It was the deepest part of the night when Sayma made it to Solitude and slipped into the Winking Skeever. Even a period of meditation in the darkest corner outside the inn had not settled her nerves even though she could feel Nocturnal’s presence. For a moment or two she considered going to wake the owner and renting a room; but she knew she would get no sleep. Instead, she found a table in the corner and sat down behind it. She stared unseeing into the flickering candlelight while the child within her danced a furious dance and her own mind raced, and pondered, and feared.
I absorbed a dragon’s soul.
That’s the only explanation. Dardeh was nowhere in sight. He’s the Dragonborn. He’s supposed to be the only one who can do such a thing.
But we share the same bloodline. He was convinced that I absorbed some of the energy from that dragon we killed together. I didn’t believe him then. But I do now.
She started to tremble, as she had several times on the journey from Dragon Bridge to Solitude. The baby once again thrashed and rolled as if she wanted to be born that very moment; but it was too soon, and Sayma knew what the early stages of labor felt like. No, this was simply the child reacting to her own agitation. Once again she fought to calm herself.
I’m not Dragonborn. I can’t be. I’m bound to both Nocturnal and the Night Mother and I can’t also be Dragonborn. There’s only one, and it’s Dardeh. Right?
Dardeh had asked her, when the three of them had slain a dragon in Falkreath and she had suddenly understood the words Dardeh had been Shouting, whether she could now use them herself. It had been apparent on that day at least that there was no force within her capable of turning those words from language into form. There had been no innate understanding of how the power of the words could rise up into her chest and burst forth from her mouth as a cloud of frost. She closed her eyes and focused, knowing that she could not allow such a thing as a Shout to emerge from her here in Solitude – in the middle of the night, no less – but sensing that if she could Shout now where she hadn’t before she would feel it somehow, that connection between the words of Dovahzul and the essence of her own life force, and would know how the thing could be accomplished. That was what Dardeh had told her; and she had no reason to doubt him.
She held her breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen. There was nothing other than the wild drumming of her daughter’s hands and feet against her abdomen. She sighed, and opened her eyes, and rubbed her belly slowly in a motion that had calmed the younger Brynjolf before he’d been born.
Hush, little one. It won’t be much longer, now, and you’ll be able to dance in the sunlight alongside your brother. I wonder if you’ll also have red hair like your father’s. Or will you resemble me, with black hair? And what shall we name you? Perhaps we will name you after both of us. Qara – black, for my black hair. And Lana – for your father. Red. Qaralana.
She smiled down at her belly and rubbed it once more, and the child began to settle. That’s it then? Qaralana. That makes you happy? So you shall be called. I think your father will approve.
But having settled on a name for the soon-to-be infant didn’t settle Sayma’s mind very well. It was hard to shed the memory of squinting against the brilliance of the energies flowing around her, and the horror of realizing that there was only one person in the area who might possibly have absorbed it.
What does it mean? What can I do? Do I tell Dardeh and Roggi? Even more to the point, do I tell Brynjolf?
She saw him in her mind’s eye, hoisting their son up into the air with a hearty laugh as the child giggled and squirmed in his arms. He’d been so happy of late, at least most of the time. Part of that, she knew, was that the Guild was operating smoothly, the newer members settling into their work and doing well. He kept telling her that it had been better ever since they’d settled matters with Nocturnal, and that it was in large part due to her efforts; but she knew better. Brynjolf was a natural born leader, no matter how little he liked it. It was his steady, calm influence that made things work as well as they did; that, and the fact that he felt much more free to travel about the province these days, keeping contacts fresh and keeping an eye on developments in the world.
He even traveled with Roggi for awhile. That was a revelation. Of all the things I would never have expected, their friendship probably tops the list. It’s a true meeting of the minds, between them, and it makes me happy to know that.
She must have dozed off thinking about them, even as disquieted as she was. The sounds of people stirring near the bar and at the tables had her opening her eyes. She squinted up toward the windows.
Early. Before seven at the latest. He’ll be coming up from the warehouse soon. Maybe I can intercept him before he gets involved with the day’s business.
