Story Begining: Sometime before the battle between Galbatorix, Murtagh, Thorn, Oromis, and Glaedr, if for any reason than to selfishly preserve them for the story...
Mwahahahahahahahahahahahar (evil laugh over doing it... O.o)
It was dark inside his head. Lit up here and there with pinpoints that seemed to form a pattern. While he watched, they swirled, growing larger, larger still as their motion became more frantic. Very soon it was too difficult to determine the interval between one star and the next.
"May I come in?" Eragon heard Nasuada address Saphira, too overrun with fatigue to open his eyes and greet her as she stepped into the clearing.
You are always welcome, Saphira included him in the conversation, although he barely gave the words a passing thought. He was too enthralled in the mysterious patterns that faded from his mind, leaving him dazed and slightly confused at the flow of emotions that accompanied them.
Eragon had returned from a reconnaissance mission not half an hour previously. He was completely beaten, and seemed to be the only one who thought the exercise was pointless. They found nothing out of the ordinary, just a large bog and far too many mosquitoes for that time of the year.
Apparently, the area was too insignificant to plot on any map. None of the other members in the party thought it would do well for him to know where they were going, an obvious fact that had him seething the entire time. As did the idea that there was something significant everybody was keeping from him. Did they seriously think he was that untrustworthy?
The whole left side of his body ached from a head on collision with a tree. Even Saphira had given him grief on that one. There was something wrong with his feet; his hands wouldn't move; the rest of his body refused to respond to any command.
Curled against Saphira, Eragon was as close to being asleep as he could get when the world seemed to rock back in an extreme sense of vertigo. Something screamed into his mind, not a voice, but a shockwave of emotion. Then there were the stars, they made his head spin faster than it was already. Agony, terror, depression, they all fought for a hold. However, his emotional state was stuck on self pity from the turn out of the mission. Instead of running about, screaming and clutching madly at his head, which he very well might have done, he lay there, focussing on the night sky. At least, that's what he though it was.
As abruptly as it had come, the force faded, leaving him emotionally as well as physically battered. He tried to bring the stars back into his mind. The connection had been weak, despite the devastating power it demonstrated when it infiltrated his defences, crashing through uncontrolled. It confused him how he could still be alive, or at the limit: conscious.
Somewhere in the distance, he made out the hollow voices of Saphira and Nasuada. Their words were lost to him, Saphira giving up trying to coax him into socialisation after his failure to deliver even a hello.
A dawning sense of alarm at the possibilities pushed Eragon back to the real world. This was serious; he had to warn someone, to check that he wasn't the only one to receive the message. If that's what it was. Doubt also filtered in through the gaps around the confusion and fatigue. His head pulsed. Perhaps it will explode and I won't have to think about it anymore...
What are you on about?
Reluctantly, Eragon opened his eyes. Angela stood over him, a wet cloth in one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other.
"Morning," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. It was all he could think to do. The woman looked like she might erupt at any moment.
Angela abandoned the cloth, dropping it onto his chest.
"I'm glad you're finally awake," she sounded as though she was at the other end of the tent. Eragon peeled open his eyes, confirming his own suspicion. Angela growled under her breath, ripping things out of bags. Quite a few of them disappeared through the flap in the tent.
"How long have I been here?" It was obvious he wasn't in his own cot, the pungent fragrances and occasional croak told him that.
Angela looked surprised to find him lying prostrate on her mattress when she turned around. She frowned. "Quite some time, actually. I'm surprised you woke up on your own."
It hurt to move, so he focused his eyes on hers in the hope that it would be enough. "Angela, why am I in your tent?"
"Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with your ability to make intelligible speech..." she said rather offhandedly, tossing the thick volume she went to all that trouble to search for through the tent flap to rest on the pile with the her other discarded possessions.
Eragon said her name again, tempted to make her answer with magic, though he knew he hadn't the energy for that.
"I'll tell you, just give me a moment to get some things together," her back was to him even as she said it, ending the conversation.
