Chapter Text
“Ma’lhia, I’m trying to have a conversation with you. You’re 25 now, you can’t resort to childish tricks like hiding in the barn! Are you even listening to me up there?”
I rolled my eyes up in the rafters. With the volume my older sister, Sahsa-ko, was calling up to me, it was impossible to do anything but listen to her. I was pretty sure everyone on the farm was listening to her. It was the same every time she came back home to visit. She gave unavoidable lectures about how I needed to grow up and decide what I was doing with my life. I’d often give in just to get her to stop talking, and I’d try and remind myself she meant well. But she’d only gotten more overbearing in the last few years since she’d become a mother.
“You know I’m not leaving the barn until you come down,” she called up again. “Come on, Ma’lhia. I’m just trying to look after you like I promised to mother.”
Pulling a face, I extracted myself out from my hiding spot and sat down on the edge of the upper barn platform. Mentions of our mother was always Sahsa-ko’s winning move. As the eldest, she’d been 14 when mother died, and while she’d always been the bossy one, it only got worse afterwards. I reminded myself that her heart was in the right place as I stared down at her.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Get the lecture over with so I can get on with my day.”
“Don’t be like that, Ma’lhia, moons above, you’re still like a teenager. It’s not just me who’s worried about you, everybody is. You’re different. Quiet. Withdrawn. Not sleeping. If something’s wrong, you should talk to us about it.”
I hopped down from the rafters and landed close enough to Sahsa-ko that she jolted back and then scowled at me to cover her brief shocked expression. After brushing the dust and dirt off my skirts, I straightened up and forced myself to beam at my big sister as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“I’m fine,” I lied convincingly, then made my way over to start the chores I’d been meaning to start before my sister started hunting me down to pester me. “I started a new painting and I can’t get it right. I’ve been up most nights trying to fix it.”
Sahsa-ko cursed me under her breath as I started collecting the chicken and duck eggs. The wound round my feet as I walked, the largest of the ducks bold enough to stretch her neck and snap at my tail before I twitched it out of reach with a little chuckle. The ducks had been my request, and they never asked much of me except some vegetables and corn to eat from my hand and shade from the afternoon sun.
“Well, you need to stick to your studies and work as much as your painting,” of course Sahsa-ko had to have the last word as she tutted at me again, before stalking out of the barn. I didn’t bother to watch her leave.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care about worrying my family and I felt awful lying about it. But I didn’t know how to broach what was actually going on in my head with them.
For the last two and a half decades of my life, I had been perfectly content. Of course there had been the grief of losing my mother, and the struggles when my father remarried later. The farm had been founded by my grandmother’s parents and it was all I had ever known or wanted. We weren’t rich, but our crops were still growing well and my father had done so well that we’d expanded. Our farm was a pillar of the community and I knew we were luckier than many in Elsweyr or even all of Tamriel. We’d suffered losses and faced struggles, but we had our family and it had only grown over the years. Even with Sahsa-ko moving away, she still visited often with her husband and three little ones, and there was still my five other siblings here. I’d met some people who’d thought growing up and living with a large family must be exhausting. Maybe at times it was, when we were at harvesting season or when the aunts and uncles brought all the cousins and spouses and the air seemed to boil in the summer heat and all the children wanted to play. But I’d always had my own space to retreat to if I wanted – and I rarely wanted. I liked being surrounded by family. When I was younger, I had dreamed of marrying and settling down and raising my own family on the same land.
But my dreams these days had turned stranger and were impossible to explain.
Lying to my family wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, but it felt necessary at this point. Something in me had changed and I didn’t know how to process it, let alone put it into words for my family. I had ignored it at first, the little niggling feeling in my gut. It was the same kind of feeling I got right before I realised I was running late for an errand or when I had managed to get myself lost on a new path. It was the feeling of being in the wrong place and it didn't matter whether I was visiting a nearby plantation to exchange crops, painting in the meadow, reading the children stories by the fire- the feeling didn't shift. At night it was even worse. I would toss and turn, hovering between sleep and waking. I would have dreams of places I had never seen before. My sketchpads filled up with half remembered scenery that was so unlike the Elsweyr forests or instead it was blurred faces of people who looked so strange compared to my Khajiit family and friends. I didn't know what any of it meant, so I had tried to keep it buried it deep inside me and hoped it would pass. But of course, being surrounded by family meant that it was always easy for at least one person to spot the change in me. Or in this case, multiple of them had spotted it and been discussing it behind my back.
I tried to pull up some leftover indignation from Sahsa-ko’s lecture, but it was hard to hold onto when I knew that she was right. Even if she was a bit of a know-it-all about the whole thing. But maybe all eldest siblings were like that. All I could feel was guilt and anxiety and that ever nagging feeling that I was missing something.