She pushed herself up from the table and made her way to the bar to purchase a boiled crème treat. She grinned as she nibbled it on her way out the door, thinking of Andante and his affinity for all things sweet. He’d been her best field assassin after the fire at the old Sanctuary – for reasons they all understood much more clearly, now – and in spite of everything that had happened between him and Brynjolf she missed having him in the Brotherhood.
A number of people shuffled up the hill past her as she left the city. One Argonian who she vaguely recognized passed, peering at her. She pulled her hood forward a bit. It had been a long time since the day she’d impersonated the Gourmet to eliminate Titus Meade’s body double, but people who lived on the streets tended to have long memories and sharp eyes, and she didn’t want to take any chances. A group of merchants followed a bit behind him, giving the Khajiit encampment superior smirks. She sighed. Nobody had decided yet that the end of the war meant that Khajiit were welcome to do business in the cities. They probably should be.
Finally she spied the Argonian she’d been waiting for, trudging his way up the road. He looked up at her and flinched a bit but slowed to a stop when she approached him.
“Hello, Gulum-Ei,” she murmured. “Our mutual acquaintance asked me to check in with you and see how business was going.”
Gulum-Ei gave the shifty look he’d given her so many times, clearly weighing how truthful he needed to be. He opened his mouth and then shook his head.
“Best tell me, my friend,” she murmured. “Brynjolf will not be pleased if he finds out you’ve been holding out on him. You know better than that.”
He sighed. “I was very pleased to have shipments coming in again after the hostilities ended. Things were getting back to normal. Our mutual friend should have received several deliveries of coin by now.”
“Yes, we have,” she said. “Listen, you should probably know that he is my husband. So yes, I can verify that we’ve gotten the coin. I can also reassure you that he’ll listen to my assessment of how truthful you are being. It seems that things have started dropping off again, recently.”
Gulum-Ei blanched, and swallowed hard. She was sure he was running their most recent meeting through his memory; the one in which he’d tried to give her the brush-off before Brynjolf had intervened.
“Yes, they have. There are pirates hitting shipments again. Not as many as there were, but enough to disrupt the flow of goods somewhat. The warehouse is becoming a bit bare. I’ve heard rumors that someone – someone powerful — is trying to use the Blood Horkers to corner the market on shipping. If any of you have any connections…” he trailed off and wrung his hands together nervously.
“This would be a good time to use them. I’ll let him know. I think between us we have some pull. Thanks, Gulum-Ei. Sorry I didn’t have anything to trade this time. I’ll make sure the Guild knows how cooperative you’ve been.”
The Argonian nodded nervously and scurried up the hill toward the gates. Sayma sighed, and headed for the docks.
It’s not that I don’t believe him. I just don’t trust him.
There was an East Empire Company guard patrolling the docks in front of the warehouse; he assured her that there was nothing there for her and that she should leave. She smiled, and nodded, and stepped away long enough to invoke her Nightingale invisibility. The guard frowned and turned his head as she passed him, perhaps catching her scent or a whisper of air displaced by her movements, but he shrugged and moved down the dock and she let herself into the Warehouse.
It didn’t take her long to make her way through the main warehouse and into the grotto behind it where Gulum-Ei kept the goods he skimmed on behalf of the Thieves Guild. She knew the best route, she’d long since learned how to move nearly silently, and best of all she knew there were far fewer mercenaries guarding the area now than there had been the first time she’d come through. The war had thinned the ranks everywhere. When she reached Gulum-Ei’s private warehouse, in the very back of the grotto, she looked around and frowned. It wasn’t empty, not by any stretch. It was, however, far emptier than she would have expected given the recent resumption of trade. She checked the shelves, finding nothing worth taking herself – nothing small and valuable.
“Huh,” she said quietly, just as though she had Brynjolf standing beside her. “The slimy bastard was telling me the truth for once. So something’s definitely going on. Good to know.”
