VII
I awoke with a splitting headache, Nephethys' outline fuzzy from my blurred vision. As it turns out, losing part of one's life force takes its toll on the body. While I struggled to get up I noticed an eerie silence around me. The storm seemed to have subsided. My Dunmer companion smiled at me softly as I battled to assume an upright posture at the crude bed's edges. "Are you feeling alright again?", she inquired.
I told her that I felt as if I had had some alcohol abuse the night before but aside from that, I was fine. In truth, I didn't feel properly rested. My throat still burned from the vomit that had left my body in such disgusting waves. And apart from my head, the laceration I had received still hurt as well.
I brushed over my face in tiredness, little, crusted blood flakes dislodging themselves from my mouth and chin. An odious sickness was made manifest immediately, for they reminded me of what I had done. How viscerally I devoured the flesh.
I moaned with multitudinous kinds of agony and rose up to my feet. While I slept, Nephethys tried a bite of that meat for herself but was unable to get it down, explaining the discarded chunk of flesh in the corner. Maybe her situation hadn't been dire enough, I thought to myself.
The two of us, after embracing each other in support, made sure that the desert surrounding our shelter was safe to traverse again. We certainly did not intend to encounter one of those monsters out in the open. When we saw the poor, blind things roam the dunes anew, we assumed that relative peace must have been restored.
With cautious steps we left our temporary habitat, now unfit to keep even a beggar safe and sound, out into the blood soaked sands. Various bodily remains littered the ground. But the blind things seemed not to notice these, for they had neither smell nor vision. Only on rare occasion was it that one accidentally bumped into a mangled corpse whereunto it hissed in fright and surprise. These emotions would then turn into a somber, calm apathy at the realization that one of their brethren had been slain. They knelt down for a moment, brushing their palm over the lifeless flesh. Likely to ascertain the cause of death or the deceased's identity, I inferred.
While I was distracted watching the sorry tragedy of silent mourning and inaudible grief, Nephethys concerned herself with scouting the area. There were still many ways to go, but the most salient feature of the panoramic display we were offered appeared to be a black city with high walls and dæmoniac watch towers reaching up into the tenebrious heavens.
"Let's head for that city", she ordered, "Something tells me that unsanctified Lord resides there".
I agreed in taciturnity, for speech was still an arduous task and I did not want to strain myself too much yet.
And so, we proceeded with our wanderings. The growling of the gruesome ebb and flood from the sea had been long replaced by the thunder above us. We traveled past smouldering ruins of a destroyed village, passing by scared and trembling creatures. We witnessed, too, a dried river on our way, with queer marine skeletons arresting our attention.
The osseous remains looked unnatural. Uneasiness turned into a rising terror when I noticed that these big fish were no variants of ordinary salmon or slaughterfish, the latter being the worst a swimmer had to fear in Cyrodiil's lakes and ponds. Their upper body had strikingly human features in addition to jagged teeth and a very feminine skull. It invoked in me the image of fabled mermaids and perilous sirens. Should we ever be in need of venturing to the coast again, I concluded, we must be watchful lest we fall for clever trickery and deceit. For it is said in ancient legendry that a siren's allure is nigh impossible to resist.
With worry in my mind and fear in my heart I, together with my friend, continued onward until at length the great, black city came into view, blotting out the rest of the world. The closer both of us came the more it became clear that this place was several orders of magnitude grander than the Imperial City.
A cyclopean gate forged from iron blocked our path. It was lined with two statues of infandous armour, armed with unspeakably long halberds that every now and then reflected the lightning from above. The protecting figures were about twice my size measured in total height, their polearms extending long past that limit. They gazed down on us rather intimidatingly as we approached the ten meters high metal doors.
We were quick to, due to its sheer immensity, take note of three indentations, arranged in a triangular pattern, about the size of two human fists, embedded into the prodigious metalwork. Underneath them there was engraved in the solid, wrought iron an inscription, written in old Tamrielic. It read thusly:
"To unclose the gate, one must beareth the three Signs of the Vessel.
The First was grown in flesh.
The Second, forged in blood.
The Third, crafted from bone.
Only then may the Bearer of the Signs reciteth the ancient Word of Sárka to gain admission to Bendicia."
Slightly perturbed by the statues observing us from within their cold, unmoving hulls, Nephethys and I moved a few steps back to ponder on these words with utmost concentration. Nephethys spoke up, stating that we'd most likely obtain the three Signs by visiting certain important landmarks we glimpsed while inspecting the country from the balustrade we had climbed to afore.
One of the Signs could then, I chimed in, perhaps be found somewhere within the strange tower on the lonely isle off to the right.
I suspected the dæmon-crystal to be an indicator of supreme primeness.
Furthermore, I added, the bleeding clouds above the sharp and pointy mountains must be a clue as well, taking into account the mention of one of the signs being of sanguinary nature.
