Chapter Text
To the hearth there comes a stranger,
Journeyed far 'neath moon and star.
Though stark-born to sire uncertain
His aspect marks his certain fate.
Excerpted from the ancient Ashlander prophecy ‘the Stranger’
“N’wah.”
Rilos grasps his little sister’s hand firmly. She’s scared, she wants to run away, but he’ll look after her. “This isn’t your town, Sera,” he warns the strange angry mer who’s tottered over towards them.
“It certainly isn’t yours, kid. Grey around the edges don’t make you Dunmer.”
Rilos isn’t grey around the edges. He’s pink-grey all through, as his Alma says. Alma is just pink. That’s because she grew up far away from Red Mountain, where there’s no ash. Lots of people there are pink.
But being grey doesn’t make you a Dunmer. “I stand at the Waiting Door,” he says triumphantly. “And my Ancestors speak to me.”
Tivela stops tugging at his hand. The words make Rilos feel brave, maybe they make her feel brave too.
“You’ve heard them talking? What have your Ancestors got to say then?”
Rilos repeats their message. “Flesh of our bone. Be welcome.”
Of course, he doesn’t remember the Ancestors speaking to him. Ata’s told him the story so many times he can imagine it. He lifted Rilos up to the Waiting Door the day he was born and the Ancestors welcomed him. But Rilos does remember Ata carrying Tivela to the Door when she was a baby, and he heard the crackling whispers welcome her too.
Your Ancestors are always with you. That is what makes you Dunmer.
Yet the stranger laughs at him. “Welcome? I guess you were welcome enough. Got to get new slaves somewhere.“
This mer must be drunk, Rilos realizes. And drunks are dangerous. They should back off and find Alma. He won’t say another word to this mer -
“S’wit!” Tivela shouts.
That does it. The mer spits out a curse and stumbles towards them. Tivela screams.
“Go away!” Rilos yells. “You don’t belong here! You’re just -” he’s looking for an insult that will scare away the stranger, but he doesn’t know many bad words. “You’re shit!”
The mer looks like he’s going to punch him, but then Alma comes rushing out of the herbalist’s shop, murmuring apologies and bowing to the lout. She hoists Tivela up on her hip. “Rilos, come in. Now.”
“Why are you apologizing for him?” the mer demands. “Little brat’s old enough to take responsibility for his actions. Come on, bring him over here, and make him beg for forgiveness.”
Alma straightens up. “This young man you’ve insulted is Rilos Andrethi, the heir of Master Reynis of the Great House Telvanni. He’ll not be bowing to you.”
The man looks from Alma to Rilos, and then an ugly smile breaks out on his face. “I see, that’s how it is. You’re a slave, but your brat’s a Telvanni lordling. I’ve had just about enough of this place. Makes me sick.” He throws a few coppers at her feet. “Buy yourself a drink, if your master will let you.”
“Money!” cries Tivela. Alma doesn’t say a word. She grabs Rilos’ hand and pulls him into the shop.
Inside, Sera Erathrin the Bosmer is filling up Alma’s basket with small glass vials. Each one holds a small cutting of a different fungus. That must mean they’re almost finished. Soon, they can head back to Tel Galen and help Ata fix the tower.
Sera Erathrin is angry about the drunk. She says that Master Reynis - that’s Ata - pays the guards to deal with trouble-makers. Rilos explains that he was brave and defended Tivela. Sera Erathrin gives him and Tivela marshmerrow canes as a reward.
He takes a few bites of his marshmerrow, but he can’t enjoy it while Alma looks sad. The drunk mer called her a slave; that’s not a nice word. There are lots of slaves around Tel Galen, almost all of them are lizards. They work in the kwama mine and the fields. Sometimes, they’re part of Ata’s experiments.
“You’re not like a lizard,” he tells Alma as they leave the shop.
“I’m not what?” Alma sounds confused. He worries he’s mixed something up.
