Eye of the Wind – Ch. 4 – 4: Riding High

  • A pale light filtered through the clouds when I next opened my eyes.  The fire had long since burned down to a fine, white ash which mingled indistinguishably with the snow.  Chilly air crawled up my spine and I turned to see Derkeethus huddled in his cloak several feet away, poking desultorily at the dead embers.

    Slowly sitting up, I squeezed my eyes shut as the blood rushed from my head to the rest of my body.  Dizziness nearly overwhelmed me, as I stared out at the windswept drifts now coating the path.

    "No more counting steps today," I muttered, breathing deeply as the sensation passed.

    "No.  I was getting tired of it anyway.  Here," my friend said, handing me a tin mug of icy water.  I sipped the liquid and sucked on a hunk of bear fat from the day before.

    Snow continued to swirl and eddy about us as we slogged through the newly formed drifts, our feet crunching steadily through the crusted powder.  To my right, Hrothgar stretched into the sky, shorter than the beginning of our journey, but now more formidable than ever.  As the wind bit through my clothing, I began to wonder if some force was acting against us. Perhaps the men in their fortress knew we were coming.  But why fear a mere Bosmer and Argonian?  If there were two races less suited to the cold--less suited to this task--we didn't know of them.

    A howling gale greeted us at every turn, and Derkeethus and I tread carefully as the white of the path blended with the white of the air.  I knew somewhere off to my left the path dropped off into nothing.  Eventually, I unstrung my bow and used it as a staff to prod the ground before us.  Jorin ran forward, his sharp eyes able to see through the snow, but was quickly lost in the never-ending brightness.

    After an endless time of slowly marching through whiteness with nothing but the vague shadow of the mountain to guide us, I heard Jorin yip excitedly.  The cloud and wind parted in a shredded wave.  Glowering down at us from the brow of the mountain was the fortress of High Hrothgar, guarded by a disapproving Talos shrine.

    "I hope it's warm inside," chattered Derkeethus, so enveloped in his wolfskin cloak his voice came out in nothing more than a muffle.  Equally muffled, I nodded.

    Slowly we ascended the last sets of stairs to the entrance, and as we did, I remembered exactly what happened that day we found the Phial.  My friend had uttered some kind of power from his throat.  It was a power that reminded me of the dragons we had felled only more subtle.  I noted, too, the burning in my throat that had preceded us screaming at the same time, though I could not remember what we cried.

    The iron door creaked heavily open, and closed with a loud clang.  I jumped a little in spite of myself.  Our steps echoed throughout the high chamber, where the only light came from a shaft high in the ceiling and numerous smoldering braziers.  Thin scrims of smoke wove strange shapes in the warm air.  Nearby stood a shrine at which a man in a grey cowl was kneeling lost in thought.  Derkeethus coughed politely, but the man did not look up.

    "Excuse me," I ventured, dropping my hood and touching the man on the shoulder.  "We need to...go...to..."  My words trailed off into nothing as the grey man looked at me with eyes both prescient and frightfully present.

    "Ah, we have been waiting for you, Dragonborn.  I am Arngeir, keeper of High Hrothgar," the man said at last, his voice wavering and watery in age.

    "No, I'm not the Dragonborn," I replied.  "I don't know what that is, but I know I'm not it."

    "But you can absorb the power of dragons, yes?  I can see in your soul that you have," Arngeir said, staring into my eyes with his clouded grey ones.  As he did, I felt my mind trembling disconcertingly.  I perceived quite acutely that I stood on the blade of a knife, and this man's gaze was a blast of wind threatening to unbalance me.  For a long while he was silent as he looked at me and then at Derkeethus.   "I see..." he muttered at last.

    "Will you quit staring," Derk growled, looking as unbalanced as I felt.  

    Arngeir only smiled thinly before turning to me.  "No, you are right.  You are not the Dragonborn.  Not quite, anyway.  I have never seen a phenomenon such as this...  You are not the Dragonborn, but you have the power."  Then, glancing at Derkeethus, "You are not the Dragonborn either, yet you possess the Voice."

    "The Voice?"  I asked, thinking that was a rather appropriate term for what I saw.

    "Yes.  It is the power gifted to some whose connection to Akatosh is unusually close.  Come, I will show you, and test you."  We followed the elderly monk to a flagstone diamond in the floor directly beneath the skylight.  He stood facing us, and raising his arms slightly, took a deep breath and began to chant softly.  The sound grew from a low murmur to a loud, thundering boom that crashed against our skulls.

    Each word spoken evoked a pang in my mind in response, and I felt my balance tipping off into the darkness filled with swirling shapes and groping claws.  Voices in my mind chorused in response, heeding the call and overwhelming my senses.  I clapped my hands around my ears as I fell to my knees, hearing my own voice echoing back the man's chant in an unearthly bay.

