image [https://i.imgur.com/7ZQbE80.png]

I could write an entire book on the journey south, but shall abridge it here for much of it was ultimately irrelevant in the matter of the Twin Manes. They were long days spent on our feet, the terrain transitioned to an eternal dusk of knotted roots undergrowth so thick we only knew land lay below by the spongy mud that squelched with every step.

Birds of every variety, parrot, crane, small brilliant yellow things, whistled at all hours of the day and under the heavy top cover of tropical trees; we felt little difference between day and night. Predators stalked us more than once (for which I was more grateful than ever that Keyes needed no sleep), and while I ate little, I did eat; always there were wild roots, nuts, and a strange lime green fruit that hung in testicular clusters yet tasted not unlike banana. As we entered the riverlands we came across more villages as well, all nominally under the control of the southern Mane. Everywhere there were rumors of the northern Mane’s army being on the march, and a fear of their imminent arrival.

In one village we lingered (I believe I told fortunes for a small sum of coin) and I will never forget the small cat girl who approached me from behind as I sat on the dock, watching a brown river laze past and savoring the rare unfiltered sunlight that fell over the water. She cleared her throat before doing the queer little bow common in that region, arms held up with wrists up and together towards me.

When I greeted her in return she reached back in her sling basket and procured a mudfish which she held towards me. "For the stranger," she said with quiet discomfort.

It was a hideous fat-lipped fish that was all head, but it was a beautiful sight to me then. I accepted it, still confused, sensing that she added, "the stranger looked sad…"

And with that the girl scampered back to one of the stilted jungle houses without waiting for my thanks. As I sat with that stinking fish in my palm I must admit that I did smile. I prayed that any daughter of mine would be half as kind.

In another village a shaman accosted us in the street. He claimed I owed him an indenture — I'm fairly sure that had nothing to do with any misbehavior on the part of my deviator or myself, that Khajiit seemed like a conman (concat?) out to swindle a tourist. There was also a day or so lost when I caught some strange jungle fever and was lost to sleep and intense nightmares. My main memory of it is waking in a dark mud hut with Keyes cooling my forehead with a damp sponge, his dead eyes staring directly into mine.

Eventually we reached the point where the river broadened and were able to buy passage south with a gang of Pelin'narri river folk. I'd saved every septim I'd gained reading fortunes and the like and it still was not enough, but we promised to help row and that Keyes would not need feeding.

And so we drifted south with the current, alternating between the larger "houseboat" and the trio of so called 'hunting canoes' although I mostly saw them used for fishing — spear fishing to be exact, for the Pelin'narri were a simple folk and made due with fire hardened ash tipped spears. They are master spear throwers and I once saw the leader of our little band (their cathay-raht spokesman with outsiders who spoke perhaps a dozen words of Tamrielic, yet asked that I call him Capey-tan). He had a gold fang.

They were beautiful days in their way, for while I cursed the river for its slowness at times as I knew the northern Mane was on the march, I still frequently found myself lost in its natural beauty. Ata-hari dragon birds roamed the air, massive kings of the jungle with brilliant trailing plumage, tails that pirouetted behind them like silk tassels on a dancer's skirt. Trees branches hung heavy over the riverbank with flowers so large and engorged at the stem that you might just bite right into them.

We paddled under the steady barks and winnows of jungle animals from ashore, and many liked to gawk at us. Alligators and logs drifted alongside, as did flows of broken sponge — floating yellow-orange masses — following each storm, which was often for it was monsoon season in southern Elsweyr. Each rain came over us without warning and in a sheet of water like a bucket of water being dumped over us. I learned not to be too precious about the water so long as Eophicles' Treatise was properly stowed away in the dry houseboat interior.

At night we were assaulted by endless waves of milk-white moths that dove straight into us. Wiping them away left a trailing smear of white powder on one's clothes, which already being damp from the rain and oppressive humidity were liable to stain. The worst was when they got on your face and you could feel the powder of their ground bodies bond with cheek sweat into a paste. Capey-tan called these Lorkajii moths, and despite their beauty I'll be happy to never see another so long as I live.

And so the days passed, each much the same as the last and in the company of jovial savages (oh how I tired of eating fish), until we reached the river's great cataract where a mess of stones protruded from the previously placid water to make frothing white mess with only a few navigable passageways.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I had been standing at the houseboat railing with Keyes, lecturing on my proposed mindset-wish fulfillment paradox, when a yowling cry went up from one of the native crew.

"Pirates!" shrieked someone in the lead hunting canoes in Ta'agra.

