An Enchanting Tale

Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty Seven

A reverberation rang and completed the octave. The aetherium golem vibrated violently. S'maath lost his footing before he was able to strike. He slipped and fell to the ground. As he rolled over, he and the others saw the creature come apart; the dwemer of eight had run out of time. The group kept a firm gaze on the enemy, but the dwemer did not attack, instead they took a knee.

"What is this? What are they doing," S'maash asked, out of breath.

The foremost experts, Aicantar and Falion, had no reply; they simply stood slack-jawed. The deep elves removed their helmets revealing bronze skin like their wood elf counterparts. An old one with white hair spoke. His words were ancient and incomprehensible to most.

"He says their time has come to pass," Aicantar breathed.

The group of travelers walked over to the line of kneeling dwemer. "What does that mean," Brelyna asked, still aghast.

Aicantar looked to her and shrugged when the old elf spoke again in his staccato language. "For eight tones, you have fought, and for eight tones, you have survived. You may pass to set foot upon Xranthrnl, if you can restore life to a dead world," Aicantar said.

"He must mean restoring the Heart of Lorkhan," Falion interjected.

Panting, S'maash put away his weapons and produced the beating Heart of Lorkhan. The dwemer then stood, awed, and still holding their helmets, they walked to the puzzle box. S'maash and friends slowly followed suit.

"Wait, wait, wait," Zolara huffed, coming to his feet. "We're done fighting?"

They ignored his ramblings. One deep elf took a small, dwarven metal tool, shaped like a Y and tapped it against the box. The round door spun, causing the circles to alter their arrangement. A second elf did the same, and again, the door spun. The procedure was repeated five more times, and the circles were neatly arranged, but the door did not unlock. The only one who had not done anything was the old elf. He took a knife and cut his hand before placing a drop of blood on the round door. It rumbled then sank into the ground. He turned to S'maash and spoke again.

"Only a living world can grant knowledge and passage," Aicantar translated.

S'maash looked to his friends. They nodded and turned back to the opening. He walked inside to find a small altar. Two stone hands were present on either side as though awaiting something. The old dwemer walked in behind S'maash and pointed to the altar. The wizard gingerly placed the Heart of Lorkhan on its top. The old elf pulled two dwemer pipes and secured them to the Heart of Lorkhan by way of spinning couplings. He turned back to S'maash and spoke. By then, Aicantar had followed in.

"Order and chaos cannot exist separately. Life granted by a God can only be held with the hands of a demon," Aicantar said.

"Hands," S'maash asked.

"Yes...probably the ones Hermaeus Mora gave you," Aicantar answered.

S'maash and the deep elf made eye contact for a second. He then took the red, ruby-like hands from his pack and held them. The old elf pointed to the stone hands. S'maash slid the gauntlets over the fingers; it was a perfect fit. Again, the old elf spoke.

"Life and death resonate as one," Aicantar said.

S'maash shrugged, but knew he needed Kagrenac's tools for something. He produced them as well. The old elf spoke more.

"A fist might smash, but an open palm can create," Aicantar said.

"Yes, I've heard that before," S'maash smiled.