Chapter Six: The Way of the Voice.
M'rassi reluctantly handed Onmund the pouch of gold coins.
"I told you I could get us here." Onmund said, amusement in his voice.
They stood on a hill overlooking a small hamlet called Ivarstead. The collection of a few houses, an inn and a sawmill, with a river rushing down the mountainside reminded M'rassi of Riverwood. However, Ivarstead was not in a thick forest, with only a few scattered silver birch trees, leaves turning golden as the weather got colder.
They'd taken the carriage from Winterhold to Riften, arriving in town in the early hours of the morning as the month rolled from Last Seed to Hearthfire. They decided to walk the rest of the way, taking the south road around Lake Honrich, following the Treva River to Lake Geir. The walk took them all day, and they sighted Ivarstead as the sun began it's slow descent behind the mountain that rose up like a frozen gargoyle about the small town.
The mountain was High Hrothgar, otherwise known as the Snow-Tower or the Throat of the World, and it rose sharply into the clouds, it's peak invisible. Legend had that the very top of the mountain, high up the seven-thousand steps, was only half there, somehow in another world, perhaps even Aetherius itself. M'rassi didn't believe them. It looked like any other mountain, cold and snowy, with a dangerous looking path snaking its way up the mountainside and disappearing behind a rocky crag.
"That you did. Probably best to climb in the morning. I'd hate to fall off that."
"Good idea." Her friend agreed.
They ducked into the inn and paid for a couple of rooms, the innkeeper shooting them a puzzled glance. Why two? They seemed like a nice young couple. They denied it when he asked, answering with some excuse about being colleagues from that fool College up north, that they'd barely known each other for longer than a few days.
They bought some supplies in the morning, including a large bottle of last night's soup. The mountain was mightily cold, and they'd need the nourishment and warmth. They could easily heat it with their magic.
They headed towards the bridge, where an older man was struggling under the weight of a large sack. Apparently he'd made the journey of running supplies to High Hrothgar once a week for many years. M'rassi offered to help him by taking the supplies up there, since she was heading up the mountain anyway. She and Onmund split the load between them and started their ascent.
The steps rapidly grew icy and treacherous as the road climbed upward, and M'rassi soon had her hands tucked into her armpits and her tail wrapped tightly around her waist to keep them warm. Onmund laughed at her chattering teeth, as he happily put up with the cold. M'rassi couldn't tell if it was his own natural immunity, or his Nord stubbornness, or even a combination of the two, that kept him from feeling it. This was even worse than in Helgen! Whatever this High Hrothgar was, it had better have a fireplace, she couldn't take it otherwise.
They passed many stone tablets on their way, some with odd brave souls braving the cold to meditate on the words. M'rassi was too interested in getting inside and getting warm, so she only permitted enough time to stop for Onmund to transcribe the words into his journal before pressing on.
The innkeeper had warned them of wild animals on the mountain before they left and it was almost noon before they saw anything more than wolves.
They passed a bank of snow, built up against the rock by the wind, when a pair of strange skeletal fish-like creatures burst out of it.
"Ice Wraiths!" Onmund shouted, he'd read about them, but never seen one.
One dove at M'rassi, spraying plumes of bitterly cold air at her. She felt the fur inside her clothes begin to freeze as the garments themselves became stiff as wooden planks. She formed a stream of fire with her hands, and tried to hit the odd creature.
The fish-thing was quick and agile, easily dodging her flames. M'rassi had to think of something and fast. She watched the wraith bunch up to charge at her, and when it did, she grabbed it by one frigid spine and holding it in place, she drowned it in fire, its ice-bones melting.
She heard Onmund give a frustrated shout, and she twisted around to find him on his back, struggling with the other wraith which was snapping and biting at his face. He gave it a shove, and when it flew off, he poured his own balefire at the creature. Once it was dead he picked himself up, and they carried on.
They stopped briefly and M'rassi heated the soup with small fire spell that Faralda had written in her book. Warming food with magic was one of the exercises in control. You either focussed on carefully weaving and maintaining the weak spell, or your dinner was incinerated. A good learning technique. Soon they carried on and as the afternoon wore on snow began to fall, gently at first, but eventually it turned into great flurries and gusting wind.
As they neared what they hoped was the top, M'rassi caught a scent in the air. She stopped Onmund, putting a hand across his chest.
"Smell that?" She asked.
"No. What is it?" He asked.
M'rassi took several more sniffs, the frigid air turning her nose numb. It was a smell she knew well, the hills of northern Elsweyr were filled with the creatures.
"Troll."
Carefully they crept forward, trying hard to keep silent, but it was nearly impossible with the snow crunching beneath their boots. They saw the beast, a white shape on a dark grey background.
