Tara set down the book, On Necromancy, rubbed her eyes, and stared up at the ceiling.

The book made her skin crawl. But, oh, that glorious ceiling and the library they were in.

This was The Arcanaeum, the vast library of the College of Winterhold. It had taken nearly a year, but here she was, finally, in the place, the reason, she’d come to Skyrim.

You don’t belong here. Not anymore.

She and Katla had left Windhelm after a couple of weeks. Jobs were hard to get. Tensions with anyone not a Nord or a declared Stormcloak seemed to be at a high point. Tara had been ignoring the politics of the brewing fight between these Stormcloaks and the Empire. The days in Windhelm had her wondering if she could keep ignoring it.

Between the lack of jobs, the brewing war, and the feeling they wouldn’t stay safe from assassins for long, she and Katla had decided to head to Winterhold.

The trip had been cold. How could it be summer and still this cold?

Their first night in Winterhold was educational. The relationship between the town and the College seemed uneasy, due to the Great Collapse, the event nearly eighty years ago that had destroyed most of Winterhold. The former great city was still recovering and felt like not much above an old town. Some blamed the College for the event.

Katla and Tara had been clear they were only there to read books at the college’s library. They weren’t mages. Well, Katla had been clear.

Tara had held her tongue.

“Find anything?” Katla asked. She’d been reading The Path of Transcendence. Tara realized her skin was pale.

“No,” Tara said. “Just talks about whether you should use an old corpse or a new one and why. Disgusting.”

She watched Katla for a moment.

“You?”

Katla swallowed. “This goes over some aspects of becoming a lich. There’s, uh, details about their souls.”

“Yeah?” Tara leaned forward. Maybe a key to understand how valuable this red soul gem was.

Katla frowned. “It seems, once they’ve become a lich, the vessel they transferred their soul to…it doesn’t matter if it’s destroyed.”

“Oh.” Tara leaned back. She’d hoped they could destroy this gem and that would kill whatever darkness was inside it. It had to be something dark, something dangerous. It felt so wrong.

“I don’t think there’s a lich inside the soul gem,” Katla said. “Certainly, if their soul was inside, it wouldn’t matter once they’ve become a lich. The vessel is only needed during the transference. That’s when they’re vulnerable.”

“So, we still don’t know why a bunch of necromancers want it,” Tara said.

“It’s clearly a cult of some kind,” Katla said. Color had returned to her face. “Maybe that’s the angle we should research.”

“Good idea,” Tara said. “Research every necro cult we can. Maybe learn what some of their rituals are. Maybe they worship different Daedra. It’s not like one dark deity handles necromancy. Might point us to one that uses unique soul gems.” Tara sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I know I need a good meal,” Katla said and stood. “All this…” she swept her hands over the necromancy books they’d collected “…leaves me feeling dirty. I need a break and food.”

Urag gro-Shub, the librarian, overseer, of the Arcanaeum gave them a scowl as Tara handed in the books they’d already read. Tara wasn’t sure if it was because they were reading so many books on necromancy, or his determination that none of the books be damaged in any way.

When they’d first arrived, he’d been gruff, even for an Orc, and told them of the library’s long history, since the Second Era, and how extensive the collection here was. He had some serious pride about his job. Tara admired that. It was also rare to see an old Orc, one whose hair and beard had gone white. How different he was than any other Orc she’d met. She liked him.

They made their way to the Frozen Hearth, the inn and tavern in Winterhold. They ate lunch mostly in silence, Katla constantly lost in thought. Tara watched her. How could she help?

It felt like they were back to the beginning. No idea what was in the red soul gem, no idea what made it so valuable to some cult. And how to figure out which cult? If there was anything written about them?

They’d just have to dig through more books in the Arcanaeum. Spending more time there was something to look forward to.

When they’d first arrived at the College, a mage there, Faralda, had introduced herself as the gatekeeper and insisted one of them show some magic ability, even though Katla explained they were not joining the College. Tara had produced a fireball, which got them inside.

“Speak to Mirabelle Ervine, if you’re interested in joining,” Faralda had said to Tara. That was a name familiar to Tara. Mira had written of her. She was a Breton, a Master Wizard, and the two had trained together at some point. Mira had left Tara with the impression Mirabelle was as stern as Mira herself was.

What if Mira has written to her, warning her I might try to join? Tara wondered. Did Mira even know Tara had come to Skyrim to get to the College? She must know she’d left the College of Whispers by now.

A thought for a different day, it seemed. They’d made their way to the Arcanaeum and Tara hadn’t yet met any of the other mages here.

“When we get back,” Tara said to Katla. “How about I read that book on the Order of the Black Worm? I feel like that’s not who’s after you, but, it’s the most written about order of necromancy.”

Katla gave her a small smile. “Good plan.” She drifted off in thought again.

Tara watched her. She needed to do something more.

“Why don’t you stay here? Take a nap. Catch a break.”

Katla focused back on her. “What? Why?”

“You’re barely paying attention to your surroundings.”

Katla blushed. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Katla pulled in her breath and let it out slowly. “I…I didn’t realize how much reading about necromancy would bring up these feelings.” Her eyes watered. “My parents.”

Tara nodded. Right. “This must be painful for you.”

“I…reading what we’ve read so far…I still don’t understand how they fell into some cult. What even drew them to necromancy.” She shook her head. “Makes no sense to me.”

Tara thought for a moment. “Perhaps they thought learning this would serve some good. Somehow. But they got caught up in a dangerous cult instead.” Tara leaned forward. “There’s the legend of Vastarie. She created Sigil Geodes. She intended necromancy for good.”

Katla smiled at her. “Maybe you’re right. On both fronts. I need a break, at the least.”

Tara left Katla at the inn, where she swore she’d take a nap in their room.

Back in the Arcanaeum, Tara relished the time alone. To really look around, take in the feeling of being at the College. After they finished this research, she and Katla needed to talk.

I will study here, she thought. One more shot. One more chance at being a mage.

This isn’t your path, Tara.

They could stay here at the College for a few months, at least.

Katla would be safe, Tara was sure of it. There was no way Dark Brotherhood assassins would get at her here. Tara could learn magic and protect Katla at the same time.

Yes, that would work. She’d convince Katla. Katla wasn’t Freta. Kata wasn’t afraid of magic.

She’s afraid of your magic.

Tara just needed to find some information on possible necromancy cults. Then, somehow, she could use that to convince Katla they should stay and…come up with a way to destroy the gem and the cult. Yes. She’d make this work.

Tara read through The Order of the Black Worm, then moved on to an old volume, Necromancy in Modern Tamriel. Most of it covered the Order of the Black Worm, and Mannimarco, of course.

She’d almost closed the book when she saw the footnote. And the name.

Geonette.

Tara Geonette allowed herself a smile. She exhaled slowly and enjoyed the moment.

The dead zombie stood in front of her, ready for command. What had been his name?

Mordard. Yes, that was it.

He’d told her she had “flaming hair of passion” and “the deepest emerald eyes I’ve ever seen”.

That first date had not gone as he expected, she thought. At least he died looking into her emerald eyes.

Tara pointed and commanded. He was clumsy at first, but quickly, her newest zombie was gathering various fungus from around the cave and bringing them to her cooking station.

Good. Another servant. And another guard to protect her while she slept.

Now, perhaps, she could practice in peace. Away from the coven. Away from everyone, until the time was right.

While Mordard gathered, Tara stepped outside the small cave she’d turned into a home.

Masser rose high in the sky, leaving the night bright and shimmering.

She looked out over the rocks and trees. The cave was small, just the one room, and a partial tunnel she could keep supplies in. Moonlit Maw wasn’t too far away. She’d have preferred to reside there, but a cult of Supernal Dreamers, worshippers of Vaermina, had taken it over, and Tara had no interest in them, or whatever it was they were up to.

