Chapter 13: Beneath the Ice

Dawn came with a bright winter sun and a soft, chill breeze that stirred the snow. The Skaal village was already awake, and villagers bundled in furs hurried about the morning's tasks as the Skaal honour guard fastened their armour and took up their posts. The smell of cooking meat was in the air, and a clanging sound reverberated about the huts as Snedbrir started working his anvil.

A small group of hunters armed with throwing axes and bows were leaving as Llovesi and Julan entered the village. Brynja was among them. She nodded briefly as they passed one another, perhaps the closest thing to a friendly welcome they had received from anyone besides Korst.

The shaman answered quickly when they knocked on his wooden door. Dressed in his usual threadbare patchwork robe, Korst's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and relief.

"Llovesi, Julan," he said, beckoning them inside. "It has been nearly a week. Please sit with me, tell me of your travels. I hope your way has been easy?"

He motioned them to the chairs by the fire. A pot was boiling, sending fragrant steam into the room.

"I'm preparing my morning tisane," Korst said. "Please, join me. I would be eager to hear what you experienced during the Ritual."

They sat and sipped the tea, feeling warmth seep back into their bones, and told Korst everything they had seen and done. He sat and listened, his hands curled beneath his chin, his face betraying no expression other than a keen eagerness to listen. When they had finished he sighed deeply, and stood to fetch them all some more tea.

"It is more than I could have hoped for," he said, ladling the warm brown-green liquid into the cups. "You have seen and done things most ordinary Skaal could only dream of. No doubt you will have found some of these things strange."

Llovesi and Julan carefully avoided each other's eyes.

Korst smiled. "You do not need to pretend. A Skaal might find your Ashland rituals and beliefs strange, for they are unfamiliar. But I believe what you have done has helped. I feel a new energy in the land. I believe the All-Maker smiles upon on us once more."

He drank deeply of his tea, then stood. "Come," he said. "We should go tell Tharsten Heart-Fang of your success."

They were nearly at the Greathall, the midday sun casting their shadows short across the snow, when Brynja came running up to them, flushed and out of breath.

"Brynja?" Korst asked, turning round. "I thought the hunters were out this morning?"

"We-we were," Brynja panted, brushing her blond hair back from her forehead. "The others are still at the hunt – they sent me back. Brother – you have to come, you have to see-"

She was stumbling over her words, worry carving deep lines in her forehead and widening her eyes. Korst took her gently by the elbow.

"Easy, Brynja. You have me now. Take your time – I'll listen and guide you. Llovesi, Julan, I'm sorry but you'll have to speak with the chieftain alone." He gave them an apologetic look, and went with Brynja in the direction of his hut.

"I wonder what that's all about," Julan said.

"We'll probably find out," Llovesi replied, frowning herself. "Let's get this over with – I hope Heart-Fang is happier to see us than the last time."

They hadn't spoken directly with the chieftain since he had dismissed them from his Greathall in anger the first time they had visited the village.

Tharsten Heart-Fang was sat on his carved throne, the first time they had seen him using it. He was speaking in soft tones with a couple of the honour guard, apparently giving them instructions judging by their nods.

Llovesi and Julan passed the pair as they made their way past the fire pit towards the throne. The guards glanced at them apprehensively, but not with hostility.

"You have returned." Heart-Fang stood, and walked down towards them, his chainmail clinking as he moved and his expression neutral.

"We have completed the Ritual of the Gifts," Llovesi said, meeting the gaze of his coal-black eyes.

"You have." Heart-Fang crossed his muscled arms across his chest, his expression still impassive and unreadable. "I am impressed with your efforts. But there is more to be done. You have shown a certain loyalty to the Skaal, and it surprises me. But before we can work together, I would have you prove your wisdom, and your strength."

"What do you want us to do?" Julan asked.

"First you will prove your wisdom. Though I believe your heart may be one with the Skaal, your mind must be as well. A crime has been committed here in Skaal village. Engar Ice-Mane was accused of stealing furs from Rigmor Halfhand's abode. Upon investigation, Rigmor was found to have fabricated the story, motivated by his desire for Risi Ice-mane, Engar's wife. Making a false accusation carries the same penalty as the crime that was claimed. Rigmor awaits his fate – it is you who will decide it."

