Chapter 35: Inside Voice

"Ooooooooowwweeeeiiiii. Eeeeeewwwwwwooooooo," Irdal's cool fingers gently pressed and rested on various points of his throat and jaw, feeling his throat and tongue muscles flex as he went through the basic exercises for polyphonic singing. Exercising up his vocal chords, learning control, and then relearning how to use his tongue and mouth to enhance the subtle overtones hidden within the main chord. It wasn't easy. Curtis had been a choral singer in his past life, but Slitter's body wasn't used to this. Being out of the ashy atmosphere of Solstheim had helped his throat and lungs get healthier; still, it was years of damage. Why was it so difficult to do this? He wondered how he managed it in the first place on Japhet's Folly. Best he could figure was that he was likely flying on pain-induced endorphins. Kind of like when he used to be in a choir, get tipsy at parties, and — bam! — his vocals were so relaxed he could reach notes he couldn't touch when sober.

"Very good," said Irdal. "you're getting better at separating notes."

"If you say so. I still can't hear it."

"It's there. You still tend to tense up your tongue at the back of your throat. Are you flattening the tip of your tongue or bunching it?"

"Uh …"

"Let's try it again. Try not to bunch your tongue at the back and keep your tip flat and your lips over your teeth. I know it's more natural to want to bare your teeth when you're pulling the corners of your mouth back, but this is not a grin or a threat display. We can end this session after this last try."

"I wonder what would happen if I sang instead of shouted?" said Lady Helsette after Curtis's lesson ended. She was relaxing in her bed. They were practicing his vocal lessons here in the master suite because she assured them it was not disturbing her rest and because she was fascinated by Dwemer voice magic and wanted to learn more. Also sitting quietly in a chair beside her bed and observing the lesson was Master Einarth, Greybeard.

Curtis and Irdal were staying at Sadri's, but with room being so tight in all of Windhelm, they were sleeping on cushions on the floor of the master bedroom along with Manolas, the steward of their manor in Raven Rock, Solstheim, and Remarasi, the primary lady's maid and her two assistants. Steward and maids were all out doing their jobs, except for one young maid, who sat in the hall, embroidering baby clothes and generally waiting to act if the lady needed something to be done or fetched.

"Do you think tonal magic would give my shouts a boost?"

"I'm not sure, my lady," answered Irdal. "From what I'm hearing from Master Severus and you, you both already combine more than a normal range of tones. However, your type of power relies on verbalizing words, and that is not possible with polyphonic singing. However, there might be some gain in learning operatic singing. Master Severus has complained of the strain on his throat from shouting the dragon tongue. Voice training may help with the physical strain."

"Hm, now that's a thought. Do you have time to teach me the basics? Baladas won't teach me any magic at this stage of my pregnancy, and Master Einarth, here, emphatically says no shouting." The Greybeard nodded.

"It would be an honor and a fascinating study," said Irdal, smiling. Her long ears were twitching with excitement. "Your voice has more than the usual tonalities. The normal range for most mortals is eight to ten, but it is normal to only have control of one tone, our baseline voice. A little practice and training and one can manipulate two, with the second tone shifting up or down our normal overlay tones. But you and Master Severus, curiously, after gaining a Dragon's soul, we estimate to have jumped to fourteen. The best of our tonal architects can gain twelve only after decades of training and practice. And the best of those, the composers, all develop their own spell tools to create vocal overlays into spell songs that invoke fourteen or all sixteen tones."

Layered, pre-recorded soundtracks set in specially prepared soulstones and triggered by opening notes, was how Curtis understood it. So far, Dumac's memories hinted at some of the training, but not mastery at that level. For some high-level spellsinging, he'd relied on the kagrenacs to build the spells which recorded his singing, like really fancy and reusable spell scrolls, but in stones. And the stones were usually set into earrings and necklaces.

"We'll not practice with your Dovazhul language, of course, but—" Lady Helsette interrupted her.

"Wait, wait. Where do these overtones come from? Is it all just produced by our vocal chords?"