Placing the cloth on his forehead consumed more of his energy then he thought it would, and he spent the rest of the day unable to move. Eragon refused to sleep, though, staring at anything and everything in the gloom as night began to settle. There was not exactly any shortage of stuff to look at. The pickled frog startled him when it twitched in its jar of coloured formula. That pretty much summed up the excitement of the day.
"Right," at last Angela went to his side, dragging a heavy chest to sit on. Beside her, she rested a stack of books, many so old their spines were held together with sticky gel, Angela's own creation. "Where do you want to start?"
Eragon opened his mouth, prepared to launch into an array of questions, when his stomach beat him to it.
Angela smiled, "Don't worry, I'll fix us something while we talk. I'm feeling a tad hungry myself," standing, she busied herself again. "Now I can't find anything..."
The Rider watched her for a while, completely absorbed in the level of concentration the woman exhumed. It was only until she lit the lantern that he it dawned on him and formed his first question.
"Where's Solembum?" Eragon was frustrated that he hadn't noticed this earlier.
Angela made a clicking sound with her tongue, "I wish I knew. He left soon after they brought you to me. I didn't even think he took one look at you and then poof"—she produced a large metal pot—"he toddled off. Not a word nor a warning nor a goodbye, thankyou, come again." The pot she set on a stand. "To first peel the onions, one must find them..."
Eragon stammered, "Hold-hold on, when you said they, you mean...?"
"Blödhgarm and Arya, yes."
"No, I was with Saphira after the reconnaissance mission that was a complete waste of time. Nasuada came, and then..."
Angela stopped what she was doing. Giving a little chuckle, she said in an almost singsong voice, "You've been out cold for a month, Eragon."
"A month!"
"Three weeks give or take if we're talking technicalities..."
"Angela! I can't have been asleep for that long," even as he heard himself say this he didn't quite believe it. "A month..." he groaned.
"You can't move, well... not very far if you can. Promise me you won't try. I've been rubbing oils over you to keep your muscles warm, but that doesn't seem to have done anything. You'll be lucky if your body remembers how to walk."
"How can you say that so matter of factly?" fury was beginning to steal into his voice, though it was directed at himself. I didn't do that much damage when I hit the tree... did I?
"I'm sorry, Eragon, really I am." Despite looking hard for the negative, he knew she meant it. Eragon was feeling spiteful now, though the full implications of what had been said hadn't entirely reached him yet.
"Do..." he cleared his throat. He had to know if all this was self inflicted. "Do you know what happened? Can you come up with a reason to explain all this? One that makes sense?"
Angela gave up on the onion and came to sit back on the chest.
"I can."
He waited for her to go on, however, she seemed distracted so he left her to it. The possibilities endlessly swirled about in his head, blurred together and just beyond his reach.
"First, I need you to tell me exactly what you remember." Eragon opened his eyes, surprised that they had shut in the first place. Angela had ink and paper at the ready.
"Okay, umm..."
"Shut your eyes if you think it will help."
He didn't but shut them anyway. "I remember... running into that tree. I think that was partially why I ached so much." He chanced a peek. Angela was scribbling away at the paper and didn't seem too phased by the whole tree thing. This bothered him. Nevertheless, he moved on to distract himself, if not her, from the embarrassing moment. "Everything hurt and I was tired and angry, so I lay down with Saphira as soon as I got back," he was just pitting ideas now, really having no clue as to what she was going on about. Then it hit him. "Something happened. Something huge. It was like the whole world shifted from beneath me and I was left falling."
Angela nodded, tapping the feather against her chin thoughtfully. "And then what happened?"
"Something broke into my mind. I felt sad, cold, hurt, afraid, and then all I could see was the night sky, spinning around inside my head."
"The constellations were different."
"Yes, I didn't know if they were real stars, though. None of the points lined up," Eragon stopped. "Did you just tell me you knew what I saw?"
Angela answered with a question, eyes gleaming. It was spooky. Leaning closer, she whispered, "Something, or someone?"
Eragon blinked at her.
"Because I think I know exactly what happened. No, I lie. I know what it was. Or more importantly, who. At least I think I do," the excitement in her voice scared Eragon.
