Episode 1: Outlanders

  Chapter 3

  "Wait, was the egg fertilized?"

  It was lunch, and Daria and Jane sat in the shade of the emperor parasol growing in the courtyard. The towering old mushroom smelled a bit musty, but at least gave them privacy from their fellow outlanders. Daria had been relating her father's encounter with the kwama egg.

  "No idea," Daria said.

  "It must have been if it was squirting like that. Ooh, that means there's a partially formed scrib in there that your dad can serve for dinner!"

  "Dad's probably going to be taking a long recuperative break from kitchen duties after this. Very possibly at Mom's insistence."

  Jane nodded. "Tell him to get an unfertilized kwama egg next time. Those you can open up and fry. They're pretty good, and cheaper to boot. And if he doesn't want the scrib, I'll take it. Scribs taste a lot better before they hatch."

  Looking at her own lunch, a loaf of bread and a skin full of lukewarm water boiled last evening, Daria wondered how long she could last before embracing the local cuisine. She chided herself for being so myopic. Weirdness was only a matter of perspective. There was nothing intrinsically normal about eating steak and potatoes. She just wished Dunmer cuisine didn't smell so unwholesome.

  Unwholesome to her, she reminded herself.

  She glanced around the courtyard. Ten squarish adobe structures, the surfaces smoothed out in the stately Hlaalu manner, crammed together in an enclosure and surrounded by a wall made of the same. Six buildings for instruction, one for a library, one for administration, one for storage, and one for a privy. All of the students present that day huddled together in their little cliques. Outlanders gathered with outlanders and native Dunmer stayed with their own, with one notable exception: Quinn was still with that same crowd. The leader, Synda, a slender Dunmer girl whose thick and artfully arranged tresses probably contained an alchemy shop's worth of treatment, listened as Quinn chattered on about the latest sartorial irrelevance. The hackles on Daria's neck rose.

  "What do you know about Synda?" Daria asked.

  "Her? She's the kwama queen of her little hive, all of them trying to be more stylish than each other—but never more stylish than her. Honestly, she's not that big of a deal, but her family is. I know her mother's a bonded agent to House Hlaalu."

  "I don't like Quinn spending time with her. And I definitely don't like being made to show concern for Quinn."

  Jane turned her eyes to Synda. "Like I said, I might have overreacted yesterday. I don't think the Cammona Tong would've done anything worse than embarrass Quinn. But they aren't nice people. The whole reason they set up shop in front of the strider port is so they can watch who comes and goes, and occasionally bully a confused traveler who thinks he'll get a warm bed at their place."

  A little annoyed, Daria turned her gaze to Jane. "So was she in danger or not?"

  Jane shrugged. "That's the problem with Morrowind. You can never be sure."

  "Is Synda part of the Cammona Tong?"

  "Nah," Jane scoffed. "She's just a rich girl with a mean streak."

  Synda stepped closer to Quinn. Her pouty lips turned up in a faint and mirthless smile, a bit like Ondryn's when he was about to talk about togetherness or confidence. She spoke, and Daria imagined the verbal poison leaping out of her tongue.

  "Hold on," Daria said, standing up from the ground.

  "What's this?"

  "I'm going to stop this the only way I know how: by embarrassing my sister in front of her friends."

  Daria set off before she'd figured out what to do. All the frustrations of the past month boiled in the back of her brain. The harsh looks, the weird food, the ugly words always spoken at the edge of hearing.

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  She was of the Empire, and she wasn't going to let some barbarian threaten her sister.

  Quinn saw Daria approach and made a shooing gesture with her hands.

  "Oh hi!" Daria said, trying to sound like an ingenue. "You never introduced me to your friends, Quinn!"

  Synda cast a baleful glare her way. "Who is this... person?"

  "She's, uh, my servant!" Quinn said. "My parents hired her because no one else would take her. Servant, would you—"

  "Don't be silly, Quinn! Everyone, Quinn's my sister!"

  Daria threw her arms around Quinn and squeezed as tightly as possible. "And we're the best of friends!" she continued, raising her voice as high as it could go (which still wasn't high).

  "Stop it!" Quinn hissed.

  Synda crossed her arms, her smile as sharp as a knife. "Your sister certainly seems interesting, Quinn. Perhaps you should introduce us."

  Quinn finally disentangled herself and stepped back, her cheeks red. Exhaling, she faced Synda. "No, she's not my sister. I told you, she's a servant. I think she might've been out in the sun too long," she said, adding a false laugh at the end.