"Us?" Llovesi asked. "But we do not know your laws or customs."

"I shall tell you of them. Then, to prove your wisdom, you will choose the penalty you deem fit. I would know how you judge a man's fate.

"For the crime of stealing, a Skaal is either exiled, of sacrificed to the Caenlorn – the ceremonial wolves. So one of these fates is waiting for Rigmor. Which shall it be?"

Llovesi glanced at Julan, uncertain. The choice made her feel uncomfortable. "May we confer between ourselves?" she asked Heart-Fang.

"Wisdom is often sought in consultation with others, or so Korst tells me," Heart-Fang replied. "But Halfhand has been waiting long enough to know his fate. I would know your wisdom now."

Wolves.

The thought was instantaneous, and it was Julan's. Llovesi rubbed her telepathy ring with a finger and glanced sideways at him. Julan was meeting Heart-Fang's eyes, his gaze determined.

You're sure? Llovesi asked back. How–

We say wolves. I'll explain when we're alone.

Llovesi turned to look into Heart-Fang's immobile face. His eyes betrayed nothing. Together, she and Julan spoke as one: "Sacrifice to the wolves."

Something of a smile might have crossed Heart-Fang's lips in that moment.

"To the wolves then!" he said. "You have shown mercy, allowing him to die with this honour. Perhaps you have some wisdom after all."

Heart-Fang clapped his gauntleted hands loudly, making them flinch. To the honour guard that came running from the side of the hall he said: "Lead the prisoner to the summoning pen so that he may accept his sentence. Then fetch the shaman to summon the Caenlorn." To Llovesi and Julan he added simply, "Come."

They followed in his wake, leaving the Greathall for the crisp air and bright white light of the village outside. Heart-Fang strode quickly ahead, his broad figure cutting a fast path through the village. Llovesi and Julan half-jogged to keep up. He walked south and uphill, leading them to a fenced pen. It was empty.

Here he stopped. A small crowd had been drawn, seemingly by the mere fact of the chieftain walking around outside of the Greathall. Llovesi could see Snedbrir, having left his forge. Brynja's boy was standing with another teenager who she thought was called Tymvaul. Tymvaul's father Lassnr stood behind them, his bald pate shining in the sun. Heart-Fang looked round, a slight frown on his face. Llovesi realised one person was quite evidently still missing: the shaman.

The sound of shuffling to their left caused everyone to turn. An honour guard was approaching, leading a man by the arm. Rigmor Halfhand (for it had to be him) was slender and blond, his hair piled into a messy topknot from which wispy tendrils framed his face. He looked calm, and was walking steadily without resistance, but his lips were trembling slightly. He almost didn't seem to register the small crowd, looking round in dull surprise. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the pen, still empty.

Another honour guard approached the chieftain and whispered into his ear. Heart-Fang bent his head to listen, his frown deepening. He straightened and looked into the crowd.

"You, boy!" he barked suddenly, a change from his usual soft tones. "Alfir! Come here!"

The young Nord jumped in surprise, but made his way over to the chieftain. Heart-Fang barely waited for him to be close before he started speaking again.

"Your master, has he taught you how to talk with him?" he asked. "We need Korst Wind-Eye here to perform an important ritual. I know shamans teach apprentices ways to reach them. Ways that do not involve words. We need him brought back from his newest fool's errand. Can you do it?"

The boy glanced around wide-eyed, but nodded. Then he closed his eyes. Llovesi watched, fascinated. This was telepathy, surely. She glanced at the ring on her hand. But the boy didn't need rings or amulets. Sure enough, barely five minutes later, Korst was striding towards them, his robes billowing about his bare feet.

"I understand you wish me to summon the Caenlorn?" he said softly, looking from Alfir, to Heart-Fang, to Llovesi and Julan, to Rigmor Halfhand in turn.

"Do your duty, shaman," was Heart-Fang's only reply.