No, her cave would do. Smaller, higher up, so less likely to be discovered. She’d arranged, well, had her zombies, arrange large boulders around, to make the entrance even harder to spot.

She looked southwards, towards home. What had been home. The family farm outside of Wayrest.

Farming. Had her parents really expected her to want to be a simple farmer? Even after the great potential she’d shown with magic at a young age?

They were afraid of you. Of your magic.

No matter. The Glenmoril Witches had taken her in. She’d learned so much from them.

I’ll always be grateful, she thought.

But the Wyrd had rules. And rules were too binding.

Why had she trusted any of them? Why had she told Asteria of her dreams? Her desires?

No matter. They wouldn’t find her here.

Besides, she didn’t worship Hircine, as they did. She’d only joined because of what they could teach. She’d learned much, but not everything she needed.

My path is not theirs, she thought.

She let her eyes settle on Wayrest. The city’s lights stood out. The farm was too dark to see from here, even on this bright night, but Wayrest shown like the star it was.  

She needed to think up a new disguise. Couldn’t risk anyone recognizing her on her next trip there.

She didn’t need any more enamored men to turn into zombies.

The next trip would be for finding recruits. Those interested in her dreams. Her desires.

She had her own coven, no, her own cult, to form.

A moan escaped from Mordard. He must have finished gathering.

Time to get back to business. Tara turned and headed back into her cave.

Sunlight broke across the horizon, coating the morning in warmth, brilliance, and hope.

Today was the day. Tara was leaving home and heading for Cyrodiil. For a new life.

She finished tossing extra feed out for the chickens. Would Mom or Father feed them on time later today? Did they even know when to feed them? Tara had been doing it all these years. Who would take care of everything now?

Not your problem.

No, it wasn’t. They could hire some sap to do the chores for all she cared.

Tara put the feed away. What other tasks to do before she left?

None, she thought. She needed to get out of here.

She crept back in the house. She could hear her mom’s snoring, but not Father’s, as was typical with them every morning. Tara was always the first awake due to her chores. And Mom could get a loud snore on.

Back in her room, she double checked her satchel and camping gear. Everything in order. There wasn’t much to take. She’d travel light and earn more coin on her way to Cyrodiil. To the closest Synod Conclave; the one in Anvil. She only needed to grab one more thing on her way out. Father’s axe, though she really thought of it as hers.

How many logs had she split with it over these years? It belonged to her. A simple woodcutter’s axe. It’d do as a weapon until she could buy a real war axe. She had the iron dagger from Hardan, too. His gift to her, on their last visit.

“I hope you never use it, Tara,” he’d said. “Except for skinning game you’ve hunted.”

Hardan. She’d finally trusted him enough to tell him about the beatings three months ago. About why she wanted to learn to fight. If only he’d left well enough alone. She’d write to him. When she was far away and safe.

Tara stepped out of her bedroom. The house was quiet. She listened for a minute, then heard Mom’s snore again. Good.

She stepped into the kitchen and set the letter on the table. She’d kept it simple.

“I’m gone for good. Don’t try and find me.

  I’ll write one day. When I’m ready.

  Tara”

They didn’t deserve more than that.

He grabbed her by the neck from behind, just as she reached the front door. Where had he been hiding? She hadn’t heard a sound.

Tara felt herself lifted off the ground and thrown backwards. She landed hard and slid several feet, into the nearest wall.

Get up. You have to get up.

Father reached her in two strides, grabbed her by the top of the head, by her hair, and dragged her up.

“Sto…”

Before she could finish the word, he threw her forward, into their living area. She crashed into the small table and chairs, knocking both over as she fell. The books on the table scattered, surrounding her on the floor. She scrambled to her feet in time and backed away from Father.

His face was the same shade of red as the red flowers she loved to pick.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” he bellowed. He lunged for her.

Tara hopped over one of the collapsed chairs and avoided him.

“Get away from me!” she shouted.

“What is going on?” Mom had appeared.

“Get a scroll,” Father said to her. He was blocking the front door. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, he had always been imposing. More so now as he blocked Tara’s escape.

“Tara? What’s going on?” Mom looked confused.

“Our daughter is trying to leave,” Father said. “Get a scroll.”

“Let me go!” Tara said. They stood at a stalemate. Tara had put another piece of furniture between her and Father. She now stood behind one of the chairs parked in front of the fireplace. Father stayed planted in front of the door.

“You want to leave?” Mom asked Tara. “I don’t understand.”

Tara didn’t take her eyes off Father.

“I’m leaving. Tell Father to let me go,” she said to Mom. Could Mom convince him? Maybe. Or, maybe distract him long enough for her to slip out.

“Get a calm scroll!” Father yelled. Mom jumped at that, as if waking for the first time.

Turning to Tara, he said, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get out of my way. You can’t stop me,” she spat back at him. She felt heat rise in her face. She wasn’t afraid of him, she realized. She was angry at him.

“By the Gods, woman,” Father said to Mom. “Get a calm scroll now!”

Tara risked taking her eyes off Father for a moment. Her heart sank. Mom had that look. That obedient, far off look. Mom turned to get a calm scroll.

Why hadn’t she thought to find all the scrolls and destroy them ahead of time, Tara thought. Stupid.

She couldn’t let Mom read one. Thank the Gods Mom had stopped using magic years ago. And Father had never been good with magic. They relied exclusively on the scrolls to calm her now, with Mira long gone. She had a chance.

“No scrolls,” Tara said. “I’m leaving. Don’t make me hurt you.” Her voice had trailed off on that last sentence. Too timid. Too unsure of herself. Too…she didn’t want to have to hurt them.

Not angry enough.

Father took a chance with Tara distracted by Mom. He launched himself at her.

She almost got away. She dived to her right, but his hand latched onto the strap of her satchel, which she’d draped across one shoulder and across her chest. He pulled hard, and Tara flew into the back wall of the room. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she slid to the floor, trying to catch her breath. Her head swam. She must’ve hit it on the wall.

Father stood above her, pulling back his arm, fist ready to fire. He was going to punch her, going to beat her again. Mom would use a calm scroll and that would be that.

No.

Tara let the wave fill her and release. The heat in her face had cooled. This wasn’t anger. This was fury.

The force from the wave knocked Father off his feet, onto his back. Mom screamed as all the dishes on the table near where she stood, now holding a calm scroll in her hands, shattered and flew at her.

The dining table and chairs slid several feet and toppled. Tara heard shattering from the other rooms. Perhaps she’d knocked everything off the walls.

She climbed to her feet. Father matched her. He took a step towards her.

“No!”

She let another wave loose. He was lifted off his feet and landed hard on the floor again.

The house shook, Mom shrieked again, and all the furniture in the living area toppled over.

“I’m leaving!” she said. She just needed to get out the door away from them.

Father was on his feet again. Mom had unrolled the scroll. Cuts dotted her arms and face. The shattered dishes had found their mark.

Tara pointed her left hand at Mom. It came so easily. She knew what she needed to do, and it happened.

The flame shot from her hand and caught the scroll, setting it ablaze. Mom screamed, this time in real pain, not fright. The flames had caught her, too, and Tara winced to see her hands burning.

Mom scrambled to the bucket of water they always kept near the sink. Tara heard the sizzle from the dying flames. She didn’t want to see what Mom’s hands looked like.

Father lunged at her. Some sound, some guttural rage, exploded from his mouth.

Tara dodged, ducking under his grasp. Like Hardan had taught her, she rolled, efficiently, to where she wanted to be.

She was at the front door.

Father looked posed to lunge again. His face now an even deeper red, almost purple, with rage.

Tara held up her right hand. A fireball danced in it.

“I will burn you alive,” she said. She’d never sounded so cold.

He stared at her, then the fireball. Fear had crept into his eyes and Tara had a moment of glee.

Mom’s moans of pain interrupted.

