Song of Oblivion - Chapter Seven (Updated)

In the end, they stayed three more days in Whiterun. The following morning no carriage was available to take them north and one would not leave until the end of the week. This gave Onmund, Lalwen and Katarina an opportunity to trade some of the things they'd collected from Fellglow Keep and rest a while longer. If truth be told, Kate was glad for the delay; she liked Whiterun with its lively streets and mild days and was not looking forward to the punishing cold of Winterhold. Except for the College, she had scant few reasons to want to return there.

Orthorn decided to stay behind; he had friends in Whiterun who'd agreed to put him up for a couple of weeks while he got his bearings, after which he contemplated trying his luck at the College a second time. Sheepishly, he asked his rescuers whether they'd consider putting in a good word for him with the Arch-Mage. They promised him they would; Orthorn had certainly redeemed himself at Fellglow but they advised him to wait, give matters a chance to settle down. No-one spoke a word about the Eye of Magnus, although they all thought about it. Had any discoveries been made? Would the three books they'd gone through a great deal of trouble to recover be of any use?

Low clouds had descended over land as the wagon bound for Winterhold left the stables early Sundas. Before long it was raining, big fat drops of water falling from the steel-gray sky at an ever increasing rate. The passengers could consider themselves fortunate; they had a sheepskin roof to protect them from the downpour but the driver enjoyed no such luxury, nor did the three mercenaries accompanying them on foot, armed and armored for all the world to see. Carriages transporting goods across Skyrim made tempting targets for brigands and guarding them was a popular way for sellswords to make a bit of coin.

"Look...the Throat of the World!" Onmund said all of a sudden, pointing at a massive peak towering above the thick pine forest which covered its lower slopes. "Pity the clouds are in the way."

Katarina lifted her nose out of The Last King of the Ayleids to see. The summit defied the eye even on clear days but now the entire upper quarter was hidden from view by rain clouds...not that rain ever fell on the Throat of the World. Snow reigned eternal at those dizzying heights from which one could gaze down upon all of Skyrim and beyond, for no mountain in Tamriel stood taller.

"I read that a group of hermits live up there in some kind of...monastery?", Lalwen commented, drawing a frown from Onmund.

"They're not 'hermits', they're an ancient and respected order! The Greybeards are masters of the Voice, the ancient Nord magic used by Dragons and heroes of old! Ulfric Stormcloak studied with them in his youth, one of the few who ever did, and so did Talos. He was different though; he was Dragonborn and it is said the Voice came as naturally to him as to a Dragon."

Most of this was news to Kate, except of course for the term "Dragonborn". That one she knew well, and how could she not? The most famous dynasty in history was founded by Talos who became the Emperor Tiber Septim and unified Tamriel into an Empire that endured to that very day. The last Dragonborn Emperor had died two hundred years ago however, sacrificing his life to end the Oblivion Crisis when Mehrunes Dagon and his Daedric armies invaded in force. Legend had it that he then became the giant stone dragon Kate had seen many times inside the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. The Avatar of Akatosh, people called it.

"So you believe this nonsense about Ulfric Stormcloak killing the High King by shouting at him?" Lalwen needled Onmund, who struggled to contain his outrage as he launched into a speech defending the rebel Jarl's reputation. Apparently, yes, he did believe it.

A wizard he may be, Kate mused, but Onmund remained a Nord at heart. She let them bicker about it and returned to her book. Long, dull hours spent hobbling across Skyrim in the back of a wagon made for ideal reading time, Kate spending most of them devouring Fragment: On Artaeum, The Last King of the Ayleids and Night of Tears. The first two proved a disappointment. One was a history of the Psijic Order's home isle of Artaeum, the other an analysis of the fall of the Ayleid empire; both interesting topics in their own right but lacking in the revelations Kate was after. Night of Tears, on the other hand, offered at last some tantalizing hints.

"The Nords found something when they built their city, buried deep in the ground", Kate read to her companions "They attempted to keep it buried, but the elves learned of it and coveted it for themselves. It's the Eye, it has to be! It was the reason for the sack of Saarthal, not territory control!"

"Does it say what it actually is, where it came from?" Lalwen inquired.

Kate could only shake her head.

"There's some guesswork on the part of the author, but all he can say with certainty is that it must have been something immensely powerful to provoke such a vicious conflict."

"So we didn't actually learn anything new. Wonderful. If we hadn't put an end to Aranaea's little cult, which reflected badly on all of us, I would call this a complete waste of time."

"We also saved Orthorn's life", Onmund pointed out. "I think that's worth something too."