"Fire." M'rassi whispered, readying her spells.
She counted down on her fingers and then they charged at the man-shaped beast, whooping loudly. The troll whirled around at the noisy things, glaring at them with it's three eyes and snarling.
M'rassi and Onmund both used one of Faralda's spells, focussing their flames into tight jets, which slammed into the troll with more power that with a wide cone. All their practice on the road was starting to pay off. The troll perished quickly, it was well known that they did not like fire.
M'rassi reluctantly peeled back the charred beast's skin. They smelt bad when alive, but even worse when they were dead and half-cooked. Still the fat in their bodies was known for its poison resistance. She couldn't pass up the opportunity.
She hacked at the part-cooked meat and with Onmund's help she exposed the lump of fatty flesh that sat atop the brute's shoulders. Together they scraped it out and mashed the foul glop into the bottle that had contained their lunch, after first washing it out with slushy snow.
By the time they were done, Onmund looked sick. Apparently he'd never harvested troll fat before. It was a messy business but someone had to do it. They got away from the gut-turning stench by climbing the mountain once again.
The snow-storm had turned to a full-blown blizzard by the mid-afternoon. Even Onmund was beginning to suffer from the weather, and the two of them stumbled up the mountain, arms and cloaks wrapped around each other, sharing their body heat. It helped, but they could do nothing about their feet. Hours of hiking through the snow had soaked through the thick leather of their boots, and M'rassi hoped she wasn't getting frostbite.
They passed another stone tablet, and Onmund quickly copied it. M'rassi looked around as he did so, trying to see through the whirling currents of snow. The only reason she knew they were on the right path were the steps that continued ever upward. They had not stopped since they'd started the ascent that morning.
She studied a dark shadow against the sky, almost dismissing it as a rock, when she realised it was entirely too regular. She squinted her eyes, but could not make out anymore detail.
"I think we're here, Onmund." She said to the younger mage, busy stuffing his journal into his knapsack, while trying to keep the snow out.
"Are you sure?"
"Look." She pointed out the outline that she could see, snaking only a fingertip from the cloak pulled tight around her.
"I think you're right."
As they walked, the shape resolved into a massive temple, perched on the mountainside. There was a small platform with a chest with a set of steps leading up either side, around an angular column. At the top of each flight, there was a door, made of iron almost black with age and carved with a stylised monk.
They dropped the supplies into the chest and made their way up to the doors. They pulled apart with a clang, and they quickly ducked inside.
It was dark, but warm, and for this M'rassi was thankful. As she walked into the main hall, she shook the snow that had collected on her, with a quick shake of her head. The twitch followed down the rest of her body until finally her tail gave a flick. Onmund simply brushed it off with his hands.
The chamber was large and forbidding, with many nooks and crannies created by columns carved with odd angles, not unlike the one outside. Candles clustered in bowls were strewn about the room, and a large chandelier lit up the central part of the hall with a bright circle of light. Another split staircase rose up past a small dais to a raised level, with more doors. On this platform stood four men.
Each was dressed in robes of thick dark leather, cut in a similar style to dragon scales. Each wore a hood of black leather, their ancient wizened faces peeking out with interest. Without a word they filed down the stairs to where M'rassi and Onmund waited.
M'rassi stepped forward at their approach, Onmund retreated back, each with their eyes and ears alert. He sat on a carving of a dragon, which had a bowl of candles resting on its snout.
The Khajiit pushed her hood back, ears twitching this way and that, but picked up no other sound than the monks coming toward her. They stood in a semicircle around her and one stepped forward. He looked ancient, face deeply lined, and his knotted beard was silver.
"So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." He said, almost as if her didn't believe it himself. His voice was rough and husky.
"I'm answering your summons." M'rassi said, bowing her head.
"We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."
"Alright. Fus!" She Shouted at the man, bracing her feet.
Her Thu'um rushed forward and he stumbled back, knocking over a large metal vase.
"Unrelenting Force." He whispered. He regained his balance and approached her once again.
"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar." He told her, his voice solemn. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me Dragonborn, why have you come here?"
"I'm answering your summons, Master." M'rassi answered in a respectful tone.
"We are honoured to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfilment of your destiny."
"What destiny?" M'rassi flicked her tail, she didn't like the sound of that.
"That is for you to discover. We can show you the Way, but not your destination."
"I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn."
"We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."
"You mean M'rassi is not the only Dragonborn?" She asked, slipping into her old Ta'agra habits in her confusion.
"You are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift on mortalkind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of the age... that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." Arngeir explained.
"So you are the Greybeards Jarl Balgruuf told me of? This is High Hrothgar?"