  "Is she your sister, or isn't she?" Synda asked.

  Quinn opened her mouth as if to speak, her face frozen in uncertainty.

  "Because," Synda continued, "I certainly would not trust someone inconstant enough to deny their own family."

  "Huh?"

  "Come, I don't think there's room for Quinn in our society. Maybe the Imperials don't care about family loyalty, but we do."

  "Wait—come back!" she called as the quartet raised their noses in the air and turned their backs to her, walking away on quick little steps that barely disturbed the dark fabric of their dresses.

  Quinn whirled back toward Daria, her face livid.

  "How could you?"

  Daria had to admit that hadn't gone the way she'd expected. Quinn always tried to distance herself. No one had minded such things in Cyrodiil, seeing it as the usual backbiting common to young people.

  "You're better off," Daria said. "Those people are not your friends. Mom warned you not to spend time with them."

  "How would you know what a friend is? It's not like you've ever had any."

  Daria sucked in her breath. She remembered all those years puttering around in her mother's darkened library, listening to the laughter and jokes in the other rooms, everyone in the whole town of Charach adoring Quinn's rosy cheeks and pretty smile and bright tone. So unlike Daria's monotone voice and flat affect. Like they weren't sisters at all.

  Daria blinked away her tears. "I do have a friend now. This time, you don't. Find some. It's always been easy for you."

  She walked away, no longer sure if she'd made the right choice.

  *********

  Daria spent a dusty afternoon under Ondryn's questionable tutelage, learning the tiresome etiquette of properly addressing a letter sent to a priest of Morrowind's Tribunal Temple.

  "I have tremendous respect for all faiths," Ondryn said at the beginning of the lesson, "but now that you are in Morrowind, it'll make things easier—dare I say, more fun—to learn about the three living gods who protect and guide the Dunmer. And who knows? Maybe they'll protect your people too! The important thing is that we can all be together and reach our full potential under the Tribunal."

  Nothing made sense. Quinn was in danger. Except Jane thought she might not have been. Synda was bad news, but probably harmless. And there Daria was, trying to navigate her way out of the mess. She looked up to the ceiling, the adobe surface crossed with wooden beams. Daria didn't miss her home, exactly. But she was starting to, and that worried her. Better dry hills and red-shingled houses than this endless morass of insects, fungus, and volcanoes.

  Somehow, the matter didn't feel settled. Daria hated to admit it, but part of her wanted to get back at Synda for what she'd said to Quinn. Foolish, perhaps. The issue was basically solved. Or was it? How could she be sure? In the old days, she'd be able to think of a way around things. People's habits (usually their bad ones) created weaknesses she could exploit. Morrowind threw everything awry. The rules here were different for people like her. So maybe she'd be direct this time. Direct, with all the weight of the Empire behind her.

  Daria found Synda loitering in the courtyard after the session ended, the afternoon bright but cold. Synda might not be nobility, but she carried herself like someone used to having authority. Angular Daedric script ran along her dark blue gown, the hemline and the ends of the sleeves gilded. Fashion was foreign to Daria, but she knew expensive when she saw it.

  "We need to talk," Daria said.

  Synda looked at her but said nothing.

  "Why did you take my sister to the Council Club yesterday?"

  "Forgive me," Synda said. "For I'm not familiar with your sophisticated Imperial ways. Where I come from, it's customary to take your friends to interesting places. Perhaps Imperials prefer not to share such things with friends? Loyalty does not appear to be your people's strong suit."

  "My sister had her reasons," Daria said and almost couldn't believe she'd said it. "And my 'people' don't take friends to places run by criminals. Unless they're criminals themselves."

  Synda drew herself up to her full height (which wasn't very much). "I don't know what you're talking about. The Council Club is run by some of the most respectable Dunmer in Balmora. You had best be careful what you say about them."

  Daria suddenly suspected she was in over her head. But there was no place to go but forward. "And you'd best be careful where you take my sister."

  "Oh, I will be."

  They stared for a few moments longer. Daria felt a moment of gratification when Synda finally sniffed, made a motion as if to brush dirt off her dress, and took her leave. The problem hadn't been solved. But maybe it was a step. She wished she could make it disappear with a smart remark. The odds didn't favor her here.

  She'd just have to be smarter than ever.

  Musical Closer -