Chapter Thirty-Seven
A reverberation rang and completed the octave. The aetherium golem vibrated violently. S’maath lost his footing before he was able to strike. He slipped and fell to the ground. As he rolled over, he and the others saw the creature come apart; the dwemer of eight had run out of time. The group kept a firm gaze on the enemy, but the dwemer did not attack, instead they took a knee.
“What is this? What are they doing,” S’maash asked, out of breath.
The foremost experts, Aicantar and Falion, had no reply; they simply stood slack-jawed. The deep elves removed their helmets revealing bronze skin like their wood elf counterparts. An old one with white hair spoke. His words were ancient and incomprehensible to most.
“He says their time has come to pass,” Aicantar breathed.
The group of travelers walked over to the line of kneeling dwemer. “What does that mean,” Brelyna asked, still aghast.
Aicantar looked to her and shrugged when the old elf spoke again in his staccato language. “For eight tones, you have fought, and for eight tones, you have survived. You may pass to set foot upon Xranthrnl, if you can restore life to a dead world,” Aicantar said.
“He must mean restoring the Heart of Lorkhan,” Falion interjected.
Panting, S’maash put away his weapons and produced the beating Heart of Lorkhan. The dwemer then stood, awed, and still holding their helmets, they walked to the puzzle box. S’maash and friends slowly followed suit.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Zolara huffed, coming to his feet. “We’re done fighting?”
They ignored his ramblings. One, deep elf took a small, dwarven metal tool, shaped like a Y and tapped it against the box. The round door spun, causing the circles to alter their arrangement. A second elf did the same, and again, the door spun. The procedure was repeated five, more times, and the circles were neatly arranged, but the door did not unlock. The only one who had not done anything was the old elf. He took a knife and cut his hand before placing a drop of blood on the round door. It rumbled then sank into the ground. He turned to S’maash and spoke again.
“Only a living world can grant knowledge and passage,” Aicantar translated.
S’maash looked to his friends. They nodded and turned back to the opening. He walked inside to find a small altar. Two, stone hands were present on either side as though awaiting something. The old dwemer walked in behind S’maash and pointed to the altar. The wizard gingerly placed the Heart of Lorkhan on its top. The old elf pulled two, dwemer pipes and secured them to the Heart of Lorkhan by way of spinning couplings. He turned back to S’maash and spoke. By then, Aicantar had followed in.
“Order and chaos cannot exist separately. Life granted by a God can only be held with the hands of a demon,” Aicantar said.
“Hands,” S’maash asked.
“Yes…probably the ones Hermaeus Mora gave you,” Aicantar answered.
S’maash and the deep elf made eye contact for a second. He then took the red, ruby-like hands from his pack and held them. The old elf pointed to the stone hands. S’maash slid the gauntlets over the fingers; it was a perfect fit. Again, the old elf spoke.
“Life and death resonate as one,” Aicantar said.
S’maash shrugged, but knew he needed Kagrenac’s tools for something. He produced them as well. The old elf spoke more.
“A fist might smash, but an open palm can create,” Aicantar said.
“Yes, I’ve heard that before,” S’maash smiled.
Aicantar translated those words into dwemer and the dwemer replied. “Place the tonal tools in the hands,” Aicantar told S’maash.
When the dunmer did so, the gauntlets came to life. They gripped the tools and held them, ever so close, to the heart. A wavering like too much heat off a forge obscured the sight of the Heart of Lorkhan, and swirling light manifested before them.
“Come, friends,” S’maash called out.
As they stumbled closer to peer inside the puzzle box, the remaining dwemer walked in. One-by-one, they entered the swirling light and vanished. The old dwemer spoke one, final phrase before he, too, entered.
“See for yourself what an eight of dwemer can truly forge,” Aicantar whispered.
“We must go to Xranthrnl,” Falion said.
They were in agreement, though they were not altogether composed. “I will go,” S’maash said.
Before anyone said a word, he stepped into the portal. A sublime vertigo overtook him. His eyes shut. For a brief moment, he thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. It passed, and he opened his eyes. Everyone had come through, and before them was the most astounding sight yet.
