“Ugh,” Serana whined as they jumped down from the bottom step onto the surface of the Soul Cairn. “The smell here. Let’s try to handle this quickly.”
It does smell like death, Andante thought. Bones, sulphur, ancient dust – death.
The ground on which they stood might have been soil or might have been finely powdered bone or ash, he couldn’t tell. There was some grass, dark grass that looked dead, although there was no way to tell for certain. Those trees that dotted the landscape were definitely dead, or at the very least stripped of leaves. There were plenty of structures: odd stone circles, small buildings, sepulchers perhaps, cairns, and a great many huge stone towers. Andante couldn’t tell whether the upright stones were meant as grave markers or not; many had circular holes at the top, but others were solid, thick slabs. Most prominent, though, was what seemed like a castle far off in the distance, with an enormous wall stretching out to either side and two towers from which pillars of light reached skyward.
It was an eerie, dark place, the Soul Cairn, with patches of vaguely-glowing fog hugging the ground. The sky was a deep purple hue with the few clouds floating in it a lighter, almost lavender color; they seemed to be lit from beneath by the pillars of light emanating not only from the castle but from other tall, ominous-looking towers. Here and there, small pools of the same purplish energy sent tendrils of light skyward. Lightning crackled across the sky, and the thunder reverberated with nothing but the stones and few structures to absorb its resonance.
There were other points of light, too, some of which were moving and some definitely humanoid. Small balls of light with long, sibilant, trailing tails like the Wisps on the surface of Nirn swam through the air at shoulder height, circling around them without aggression, as though watching in curiosity.
I wonder what these are. Spirits? If Serana’s mother was right, maybe they’re what’s left of spirits that were mostly used; not really people any more, but soul energy nonetheless. Gods. I don’t know which would be worse: finding Dynjyl in here or not finding him because he’s one of these.
Andante stepped around one of the wisps toward a spectral form that was staring at one of the standing stones. The specter, a man dressed in common farm clothes, turned to look at Andante.
“At least the pain is gone,” he said. He sounded distant, uncaring, almost defeated. Then he turned back to stare at the stone again.
Andante frowned and walked silently down the hill, past the skeleton of a mammoth or some other large creature. He looked to the right and saw another spirit, standing atop a rise just in front of a steaming fissure. He walked up to the woman, who said “Get out while you can,” and then turned away from him.
There were other specters about, none of them aggressive but all sounding confused or depressed. One said “How could they trick me like this?” Another told them to stay away. One man, sitting atop a low wall, asked in despondent tones “Is there no end to this nightmare?”
Gods. I can’t imagine.
Brynjolf hadn’t made a sound as they’d walked along the path, but he’d been looking from side to side, scanning the area. Andante felt his jaw clench as he watched.
He’s looking for Dynjyl. I don’t know what to look for or I’d be looking, too. Andante couldn’t see Brynjolf’s eyes, but the tight way he held himself as he searched told him all he needed to know. It had to be difficult. Beyond difficult. It had to be dreadful, and painful, and frightening. I’m nervous, myself, and he wasn’t my lover.
“I think we should make for that castle, or fortress, or whatever it is. The one with all the light,” Andante murmured to nobody in particular.
“Yes, there’s something going on there, for certain,” Serana answered.
He scanned the area before moving. When he looked to his left, everything appeared very purple, moreso than other parts of the landscape.
“Something’s going on over here as well. Let’s look.”
As he walked he saw energy arising from the ground, a shimmering purplish-blue curtain of light that stretched across the landscape as far as he could see. Behind it were towers, and standing stones, and other structures; but when he tried to cross the line of light he couldn’t. It wasn’t a harmful wall, but it was as solid as if it had been built from the Jerall Mountains arrayed in a line.
“Hmm. Some sort of magical barrier. I guess we won’t be going that way.”
“No,” Serana agreed with him. “Let’s keep moving.”
They headed back to the path. The hissing of steam rising from fissures was joined by a low rumbling, a muffled roar that might, he thought, have been coming from one of the nearby buildings. He didn’t stop to investigate, though, for ahead of them another specter sat atop a large stone, his posture one of despair, or perhaps fear. Andante approached him.
“Must … stay away from the Keepers!” he whispered. “Must stay away from the Keepers.” He sounded terrified, almost desperate; and Andante couldn’t get anything else out of him.
Andante turned to Serana. “Keepers?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Mother will be able to tell us something if we find her.”