“You’re not an Argonian,” he tries to make it clearer.
“Of course not! Why -”
“That mer was just stupid and mean.” He holds up his marshmerrow. “Here, this is for you, Alma. I only bit it twice.”
“Thank you, but you can keep it. Tivvy, stand up.” His sister is crouched in the moss; she’s always looking for bugs. “Ata’s waiting for these cuttings.”
They hurry back to Tel Galen now. The tower still looks sick; it’s caught a disease that only mushrooms can get. Indri is out there applying a white paste to the brown mushy spots near its base. It’s medicine for the tower, but it’s not working yet.
Ata is working inside the conservatory. Tivela laughs when she sees him. “Ata looks funny,” she whispers into Rilos’ ear. He doesn’t really. He’s just tied back his long sleeves and his hands are dirty, but Tivela isn’t used to it. The conservatory is Indri’s place. She’s a mycologist Ata hired from the mainland who looks after the tower. When Rilos was Tivela’s age, Ata and Alma did all that work themselves. They made the tower grow back from an old ruin.
Ata is always happy to see them, but Rilos understands that he doesn’t have time to talk to them right now. Tivela doesn’t. She starts whining for Ata’s attention. He just ignores her. He’s the only person in Tel Galen who can do that. Everyone else thinks Tivela is too cute to ignore.
“Why do I even employ a mycologist?” Ata is complaining.
“Because you don’t want to be stuck doing this every day for the rest of your life,” Alma replies.
“I don’t want to be stuck doing this another second. Baladas is waiting for my report, Mari, and if half the research subjects die of asphyxiation it’ll be on Indri’s head.”
“I can finish the report,” Alma replies. “The clippings are in the basket there.” She claps her hands. “Come along, children. Everyone’s busy, you two can help out as well.”
“Tivvy can’t do anything,” Rilos objects.
“No! I can count,” Tivela counters.
“Mari, get the kids out of here right now,” Ata bellows.
“Doing that!” Alma calls back, as she pulls them out of the chamber. She stops at the door. “Should I add a note to Baladas that he should have done a safety study before he began his project?”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
Alma is laughing as they climb up the ramp to her study.
“Who is going to die?” Rilos asks.
“Die?” Alma sounds startled. “No one’s going to die, Rilos. This tower is strong and safe.”
“Ata said people were going to die.”
She shakes her head. “No, not people, guars. And they’re not going to die because I know how to save them.”
”Oh, I thought research subjects are people.” Ata’s research subjects are all people, he knows that.
“You can research anything. People, guars, plants.”
“Bugs!” shouts Tivela.
“Yes, bugs. Tivvy, what have you got in your hand?”
“Nothing.” Tivela shoves her hands behind her back.
Rilos grabs at them but his sister won’t open her chubby hands. “Alma, she really does have something in there!”
“Tivela Andrethi, open your hands now.” Alma usually doesn’t say Tivela’s full name. When she does, it means she’s really serious. Tivela’s hands open up and there’s a Thunk. Something metal hits the ramp and begins to roll away from them.
Rilos scrambles after it and scoops it up before it rolls back into the main chamber. It’s a copper coin. One of the coins the stranger threw at Alma outside. Tivela must have picked it up while they weren’t looking. Even though Alma’s told her a million times coins are filthy.
“Yuck, Tivvy, now we have to wash our hands.” He holds the coin up to show Alma.
Alma makes a face. “Throw it in the garbage.”
“Noooo!” cries Tivela. “It’s money!”
“We have our own money, Tivela,” says Alma. “You’re going to be a wizard of House Telvanni. You don’t need to take money off the ground.”
“That guy threw the money at us. It could be cursed,” Rilos adds. This probably isn’t true, but it’ll scare Tivela into obeying.
Alma settles down at her desk and Tivela reluctantly allows Rilos to throw the money into the wastepaper basket. He’ll have to watch her and make sure she doesn’t go back for it when Alma isn’t looking. Right now, she’s busy counting soul gems for Alma. It’s not a real job, Alma just needs her to be quiet. He has a small job too, fetching Alma books and other supplies when she calls for them.
