(THOB) Chapter 53: Tale Of The Immortal (Patreon)

Urden sat in front of the flame, warming his hands, though he needed none of the warmth. He’d never needed help staying warm in the cold, not in a very long time.

Helva sat on the other side of the flame. She was a woman of considerable age. Her head bore a full set of hair, and her skin sagged. She held her hands outstretched before the flame while the stick she seemed unable to walk without laid on the floor beside her. She, unlike Urden, needed the fire.

In the forest her people had made a home for themselves a great many years ago, long before she was born. They had been led here by a priestess of the time. Now, Helva led them.

Urden had lit the fire for them, and though the people were strong on staying together and doing everything together, the elder was often allowed her privacy with visitors. The stars in the sky cast a subtle glow over everything, but the fire cast them in a golden glow.

“I didn’t think I would see you again, priest,” Helva said. “At least not in this life time.”

“You have only one life time, Helva.” Urden tossed another dry stick into the flame. “People do not go around carrying life times.”

She scoffed. “Is that your awful Credo speaking?”

“No,” he said. “Just personal experience.”

“There is a way about you, priest.” She pointed a crooked, old finger at him. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you older than I am.”

Age had clawed at her voice, too. It was weak, and her lips struggled to form the shapes she required to speak the words she chose. It caused her words to often come out as a tremble. But Urden could hear the beauty her voice once held beneath all the age. Age does this to people.

“Your people are well protected by the forest,” Urden observed, shifting his attention from the power of age.

“Yes, it feeds us and shelters us. Truly, Vayla has been very kind to us.”

Urden sighed. It was not what he was talking about, and she knew it. “You know they will come for you,” he told her. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“This, I know,” she agreed. “Varasi told of it during her time. If I remember the stories correctly, they will come during my life time and, eventually, they will seek to bring your god with them.”

“Yes, they will.”

“Why can’t you Alduins leave others be? Your god must not be served by all.” She sounded disturbed. “Well, it does not matter. We will not take your god, and your kingdom will not have us killed. But not because they will not try.”

Urden shrugged. “There are good people within the kingdom, you know?”

“There are good people everywhere, Priest. But if they are led by the bad ones, they share in their guilt. Or do you think I do not know what your Credo has done to the stories of old?”

“It has done a lot of things to a lot of stories, Helva. What story do you refer to?”

Helva spat unto the sand. “The story of the war of the Scorned.”

“I see it bears the same name wherever,” Urden said. “And what has the Credo done to it?”

“It has bent it, and warped it to suit their wants,” she said, irritated. “Your god was not even a part of it, and yet, they saw fit to tell it falsely.”

“Then tell me, Helva.” Urden leaned away from the fire. “Where did we get it wrong?”

“First,” she began in a storyteller’s voice. It was a story she had told a few times. Urden was sure of it. “The wars were not led by men. The king was a god, as were those who fought against him. I hear your Credo says the king began the Tainted, but I tell you it was alive long before that war. The king was a human made immortal by his actions. To protect us, he slayed a god and, after he had grown immortal, he led the lost tribes as their king. But the gods, in their jealousy and cravings for vengeance, waged war against him, demanding that he submit to their will. When he refused, they fought. It is true that there were Tainted among his ranks, but there were also Hallowed and those without the gift of nin. Their war scorched Vayla. And when it ended, the king was nothing but a shell of his former self.”

Helva’s voice grew tired. “It is said that the gods thought him a joke before the war, giving him the title of jester amongst themselves. He did try for us humans, fighting as best he could. Sadly, the gods proved greater.”

Urden shook his head solemnly. “That is a sad story. Its lessons are not one that would encourage the children who hear it.”

“We cannot change the truth because we don’t like it, Priest!” she snapped. “Neither will we stop telling it.”

“It is no wonder the Credo doesn’t tell it so.” Urden rose from where he sat, got up to his feet. “There is no way they will tell a story that speaks of the existence of other gods. Or a man, made god. It would be blasphemous.”

Helva frowned. “Priest.”

“Yes?”

“Have you not been told that it is unwise to patronize the elderly.”

Urden shrugged. “I have.”

“Then why would you patronize me?” she asked, studying him. “You already know the story of the war of the Scorned, do you not? I see it in your eyes. The familiarity. The reminiscence behind your eyes. You cannot hide such things from the elderly, priest. Especially not me.”

“I know the story of the war of the Scorned, Helva,” Urden agreed simply. “What you have told me, however, is not it. I know that by its real name.”

Helva nodded. “The tale of the immortal.”

“Yes.” Urden nodded. “And yours holds the end… But not the beginning. I am yet to come across any who know the beginning.”

Helva sighed, tired of whatever games she knew they were playing. “Why are you here, Urden Antari?” she asked.

Urden looked down at her. She was annoyed. It had not been his intent to annoy her. At least it had not been a conscious one. But he was only human, no matter how much nin flowed within him.

The birds of the forest continued their songs as he stood. The night spoke in its silent breeze, and when Urden spoke again, his voice was solemn for he knew the weight of his words.

“I have a use for you, Helva.”