“He’s out of his mind with fear of them, whatever they are.” He shuddered. Bad enough to be trapped here. But to be trapped and lose the ability to think clearly? I can’t imagine it.
The next soul approached them, rather than the other way around.
“You must help me find my Arvak! He doesn’t deserve to be in a place like this! He’s such a good horse.” The man was clearly distressed. “We came to this horrible place together and were attacked by monsters. I told him to run. Please, he’s such a loyal creature, and he’s been running so long. You have to save him!”
It was clear that the man didn’t realize what his situation really was.
Your horse is dead, my fine sir, and so are you.
“We’ll keep an eye out for him, lad,” Brynjolf murmured from behind him, in comforting tones.
Oh thank you, loverboy. I didn’t know what to say, not at all.
“A place like this will change you,” the ghost muttered. Then he turned and walked away across the steaming fissures, shouting. “Arvak? Arvak! Where are you? Arvak, please come back! Come back!”
Andante looked at Serana, and then at Brynjolf, and shook his head.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing we can do for him, not right now anyway. We have to keep looking for my mother,” Serana said. Brynjolf simply nodded, and went back to scanning the horizon.
The wall they had seen from the portal was not, as it had first appeared, attached to the castle. That, Andante could see, was still a good way off. The wall was a hundred paces or so away, and the castle and its lights were visible through a large gateway just in front of them. He trotted to the gateway, obviously a grand entrance to something with its matched staircases flanked by greenish banners.
Banners. In the Soul Cairn. I wonder whose banners they are.
On the far side of the wall, the stairs led back down to another large, open plain. Just before them was a dark stone platform atop a pointed archway through which ran the path they’d been following. Another ghost stood leaning against the structure, and a wisp made slow circuits around it. The ghost looked up at Andante and said, “Leave me be,” in as defeated a voice as he’d ever heard, just as movement to their left caught his attention. A spectral horse galloped past and disappeared into the steam hugging the dead landscape.
Andante turned to Serana again. “Arvak? Do you suppose?”
“It must be, but I don’t know how we would capture him.”
Andante sighed. This is just depressing. I’ll be happy to leave it behind.
The farther they trudged into the wastes, the louder it got. It seemed to Andante as though the lightning was more frequent, the hissing of wisps sharper, and the rumbling of thunder echoed by a moaning in the ground itself. It was less and less clear where the path lay, and Andante feared that they were crisscrossing the landscape rather than walking in a straight line toward their destination; still, they grew ever closer to it, slow though their progress was.
As they passed another of the small outbuildings Andante heard Brynjolf’s deep brogue, a question comprised of a single word breaking the silence with the uttermost gravity, like a stone dropping into a still pool.
“Dynjyl?”
Andante whipped around to look behind him. There, on a small rise, stood a ghost, staring at Brynjolf. It seemed wary, not quite confused but definitely surprised.
“How… do you know my name?” came a crisp, deep voice, a voice that bristled with authority in spite of its hollow echo. “Do I know you?”
“Oh,” Brynjolf said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It really is you. By the Eight.” He paused a moment, took a deep breath, and then nodded. “Yes, you know me, lad. It’s been so long, and you can’t see my face. One moment.” He pushed his hood off his head back onto his shoulders, then reached a hand out toward the ghost on the hill.
“Dynny, it’s me.”
There was a long pause.
“Brynjolf?”
Brynjolf merely nodded. There was another long pause, what felt to Andante like an eternity, while the spirit stared.
“But I’m confused. You look so… old. I hear your voice, I see your scar, but…”
Andante stood, frozen like a statue, feeling helpless, and felt his heart rise up into his throat. It’s been more than twenty years, Dynny. He’s not a young man any more. Look at him, though. It’s still your Brynjolf. It’s… our… Brynjolf.
Brynjolf smiled. “It’s been a long time, my friend. I forgot you’ve never seen me with a beard.” He stepped closer. “And yes, I’m much older now. Forty winters, I’d wager, if not a couple more than that. You’ve been here half my life, at least.”
“Bryn!” Dynjyl stepped closer and crossed his arms, then peered at Brynjolf. “It… really is you! I think. You’re… not dead, are you?”
“No, not dead.”
“How are you here, then?” The shade of Dynjyl leaned forward, so close they were nearly touching. “Wait, your eyes. Your eyes should be green. Are you a…?”
“Yes, Dynny,” Brynjolf said, quietly. “A great many things have happened since we last saw each other.”