"Oh, no, it's part of our natural sound system. The vocals resonate in our lungs, so lung health and rib structure, and diaphragm muscle control and strength are important. There is the shape of one's skull and jaw that also adds character; the tongue that manipulates the shape and space of sound — all these add all overlays and qualities and uniqueness to one's voice."

Curtis relaxed as he listened to Irdal go into lecture mode. He'd heard it before, but it never hurt to hear it again. Repetition was always the key for him. Joric had been right: Irdal was the perfect companion on this trip — a voice coach, speech therapist, and sound technician all in one sturdy, beautiful package.

And, darn in, Joric was also right — the Dumac part of him was interested. There were new dreams, dreams of being a young Dumac touring a city designed to flood the lower, vital levels with seawater to protect their secrets from surface invaders. Irdal had already been long asleep before then. The tour had been a goodwill effort to bring in manufactured parts from Vvardenfell. Things the people of Nchardak were having trouble producing because the Atmoran hordes made manufacturing difficult because they needed to stay hidden. The Solstheim Dwemer were a particularly tenacious lot to survive the sundering of their city from mainland Skyrim by the wars of the Dragon priests.

Dumac found her normal rounded intonations charming. But a few minutes listening to Lady Helsette, she smoothly flexed over to mimic a mix of posh upper-class Hlaalu and Colovian Imperial. Ingratiating mimicry? Or a speech therapist testing out the client's tones to gain clues for a teaching plan? Did speaking Dovazhul in a non-Dragon accent affect the effectiveness of the Shouts? Fuss/fuzz/foos/fooz + ryo/roe/ruh + doh/dah/duh?

But, fascinating as the discussion of polyphonic singing was, the Dragonborn wanted training in improved breath control. As an athlete, she knew the value of breathing steadily to stave off exhaustion and breathing to recover afterward. But she suspected she needed a different way of thinking when it came to shouting. The Greybeard also looked interested. This was probably never taught to him. Surely, in the thousands of years since their order was founded, someone would have tried to incorporate breath control and voice training as part of their discipline? If so, then it had been forgotten, as the order had dwindled.

Irdal soon had the two of them exercising. She had Master Einarth doing deep breathing that would gradually increase in pace. Lady Helsette's late-stage pregnancy hindered deep breathing, so Irdal led her through a shallow breathing exercise. She touched; she listened using her ears and a stethoscope; and, she corrected their postures and breathing rates. She told them what she was hearing, the health of their lungs and throats.

With Lady Helsette's permission, she also listened in on the baby. "Good, strong heartbeat and its lungs are doing well."

"It breaths? But how?" asked the lady.

"It does not breathe air with its lungs yet. It takes in the fluid it lives in. A practicing, if you will, for what it will need to do for the rest of its life. As fluid is heavier than air, it's a bit of a workout, you understand, of the diaphragm. Building resistance strength there and in the chest muscles."

Lunchtime came around, and the maids brought lunch in. Lady Helsette wanted to hear about Curtis's experience at Japhet's Folly and his ability to alter a light spell enchantment using only his voice. Not surprising. Sergius at the college also had a fascination with that method of altering enchantments, going so far as to begin voice lessons with Irdal.

"He's learning it faster than me, and that's kinda embarrassing, not to mention it also kinda pisses me off," Curtis confessed. "It just gets me that the only time I seem to be able to tap into Dumac is when I'm hit hard enough to nearly die, or I'm half out of my head out of stress and pain. It's like he'll only pop up when I'm in a do-or-die situation. I mean, I'm trying, but for some reason, my brain just keeps checking out. It's like a mental block. I don't think it's physical. I was a decent singer in my past life, and Slitter has some musical talent. I'm losing that Morrowind ash voice, and I know my vocals are smoothing out."

"So strange to think of Slitter still alive inside you," said the lady. "And then Dumac. How strange. The Nerevarine, of course, centuries of prophecy. And he's my family's beloved uncle. And now, Dumac reborn; Nerevar's dearest ally."

"We're working on it," cautioned Curtis, feeling a touch embarrassed. "There's time differences, y'know? Like in a book I saw recently 'bout two apprentices who went their separate ways. The Final Lesson, I think it was called. Great friends when they parted, not so much years later. Anyways, as I've been saying, I'm nothing like Dumac, and I'm having trouble bringing him out."

