Mortal (Book 3)

Chapter 10

A path lays before me, guarded by towering statues of hooded men that remind me of the Greybeards. All the colors seem brighter, the sounds louder and more defined. This dreamworld-afterlife; a place of Nord dead. Though it's beautiful, there's a certain amount of melancholy to it, a certain dread. It looks like Skyrim but it isn't quite, but all at the same time it doesn't feel unfamiliar. It feels like returning to a place I knew once as a child but had forgotten.
I suppose I'm looking for the Hall of Valor, but I don't know how I'd ever find it with all the dark mist surrounding the path. Eventually I meet a man, a Stormcloak. His eyes are gaunt and full of worry, staring at something far off behind me. He radiates a gentle glow, like a lantern. I follow him down the path as he tells me the tale of his death when his camp was ambushed by the Legion, ending every sentence in a strange rhyme. Finally when I'm not looking, the ground shakes and he disappears completely. I only get a glance of him dangling between Alduin's claws before he disappears into the mist. I run down the path a little further, trying to catch up to him until I hear a voice I recognize.
"When I woke from cold death, my doom was lifted - there was Shor's Hall, my heart's desire. But now I wander, weary and lost." Kodlak's tells me, sitting on a nearby rock. I run to him and fall into his arms. I want to cry, but the tears don't come. Fury and confusion still overtake me. He feels warm, almost like the gentle heat of a candle, but at the same time he feels as if I could go right through him if I pushed hard enough.
"Kodlak, please— Please, you have to come with me. Alduin is here, he'll devour you—"
"Alduin hunts me as we once hunted our prey— a bitter payment for many bloody deeds." He interrupts me, his shining blue eyes deeply saddened. Everything about him glows softly, giving him almost a transparent appearance. It's like he can't hear me, or perhaps he doesn't understand. The living and the dead aren't meant to speak this way. I look up to him and simply nod, pushing away and sprinting down the path.
"The bitter war of the world beyond was all for naught. We are all trapped in Alduin's web - for our allegiance he cares not, but devours us equally - doom unescapable." A woman says to me as I run past her on the path to the Hall. "Shor as well - he welcomes all heroes to his kingly hall, if we could but reach it." To my shock, it's Rikke, Ulfric's old lover who I killed at the end of the war. She has the same far-away, saddened look in her eyes, the color of pine wood. I suppose I had worried Rikke's very soul would be angry with me, but I see no anger in her face, only desperation and eyes that stare through me. I back away from her and turn back to the path, unsure of how to respond to a soul I only met once, and as an enemy.
Finally I see the Hall of Valor over the hilltop, a towering structure with endlessly tall stained glass windows, and I run even faster. Finally I come to the Whalebone Bridge, and standing before me is the largest man I've ever seen, by far. He towers over me like a giant, my shoulder only the same height as his hip.
"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?" He asks, his voice almost shaking the ground.
"Who are you?" I ask quietly, looking him over with a distrusting glance. The giant man is dressed only in loincloth-like armor with boots and gauntlets, and carries a Nordic war axe on his back.
"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor." Tsun; a god, by Nord standards at least. His long winded speech twists and turns like a maze and is hard to decipher, but I understand what I need to.
"I pursue Alduin, the World Eater." I tell him, hoping that perhaps he'll recognize who I am. But how would he?
"A fateful errand. No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw." He replies. So he does know who I am, but yet I haven't earned his trust with just my identity. I glance behind him at the towering building. I don't have time for this.
"I seek entrance to the Hall of Valor." I tell him quickly, glancing at the rainbow sky.
"No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?" He asks, speaking slowly and deeply, as if it requires great effort.
"By right of birth. I am Dragonborn!" I urgently beg him.
"Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood," He says, smiling and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "But, living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test." He tells me as he draws his axe.
I've never faced anyone quite so large, but it's not the first time I've brought down someone much bigger than myself. I draw Wuuthrad and square my stance, waiting respectfully for Tsun to throw the first swing. When he does, he brings it down hard and fast over my head as I block it with the handle of my axe. The impact of his axe blade feels as though it shatters my bones, and I sweat and shake holding it barely away from my face. Finally with a great shove I push back toward him, stumbling away. To my surprise, he stumbles slightly as well, though he isn't nearly as tired as I am. We both spin and swing at the same time, but thankfully I'm short enough that his blade flies harmlessly over my head, while my own digs into his side. Instead of blood, a brilliant gold liquid trickles from the wound. Suddenly, I wonder if I could possibly kill Tsun. Of course I wouldn't want to, but are the gods truly immortal if they bleed? I yank my axe free and swing wildly at him for a few moments while he carefully dodges, until my axe successfully finds his ankle. Instead of crying out in pain, he laughs heartily at the shining blood that flows out of the second wound as he sheaths his axe.
