The Woman with the Voice: Chapter 4

The room was cold and dark and unimaginably large. She shivered, drawing her knees up under her chin. Her eyes could pick out next to nothing in the gloom and her ears picked up even less. Perhaps the most horrible thing about this place was the silence. It pressed in on her, constricting her. She felt as though any sound she made would be immediately swallowed up by the silence and lost. When at last she did make a sound, it came out so hoarse and worn out that it did not feel like her own voice. Then she did hear something, a low hiss. It was difficult to pinpoint the source of the noise at first. That is until it slithered across her foot and she leapt back with a shriek, kicking the snake away. Then she heard something else, something which in some ways chilled her more than the feeling of the snake’s scales against her skin. It was the sound of rattling chains.


Brechtje awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. She pulled up the blankets around her, trying to shake off the cold that penetrated her small frame. Her hands shook as she wiped at her forehead. She got up and looked outside. It was still dark and she guessed it to be only a few hours past midnight. She’d only slept a few hours but it felt like days had passed. She pulled on her boots and drew her shawl about her before descending the stairs to the room below.

Hulda had already gone to bed and Olfina was piling a few extra logs on the fire. She looked up and nodded when she saw Brechtje before returning to her work. Brechtje took a seat by the fire, her shawl drawn tightly about herself. It had felt so real, the snake, the cold. She shivered at the thought. She jumped as she heard a loud snore and looked over to see a Redguard man slumped by the counter, a large bottle of wine at his side. She curled up on the chair, tucking her feet up underneath her. She looked around once again. The inn was now empty aside from the sleeping Redguard and even Olfina’s steps had receded up to her quarters above the kitchen that she shared with Saadia.

She held her hands out in front of her and gradually a ball of light formed between her palms. If there was one thing she could count on to keep her nerves at bay, it was a ball of magelight. She bounced the tiny light on her palms, letting it pass from one hand to the other. It was bright and exuded a little warmth, like when a torchbug hovered just overhead, tiny wings buzzing. The light too emitted a sound, a light hum.

After a time she extinguished the light in her palm and sat back, feeling calmer than before. She got up and made her way back up to her room where she switched her tunic and hoes for something a little more durable. She looked out the window again and found that more time had passed than she had realised. The sun was just rising over the mountains and a few guards were out patrolling the battlements.

She went back downstairs and out into the marketplace. Only the meat stall, owned by a Bosmer, was open, the stock hanging from hooks or sitting in the wooden trays.
She walked down the main street towards the Blacksmith where Adrianne was already waiting.

“Good, you’re here,” she said as Brechtje approached, “Nice and early this time.” She took Brechtje aside, “Well, as for the work I promised, I think I know something you might be interested in. It’ll get you one step closer to being truly settled and might even earn you some respect in the process.”

“What kind of work is it?” asked Brechtje.

“Something a little more active than working metal, though I have to admit you’re becoming quite good at that,” replied Adrianne, “Might have to ask you to join as an apprentice at this rate. Anyhow, if you want to know more about it you’ll have to go up to Dragonsreach. If anyone asks, say you’re looking for a man named Proventus and tell them I sent you. That should be more than enough.”

“Thanks Adrianne,” smiled Brechtje.

“Now, hurry along, it could be a long job and you’ll want all the daylight hours you can get,” said Adrianne. Brechtje thanked her again before hurrying off back up the main street.

Dragonsreach, the largest building in the entire city, sat up on the lofty hill of the Cloud District, overlooking the rest of the town. It was an imposing looking building and Brechtje stood for some minutes, looking up at the stone carvings that decorated it. At last she took a deep breath and pushed open the large oak doors.

The interior was vast with a long carpet that led up towards the back of the building. It was lavishly decorated with banners baring the Whiterun coat of arms and a long table on either side near the back, set for the morning meal. An old woman stood with a broom, sweeping the carpet. Brechtje made her way forwards up the stone stairs. At the back of the room was a throne occupied by a blonde haired man wearing expensive looking robes. At his right stood a man garbed in equally lavish robes and on his left stood a Dunmer wearing a set of armour. When she saw her the Dunmer advanced forwards and, to Brechtje’s alarm, drew her sword. She gulped and took a step back.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” she said brusquely, “The Jarl is not receiving visitors.” Brechtje swallowed nervously before replying.