Korst nodded. He looked troubled, but Llovesi half-wondered if it was less to do with the current situation and more to do with whatever Alfir had called him away from.

The shaman walked over to Rigmor and took him by the hand gently. He led him to the pen, brought him inside and closed the gate. Then he stood in the centre of the pen and closed his eyes. For a while, nothing happened. Then the air rippled, ever so slightly. The small crowd gasped. Where there had only been earth and snow, stood three large wolves. They looked solid for spirit wolves, fur bristling and steam rising from their snouts. They stood nearly as tall as Rigmor's chest.

The crowd seemed to collectively hold its breath. There was a solemnity in the air, a sense of trepidation and respect. Korst hadn't opened his eyes. Rigmor hadn't spoken a word.

The wolves turned as one, and jumped upon Rigmor without a sound. Then he began to scream. All but the chieftain began to look away, covering their eyes or staring at the ground as the sound of ripping flesh filled the air. It lasted five horrible minutes. Llovesi turned to face Julan, trying to find solace in his eyes. They were responsible for this, in some way. She was very aware of just how fixedly Heart-Fang was watching the scene, and felt her stomach turn slightly.

Then it was all over. The wolves were gone. Rigmor was gone. The pen was empty, save for the shaman and a spray of red blood seeping into the snow.

The crowd started to drift away. Korst open his eyes finally.

"It is done," he said. "May Rigmor cycle within the Caenlorn to be born anew. Tharsten, I must speak with you."

The chieftain nodded, his eyes still shining with fervour. Together, the shaman and the chieftain walked back to the Greathall. After a while, there was no one left by the pen save for Llovesi and Julan, and Alfir.

The boy looked hard and long at the darkening blood on the ground, his expression unreadable. Then he too turned on his heel and walked away.

"Why?" Llovesi asked finally. "Why the wolves?"

"Because I've been an exile," Julan said. He didn't look at her, fixing his gaze instead on the empty pen before them. "But I had mother. Okay, maybe I didn't have the best upbringing ever," he added quickly, "but we had each other. Rigmor would have had no one. And we've been on this island for over a month now; we know what it's like. The wolves were kinder. Trust me."

"How can you be so sure?" Llovesi asked. But even as she said it, she thought of Rigmor – his slight figure, how dull his eyes had been, all fight gone from him.

"I couldn't," Julan said. "But it's what Heart-Fang wanted. And the sooner we can work with him, the sooner we get to the bottom of whatever is going on here and we get back to Mina and the tribe."

Llovesi nodded slowly, but couldn't shake the nasty taste from her mouth. Julan was right: sacrificing Rigmor to the wolves had been exactly what Heart-Fang had wanted. The more she saw of the chieftain, the less she felt she understood him. Was it a deep reverence for Skaal rituals that he held, or something else entirely?

They turned to go, but were stopped in their tracks by Korst and Heart-Fang walking back towards them.

"You have both done well, both of you," Heart-Fang said. "You have shown your loyalty and your wisdom. There is one last thing you must to fully earn my trust, and the trust of the Skaal. You are to prove your strength as warriors. Travel with the shaman to the ice Lake Fjalding. There he will explain further."

Heart-Fang nodded curtly, and strode away back to the Greathall, leaving them with a troubled-looking Korst.

They heard it before they saw it. A great roaring sound rent the air, spitting and crackling. Then they saw the smoke on the horizon and, as they rounded the next hill, they saw the pillar of fire bursting from the surface of the lake, and they understood what had upset Brynja so much.

"What in Sheogorath?" Julan muttered.

This close they could feel it. A sudden warmth washed over them, as if they'd just stepped into the Greathall back in the village. But this fire burst from the water itself, shooting up higher than the trees. It dominated the centre of the lake, the flames soaring towards the sky as if pulled there by some otherworldly force. The ice lake was melting, but slowly, and though Llovesi and Julan could still patches of dark water glistening through its icy surface, the snow under their feet was still crisp and cold.

Korst led them quietly up to the shoreline of the lake. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically troubled.

"These are strange times, my friends. Fire from water, flame through ice..."