Getting through my chores for the day was a struggle. I kept glancing over my shoulder, convinced that someone was right behind me, though every time I looked there was of course nobody there except when the ducks flocked back around my feet. I scattered their afternoon feed and squatted down beside them to watch them eat with a heartfelt sigh. Perhaps life would have been easier if I had been born a duck. Just thinking about it gave me an odd prickling sensation across my back. For the strangest of moments, I could almost feel the weight of wings and the longing to stretch them out and glide across the clear skies above me. Somewhere in a quiet part of my heart I knew that feathers weren’t quite right, but the thought was so perplexing and yet felt so correct that I turned lightheaded for a moment and slid from my squat into an ungraceful seated position. Then a second after that I slumped backwards all the way so I was on my back, blinking at the clear blue sky above me as looming mountains seemed to flicker in and out of existence at the edge of my vision.
“Sit up and drink this, Ma’lhia.”
Despite the strange wavering world around me, it was ingrained into me to follow instructions from my elders and with my head swimming, I forced myself upright, appreciating the firm hand between my shoulder blades. A waterskin was pressed into my own hands and I blinked at it for a second before lifting it to my lips.
“Slow sips,” the voice instructed and the calm face of my stepmother replaced the imaginary mountains. “You don’t want to be sick all over your poor ducks.”
I gave a tiny snort of a laugh as I obediently took little sips. My head slowly cleared and I blinked at Zilaasi who gave me a tight, concerned smile. She moved to the farm to help my grandmother with her classes when I was twelve, and the courtship with my father had been slow and considerate of the four children who’d lost their mother. I was sixteen when they married and I was glad for my father to be happy and I was even glad when I gained three younger half-siblings. But I’d never quite known how to be somebody’s stepdaughter. Zilaasi wasn’t wicked like the children’s tales, even if she wasn’t as warm as my mother had been, and she was good in the family. My older sisters bonded with her more when they became mothers, appreciate her calm wisdom and level head. My younger brother S’inji had only been a few months old when our mother died, so he had never really known anyone different and viewed Zilaasi as his mother. I didn’t resent him for that, though sometimes I did feel a little jealous at how easy he found it.
“Thank you,” I said after my sips had drained the waterskin and her smile relaxed a little. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Is there a chance that you’re with child?” Zilaasi, as always, got straight to the point. “I know you’ve been very keen on that Innkeeper’s son.”
I shook my head even as she raised an eyebrow. “No! No, no, we haven’t… No,” I forced myself to swallow my childish embarrassment. I was no innocent girl in that regard, a traveling caravan with a laughing Dunmer guard with beautiful eyes had taken care of that when I was nineteen. I’d had a few careful dalliances since then, but not recently. “We only ever kissed. I… I actually broke it off with him, a little while ago.”
Calling off our courtship had surprised even me, considering how long I’d pined after him and how I’d crowed when he finally started to notice me. The only betrayal of Zilaasi’s emotion was the slight twitch of her tail as she gave me a long look, possibly searching for someone sign of heartbreak that might have explained why I’d practically passed out by the fields. Having been a teacher for so many years, her amber eyes rarely missed a trick but I could see the frustration in them now as she struggled to figure me out. Sahsa-ko’s words echoed round my mind and I tried to give a reassuring smile that only caused Zilaasi to narrow her eyes further. Even if we weren’t the closest family members, I knew her well enough to tell that she was torn between frustration and concern.
Despite not being related by blood, she and Sahsa-ko were so alike. Thankfully though, through age or wisdom or slightly less stubbornness, Zilaasi knew when to let things go and she relaxed a little, though her tail still gave another irritated flick.
“Alright. I trust you, Ma’lhia,” she gave a small incline of her head. “But you should still go and see your grandmother. Stay in the shade for the rest of the day – I have afternoon classes and everyone else is too busy to worry about you collapsing in the field again.”
She helped me to my feet, her slight stature hiding the strength she had. I was a good head taller than her and wider in the hips, chest and belly, but she didn’t even seem to strain with my weight pulling at her and I gave her a grateful smile once I was upright again. There was a brief moment of tenderness on Zilaasi’s face and she reached out and brushed some stray curls off my face. I blinked at her and then she was striding away to the well, no doubt preparing the water for the children who’d be arriving for afternoon classes. She may not have been the warmest in personality, but she always looked out for the children.
After a quick check to make sure my ducks were all fed and content, I followed Zilaasi’s advice and made my way through the fields towards the furthest building on our farm. Tucked away with trees by the bottom of the hills, just past the barn, was my grandmother’s home. It had been the first thing built by her own parents, where she had been raised and little had changed in the 90 odd years it had been standing. The farm itself had expanded and grown but this little cottage had stayed mostly the same.