“Better help Mom,” she said to Father. “Get her to a healer. Get her to Arkan.”

She opened the door and stepped out.

The rich, pink light of sunrise greeted her and she hurried down the path, to the barn, to the woodcutter’s axe.

She had it in her hands within a minute and turned to get to the road. To get out of here. To get out of this place that was no longer home.

Father stood on the path, in front of the house, which Tara could now see had shattered windows. She’d blown them all out with her waves.

He was blocking her path to the road, unless she turned and cut across their fields, their crops, which had been freshly planted by her these past few weeks.

“Get out of my way,” Tara said. She brandished the axe.

“You’re going to pay for all of this,” Father said, pointing to the house. “For what you did to your mother.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Everyone will know,” he said. A sneer had crept into his voice. “I’ll tell everyone. Spread the news. How violent you are. How unprovoked this all was. How you can’t be trusted with magic.”

“I don’t care.”

“No one will teach you. I’ll make sure of that.” Father was smiling. “I’ll use all my connections to tell everyone what a horrible daughter you are. Have been all your life. The sacrifices we made to keep everyone safe from you. To protect them from the damage you cause.” He gestured at the house. As if it presented the best proof.

“I don’t care!” Tara screamed at him. An idea crossed her mind. She shouldn’t, but…

I’ll give him proof I’m dangerous, she thought.

Don’t do it.

Tara turned away from Father, from the path, and headed for the fields. Yes, she’d give him proof.

Just cross the fields to the road. You don’t need to do anything else. Get to the road and leave.

Tara turned back to Father. He was following her.

“I’ll give you proof!” she yelled as she kept walking.

She stopped at the open gate of the fence; the loosely built fence that separated the crop fields from the yard. They didn’t need much of a fence, as the animals left the crops alone most of the time.

“Tara! Don’t!” He’d realized what she was about to do.

Tara closed her eyes and let both her hands come alive with fire. She touched each of the gate posts. The wood caught immediately and flames shot along the fence line, greedily chomping on the wood.

“TARA!”

She didn’t turn to look at him. She kept walking, now crossing the fields, moving angled toward the road, and away from the burning fence.

As she walked, she shot fireballs at the crops. There was no stone wall to shatter and hit her in the face now. Nothing to bounce back and harm her. The fireballs either landed harmlessly in the dirt and died, or caught a young sprout, just emerging from the ground, and consumed it, hungering for more.

She’d shot no more than twenty fireballs before she could see the fields catching on their own, the fire spreading. Wheat, potato, leeks. All were falling to the flames.

A blast of heat hit her, and she realized she could stop. The fire would feed itself and continue spreading, catching all their crops, all the food she’d planted. All the food that was to feed them for the coming year, and the excess they were supposed to sell for profit.

She wanted to stop and stare. To admire her handiwork. She was, what? Proud?

Proud of the magic. All those fireballs. How easy she’d created them. No headache. No magicka drain. They’d felt so natural.

She tore her eyes away from the growing inferno and looked back. Father had stopped at the burning fence. For the first time, he looked small, defeated. Confused. Weak. There was no way for him to save the crops. Even if he got Arkan and others from town here fast enough, much would be lost. This year’s crops would be a total loss.

Flames were still spreading along the fence. She needed to move before they cut her off from the road.

Tara ran and climbed over a section of fence that hadn’t caught yet, the approaching flames were still a good ten meters away. As her feet connected with the road that led away from Wayrest, and towards Hammerfell, she allowed herself one more look.

Father had disappeared. Gone to get help, probably. Hopefully, for Mom as well, for her burnt hands. Tara felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Mom. Not like that.

She turned away from home and headed down the road.

Tara wiped tears from her eyes and leaned her head back. A sigh escaped. The kind of tired sigh that hinted at defeat, if one were inclined to give in. She wasn’t. She was tired of talking, though. She’d spent the last hour, or was it two, telling Katla everything about her family. The magic suppression, the beatings, and the waves.

Well, almost everything. There was one story left. Could she tell it?

She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the door of their room, left leg stretched out, right leg bent at the knee, with her right arm resting on it. Her shoulder still ached from the arrow from the now dead assassin. The wound hadn’t left much of a scar. Her scars from the bear attack were the impressive ones on that arm. But, the arrow had left an ache. She briefly wondered if it’d been a poisoned arrow. It’d never crossed her mind to check. Maybe it just needed time to heal. A lot of things were only repaired by time.

Katla sat on the floor, cross-legged, across from Tara, pressed against the far wall of their room. She, too, was wiping tears from her eyes. What a way to start their time in Windhelm.

Gods, Tara hated Windhelm. There was nothing to like about this city.

Insufferably cold. The snow and wind here was relentless. For all the high, ancient stone walls surrounding this city, the wind seemed to squeeze through every crevice and make its presence felt. It was bitter, resentful anyone dared live in its brutal wake.

So many of the people were as cold as the weather. More than one Nord had accused Tara of being a Thalmor spy, just because she wasn’t a Nord. As if the Bretons didn’t have as much reason to dislike those high elves as Nords. How many eras had elves thought less of Bretons, and their Nedic ancestors? How many elves could not stand the existence of a human people descended from the mixing of elves and humans?

Her harassment was nothing compared to what she saw the dark elves, and Argonians, suffer, though. Dunmer, dark elves, were not the same as high elves, the Altmer, the ones who’d started the Great War. Dunmer came from Morrowind, a different land. Not even all Altimer were Thalmor, not all served in their armies or government. Tara knew enough history of the Summerset Isles, the home of Altimer. This turn towards elven dominance wasn’t shared by all of them. Just as not all Nords were as racist as the Stormcloaks dominating the city. Katla was nothing like the Nords here. Neither had Freta been.

This was Ulfric Stormcloaks’s city, though. He was jarl, sitting on the throne of the city that had once been the main capital, the original palace of High Kings of Skyrim, of the First Empire of Nords. But that was so many lifetimes ago.

For a city with such a long and fascinating history, it was decrepit and downtrodden. Perhaps due to Ulfric’s family line. Tara wasn’t sure. If he was anything like most of the people here, she had no interest in ever meeting the man.

He’d been the one to kill High King Torygg in some duel, with some shout. He was the cause of this brewing civil war with the Empire. No, Tara did not like this city at all. The sooner they left, the better.

Katla joined Tara in a big sigh.

“Everything…it’s terrible, Tara,” she said. “I’m so sorry your family hurt you like that.” Her eyes were red from crying. Her voice was low. “I can’t imagine it all.”

She climbed up from the floor and came over to Tara, knelt in front of her, so much like Freta had in that dream premonition. She gently touched Tara’s forehead with her hand, before giving her a soft kiss.

Tara closed her eyes. A moment of peace at her touch. A moment of rightness in the world.

Katla sat next to Tara, matching her, sticking out her right leg instead, so their legs touched. Their hips touched as well. Tara smiled at the difference, at how much longer Katla’s legs were compared to hers. She leaned against her, her shoulder against Katla’s arm.

“You scared me,” Katla said. Her voice remained a near whisper. “First, when that arrow hit you and I heard your cry of pain. Then, I lost sight of you while I focused on the assassins, but I heard the fire, and heard that assassin’s screams. I remembered you said you could do something with fire. To incinerate someone, though. I had no idea.”

Katla was silent for a minute.

“And then…that…wave. When they went flying away from me.” Katla looked at her. “The power from it. I…I’ve never seen or heard of anything like that.”

Katla looked away, staring across the room.

“It scared me. To see that kind of magic force.”

Her gaze returned to Tara. There was a seriousness in her eyes. Something tempering the kindness from a moment ago.

“You scare me sometimes.”

Tara swallowed and nodded.

“I have not felt safe for over two years, Tara,” Katla continued. “Since my life was…torn asunder by learning my parents were necromancers on the same day they died.”