Kate said nothing, gazing in the distance at snow-tipped mountains shimmering in the light of the setting sun without really seeing them. Onmund and Lalwen spoke true yet to and risk her life and come no closer to solving the mystery that was the Eye of Magnus left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Nightgate Inn was a traveler's last stop on the way to Windhelm but for those pressing north, it was where civilization ended and the frozen wastes began. With no end in sight until Winterhold, the carriage driver decided they would spend the night at the inn before resuming their journey at first light. He followed this with a prayer to Kynareth, as was customary when preparing to brave the treacherous northern roads and went off to arrange food and shelter for his horse. Skyrim horses were hardy, but a strong night chill could overwhelm them. The rest headed inside the inn. It was a long, squat building in the Nordic style, with a large fire pit in the middle and several tables arrayed along the walls. The warmth radiating from the fire felt absolutely divine to Katarina, who had been shivering in her furs all day. If not for the small fire she'd conjured to keep the worst of the cold at bay, she felt certain they would have had to carry her in, frozen solid.

"I'll never get used to this weather", the Imperial complained through chattering teeth, remembering the balmy days and cool nights of the Nibenay basin. Onmund chuckled; she eyed him sourly:

"Aren't you cold?"

"A little", he shrugged, warming his hands by the fire. "Nothing a good fire and a bit of mead can't fix."

"Looks like you caught yourself a true Nord there, Kate" said Lalwen, her tone arch but her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Kate was bemused: did Lalwen just make a joke?

"Mmm, that remains to be seen", she quipped as she lead them towards an empty table. "I hear you need to still be able to walk straight at the end of the evening to qualify as a True Nord."

"If that's true, I don't think I've ever met a True Nord", Onmund pointed out. They laughed.

Following a long and uncomfortable ride, they enjoyed a meal of bread, cheese and roasted meat on a skewer, with a few drinks to wash it down. A tankard of mead later, even Kate was feeling warm. She didn't much care for mead which she found overly sweet for her tastes but had to admit it got the chill out of her bones right quick. She and Onmund ordered another round after Lalwen had gone to bed; Kate noted he had grown quiet however, his good spirits turned to moody contemplation. He had something on his mind, she could tell. When she asked about it he began speaking quietly, avoiding her gaze:

"I'd never killed anyone before, you know. My brother Skjor used to say there's nothing finer than putting steel in your enemy, but it didn't feel all that fine to me and I doubt steel would have improved it."

Unsure how to respond to this confession, Kate sipped her own drink. Noticing her silence, Onmund cast an uncertain glance her way:

"Well, at least you aren't laughing or calling me a milk-drinker."

"Do you think I prefer men who enjoy killing?" she asked him, a sudden edge in her voice. Taking a long gulp of mead she continued, more softly this time: "We did what we had to; we would be dead if we hadn't. But no, it wasn't fine."

A memory rose to the fore then, of that exhilarating moment at the height of battle when something she never knew existed in her awakened to the smell of blood and fire. Who knew that coming face to face with death could make one feel so exquisitely alive?

"What about you?" he inquired carefully. "Have you..."

Kate gave the slightest of nods, her brows knitted together in a frown. She'd never told anyone what she was about to say and the words caught in her throat.

"Not long after leaving home I met two Orcs by the roadside, drunk as can be. They hollered at me then followed me me and eventually one of them grabbed me, trying to force me down on the ground. I burned him so he let me go while his friend drew his axe but the alcohol made them slow, sluggish. I remember...one of them crying out to Malacath to save him as he burned."

A grim smile crossed her lips at the memory but Onmund didn't seem to notice it; he was staring at her with concern in his eyes...and pity. Kate blinked away from it.

"I'm so sorry." she heard him say.

"I was fortunate. Had they been sober, things may have turned out differently."

They drank in silence for a while, Kate's head resting on his shoulder and their arms joined for comfort. Words were not needed. One by one, the the inn's patrons were beginning to call it a night until only Kate, Onmund and an Orcish gentleman in fine clothes were left finishing a late drink.

"We should get some sleep", Kate said as she straightened herself and sat her empty mug down on the table. The drink made her feel woozy. "We have an early start tomorrow."

"Yes", Onmund agreed, yet still they lingered in the corridor beyond, caught in eachother's arms and a deep, hungry kiss. Her room lay behind the door her back was pressed up against and Kate was strongly tempted to take Onmund in with her. She might have done so had he given her a hint of wishing the same but he didn't, so in the end they each went to their own bed for the night. It's better to wait, Kate thought to herself in the 'd rushed things with men before and it ended badly. She wanted this time to be different.

A change had come over Winterhold, insidious as a premonition.

