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She felt a dull drumming in her head. Whispers from the dead. She had to open it. Secrets that were never meant to be known. It was calling her. She had to open it. What was the harm? She had to open it. It was restless. She had to open it.
Alaru cursed under her breath and tugged the blankets tighter around her, screwing her eyes firmly shut. She felt movement beside her as her husband grumbled in protest, lazily grasping for his share of the blankets. Her grip relaxed somewhat as she relented.
“Can you hear it again?” Teldryn asked, voice heavy with sleep.
“Yes my love.” She whispered her voice shaky and weak.
She felt an arm wrap around her, pulling her closer. She returned the embrace, resting her head in the crook of his neck.
“You need not open it while I am here.” He said firmly. “He cannot hurt you here.”
She smiled sadly, knowing he could not see it in the dark.
“I believe you.”
It felt like an eternity of waiting. Or perhaps it had only been mere moments, it was hard to tell when the world was cloaked with night. Teldryn’s breathing had fallen into a slow rhythm occasionally interrupted by soft snoring. She wished she could join him, but the drumming persisted. She knew sleep would not find her. Her love could not keep her safe. She had to face it herself. But most of all, she had to know.
Carefully, she untangled herself from her husband’s embrace slowly getting up from the bed. She stumbled towards her desk and fumbled in the dark for her candle. Holding it in one hand, she quickly snapped her fingers conjuring flame from her fingertips and setting the wick alight. She snapped her head to the bed as the room flooded with light, her auburn hair clinging to her face, wet with sweat. Teldryn did not stir. Satisfied, she snatched a small iron key and left the room.
She tip toed down the stairs careful not to wake her housecarl and found her gear. Quietly she began to dress. A layer of kagoti leather and chitin would be enough for this trip and her blade she thought. It was a cursed blade of course, as was custom for adventurers, blacker than midnight and sharper than a cliffracer’s shriek. She adjusted her belt as she slid it into its sheath.
Slowly, she approached a small chest under the stairs. The source of the drumming. A thick layer of dust coated it and it had rusted with age. She hesitated, steeling herself for what was to come. She slowly turned the lock and with a click, it shuddered open.
Cautiously, she removed the contents of the chest. Lifting out a worn dusty tome. The Black book.
It was unnaturally cool to the touch, with dark leather depicting the shape of a tentacled creature, dark and foreboding. It was old. Ancient. It seemed to pulse under her fingers, eager to be opened. Wanting to be read.
Feverishly, she cleared some room on the table ignoring the loud clattering of utensils hitting the floor. It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek she thought setting the book on the table. Surely she, a master wizard could handle this? Taking a deep breath, she opened the book.
And nothing happened.
But she had expected this.
She skimmed the pages, bracing herself as she read further:
“The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought.
The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First,-“
She gasped as slick black tentacles sprouted from the pages, twisting around her throat. Pulling her in, tightening, dragging. Deep, deep into the pages, the void behind the stars, the shadow in her subconscious. And then she was falling.
Down
Down
Down.
A scream ripped from her throat as the world caved in around her.
And she awoke again. Or perhaps, for the first time back in Apocrypha. Surrounded by a sea of writhing tentacles with a sky a sickening green, pages fluttered past her, flowing through a non existent wind. She was here. In his realm. Bile rose to her throat at the very thought. She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk through the endless library.
She was quite she thought. Boots barely making a noise on the metallic floor. Her eyes studied the pages hungrily, devouring all the words she could. The ghosts of former guest didn’t regard her. All were equally absorbed in their own search, the endless search. The one that claimed their lives. But she had to know. Had to see. As soon as the answers came she would leave. She would go home. Teldryn would find her back in the kitchen. He’d scold her for looking but that would be alright. She would be alright.
“I told you that you would come back.” A voice drawled. A familiar voice. Alaru froze.
“You thought to scorn me.” It continued “And yet you are here. As I… predicted.”
Panic rose in her chest as she swung around. Endless eyes framed with wandering tentacles, ever seeing. Ever watching. Patient and loathsome. This was the face of a god.
She wanted to yell. To scream. Say something clever like she usually did. But the fire was gone. When she saw Miraak’s execution, the way his body hung limp when he struck the floor. His screams. The flesh melting off his bones. That fire was replaced with fear.
“You wish… to escape me.” It’s voice filled with mockery. “To escape your fate in Apocrypha.”
Alaru was shaking. She drew her sword and pointed it squarely at the inner most eye, for all the good it would do.
“Hermeaus Mora.” She said, voice quivering despite her best efforts. “I am not yours to toy with.”
“Believe what you wish.” Hermeaus said unfazed. “But all seekers of knowledge are my loyal servants. You know this deep down.”
She felt a heaviness in her chest at these words. Anger. Fear. Grief. She shook her head. She would not end up like the others.
“I will find a way.”
The black book had found its way into her possession. Even here. Quickly, she opened it and began to read the pages once more.
“You will return, Alaru Indoril of House Telvanni.” It droned as the world faded around her. “Your soul is mine.”
She awoke gasping for air as if her chest had been crushed under some unbelievable weight. The book, the cursed thing was still in her grip. She snarled and threw it across the table scattering some clutter with it.
The table. Her table. The kitchen. She was home.
A calloused hand gently placed a warm mug on the table. A bitter scent, the strong smell of trama root. Her favourite. She turned hesitantly, Teldryn stood there with tired eyes and a clenched jaw, his arms folded tightly over his chest.
“When you hired me to watch your back I never thought it would lead me here.” He buried his face in his hands before opening them again to frame his face. “When I took my vows on our wedding day, I thought this-“ he gestured wildly to the book on the floor. “- would be behind us.”
Alaru cupped her hands around her mug staring bleakly into the dark liquid within.
“I thought so too.”
She shifted in her seat as she felt a heavy weight press on the bench. A hand joined with hers and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“Then why must you look?” he whispered. “Why do you venture beyond my reach?”
“Because I must.” She said firmly looking deep into his scarlet eyes. “Or my very soul is forfeit.”
There was a heavy silence between them. Teldryn pulled her into an embrace. She squeezed back feeling herself relax from his touch.
“We will find a way together.” He said firmly, stroking her hair. “And without that thrice damned book.”
Alaru smiled sadly, knowing he could not see it.
“I believe you.”