Aithne folded the last of Nyatt’s clothes and pushed the entire bundle to one side, then glanced at Chyehye and said in Orcish, “I think that everything is?”

 

“’Is everything.’ And yes, until it is time for us to actually move, we are done.”

 

“It is strange to be moving so soon.”

 

Chyehye shrugged. “The greater the honor, the larger the house. Although the meyge was not prepared for a new family in ṭi nyi!” She laughed, still delighted, and Aithne gave her a smile.

 

“Did they say how long the new ngot it will take to build?”

 

“’How long it will take to build the new ngot.’ And it should only take a week or so.”

 

Aithne nodded but before she could reply, Nyatt entered and his expression spoke of the conflict in his mind without having to read it. “What is wrong?”

 

“I…nothing. Everything is very good.” He cast a troubled eye at Aithne. “Perhaps too good.”

 

Chyehye frowned. “No riddles, Nyatt. What’s going on?”

 

He sighed. “You both have been chosen for the pubhimej.” Then, hastily, as if expecting a volatile response, “Aithne, I will not say you have to, but…I am asking you to.”

 

Aithne blinked. “That is the…the honor rite? Where he has sex with woman?”

 

Chyehye laughed. “That makes it sound so crude! Yes, the Makṭu chooses women of the meyge and has sex with them. But it is still a rite, so it is not just an aganåbuṭ.”

 

“A…what?”

 

“Aganåbuṭ. Um, a party with many people fucking.”

 

“Ah. An orgy.”

 

“Yes. It is not one of those.” A pause. “I mean, I suppose it is kind of that, but the point is, it is an honor to be chosen and to refuse would insult him and bring shame upon all of us.”

 

Aithne laughed. “You make it sound like there is no choice!”

 

Nyatt shrugged. “As I told you on our wedding night, I will gainsay you nothing. If you do not wish to do this, you do not have to. I can handle the scorn – Malacath knows I am well-practiced.”

 

Aithne went to Nyatt and set a hand on his arm. “Fear not, my husband. I will do this. I even am forward looking for it.”

 

“That…is good. I thank you.” A deep breath. “He also requests that you go to him earlier, before the others arrive.”

 

She smiled, both at the intense relief she felt from both her spouses and at the thought of getting a chance talk to the Makṭu alone – it was time to discover what fear resided in the heart of a hero. “I would like that very much myself.”

 

****************

 

This is just a divider, there is more below

 

****************

 

She arrived at the Immungot alone, freshly scrubbed and wearing the same flimsy dress as before. She was shown to a giant room near the back, a lavishly decorated bedroom filled with rugs, tapestries, and finery from all over Tamriel.

 

The Makṭu sat in a chair behind a beautifully polished dark wood table that held only a bottle of wine and two empty glasses. He was dressed in regular leather and furs but his mind continued to be a fuzzy blank. He gave Aithne a hard stare as she seated herself on the chair opposite him.

 

Then, without preamble: “Why are you here? Are you checking up on me? I have kept my end of the bargain.” He spoke in perfect Common, which was a relief to Aithne’s poor Orcish-twisted tongue.

 

She blinked. “I’m not sure who you think I am, but I am not her.”

“Please do not patronize me. I am not a fool - I am aware you are not Melissa. But you are clearly related to her. I have told no one about our arrangement.”

 

“Melissa…is my aunt. Or cousin? Or…she is my father’s mother’s sister’s daughter. We are related, but I do not know her personally.”

 

Jorg harrumphed, his fear a palpable force despite the fuzz. “Please do not play games. It is too much of a coincidence for you to be here if not because of her.”

 

“And yet, I’m afraid it is just a coincidence.”

 

Silence, then, as they stared at each other, then Aithne sighed, reached across the table, and poured wine in both glasses, then pushed one toward Jorg while settling back with the other. “What is this bargain you struck that makes you so full of fear at the very sight of someone who looks like my aunt?”

 

Jorg shook his head. “If you are truly not involved, it would be breaking my bargain to tell you about it. Suffice to say, Melissa helped me out one time and my discretion about her involvement was part of the deal.”

 

He leaned forward to pick up the glass and the pendant around his neck hung away from his skin, and in that moment, all his hidden thoughts crashed into Aithne, a veritable caterwauling of unexpected emotions and memories. They went away in the same flash when he sat back again and the pendant tapped back to the skin of his chest and she nearly gasped at the abruptness of the change.

 

It took Aithne a moment to recover her equilibrium enough to ask, “What is that necklace?”

“This? Oh, it is just a piece of Dwemer scrap metal. It was from my first kill of one of those automatons that still guard their old cities.”

 

“May I see it?”

 

“Of course.”

 

He took off the necklace and handed it to Aithne. The moment it left the touch of his body, his thoughts again erupted; when it touched the skin of her hand, the world turned to blessed silence. Not complete silence – as with Jorg when he wore it, she could still feel fuzzy reverberations of emotion. But it was just background noise – very much, in fact, like living near the ocean and having the constant till and tug of the waves as the ambient sound of life.

 

Something must have shown in her face because Jorg closed her fingers around the pendant. “Keep it. I do not know what meaning it has for you, but your expression tells me it means something.”

 

Aithne blinked, startled, and tried to hand it back. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

 

“It is fine. It is just a silly piece of scrap metal to me. I have a dozen more at home.”