"Slow it down, you're not making sense."
Closing her eyes, Angela took a controlled breath and then continued in the same whisper. Even with his hearing, Eragon had to strain to hear her. "When you said something broke the barrier to your mind, did you mean someone?"
The Rider thought for a moment then nodded. "Yes, I'm pretty sure. It would have been. It felt too real to be an illusion or a dream."
"What do you think it was? What did it mean to you?"
The pause was a lot longer this time. "I'm... not sure."
"What if it was a distress signal?"
"I..."
"A flail, a panic, the final card put in play?"
Eragon shook his head. This was too much to contemplate right now.
Angela stood abruptly, "I received a message from a messenger, an elf, via Nasuada's mirror. Oromis experienced much the same symptoms you have. Only his lasted days, not weeks."
"Is he okay?" Worry flooded into Eragon's mind. So it wasn't just him, someone else had been hit as well.
"Yes, he's fine."
"Oromis!" Eragon exclaimed, turning his attention to the tent's opening.
"Redecorating, Angela?" with a fluent sweep of his arm, the old Rider slipped his way gracefully into the confines beneath the canvas.
"Your arm!" Eragon struggled to sit up. The attempt was hopeless. Oromis crouched beside him, brushing the back of his hand over the young Rider's cheek.
"I told you, I'm fine."
"But, but, bu—"
"I fell into the roof of a church, nearly cut myself to ribbons, but I'm fine," the look on his face reassured Eragon somewhat, not that he wanted to let the injuries drop. Oromis sensed his unease and pushed gently into his mind. He met resistance, Eragon panicking for a brief moment before relaxing and letting the barriers down.
Why haven't they healed you?
I came straight here. I only made contact with Queen Islanzadí to inform her of a delay. My injuries I can deal with, now that there are more important matters in play.
You haven't told her about what happened?
Yes and no. I have told her what I experienced, and of my concern for you and your safety. Concerning the cause, I have told her nothing of my suspicions. You have not yet spoken to Saphira, is this correct?
Eragon opened his mouth, then paused, searching for the dragon's mind desperately. "I can't"
Oromis nodded, "I, too, have lost contact with Glaedr."
"How?" Angela asked, returning to the chest.
"That, I cannot tell you, and yet I would if I knew."
Something suddenly dawned on Eragon, "You don't think this could be Galbatorix's latest scheme, do you?"
Oromis shook his head, "No, I donot."
"This is bigger than that," Angela held the crumpled paper tight in her fist, knuckles white.
"It would explain a lot. However, I for one believe this is an act far beyond his capabilities."
"If he had the ability to pull off something this big, one can't help thinking why wait this long to do so?"
Eragon shut his eyes. "Then what is it," it was not a question, the Rider had the feeling they were going to tell him anyway.
Angela and the old Rider glanced at one another. Nothing more was said for such a long time, Eragon was beginning to wonder whether he voiced or thought it.
"Why didn't you tell me he was awake?" Arya poked her head inside the tent.
Oromis glanced at Angela, then at Eragon before closing his eyes. The young Rider couldn't help noticing his breathing was unsteady.
"I only just woke up," Eragon lied, dropping his head and letting his eyes shut.
The elf drifted inside. "You donot need to lie to me, Eragon, I can see I am interrupting."
"Not at all, we were only discussing..." he caught the look Oromis threw him then decided to plunge on anyway, "what happened to me."
Arya came and sat on the end of the cot. "Saphira has gone."
If Eragon had any energy left in him, he would have sat up and clutched her by the shoulders. Instead, he blinked. "What?"
The elf didn't seem capable of answering.
"She left not long after Solembum," Angela told him, head bowed and fingering the paper held tightly in her hand. "It must have been hard for her."
Both the elves' heads shot up at this.
"What do you mean, Angela?"
"Where has he gone?"
Angela refused to meet anyone's eye, including Eragon. "He never said anything to me. The last time I saw him was when he walked by you as you brought Eragon to me." Her voice was wrought with sorrow and disappointment. Eragon thought she was going to cry.