She wiped a fresh tear away.

“Then I met you. I wanted to trust you immediately. I’ve felt safe…protected…with you. I can’t even explain why.”

Katla was quiet again. She put her arm around Tara, pulling her closer.

“So, thank you. I know that wasn’t easy to talk about. To be open and honest about it all.”

Tara nodded again. What to say to Katla? The walk to Windhelm, the focus on finding a safe place to stay. They’d settled on a spare room in an old Dunmer’s home in the Gray Quarter, the poor, downtrodden part of the city the Nords insisted the Dunmer live in, hoping to stay out of sight of anyone that might turn them in, or tip off the Dark Brotherhood. They’d hardly talked the whole time. Until now. Maybe they’d both needed to cool off. To think.

Through the day and half since killing the assassins, Tara had felt guilt and shame. She’d known she needed to be honest and open with Katla, but she’d feared losing her. Scaring her with the truth. Her family had always reacted with fear to the waves. And Katla, with her questions about Tara’s temper. It’d seemed obvious she might leave her. Keeping it from her had only caused pain, though.

What was she feeling now? Relief?

Some. One more story. One more bit of shame to tell.

“The wave didn’t affect me,” Katla said, pulling Tara out of her thoughts. “Did you do that? Aim it at them only?”

Tara sat up straighter and look at Katla. She was right. It’d thrown those assassins clear, but left Katla steady as ever on the rock.

“No. I’ve never been able to control them,” Tara said. “Outside of stopping them from erupting, once they burst out of me, I have no control. They’ve always hit everything in their path. Except…”

Tara thought back. “When Freta died.” Tara teared up at the memory. “The waves didn’t touch her body. Everything else was destroyed.”

“Maybe that’s something,” Katla said.

Tara thought. Since that confrontation with Mira, and then Algar at the College of Whispers, she hadn’t had any waves. What was different? Katla? Her feelings for Katla?

She hadn’t thought about Freta’s body being right next to her when she’d collapsed in grief. Never considered that she woke up the next day with her still right there. Yet the bandits’ bodies were scattered and battered.

“Maybe,” she replied. “I’m grateful it didn’t hurt you.”

They looked at each other a minute.

Be honest. Stay with her.

She needed to tell her.

“Thank you,” Tara said. “For accepting me. I’ve been so afraid I’d lose you if you knew about my…history with my family. And magic.”

Katla’s eyes softened. She pulled Tara back into an embrace. “Of course. I…”

“I have one more story to tell you,” Tara said. “You need to know about the day I left home for good.”

“Okay,” Katla said. Her voice had dropped. Somehow she pulled Tara closer. “Go on.”

Tara talked.

(I use the mod, Windhelm Expansion – Grey Quarter, to help expand Windhelm)

Katla held her breath, made one tiny adjustment, and released the arrow.

Her steel arrow flew true and caught the necromancer in the throat. He collapsed and died without a word.

Katla stayed crouched and quiet, listening for any sound, any hint someone else was nearby.

The wind rustled the needles of the towering pines and a bird called nearby. Otherwise, the world was silent.

She waited several more minutes. Nothing. Not even a deer passing nearby.

Katla hopped down from the rock she’d been on and closed the distance to the dead mage.

There was blood everywhere. The sight of it, her arrow coated in it, plus the gaping hole that had been his throat hit her.

You killed someone. This isn’t like hunting for food.

She threw up at the nearest tree. Breakfast was gone.

She needed to check him. See if he had that note, maybe a journal.

By Talos, let the khajiit’s information have been good.

You killed someone for the first time, she thought. You can muster the strength to dig for the information you need in his robes.

One more retch, and Katla found her courage.

He did have a journal, and tucked inside was the note.

Katla’s hands trembled as she opened it.

“Have found her in Skyrim. Near Markarth.

Find and follow. No contact.”

There was no signature, no symbol, nothing to further hint at the writer.

She needed to get away from the body. She needed to get rid of the body. They were onto her. She needed to throw them off, delay them, and keep them from knowing which direction she’d gone. She’d read the journal later, when she was safe, see if the dead mage had left evidence. Maybe he’d written names in the journal. Names she could track down and…kill.

Burn it, she thought. Burn the body so no one would recognize it. That might slow them down.

But, where? Where would be safe, so she did not set the forest on fire?

Katla crouched and thought, studying her surroundings. She’d left Markarth two days ago, meandering her way to Falkreath. The plan had been to stay there awhile. It seemed a big enough city to disappear in, plus all the forest surrounding it felt a lot less open than Markarth had been.

Markarth, built on top of a great Dwemer ruin. All stone, mines, and open fields. Plus, the scary politics and fights with those Forsworn people. She hadn’t felt safe there. Now she knew why. Someone had spotted her and told.

Thank the Gods the Khajiit caravan had been outside the city. She loved Khajiits. She’d read of the different types that lived in Elsweyr. Like men and elves, these cat people were varied amongst themselves. If she remembered her studies right, the Khajiit most common in Skyrim, and the ones of that caravan, were Cathay, bipedal and most like men and the elves. They struck her as warm. Elsweyr was a land of desert and jungle, so the books told her. So different from the cold of Skyrim. A warm people from a warm land.

The merchant of the caravan, M’desi, had recognized her, and out of kindness, told her why. Told her of the good coin someone was offering anyone who knew where she was. She’d spent all the gold she could afford buying his wares as thanks.

Now, she was in the Evergreen Woods, near Falkreath. Where would be safe to burn a body here? A Nord ruin? No. Too much danger always lurked inside ruins.

Wait…another kind of ruin would do. A dragon burial mound. She’d passed one early in the morning. Large stone blocks built up into a circle, covering the ground an ancient dragon was buried in. If the legends of dragons were true, of course.

Dirt and stone. That would be safe from fire.

She looked down at the dead mage. Her stomach turned.

You killed someone.

Yes, she had. And now she was going to burn his dead Imperial body.

What was she becoming?

Two hours later, she was on the road again, moving quickly to put distance between her and the burnt corpse.

Falkreath was out. She’d have to avoid the city for a long time. She had to assume the mage had sent a letter somehow, to someone, on where she was likely headed.

Where to? Helgen?

Too close to Falkreath. She should get out of the hold altogether.

Head north. That’s what she’d do. North or northeast, far away from Markarth and Falkreath. Maybe hide in a small town, like Morthal. Or Dawnstar.

Lots of ships came and went to Dawnstar. Bet she could blend in there, as just another traveler visiting before heading off to someplace else.

Yes, Dawnstar would do. She’d turn north before Falkreath, pass by Rorikstead, and keep heading north. Avoid as many towns as possible.

How many more of these necromancers were out there, searching for her? They knew she was in Skyrim. That alone meant she couldn’t trust anyone. Well, she’d been doing that for over a year now. She’d just have to keep it up.

Until they were all dead.

(Katla’s outfit is Colovian Leather Armor and Outfit SE – UNP – CBBE by Xtudo)

The arrow pierced her armor and drove itself into Tara’s right shoulder.

With a yelp, she went down on her right knee. Her right axe fell as her arm and hand twitched out of control from the shock of injury. She raised her left arm and pointed her hand. The fireball appeared and launched at the assassin before she’d given it any thought. An instinct, gut reaction to the arrow. The pain.

The assassin’s screams only lasted seconds, before they collapsed in a heap of ashes. One down.

Tara broke off the tail of the arrow and reached behind her shoulder and pulled it out. Daedric. No wonder it’d cut through her leather armor like butter. She had no more time to dwell on it.

She picked up her axes again. Her right shoulder protested, but worked. She turned to look for Katla and the other two assassins. Please let them not have…

Katla had managed to climb on top of a massive rock outcrop to the left of the road they’d been walking on, headed to Windhelm from Kynesgrove.