The three Apprentices could sense it as far as the town's outskirts when at last they passed through its ancient stone gate, a vibration in the air that tickled their esoteric instincts. It was stronger near the College, growing more insistent with each step they took closer to the Hall of Elements: the Eye, something must have happened to the Eye! They quickened their pace, making for the Arch-Mage's quarters.

He wasn't there but they soon found him on top of the castle's highest tower, looking out over the Sea of Ghosts, his robes billowing behind him. The wind had subsided since the morning and only a few scattered clouds drifted across the blue expanse of the sky, mirrored in the water below. Katarina had only been up there once before and never on such a clear day; sunlight had transformed the world into a dazzling crystal landscape, almost too bright to look at. But oh, so beautiful. She beheld it silently, inhaling the crisp air. Then, Savos Aren spoke:

"You can see Morrowind from here", he murmured as he squinted towards the eastern horizon, at the hint of land barely visible where water met sky. His voice had a sad, dreamy quality that caused Kate to wonder whether he'd come up there to gaze at his homeland which he missed. She had a sudden vision of climbing to the very top of the Throat of the World, the sky's vastness all around her, and glimpsing the Imperial Palace in the distance.

"But you're not here to admire the sights, I presume", the Arch-Mage continued and turned to face his apprentices, hands wrapped in his sleeves. His crimson gaze beheld each of them in turn as Lalwen relayed the details of their mission, nodding here and there. By the end of it, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"You've certainly proven yourselves to be more than mere apprentices", he told them. "I had hoped you wouldn't encounter too much opposition from Aranaea's group, but I'm glad they've been stopped. It would have been only a matter of time until word of their doings reached the Jarl of Whiterun and we could do without that sort of publicity. Therefore, I thank you."

Next, Kate reached inside her backpack and pulled out The Caller's journal, presenting it him.

"These are her notes; what should we do with them? We've only been able to decipher a small part but felt some physical evidence of what took place at Fellglow Keep should be kept."

"Indeed. Give them to Phinis; as Conjuration Master, they fall under his purview. Anything else?"

The trio exchanged a quick glance, Onmund being the one to speak:

"Sir...we felt something when we arrived into town, and it's stronger here. Is it the Eye?"

Savos Aren smiled.

"Oh, yes. You should ask Tolfdir, he's taken on the unofficial leadership of the project and will no doubt be glad to talk your ear off about it."

There had been some progress made, an excited Tolfdir informed them when they located him in the Hall of the Elements. As it turned out, the orb was highly magically-reactive while at the same time alchemically inert.

"We don't know how, yet, but it is capable of channeling raw magical energy, amplifying it! A conduit, if you will. Only small-scale experiments have been attempted thus far but the potential for applications is nearly endless!"

"Isn't it...dangerous?" Onmund ventured.

"Well...yes, it could be," Tolfdir admitted. "If handled improperly. But have no fear, all precautions are being taken to ensure the Orb's power is safely contained. We have the whole senior staff working on it."

Kate studied it. The feeling of watchfulness was stronger than ever, as though a literal eye was staring right at her. But the eye of what? A god, a demon, something else? What are you? she sent mentally. There was no answer; the Orb continued to spin in place, and its power was a tidal pull inside her mind. She was glad to get away from its gaze.

"So, you've returned", a sultry voice greeted them inside the Arcanaeum when they arrived with the stolen books. It was Arielle, the Breton necromancer, who took one good look at Kate and Onmund, hands entwined, and smiled.

"And it looks like you two did more than chase after old books. Took you long enough."

"I wasn't aware you were keeping track", Kate retorted. Onmund cleared his throat in embarrassment, but Arielle's smile did not falter.

"I can always tell when a man is interested. I told you as much on the first day we met, didn't I?"

Kate had almost forgotten about that. Most mages wore their robes in loose folds that concealed the shape beneath but not Arielle: hers were expertly tailored to hug her curvy frame, making no secret of her endowments. It was common knowledge that she often enjoyed male company, and her unconventional sexual practices incited some gossip among the College residents. It was even said that she sometimes lead her partners in the Midden beneath the castle where they could neither be seen nor heard. For her part, Kate didn't care what Arielle Jurard did in the bedroom, but she didn't like the faint smugness she detected in her voice then.

The library was alive with activity that late afternoon. Kate, Onmund and Lalwen were stopped several times on their way to the front desk to exchange greetings with passing visitors who congratulated them on the success of their assignment. More than one admitted they'd thought it a fool's chase and were glad to be proven wrong, none moreso than Urag gro-Shub.

"You're back!" he boomed out at the sight of the three apprentices. "And all in one piece, I see!"

His beady eyes found the books stacked in Onmund's arms and grew large with pure joy. He took them from him, stroking the faded leather with a gentleness one would not have expected from his huge, bony hands. Kate couldn't suppress a smile; she'd never seen him so happy.