“I was sent here to look for someone named Proventus,” she said. The Dunmer lowered her sword but still regarded her with suspicion.

“And who sent you?” she asked.

“Adrianne, down at the forge,” Brechtje replied. The Dunmer waited a moment before sheathing her weapon.

“Very well, follow me,” she said. She led Brechtje up towards the throne.

“Proventus, your daughter has sent you someone who claims to be looking for you,” the Dunmer informed the balding man in fine robes standing next to the Jarl.

“Adrianne sent you?” he said.

“Yes sir,” replied Brechtje.

“Hmm… you seem to have a civil tongue in your head,” said Proventus, “Keep that up and we will have little to quarrel about. Now, what is it that you want?”

“Adrianne said you might have some work for me,” said Brechtje.

“I don’t recall having any jobs open at the moment,” he replied. Brechtje’s heart sank. “But let me check with the Jarl first. He might have some use for you.”

He withdrew and approached the man sitting on the throne. He stayed there for several moments, the two men talking in low voices.

Brechtje strained to catch what they were saying but one sideways glance from the Dunmer told her to mind her own business.

At last the Jarl himself got up and approached her. Now that she saw him up close she saw that he was younger than he first appeared.

“So, Proventus tells me you’re looking for work,” he said. His voice was softer than would have been expected.

“Yes sir,” replied Brechtje.

“Very well, follow me,” said the Jarl, “Farengar, our court wizard, should have some work for you.” Brechtje’s eyes brightened at these words. A job involving magic? It sounded promising.

The Jarl led her into a small room at the side of the main hall. It was easy to tell it was a wizard’s chamber from the moment she set foot inside. Along one wall stood an enchanting table and an alchemy stand, the latter of which was piled high with sprigs and roots of various plants, bowls of different coloured powder and mushroom of varying sizes and shapes. The desk was cluttered with scrolls and soul gems and books were piled high on every surface.

Standing by the desk was a young man garbed in dark blue wizard’s robes.

“Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project,” said the Jarl. Dragon project? Those two simple words sent shivers along Brechtje’s spine. Surely they couldn’t be asking her to go out looking for it. Not alone.

“Dragon Project?” she said shakily.

The Jarl must have noticed her alarm because he added, “We’re not expecting you to go out and look for the dragon of course. A dragon is hardly a one man, ahem, I mean uhh, one woman job.”

“Certainly not,” said Farengar, “Besides, no one knows where it is. It could be miles from here for all we know. No, what I need you to do is go and retrieve something for me.”

“What kind of something?” Brechtje asked, allowing herself to relax a little.

“An ancient stone tablet,” replied Farengar, “It’s said to contain a detailed map showing all the locations of dragon burial mounds.”

“And where is it?” asked Brechtje.

“We’ve received word that it’s located within an old tomb a few miles south of here,” explained Farengar, “A place known as Bleak Falls Barrow.” Brechtje swallowed nervously but nodded.

“How do I get there?” she asked.

“Take the road south of here until you reach Riverwood,” he replied, “I’m sure one of the locals will be more than able to assist you.”

“I’ll head out right away then,” said Brechtje.

“Good, sooner begun, sooner done, am I right?” said Farengar, clapping his hands together.

A few minutes later saw Brechtje making her way down to the marketplace. Her heart was hammering away in her chest and she did her best to keep thoughts of the tomb out of mind.

She stopped at the market stalls, stocking up on supplies for the journey.

Adrianne called to her as she walked past the Blacksmith. “So, how did it go?” she asked.

“Well, I’ve got myself some work,” Brechtje replied, “I’ll probably be gone a few days though.”

“I’m sure we can manage until you return,” smiled Adrianne, “But an adventure. Sounds exciting. Might have some tales to tell on your return then, mightn’t you?”

“Maybe,” said Brechtje, rather hoping the opposite, “Well, I’d better get going if I want to reach Riverwood by nightfall.”