Tara saw one assassin directly below the rock, stepping and dodging, a constant blur, keeping Katla from getting a good shot. In a matter of seconds, Katla had wasted five arrows trying to hit them.

Where was the other one?

Tara scanned around Katla. The third one, a woman, had to be nearby. Only one had a bow and arrows when they attacked. The one now incinerated.

Where was the other one? She had to be…where? Other side of the rock, just out of Tara’s view?

The one in sight, an Imperial by the size of him, kept his dodging up, but wasn’t attacking Katla.

Distracting her from the other one.

The third assassin appeared. She leapt suddenly onto the rock, lunging for Katla with her dagger raised.

Tara would never get to her in time. She couldn’t throw one of her axes fast enough. Certainly not run and jump onto the rock in time to deflect the dagger.

She was going to lose Katla. She couldn’t lose her.

“NO!” she screamed.

The word escaped before she’d thought it. As instinctive as the fireball had been.

As instinctive as the wave that shot out from Tara with her scream.

The dodging assassin went flying down the road, landing more than thirty meters away.

The lunging assassin flew off the rock, a scream of shock escaping her as she was lifted into the air and blown back. Her dagger fell on the rock with a clang.

Katla killed them each with one shot. Her back was to Tara for a moment, as the assassins had been blown away from Tara as much as her.

The wave hadn’t touched Katla. She still stood on the rock, as if invulnerable to its force.

She turned and their eyes met.

Shock, amazement, curiosity, and confusion all converged across Katla’s face. And fear. Fear was winning.

“What in Oblivion was that?!”

Katla’s voice was surprisingly quiet, almost a whisper. The question didn’t come with a loud yell, no sudden raising of her voice. Instead, her voice carried the same mix of emotions as her face.

Tara found herself speechless. Why? Why hadn’t she told her about them before?

“Tara. What was that?”

Katla leapt down off the rock in a smooth motion, sheathing her bow just as she landed. The move was a thing of beauty, demonstrating Katla’s athleticism and skill more than any shot. Under different circumstances, it would’ve deserved commentary.

“I…” Tara started. She’d climbed to her feet, and was about to sheath her axes, when a wave of dizziness hit. She dropped down to one knee again.

“You’re hurt!” Katla knelt in front of her and looked at her right shoulder. Tara looked at it, too, and realized she was bleeding profusely. The armor around her shoulder was slick with blood, and rivulets of blood ran down her right arm. The arrow had done more damage than she realized.

“A healing potion from my bag…” Tara said. She raised her left hand and called forth a healing spell. The bleeding stopped, and she felt her skin close, before exhausting her magicka.

Katla had the potion at Tara’s lips within seconds. Tara drank. A warm glow spread across her body, working its way from her head all the way to her toes. She could tell the wound had healed completely. The dizziness vanished.

Tara’s heart was still pounding, though.

Of course it was. They needed to talk.

Katla’s eyes bored into hers. She still looked confused, but now worry joined in the emotional dance on her face.

“What was that?” she asked. Her voice was firm.

“I thought I was about to lose you,” Tara said. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Katla stood, pulling Tara up to her feet.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Katla said. She looked around. “Where’s the third assassin?”

Tara pointed to the pile of ashes. Katla’s mouth dropped open. She closed it, then looked at Tara. Worried and frowning.

“How…I thought you weren’t good with magic?”

Tara sighed. Why hadn’t she told her more back in Riften? Those months together. The trust they were supposed to be building.

You needed to be honest. She can’t trust you if you don’t trust her.

“Let’s get going,” Tara said. “Before more assassins show up.”

She went over to the dead Imperial assassin. She found the contract note with Katla’s name in seconds. She let her hand catch fire and burn the note. She ran over to the other one, the woman who’d nearly reached Katla. A Breton. Tara burned her note as well. Best not to let anyone else find these contracts and know the danger Katla was in. Or be tempted to turn her in for coin.

She turned to head back up the road, back on track to Windhelm.

Katla hadn’t moved from her spot.

“That…I don’t know what you call it…force. And whatever fire you just used to incinerate someone,” Katla said. Her eyes were intense. An angry fire burned within them. “That’s why your family kept you from magic, isn’t it?”

“Please,” Tara said. “Let’s get out of the open. We need to get to Windhelm. Find somewhere safe. Then we can talk.”

Katla shook her head. “Answer the questions. You’re avoiding. I won’t have it, Tara. I want answers.”

Tara closed her eyes for a moment, and pulled in a deep breath. She couldn’t be like Mira, how Mira avoided answering her questions. Had kept things from her. She couldn’t treat Katla how Mira treated her.

Be honest. Stay with her.

“It’s complicated,” Tara said. Her voice was quiet. Tired. “The force…I call them anguish waves. They came later. After my family was already abusing me.” She took another breath. “But, yes, my fire magic started this. Started their fear and oppression of my magical abilities.”

Katla’s face fought through several emotions. The anger shell cracked. Tara saw a glimmer of compassion at the mention of abuse. She also saw fear. And…betrayal? Hurt? This explanation wasn’t enough.

“Please, Katla,” Tara pleaded. “If I’m going to protect you, we need to get out of here. Now. I will tell you in Windhelm. It’s a long story.”

“Fine.” Katla’s voice was clipped. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence. Fresh snowfall started as they approached the city. So much for spring. Unless this far north was always this cold, much like Bruma remained snowy year round, Tara thought.

Tara realized some of the coldness wasn’t the weather. Katla wouldn’t say a word or look at her.

“Know where we should stay in Windhelm?” she asked her.

Katla shrugged.

Tara stopped herself from sighing in frustration.

“I’ll look for a place. Tucked away. Where no one would think to look for us.”

Katla didn’t respond, just kept walking.

The air turned colder. Tara gave up hope for a thaw from the weather or Katla anytime soon.

“I have to say, that was rejuvenating,” Tara said.

Katla laughed, gave her a wicked look, and sent a wave of warm water at her. “Don’t think it was the water that was rejuvenating.”

Tara matched her look and sent her own splash of water back.

They were bathing in a small, spring fed pool, having made camp at a tucked away spot off the winding road that would lead them to Kynesgrove, a small town close to their target city of Windhelm. Katla estimated they’d hit Kynesgrove tomorrow.

This volcanic area in Skyrim was vast and held its own beauty. At a glance, it was stark, with less grass, sporadic weeds, fewer trees, plus plenty of dead trees. The colors were browns and the pale green of heated water. The geysers and steam pools were numerous, dotting the landscape with constant gurgling spouts and steam rolling through the air…a constant fog.

Too close to a hot spring and one would be boiled to death. Along the edges, though, in small pools furthest from a geyser, the water was tepid and full of minerals. Muscles relaxed immediately when you slipped in.

Few animals were in the area, outside of the mammoths being guarded by giants. The giants gave them a sense of safety. Easily provoked and protective of their mammoths, bandits and the like tended to stay away from giant camps, as not to get crushed by them. As long as you left them alone, though, and kept a respectful distance, they wouldn’t bother you.

The wading pool was in a perfect spot, just far enough away from one such camp. Tara and Katla could watch the giants herd their mammoths around, but not be seen as a threat. It was as if the giants were their bodyguards for a day.

 “I wish we could stay here longer,” Katla said. “This is amazing. Bathing outside in this glorious warm water. I love this.”

Tara smiled. Katla’s face had taken on a childlike aura, a wonder and peaceful look usually reserved for the youngest and innocent.

“We need to return here at least once every season,” Tara said. She nodded for emphasis.

Katla swam over and sat down on the smooth rock Tara was sitting on. Tara caught her breath as their hips touched. They’d just had their fun, and still…

“I hear there’s a dragon burial ground near Kynesgrove,” Katla said. “I’d like to see it. Maybe we can pick up a bounty, too. Earn some coin.”

Tara nodded, still dwelling on Katla’s hips. “A dragon burial ground? I had no idea.”