"We have been talking amongst ourselves about that problem, my lord," said Irdal, gazing earnestly at him. "And we speculate that perhaps one of the reasons why the Dumac aspect is reluctant to manifest lies in your sound qualities. You are aware of how jarring it is to hear your voice as others hear you, as in a recorded playback. One's voice is part of our identity. The more power we have invested in our voice, the more devastating it is to Dwemer when we lose our voice. It is twice proven that he will only connect with you when your life is about to collapse, like a tunnel or a cave collapses, and then it's all hands to the picks and shovels, be you noble, commoner, or slave. In normal circumstances, it may be that the shadow of Dumac won't connect with you because he does not hear himself in you.

"Oh, so he's getting a hangup because what I am right now doesn't sound right to him. Man, he needs to get over that. I wasn't happy myself when I first woke up and I heard Slitter's voice, but we're working on it. It ain't pretty, but we're working on it. It's why I have you as my voice coach, right? Maybe get me to a point where that part of me can finally find the groove to dovetail into place."

"A cog mesh, precisely," she said, smiling and nodding. "No grinding points."

"Just grinding levels," Curtis quipped, grinning. He was pleased to see Irdal seemed to perfectly understand.

"And grooving to the beat like all good little steam punks," she agreed. Curtis laughed.

Lady Helsette sighed and the air shuddered as Master Einarth whispered something to her. Irda yipped and covered her ears. Curtis rubbed his own, slightly stunned.

"Ah! All fourteen tones at once are just indecent for daily, common use," complained Irdal, rubbing the palms of her hands over her ears. "Surely there's a Dragon equivalent to saying 'use your inside voice?'"

"Inside voice?" repeated Lady Helsette, puzzled.

"Sorry. Nobody speaks like the Dwemer," said Curtis.

"Hm," Irdal bowed her head, thinking. "You've told me this shouting always seems to consist of three one-syllable words like Dov-Ah-Kiin, dragon hunter born, and Fus-Ro-Dah, force balance push. Hm. And the power a Dragon brings to its shout depends on its understanding of the word and its incorporation into its identity. What it cannot understand, it cannot use."

"Sound like you've been studying Dragon language," said Curtis. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"It's better than contemplating the death of our race. We still can't find words for that," said Irdal. Curtis offered her a hug, and she leaned into it. "I think I've got something. Zul Fus Drem or voice force peace. The idea is to muffle or mute the power of your voice. Tone it down." She shrugged with her hands. "Speculation, of course. I've reviewed the basic words of the shouts recorded at the college, but I claim no in-depth understanding of the tongue or how it generates power."

Lady Helsette and Master Einarth glanced at each other. "Interesting. It would make quite a weapon," said Lady Helsette.

"You'll need something similar soon," said Irdal. "I'd say you're due anytime in the next few days. The blast zone as you're giving birth would probably destroy a quarter of the city unless some sort of mute spell was imposed on you."

"Not to worry," said Lady Helsette. "I've already consented to be gagged, and my room will have the strongest muffle spells set up."

"Very prudent, my lady. But a gag is barbaric. It would take me two days at most to create a breathable mask with tonal dampeners. They are commonly used by our women tonal architects. It would allow you to speak with your attendants while dampening the effects of your voice. It would also be a fascinating study to see how much of your power is tonal and how much is lingual."

"Y'know, Irdal, I'd say put some lessons together about the concepts of sound cancellation and sound isolation. It may help them to develop the right shout once the concepts are better understood," suggested Curtis.

"Delighted to comply." They both looked at Lady Helsette and Master Einarth.

"Please do," said the lady, and she giggled. "I'm trying to imagine them shouting 'Shut up!' 'No, you shut up!' at each other."

"Strange to think it actually might be another concept they can't comprehend," said Curtis. "I mean, would you say that the Dragons are so insanely proud of that somehow the thought of telling or imposing silence on another Dragon is something they also can't comprehend? Like, saying 'shut up' to a lower life form is okay, but not to another Dragon? Else, it would be a known shout," he reasoned. Master Einarth nodded.