She slipped out past the several fat horkers in the cave just beyond, and made her way out into the outskirts of Solitude. Her next stop would be in Dawnstar, and she intended to take the ferry rather than ride the long way around. She took a moment to walk down to the edge of the fjord, gazing out at the Katariah, still at anchor even though the Emperor no longer lived to use it. Sayma grinned. I suppose someone must maintain it; otherwise it would be a marvel to think it still floats. And to think I did that. I wonder who will be next to own the ship. I’m sure we’ll find out soon after the Moot names a High King here. If they ever get around to doing that.
She sent Shadowmere ahead to meet her in Dawnstar and made her way to the ferry. The child was quiet during the entire trip; perhaps the gentle rocking served as a sort of cradle to her. Whatever the reason, Sayma was grateful for the respite from her constant movement.
She disembarked and walked the short distance around the shoreline to where the Black Door rested deep in its crevice. She stopped for a moment, as she always did, at the spot where Andante had left the mortal world, sending a mental greeting to him in the Evergloam. It was a cold spot, and bleak, and very lonely overlooking the frozen hills, huge ice floes and nearly barren islands that hugged Skyrim’s border. She supposed that Andante’s existence must have felt equally bleak at that moment, for him to have taken such extreme measures with it. She shuddered, as much from the chill as from her own grey thoughts. As much as she respected her own position as Listener, Sayma still hated being cold above almost all other things and was always glad to have an excuse to leave for Riften.
It was not, however, cold in the Sanctuary itself. The great fireplace on the lower level kept things a comfortable temperature even on the most frigid of days. Sayma walked quietly into the upper level and looked around.
Cicero was, as usual, standing before the Night Mother’s coffin, muttering to himself. She smiled. It had been a good choice, to let him live. The man was clearly not in his right mind except for brief flashes of lucidity; but he was devoted to the Night Mother and kept in good repair the ancient corpse that was her conduit to this world. Looking left, Sayma stopped for a moment and inhaled in surprise.
The alchemy garden Babette had established not long after they had moved the Brotherhood to Dawnstar had been doing well. Right at the moment the more gaudy of the ingredients – deathbell and nightshade, for example – were in full bloom. The cold light from today’s cloudy skies shone down through the skylight onto the garden, highlighting those showy purple flowers and making the chaurus eggs next to them seem to glow. The alembic on the nearby alchemy station also glowed, and bubbled with what to Sayma felt like a homey sound.
To her left, someone had installed a small shrine to Sithis, the candles on either side of it making its circular stone backdrop shine with the color of blood. It was an appropriate placement, she thought, within sight of the Night Mother’s huge sarcophagus.
I never thought the Sanctuary could look… pretty.
She descended the stairs to find Nazir seated, as he usually was, at the long table in the center of the space. It might have given the impression to others that all he ever did was eat. The fact was that in spite of making much of his own age, Nazir was in perfect condition and was deadly. He took a central seat because he was effectively in charge of the Dark Brotherhood, just as Brynjolf had been the one who handled day-to-day operations in the Guild when Mercer had still been alive.
“Listener,” he said, looking up at her as she approached. “It is good to see you. I hope the slay goes well?”
“I’d like to say it did, Nazir, but the fact of the matter is that the little one here is keeping me a bit more close to home than I’m used to,” Sayma said, rubbing her belly. I want to tell you what I actually slew, Nazir, but I don’t want to make our lives any more complicated than they already are. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to handle things for the next few months. The time is approaching fairly quickly and, well, you remember what it was like when wee Bryn was born.”
“Yes,” Nazir said dryly, wrinkling his nose. Then he chuckled. “I’m sorry, Listener. I have nothing against children so long as they are someone else’s. It’s just that my ears are more attuned to… adult screams than infants’.”
“Right. I understand completely. But now that I’m based in Riften… I don’t know what to do about this. About us. About…” she turned and glanced up the stairs toward the Night Mother and Cicero. “About her.”
Nazir rubbed his chin and nodded. “You know, we operated for a great many years without a Listener. Now don’t get angry,” he said, holding up his empty hands as if to ward off an attack. “I’m not saying we don’t need you. It’s obvious that we do. But people do continue to send us contracts without going through the Night Mother. Those, I know how to handle. There are plenty of us now, and Babette and I keep our eyes out for any promising new recruits.”