“There’s one near Evergreen Grove, saw it once when I was hunting. They’re massive. Just stones and dirt, but…impressive.”

“Skyrim is so amazing,” Tara said. “None of those in High Rock.”

“You ever want to go back to High Rock?”

Tara bit her lower lip. “High Rock itself? Yes. Even Wayrest. Just…not right now. Maybe after more years pass.”

When my parents are dead, she thought.

“As for bounties,” Tara said. She needed to change the subject. Today was too perfect to ruin with family. “I…I’m not a fan of killing without cause. Though, I don’t want to go after giants, either. Maybe we can do some farm work or something in Kynesgrove, instead. Explore a Nord ruin for treasure. Only kill bandits if they bother us.”

Katla studied her for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. Just…we made a good team against those bandits in Whiterun.”

Tara smiled and gave her a sideways look. “We do fight well together. I love how we seem to read each other. We’re natural together.”

They relaxed silently for a while, letting the progression of the day’s light change the colors and tone. Finally dragging themselves out of the water, they dressed and started making dinner.

Tara put together a stew of leeks, carrots, and potatoes while Katla pulled out some deer jerky for them to share.

Their conversation was light through dinner. One of the giants had herded a mammoth back and forth at least three times today, and they spent time talking about both great beasts.

Katla grew more serious as dinner drew to a close. Tara noticed she seemed lost in thought, contemplating something.

“What? What is it?” She finally asked her.

“Obvious, huh?” Katla said. “I’ve been thinking…” She paused and took a deep breath, leveling her eyes at Tara. “You said your sister is a mage.”

And the day was going so well, Tara thought.

“Yes,” Tara quipped.

“Instead of us going to the College of Winterhold,” Katla said. Her voice grew louder, as if she was getting excited. “Maybe we reach out to her. About the soul gem.”

Gods, not that.

Tara tried to keep her voice steady. “We haven’t spoken in over a year. I don’t even know where she is.”

Katla gave her with a quizzical look. “But, you could write to her. The couriers would find her, eventually.” Excitement was still in her voice. “You said she was powerful, knowledgeable. Surely, she might know something about this gem. Could tell us more than Wylandriah did.”

“Why don’t you want to go to the College?” Tara asked. Her voice wavered. She didn’t want to explain Mira to Katla. Not yet. Not after such a wonderful, relaxing day.

Katla now wavered. “That’s a lot of mages in one place…”

“I hear they have a huge library with thousands of books,” Tara interjected. “Surely, we can browse the books, avoid people if you want…”

Katla steadied her voice. “You know that won’t happen. You want to go. You want to learn there.”

“You don’t want me to study magic?” Tara asked.

Katla was silent for a minute. “Your family has purposely kept you away from magic, right?”

Tara’s face flushed. “Right.” She felt her jaw clench.

Katla swallowed. “There must be a reason.”

Tara’s mouth dropped open. She closed it. This conversation was going wrong. This day was going wrong.

“They…their reasons…it’s not my fault,” Tara said. She could hear the anger in her own voice.

Katla’s eyes softened. “Will you tell me why? Please.”

Tara looked into Katla’s eyes…the warmth, the yearning to understand. Her anger quelled.

“They…I…” Tara gathered herself. “I showed a strong aptitude for magic when I was little. Instead of encouraging it, my parents, and Mira…suppressed it.”

“I’m sorry,” Katla said. Her voice had dropped to a soft whisper.

“I know with the right teachers, I can learn,” Tara said. “I learned some things at the College of Whispers. I was improving. Before Mira ruined that.”

Katla nodded. She took a deep breath. “Okay, no Mira. The College of Winterhold it is.”

Tara also took a deep breath. The day was not ruined. Katla wasn’t prying, digging for details she wasn’t ready to give.

“We’ll keep the soul gem with us at all times,” Tara said. “Any hint of dangerous mages, or anything untoward, and we’ll be out of there.” She gave Katla a huge smile. “I’m still your bodyguard. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Katla smiled back. “My little guardian.”

“Who you calling ‘little’?!”

“My short guardian?”

“Hey!”

They enjoyed time together in Katla’s tent, before Tara took first watch.

The night sky was clear and she studied the stars until it was her time to sleep.

Katla stared at the soul gem, turning it slowly in her hand. Red. Something felt so evil about that color. Something felt off about it. She hadn’t studied magic, but she’d seen a soul gem or two around her home and those had been bluish, not this throbbing red.

Home.

Home was gone. A smoldering wreck of a building last she’d seen it. As were her parents.

She fought back tears and tucked the red soul gem back into her pouch, which lived attached to her belt, which rested on her hips. She couldn’t let it out of her sight. She couldn’t trust anyone with it.

Katla climbed down the hill she’d been standing on, headed back to the safety of Bruma’s city walls. How many days had she been in Bruma? Six?

She wasn’t sure what had caused her to head to Bruma after leaving home. After her world had collapsed.

It was the closest city to Chorrol, for one. Chorrol had been home. Not that Katla had cared for it. She didn’t remember much of her birth home, Dragon Bridge. She’d loved Solitude, though, where they’d lived for a few years before coming to Cyrodiil from Skyrim, to Chorrol.

She had no idea why her parents had wanted to move there.

Now, they were gone and she’d never know.

She blinked back tears.

Stop it, she thought. You can’t think like that right now. You can’t dwell. Not until you’re safe. They’re going to come after you.

She stopped her descent and turned to look behind her. The ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple, the ancient Blades stronghold, threw its shadow over her. She’d considered hiding out there, briefly.

How long had it been abandoned? Sometime during the Great War, the Thalmor had laid siege to it. Almost thirty years ago, now. Supposedly, all the Blades, all those warriors, whose job was to protect the Emperor, and the Dragonborn of legend, had perished during the Great War. Part of the Thalmor’s cleansing.

The architecture was stunning. Of Akaviri design. Its roof with a curved, almost wing, shape, and unique pillars. Like nothing else in Tamriel. History said the temple had been built in the Second Era. Here it stood in the Fourth Era, severely damaged, but still striking. Still something that could be rebuilt. If any Emperor had the courage.

Reading the history of the Dragonborn, and of the Blades, had been one of Katla’s favorite subjects. The Blades seemed so honorable. All those years protecting the Septim Dynasty. All those Dragonborn. How amazing of a warrior you had to have been to be the personal bodyguard to the Emperor or Empress. That was someone to admire, to look up to.

She knew the Penitus Oculatus were the personal bodyguards to the Mede Dynasty now. The name didn’t have the same ring, or history. Still impressive, to be such a good fighter, and so honorable a person, you were allowed in an elite fighting force.

Katla turned back towards Bruma. She should get back before nightfall.

You could be in danger right now, she thought. There’s no Blades warrior here to protect you.

Were those necromancers after her yet? Did they know she had the soul gem? Why had they killed her parents over it? Surely, they’d kill her if they found her. And probably do worse to her before then. Like what they’d done to Mom.

Katla shook her head. No. She couldn’t think about that right now.

Tonight would be her last night in Bruma. She’d head to Skyrim tomorrow. Get out of Cyrodiil. Put some distance between her and those necromancers. She’d earned a few coins from Colin and Eris, the owners of the Tap & Tack in Bruma, the local inn and tavern.

They’d been so kind. She knew she was doing menial work for them, but they’d paid her well and let her stay for free. Even given her some old, spare clothes. She’d left home with nothing but the clothes on her back and her two bows. Well, Dad’s ebony bow and hers, which he’d given her that terrible day. Everything else was gone, destroyed by that fire. She certainly couldn’t risk going back to check if anything useful remained.

Or to bury what was left of her parents.

She shook her head again. Stop it, she thought. You can grieve later. When you’re safe.

Yes. That was the plan. Get to Skyrim. Head to Dragon Bridge, maybe? Her hometown. Would that be safe? She had no idea.