"Yes. Followers of the Way of the Voice. And yes, this is High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain. Here we commune with the sky, and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves."
"I would like to learn more."
"You have shown you are Dragonborn, yes. You have the inborn gift. But, do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen." Master Arngeir stepped back into the semicircle. "Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."
M'rassi glanced back at Onmund, who was sitting quietly, watching the scene with intense interest, scribbling into his journal. Arch-Mage Aren would be happy upon their return.
"All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro' the second Word in Unrelenting Force."
Arngeir gestured to the man beside him, who looked equally ancient.
"Ro means 'Balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with 'Fus' -Force- to focus your Thu'um more sharply." Arngeir said and the other man stepped up to a square paved into the floor.
"Ro." Master Einerth whispered the Shout, and the Word appeared on the floor, burning in fiery gold letters. Onmund snuck forward, copied the word into his book, and retreated swiftly. The Greybeards ignored him, focussed completely on their charge.
M'rassi looked at the word, which didn't make sense at first, then she realised she was looking at it upside down. Giving herself a mental slap she walked around it and the word burned into her mind, just like to one from Bleak Falls Barrow. She expected the second dragon soul to seize the word, but it remained dormant.
"Ro." She said.
"You learn a new word like a master... you truly do have the gift!" Arngeir said, his voice almost surprised. "But learning a Word of Power is only the first step... you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout." He smiled suddenly. "Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly."
M'rassi nodded. Despite the dormancy of the soul of the dragon that attacked the College, she could feel its power and mental wealth, even if it wasn't yet willing to unlock it's secrets. Mirmulnir and Fus must have been special.
"As part of your initiation, Master Eitharth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro.'" Arngeir said.
Einarth bowed slightly at M'rassi, and he brought his hands up in a gentle sweeping motion. As he did so, silvery white threads, similar to the dead dragons, rose up from his body and flowed into hers.
For a moment they were connected, mind-to-mind, startling M'rassi. For a moment she could se everything about the man, from his lonely childhood on the streets of Riften to his pilgrimage to High Hrothgar, one he'd never left. She felt Master Einarth's amusement at her reaction. His knowledge flowed into her, and she understood the Word 'Ro' and its place in the Shout. When Einarth sensed her understanding, he withdrew from the connection.
M'rassi opened her eyes, and saw Master Einarth smiling at her, she wondered what he'd seen of her. He stepped back into the shadows, and Arngeir addressed her.
"Now let us see how quickly you can master your Thu'um." He said, indicating for her to join the semicircle, facing the square in the floor.
"Use your Unrelenting Force Shout on the targets as they appear. Master Borri, if you don't mind."
Another Greybeard stepped forward.
"Fiik-Lo-Sah!" He shouted, and a spectral version of himself appeared in the middle of the square, before he stepped back.
M'rassi glanced around quickly, the Greybeards were watching her expectantly, and even Onmund had stopped writing fixing his gaze on her.
She braced her feet, holding her tail out for added balance.
"Fus-Ro!" She Shouted, and the spectral Borri stumbled and faded. Her Thu'um certainly felt stronger with the extra word.
"Well done. Again. Einarth?"
"Fiik-Lo-Sah!" Einarth Shouted his own spectral form.
"Fus-Ro!" M'rassi watched the ghostly facsimile of Einarth vanish.
"You learn quickly. Once more. Wulfgar?"
"Fiik-Lo-Sah!"
"Fus-Ro!" M'rassi shouted the last apparition away.
"Impressive! Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri." Arngeir said.
M'rassi hesitated, looking from Master Borri to where Onmund sat, then back again. Borri seemed to understand, beckoning for the Nord to follow, the first time any of the Greybeards had even acknowledged him.
As they followed Master Borri, she heard Arngeir pick up the fallen vase. Borri led them up the stairs and though the back doors, which led out to a large courtyard, hewn out of the mountain. The blizzard had lessened to a steady snowfall, huge flakes wafting down from the darkening clouds. A watchtower stood beside a road leading further up the mountain, beyond which a gale blew, thick with ice and snow. To venture into such a storm spelled certain death. Borri led them down into the courtyard, where they waited for the other Greybeards.
"We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout. Master Borri will teach you 'Wuld' which means 'Whirlwind.'" Arngeir explained when he joined them.
"Wuld!" Borri whispered the Shout, the fiery script burning in the snow.
"You must hear the Word within yourself before you can project it into a Thu'um." Arngeir said, Onmund and Wulfgar beside him.
M'rassi focussed on the word, the letters clearer in her mind. The Word didn't hurt as much as it bored into her skull. Maybe she was getting used to it.