Sayma nodded. “Good. I was hoping you’d say something like that. I’m not abandoning the Brotherhood. I…” She thought for a moment and frowned. “I don’t think I can abandon it, regardless of my feelings in the matter. But my visits here are going to be much less frequent. You were the one who accomplished things before I got here and I have every confidence that you still are that person.”
“So long as you listen to – her – every so often, Listener. Make sure we’re on the right track. I don’t want another repeat of Falkreath.”
“Neither do I, Nazir. Thank you for your understanding.”
She returned to the stairs and walked up them, slowly, noting how much more energy it took than it had even a few days prior. It really wasn’t going to be long now, and she really did need to take care of this business and get back to the safety of Riftvale. Her body and mind both remembered how every bit of energy and attention would be drawn inward, to her core, whether she wanted it or not, toward the great endeavor of bringing a new person into the world. It was vital that she be in the safest surroundings possible for that event.
She approached Cicero as he was delivering a poem in a sing-song voice. She made certain to step around beside him where he could see her clearly and not be startled. While she had every confidence that he would never purposefully hurt her, Cicero was as deadly a man as walked Nirn and she took no chances around him.
“Hello, Cicero,” she said quietly.
“Oh, Listener! How wonderful it is to see you again! Cicero has been taking very good care of our dear Mother.” The slightly too-bright eyes over an enormous smile told her that today was most definitely not one of his more lucid moments.
She smiled at him. “I know you have, dear. Now if you wouldn’t mind, could I have a few moments alone with her? I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to her.”
“Of course, Listener,” Cicero said, wriggling away toward the garden. “Whatever you wish, Listener. I will await your wishes, Listener.” He disappeared down over the stairs, and she could hear him talking to himself all the way through the Sanctuary.
She chuckled and then turned to face the huge coffin and the ancient corpse therein. She knelt as if meditating, and opened her mind to the Night Mother’s contact.
“Yet another child has prayed to their mother,” Sayma heard. She knew very clearly that the voice was only audible to herself, in her head just as vivid as though the corpse’s mouth was moving. She heard it as a series of long, dry, drawn-out phrases. She knew the words by heart. The Black Sacrament had been performed; she was to meet with, in this case, a grief-stricken chef here in Dawnstar, take his gold, and eliminate whatever target he specified. “So begins a contract bound in blood. Hail the Listener!” the desiccated voice finished. “Hail Sithis!”
Sayma nodded, her gaze focused on the floor before her. “It shall be done, Mother. But… there is another matter.”
“Yes. The child.”
Sayma found herself on her feet, startled that the Night Mother knew what she intended to say. Her hands flew protectively to her belly.
“Y-yes. She will be arriving soon. I don’t know how I can continue to serve you as the Listener,” she whispered.
“Yes,” the voice breathed. “Qaralana. A fortunate name for a fortunate child.”
“How did you know?” Sayma said. Or perhaps she merely thought it. Sometimes it was hard to tell, when speaking to this ancient woman.
“I know all things regarding the Listener. And the Listener’s daughter. Black as the Void itself; red the color of blood. A fortunate name for a fortunate child,” she repeated.
Sayma found herself trembling as Qaralana once more began her eager dance. It’s black and red for me and Brynjolf. That’s what it means, nothing more. “She is anxious to meet the world, Mother,” she whispered. “But it is too soon. And I am too tied to the Thieves Guild. I do not know how I can continue to do your bidding.”
The most remarkable thing happened then. The Night Mother began chuckling, the humor sounding eerily in Sayma’s mind like the rattling of an angry snake. “My dear Listener,” the words followed, slowly and almost painfully as her words always did. “Beside us is a book. Read it and you will know the truth. All will be well. Come to me when you can. Nazir will handle the rest.”
And she went silent.
Sayma turned around to survey the area, confused. She saw only a brazier near the Night Mother’s coffin, and only some ingredients near the alchemy station. But across the way, on a small table where Babette sometimes spent her time, there was a book. She picked it up and looked at the spine, which read Sacred Witness. Inside the cover, the subtitle read “A True History of the Night Mother.” Sayma sank down onto one of the wooden chairs nearby and began to read.