Gods, she had no idea about anything. She was eighteen now, just turned a couple of days ago. Eighteen and alone. She had no family left. And no one to trust.

Katla let tears fall at that thought. She couldn’t trust anyone. Safer for her, and them, if no one knew what had happened. Or that she carried this strange soul gem.

To Skyrim, alone, then. Everything else, she’d figure out along the way.

*shout out to Beyond Skyrim: Bruma for the picture: Mod download

Tara set down the bale of hay and caught her breath. Her arms trembled, on the edge of exhaustion.

It wasn’t enough, though. She needed to be stronger. Needed to be able to defend herself better.

She touched the cut on her lip and winced. Still tender. As was her cheekbone and shoulder.

She’d at least gotten a few good hits in this time. Father had his own set of cuts and bruises to deal with. And not just from the one little wave that had escaped, before they hit her with the calm spell.

This was the way, though, she thought. Don’t rely on the waves. Be physically strong. Make him afraid of you on all levels. Give back the violence he dealt out.

It had to work. Had to.

Violence isn’t the way.

What was the way, then? Cower and take it? Agree to marry the next noble asshole they brought over for dinner?

Tara let out a small laugh. At least they’d stopped dragging her to every noble’s house. After the Buckingsmith fiasco, there’d been the Ashcrofts. Tara made herself vomit all over their table after eating half of a goat cheese wheel.

She’d followed up that visit with the one at the Yeomstons. That was her favorite. She’d bumped into every single delicate, and ancient, vase in their entryway and dining room. The sound of each one shattering had been music to her ears. They hadn’t even sat down to eat before they were kicked out.

If the beatings had stayed to just after ruined dinners with nobles, maybe she’d keep putting up with them. She could survive until she turned eighteen. Or, really, left sooner, as soon as she set aside a little more gold.

Father had escalated, though, and Tara needed to defend herself. Like Mom used to do.

Used to. Mom and Father weren’t fighting anymore. Something had changed.

That’s why he hits you instead.

They were getting along, for them, anyway. There had been no more arguments about selling the farm. Had they come together on a mutual goal? Found one thing they could agree on and put aside the violence. It seemed so.

Was it her? Were they so united in their desire to marry her off, they’d put aside their differences? Were they so afraid of her and what her waves could do?

Mira was gone. Living somewhere in Cyrodiil. Far away, out of their reach. Had she been a target, and now that she was unreachable, Tara was their only option?

Tara lifted the hay bale again, over her head, and back down again. She managed the lift three more times before her arms gave out. She slumped down against the back of the barn, where she was doing these exercises. Out of their view. In secret. She couldn’t trust them. Or anyone right now.

Maybe Hardan. Maybe she could trust him with the details of what Father was doing. After all, Father was the real reason she wanted to learn fighting skills from him.

What if Hardan told on her? What if he agreed with Father? Maybe he thought she deserved this, too. Maybe he thought she should be married off to a noble boy? He was an old, hardened warrior. Maybe his ideals were old and hard, too.

Who to trust? Anyone?

Safer for it to be no one.

Tara wiped her brow and took a deep breath. She looked out over the fields that was the farm, beyond that to the distant mountains. So far away. Away from all this.

The sky was beautiful, a rich blue with dancing clouds. A steady wind blew, cooling her off. She nearly dozed off, dreaming of those mountains, of lands away from High Rock.

The chickens clucking pulled her back to reality. Time to feed them again; do one more check for eggs. Always so much work to do on the farm.

She tucked the hay bale back along the far side of the barn, to use again tomorrow.

She was going to get strong. She was going to become a force to be reckoned with.

Tara listened to Katla’s breathing and stared at the ceiling. She’d been awake an hour. She still wasn’t ready to wake her. The feeling of Katla near her. This was cozy. This was perfect. She didn’t want to disturb it.

Today was the day. She should wake Katla. They had plenty to do before hitting the road. Before leaving Riften and heading north. To Windhelm, and, eventually, Winterhold and the College there.

Spring was finally arriving, it was now mid First Seed. Winter had loosened its grip on Skyrim. These months in Riften were finally over.

Riften wasn’t bad, though, Tara had to admit. She liked the city. She wouldn’t want to settle down here, no, but it had a charm. She loved the architecture, liked so many of the people here. Brand-Shei, the market merchant, especially. He had a natural kindness Tara admired.

The crime element was strong; too strong. With the Black-Briars around and the Thieves Guild somewhere nearby, Tara suspected the Ratway, in the sewers, where they belonged, it’d never be a city she’d love. But the land outside the city walls? The beauty of it had continued to amaze her. She could see herself owning a farm nearby. With all the aspens and their blazing colors for scenery.

Yes, The Rift was her favorite region in Skyrim. Time to leave it behind, though, and head into Eastmarch Hold, and what towns, cities, and adventures awaited in the north. Katla had warned her this was the coldest area of Skyrim they were headed into.

Tara turned and gazed at Katla’s sleeping face. So relaxed, so vulnerable. Katla was snuggled up against Tara, her warm breath gentling brushing Tara’s face, tickling her ear.

Katla was the other reason to always like Riften. These past few months, the evolution of their relationship into an actual couple. Riften was the place it’d happened. Now, to hold onto it and build their relationship even more. As they had last night.

---

“Tell me about losing Freta,” Katla said. “Please.”

They were sitting in The Bee and Barb, sharing a final bout of special drinks from Talen-Jei. This was their last night in Riften. Tomorrow, they were heading north.

Tara avoided ordering the Cliff Racer, and stuck to the White-Gold Tower drink, a tasty blend of heavy cream and mead. Katla had, against her own judgment, had two Cliff Racers.

Tara looked at Katla. Yes, that second Cliff Racer had gotten to her. She’d had one fit of hiccups, way cuter than Tara’s hiccups, and now her eyes were watery as she asked Tara.

That was the drink making her eyes water, right?

“Maybe I should order myself a Cliff Racer,” Tara said.

“I just…” Katla paused.

She wants to open up and tell you about her parents. Be honest.

“I know,” Tara said. She finished her second White-Gold Tower and ordered another from Talen-Jei. A third one should get her drunk enough to handle this.

“I told you we were on our way to Chorrol. We’d been staying in Cheydinhal, doing odd jobs, but the work had run out.” Tara took a gulp of her drink, as soon as Talen-Jei delivered it. “I’d wanted to go to Bruma, but Freta insisted on Chorrol.” Tara let her eyes water from that memory.

She told Katla about the trip between the two cities, how uneventful the traveling was. Until they’d decided to camp in the Great Forest.

“It was late in the day, and we wouldn’t make Chorrol before nightfall. We both thought it’d be quieter, and safer, if we spent one night camping before entering the city.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Katla said.

Tara had been staring at the table. She looked up at Katla. Here she was, drunk, and still showing empathy. Tara swallowed more of her drink.

She continued on and detailed the battle. “I’d never killed anyone before,” she added.

“I was so sick after my first kill,” Katla said. “Couldn’t eat for days.”

Tara nodded. She finished describing the battle, the moment of realizing Freta had been hit by that arrow. Their last exchange.

Tara wiped her eyes and blew her nose. The drink had given her liquid courage, but the tears still flowed unimpeded. Would she ever stop crying over this moment? Would she ever want to be numb to that moment?

Tell her. Be honest.

She needed to tell her about the grief. The destroyed trees.

The waves.

“I…” Tara paused.

Tell her.

“It’s okay,” Katla said. “The pain of that moment. Has to be so hard.”

Tell her.

“When she died…” Tara paused again. “When I saw life leave her eyes…”

“I understand,” Katla interrupted. “You don’t have to say more. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed for this.”

Tara nodded. She finished off her third drink. Gods, they went down so smooth.

Tell her! Be honest!