"What does it mean?" Llovesi asked, staring at the pillar of fire. She felt unable to draw her gaze away from it.

"It is a sign," Korst said. "Of what, I am not certain. I fear that the Ritual of the Gifts has not worked: it has merely brought us time. We clearly face another foe. This fire... Heart-Fang believes it is the work of a Draugr Lord we believe lives under the ice. I fear it is a sign of the Bloodmoon Prophecy. I have tried to deny it..."

He trailed off, looking away from the fire towards the hills north where the village lay.

"... I pray to the All-maker that this is not so," he finished. "I am unsure what magic is being worked to cause such a disturbance on the lake, but you were sent back with me to prove your strength."

"Hang on," Julan interrupted, holding up a gloved hand. "Bloodmoon Prophecy? What's that?"

Korst sighed deeply. "It is an ancient prophecy, one that I hope is but a myth. It tells of a time when the moon above will turn blood red, and the wolves that walk like men will walk the land. The prophecy tells of other signs that precede the Bloodmoon, but they are not all easily interpreted. Let us speak of this another time my friends, I do not want to feed the flames of panic.

"Heart-Fang has sent you here to show your strength, your ability to survive in the harshest of conditions. Beneath that lake there are a series of ice caves. In one of those caves, you will find Aesliip, a Draugr Lord. Heart-Fang believes he is the one responsible for the disturbance on the lake.

"From what I have read in the histories, Aesliip was once a powerful mage who delved in necromancy. As a result of these dark magics, he was made a draugr, but he retains much of his immense power. You are to kill this creature, and perhaps end this madness. Take care with this task, Llovesi, Julan. This situation seems odd to me."

Llovesi and Julan nodded, and together they stepped from the shoreline onto the ice. It cracked threateningly beneath their feet, but held. Llovesi spared a glance over her shoulder for Korst, who was watching them go anxiously, then steeled herself and took another step forward. They stopped near a hole where the ice had melted away. The fire was almost unbearably hot here; Llovesi felt if they stayed on the surface any longer she would be in danger of losing her eyebrows.

She lowered herself to the hole, and peered into the gloomy depths of the lake below. The fire lit the murky depths slightly and she thought she could make out a crack in the rocks below.

"There," she said, pointing. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be to go swimming in frozen water," Julan replied. The hole was just wide enough for them both to fit, so together they slipped into the lake. Llovesi braced herself for the feeling of knives between her ribs, but although the water was cold it was nowhere near the temperature the northern sea had been. Still, she was glad for the enchanted clothes Korst had given them. They dove down to the bottom of the lake, weighted by the armour and weapons they hadn't dared to leave behind. Sure enough, there was a crack in the craggy bed of the lake. They slipped through, and swam the dark tunnels beneath, twisting and turning and they emerged, spluttering, onto dry land.

They found themselves in an ice cave, much like the one the black horker had led them to a week ago, but larger. The ice glowed subtly, casting a dim, eerie light about the caves, but it was enough to see by. Together, and without a word, Llovesi and Julan crept forward through the caves ready at any moment for the Draugr Lord to come lurking towards them.

But the caves were silent. They made their way through large, wide passageways, walking until the packed snow underfoot turned to pure ice. It was treacherous here, slippery and with shards splintering from the floors and walls like icebergs jutting from the sea. Still they didn't dare speak, their breath catching in their throats and crystallising in front of their faces.

Eventually they found themselves in a larger ice cave, the jagged edges of which almost reminded Llovesi of a Daedric ruin. She threw out an arm to stop Julan as soon as they entered, and unsheathed Trueflame. There were chairs and a table in here, bedclothes, all rough and worn. A foul-smelling hunk of meat was roasting gently over an open pit fire.

"It eats?" Julan muttered in bewilderment.

"Even the unliving must nourish themselves." The voice was rough and rasping, like tanned hide rubbing against bone.

Llovesi and Julan jumped and span round. Llovesi drew Hopesfire as well, and held the two swords out in warning. Standing behind them – how had it gotten behind them – was a draugr.