"Night of Tears, eh?" the elderly Orc muttered appreciatively. "If I recall it correctly, this one has some interesting implications. Has either of you read it?"

Naturally, Kate nodded. Urag grunted his approval; he'd become much more favorably-predisposed towards her since discovering their shared passion for books.

"Interesting, yes", Lalwen put in, "But rather useless as far as understanding the Eye of Magnus goes."

Urag seemed less bothered by this than the Arch-Mage had been when he was told.

"That big glowing ball is not the most important thing in the world despite what everyone around here seems to think", he growled. "These books have been part of this collection for centuries until that boy decided to steal them! Did you ever find out what happened to him?"

They told him, to which Urag shook his head as though he'd expected as much.

"He was always a fool...a well-meaning fool, but a fool nonetheless. Still, I'm glad he's not dead."

Their business concluded, the trio turned to leave only to discover none other than Nirya waiting nearby, accompanied as usual by two of her Altmer lackeys. Lalwen's face lit up at the sight of them, yet Kate noted that the other women did not share her enthusiasm.

"It's good to see you again", the Bosmer greeted. Nirya lifted her brows skeptically.

"Oh, really? I don't think your new friends share that sentiment."

"They're not my...we were just returning the books we recovered."

"All three of you?" drawled one of the others, Carinwë. "Were you each carrying one?"

Kate could feel heat rising in her. She couldn't stomach Nirya and her ilk at the best of times and after nearly a month on the road her tolerance for their condescension was lower than usual.

"We've successfully completed a task which benefits this College and saved more than one life in the process. I'm looking forward to hearing what accomplishments you've made while we were away."

The sting of her thinly-veiled sarcasm hit its mark and the three Altmer regarded her coldly from their lofty height, though they did not deign to respond. They turned around to leave, Lalwen trailing after them with only the most cursory glance for the two people who had been her companions through thick and thin. Kate made a face; just when she was starting to warm up to her.

It was soon forgotten however, for someone else came bounding between two rows of bookshelves: Brelyna Maryon, beaming as she waved at them. They ran and embraced her tightly.

"I'm sure you've already heard about the Eye", Brelyna said after her friends finished telling their story. They were sitting at their usual table in a corner of the Arcanaeum where Urag permitted hushed conversation. "You can feel it, too."

"I can't say I like it", Onmund remarked. "It's always there, like an itch I cannot reach. I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight."

"You get used to it. We've had complaints from the Jarl though, who claims 'unwholesome vibes' are coming from the College, frightening the locals. Needless to say this hasn't exactly helped endear us to them."

Brelyna had more to tell. As Tolfdir had said, the Eye's energy affected the strength of spells and enchantments, overcharging their effects into more powerful ones. This however also made them more unpredictable, and there had been a few accidents. Nothing serious, though.

"As for myself", Brelyna continued with some pride, "I've been experimenting with summoning Storm Atronachs. In a controlled environment of course, but Phinis says it won't be long until I'll be able to safely conjure them on my own."

Kate was happy for her friend, as well as a little envious. Storm Atronachs were the mightiest of the elementals and the most elusive. She still had trouble with their frost cousins, big as ogres and twice as mean. It was the reason she hadn't dared unleash one inside Fellglow Keep; she wasn't certain she could control it.

The three apprentices were on their way to their dormitories when they were accosted by J'zargo, who wanted to know much about their recent exploits. While Onmund answered the Khajiit's questions Brelyna took Kate aside, wearing a most impish smirk as she probed in a low, conspiratorial tone:

"You and Onmund, then...?"

"Is it that obvious?" Kate shot back, but she was smirking as well.

"Please, he's positively besotted, anyone can see that! So...do tell! And don't skimp on the details!"

"There are no...details. We've kissed, that's all. I swear, you are worse than Arielle!"

This prompted a bout of giggling on Brelyna's part, but when she spoke again she sounded serious.

"How are things going, though?"

"Well", Kate said firmly, albeit a little cautiously."Things are going well. There are times though, when I sense a certain...hesitation in him. Like he's holding something back, but I can't quite place my finger on it."

"I don't think Onmund has been in many relationships, given his background" her friend pointed out "Now that the two of you are finally together, he's probably afraid he'll botch it. He cares about you, Kate."

Katarina hadn't thought about that, yet it made sense. For one thing he was twenty years old, three years younger than her. For another, being a mild-mannered young man more interested in casting spells than cracking skulls can't have made him very popular with women in a land like Skyrim. Yes, Brelyna made a good point which made her realize there was much she didn't know about him. But not as much as he didn't know about her. The shadow of her past hung over her new life like a dark cloud, and Kate knew she would have to face it soon.