The shutters were currently shut as I approached, a sure sign my grandmother had a patient in. When I’d been younger, she’d held classes every day like Zilaasi did, but instead of teaching children to read and count, she taught them simple spells and about the ingredients needed for healing. Now that her age was catching up to her, she focused on a handful of select students – myself included – and helped the sick who non magical physicians had failed. Most of her patients were also older people who trusted her more and sometimes I suspected they invented the minor issues just as an excuse to come and socialize with my grandmother. But I still respected their privacy, no matter my own thoughts, and so I resigned myself to wait.
In the shade of the cottage, I knelt down next to the shrine of Mara that my grandmother kept there, and leaned in to light the candles at the base. They were handmade, with herbs and petals in the wax and the smell was familiar as they started to burn. Watching the smoke drift up in the air, I offered a prayer up to Mara with it.
Please, give me a sign, I silently pleaded. Give me a clue towards the answer. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and why I’ve lost my peace. I miss the way things used to be. Please. I want to honor my family and live my life here where I belong, but nothing feels right any more. Help me, Lady Mara, I beg of you.
Still kneeling, I kept my eyes closed and let myself settle into quiet, wordless prayer. The sound of voices in the distance and the bird cries above me all faded away until all that was left was the quiet sound of my own breath and my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. I’d lost count of all the times I had found myself in this exact position and the familiarity comforted me, even if I knew there would be no easy answer. I didn’t think the Gods would get involved with one girl in a quiet farm, but it was a soothing routine for me to find solace in.
It felt like no time had passed at all before sound came back to me, the creaking of the door and a quiet farewell, and I slowly opened my eyes and blinked in the light. From my position I could see the heavily pregnant woman hugging my grandmother, a shaky smile on her face before she started to pick her careful way through the fields towards the path that led back to town. She didn’t see me in the shade, but my grandmother turned her bright eyes on me.
“Lhia, my love,” her voice a familiar purr as she extended one hand out to me. “Come inside, you look exhausted.”
I followed her inside, perching at the dining table as she poured me some chilled tea with an extra spoon of sugar, the way I liked it. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling, filling the room with a thousand different smells that swirled round me like a comforting hug.
“She’s lost three before this one,” my grandmother spoke as she settled across from me with her own tea. “The closer she gets to term, the more she frets but worries are no good for the baby. A few tinctures for calming her and a listening ear will see her to term. That baby is going to be a big, healthy boy who will bring her whole family joy, just you wait. He’s going to be a pillar of the community, and will travel all across the land but always come home to his mothers.”
I nodded as I sipped my tea. Grandmother always seemed to have an extra sight for things like that and while some others scoffed at her predictions, even more put their faith in them. For her own children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren, she kept mostly quiet and said she preferred to see it happen as it came. Sometimes she would say simple things, like saying S’inji would grow as big as our father, or that the twins would need extra care when they were little.
“You have the same look about you,” she tilted her head at me, her silver furred face wrinkling.
I gave a small laugh, “I’m not having a baby, dra’dra.”
“I know that,” her light blue eyes sparkled. “But you worry. You’re restless. You’re tired of waiting.”
“Waiting? I’m not waiting for anything.”
“Everyone is waiting for something, my dear one. We all wait for the future. For our fates,” she gave me a long look. “For answers from the Gods, perhaps. You pray to Mara for peace and family, I ask Azurah for a glimpse at her great secrets. But we do not decide what Gods hear our pleas. Perhaps Hermorah will decide to grace you with his knowledge. Perhaps S’rendarr will grant you mercy. Or perhaps the Skooma Cat will come to make you question things even more.”
“Dra’dra, don’t be ridiculous,” I laughed again, assuming she was teasing me. “The Gods aren’t going to pay that much attention to me.”
Grandmother didn’t laugh in return, looking surprisingly solemn. “The Gods are always paying attention, Ma’lhia. They may not always show us their faces while they watch, but they are always with us. And I know they will be with you on the path you take.”
The smile faded from my face. She had never said a word about my fate when I was just a babe in my mother’s arms. Even when my mother had died and I had wept and begged her to tell me if I was going to die too, grandmother had just soothed me and told me how death was part of life. Sometimes as a child I had tested her, trying to trick her into answering me, but she’d never wavered.
Until now.
“I’m not the one to give you all the answers you seek,” she could read the questions on my face and gave me a small smile that looked almost sad. “But I know something big is stirring in your soul and this is only the start of the journey for you. Nothing is ever set in stone, Ma’lhia, remember that. Fate is but a question and only you can answer it. But you will need to answer one day.”