"Oh," was all Arya managed. Silence filled the crowded space, broken with the perfect shell they hid in, the flap of the tent pulling back and letting in a rain of torch light.
"Am I missing out on something important?" Nasuada entered, shutting the flap on the solders waiting outside.
"Solembum has gone," Arya stood, offering the spot on the cot in favour of upturning the empty cooking pot.
The leader of the Varden took the freed space, thanking the elf. Blood stained the bandage where her sleeve lifted to reveal it. "Two missing in such a short space of time, and neither reporting where they could be found..." she brooded, "On a lighter note, I'm sure Saphira will be over the moon with joy when she finds out you've woken."
"I can't talk to her." Eragon didn't open his eyes. He felt if he did he would start crying.
For the first time since Arya entered the tent, Oromis spoke. "The connection has broken," his voice caught. It was feint, though its presence evident.
"Galbatorix?" Arya clutched at the pot stand with much the same strength as Angela was the ball of paper.
"No," this said through tightly clenched teeth. It was clear the old Rider experienced great pain, though none had the means to consolidate him.
Nasuada looked from Eragon to Oromis to Angela to the paper held fast within the woman's fist. She watched her stroke a finger along it for a moment before asking, "How do you know?"
It was Arya who answered her. "He who has many daemons to guide him through the dark can still be slain by the breath of an angel. It is not him. For had Eragon, Saphira, Oromis and Glaedr been afflicted, two cases split by leagues with nothing to connect them with action and consequence, save the sacred and ancient bond that joins them, dragon to Rider and Rider to dragon, then surely by reason he must also be touched by the same curse." The elf spoke fast, and in a harsh whisper, alternating from the Ancient Language and the common one with a ferocity that noone had ever seen, or would suspect of one such as her.
Eragon opened his eyes. Just as he suspected, a tear snaked its way down his temple. He locked eyes with Oromis, who had been gazing intently at him while the elvan princess spoke.
Angela slowly let her hand peel open, ignoring the paper as it dropped to the floor. Without a word, Nasuada stood, replacing the books on the chest and placing her arm around her.
Oromis looked down. The piece of paper had black ink scrawled over it. He bent and picked it up, smoothing it out on the bed. "You said that word for word, Arya." His tone was flat, deadpan.
The elf looked up, released the death grip on the pot stand and moved over to crouch beside him.
Spread out on the bed was a wood print, a picture from a book. The page was old, crinkled where Angela had squeezed it, wet where her tears had fallen. Beneath the image were the words:
He Who Has Many Daemons to Guide Him Through the Dark Can Still be Slain by the Breath of an Angel.
The image itself was simple enough, nothing more than a man in full battle gear kneeling before an alter, candles and a chalice resting before him. Yet as the elves stared at it, the ink shimmered.
"Malthinae," muttered Arya after reading the words in the Ancient Language. As they stared, the image began to alter itself, becoming unintelligible for a moment until new lines began to form. Except what they formed was not another picture as they might have hoped. Rather a verse.
Oromis' breath caught. Nasuada stood, reading over the elf's shoulder. Arya shook her head and forced herself to her feet, pacing the length of the tent. Angela snivelled where she sat, having read the poem earlier herself.
Eragon lay, observing with a rising curiosity that burnt through his core. "Well, what is it?"
Although this chapter is quite short and ends on a cliff hanger, I cannot call it the Prelude to Gardian, if simply due to the way in which it ends. Gardian is going to be a long one, with a story line that may seem a little twisted. To make it interesting, there are many references to other books, movies, manga, music, possibly even advertisement - though mostly I think the first two - burried craftily (perhaps, one can only hope) within. I doont know whether I will be allowed to do this, however, it would be kind of cool if I could set up a checklist, where readers can markoff their general fictional entertainment knowlege as they find them. Some are subtle, such as a branch woven into the plot basket, while others are sort of obvious (lines, phrases, et cetera). Suggestions for the way this can be handled and what should be refered to are greatly appreciated, as is any honest criticism! - Maximoose ^^"