How to tell her? How not to frighten her? What would Freta’s reaction have been to Tara’s waves? Tara had never told her, never been set off and had any…fits…while with Freta. Would Freta have been like that girl, Ginette, frightened of Tara’s temper, and the violence that came with it? Would Katla?

Katla had seen her kill, of course. In protection of her. Of them. But…

Tell her, Tara. Please.

Tara had confessed to a temper, had heard the caution in Katla’s questions about her temper, back in Riverwood.

“…Have you ever lost your temper at someone you cared about?” she asked. “Ever hurt them?”

Katla was nervous about Tara’s anger. What would revealing the waves, the lack of control, do? Make her more nervous, less trusting? Plus, Katla’s fear of dark mages, understandable, but…would she hold on to the belief that Tara would never become one?

That was part of why they’d come to Riften first. Katla had not confessed to it, but Tara wasn’t stupid. Katla did not want to bring that red soul gem to a place filled with mages. One dark mage or one tempted mage might be all it took to lose the gem, lose everything. Katla didn’t distrust magic the way Freta had. But, she didn’t trust mages. She understood the reality that people with power…many of them…couldn’t be trusted not to abuse that power.

What would Katla think of someone, her girlfriend, having a temper, and this crazy magic power she could not control? Could Tara trust her with that knowledge? Or, should she wait a little longer? Just a little.

Tara. Tell her. Trust her.

“I saw my parents die, but didn’t get a chance to look into their eyes,” Katla said.

Tara exhaled. Speaking of trust.

Katla took a swallow of mead, no more Cliff Racer drinks for her.

“Earlier in the day, my dad, Ralof was his name, had given me my bow.” She patted her bow, leaning against the table, along with Tara’s axes.

“It was one of his older ones. He’d had it cleaned up and repaired. He was going to give it to me for my birthday, I think, but he was too excited, so he gave it to me early.”

Katla took a big gulp of her mead.

“We practiced all afternoon. I was already a good shot by then. Dad had been showing me how to shoot since I was five or six. After the Great War, he thought it was important for everyone to know how to defend themselves.” She took a sip of mead. “He’d say, ‘Katla, one should know how to defend themselves. Stand up for what they believe and love. You don’t have to be in an army, but you should know how to protect yourself and others, when times call for it.’”

She wiped away tears. “You see why it was so hard for me that they were necromancers?”

Tara nodded.

“He was always spouting off little wisdoms. He’d been an archer in the war, fighting for the Empire. He’d seemed exactly what you wanted in a good man. Never an unkind word, not abusive in any way.” Katla shook her head. “Mom, too. She taught me all the ‘ladylike’ things, of course. But, gardening, too. And she loved to read.”

Katla sighed. “I still don’t understand.”

Tara watched her as she was lost in thought again, her eyes trained on the ceiling. After a minute, Katla looked at her, and leaned forward.

“We practiced shooting targets until dinner. Dad made some minor adjustments to the bow. I took to it quickly. We then went in for dinner.”

She leaned back, then forward again. Her voice dropped. “They broke in while we were eating.” Katla’s voice caught in her throat for a moment. “They broke down the door, some blast of magic.”

Tara saw Katla’s hands tremble. “There were six of them. They grabbed the three of us before I knew what was going on. Dragged us down into our basement. Into the hidden lab and shrine.”

Katla swallowed. “I had no idea. They had a false bookcase in the basement, a hidden button, and it opened to a small cave where they…practiced.”

Katla’s eyes locked onto Tara’s. “There were bodies in that cave, Tara. Skeletons, but also…freshly dead. Body parts, too, dissected body parts lying…everywhere. They had a shrine to Molag Bal in there. Plus, some other statue, carved rock. I didn’t recognize it or who it was dedicated to.” Katla sat back and wiped her eyes.

“The necromancers, the ones who broke in, they lined us all against the wall near the shrine. One of them started yelling at Dad. Kept asking him where it was, saying to give it to him. When Dad refused, they started beating Mom. And worse.”

Katla fell silent. Tara didn’t move.

“All six of them got…distracted…by what they were doing to Mom. I saw my chance…I escaped the cave…they didn’t even notice. I hurried upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. Dad kept his main bow, and the one he’d just given me, in their room. I was going to kill them all, you know.”

She wiped fresh tears away. “I grabbed both bows, some arrows, and then I saw it. The red soul gem.”

She looked at Tara again, her eyes shown with a fresh light, fierceness mixed with a dark edge.

“I knew instantly it was what they were looking for,” she whispered. “It was on the nightstand, uncovered, throbbing, calling. Had they simply searched our house, they would’ve found it. Could’ve just taken it and left. They wouldn’t have had to…”

Katla shook her head, as if trying to dismiss an image from her mind. “I grabbed it, ran to my bedroom, grabbed my pouch and put it in there. I have no idea why it was lying out like that, what my parents were thinking having it loose like that.”

Katla took another sip of mead. “I was steeling myself to go back to the basement, to kill them all. I could still hear Mom screaming, you know. Dad begging for them to stop. Then I heard one of them, the same one that had demanded the gem from Dad, yell, ‘Where is she?!’ They realized I’d escaped.”

Tara held her breath.

“I heard Dad yell, ‘Katla! Run!’”

Katla looked down at her empty mead bottle. “So, I ran.”

Fresh tears slid down Katla’s face, tracing the sides of her nose.

“I’d barely made it to our shed, not even hundred meters, when the house exploded. I was blasted off my feet, landed in the woods surrounding our land. Blessing from the Gods I didn’t hit a tree and crack my skull open.” Katla wiped her face again.

“I heard screams and yelling coming from the house. I wanted to go back, but the fire, Tara, the flames. Everything in the yard was catching on fire. I…”

Katla eyes bored into Tara’s. She was searching for…forgiveness?

“I heard them screaming. I heard my parents dying. I couldn’t save them.”

Katla straightened up and wiped her face one more time.

“I stayed in the woods, watching, listening. I couldn’t move. Didn’t know what to do. Maybe I fell asleep, I don’t know. At some point I realized it was dawn, and I saw three of the necromancers emerge.”

Tara raised an eyebrow. Katla continued before she could ask how they’d survived.

“Not from the ruins of the house. It was still burning. The cave. It must have had a tunnel, another entrance, maybe another room. I hadn’t had a chance to look around and get a good look. But, I know who emerged. The one, the leader, and two others. They came from around some rocks at the edge of our property, opposite of where I was. Thankfully, they didn’t see me or even search the area. I think they wanted to get away, before anyone showed up to see what had happened. I realized I couldn’t stick around, either. I was surprised no one had come by yet. But, there had been a huge bard festival in the city, so I think a lot of our neighbors were there. Was the perfect time to strike, I think.”

Katla took a deep breath. “I made my way to Bruma, then here to Skyrim. While I was in Bruma, it struck me that they’d be searching for me. At some point they’d realize I must have the soul gem, or know where it was.”

Katla gave Tara a slight smile. “You know the rest, mostly. I’ve traveled much of Skyrim, looking for answers, but mostly staying on the run.”

Tara leaned forward, fully across the table, her feet lifted off the floor, and gave Katla a gentle kiss. “Thank you for sharing this. I’m so sorry.”

They’d spent the rest of the night in bed, Tara holding Katla. There wasn’t anything to say, anything that would lessen the fresh waves of grief that spread through them both. Tara wondered briefly how many tears one could really shed at a time. They’d fallen asleep at some point, though Tara had no idea at what hour.

Tara blinked away the memory of last night and looked again at Katla. Time to wake her up. Time for them to go. Not on the run, anymore. Looking for answers.

They were on the road by mid-morning, heading to Shor’s Stone, and up to the hot springs area. Katla said she knew of some places to hunt and camp, that she’d heard the hot springs had rejuvenating properties. Or, at the least, would offer a great place to bathe.

Tara didn’t think again of telling her about the waves until it was too late.