asked about the recall order. The spymaster confirmed the rumors that the Emperor was dying and that the succession was in a mess. Various factions were struggling for power and he was too important a resource to be left out of reach. He tried to shrug it off as "internal politics... a result of my sugar problem," but even he knew it didn't ring true. Finally, he admitted that he had considered ignoring the order, but couldn't because "they" had members of his family in the capital. For me, to whom a family had until recently been just a distant dream, that was the hardest blow of all. To use a man's family as a lever- that showed me once again that my hatred of the Empire was not misplaced, at all. Caius remained thoroughly professional though, and asked me if I was ready to receive my orders. When I nodded, he told me to continue to pursue the prophecies. The next step would be to enlist the aid of Mehra Milo in Vivec and find the lost prophecies. Once I had those, I needed to go back to the Urshilaku wise woman and follow her guidance. His final advice was that I should "forget the Imperial City," and concentrate on the local issues of the Great House wars and Dagoth Ur. He clasped my hand, looked hard into my eyes, and was gone.

[treydog]

Along with the prophecies, Master Barelo had added some notes of interpretation, although he warned me that much remained unclear. Perhaps the Urshilaku wise woman would be able to provide further guidance. There seemed to be nothing left to say and I had a great deal of reading and thinking to do. Having no desire to appear at a Temple while carrying so many forbidden writings, I used Divine Intervention to carry me to Wolverine Hall in Sadrith Mora. From there, I used the Mages Guild guide to teleport me to Ald'ruhn. I knew that I needed to deliver this material to Nibani Maesa soon, but I wanted to have a chance to think for myself. Again, I had the feeling that I was being dragged along with the current of someone else's desires, being pushed, being manipulated. And I did not like that feeling. It also seemed to me that some people were working awfully hard to convince me (and themselves) that I must be the subject of the prophecies. One example was the section of the Lost Prophecy that referred to the "Outlander Incarnate." Barelo felt certain that it meant that the Nerevarine would be a foreigner, an outlander- like me. Fair enough, I thought, but what of the third line, which said, "Dragon-born?" The Dragon was the symbol of Cyrodiil, of the Imperials- and I was not an Imperial.

Before I could get too happy about that, I remembered two bits of information- one general, the other particular. Scholarship on the races of Tamriel had demonstrated that children of "mixed marriages" largely resembled the mother. In my case, my mother had been a Breton, as was I. However, with a sinking heart, I recalled that my "guardian" had once referred to my father as, "That canting Imperial bastard." Every time I thought I had discovered a way out of my fate, it was a false trail. Much as I hated to admit it, the evidence was becoming difficult to ignore. I did not yet believe, but I did wonder.

In an attempt to gain a clearer understanding of the distant past, and how it affected me, I settled down to read the material on the original Nerevar. The sources agreed on a few basics, but not much more: Nerevar was the leader of the House and Ashland Dunmer; he possessed a magical ring of some unknown, but great, power; there was a massive battle at Red Mountain, during which Nerevar's forces prevailed; Nerevar died; the Tribunal, consisting of Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, achieved divine powers. The discussion of Kagrenac's Tools was more coherent and more interesting- it stated that the Dwemer magecrafter had devised a gauntlet, sword, and hammer which allowed him to shape and use the power of a god's heart.
The heart, supposedly that of Lorkhan, was said to be contained in the depths of Red Mountain. The dissidents further claimed that this same heart was the source of Dagoth Ur's power and the apparent "divinity" of the Tribunal. It was easy to see why the Temple didn't want this theory noised about. Basically, it said that the Tribunal had betrayed Nerevar's trust, grasped at a source of tremendous power, and been corrupted by the taint of that power. Further, the Tribunal were not divine at all, but simply mortals who had artificially enhanced themselves. I couldn't judge which, if any, of these theories and histories were true. And, for the moment, it didn't matter. My task was to take the lost prophecies to Nibani Maesa.

My return to the Urshilaku camp was rather like a home-coming- the Ashlanders greeted me with warmth and friendly banter- despite my pale skin and hair, I was one of them. I responded to their greetings and made my way to the tent of the wise woman, who was also pleased to see me again. When I told her that I had found the lost prophecies, she instructed me to repeat them to her until she had memorized every word. I was also to tell her everything the priests had said. When this was done and she had the material letter-perfect, I was to allow her time to meditate and seek the guidance of the ancestors. She said, "...when the moons have come and gone, return, and I will give you my judgment."

That measure of time confused me- did she mean one night or one month? When I asked her, she looked at me as if I was addled.

"It means what it means," was all she would say.