Dynjyl shook his head, peered at Brynjolf once more, and then shook his head again. When he spoke, his tones were businesslike, very matter-of-fact, as though they’d spoken to each other just the day before. “I don’t know what to say to that. How very absurd of you. But it’s the only way you could be here, unless you’re dead. Well, then.”
His face broke into a slow smile, and his voice softened.
“Brynjolf. I can scarcely believe it. I never thought I’d see you again.”
Brynjolf gave him a small smile. “You haven’t changed, have you.”
“Not any more than you will have in twenty more years, foolish man, not with what you’ve done to yourself.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Dynjyl tilted his head to one side and examined Brynjolf again. “So. Tell me. The Guild?”
“Well I hardly know where to begin. Gallus is long dead, gone to Nocturnal. His successor is dead as well, only more recently and he most likely went to the Void if the gods are good. And I…”
“He is the Guildmaster, Dynjyl,” Andante said, stepping forward. There is absolutely no reason to get into the matter of Dagnell, not right now. Neither one of you needs to deal with that.
“Guildmaster! Really?” Dynjyl’s brows rose. If not for the fact that he shone as all spirits shone, Andante would have sworn that his eyes were sparkling at Brynjolf.
“Now, lad, don’t be telling him lies,” Brynjolf grumbled at Andante, even while continuing to gaze at Dynjyl. “I’m Second. You know that.”
“And you’re still the only Guildmaster I’ve ever known, Bryn,” Andante said, turning to look full at Dynjyl. His mouth fell open for a moment.
By all the gods. It’s almost like looking in a glass.
The two of them stood there, staring at each other. Dynjyl was a Nord, and Andante Imperial, and thus their faces had a slightly different structure; but the dark hair was the same, the mouth was the same. If I had my illusion going our eyes would be the same, too. No wonder. No wonder I remind him of this man.
“Dynjyl,” he said slowly, not completely certain he knew how to begin, “I’m Andante. I guess it’s obvious that I’m a vampire too and I’m also in the Guild. I wanted to tell you that, well, your wife…”
A look of pain flashed across the man’s face, briefly.
“Is she also dead?”
“No, she’s not. She’s very much alive. I thought you might like to know that. She’s older, like Brynjolf, but she’s very… lovely. In spite of that. I … had occasion to meet her some time ago.”
To Andante’s utter astonishment, Dynjyl looked at him for a moment, then tossed his head back and laughed long and hard. “I see that some things haven’t changed. That’s very good to know. Thank you, Andante.” He looked back at Brynjolf, a mischievous smile dancing around his mouth. Brynjolf’s mouth was open just a bit.
“What? Have I shocked you, Bryn? I’m simply glad to know that she’s still lively. I would have been very sad to learn that she was not. I was not the only one in the family to enjoy pretty men on occasion.” He smirked. “If the truth be told I’m quite certain she didn’t like me very much. It’s a hazard of arranged marriages, after all.”
Brynjolf shook his head.
“No. That’s not true, Dynny,” he said quietly. “Not at all. When I took you back to her she was… heartbroken.”
Dynjyl’s face fell. “Is that so?”
“Yes it surely is. She was livid with me as you might imagine but she was just, well, heartbroken is the only word I have for it.” He shook his head and sighed. “It shouldn’t have happened, lad. I should have protected you.”
“Bryn,” Dynjyl said, softly. “You can’t blame yourself. Please don’t. And thank you for telling me that. It makes me sad to know that she was hurt but, well, we did care about each other, in spite of everything, and I am glad that she didn’t hate me at the end. Truly. Thank you.”
They stood there for a long moment, Dynjyl and Brynjolf, their faces sharing a million words that Andante knew he would never know, the wisps circling around them creating a fleeting pattern in the shape of infinity. Dynjyl smiled.
“Brynjolf. It’s so good to see you, my darling boy.”
Oh gods. I don’t want to hear this. But how can I not.
Brynjolf, though, wasn’t smiling. He looked deadly serious, guilty, and mournful.
“Is it? Is it really? Even though I’m the reason you’re here?”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s good to see you. It’s no more your fault I’m here than it is my wife’s. I was a fool, and I didn’t listen to you, and – here I am. It would have happened sooner or later.”
“Dynny…”
Brynjolf looked like a man being torn in two by guilt, and by longing.
“Truly, Bryn. You know it. If you really think about it, you know that’s the truth. You told me as much. I should have kept to my bookkeeping. That’s what I was good at. But I was an idiot and I wanted adventure and I… “
Brynjolf was looking at Dynjyl as though there was nothing else in all of creation.