The Dunmer remarked thereafter that the only, truly notable place left would be that rotten fort in the spiky, gallows riddled woods only a few hundred meters southwestward from our current position. If the painting from Cyrodiil was to provide any hints, an undead ruled over that place, accounting for the presence of bones from which it is written the third Sign is made.
But even though the two of us could rightfully pride ourselves to have, as we had suspected, solved the riddle, there was still left one aspect of the uninviting inscription which puzzled us.
What was 'The ancient Word of Sárka'?
"I don't know", said Nephethys, "But perhaps our destination for procuring it lies beyond the city of Bendicia".
VIII
Truth be told, we had no knowledge of what lay situated in the city's shadow. The gargantuan structures were so staggeringly ginormous that, even from our previous vantage point on the balcony about a hundred meters above ground, we could not see past it. Thusly it was the most plausible thing to reason that the word we sought should be acquirable somewhere beyond the startlingly high walls of Bendicia.
If our suspicions turned out to be true, treading further up north would be, in relation to our present location, the most immediately reachable destination. Confident in our estimates, we turned away from the infernal portal and made our way to what we believed was behind the city proper.
We made a left, hugging the intimidating wall in order to circumvent the entire place. It at length turned out that the wall separating the hostile and largely inhospitable wasteland that we called the Painted World from its inner secrets was larger than we had at first expected.
By simple principles of size, I thought, this must be a humongous metropolis. The fact that we had to travel for half an hour without seeing a conceivable end to the stone barriers' length told me that the surface area of the circular structure must be several times that of the outer perimeter of the Imperial City. The conclusions I drew from this hinted at a dwelling of unbelievable size when considering the volume in relation to the outer surface.
While I had these rather frightening cogitations, I noticed how the climate in this realm feasted on our stamina, gradually depleting it. The parched, hot air and arid winds in conjunction with the gelid sand and other just as frigidly temperate objects wore us out greatly. Our bodies were not used to conditions so in contention with each other. And it certainly was no aid either that it never became truly dark in spite of the absence of a sun to cast light. Even more confusing was it that the leaden clouds permitted no rays to penetrate them save for the occasional bolt of lightning.
Our senses were at prodigious unrest. So much so that I lost my thoughts somewhere along the way. Panting as if I had ran, dehydrated as if I had had no fluid intake, starved as if I had not eaten. Indeed, every aspect of this diabolical plane seemed tailored to destroy mortal minds and vessels.
Finally, after an immeasurable distance traveled, we glimpsed the first sign of intact masonry and houses in much less disrepair with our exceedingly exhausted eyes. My vision had adopted blurry outlines and unclear shapes in place of their usual keenness from the general stress and the dust every now and then blown into them. Even so, I was certain I saw a quaint chapel amidst the surrounding structures and moving shadows. But these shadows precisely caused reason to wake us from our fatigue induced slumber.
IX
We were now wide awake at the premise of yet more lifeforms. From their general outline it became clear they shared nothing with the hitherto encountered blind creatures. Firstly, all of them possessed faces and hair. Moreover, these humanoids weren't as squeamish and anorexic, sporting a gait to be described as quite normal. Did we haphazardly discover real people who've built themselves homes to live in within this unhallowed land? What implications did this present? Did it mean that they were forced to make a living out here for there was no escape?
A wave of cold now overshadowed our endeavor. If we could not leave, what exactly was the point in pursuing the dreaded Lord Atebid? If he could not escape as well, the threat would be null.
Before I had a chance to drown in my wild and complex thoughts, Nephethys tugged at my sleeve and motioned me to take cover behind a conveniently placed boulder to our right in order to obfuscate our presences from the unknown civilization at hand. We had no knowledge of what it would mean to be discovered so we had to exercise caution. Because there was always this latent threat that pervaded everything in this world.
From behind the rock, we peered at the conglomerate of figures moving to and fro a great, central building of which a high, slim tower jutted out betwixt the other dwellings. Evidently it stood in important connexion to these men and women that roamed the area.
A closer look revealed a people unlike the races one sees throughout Tamriel and Pyandonea. They were indubitably of merish descent, judging from their pointed ears and slanted eyes, supported by an overall slim complexion and slender stature of body.
Their deathly pallid skin invoked reminiscences of the ancient Chimer while at the same time these fellows looked like escapees from a mortuary. As if they had been suspended in exitus before being born.
And while I should later discover that this wasn't the case with them, other things in this dimension certainly shared this attribute.
These rather queer elves were all dressed in what I from previous combat with the crimson cultists knew were ceremonial vestments of deep red hue. Some of them concealed their visage with a cowl while the majority wouldn't. However, I found it particularly wondrous how I noticed a lack of stolen skin patches on their faces. Did the cultists from Cyrodiil ascend to this form, then? Or were these pale, alien mer a progenitor to them? An ideal to strive for? Or even an indigenous race?
Perhaps the zealots from beyond the painting merely emulated whatever bestial religion those pointy-eared devils revered.
Alas, Nephethys and I had no choice but to approach the fiends. At least they appeared as if open to reason and conversation, unlike all other things and people we happened upon.