It watched them, unmoving. Like most of the draugr they had run into so far, this one was stooped and bony, wearing the tattered remnants of armour – rusted plate and mail – hanging loosely from its frame. A leather cap covered its bald head. Unlike most of the draugr they had met so far, this one was not rushing to attack them. Two deep-set blue eyes watched them calmly.

For a while the three of them watched each other, Llovesi and Julan unsure what to do or say, but holding their weapons aloft all the same. Then the draugr spoke again.

"You are brave or foolish to enter this place, mortals. But I sense a bit of wisdom in you... perhaps. I might kill you where you stand, were you to try and keep me from my task, but there are more dangerous things in these caves then this poor soul."

Aesliip, for it had to be him, shuffled past them to the fire, and they let him past, too shocked to act. The Draugr Lord reached out a bony hand and tore a lump of charred flesh from the spit. With blackened teeth he chewed the meat, watching them.

"You speak less than the living I remember," Aesliip said, grinding his teeth round the meat. "How many centuries have I been in this cave now...? I was once a mage, of the people who call themselves the Skaal. I was powerful, mortals. Powerful beyond their reckoning. But I strayed. I delved into the black arts, became learned in the ways of necromancy. When this was discovered, I was cast out by my people. Alone, I wandered to this place."

He finished his meal with a slurp, and licked the grease from his bony fingers.

"You do not seem inclined to attack," he said finally. "So, perhaps you have another purpose here."

"Did you cause the fire above the lake?" Llovesi managed to find her tongue, and lowered her weapons slightly.

The draugr shook his head with a creak. "I know not what you speak of, mortal. I have not left this cave in many centuries. I have not been able. A group of Frost Daedra have taken up residence deep in the bowels of this island. I thought at first that it was my doing, that I had somehow summoned these fiends. But they were beyond my abilities. I learned that they would wipe this island clean of life, slaughter my people and all we held dear. I knew I must act.

"I tried to warn my people, but I was an empty voice to them, as though I were dead. So I used my magic to erect a barrier deep in this ice, strong enough to contain these daedra and keep them from overrunning the island. The barrier held; for years I maintained it. But I grew old, and I knew that my death would mean the death of all life on Solstheim."

"My life had to be extended, so I used my knowledge of the black arts, and I turned myself into the creature you see before you. A Draugr. Eater of Flesh. But my life was infinite. I could keep the barrier intact so that my people might survive."

"Why are you telling us all this?" Julan asked, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.

"I see you are strong, mortals. Perhaps strong enough to best me. I'm no fool: I know why you have come here. This fire upon the lake? It is not my doing. But some in the Skaal still know my name; it is natural that you might seek me out. I am not strong enough to vanquish these daedra alone. But, together, we could cleanse the island of this scourge. Fight with me, mortals, and send these creatures back to their unholy plane."

Aesliip straightened up and looked them both in the eye in turn. Llovesi felt chills shiver their way down her spine as the bright blue gaze found her. There were no eyes there, not anymore, just balls of light. Can we trust him?

She thought of how easily the draugr had slipped behind them. He could have taken them then, if he'd wanted to. Unless luring them further was a trap... She remembered the last time they had encountered a sentient member of the living dead. Barilzar, in his crypt below the streets of Mournhold. He'd tried to warn them too, and they hadn't listened.

Julan?

I'm with you, came the reply. Perhaps this is the real test of strength.

"We fight with you," Llovesi said,

"This is wise," Aesliip said, loping towards them. Llovesi found it hard not to flinch as the smell of preserved flesh enveloped them, like pungent cured meat. "I will lower the barrier that keeps the demons at bay. You and I will be victorious, as the lives of all those above are forfeit if we are not."

He walked past them, rounding a corner and leading them to the back of the cave. There, stark against there ice, a magical barrier. Swirling, thick and purple, Llovesi was reminded of the barrier in the cave where there had found Julan's father's remains. Glancing sideways at his face, she could tell from his expression he remembered too.