I decided that I would just have to take my chances and see her after one night had passed; after all, the worst she could do was chase me off, at which point I would know what she had meant. After she had absorbed the material I had brought from Holamayan, she asked me to leave so that she could "walk in her dreams" and decide what this new information meant. Following her advice, I sought a place to rest elsewhere in the camp. A gift of some trama root secured me the use of a spare bedroll in one of the tents and I slept a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep.

When I entered Nibani's tent the next day, she announced that she was ready to give her judgment. I wasn't sure anymore what words I wished to hear- I only wanted to know something definite; to be able to get on with my life. My heart hammered wildly as she sat staring into the fire and spoke. The words sounded to my ears like the end of the world. "The ancestors and stars have given me clear signs. The lost prophecies leave no doubt- the Incarnate shall be an Outlander. You, blessed by Azura, must lift the Seven Curses of Dagoth Ur. Prophecy has shown the seven steps of the Nerevarine's path, and I have been chosen as your guide for each step on that path. I will read the signs, and show you the way. It is time for you to walk the path of the Seven Visions, and pass the Seven Trials of the Seven Visions."

I fell to my knees under the weight of her words. I wanted to argue, to protest, to tell her that I was nothing but a stable-boy and thief. These visions, this path, this fate- could not be for me. And yet, I knew that her words were true. Others might try to manipulate me for political or other motives, but Nibani Maesa would not. Relentlessly, she continued, "You are born on a certain day to uncertain parents. So you have passed the first trial. My dreams show me that you also fulfill the second trial, that 'neither blight nor age can harm him/The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.' I have read the signs, but I cannot understand. Can you explain this to me?"

With lips that seemed unable to work correctly, I described how I had been infected with, and then cured of, corprus. My words amazed her- she was surprised to hear that I had overcome the dread disease, but even more so that the infection itself had rendered me immune to all other illness. She concluded that this was proof that I had passed the second trial. However, the secret of the third trial was not hers to reveal. She instructed me to seek the khan, Sul-Matuul, and ask him about the third trial. After what seemed like ages, but was only a few seconds, I regained my feet and left the tent to seek the Urshilaku Ashkhan.

There was no longer any doubt- the prophecies were true, and even worse, they were about me. I could no longer struggle against it or pretend to be doing "research." With their sublime sense of humor, the gods had made me the vehicle for their practical joke on the world. Or rather, one god- Azura, goddess of dusk and dawn. It had been she who had whispered to me as I was brought to Vvardenfell, she who had claimed me as her own while Divayth Fyr's potion worked in my veins, she who had taken control of my life. There was no longer any point in wondering- "Why me? Why not some great hulking Nord?" It had been decided. Trey of High Rock was to be the sacrifice on this altar of fate and folly. The best I could manage now would be to die well.

The ashkhan was friendly, but stern. Although he was not convinced that I was the Nerevarine, he agreed to tell me about the third trial. First, though, he would set me a test, to prove my worthiness. He pointed out that the Nerevarine's path was difficult and that all before me had failed the "warrior's test." Sul-Matuul said,
"You must have strength, courage, and cunning. These things I would test."

He then described an ancient Dunmer stronghold, called Kogoruhn, which had been the seat of House Dagoth. It was now an evil place, home to dangerous and powerful creatures. The ashkhan himself had led an expedition there, and survived to come home. Even so, he admitted that he had been afraid, both for himself and for the men he led. Before he would tell me the secret of the third trial, he would have me go to Kogoruhn and bring back three items to show that I had been there. The items were: corprus weepings from a corprus beast, which would prove my immunity to the dread disease; a House Dagoth cup, which would show that I had explored Kogoruhn; and the Shadow Shield, from the tomb of Dagoth Morin, deep under the dark stronghold. At my request, he provided me directions to find the ill-omened place.

Kogoruhn! Even now, after so many years, the very name is like a black cloud over the face of the sun. It was ancient, as were all the abandoned strongholds of Vvardenfell; a fortified place used by the dark elves during the long war with the Dwemer and the Nords. Of course, they had not been dark elves in those days- that was one of the many consequences of that war and its aftermath. But Kogoruhn had been the stronghold of House Dagoth, the Sixth House, the House that was no more. The place was a tomb, and anyone who has followed my story thus far knows how I feel about tombs. I hated creeping about any tomb- it is no place for the living. But Kogoruhn was no simple family tomb- it was the mausoleum of an entire Great House, one that had gone to its damnation in an explosion of betrayal, blood, and violence. Even the great khan of the Urshilaku admitted to being afraid of the place. Worse yet, he had been there with a hunting party- I would be alone. It appeared that the gods resembled cats in more than their inscrutability- they also liked to toy with their prey before killing it. Well, perhaps that was the plan of the gods, but this mouse intended to show them that it had sharp teeth.