He keeps quiet while she is working. She has beautiful handwriting, way prettier than Ata’s. Ata says you shouldn’t be able to read a master wizard’s handwriting right away. If an enemy sees your notes for a few seconds, he shouldn’t be able to memorize them. Ata’s notes are also in code, so Rilos can’t read them anyway. When Rilos turns seven, Ata will start teaching him some easy codes and spells. But that’s eight whole months away. Right now, Rilos is learning his letters, his sums, and how magic works from Alma.
Tivela gets bored of counting the soul gems and curls up on the woven rug behind the desk. Alma takes off her shawl and drapes it over Tivela. A couple of minutes later, Tivela’s fast asleep.
That means he can ask Alma grown-up questions.
A Telvanni wizard is only as good as the questions he asks, Ata always says. You cannot be afraid to ask even the most embarrassing or scary questions.
But Rilos doesn’t want to worry Tivela, so he always waits till she’s not listening to ask. Today, he has a lot to ask Alma.
“Alma, can I ask you something?”
Alma puts down her quill. “What is it, Rilos?”
“Why can you bow to strangers and I can’t?”
“Because your Ata rules Tel Galen and you’re his heir. That means if anyone is rude to you and Tivvy, they’re being rude to your Ata.”
Rilos understands that. A Telvanni wizard who allows people to insult him is showing weakness. A weak wizard will be attacked by his enemies. He could even lose his tower. But Alma’s answer doesn’t all make sense.
“But Ata doesn’t like them being rude to you!”
Alma sighs. “You’re right. Maybe I should have called the guards right away. But Dunmer don’t like being bossed around by n’wah. If I tell our visitors what to do, they’ll say the Lord of Tel Galen is allowing an n’wah to rule over them. You know I don’t like fights. It’s better to avoid them by speaking softly and bowing.”
Alma’s an n’wah. She was born far away, in the place where Bretons come from. She never talks about that place. Morrowind is her home now. But she’s still an n’wah, and - his mind flits back to the drunk mer’s words -
“Are you a slave?”
Alma picks up her quill and begins to write again. She's looking down at the page so he can't see her face. “The people here call me that, yes. But they don’t tell me what to do. You know that.”
“Ata tells you what to do.”
“Your Ata tells everyone what to do. That’s what you get to do if you’re a Telvanni lord. If you work very hard, like Ata, you can tell people what to do one day.”
“But you work very hard.”
She sighs again, then drops the quill, and turns to look at him. “I’m not from here, Rilos. You know that. So I’m not in charge.”
“Do you have to wear your bracelets because you’re a slave?”
“Isn’t that an impolite question!” She bops him on the nose, so she isn’t mad. “Yes, they’re called slave bracelets.”
“Do you like them?”
“No. I can’t say I do. They’re annoying and I could do a lot better work if I didn’t have them on.”
“Well, just tell Ata to take them off you.”
Alma snorts. “He likes them. He thinks they’re pretty.”
They are very pretty. They’re thin golden bands with tiny red flowers made of jewels set in them. The flowers are called roses; they don’t grow in Morrowind.
“But you don’t like them!”
“Didn’t I tell you? I don’t get to decide. Rilos, dear, please don’t worry about it. I’ve worn bracelets for sixteen years now, they don’t hurt.”
“When I’m a Telvanni Master, I’ll take your bracelets off.”
Alma grabs him into a hug. “I’ll look forward to it, my dear little wizard.” She lets go of him and rubs her eyes. Is her face wet? “But don’t mention the bracelets to your Ata, Rilos. He thinks these bracelets keep our family together. Now, come on, the guars are waiting.”
Alma’s right. The guars need help. She’ll save the guars, Ata will save the tower, and Rilos will watch and learn from the two smartest people in Morrowind: his parents.