After a few minutes of pondering, the two of us resolved to step up to them and try for a talk. As we drew nearer to the small hamlet, we observed that the houses present, while not as crumbling as the others we had seen, were severely dilapidated to a point of suggesting vacancy. Nevertheless, those people seemed to live there notwithstanding the inherent squalor of the place.
Step by step did we nervously close in on the robed elves that inhabited the area. Some of them swiftly took note of our coming and prepared various kinds of unsaintly magic in their white palms. Those who observed us repeatedly spoke one word in a hushed whisper: "Outsiders".
Nonetheless, their stiff and immovable expressions I was unable to interpret from the lack of emotion. They stared at us blankly, as if a waxen mask had been laid on top of their faces.
About a hundred meters away from the town's rim was where it happened. All of a sudden, a conspicuously aged mer pointed his index finger at us and exclaimed, his right arm outstretched: "Scavenger!"
At first I was under the impression that this was the local naming convention and a title bequeathed to those who scour the umbral plains of this inhospitable country for supplies. And I most assuredly did not look like a person who was not in need to resort to such measures. I witnessed him ready a spell, presumably of destructive nature, when an unbelievably powerful strike swept me away.
I was flung off to the left, covering a great distance before my compromised body was fiercely driven into the dust. From afar I saw that this strike served to educate me about how farcical my heretofore established belief was that the word that was yelled had been for me and my friend.
Through my resulting concussion and injury I observed an immense creature fighting against Nephethys and the strange elves. A horned, white, red-eyed sabre cat twice the size of what I had come to know in Skyrim during my travels. Black stripes and gigantic claws swung at the defendants and my Dunmer friend as thick drippings poured out of its steaming maw.
I only saw Nephethys jump on top of the enormous thing and countless spells rain down upon the infandous beast before my consciousness forsook me.
What I remember next is that I had a terrible dream. In it, I stood on top of a hill, looking down on a burning house. I could not move, nor could I speak. Yet I knew that I was there. I inhaled the noxious air, permeated with the unmistakable stench of burnt flesh. I felt on my bare feet the sharp grass swaying back and forth in the light breeze that so gently delivered to me the scurrilous odour of charred wood and ardent death.
And lo, two burning individuals, screaming horribly in profound dread, attempting to flee from their torrid torture before succumbing to their immolation. Another man stood there, a few meters from the fiery mansion, who watched the macabre spectacle in callous inertia as the crackling figures, silent now, collapsed.
As the limp bodies still fumed and smoked, that man's gaze met mine. And as it did, I heard a thunderous wall of flames behind me, devouring slowly the hill I stood upon in my insurmountable paralysis. Panicked, I frantically looked all over for a means of salvation while I struggled to at all move my stiff muscles. My perpetual battle against my own corporeal shell turned into a feverish war as with every attempt at movement a painful seizure took hold of my extremities.
In my plight for help I again rested my eyes on the stranger near the house. Only then did I realize that I was looking at my own, indifferent, dæmon-visage! It was myself down there when I watched my family die! But who was I in this scenario, then?
My time to think was short, for the raging flames were already licking, tasting, eating my helpless soul. The distress and soreness were unbearable as I was alight with gleaming fury.
I woke.
My heart pounded, my skin steamed with evaporating sweat. My hot body perspired in blazing torment. As I tried to move anew, the right side of my ribcage stung evilly, impairing my ability to even independently turn in the bed I now lay in. So I kept still, slowly letting my eyes adjust to the new surroundings.
As my vision gradually reclaimed clarity again, the eyeballs were throbbing with a dull, pulsating pain with every beat of my heart. Just as if my blood itself was on fire, the injury provoked a few tears to run down my cheek. I had to squint in order to make the prospect of scanning the room even manageable.
I could not see it, but from what my olfactory senses told me there must have been some alchemical mixture present somewhere. Under the linen blanket that covered a neatly made bed I writhed until I was capable of turning my head. Thereby I espied to my right (for to my left was a wall of basalt brickwork the bed was situated next to) a single, wooden table up against a similar wall with a small stool in front of it. On top of that table were strewn about various parchments the letters written thereon were yet illegible to me from my current angle. Further in the back far off to the right there was a cupboard with two doors and three drawers, all closed.
Tilting my head sideways and then to a small degree forward, so as to make my skull hang in the air diagonally, I glimpsed a lit fireplace, its noisome smell and grating sound immediately provoking grim memories. What lay further down the room or adjacent to the burning logs I could not say, for my bed appeared to be in a tight niche and another, thinner, wall obscured the rest from my view.
I held my heavy head like that for a while but decided to tilt it back into a more comfortable position because apart from the fact that this house presumably was completely windowless, no new revelations could be gathered from further observation.
But just as I strained my muscles to resign my head to rest on the pillow underneath, a knife of pure corruption drove into my neck. And as I failed to contain a shrill howl of agony in response, I picked up on a forebodingly portentous noise. For I heard a raucous shuffling answer my tormented call.
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