"You fought well. I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favor follow you and your errand." He says, gesturing to the bridge behind him. I rush past him; what a waste of time. Alduin consumes more and more every second I waste, and now I'm wasting my energy battling an immortal God. As I rush on to the bridge, I notice my mistake. The Hall of Valor and the rest of Sovngarde are separated by a huge chasm, crowned with two waterfalls whose ends are too far to be seen. My knees wobble slightly at the height. The bones of the whale are thin, and though they're not unreliable, I should be careful not to fall. I take my next steps more gently until I reach solid ground again.
Up close, the Hall is even taller. The door is monumentally heavy, taking all of my energy once again to push it open. Inside is a room of people; Nords, men and women alike. The ceilings seem to go on forever, and a long table of endless food stretches across the floor. The entire room seems to radiate the same gold haze. The atmosphere of this shining hall seems like it would be impossible to be unhappy in, but there's a certain tension in the faces of the warriors. As I enter, each of them abandons their conversations to turn and stare, a few of them nodding in respect, if not slight confusion at my living state. At the center of it all is a lavishly decorated, yet still empty, throne.
"Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here." Booms another man, still taller than any Nord. Though I've never seen him, I feel like my heart knows him just as it knows Sovngarde; Ysgrammor, the true leader of the companions. Unfortunately, his statue doesn't do him much justice. On his back, he carries Wuuthrad as well, which alarms me as I reach behind me to make sure I still have my own."By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim." He tells me, nodding behind him at three familiar faces standing in a far corner.
"Thank you, Harbinger..." I stutter in wonder as I bow to him and stumble toward the heroes.
The three of them look to me in surprise as I approach. I know them well, the Tongues, the same three I saw in my vision from the Elder Scroll. The woman among the two men looks up at me, the bored and irritable look immediately withdrawing from her beautiful face as her eyes meet mine.
"At long last! Alduin's doom is now ours to seal - just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks." Gormlaith Golden-Hilt says happily. She reminds me of Aela, but Aela's beauty and personality multiplied.
"You know who I am?" I ask.
"It is hard to mistake the fire that appears only in the eyes of a Dragonborn. We have awaited your arrival. Let us slay him at last!" She enthuses.
"Hold, comrades - let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare - its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle." Felldir the Old, whom has clearly lived up to his name, interrupts her. She rolls her eyes. I laugh to myself, but the old man notices, glaring at me.
"Felldir speaks wisdom - the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe." Hakon One-Eye agrees, nodding thoughtfully. He seems to be the happy medium between them, but also bearing extreme resemblance to Gormlaith with his bright eyes and angular face.
"He has hidden from me for far too long. On this day, we will finish what was started long ago." I promise them, the rage beginning to boil over in my heart.
"To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted." Gormlaith shouts, drawing her sword as she charges out of the Hall. Hakon and Felldir laugh excitedly as they sprint out behind her. I follow close behind, charging into battle with them as their feet slap against the whalebone bridge. They run confidently across it, fearless. They stop just on the other side of the bridge, looking out over the Valley of Sovngarde and Alduin's mist, staring in astonishment. Even I can see that in the short time I was inside the Hall, the mist has grown thicker. But was it a short time? Was it minutes or hours? Days? Years?
"We cannot fight the foe in this mist!" Felldir shouts.
"Clear Skies - combine our Shouts!" Gormlaith commands him.
"Lok Vah Koor!" The four of us shout. It only clears somewhat, retreating back slightly. Distantly, I hear thunder.
"Ven Mul Riik!" A voice echoes through the valley, the mist quickly following it.
"Again!" I command them.
"We can shatter his power if we Shout together!" Felldir affirms. We shout once more, and the mist fades back even further, but still doesn't disappear completely.
"Ven Mul Riik!" Alduin responds again, the mist once again chasing toward us.
"Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?" Hakon says, losing hope.
"Stand fast! His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!" Gormlaith assures him.
"His power crumbles - do not pause for breath!" Felldir calls to us.
"Lok Vah Koor!" We shout once more, fighting away the mist. We wait in silence for it to come flooding back, but it doesn't. Has Alduin run away again to another far-off plane? After long silence, we hear a far off groan, and Alduin's dark shadow flashes over us.
"I have already defeated your friends once. Beyne. I do not fear them." He growls as he flies overhead.
"Perhaps, but I have already defeated you once. You fear me, or you wouldn't have run here. Joor, Zah, Frul." I tell him. He's swept up in the damning blue light, his wings quivering with weakness. He falls almost gracefully, groaning in terror.