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Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Twelve
The ground became rockier as they climbed. Icy grit made drifts in the lower areas. The distance felt farther than Jerric had expected. Uncertainty gnawed at his nerves. He couldn’t sink into his travel mind the way he liked.
Ishckrihk led the way, three atronach paces ahead of Jerric and to his left. Jerric wondered how long his summoning would last in this realm, since he was not taking damage and repairing himself. He knew that he imbued the atronach with a certain amount of his magicka at the summoning, but after that it was up to the frost man.
Now that Jerric was paying attention to his magicka, he noticed that the steady flow from his gulp of Jerric’s Juice potion had slowed to a trickle. He squinted ahead at Ishckrihk, remembering how the atronach had reached into his well of magicka as he formed. Here was a being of immeasurable age and experience. Who knew how many Nirn centuries had passed while Ishckrihk was in the Void, or how many lifetimes he had spent in untold realms? Did daedric entities even age?
No wonder he was laughing at me.Jerric trotted a few steps to catch up with him.
“Ishckrihk.”
The atronach angled his head knob in response. “Ck.”
Jerric decided to keep the rest between the two of them.
‘Show me your home.’ Ishckrihk’s head tilted back and then forward again.
‘Your place of origin,’ Jerric explained.
‘The realm where you… spawn..?’ He imagined all manner of young creatures and placed them in the eye of his mind for Ishckrihk to view. Then he recalled what he had told Kjestrid. Instead of young creatures that change as they grow, he pictured snakes and fish hatching and then becoming larger versions of their younger selves.
Jerric’s mind filled with images in reply from the atronach. He struggled to keep his feet moving as he concentrated.
In Ishckrihk’s vision he stood atop one of many cliffs that curved like ribbons impossibly set on their narrow sides. Crystalline spires jutting up from the ground towered over him, bathed in light from a blue-green sky. The height took his breath. Then he realized that he didn’t need to breathe.
The ground was smooth. Hard but made of flowing shapes. In contrast the ice spikes were all angles. A keening sound began. He felt an answering vibration build inside him.
The spikes began to move.
“Jerric!” Kjestrid shouted.
His real eyes opened to the cold as something yanked him backward. Jerric scrambled for balance, wheeling his arms in the air. They had reached the edge of a sharp decline. It wasn’t a cliff, but it would have been a bad fall.
Ishckrihk’s faint light glimmered ahead and down the slope.
“Did you try to walk me off the edge, ice man?” Jerric yelled at him.
Ishckrihk’s head lump turned in imitation of a mortal’s. He lifted his arms up slightly from his sides.
“What was that about?” Kjestrid demanded.
“I forgot I was walking,” said Jerric. “Uh, that is to say, I asked him… Well, he’s not from here, I don’t think.”
Kjestrid snorted. “You said it.” She began her descent, cutting the sides of her boots into the slope.
Gjaever took a position between Jerric and Ishckrihk.
“Jerric said that he does not think,” Shamir-do explained. The Khajiit had bundled his head in such a way that his ears and whiskers still stuck out. His eyes squeezed in catly humor.
“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for the catch.”
“Gjaever had the honor.” Shamir-do gestured for Jerric to move ahead. “But now this one guards Jerric’s back.”
The terrain looked more difficult than it was to traverse. When they reached a point below some far bluffs, the wind became easier to ignore. The mountains and volcano that Ishckrihk had shown Jerric did not become visible to their eyes. Eventually Jerric decided that landscape lay behind the bluffs, as they had dropped in elevation while walking.
The magicka from his potion had stopped its flow. Jerric noticed a slow but steady drain. It was coming from Ishckrihk.
Jerric called a halt. “There’s a situation.”
He waited for them to gather around, Gjaever maintaining his defensive position.
“Keeping him summoned drains my magicka. I have a good supply of my potion, but—”
“What’s your plan?” Kjestrid asked him.
“I want to keep him, at least for now.”
“All right. You’re in charge of your magicka. We’re used to getting along without a lot of spells.”
Jerric weighed his waterskin of Jerric’s Juice as they resumed their walk. He had as much as he could take without poisoning himself, but experience made him wary. He decided to let his reserve get low rather than sipping at the potion. After all, many daedric creatures used magical attacks that he might absorb, including Ishckrihk. The thought of his guildmates’ reaction to his inviting the atronach to attack him with frost almost made him grin. Then the image of Kjestrid bleeding out for the lack of a healing spell brought him back to the moment.
“Ishckrihk,” Jerric called out. “That way, toward the lower pass, right?” He gestured as well as picturing what he meant for clarity. “I’m sending you back for a bit. But stay ready.”
Whatever that means to a disembodied being in the Void.At the affirmative reply, Jerric dispelled him.
They stopped to rest more often than Jerric thought necessary. Rations were consumed without discussion. They left the blowing
salj behind and climbed through the pass to a high plain of grey ice. In the clearer air distant mountains became visible, pale streaked with red and black.
Lava flows, Jerric decided.
That explains the fog. Where the grey clouds cleared, white stars gleamed in a black sky. “This is starting to look familiar.”
An orange speck appeared over their left shoulders as they walked. “That’s the other Gate,” Jerric pointed. “We’re getting closer to the Sigil Tower.” He hadn’t realized the depth of his doubt until the sight proved Ishckrihk true.