I had no words, no answer ready on my tongue, but she seemed more settled now that she’d spoken and the two of us sipped at our tea in silence. Grandmother had always been a bit eccentric, but despite all her oddities, I trusted her. If she said something was so, then it was. I had as much faith in her and my father as I did in the Gods.
But I couldn’t deny that the thought of the Gods looking over me made me nervous. I offered up my prayers and I listened to the stories we were told around the fire. The closest we’d ever come to something like this was when I was a child, one evening when grandmother had declared that I was Jone and my cousin Maya was Jode. The two moons. I hadn’t seen my cousin in many years and had always thought it was just a familial flight of fantasy, calling us the moons as a term of endearment. But now I wondered if there was more to it, though I didn’t dare ask.
“Now,” grandmother finished her tea and gave me a toothy smile. “Are you going to help your dra’dra with her potions or are you just going to drink all her tea?”
Smiling, I drained the last of my own cup and followed her through to her workroom. We worked in companionable silence, plucking leaves off herbs and stewing them in water from the stream. Grinding the dried ones into fine powders and mixing them with sweet syrups. Grandmother only came up to my chest, so I could reach the higher shelves and my hands were more steady these days. Her silver fur contrasted with the rich brown of my skin as our fingers brushed over each other’s as we worked. I’d taken more after my Ohmes mother and sometimes felt out of place when I was young, but it had been my grandmother who had given me my ceremonial tattoos that matched her own stripes. Between batches of work, I caught her hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze, trying to express my silent gratitude.
The light streaming through the windows slowly dimmed as afternoon tipped towards evening, and despite the fact I hadn’t done as much work as usual, I couldn’t stop the fatigue that crept over me. When I stopped for the fifth time to fight back another yawn, grandmother flapped her hands at me.
“A tired worker is one who makes mistakes,” she chided me gently. “Go and take a rest, Lhia. All of this will keep.”
I dropped a kiss to the top of her head and obeyed her, knowing it was pointless to argue. We all knew that grandmother was the real boss of the family, and truth be told, I longed for some quiet rest. Curling up on her bed and listening to her hum quietly under her breath as she moved to make dinner was another thing as familiar to me as my own face, as comforting as the blanket I burrowed under as I closed my eyes. The warmth of the cottage and the peace that my grandmother was nearby was enough to lull me into a deep sleep, and where another one of my strange dreams found me.
This one wasn’t a strange jumble of confusing sights and smells though. It barely felt like a dream at all.
I was standing in an empty stone room, with intricate and beautiful carvings all on the walls. I knew I was dreaming and yet I didn't wake. Instead I got to pace the room, running my hands along the marks on the wall. There was writing that I couldn't read and figures holding weapons against a range of creatures. Some of the pictures reminded me of the ones I saw in books, historic ones that spoke about the Oblivion crisis. I didn’t need to be able to read the writing to recognize the gates that had opened. Others hosted different creatures, ones crawling out of the ground or flying above buildings.
"I see you have discovered your history, Ma'hlia."
The voice startled me and I whipped round, but there was nobody else in the room with me. I stared hard into the shadowy corners but nothing appeared. My heart hammered and I tried chanting internally to myself to wake up.
"This isn't an ordinary dream, child. And there is no need for you to fear me. I am only here to guide you onto the path you know you must take. This is your history, your future, the destiny of your soul etched on stone. There's only so long you can deny what must come to pass."
The voice was calm and melodious, the kind of voice that put me at ease. It almost reminded me of my mother though it was impossible to determine the gender. Not when I was trying to make sense of what was being said. My grandmother’s words about fate and the Gods crept into my head even as I tried to not to think about what this could all mean.
"I... I don't understand how any of this has to do with me? I haven't gone to any battles or anything like that. I... Do you mean my ancestors or something?"
There was a faint sound, like rushing water or a gust of wind. It was otherworldly and yet reminded me of the good-natured sighs my father would give before teaching us children something. But this... voice, whatever it was, carried an even more ancient and wise aura than anyone I knew. Whoever or whatever this voice belonged to, I somehow knew it was beyond mortality as I knew it.
Grandmother had said the Gods were watching, but I hadn’t expected proof of her wisdom so soon.
"No, I do not mean your ancestors, not in the way you think of them at least. At pivotal points in history there have been chosen people who must do what is needed and are destined for a fate more than the one they expect. Those people are part of your history because you are one of them. They are part of you and you will need to remember their strength and carry it with you in the times ahead, Ma'hlia."
"I don't understand what you mean. Who are you? What do you want from me?"
"All will become clear in time."
I tried to say something but as quick as I could open my mouth I was suddenly snapping upright in my grandmother’s bed.