The new, dwemer home, Xranthrnl, was a conglomeration of nature and machinery. Where S’maash and friends stood, trees and stone surrounded them, but gears, piping, cranes, and all types of mechanical creations were built into and around the area as well. Several of the machines showed exposed gears, but they were different than the ancient gears of dwemer ruins; they were thinner, sleeker, and much more quiet. Great sheets of blue aetherium reflected light from far away, casting a haunting glow over the area. From where the source of light originated, no one saw; the sky was obscured by a multitude of aetherium plates. A dwemer placed his hand on S’maash’s shoulder. He spoke his language of old.
“Come to meet our lord. Malkriis awaits,” Aicantar translated.
“What a strange name,” Zolara remarked.
Brelyna winced and elbowed him. They followed behind the eight dwemer, who took them around a large dome built into the ground. It was forged from dwemer steel and resembled the puzzle box. Its utility was unknown.
From there, the group was led down a stone path and beyond a waterfall. As the water cascaded from high above, it fell upon an awning of sorts. The awning forced the water to part, so travelers were free to walk beneath without getting wet, and into the lord’s manor.
From the exterior, the manor was crafted entirely out of smooth, dwemer steel. The interior was much different. Several, gas lamps lined a round, brass-like corridor.
“They erected walls of metal over the natural rock,” Falion said.
“And carved it to a work of art beyond words,” Aicantar added.
It was true. The lord’s manor relegated the appearance of dwemer ruins to the wayside as far as art and beauty were concerned. The hall looked as though dwemer had neatly etched several rows of lines, circles, swirls, and other images into every inch of the walls. They all wondered how such a feat was even possible. Before too long, they came to a stop; a lift stood before them. Again, the dwemer spoke.
“Each, new height is decided by a pull,” Aicantar said in slight confusion.
The dwemer motioned for the group to stand upon the giant lift. Instead of a single lever at the center, as the lifts of dwemer ruins, several, small levers were built into a stand at the center. One of the deep elves nodded and pulled the highest lever. With a soft hiss, they rose to heights unknown.
“My…this is,” Brelyna trailed off.
“Indescribable,” S’maath asked.
She looked to him and smiled. They continued traveling up an interminable length. After moments, the lift came to a halt. Behind them, a wall rotated along an unseen seam and opened. The dwemer walked through and into a throne room comprised entirely of aetherium and dwarven metal. The round chamber glistened from the gas lamps overhead. A beautiful purple and gold carpet brought the group before the ornate and jewel encrusted throne.
A powerful-looking deep elf clad in aetherium, chain mail stood. Great locks of gray hair grew all the way to the ground, both from his head and his face. A dwemer conversation ensued. As Aicantar translated, other deep elves—gorgeous, young women in satin gowns—entered.
“The lord said he is glad to have his guardians return to Xranthrnl. In turn, they replied that they have brought the warriors who withstood the Test of Eight Tones,” Aicantar said.
Again, the lord spoke. The women, who carried silver platters with
sweet smelling fruits and meat, approached all the new arrivals. While both parties ate, the lord continued speaking.
“All planes are open, and the ways to travel are many. With infinity at our disposal, a new sharing may occur. We, the dwemer, have achieved all that we have set mind and tools to. Your accomplishment was no mean feat, and I am glad to share what we have with each of you, but,” Aicantar translated.
For a moment no more was said. The group passed glances and Aicantar shrugged in reply. The lord then spoke more.
“But all is not safe, for many should not be given free passage to worlds they cannot comprehend. With my eight, tonal warriors returned, there is none left to guard the living Mundas. Who among you could live between two worlds?” Aicantar translated.
“He wants someone to stay as the new guardian of the Heart of Lorkhan,” Falion clarified.
“What,” S’maash asked in disbelief.
“Not I,” Zolara said.
“No,” Brelyna joked. “Not you…nor I, honestly.”
S’maash and S’maath looked each other over then shook their heads. Falion said nothing, but was clearly uninterested. Aicantar stirred.
“I will stay,” he said.
“No,” Brelyna whispered.
Aicantar nodded before speaking to the lord in dwemeri. The lord replied, and Aicantar spoke to his friends.
“He accepts. Listen, my knowledge on the dwemer is fairly well established. Someone needs to stand guard…I will do it and gladly. The lord also says he will grant each of you a gift. For me, it will be a complete knowledge of machinery, something I have always been fascinated with,” Aicantar spoke, happily.