“Hang on a moment,” said Adrianne, “Before you go, I have a couple of things that should come in handy.” She disappeared into the shop and reappeared a moment later carrying an iron dagger and a helmet crafted from animal hide. Brechtje smiled, taking the items from Adrianne.

“Thanks, Adrianne,” she said as she pulled the helmet down over her ears and belted the dagger at her hip.

“Hurry back, won’t you, Brechtje?” said Adrianne.

“I will,” Brechtje replied as she made for the town gates.

The Mid Year sun was climbing up into the sky as she walked down along the cobblestone path that led away from the walled town. Despite the weather being at its mildest even at Skyrim’s Northern reaches, Brechtje shivered in the stiff morning breeze. The scenery around her was breath-taking. To the South was a mountain range that stretched as far as she could see and among them was the tallest mountain in all of Tamriel, the Throat of the World. She could only imagine what it must be like to stand at the top with the whole continent at her feet. It almost made her dizzy just looking up at it.

She followed the cobblestone path down beside a river and found herself wondering exactly where she had washed ashore. As she gazed at the water she could dimly recall the cold water closing in over her. She shook her head, dislodging the unpleasant memory. As she walked she tried to think about what went on before. Who was Malkir and why had that name stayed with her while the rest was lost? All that was left of the other memories were bright flashes of light and a rushing sound. She touched the amulet at her neck but something felt different. She looked down at the amulet Atahbah had given her. No, nothing was different.

“I’m going nuts,” she muttered to herself as she continued walking, putting the uncomfortable thought out of her head, “I wonder what’s so special about this tablet anyway,” she mused to herself, “And what’s it doing mouldering away in an old tomb if it’s so important.”

She walked past the meadery and followed the road up the hill. It curved this way and that, zigzagging up the steep slope. As she climbed higher a rushing sound which had remained in the background of noise began pushing its way to the forefront until eventually it was all she could hear. For some reason the sound filled her with unease, it sounded eerily similar to the sound in her broken remnant of a memory. As she climbed higher fear clutched at her and she almost hesitated. She broke off from the road, putting some distance between her and the roar. She could give herself no rational explanation for such sudden fear and this only served to cause her more alarm.

At last the roar began to fade away and now she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. She realised that she had been clutching the amulet tightly in one hand, so tightly in fact that her knuckles were white. As the fear subsided she began to feel a little foolish. It was only a waterfall after all and there was plenty of distance between her and it. Strangely it was not the tumbling of water itself that scared her, just the sound.

As the sun reached the noon point she stopped, sitting down on a large boulder and pulling out the small bag. She removed a slice of bread and some cheese and began to eat. She gazed back over the distance she had covered; not bad for a morning’s worth of travel. But she guessed she still had quite a ways to go so a few minutes she packed up her things and continued on her journey.

It was late afternoon by the time she saw the stone archway. Beyond it lay a small village. Fires were burning in braziers outside some of the buildings and a few lights were on in the windows. A guard restlessly patrolled the walkway overhead, footsteps creaking on the wooden path. Brechtje crossed through the archway and looked around. The building next to her was built on a small hill and had stone steps leading up to it. A sign creaked in the wind that read, “The Sleeping Giant Inn.” She looked up at the sky. It was certainly too late to go looking for old tombs tonight so she decided maybe a good night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt.

She stepped into the warm interior. It was not quite as welcoming as the Bannered Mare and there were fewer people about but as long as it had warm beds, that was all that mattered. She made her way down to the counter where a man with dark hair pulled back behind his ears stood. He wore a patched and spotted cook’s clothes and leant on the counter, looking tired.

“Hello, can I get a room?” Brechtje asked. The man shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he rumbled, “Delphine’s away at the moment, she’s the innkeeper. I’m just the cook.” He paused, “But you can put your head down on the table for as long as you want. I won’t bother you.” Brechtje nodded and made her way over to the nearest bench. So much for a warm bed. Well, at least the air rising up from the long fire pit that ran down the centre of the room was warm. She sat down at the rough wooden table and put her head down on her folded arms. She gazed into the fire through a gap in her folded arms until at last sleep took over.