Like he was the sun rising. That’s what he said. He’s never looked at me like that. And he never will.
Andante tried not to sigh audibly. He stepped backward a couple of paces, silently, to stand beside an equally silent Serana, and was shocked when she reached for his hand and gave it a brief squeeze.
“You what, lad?” Brynjolf murmured.
“And I loved you. You know that. I wanted to be where you were, no matter what happened, and I was quite willing to accept whatever consequences arose from that. Now stop being a foolish man. A foolish … old… man.”
Brynjolf’s head dropped for a moment, and he stared at the ground. Then he nodded. Andante heard him laugh, a single burst of amusement. He raised his head and smiled at the ghost.
“And I loved you too, Dynny. You know that.”
“Well of course I do. How do you think I’ve kept myself happy all this time, wandering around this boring place? I have plenty of things to remember.”
“That’s true enough. There were plenty of things. And I’m not that old, lad.” The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth rose into a grin. Dynjyl’s eyes flitted from Brynjolf to Andante and back again. Once more Andante could have sworn he saw a twinkle in them.
“I can see that.” He quirked one eyebrow. “As I said, it’s good to know that some things haven’t changed. But you are old enough to call me lad and have it not sound ridiculous, aren’t you?”
Brynjolf giggled.
He giggled. He actually giggled. He sounds like a boy. And Dynjyl is such a sunny man. Light. Happy. He’s nothing like me at all.
“It’s true.” Brynjolf’s smile faded. “I wish…”
“What is it, my dear?”
“I wish I could … hold you.”
Andante turned, and walked away a few paces, bowing his head and closing his eyes. I know this is how it is. I know it. But by all the gods it hurts to hear him say that. It shouldn’t, but it does.
Dynjyl’s voice, once it came, was matter-of-fact but light.
“Well you know I can’t do that, Brynjolf. I wish it, too. But there’s nothing solid of me, not anymore, and I’m here for the rest of time so long as I stay away from the Keepers. Still, I can see you, and I can see that you have someone special, and that’s good enough for me.”
Andante’s head shot up.
What did he say?
I can’t bear to look at Brynjolf right now. Because I know it’s not true and I can’t bear to see it on his face.
“Dynny.”
“Yes, dearest?”
“We’re… looking for someone. Can you help us?”
“Possibly. Who is it you need to find? Don’t tell me it’s Arvak. I can’t begin to say how many newcomers have tried to reunite that poor man with his horse. It’s like they don’t even see each other when they pass. Very sad. I’m glad I can see you, Brynjolf.”
“Aye, lad. So am I.”
“We’re looking for my mother, Dynjyl,” Serana said. “Her name is Valerica and she’s a vampire. Like us. She may have been here for a very long time now. I don’t know how long it’s been, exactly. It’s a long story.”
There was a pause. Andante still couldn’t bring himself to face the group, so he simply scanned ahead.
Not that far now.
He wanted to be bitter, wanted to be thinking about how good it would feel to get the Scrolls and take out Harkon. Instead he found himself listening to Dynjyl’s deep but positive voice, hearing his enthusiasm for something new to do, and he couldn’t help but smile at it.
“I think that must be the woman they have imprisoned. Up in the castle. We can get there, but we’ll probably have to fight some bone men on the way. Looking at all of you I think we’ll have no trouble and, well, I’m still pretty good with a bow.”
“You’re carrying a spectral bow, lad.”
Andante grinned and fought to stifle a chuckle. Oh, Brynjolf. Think for just a moment.
“It doesn’t matter, old man. A spectral bow works just as well as a summoned one. Where do you suppose summoned bows come from, anyway? We abandoned souls are good for something, after all.”
Andante turned and smiled. I like him. I shouldn’t, but I like him. Trapped in this desolate place and somehow he manages to be upbeat. I couldn’t ever do that.
“Not abandoned, Dynjyl,” he said. “Trapped. There’s a difference. There are at least two people I know of who have never forgotten about you. So. Let’s go find Valerica, shall we?”
Dynjyl grinned back at him, and waggled his bow in the air. “We shall.”
Brynjolf looked back and forth between them like a person who couldn’t quite come to grips with what was going on. Andante wanted to laugh. What is it, Bryn? Can’t handle the fact that we both recognize that you have good taste in men?
“Come on, loverboy. Let’s go.”
“Loverboy,” Serana muttered, shaking her head.
Dynjyl laughed. “Loverboy. Indeed. Let’s go.”
“Shor’s bones,” Brynjolf grumbled.