“We each get a gift? I mean, Aicantar, noooo,” Zolara said, half joking as his voice trailed off.
“I wouldn’t mind some aetherium to take back to the Reyda Tong,” S’maath said, unabashedly.
Aicantar nodded as he turned to each and translated to Malkriis. The women quickly left and returned with something for everyone. S’maath received several, aetherium ingots. Zolara received a book containing the extended research on alchemy as conceived by the dwemer. Brelyna was given a tome containing forgotten spells pertaining to the school of alteration. Falion asked for the methodology behind long distance, dwemer communications—as hinted to in the story Chimarvarmidium—and was given a small, teardrop shaped piece of metal with a fork at its end. Aicantar translated for him the pertinent information in both duplication and use. Finally, they looked at S’maash who had remained quiet.
He eyed each one of his friends, and every, deep elf in the great chamber, until settling upon their lord. “I began a journey,” he whispered. “I looked to unraveling the mysteries of enchanting, the secrets of magicka…. This journey brought me to new friends, unknown enemies, and great dangers. All I seek is to continue this endeavor. I must understand the secrets of enchanting…all of them,” S’maash spoke, slowly.
Aicantar translated the wizard’s request into dwemeri. Malkriis stepped over to S’maash and placed a hand on his shoulder before speaking.
“Your brave journey has led you to me now. Doubtless, a quest for knowledge has sparked the eyes of the daedra, but as you cannot believe all that you see; they cannot see all that there is to believe,” Aicantar said.
S’maash was at a loss. He looked at Aicantar and back to the dwemer lord, who spoke again.
“To you, I grant a tome. The intricacies contained within may help you to discern the nature of enchantments. I must inform you, it is not possible to find all that you require in one world,” Aicantar translated.
The tome was then given to S’maash, leather-bound and pristine. Inside, were dwemer symbols, designs, and diagrams. S’maash nodded in approval, though he did not yet understand what it was he possessed. Finally, Malkriis spoke one, last time.
“To stay too long in a world of difference can be detrimental to those who are not around you,” Aicantar said, slightly confused.
“We’re existing in a different flow of time. What is minutes here might be hours or days in our world,” Falion clarified.
“Then, we should make haste,” S’maath said.
“Yes. I shall accompany you back to the way we came,” Aicantar replied.
They all bid farewell to their deep elf friends and returned to the lift. A simple pull of the bottom-most lever took them back to ground level. They slowly walked the corridor, back to the waterfall, and around the dome in the courtyard of Xranthrnl. The eerie twilight provided ample radiance, and the travelers arrived before the podium upholding the Heart of Lorkhan. As they drew near, it vibrated, and the portal back to Tamriel opened.
“I will see you all again soon, I’m sure,” Aicantar said, tears in his eyes.
“Goodbye, my friend,” Brelyna said.
They all said goodbye and stepped into the portal. After a slight vertigo, they were back in the deep recesses of Damlzthur where a battle had been won, where lava bubbled, where now, there were only five travelers. They made for home.
End
In L’Thu Oad, the brothers split once more. S’maath had a great deal of work to do with the Reyda Tong, and S’maash was anxious to begin studies on the tome he received. Falion had told him it was comprised of mystical designs used in the creation of a new kind of arcane enchanter, a potent and mysterious tool, sure to unravel significant finds in the school of enchanting.
Brelyna kept in touch with S’maath, by way of letters, in hopes than one day, he might move to Skyrim, or she to Morrowind. At the College of Winterhold, she continued to teach alteration. Falion returned to Morthal where his studies attracted Zolara. He, in turn, abandoned the College to work with Falion on new discoveries in the school of conjuration.
S’maash stayed in touch with everyone as he bounced back and forth between his court wizard duties in Whiterun and giving lectures on enchanting at the Mage’s College of Winterhold. With the help of Urag, Tolfdir, and occasional meetings with Falion, he learned enough of the dwemer tongue to decipher the tome for himself.
S’maash was shocked to find that among the required artifacts, some of which were nearly indescribable, was an Elder Scroll, Arcane. That became his top priority, and one day, he left in search of it.
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