Lazhah and I reached our camp just as the sun was beginning to set. Kellen sprang to his feet as he shouted, “You’re back!” and rushed to me and pulled me into a huge hug, and I clung to him as all the emotions I had tried my damndest to shutter up in the aftermath of the fight finally burst their dam.

 

We stayed like that, clinging to each other in a shell of complete silence (save for my gulping sobs) for the better part of an hour, while I soaked his shirt in tears and my body’s trembles slowly eased away. Every time I felt him stir even a little, I whispered a Word and the stillness resumed; this continued until I felt like the worst of my emotional outburst was past and I would have the strength to talk about what had happened coherently. It was almost fully dark by the time I sighed and let the world snap back to life.

 

I imagine you have questions about that last paragraph, so let me back up a little bit.

 

Once I was able to get to shaky feet after throwing up on what turned out to be the desiccated corpse of King Borgas, the guy in charge of the squad (I have completely forgotten his name) gave me the Jagged Crown (which is as well named as anything I have ever seen – it is made of old dragon teeth of varying lengths. It is godawfully ugly) and tasked me with bringing it back to Solitude while the rest of the squad was set to "deal with our surprise special guest," whoever that meant, and “finish up here,” by which I assumed he meant loot the place dry.

 

We were walking as we said these things, and perhaps it was because I was so distracted by the discussion and my inspection of the crown and the myriad of thoughts and emotions stemming from the battle that I was desperately trying not to think or feel that I failed to notice a peculiar chanting noise, nor wonder why a wind had suddenly picked up inside the tomb. It was only after I crashed to my knees as the first waves of a massive orgasm hit me that I caught on to the Word Wall at the back of the room.

 

This time was different than the last two walls because this time, I already had an unused dragon soul rattling around inside me, from the one that interrupted my talk with Lane (in case you wondered, I was not completely useless in that fight, but nearly so. I got in two good swipes with my sword before being buffeted away by the thing’s wings. Kellan and Lane (with assists from Lazhah and Nigel), once again did most of the actual work). So at the end of my orgasms, as the squad leader was in the middle of saying, “What was…” the new word bubbled up and spilled out of my mouth on its own.

 

“Tiid Klo Ul!”

 

And then everyone froze in place. I clambered to my feet in a panic, wondering if the new word was some gorgon-like petrifying ability and I had just inadvertently killed the lot of them, but then they came back to life.

 

‘…THAT?!” The squad leader’s eyes were wide (and his dick was, judging by the bulge in his leather pants, quite clearly hard, as were those of the other men who had gathered around).

 

I frowned but didn’t answer because I was wondering the same thing. The answer came to me once I was able to take a moment to think, so to answer all your questions, Tiid Klo Ul, henceforth to be known as Timeout, is a powerful word that actually makes time stop…well, not stop completely, but it slows waaaaaay down for everyone but me in a limited range. It is, by far, my favorite Shout. Do you ever have those moments where you wish everyone and everything around you would just shut up for a few seconds so you could think? I have those moments all the time. And now I had the means to actually make that wish come true.

 

It is fucking amazing.

 

I abused this shout heavily while clinging to Kellan. Each instance of Timeout lasted around eight seconds at that stage, so I probably ended up whispering it a few hundred times just to keep the feeling of being held going while my body worked through the physical parts of the shock and awe of the spectacle of death it had just partaken in.

 

Later, while sitting around the campfire, Lazhah did most of the describing because, when I started talking about industrial music gods shouting in my head, I got only odd looks. The way he described it, though, sounded just as far-fetched – he made me sound like some crazed sword-wielding Tasmanian devil, whirling through the Stormcloaks as if they were made of paper.

 

He also brought up my new moniker, Naasektenti, which turns out to be Nord for “she-devil." It has overtones – the first part of the word, “naa,” is the Nord word for “prostitute.” In fact, “she devil” is similar to their word for succubus (naasape, “prostitute-demon”). Apparently I was not to take offense at this, however, because “naa” is the respectful term for a lady of the night, as opposed to “pipliim,” which translates more or less to “whore” but with extra negative connotations. The Nords are to sex workers as Eskimos are to snow.

 

It wasn’t until much later that night, after the others had gone to bed (Lazhah, to my surprise, declined my attempt to do my job with him that night) and it was just Kellan and me sitting side by side by the fire, that I told him what I remembered. Which was, much to my surprise, a lot.

 

“It started like…like the fight I had with the bandit back at Ustengrav. I just…protected myself with Ghost and used Force Push to keep people away and stabbed anyone who got close enough. I’m pretty sure I didn’t really do much at first.

 

“But then…I don’t know if your training clicked in or…I don’t know, some instinct, but it was like my body knew what to do and just moved on its own. Not that I’m saying I didn’t kill them! I did! I just…” I trailed off, unsure what I was trying to say.

 

Kellan nodded. “I understand. Killing…well, it can be mesmerizing, especially when you’re in the middle of a battle. You stop thinking about your opponents as people and just see them as objects. As targets or maybe as puzzles to solve – what moves can counter what they are doing and what moves can I use to get at them? Also, you are a Redguard – your people have a natural affinity for the sword, or so I have been told. Perhaps your blood spoke for you tonight.”

 

I laughed. “According to Ancestry’s DNA test, I am some bizarre combination of Moroccan, Iranian, and Scottish, with a little bit of Scandinavian and, of all things, Cree thrown in. It has been a bone of contention because none of the family tree seems to corroborate any of that and my parents are Germanic/English and Japanese/Italian. I cried for a week when my brother told me it was proof I was adopted, but my parents insisted I was theirs. This is why I don’t believe in DNA results.” I sighed, then, as I got back on topic. “They weren’t just targets to me, Kellan. I remember them; all the faces of all those men. Or boys – most of them didn’t look any older than me. I could see the fire in their eyes. I can still see, for some of them, the moment they realized they were going to die. I…it was…”

 

I felt myself begin to shake a little and took a deep breath.

 

Kellan wrapped an arm around me and I leaned into the comfort of his solid warmth. “Aye, the memories after are the hardest part. That is why most warriors are also heavy drinkers.” He sighed. “No matter how prepared you think you are, no one can ever be ready for the moment they die. We all secretly believe we will live forever, no matter what we tell ourselves. The best you can do is remind yourself it was them or you. And, for what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice.”

 

I laughed a little again and snuggled deeper into him and let my guilt and memories fade, let all thoughts pass, by watching the patterns of the dancing flames and the slow heartbeat of the glowing logs.

 

Later, after Kellan had gone to our tent and I was feeding carrots to the horses (I had to or they would have kept me up all night pleading for them, the spoiled brats), I thought more about what Kellan had said. It was reminiscent of Lane’s comments from a few days ago, and I remembered her advice: the key to living in a world bent on killing you was to live each moment to its fullest because you never knew when something would happen that would irrevocably change everything. All that really mattered was the right now.

 

With that thought, I reached into my pack, pulled out the amulet of Mara, and, after a pause, put it on. The delicate silver brushed against the skin of my chest as I moved to the tent I shared with Kellan, a soft promise that things would be fine for as long as I could make them.

 

The same fate likely awaited me as had befallen those I had killed, some undetermined distance in the near future. But at least I would be safe enough until then.

 

Don't feed the bastards. Feed yourself instead. 

 

 

 

 

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