    Dimly I saw Derkeethus fall to the ground, his hands gripping his head tightly.  Water seeped from his normally tearless eyes, and a small moan of pain escaped his snout.  I crouched over to him, grasping his hand and trying to help him up, but failing to do so as another surge of sound roared inside my head.

    On and on the man chanted, blasting us with his words as we curled our bodies up against the assault.  Distantly I was aware I was weeping profusely and my voice came out in a rasping squawk as it continued to respond against my will.  Nightmarish hallucinations danced across my perception as the monstrosities in my mind called in chorus.

    "Stop..." I croaked, looking at Arngeir and seeing his body left rent and torn on the floor at the same time he was merely standing.  "Stop...!"

    Derk groaned and got to his feet slowly.  He stood unsteadily for a moment, glaring at the monk.  "Stop," he said, more firmly than I.  

    "Stop it!"

    Growling, I saw my friend bare his teeth and hiss furiously at the monk as the barrage continued.  I felt a fire rising up from my chest, all-consuming and powerful.  For a moment, my mental chaos ceased and stretched over an infinite chasm as I felt pulled out of myself.  My eyes rolled as the fire rose into my brain and my body bent unnaturally as the tension continued to build.  In that same instant, Derkeethus took a massive breath.

    "STOP!" he roared, the force of his voice erupting from his mouth in an explosion of sound and air.  The burst smashed into Arngeir, who fell to the floor in surprise and ceased his incessant cacophony.

    With the tension released, I collapsed to the cool stone floor, sweat dotting my brow as I lay there panting.  Closing my eyes, I relished the relative silence until I felt scaled hands pulling me to my feet. The grey man stood looking at us wide-eyed for the briefest of seconds before his expression was concealed behind an immutable mask.

    "It is as I feared.  Your soul is divided," he whispered.

    "What do you mean 'divided'?" I rasped, my throat burned and sore with overuse.

    "The Dragonborn is a mortal born with the soul of a dragon.  For reasons unknown, instead of one mortal, it has been infused into two, and so the power is divided.  You with the ability to take the dragons' raw power, he with the use of the Voice--the Thu'um.  As you are, you are not the Dragonborn.  I do not know how to repair this damage done to the dragon soul, but with time, we might be able to study the damage."

    "We don't have time," I murmured.

    "Ah, wonderful.  I'm not even mortal, as I only have 'half a soul'.  One that is damaged, no less," rumbled Derkeethus, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  "Only a beast.  No.  Not even a beast.  Something even lower.  Is that it, Grey-Chanter?"  His lip curled into a sneer fueled by the pain still undoubtedly ringing in his ears.

    "Derk..." I said in warning, pulling him away from the light and into a dark corner.  Arngeir's hooded eyes glanced away as he resumed his place by the shrine.

    "No, Henny.  Don't tell me you're ready to accept that you have only half a soul.  One that isn't even yours!  What will happen to you when you die?"

    "We don't have to believe him.  Maybe he's wrong.  Do you really think you have part of a dragon inside of you?" I asked, taken aback at my friend's anger.

    Derkeethus took a deep, steadying breath.  "No."

    "Neither do I.  But we still have to get to the top of the mountain, right?"  Reluctantly, the Argonian nodded.  We stepped over to the monk once more.  "Arngeir, Dragonborn or not, we need to get to the top of the mountain.  There's an ingredient we need up there.  Is there a road we can take to the top?"

    "Only those trained in the Way of the Voice may reach the top.  You are not the Dragonborn, therefore you will require years of training to make the pilgrimage to the top," the old man said with a heavy sigh.  "There is no way for you to see the Throat of the World now."

    "Can't you at least show us the path?  Maybe we could try ourselves," I pleaded, feeling panic rising.

    "I can, at least, show you," he said after a long silence.  "Come with me."

Comments

5 Comments
  • Kyrielle Atrinati
    Kyrielle Atrinati   ·  September 26, 2012
    Hah, to me they seem relatively normal.  As far as what could possibly pass for normal in Skyrim when the Et'ada decide to intervene with mortals.  Really, I'm always amazed that the Dovakhiin and so many other characters in the actual game come off compl...  more
  • Eviltrain
    Eviltrain   ·  September 26, 2012
    You're characters... are really messed up. And I thought I was the one with messy characters.
  • Kynareth
    Kynareth   ·  September 25, 2012
    Whew!  These are some thought provoking revelations...and I really like their different perspectives--Derk's skepticism and Gwaihen's quiet consideration.  I am glad that they have some answers, but as with most things, those answers seem to lead to more ...  more
  • Jake Dassel
    Jake Dassel   ·  September 25, 2012
    I just caught myself up on this story, it is awesome, I love your perspective on the dragonborn, and the thought you put into the legion's policies and members is amazing, it reminds me a lot of ancient Rome.
  • Matt Feeney the New Guy
    Matt Feeney the New Guy   ·  September 25, 2012
    Ah I have been waiting for the Greybeard confrontation and finally learn the true. I don't even feel the need to sing its praises, so I'll just say great post and I look forward to the ones to come :)