"Approach Master Borri and he will gift you his knowledge of 'Wuld'"
Borri mirrored Einarth's motions, making the connection to her mind with the silver threads. She saw him failing to woo the woman he loved, turning to the Voice in despair and finding purpose. She sensed embarrassment through the bond, and Borri showed her how to use her Thu'um to create a tunnel of air to push her forward. A Whirlwind Sprint. Borri retracted from her mind as she reached the understanding.
"Now we will see how quickly you can master a new Shout." Arngeir said and the six of them walked over to a pair of man-sized columns.
At the edge of the courtyard was a massive metal gate.
"Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn. Master Borri?"
Borri had wandered down to the gate.
"Bex!" He Shouted and the gate flew open.
"Wuld-Nah-Kest!" Wulfgar Shouted, racing though the gate as it shut, stopping inches from the precipice.
"Now it's your turn. Stand next to me and Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."
"Right." M'rassi said, preparing to run. She waited for Borri's Shout.
"Bex!"
"Wuld!"
M'rassi thought it would make her legs move faster, but it was more like a kick in the arse, as she sprinted thought the gate. It clanged shut behind her, missing her tail by centimetres. Wulfgar smiled at her, clearly bemused, before he unlocked the gate manually.
She went back to where Arngeir and Onmund were waiting. Einarth was heading back into the temple.
"Your quick mastery of the Thu'um is... astonishing." Arngeir told her. "I'd heard stories of the abilities of the Dragonborn, but to see it for myself... Come, let's go inside." He gestured for her to follow.
"I don't know how I do it. It just happens." M'rassi shrugged as they came in from the cold.
"You were given this gift by the gods for a reason. It is up to you to figure out how best to use it. You are now ready for your last trial." He showed them into a library, where a fire burned bright in a large hearth.
"Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."
"M'rassi has many questions, please?"
"No doubt you are full of them, as I was when I first started to learn the Way of the Voice." Arngeir sat in a chair near the fireplace.
M'rassi sat as close as she dared to the fire, still chilled to the bone. Onmund sat beside her, pulling out his journal and quill. Arngeir ignored him.
"Why are the dragons returning? Does this have something to do with M'rassi?" She asked, curling her tail around her friend. Onmund glanced at her in surprise.
"No doubt. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear."
"Thank you, Master. I will continue my training." M'rassi said. She was almost eager to learn more of this ability, considering her reluctance a few days before. She resolved to seeking out more of these Words of Power.
"Good. Then you will be ready for whatever lies ahead."
"So what else can you tell me about the Greybeards. I know you follow the Way of the Voice, but little else."
"The Way of the Voice was first taught by Jurgen Windcaller, our founder. Very few are permitted to study with us here at High Hrothgar. But in your case, Dragonborn, it is a privilege to guide you towards mastery of your Voice."
"What is the 'Way of the Voice' anyway?"
"The Voice was a gift from the goddess Kynareth, she the Nords call Kyne, the Khajiit, Khenarthi, at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do. Although this gift has often been misused, the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True mastery can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance."
They were interrupted by Master Borri who brought three cups of steaming hot tea into the room on a simple wooden tray. He put a spoon of sugar into Arngeir's and looked expectantly at the two sitting on the floor.
M'rassi held up two fingers and Master Borri stirred it into the hot liquid. Onmund had only a single spoon. They thanked him and he smiled, bowing before he left the room.
The tea was nice and sweet, just the way she liked it, though the taste was different without moon sugar. She decided against getting the jar from her pack.
"I will try to follow the Way of the Voice, Master Arngeir." M'rassi said.
"That is commendable. But remember, the Dragon Blood is itself a gift of Akatosh. Do not try to deny that gift. Your destiny requires you to use your Voice - why else would Akatosh have bestowed this power upon you? If you remember to use your Voice in service to the purpose of Akatosh, you will remain true to the Way."
"I will." She could think of one reason why she had the gift but it was preposterous, a stupid story passed down by her family. M'rassi was quiet for a short time, trying to decide which of her many questions was more important.
"So who was Jurgen Windcaller?"
Onmund stirred, he knew the tales after all. Arngeir spoke before him though.
"He was a great war leader of the ancient Nords, a master of the Voice, or Tongue. After the disaster at Red Mountain, where the Nord army was annihilated, he spent many years pondering the meaning of that terrible defeat. He finally came to realise the gods had punished the Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous use of the Voice. He was the first to realise the Voice should be used solely for the glory and worship of the gods, not the glory of men. Jurgen Windcaller's mastery of the Voice eventually overcame all opposition, and the Way of the Voice was born." Arngeir sipped his tea.
"Why are Shouts in the dragon language?"