It was written by someone named Enric Milres, and told of his encounter with the Night Mother in the city of Sentinel. She skimmed quickly through most of its discussion on the leading theories about the Night Mother, for they were typical scholarly chest-beatings of the type she disdained. But then she came to a place where the author described the Mother’s own words.
“I was a thief, long, long ago, back when the Thieves Guild was only beginning. It’s such a bother to sneak around a house when performing a burglary, and many of us found it most efficacious to strangle the occupant…”
The hair on Sayma’s neck rose as she read further, for the woman’s tone was unmistakable as that of the Night Mother she knew. She had suggested to the new Guild that they form a segment “dedicated to the arts and sciences of murder,” in the same way they had infiltration specialists, pickpockets, and the like. But the Guild had thought it would be bad for business.
She remembered the tone of Brynjolf’s voice from all that time before, as he had said “we don’t want them killed. Bad for business,” and a chill ran up her spine. He’d been giving her the standard line, the one the Guild had used for Sithis knew how many generations. And had probably never questioned.
And both she, and the Night Mother before her, had broken with that Guild agreement. The Night Mother, according to this account, had branched out into the business of murder, leaving as her calling card both a white and a black stone, one over each of the victim’s eyes. Sayma looked up from the book and across the room at the grinning, desiccated corpse, and smiled. And I taste their blood. It’s not a tangible calling card, but you know what it means, don’t you?
Alright. I’ll stop worrying about the future. Something tells me it will work out the way it’s meant to.
She sighed and closed the book, placing it back on the table. Then she retrieved Cicero, said goodbye to Nazir, and left for the Dawnstar Inn.
___
She crouched down behind a tree, scanning ahead for the hunter who was her target. The man was supposedly just outside Falkreath, according to the contact in Dawnstar. It was hard for her to focus, though, given the conversations she’d just had with Dardeh and Roggi.
She’d stopped in for a brief rest before taking care of her contract, not knowing whether they would be at home. Lydia had greeted her warmly, and waved her up the stairs, where she found Roggi working at the alchemy table.
“Roggi. Hi. What are you cooking up?”
He glanced at her and broke into a warm smile. “One second and I’ll be done with it.” He turned back to the table and stirred his mixture a couple more times, then straightened as it started bubbling in the alembic. “Oh, let’s see, what have I made here…” He pointed at a group of small flasks on the stand nearby. “A few lingering damage potions, paralysis, some resist magic stuff. Mostly for Dar. He’s not any better with cold than you are and we seem to have been running into lots of ghosts and draugr and such.” He grinned at her and placed his hands on the small of his back, leaning backward and groaning as his muscles stretched. “I’m getting old. Don’t mind me if I take a seat; this back is killing me. But what brings you out here?” He crossed the small space and sat down in one of the chairs.
Sayma laughed. It really didn’t matter how much time passed, she would always hold Roggi near and dear to her heart for having made her feel wanted, and cared about, when she’d been so numb inside that it was tough to keep putting one foot before the next. It was good to see him looking healthy, and rugged, and happy.
“A bunch of business before I have to settle in for the home stretch,” she said, rubbing her belly. “She’s been anxious to get started, the past few days. And we’re both tired of sitting on horseback.”
“So you’re sure it’s a she, then?”
“Pretty sure. I have a name picked out, and she seems to like it.” She giggled. “If it’s a boy he’s going to be mad that I named him Qaralana.”
Roggi grinned. “Black and red? Seems appropriate. And how’s Bryn doing?”
“He’s fine. Happy, even. It’s … kind of amazing, really.” I’m stalling. I need to talk to him – to both of them really – and this is not useful. She took a deep breath and expelled it forcefully, hoping some of her anxiety would leave along with it. “Listen, Roggi, I have a question.”
“Shoot.” He was still smiling, but it was fading.
Can’t fool him. He always knows when something is up.
“Were you two out in Dragon Bridge a couple of days back? More specifically, was Dar there?”
