Walk by the Shadows

XXI. Illuminations

When they walked into The Frozen Hearth, the innkeeper directed them to the stairs behind him, leading to the cellars to find Enthir. He also did it with a curious look at the wounds on Brynjolf's and Macayla's faces—her cuts were already almost gone, but his bruises had just grown darker and uglier. Knowing now that Nocturnal possessed her answered Brynjolf's questions about how she could heal so quickly.

The three of them headed down into the cellars to find it commandeered by the innkeeper's family for their home—beds, tables, and chairs sat beside storage, brooms, dishes and crates. Propped against a table, the Wood Elf-mage waited for them. At the sight of them, he pushed off the table and approached.

"It's good to see you three again; I know Calcelmo can be quite protective of his work." When he got close enough, he saw the bruising and cuts on Brynjolf's and Macayla's faces. "Maybe I misjudged how protective..."

"This didn't happen until after we left," Brynjolf stated. He reached into a pocket to pull out the Falmer language translation guide and handed it to him. "There's your translation."

"I guess it'll be inappropriate for me to ask how you obtained this..." Enthir unrolled the paper and his eyebrows lifted. "A rubbing, eh? I was expecting notes."

"It would've been hard transporting the stone tablet, lad."

Enthir's lips twisted humorously, then he turned for the table he had been leaning on, head down and studying the rubbing. "This might take me a while."

Karliah moved to go hover at the table and watch Enthir work translating Gallus' journal. Macayla turned to go prop against a beam distant from everyone else.

He watched her walk off. She had barely said a word since the abandoned shack and killing Edvar Clear-Blood.

He wondered what had her so quiet and withdrawn. It wasn't killing him; from what Edvar had said, she killed a lot. He knew she had been ashamed of it being revealed that she had been a thief, assassin, and courtesan for Edvar. Maybe she was embarrassed about it being revealed to him... Brynjolf headed over to tell her that it didn't matter.

He stopped beside her; she didn't look up at him, just kept her eyes frozen on a place on the floor. "How are you, lass?"

Macayla didn't respond for the longest. "I... I don't know."

"Is it because of killing—"

She shook her head. "As you heard, I'm good at slaughtering others. No; it was something he told me."

She took a shaky breath. "He told me that my family was never in debt to him and when my mother figured out his lie, he had her and my father killed." Water brimmed in her eyes. "My family died for nothing—I wanted to die for nothing. I don't know how many lives I took; I didn't count how many times Edvar forced me to sell my body; I don't know how many families I ruined by taking their livelihoods. I did everything, holding to the hope that I could pay off the debt that didn't even exist. Everything I did, everything I had become for him, was pointless." A tear fell from her eyes.

Brynjolf didn't want to see another tear fall; he longed to draw her into his arms and reassure her that it was all in the past; Edvar couldn't hurt her anymore. But she would never be rid of those memories; no matter how tight he held her, he couldn't prevent her from remembering. It tore him apart, seeing her in distress and being unable to comfort her fully.

He reached out a hand to grab her shoulder. "Lass... Macayla, I'm sorry."

Macayla wiped away a tear, threatening to fall. "Now you know what I really was. I let you believe I was just a simple thief. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before."