Arngeir laughed heartily, "Still, more questions! Does nothing sate your appetite? Dragons have always been able to Shout. Language is intrinsic to their very being. There is no difference in the dragon tongue between debating and fighting. Shouting comes as naturally to a dragon as breathing, or speaking. I told you in mythic times, when mortalkind was in great need, Kynareth granted us the ability to speak as dragons do. For most people, long years of training are required to learn even the simplest Shout. But for you, the dragon speech is in your blood, and you learn it almost without effort. What you have learned in a few days took even the most gifted of us years to achieve." He sighed deeply. "Some believe that Dragonborn are sent into the world by the gods, at times of great need. We will speak of that more when you are ready."
"I understand." M'rassi nodded, before asking what she thought was a dumb question. "There are only four of you? I thought there would be more."
"Five, actually. Our leader, Paarthurnax, lives alone on the peak of the Throat of the World. When your Voice can open the path, you will know you are ready to speak to him." Arngeir pushed his aged bones from the chair. "Now, if you have any more questions, please feel free to peruse the library. Maybe that should satisfy you." Arngeir smiled before he left.
"By Alkosh, that's a lot to take in." M'rassi sighed.
"I know, my hand is starting to cramp up." Onmund dropped his quill, and cracked his fingers loudly.
"What do you think of all this?"
"I'm not sure what I think. Half of the things he told you I knew from the old tales, and the other half contradicted them. It just makes me wonder what else is different from what we know."
"It is all new to me. We're not well versed in Nord lore in Elsweyr. If you wanted me to tell you about Rajhin, or Ra'Ra'Ra, or Dro'Zira I could tell you, but this Dragonborn thing? Still it's very interesting, I want to learn more."
"Well, we are in a library. Where should we start?"
"How about Words of Power. Let's see if we can find any records as to where we can find them."
"Sure..." Onmund went quiet, and frowned slightly. "Look, I know you found the first one in Bleak Falls Barrow, but... I'm not so sure we should be going into those places."
"Why not? Not scared of Draugr are you?"
"No. I just don't think we should go rifling through the bones of our - my - ancestors." Onmund told her. "They should be allowed to rest in peace."
"I didn't realise it was so taboo here."
"No, I suppose you didn't. What do you do with your dead in Elsweyr?"
"It depends on many things, really. In Anequina, if the dead person was a close relative or clan-friend, we would bury them under a small cairn of rocks. If not, we put them on platforms for the carrion birds. They practice something similar in Pellitine, the south. Either way, once they're dead they're not them any more. They've journeyed on Khenarthi's path to Arkhaj or joined Azurah in her realm. We say a quick prayer to speed them along the path, but their bodies are worthy of no special treatment. The Sload love Elsweyr for this reason."
"Completely different attitude, huh?" Onmund was realising just how different the Khajiit woman was, and he was intrigued.
"Very. You can always go back to the College if you feel that strongly about it." M'rassi shrugged.
"And let you go alone? Not a chance. I guess I can always try to think of it like the Khajiit do. Hopefully we can learn something while we're at it."
"Good. We'll leave them in peace if they do the same for us. "
"Do you mean... ?"
"Yep, Draugr aren't some folktale. I have the scar to prove it! Just think of it as helping them back to Sovngarde, or wherever it is you Nords go when you die."
"Shor's blood! What have you got yourself into, Onmund?"
They pulled some books down from the shelves and started to flick through them. Unfortunately for M'rassi many were not in Tamrielic and she couldn't read them. Onmund identified the script as an ancient form of the Nordic tongue, and though he didn't recognise some of the words, he got the general grasp of the texts.
They worked late into the night, Master Wulfgar bringing them a light meal. They managed to decipher the locations of a dozen Word Walls, Onmund reading them out and M'rassi writing them down in Ta'agra. Eventually weariness took them and they sank into the chairs by the fireplace to sleep.
They left early the next morning, the blizzard had stopped and the sky was mostly clear. They could see Whiterun on the plains below, the Keep looking like a small jewellery box from this distance. Balgruuf was right, it was very peaceful up here.
As they walked, they came across a boulder that was perched on the edge of the road. M'rassi got an idea.
"Might as well have some fun with this gift of mine." M'rassi smiled.
"Go ahead." Onmund grinned. He could see what she planned.
She braced her legs and held out her tail.
"Fus-Ro!" She Shouted the boulder off the mountain.
It hit the snow several meters down with a loud thunk, and kept rolling and crashing down the mountainside. When it finally came to rest, they looked at each other and cracked up laughing, their guffaws ringing out into the frigid mountain air.
M'rassi hadn't laughed that hard in a very long time.