Aesliip raised his bony fingers to the barrier and muttered words in a language Llovesi did not recognise. A hole appeared in the barrier around the draugr's fingers, and spread outwards until the way ahead lay clear, cold and dark.

"Do you have skill with that bow of yours?" Aesliip asked, eyeing Julan's back.

"Yes," Julan replied, drawing the bow and twanging the string softly so that it echoed in the cave.

"Then take point with me – we shall hunt them from a distance before they can get too close. You," he said to Llovesi, "take the rear, and kill the ones that will surely follow us."

So they proceeded, making for a strange trio as they stalked their way cautiously through the twisting tunnels. Before long, they found the atronachs. Tall and hulking, with powerful frost magics, they were a dangerous opponent. But Julan's arrows flew, Llovesi swung and spun with Hopesfire and Trueflame, and Aesliip's fire spells scorched the air as they found their targets. Several gruelling hours later, all the daedra were dead.

Aesliip collapsed sideways against a wall, breathing hard, shallow breaths.

"It is done," he said, between gasps. "I am spent, there is nothing of me left. My time is over. You have done a service here today. Both to me, and to the people of this island. Now I may rest. May you have the strength of will to continue your own journey, mortals. This will not be the last of this I fear. The walls are weakening. And when the dragon dies, who will stem the blood tide...?"

His voice trailed away, and he collapsed softly against the hard ice.

"What on Nirn does that mean?" Julan whispered. "Bloodmoon prophecies, blood tides... what is going on?"

"I don't know," Llovesi said, biting her lip. "But this certainly isn't over yet. Come on, we can't leave him down here."

Together they lifted the Draugr Lord's corpse, and started the long journey back to the surface of Solstheim.

The fire was indeed still burning when they pulled themselves back onto the ice of Lake Fjalding. Shivering as their bodies acclimatised to the changing temperatures, Llovesi and Julan pushed themselves away from the scalding heat back towards the shore. Korst seemed not have moved for the day they had been beneath the ice, and was grim-faced when he saw them, though relieved. His eyes widened as he took in the body of Aesliip.

"Tell me everything," he said.

Together, Llovesi and Julan recounted their journey through the caves and the story Aesliip had told them, and how they had fought together to defeat the daedra.

"You have done us a great service," Korst said, when they had finished. "All three of you. It is a shame our people did not listen to Aesliip in the past, and what he did to himself as a result. I shall the rituals to allow his soul to join with the Skaal anew – I do not know if it will work, given the transformation he subjected himself to, but I shall try."

He glanced up at the lake.

"The fire still burns, though Aesliip is dead. I am not surprised. There is more at work here than just the magic of one mage. There are greater things on the winds. You should return to the Skaal and tell Heart-Fang of this. You have shown great strength here today, Llovesi and Julan – strength of heart, body and mind. I for one would be proud to call you Skaal. Now go – I shall join you when I have finished the rituals here."

So Llovesi and Julan turned to start the long walk back to the village, though their limbs were aching with cold and fatigue, and frost was once again beginning to stiffen their clothes and pinch their faces.

Dusk was falling on Solstheim as they pulled themselves up the final hill and heard the first screams.

They exchanged the briefest look of horror, before drawing their weapons and scrambling up the hill.

More screams joined the first, then howls, and the awful sounds of ripping flesh and steel.

The village was in carnage. Everywhere the Skaal were running, screaming, trying to hide and being pulled down. It was wolves, wolves tall as men, walking like men on their hind legs, biting, clawing, mauling. They were pulling the villagers down, tearing at limbs, slicing open abdomens, crushing skulls between jaws. The Skaal honour guard were in their midst, maces and armour dark with fur and blood.

People were banging on the closed doors of the Greathall in desperation, screaming in awful voices long gone hoarse:

"Help, help us, the village is under attack!"

AN: Again, my apologies for the long delays between updates! Work is busy, personal life is busy and in any spare time I've had I've mainly been trying to sleep. I've also had almost no internet access for the past 2 months, which has made researching and writing a little tricky. But! An update is here, and I'm hoping to get a lot more written over the Christmas break (the first break I'll have had from work since... last Christmas.) Silver linings!