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

They were walking through a forest. By the color of the leaves on the non-coniferous trees, it was fall. Colette saw some plants that interested her. She got into harvesting them. He probably should offer to help her, but he felt restless and wandered away instead. He wasn't sure what he was looking for.

He came into a clearing. In the center was a sleep pod with the top half a dome of glass. There was an elf woman inside. Her skin was snow white. Her hair was black and thick and braided with gemstones that glittered like ice. Her ears were long and ideally shaped, with tiny gem studding along their length. Her silk dress had patterns favored by the clans of that island newly created by the wars of the Dragon people. Such a tragedy. Thousands upon thousands died when that land's connection to the main continent was collapsed and the sea flooded in. All those underground cities, gone.

He examined the pod. There was no deactivation button or control panel that he could find.

"Sing me awake," came the whisper in his mind.

He tried to sing but heard instead a horrible croaking. His hands instinctively came up to massage his throat.

His hands. They were thinner. The flesh was the color of ash. A soot-blackened corpse.

Dead. All dead. The dead can't sing.

…

He bolted awake. He needed a walk. Manolas, the mer he shared the large sleeping pad with, didn't stir as he rolled to his front and pushed off the floor. Her ladyship was sitting up in her bed, reading a scroll by the soft glow of a candlelight spell. His lordship wasn't with her tonight; he was in his office in the cellar, still working. The man seriously didn't need to worry about assassins — more like to die by working himself to death. Curtis exited the room as quietly as he could.

"Oh! Sera. Is there anything I can fetch you?" asked the maid on duty tonight.

"Thanks, but no. I'm just feeling restless. Gonna walk it off."

The hallway was narrow with sleeping servants and guards of Sadri's noble guests. He made his way to the kitchen. He peeked into the public office. More servants and guards were sleeping in there. There were two boys on duty prepping vegetables and meat for the day's meals. A baker would come in another hour, and, shortly after, the chef would arrive to begin making breakfast.

The Cornerclub wasn't open at these hours. It, too, was booked overcapacity, with some even just renting crash space in the public room. In usual times, the club would be open from late morning to a little past midnight, but because of the crowding, business hours were late morning to two hours before midnight so that staff could clean and renters could sleep.

Forget walking outside; he didn't want to wake up Elden or Ralis so that they would guard him as he walked. Ralis had volunteered to act as his bodyguard instead of Gelebor, whom Curtis didn't want to risk exposure in Windhelm. It was already pushing it farther than he was comfortable to bring a Dwemer into this sensitive environment; he didn't need to add a Snowmer to his security risk. And though Ralis would prefer to be in another part of the quarter, cuddling with his new wife in her apartment near the docks, Curtis had an early breakfast meeting, so it was easier for Ralis to bunk here.

Well, there was one place he could distract himself with. He went to the rooftop where Revyn's Stormblade-led guards camped.

He and Irdal had brought the comm units three days ago. Irdal did the installs while Curtis instructed them how to turn the equipment on and off and lectured about group chat manners. Like, they had to be careful with their words and mindful of what others might be hearing, and basic courtesies like remembering to turn off transmission if they were doing personal stuff, like eating or doing business over a toilet. No one wanted to listen to that. Restraining the urge to make useless comments or jokes if one of theirs was talking, or even flirting, with someone while trying to get information. Building a list of code words that, when used, would signal: "listen up!" or "assistance needed, extra eyes" or "danger alert, come" or "danger alert, that location" or "going temporarily offline. Check on me if I don't come back" … and so on. Once they got the idea, they were doing a lot of practicing to refine their manners and the codes. It took a couple of days for the novelty to wear off, and they got serious and hammered out codes unique for them. Didn't matter to Curtis if he didn't understand their references, so long as they clearly did.

"Master Curtis, late night? What brings you here?" said Ilya, coming out of the unit's tent to meet him, having been alerted by the outside sentries.

"Just feeling restless. I thought coming up here would calm me down."

"Another bad dream?" she asked shrewdly, examining him.

"Yeah."

"Need a drink?"

"Yeah." She led him into the tent and fetched him a small beer and a larger mug of heated chicken bone and vegetable broth. Good choice. The mild alcohol in the beer relaxed him and the savory, nutrient-dense deliciousness of the broth warmed him.