When Kjestrid called another rest, Jerric broke the silence. “Soon we’ll get to the settlement. We’ll be able to tell which one is the Sigil Tower by the fire coming out the top. It runs up through the middle of the tower like a column. When we take the stone, we won’t be burned. It’s arcane fire. Don’t let it touch you until we have the stone, though. Then it will pull us in and carry us out.”
Kjestrid worked a bit of jerky to the side of her jaw. “Tell us more about that.”
“Well, we’ll be, uh, not solid. Like ghosts. The fire is hot but it won’t be able to burn us.”
“Ghosts can burn,” said Shamir-do.
Jerric gave him a look, unsure if the cat was worried or just annoying.
“How will we all..?” Kjestrid’s half-question hung in the air.
“You grab the stone,” Jerric told her, “and we’ll all hold on to you.”
“Good plan,” said Kjestrid. She gestured with the dried meat. “Jerric will take the stone, and we’ll each hold on to him.”
Jerric decided not to argue. When the time came, whoever was left standing would deal with the stone. “How are you doing with that ring?” he asked Kjestrid. If he had worn a life-detection charm for this long, he would be hard-pressed to move for all of the vomiting.
“It takes some getting used to,” Kjestrid admitted. “I can almost ignore your life signs now. Like you can talk over a pack of kids playing until your own baby cries.”
“You have children?” Perhaps she had adopted some. Jerric could picture Kjestrid naked as clearly as if they still sat in the steam hut. His navel check had never failed him.
“No.”
He nodded at her hand. “Are you still wearing it?”
“Aye.” Kjestrid raised a gloved fist. With her other hand she stuffed the rest of the dried meat into her mouth.
Jerric put his attention to his own meal. Breakfast felt like another lifetime.
“Have you seen anything alive?” he asked after a moment. “The range isn’t great, so the smallest thing could be worth looking at.”
Kjestrid shook her head, chewing.
“This one has smelled nothing,” Shamir-do put in. He sat on his haunches with knees raised, ever ready to spring up. His tail lay still across his lap.
“You staying warm enough?” Jerric asked him. “This place looks dead, but I’d wager that under this snow we’d find something to burn.”
Shamir-do dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Rest is good but cold, and moving is warm but tiring. Kjestrid sets a good balance.”
Jerric glanced over at Gjaever. The big Nord looked like he might nod off into sleep, but Jerric was not fooled.
“What kind of things have you seen in the other realms?” Kjestrid asked. “I want to hear it from you.”
“The places I’ve traveled are all parts of the same realm,” Jerric said. “There are mountains, rocky hills, volcanoes, and rivers of lava. It’s hot and smells like… Like wind from a forge mixed with dust and meat. Our dead don’t rot the way they do at home. They bubble and seep, but I’ve passed the same bloated horse months apart. It never split open.”
“What kind of animals are there? Do they have wildlife?”
“You could say that. Clannfears sometimes move together in herds like grazing beasts. Daedroths seem to have their territories, like bears or the solitary minotaurs you find. The dremora put the scamps to work, though. I’ve never seen them without some task that they’re doing.” He wiggled his fingers. “It’s the thumbs.”
“Do they fight each other? What do they eat?”
“That’s a good question. I’d like to know how to get them to fight each other. I’ve seen scamps play with, uh, meat, and I’ve seen clannfears nip at bloodgrass. Where the dremora dwell they have these blood fountains for healing. Well, they’re in the towers. Not sure how to describe what the dremora are doing there. I’ve not seen any place that makes me think they sleep or cook or eat. Even their… kills are displayed like trophies or something. They sit, though. I’ve seen plenty of chambers with benches where they sit and who knows what they’re doing.” The black rooms in the towers with their red light and flayed mortals hung like decorative objects haunted his dreams. Now they threatened to appear in his waking vision. “Look, you have all seen some skitt in our line of work. This is going to be worse. There is nothing we can do for anyone here except close the Gate so they don’t get company.”
Gjaever had turned to watch Jerric. His eyes looked like a spirit in a mountain.
“How do you know their blood will heal?” Kjestrid asked.
“I found out by accident. Makes sense, dremora hearts make strong healing potions. So do xivilai hearts. They look like mortal hearts only,” he made a gesture, “bigger.”
Shamir-do let out a hiss that sounded like
magesss.
“Darnand is not a necromancer,” Jerric told him. “But some of his books have— never mind.”
“They told us about dremora,” Kjestrid said. “But not about xivilai.”
“Big half-naked grey fetchers. Horns. They cast a lot of spells. They can absorb a lot of spells, too. Tremendous reach. Swing a war hammer with one hand. But they don’t like frost, so maybe we won’t see them here. And they work alone. Not like the dremora.”
“Frost or frost magic?” Kjestrid asked.
Jerric blinked at her. “You make a good point. I don’t know.”
“It is said that the Hero of Kvatch ate the hearts of his enemies to give him power,” said Shamir-do.
Jerric pointed his apple at the Khajiit. “Savlian Matius does not eat people.”
Kjestrid snorted. “We all know who they’re talking about.”
“You’ll get to hear your own names whispered when we get back,” Jerric said. “I hope you don’t have to eat any hearts before this is over.” He tucked the apple core into his pack, reluctant to leave anything of home in this realm.
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This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 3 2019, 11:22 AM