Sure enough as we rounded the bend a tall prowed vessel veered to intercept us. It bore a mast for sea travel, white sails drawn up tighter than my Corinthian wedgie, and a dozen long oars that dipped into the water in unison. A pair of imperial legion shields were nailed to the prow, each painted with the half-moon banner of the southern Mane; atop the prow their captain stood on raised knee, surveying his catch of our small troop.

It was Abbard, damn him, looking right at me as he yelled his rowers on. He wore sleeveless mail that hung to his thighs and the open faced kris'ir helmet of a Khajiit noble — three violet dragon-bird feathers splayed over his head.

Our entire boat went into a panic. Capey-tan brought his canoe around and called for everyone to take up a paddle — he planned to have us race with the current to the far side of the river where only a single passage through the cataract remained available to us. Of course I dared not tell them that the southerners were bounty hunters seeking me specifically — if I had then I would surely have been thrown overboard before terms could even be offered. Bless the riverfolk, but courage is not one of their virtues.

Realizing that we stood no chance, I desperately thought of any way I could aid them beyond mere paddling. As I have told you before I am a failed athlete, but while middling magician at best, I am an inventive one, capable of leveraging my powers.

I shouted my plan across the water to Capey-tan, who agreed and relayed instructions to his clan in Ta'agra. In short order we had turned the craft around and all of us began paddling madly upriver..

It was slow work against the current, and the southern boat gained on us on account of having twice the oars. Their entire deck bristled with halberds and spears, and eventually a few arrows began to be tested, landing in the water not far behind. The wind at least favored us.

Once we were well on our course, I threw down my paddle and set to work at the front of the houseboat. On the far side of the relatively tall “house” structure, away from Abbard and his archer’s prying eyes, I set about casting the most potent ice incantation I knew. Starting with a meager cube, but quickly working it out into an expanding lattice; I grew up a little iceberg. Even suspended before me, held slightly aloft by my craft, the ice block began to exert pressure against our vessel, dragging us backwards against the current and into the grasps of our pursuers.

An arrow whistled past my ear, chipping harmlessly off my mini-iceberg, and I cried out the signal to rotate the boat. The entire crew ran to starboard, and already sweat soaked, set to beating the river with Molag's passion.

I stayed at the prow and continued massaging the great floating ice hunk to size and holding in a magickal grasp as we turned completely.

Abbards vessel was no more than twenty paces from us, and seeing my trap I heard him begin to scream to his rowers to change course.

Too late. I released the mini-iceberg down that brown jungle river and it sailed beautifully into their exposed side as they turned away. Nearly half of their oars were snapped into splinters by the impact and the current pressed it into them beautifully and set them drifting back towards the rock strewn rapids.

The mercenaries made a great show of stabbing at the thing with spears and smashing it with halberds, but their fate was already sealed. We followed at a distance like a wolf after a limping elk, and watched as Abbard's mercenaries abandoned ship, jumping out and swimming to shore before the vessel met the cataract. Eventually the current took it, and with no one manning the oars the ship spiraled down the rapids and out of sight as we began studiously guiding ourselves down the safest routes under Capey-tan's keen tutelage.

Later that afternoon we found Abbard holding onto the half submerged prow of his ship for dear life, up to his neck in water. His helmet was nowhere to be seen and his long dark hair hung like a wet rat.

We pulled up alongside and I extended an oar to him — lifting it at the last moment and batting at his face for a laugh — before extending it once more and pulling him aboard.

Keyes and the crew stood back as Abbard rolled up on the floor and coughed up water. I kicked him a time or two just so we could start with a clean slate. "Why in Oblivion are you still after me, Abbard?"

He wiped his mouth. "I got no problem with ya, but I'm under contract. They took me on after I turned you in the first time, and once word reached the jungle court ye was loose again they sent me to find ye since I'm one of the few who remembers what ye look like there."

"And does the Mane there still want me killed?"

"Yup."

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“Well great,” I said, not feeling it was terribly great.

“So you’ll be uh, letting me go now, huh?”

“No,” I said, “I think it’s time you and I finished our journey together, Abbard.”

I had Keyes bind him with hemp rope and throw him into the boathouse as ahead of us the river broadened into a clear horizon. For several minutes I kicked Abbard around the houseboat for a bit before he told me that the southern mane was marching to war as well.

“So he’s not in Senchal?”

“Nah.”

I wiped sweat off my face. “Well where is he marching to? And against the Imperials or the Northern Mane?”

“Uh… north and north. Look, Berry, I know you and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye on much… but if you let me go I can take you to him. Maybe if you talk to him he’ll see you aren’t the monster he thinks you are and he’ll drop the bounty. By now I ‘spect they’re barely a day’s journey away.”

It was exactly the connection I was hoping he’d make on his own. I nodded to Keyes. “Go get Capi-tan. Tell him we’ll need to be dropped off as soon as he sees a serviceable shore.”