"How's guard duty going?" he asked her.

"Good, so far. Hrafnhildr swears a lot, but she likes the control it gives her to know where and what each of us is doing. She's even worked out an agreement with Lord Sadri that one of his apprentices would assist us. Right now, that's Yannig. That one has a mind for spy work. If she goes back to her little town in the Reach, we wouldn't be surprised if she takes over after Madanach. Olaf would be more assuring to the team than a wily Reach native. He's too busy, though, shadowing Sadri and making his own necessary connections as the future trade ambassador to Morrowind."

"Oh, so you gave her one of your helmets?"

"Yes, her. Also, Master Ambarys at the Cornerclub. That was on Yannig's advice. It took some arguing, but Hrafnhildr finally allowed it, especially after Olaf backed Yannig's advice by saying he takes lessons from Ambarys. Aside from being ex-Legion, did you know Master Ambarys is also an ex-Blades operative?"

"Yeah," said Curtis. "So is Commander Mikel's second-in-command Avehan. The Thalmor never did get into Morrowind to kill the Blades there."

"Oh. Interesting. These Blades …"

"All went rogue during the Oblivion Crisis, you know, when the Empire withdrew their Legion to defend Cyrodiil. Broke faith. Yeah. If you look closely at most of the older clientele at the Cornerclub, there are a lot of old Blades there. Ambarys's friends. Even with the public affairs office being run out of Sadri's, no one gets in there that isn't being watched by the Blades. And inside, you better believe the house servants all have training in weapons and magic."

"So we Stormblades are just for show?"

"I'd say yes and no. Initially, yes, because Ulfric ordered it. But if Hrafnhildr has finally gotten her head on straight and is accepting Ambarys's help, then no."

"Hm. I'll have to explain this to Hrafnhildr, you know."

"Yeah? I know you'll manage."

Guards were starting to get up, the ones assigned to accompany Lord Revyn to an early-morning meeting at the Palace with Ulfric.

"So, how are you feeling about your meeting with the Indorils?" asked Ilya. "You should probably go down and get ready to meet up with Master Nicholas and Severus. This is important, yes? To getting House Mora the support of two notable families?"

"Yeah, Indoril nobility from Mournhold. The Doroms, Mistress Elani's family, used to be ruling family some centuries past, and the Giriths, Magistrate Sorayn's family, have a lot of ties in the temple as priests and high-level ordinators."

"You afraid that all they'll see when they look at you is an ill-reputed Redoran sell-sword from Solstheim?"

"Most likely. And we're not gonna try to tell them I'm a reborn Dwemer King. I mean, it's hard enough for them to swallow that Severus is still alive 200 years later, him being a Man and still appearing in the prime of life, even with the prophecies saying he's incorruptible by disease and time. They wanna doubt, then he has his ring and Trueflame."

"He gifted you his other sword. Hopesfire, right? His dead wife's sword."

"Nerevar's dead wife, Almalexia. Severus's late wife was Nadine. Yeah, Hopesfire, Almalexia's sword. Trueflame and Hopesfire were wedding gifts. And I'll wear it. I'm hoping no one will ask about it, but if someone insists, we're just gonna say friendship; and because I'm an expert on Dwemer machines. A weird logic because the Kagrenac created the swords on King Dumac's orders."

"And if they bring up Slitter's past?"

"Then I keep telling them they can ask around Winterhold and the College and tell me what's my reputation there. Slitter's got no allegiance to anyone in Blacklight, no family name to disgrace. Let 'em consider what I've brought to Winterhold; and what I will bring to House Mora, then, in the long run, to Morrowind. Yeah, and the fact that the Nerevarine believes in me enough to give me Hopesfire. They can suck it if they want more proof."

Ilya coughed and smiled. "Sword-swallowing is rather a difficult art," she said.

"Yo! Curtis! Get your arse out here and get dressed for breakfast!" yelled Ralis from outside the tent.

135_v2

Related Shopkeeper's Wife stories: #52 Assassin, p.1; #75 Briarpatch, p.3; #81-83 Land of Confusion