Roggi frowned. “No. We’ve been helping a group that wants to rebuild Helgen. So far all we’ve done is clear out places around the hold where bandits and such have been trying to take over, while hired workers are chunking away at the rubble. Why… do you ask?”
Sayma closed her eyes. There was no way around it. She had to know what had happened, and Roggi and Dar were possibly the only two people who could tell her. “Because there was a dragon. And, uh, I killed it.”
She opened her eyes to find an expression on Roggi’s face unlike any she’d ever seen. He was all business, serious, his eyes shadowed and his brow furrowed.
“Hey Dar!” he yelled toward the bedroom.
“Yeah?”
“Get out here for a second, would you?”
“Be right there.”
Dardeh clumped out of their bedroom and Sayma smiled to see him in ordinary clothing for once, rather than his heavy ebony armor. He smiled in return and took her by the shoulders to give her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. He pulled back in surprise and grinned, looking down at the belly which had quite firmly gotten between them.
“Someone’s getting bigger, huh?” He grinned. “Good to see you, sis. What’s up?”
“Sayma killed a dragon,” Roggi said quietly, his tone drawing Dardeh’s attention instantly.
Dardeh looked back at Sayma. “Well, that’s good isn’t it? One less of the bastards for us to worry about.”
Sayma shook her head. “It’s not just that, Dardeh. You weren’t in Dragon Bridge a couple of days ago, right? I’m not confused about that?”
Dardeh shook his head. “No. Haven’t been there since Solitude. Why do you…” It was obvious when the implications struck him; his eyes got very round for a moment. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yeah,” Sayma said quietly. “I think I absorbed it.”
Dardeh grabbed her by the shoulders again. “You think you did? Or you actually did? Because if it wasn’t you we have a bigger problem than I would like to think about right now.”
“I did, Dar. At least I assume that’s what happened. It burned. There was… light. Everywhere. Like when you absorbed the one out here near the mill. And then it was gone, and I felt warm, and … there was nothing left of the dragon but its bones.”
Dardeh let go of her and ran one hand down his face. “By the Nine. So can you Shout? Did you try, again?”
“I did try. Or at least I thought about it. There’s nothing there, Dar. I know the words, I just can’t use them for anything. Please tell me what it means.”
Dardeh shared a long look with Roggi, filled with things Sayma could not decipher at all. Then he looked back at her.
“I don’t know what it means, Sis. But you and I share a father. The power must be in our bloodline. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. At least if it was you absorbing it we’re safe.” He shook his head. “For a minute I had this unreasonable fear that somehow Miraak had returned. Somehow. But I saw him dead.” He stared at her for a long while and shook his head again. “I don’t know enough about it, Sayma. You’d think I would, but all I know is how this ability affects me. I saw a little of how it affected Miraak. That’s it. I’m really sorry I don’t have anything more useful.”
“Hmm. Well I think I do,” Roggi said, drawing both siblings’ gazes. “I think you keep this close to the vest. Don’t tell anyone else what’s happened, and keep a close eye on people around you. There have been some odd things happening around Dar lately and we don’t know why.”
“You’re a worrywart, Roggi,” Dardeh snorted. “There’s nothing odd going on.”
“Except vampires and more vampires and people looking for you, specifically, out of all the people they could potentially be looking for.” He frowned, looked at Sayma, and sighed. “Maybe he’s right and I’m just a worrywart. But that’s what I’d say. Keep it close. Let us know if anything else strange happens.”
“Ok,” Sayma said. “Thanks, guys. I just had to talk to someone about it. I mean, I don’t feel any different. Just … ready to do this last job and get home.”
And thus she had arrived, just west of Falkreath, creeping silently up behind a man in hunting garb. She watched him watching whatever his prey was, until she was convinced that he was thoroughly preoccupied. Then she used her powers to become invisible, slid silently up behind him, and slit his throat, dipping one finger in his blood and tasting it out of sheer habit while picturing what he might have looked like with one black and one white stone over his eyes.
It was all over, just that quickly. She whistled for Shadowmere and mounted.
“Take us home, my friend,” she murmured next to his ear. “I think we’re all ready for a rest.”