 

“I…okay, thank you.” Aithne gripped it like a lifeline.

 

A long pause, then, as they stared at each other. Finally Aithne said, “You told my husband he was only the second one you have ever had to look up at.” She surreptitiously dropped the pendant in her lap as she took a sip of wine. “Who was the other?”

 

With his mind now open to her, she read the answer as it flashed immediately to the front. He, however, shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t…”

 

“It was Borkul, wasn’t it?”

 

A long pause as his mind sifted through a variety of emotions and thoughts, then, finally, he nodded. “So you know after all. The Beast himself, yes. I was assigned by the Council to track him down and bring him to Orsinium for trial.”

 

“And you succeeded.”

 

“No, I failed. He was much too strong for me. He left me bloody and broken and nearly dead on the shores of Vvardenfell.”

 

Aithne frowned. “Vvardenfell? What was he doing there?”

 

Jorg shrugged. “Hiding. He couldn’t move an inch in Cyrodil without being noticed anymore.”

 

“So how did you capture him?”

 

“How did you know he had been captured?”

 

Aithne laughed. “I was on the ship that was supposed to transport him to High Rock.”

 

“You were? What happened to it? There has been speculation ever since the Spirit didn’t make port.”

 

“The Jaunty Spirit hit an iceberg and sank.”

 

“I…see. And the Beast?”

 

“He is dead.”

 

“That makes sense – he was in a cage in the bottom of the ship when it sank. A terrible way to go, even for a monster like him.”
 

“No, he broke out of the cage and slaughtered the entire crew. That’s actually why it hit the iceberg and sank.”

 

“I…truly? Then how did you…”

 

“I was in the crow’s nest at the time, so he didn’t reach me until after the ship went down.”

 

“And then…”

 

Aithne paused, then decided on the truth, but a simplified one that combined her experiences - no need for things to become even more complicated. “And then he tried to rape and enslave me, so I yanked his arms out of their sockets and cut off his dick.”

 

“And this is why I feared for my life when I saw you.”

 

“That didn’t surprise you?”

 

“After seeing Melissa – by the way, if she is your grandmother’s sister’s daughter, that makes her your once-removed first cousin – in action, nothing about your family would surprise me.”

 

“Truly? Please tell me about her.”

 

“I…cannot say too much. I still have the bargain I told you about. Suffice to say, she agreed to help me against Borkul then…” A pause and he shuddered. “Their battle was something to behold.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

A second pause, then, “Did you hear about the eruption of the Red Mountain?’”

 

“It was hard not to – the sky was covered in ash for three weeks even in Hammerfell.”

 

 “The Dunmer said it was extinct. There hadn’t been any signs of activity from it for centuries. Until…”

 

“Are…are you saying the fight between Melissa and Borkul…”

 

“Awakened the volcano, yes.” Jorg shook his head. “I have never seen anything like it. And hope never to see its like again. I have never been so frightened.”
               

Aithne blinked and opened her mind to his and saw her: a woman with short-cropped dark hair with just a hint of grey at the temples carrying twin daggers that seemed made from pure energy and wearing what appeared to be half a bodysuit (and nothing else). She moved with a speed that seemed inconceivable. Even Trendil – at least, the earlier version of Trendil Aithne had known in the previous Skyrim – had not moved so fast. Every motion was a blur.

 

Aithne nearly cried out as the too-familiar face of Borkul appeared. He stood in the center of a cave, fending off Melissa’s attacks with only his fists, moving with a speed that nearly matched hers. The ground shuddered every time the two clashed, such was the force behind their blows.

 

Jorg shook his head and cleared his throat just as cracks started to appear in the walls of the cave, and the memory was wiped from the front of his mind.

 

“I apologize,” he said. “I got caught up in the memory of it for a moment.”
 

“It’s…fine.” Aithne found herself a little dazed and shook her head as well. “As I said, I do not know my…cousin and am not here on her behalf. You found me here by happenstance. And, of course, your bargain is safe with me – it sounds very much like I do not want to cross Melissa either.”

 

“That is wise.” Jorg set down his glass and stood. “I must prepare for the pubhimej. I…apologize for choosing you – it was the only way I could think of to speak to you privately. You do not, of course, have to attend the actual ceremony.”

 

Aithne sighed as she stood as well. “Apparently I do, or shame will be cast upon my family. Who are very excited about their promotion, so thank you for that.”

 

Jorg shrugged. “When I saw you, I knew there was no chance you would only be ṭi sna. I assume you held back during your trial? I thought as much.. I was just righting a clear error.” A pause, then he added, “I admit to a large amount of curiosity about what led you to this place, not to mention what led you to marrying into the meyge. But it is not my business, so I shall not pry. Since you are here and have chosen to take part in the rite, would you mind helping me by lighting some candles?”

 

Aithne blinked and looked around. “How many?”

 

“One thousand two hundred and twenty three.”

 

Another blink. “You’re kidding.”

 

"I’m afraid not. One for each year of our people’s exile between the destruction of the original Orsinium and the building of the current one. The Rite of Honor is a sort of history lesson.” Jorg winked. “With sex.”

 

Aithne laughed as she sorted through fire spells in her head, trying to decide which would be least likely to burn everything down.

 

“That is not how I remember my history classes!”

 

“This is a special lesson for a special occasion. Shall we begin?”

 

 

 

Next chapter

 

Previous chapter

 

Start from the beginning